#Beauty that defies description.

[kismetconstellations]

"Mr. Barnum, I can't just run off and join the circus." "Why not? Sounds thrilling, doesn't it?"

#Zac Efron #The light of my life. #The love of my life. #Beauty that defies description. #Phillip Carlyle #My melancholic disgraced alcoholic love. #Hugh Jackman #P.T. Barnum #The Circus King #Barlyle #OTP: You brought joy into my life. #The Greatest Showman #Aesthetic. #Ship Aesthetic. #Barlyle Aesthetic. #TGS Aesthetics #Mine. #All I want is to fly with queue.

[cryptidghostgirl]

Lovely (Lucifer x Reader)

Pairing: Lucifer x Reader

Description: Lucifer had heard rumor of the demon with the ability to alter people's memories. Y/n was a marvel and he had her wrapped right around his pinky.

Warnings: Same angst, new target.

Word Count: 1,631

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

A/N This fic is inspired by Spud Cannon's song Lovely. Also don't mind me and my silly little Latin obsessed brain (Lucifer translates to light bringer and is a combination of the latin verb ferre, to bring, and lux, light. I fuck around with that in this.)

That was what had drawn her to him first: the elegance. Lucifer was a graceful man, a beautiful man, a terribly sad person. In retrospect, that should have been Y/n's sign to take a step back but, it is always so difficult to find the right path in the moment. He had seemed so utterly heartbroken, because, as she now knew, he was so utterly heartbroken, and Y/n had thought: maybe I can help?

Her motivations had just been that at first, helping. It wasn't her fault that he was charming and funny and did things that made her want to be more than friends with him with such alarming regularity that it felt like her life was the worst rollercoaster at an amusement park. The one with eight billion sharp turns and uncomfortable seats that left rider's tailbones bruised. It was almost too much to bear.

Lucifer had heard rumors of the demon who had been gifted with the ability to alter people's memories. It had never been gossip that had interested him much until Lilith had left. Suddenly, his mind had felt like a curse. In the throws of despair, he had looked for her, hunted her down. It hadn't take long, he was Lucifer after all. When he was the one asking the questions, few dared to defy.

The shop was a hole in the wall, drenched in the smell of incense and covered in crystals and other odd objects of curiosity. Lucifer could've sworn he recognized the imp horns on the wall but, ignored it. He was there for a reason and asking questions like that were not the path to his end goal.

The demon herself, the famed mystery, was statuesque. She had sat her table in the back of the shop, draped in jewelry made of bones and gold. She had gifted him the first session free of charge.

In order to keep the pain at bay, Lucifer had been required to come to her shop at least once a month. Y/n was a comfort to him, he associated her with the feeling of relief. The two became fast friends.

"Light bringer." she would beckon him in with a smile, "Still counting those forget-me-nots?"

She spoke to him in Latin, in his first eternal language. She weaved images in the air with the smoke from her fires. She was amazing, a miracle worker. Lucifer was grateful for her, for her skill.

Y/n knew the truth behind it. She tried to ignore it, tried to still her raging heart. She knew it was doomed, had seen with her own eyes the way he was still so in love with someone else. Still, when he had asked her on that first date, a year into them knowing one another, she hadn't been able to bring herself to refuse. He had been so sweet, so earnest, so cheesy. He had asked her to be his and she had told him the truth: she already was.

It was a constant state of denial, one big, overwhelming lie she convinced herself was true. In the beginning, Lucifer had been a doting partner. He surprised her with flowers, he always tried to make her smile. It had all stopped the day she had told him she couldn't use her gift on him anymore.

"Why not?" he has asked, alarmed.

"Because, Ferende Lucem (man bringing light), it's not healthy. I can't make things go away forever, just hide them. You still need to deal with them eventually."

Y/n had thought it was time, had figured that two years of dating and three years of knowing one another would be enough. She had been wrong. Lucifer had ceased in his affections in all but name. No longer was she whisked away to the palace, no longer did she wake to one of his creations on her bedside table.

After about a month, she had decided to take things into her own hands. She refused to recede into the gaps he was creating, refused to just let this all go. Y/n loved him, truly. She wouldn't let the love die without a fight.

The palace guards knew her well, had let her in without question. After some searching, Y/n had found Lucifer locked away in his office. The place smelled of despair. He didn't turn from his empty desk at the sound of the door opening.

"Light Bringer." Y/n hummed softly, rapping a knuckle on the already open door, "Counting your forget-me-not's?"

She hadn't asked him that in years, not since before they had gotten together. He lifted his head from his hands, looking over his shoulder just the slightest bit.

"Malefica (witch)." he replied, his voice low and hollow.

Y/n smiled softly at the pet name and entered the room, letting the door stand open in her wake. She approached him, wrapping her arms around his tired shoulders and pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.

"Please." Lucifer's voice cracked, "Please take them from me. It's too much, they're too heavy."

Y/n didn't reply, simply nestling her chin into his hair.

"Y/n, please."

"You know I can't do that." she sighed, "It's not healthy."

"This is what is not healthy."

Y/n let go of him and turned his chair so they faced one another. She kneeled down on the ground before him, clasping his hands in her own. His eyes were ringed with red. In that moment, they weren't a fallen angel and a demon, they were just two people. Two people in love and two people housing broken hearts they lied to themselves to stitch back together.

"Lucifer." her eyes searched his face.

It was rare she called him by his true name. The gravity of the moment clung to their skin.

"Lucifer, what am I to you?"

He looked away. Y/n sighed, her heart cracking straight down the middle within the confines of her chest.

"Can I..." she cleared her throat, steeling her nerves, "Am I ever going to be what you're looking for?"

Lucifer's eyes snapped back to Y/n.

"You are what I'm looking for." he insisted, taking his trembling hands from hers and cupping them gently around her face, "You, Y/n, are my sweet little magician, my salve."

"My magic is, you mean."

Lucifer had always been a terrible liar. It was one of the things Y/n loved about him, the way the truth bubbled to the surface of his being. Right now, she wished he could be the best liar on the planet, the best in all of Hell. Right now, she wished she could've been born blind.

Y/n got to her feet, Lucifer's hands hanging in the air where they had held her last. There was no more running, no more hiding from the truth. This was the precipice, the breaking point, the fall.

"You're my salve." he repeated again, his voice soft and sounding like he was trying to convince himself of the fact as much as he was trying to get through to her.

"Don't lie to me." Y/n demanded, tears pressing behind her eyes, "Don't. Just... just don't."

Oh how she wished she could turn back time, set the clocks to zero.

"You never loved me, did you?"

The question hung unanswered in the air. Y/n had known it for a long time, had known it since the beginning to be perfectly honest but saying it out loud made it all the more real. She was dazed, spinning, out of control.

"You don't love me."

"I wish I could. I'm..."

Y/n scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and holding back tears. She looked away.

"I'm sorry."

"I'll see myself out, I guess."

She hoped he'd call out for her, run after her into the hallway, ask if they could try again could start over. Of course Lucifer did no such thing.

For all the things she had helped her clients forget over the years, Y/n understood them even more now than she ever had before. It was complicated. Now she was going to have to reshape her life. If she ever saw him in the street, it would be her duty to pretend she didn't know him. The memories spawned the terror of potential futures, dreams where things worked out, where everything was okay. They sent her mind reeling.

She had known, all along she had feared the worst and feared confirmation of her knowledge. That was the worst part, it hadn't even been a surprise. It had simply been just that, a confirmation of the truth.

The world caved in around her as she walked home, houses and shops and people all blurring together into something undistinguished and undefinable.

Lovely, that's what he was. In all his misfortune, in all his despair, in all his grace. Lovely but oh god, oh god he didn't love her. Not the way she wanted him to. Not the way she loved him.

Y/n pulled the curtains shut to her little shop, moving methodically and without thought. She sat down at the table in the back, before the pot of incense. She lit it.

Not once in all her years had she ever tried to do use her magic on herself. It seemed like a line in the sand, something utterly forbidden. Y/n shut her eyes.

When she reopened them, the world felt different. Time had passed, she could tell it had but her mind refused to give shape to the years.

"So this is what it must feel like." she mumbled aloud, noticing the remnants of her ritual spread out on the table before her, "I wonder what happened."

#x reader #hazbin hotel #x reader fics #fic writer #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer x y/n #angst #witch!reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #x reader oneshot #x reader one shot #one shot #oneshot #lucifer one shot #lucifer angst #lucifer morningstar

[creatingblackcharacters]

"Defying the Default"- Skin Tones and the Presence of Black Characters

Okay, this one is going to be half lesson and half a thought experiment- it may get a bit frustrating, as conversations like this often do- but remember, discomfort is not always a bad thing! So I ask that you walk with me for this one.

It’s also interesting, because I’m going to direct this towards everyone (readers included!), but specifically towards my fanfic writers of media with no visual medium, as I’ve noticed this pattern there, and it makes up a good amount of creators on this site. Okay? Okay.

Behold! Many shades of brown!

I had to wade through a lot of colorism for this, and even this link is subtly racist in its introduction- the idea that brown is ‘unexciting’ 🙄.

Anyway, you know where I’m going with this:

"Chocolate and Coffee"

Even the link above pulled this! Writers who use this... they’re not ‘wrong’ per se but… often uninspired. It feels... Lazy. When you can tell an author has put no thought into the brown of choice, it makes Black readers feel like you believe these are the only shades of brown- that that’s all we look like. Even chocolate is more diverse (white, milk, dark, marbled, cookies and cream?) Coffee can come in numerous shades as well (light, medium, dark roast? Type of bean?)

My first direction to help with this: make it a point to know what shade that character is (whether canonically, or if you're the original creator, look at a reference and write it down) and find a name! Be consistent! Find similar browns to one another. If the canon Black character's skin color is done poorly, find something similar and use that! (I'll get more into this in the next lesson!)

Our skin colors may modify as we age, it changes over the seasons/presence in the sun, and some people even have vitiligo! But we're not gonna be “dark roast coffee” one morning and “light milk chocolate” suddenly. We're not chameleons lmao.

And you know what? That shade you choose might very well be 'coffee'! But it's not going to be because you didn't look and assumed we're all some random brown! That’s the intent showing! If we can find endless ways to describe the beauty of white/pale skin, we absolutely can for brown! Be willing to unpack why you may not believe brown to be capable of beauty, and work through unlearning that- it will show in your writing! One way is by pausing with yourself, and recognizing when you had a biased thought. Even by this, you’re learning!

Here’s where I want us to get into the thought experiment:

I want you to think about the description of characters in stories (as a whole). Challenge yourself- in the fics and stories you read, how often is anyone blatantly labeled 'White'? Read a story or fic; how long can you imagine them as not-White before it's ever clarified? Because not even 'pale' automatically implies a White person!

You know how I’ve mentioned before that 'Black people are not a monolith'? I can find you at least some examples of Black people fitting some of the common descriptions of white characters.

"Brunette with brown eyes"

(Fun fact: I actually learned back in my Masters program that genetically no one has ‘black’ hair- our eyes are processing it as black, but it’s really just dark brown due to eumelanin. Regardless, if you stand us in the direct sunlight, you will see that our hair is usually just dark brown!)

"Red hair with pale skin"

“‘tanned’ skin with hazel/green eyes”

“blond hair" (period!)

Now, I’m not saying that blond haired Black people or Black folk with albinism are overly representative of my people. What I AM saying is that it needs to not be taken for granted that a reader is automatically assuming a character is White in your piece of fiction- I can assume your character looks like anything if it's not stated! Especially if the OG source is a book or a podcast! We’re just used to assigning these features- and characters- as white until ‘proven not’! The default!

I am guilty of this too! Even still, I reread many of my works and go ‘ah, I didn’t clarify.’ And I have to work on doing better at it. This is having intent for your Black characters, but really, it’s having intent for all of them!

(This doesn't mean going “the Black man said,” the way sometimes people say “the Chinese said” (which…. Tbh we should all stop doing that anyway, it's weird and racist))

My Next Challenge:

Some people may disagree, but- Ahem:

Say BLACK!

Breathe lmao! Take the time to recognize that it's OKAY to introduce a character as Black, to say Black, it's fine! Obviously be sensitive about it, don't shove it in there to “win your diversity points”, but like… People are Black. It's not a bad word. What matters is the context in which you used it!

You don't even have to say it every single time. Really just the first, introductory sentence will do. For example:

“[Character A], a bright, young, Black girl with knotless braids to her mid back, glittering hair clips matching her bright green t-shirt, and a brilliant smile that shined against her bistre skin.”

I recognize that some might argue that by saying “bistre”, you don't need to say Black. But 1) you don't have to be Black to be brown or dark skinned, and 2) There's a social stigma behind even saying Black- of discussing race in general, because it leads to discomfort. Race (as a sociological construct) exists. When we say nothing about it, allowing Whiteness to be the default, we're still emphasizing race, however silently! If you're already doing it... Why not mention it? 🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

(here's a good clip of Ijeoma Oluo discussing the difficulty of discussing race; while I highly recommend the whole thing, the relevant clip is 4:25-5:39)

Maybe they're in the Black student organization in a lead position, maybe they're in a Black main cast of a play- it's okay to have those things in the story to help develop the idea that your Black character is actively Black! Just do your research to make sure you’re not leaning into stereotypes!

“There’s no races in my fantasy/future world!”

That’s fair! But I want to give you an example of how people will still project these identities onto your characters anyway:

No one has an explicitly stated 'race' in Avatar: The Last Airbender (afaik); they’re all divided by element culture. YET, many people were offended that a mixed-Korean actress was cast in her role in the live action- they ‘just didn’t see it’, because subconsciously they'd imagined her ‘face claims’ as WHITE, despite it never once being mentioned in the canon! (there’s also a firm sexualization and east Asian fetishization argument to be made about it, but that’s not within the scope of this particular conversation.)

Point is, if you are including humanoid characters in your fantasy stories, fine. You don't need to say ‘Black’ outright. But, that just means that you’re going to have to be even more detailed in your description. Because if I were watching a TV show and a Black actor shows up as an elf… I know what features I’m seeing! Entire protests have occurred over the casting of Black actors in a role ‘meant for a white person’; so... everyone sees it!

Conclusion

This is another reason why intention in character design and writing is important! Context clues and socialization help me understand who your character is. If it works like this for white characters, it can work like that for everyone else! You just have to know enough about me to write it in (and that's where the social and societal bias lie, because how much do you really know about me?)

A way to better understand this is reading books by Black authors (for fantasy, I would highly recommend Raybearer by Jordan Ifueko and Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi) as well as Black literary classics! Finding and reading Black fic authors in fandoms with Black characters! By learning how we describe ourselves and our skin colors, you’ll learn and practice how to appropriately describe us!

Now I can't make you do any of this! But I do want you all- writers especially- to start noticing our bias, how we may default to the experience of whiteness- and how that affects the way we write. When we have Black characters, and really any character of color, we need to start paying attention to how often their features, culture, and activities are emphasized, even for what we may consider to be 'background' details. That’s how we normalize creation and understanding, and become better at writing!

It’s just something to practice; remember, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

In addition, if you are interested in a simple read into why approaching race is so uncomfortable as a whole, I've attached Robin DiAngelo's book here! Thank you to the PDF guru @toiletpotato for the link!

#creatingblackcharacters #character design #black characters #black writers

[lostfracturess]

【 ꜱʏᴍᴘᴛᴏᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇꜱ 】 ch. 07

x pairing professor!gojo x med student f!reader (medical au)

x summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

x wc 12.2 k

x warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

x author's note dive in and let me know what you think—i love hearing your thoughts! & pls like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other.

Then again.

No use. 

No position was comfortable anymore. How long have you been at it?

"Everything okay?"

You looked over to Satoru, nodding slightly. "I'm fine, just a bit stiff."

"We're almost done." Satoru seemed entirely at ease, his hands moving with his familiar precision and confidence as he navigated through the brain in front of him. 

It's almost criminal how good he was at masking his withdrawal.

"Can you hold on a little longer?"

"Yeah, I'm good." You forced yourself to push past the discomfort, ignoring the growing ache in your limbs. You shifted your weight from one leg to the other again. The sterile brightness of the operating room harsh against your tired eyes.

You mirrored his movements, every action synchronized seamlessly with his. As you retracted the tissue to reveal the implantation site, Satoru's sharp eyes caught something unexpected.

"Hold on a second," he interjected. "Come closer."

You leaned in, your focus shifting to where he was pointing his instrument. Amidst the intricate web of nerve fibers, a distinct cluster caught your attention, its arrangement defying the textbook descriptions you were used to seeing.

"This is an excellent example of neuroplasticity," Satoru explained. "See how the brain has restructured these pathways? It's adapting, compensating for lost functions. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it really is."

"That's something you won't find in books. Real-life experience is the best teacher."

"Thank you for showing me, Dr. Gojo."

Satoru turned to meet your gaze, his smile noticeable even under his mask. "It's my pleasure to teach you, first-year."

As Satoru carefully adjusted the microelectrodes to align with the neural pathways, you kept the surgical field clear, suctioning away any obstructions and adjusting the lighting to ensure Satoru had an unobstructed view of the implantation site.

"Speaking of teaching," Satoru began without looking away from his work. "What's the significance of the basal lamina in epithelial tissue organization?"

Caught off guard, you blinked. "What?"

"Was my question unclear, or are you pondering your answer?"

Oh my god. Not this again.

"It provides structural support and filtration, separating the epithelium from underlying connective tissue," you replied, focusing on assisting him while recalling your histology lectures.

"Correct. How about the roles of astrocytes and microglia in the CNS?" he continued, not missing a beat as he made another precise adjustment to the neuroimplant.

"Astrocytes support and protect neuronal cells; microglia act as immune cells within the CNS."

Satoru's smile grew slightly. "And the process and significance of axonal myelination in the CNS?"

"Oligodendrocytes wrap axons to form the myelin sheath, speeding up nerve impulse transmission," you explained as you handed him the next tool he needed.

"Excellent," Satoru acknowledged. "I wonder why you did so badly in your histology exam."

"Huh?"

Satoru turned to meet your gaze. "Your histology results. I've seen them. You didn't do well."

"That's because someone has been taking up all my study time," you said in a low tone. "Besides, stop snooping around my exam scores."

"Ah, so it's my fault, is it? Here I was, thinking I was quite the teacher."

"That's a bit of a stretch, considering you're the main reason I'm was behind the whole semester."

Satoru's grin widened. "But it helped with your anatomy exam, didn't it? And your pharmacology results were among the best."

You raised an eyebrow. "That had little to do with you."

"Anyway, shall we test the neuro connection now?" he suggested, flashing you a playful smile as he concluded the surgery.

As you both began the preliminary checks to ensure the equipment was ready for testing, the operating room door swung open. The anesthetist, a woman in her thirties with striking black hair and a prominent scar crossing her face over her nose, re-entered the OR and resumed her position.

"You know, as the anesthetist, I'd think your place is here, inside the OR, not out," Satoru commented.

The anesthetist waved it off with a dismissive gesture. "With a surgeon like you at the helm, Dr. Gojo, my worries are few and far between," she quipped. "Besides, I knew you had everything well in hand."

What is her mission here?

Your eyes wandered over to Satoru who seemed unfazed by her playful tone.

"Let's start with the diagnostic checks to confirm the implant's responsiveness. Pay close attention to the readings; we're looking for any signs of synaptic activity that align with our projections," Satoru said to you.

You monitored the screens closely, watching for the telltale signs. Satoru, too, kept a keen eye on the data streaming in, his expression tense. After a few moments, the first signs of success appeared. Relief washed over you.

"Looks like we're in business." Satoru's eyes meet yours, his lips curling into a smile. "Let's close the patient up."

"Would you like to do the honors?" Satoru asked, a slight nod towards the suture materials prepared on the tray beside him.

"Yes, I'd like that."

"Then come here," he said, adjusting the overhead light for you. You moved into Satoru's position as he stepped back. Satoru hovered close, his eyes never leaving your hands as they began their work.

"You can use a bit more tension." His hand briefly covered yours, guiding the needle with the precise pressure needed. "The skin has a few scars from past surgeries. If you stitch scar tissue too loosely, you compromise the incision's integrity."

His hands were a comforting presence, guiding but not controlling, allowing you to feel the right amount of tension necessary. "That's it, nice and steady. You're doing great." He stepped back to let you finish independently. 

The room fell into a concentrated silence. The process was methodical, each movement deliberate, as you worked to close the incision, layer by layer, ensuring the integrity of the closure.

"Good girl," Satoru whispered as you secured the final stitch. "Didn't expect anything less form you. The patient is going to be thankful for such a neat closure."

You glanced back at him. "Thank you Dr. Gojo."

"Always my pleasure."

After the surgery, you both scrubbed up in the washing room, the warm water cascading over your hands.

"Our first successful surgery," Satoru mused, his gaze meeting yours. "Looks like this summer's going to be a breeze."

"It will sure be an interesting summer with that anesthetist."

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't get it? The anesthetist was practically throwing herself at you earlier."

"Really?"

"Yeah, seriously. She wasn't very subtle."

He grinned. "What, are you jealous?"

Just as you were about to respond, the door to the washing room opened, and the anesthetist walked in. "Dr. Gojo," she began. "That was an impressive surgery. It's always a pleasure to work with such a skilled surgeon." 

Wow. Thank you.

She talked like you weren't even there.

Satoru offered a polite smile. "Thank you. But It was a team effort."

Undeterred, the anesthetist stepped closer, her intention clear. "I was wondering if you'd like to grab dinner sometime? To discuss more about your work, maybe?"

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of running water. You stole a glance at Satoru, who appeared momentarily paralyzed. You cleared your throat, reminding him that the anesthetist was waiting for his answer.

"I'm sorry, but I'm with someone," Satoru finally managed to say.

Huh?

The soap bar slipped from your grip at his words. It crashed into the sink with a sound that felt disproportionately loud in the tense silence that followed.

Satoru turned towards you. "You okay?"

"Yeah." You hastily reached for the soap again, your movements a bit too quick, a bit too shaky.

The anesthetist's expression faltered, a brief flash of embarrassment crossing her features before she quickly composed herself. "Of course, sorry. I should have seen that," she said, her gaze flickering between you and Satoru.

Oh fuck.

"Seen what?" Satoru asked.

"That you're dating. I just thought it'd be rather unusual for a professor and a student, but I'm not—," she stumbled over her words. Her exit strategy crumbled as gracefully as your grasp on the soap bar, which slipped from your fingers once more, causing another loud thud as it hit the sink.

"I should go now," the anesthetist hastened to add. She left the room in a rush, leaving you and Satoru alone once again. You felt as if all blood had drained from your face.

"Are you good?" Satoru asked again, his gaze piercing as if silently questioning your ability to perform surgery when you couldn't even hold a damn bar of soap in your hands.

"Yeah, I'm good." You quickly tried to shake off the lingering awkwardness. "You should probably clear that up."

"She's actually from another hospital. She's just here for today's surgery."

"Still, Satoru."

"Alright, alright, I'll clear things up with her. You have my word."

The hospital was a breeding ground for gossip. The last thing either of you needed was speculative gossip. Yet, Satoru seemed to find an odd sense of appeal in the idea.

"Actually, part of me thinks it wouldn't be so bad to let the rumor spread," he mused, running a towel over his hands. "It would certainly be easier than all this sneaking around."

"Are you out of your mind?"

He laughed. "Perhaps a bit." His eyes sparkled with mischief as they met yours. "But imagine it—no more tiptoeing around, no more fear of getting caught."

Before you could react, Satoru leaned in. His hands slipped around your waist to pull you closer. You pushed against him, a feeble attempt to keep some distance.

"You know, we're not in a relationship, Satoru."

"What, you're banning me to the friend zone?"

"It's not like you've ever left it."

"Harsh. That cuts deep."

You rolled your eyes. "Sure."

With a soft sigh, he released you, stepping back. "Come with me. There's something I want to show you."

─── ·✧· ───

Without further explanation, he led you through the quiet halls of the hospital to his office. The moment you entered Satoru's office, you were welcomed by the rhythmic pattering of rain against the windows. The office was dimly lit, the only light coming from the stormy sky outside.

Satoru shrugged off his coat and collapsed onto the couch, a deep sigh escaping him. For a moment, he lay still, his eyes fixed on his phone as he navigated through it.

You joined him on the couch. "What's this?" you asked as he handed you his phone.

"Just watch."

You pressed play on the video.

It showed the young patient from the first surgery, now equipped with his biometric arm you both had painstakingly worked for. The patient was in a training room, demonstrating an impressive range of motion and dexterity with the new limb. His movements were fluid and controlled. Almost perfect.

You couldn't help but smile.

Satoru's voice could be heard in the background, praising the patient's progress. The patient's face lit up with a broad smile as he looked into the camera.

The video ended.

"He was here yesterday for a checkup," Satoru said, running a hand over his face and through his hair. "This is your doing. You made this happen."

"It took all of us to get this done."

"No. You led the surgery. It was your doing. And now, he has a chance at a new life. All thanks to you. Feels good, doesn't it?"

"What?" You handed the phone back to him.

"Knowing that we can actually change things," Satoru mused as he flipped the phone idly in his hand, replaying the video. "Make a real difference in someone's life."

"It does." Your smile turned bittersweet as you observed him closely. "You look tired, Satoru."

Satoru glanced at you, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. He rubbed his slightly bloodshot eyes. "Do I?"

"Yeah. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You don't look 'fine.'" You gently pushed the damp hair away from his forehead. His reaction was immediate; his hand captured yours, drawing it down to caress his cheek. He leaned into your touch, a sigh escaping him as he closed his eyes.

"You should really consider just taking some clonidine."

He exhaled deeply. "You really not stopping with that."

"Because you keep being stupid," you replied, pulling away to stand. "Where do you have it?"

"In my bag."

You crossed the room to where his bag lay, rummaging through its contents until you found the medication. Holding the clonidine in hand, you turned back to face him. Satoru had shifted to a sitting position, his gaze fixed on you.

Holding out the medication, you met his gaze, urging him silently to take it. But Satoru hesitated, a slight pout on his lips. "I can't."

"Why not?" Frustration edged into your voice. "Satoru, it's for your own good."

"It's not that simple."

"It is. You're making it complicated."

A tense silence filled the space between you, the rain's steady patter against the windows underscoring the moment. "I... I just can't take it like this."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't stand the taste."

He really got some nerves.

"Don't make me force you to take it."

Satoru's lips quirked up in a half-smile. "You couldn't make me swallow it if you tried."

"You think so?" you countered, your patience thinning.

Deciding on a more direct approach, you moved closer and sat down on his lap, straddling him. His eyes widened as you did so. He let himself fall back against the couch, his hands instinctively settling on your hips.

You reached for one of the pills, your movements deliberate under Satoru's watchful gaze. "What are you about to do?"

Holding the pill between your fingers, you met his gaze squarely. "I'm making sure you take this." You placed the pill on your tongue, savoring its bitter taste. 

His breath caught in his throat as your lips met his. Still, his tongue eagerly met yours. 

He swallowed the pill without a second thought.

That's it, isn't it?

You should withdraw.

Withdraw your lips from his soft and tender lips.

God, his lips were soft against yours. Just like you remember. How you missed it.

Ah fuck it.

His lips moved against yours. His kisses became more urgent, more possessive, as he hungrily devoured your lips. In that instant, nothing else existed except the two of you. With a sudden tug, Satoru pulled you closer until there was hardly any space left between your bodies.

"I thought we had an agreement?" Satoru gasped between kisses.

"Did we?" you said, throwing your own principles overboard.

They didn't stick around very long, did they?

I'm not judging you, reader. It's Satoru Gojo after all.

We would all bend the rules for him, wouldn't we?

His lips twitched into a wicked smile. His hands creep under the hem of your shirt, working their way up your back. Drawing closer, your body melded seamlessly with his.

You shifted slightly, arching your spine to grind against him, causing a low moan to escape his chest. In return, his touch grew urgent, fingers pressing into your flesh as if seeking comfort in your warmth. He kissed the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the strands, urging him onward. His lips moved down, leaving a trail of fire wherever they went. Then, with a tantalizing flicker, his tongue traced the curve of your neck, turning your core molten.

The world outside faded, the only sound the pouring rain outside and the whisper of fabric against skin—until the abrupt light from his phone broke the spell, its screen illuminating the dim room.

"Ignore it," he murmured against your lips.

Ignoring the insistent vibration of his phone, Satoru deepened his kiss. You could feel his longing pulsing through him, matching your own. As if in response to the sound of the phone, his touch became bolder and more intense, leaving heat wherever he touched you.

Yet, the persistent buzzing of the phone became impossible to ignore. You turned your head slightly to see who was calling him for the third time in a row.

"Don't," Satoru whispered, cupping your chin to bring your focus back to him. "Focus only on me." His lips sought yours once more.

But you couldn't help it when his phone rang a fourth time. You cracked open one eye and glanced at the screen. "Satoru, wait," you pulled away from his lips. "It's Director Yaga."

Groaning in frustration, he reluctantly released his grip on you.

"Hello?" he answered.

Satoru's brow furrowed as he listened, his occasional nods doing little to reveal the nature of the conversation. Finally, Satoru hung up. 

He looked at you, his expression grave. The sudden shift in his demeanor sent a chill through you, the air around you suddenly felt colder.

"Yaga wants to see us. In his office. As soon as possible."

"What? Why?"

"Didn't say anything."

"What did he say then?"

"Only mentioned it's urgent and that we both appear." He dropped his head back onto the back of the couch. "God, Yaga is such a cockblock."

You leaned back slightly, worry creasing your brow. "It's probably because of that student you punched. He must know something."

"He doesn't know anything."

"What if that student presses charges? What if rumors already spead? What if he wants to fire you?" The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them.

Satoru cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Whatever it is, I'll handle it."

"How can you be so sure? What will we even say?"

"Trust me, I'll do the talking. Just stay quiet, okay?"

"Okay," you whispered, trying to push aside your concerns as you took a deep breath to steady your nerves.

The storm outside suddenly seemed much louder than before.

─── ·✧· ───

The clock was ticking.

It was the only sound in the tense silence.

Director Yaga sat behind his desk, his expression inscrutable, yet the sharpness in his gaze suggested a brewing storm. He watched the two of you for what seemed like an eternity.

He then leaned forward. His hands clasped on the desk. His gaze bored into Satoru with an intensity that made even the famous neurosurgeon shift uncomfortably.

"Director Yaga—" Satoru started, but then Yaga spoke himself.

"Why the hell did you punch that student in the face, Gojo?"

"Because he drugged one of my students." Satoru said. "I found out that he slipped something into her drink during the faculty party two weeks ago."

"And you thought the appropriate response was to physically assault the student?"

"I couldn't let it go, sir. What he did was dangerous. She could have been seriously harmed."

Yaga leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "Dr. Gojo, your method leaves much to be desired. We can't have our staff resorting to violence every time they're upset."

Satoru's jaw tightened. "I understand, sir. It was a lapse in judgment. But considering the circumstances—"

"Circumstances?" Yaga interrupted, his tone rising. "This is a university, not a back alley. We have protocols for dealing with misconduct. You know this."

"I do, sir. And I apologize for overstepping. But with all due respect, those protocols might not have protected her in time."

"And you think a punch was the immediate solution?"

"It was what I felt necessary at the moment."

Yaga's gaze hardened again. "Dr. Gojo, your 'momentary feelings' are becoming a liability. This isn't the first time your actions have caused complications. Your skills as a surgeon are beyond question, but your impulse control is, frankly, concerning."

"I understand the gravity of my actions, sir," Satoru said. "And I am prepared to face the consequences."

You needed to say something.

Do something.

You opened your mouth but Satoru raised his hand slightly from his lap so that only you could see it. He didn't want you to say anything.

Yaga studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "I'll deal with the student's misconduct appropriately. As for you, Dr. Gojo, there will be consequences. I expect better from you in the future. Much better."

Satoru nodded. "Thank you, sir. It won't happen again."

Yaga's gaze then shifted to you. "You're spending a lot of time with Dr. Gojo, right?"

Your eyes briefly flicked to Satoru. "Yes, sir. We're working closely on the neuroprosthetics project."

"And how do you find working with Dr. Gojo?"

You hesitated for a second. You could feel Satoru's gaze on you. "It's been an incredible learning experience," you said. "Dr. Gojo is a brilliant surgeon, and working with him has offered me insights and opportunities I wouldn't have had otherwise."

"Indeed," Yaga mused, leaning back in his chair. "It's good to see such teamwork among our staff. But remember, the university and the hospital are a small world. Rumors spread quickly."

Your blood ran cold.

The warning was clear.

"You can leave now," Yaga said, his tone indicating that the remainder of the discussion was meant for Satoru alone.

"Thank you, sir." You stood, casting one last glance at Satoru, who remained seated. Satoru caught your look, offering a subtle nod.

You found yourself pacing the corridor outside, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours. Every scenario imaginable played out in your mind, each more disconcerting than the last. 

Finally, the door opened, and Satoru emerged — a practiced smile on his face. Yet, the tightness around his eyes betrayed him.

"Everything's fine," he said.

"Is it really?"

"Honestly, it's nothing to worry about. Yaga just wanted to go over a few things. You know how it is."

"Satoru, if something's wrong—"

"Really, it's nothing. Just the usual Yaga being overcautious. We're fine."

The use of "we" didn't escape your notice. 

You knew Satoru well enough by now to recognize when he was shielding you — or perhaps himself — from worry. Yet, his insistence on handling matters alone, on bearing the brunt of any fallout without burdening you, was both admirable and, at times, maddeningly frustrating.

You studied him for a moment, searching his face for any sign of what truly happened behind closed doors. It was then that he stepped closer, closing the distance between you.

"Come on, don't make that face." His hands came up to cradle your face. "Everything's fine."

"You don't have to protect me from everything, you know that, right?"

"Still, you can't stop me from trying." He released you from his hold and turned. "Come on, let's grab something to eat. I'm starving."

─── ·✧· ───

The early morning sun bathed the hospital grounds in a soft, orange light, heralding the start of another beautiful summer day. A gentle breeze, carrying with it the scent of freshly mown grass, whispered through the trees.

As you made your way toward the hospital, your eyes found Geto and Satoru. They were seated on a bench under the expansive branches of an oak tree, bathed in the speckled sunlight that danced through the leaves, casting patterns of light and shadow around them.

Drawing closer, Satoru caught sight of you, his face lighting up with a smile. 

"There she is," Geto greeted you, a cigarette loosely held between his fingers. He exhaled a stream of smoke, the wisps dancing lazily in the morning light.

Satoru shifted to make room for you on the bench. "Ready for today?"

You took a seat beside him. "As ready as I can be," you said. "How about you?"

Satoru presented his hand in front of you, somewhat still. "See? No tremors today. All's well."

"I'm glad," you replied, though your eyes couldn't help but trace the faint bruises and scratches that still marred his otherwise flawless pale skin — remnants of the confrontation with that student. As your gaze shifted back to his, he offered you a wink, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Geto broke the sudden stillness. "So, heading into surgery number four today?"

"Yeah, your fourth one, eight more to go," you confirmed. "What do you have lined up for today, Geto?"

With a knowing smirk, Geto exhaled another stream of smoke. "An aneurysm clipping."

Intrigued, you leaned in slightly, your eyes brightening. "What really?"

Catching your reaction, Satoru teased, "Thinking of ditching me for Geto's surgery?"

You rolled your eyes. "Never, but you have to admit, nothing compares to the thrill of an aneurysm."

Satoru settled back, a shiver passing through him. "You know, you're kind of scary sometimes."

Geto let out a low laugh as he stood, crushing his cigarette underfoot. "Well then, I should get ready for my 'thrilling' surgery. Good luck with your procedure today."

Before Geto could stride away, Satoru's voice halted him. "Hey, Suguru, try not to scare your team away this time. We're running out of interns who don't break into a cold sweat at the mention of your name."

Geto turned. "Oh, please, Satoru. Interns come to me to recover from the trauma of working with you."

Leaning back on the bench, Satoru draped his arm across the back, subtly encircling you. "Scaring them is a necessary part of their training. Builds character. After me, they're ready for anything."

"You mean after they recover from the trauma," Geto said, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

"You should be thanking me. Makes you look like the good guy for a change."

"That's your plan? Making me look good?" Geto raised an eyebrow. "Well, try not to traumatize them too much, will you?"

"No promises," Satoru replied. "But I'll consider it, just for you."

Geto waved a dismissive hand. "Just make sure you don't scare away this one." He gestured towards you. "She's a keeper."

As Geto disappeared into the hospital, Satoru turned to you, the smile still lingering on his face. "See what I have to put up with? It's a tough job, but someone's got to keep him in check."

"Seems like you both do a good job of keeping each other grounded."

"Yeah, we do. Couldn't ask for a better friend, even if he is a bit of a menace."

You observed him for a second. "How are you really feeling today?"

Satoru hesitated for a moment before extending his hand towards you. It was a subtle, but his hand was trembling, the fine tremors betraying his withdrawal. "See? Steady as ever," he joked, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just need a bit of caffeine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, but," he edged closer, "you know, you could always help steady them."

You stood up and began to walk towards the hospital. "In your dreams, Satoru."

"Oh, so we're playing by the rules now?"

"The rules bend to my will. They're mine, after all."

"Wait," he interjected. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you."

You stopped, turning to face him. "What is it?"

"Next week, I've been invited to give a guest lecture at another university about our neuroprosthetics research. I was hoping you'd join me for the presentation. Would you be interested in co-presenting?"

"Me? Co-present with you?"

"I can't think of anyone better to share the stage with."

"But what about Geto? It's as much his project. Shouldn't he be the one to present with you?"

He shrugged. "But I’d rather have you with me. Besides, he won’t be mad at me for choosing you.”

"I don't know if I'm the right person for that, Satoru."

He leaned forward. "You won't be up there alone. I'll be with you every step of the way. Haven't we always worked best as a team?"

You watched him for a second, considering.

"There's more," he added. "The university, it's a bit far away. We'd have to stay overnight."

"And let me guess, you need someone to look after you?"

Without missing a beat, Satoru's grin widened. "You know, with my problems and all, I could use someone to keep me in line."

"Are you seriously using your addiction to guilt-trip me into this?"

"Absolutely. But seriously, I need you there. Not just for me, but for this. For us."

"You're impossible." You let out a sigh, defeated yet somehow exhilarated. "Alright, Satoru. I'll go with you."

"That's all I wanted to hear," Satoru beamed, his eyes softening. "Now, let's go open some skulls."

─── ·✧· ───

The morning air held a cool bite.

When the door creaked open, Satoru stood there, looking like someone who had just rolled out of bed. His hair stood in every direction, his eyes blinking against the daylight, and his clothes — a rumpled t-shirt and sweatpants — spoke volumes of his unpreparedness.

"Uh, good morning?" His greeting came out more as a question as he took in the sight of you, fully dressed and ready, suitcase and all. "You want to move in? Not that I would complain."

"You seriously forgot?"

"Forgot what?"

"We're supposed to head to the university today. Our meeting with the director is at noon. The lecture, Satoru. Remember?"

"That was today?" he murmured, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

"Yes."

"Fuck." Satoru stepped aside and let you enter his apartment. "Give me ten minutes. Fifteen, tops."

You stepped inside, setting your suitcase down by the door. The apartment was quiet, save for the distant sounds of the city outside and Satoru's hurried movements from room to room. "Be right back," he said and disappeared into the bathroom. 

The sound of running water soon filled the space.

Left to your own devices, you began to pace the living area of his apartment. "So, what's the plan? Did you even prepare the lecture?" you called out, raising your voice slightly to be heard over the sound of the shower.

From the bathroom, Satoru's laughter echoed. "I'm always prepared, as you can see."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." You meandered around the room, straightening out a stack of papers here, realigning books there — a small attempt to bring order to Satoru's organized chaos. "You really haven't prepared, have you?"

"Ah, you know me too well," he called back. "Didn't you prepare something?"

"Of course, I did."

After a few minutes, the water turned off, and the apartment fell into a brief silence before Satoru reappeared. His hair was wet and slicked back, giving him a more put-together appearance, despite the fact he was only in his underwear. Droplets of water glistened on his skin, trailing down his chest and abs. Your gaze shamelessly lingered.

"I knew I could count on you," he teased, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. 

"Sometimes I wonder how you even managed to become a professor."

"Do you really hold such a low opinion of me? The lecture's all set on my laptop. We'll go over it during the drive," he reassured, before striding towards his bedroom.

You followed him, leaning against the doorframe. "And here I was, worried you'd forgotten about the professional part of being a professor."

He laughed, pulling on a pair of trousers and beginning to button up a shirt. "Never doubt my commitment to teaching. My methods may be unconventional, but the results speak for themselves."

He then began throwing random cloths on his bed to pack. His shirt, only half-tucked, fluttered with each brisk movement.

You stepped into the room to offer some semblance of help — or at least moral support. Making yourself comfortable on the bed beside the pile of cloths, you observed his somewhat arbitrary decision-making process, each choice seemingly dictated by a 'that'll do' attitude.

"Shall I help pick out a tie that will adequately convey 'accountable professor,' or have we already moved beyond such formalities?"

Satoru shot you a look. "Haha, very funny," he retorted. "I'll have you know, I perform excellently under pressure."

Adjusting his shirt, he secured his belt with a metallic click. "Besides," he continued, now fully dressed and giving off an air of readiness, "I was counting on your impeccable sense of organization to make sure we didn't forget anything important."

You arched an eyebrow. "So, I'm your security plan? Here I thought I was the co-presenter."

He paused, his gaze intensifying as he crossed the room in two strides. Climbing onto the bed, his presence loomed over you, his nearness overwhelming.

"You're much more than that," he said, his voice softer this time. "You're everything."

The room seemed to hold its breath, the early morning light casting long shadows that danced around you both. Without another word, Satoru leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. It was a fleeting touch, yet it sparked a longing that begged for more.

He didn't wait long to deepen the kiss, pressing his lips even harder against yours. Your lips locked together as if starved for each other's embrace. Savoring every moment, they explored each other deeply. Before parting, Satoru's teeth nipped at your lower lip.

Parting, Satoru's eyes shimmered in the morning light, his fingertip delicately tracing the line of your cheekbone. "Now, let's make sure we're not late because of my supposed unpreparedness."

─── ·✧· ───

The drive to the other university unfolded under a sky so clear and blue it seemed almost surreal. it was an eight-hour drive, maybe more. You may have slept half the way.

The closer you got to the coast, the more the air changed, imbued with a freshness that hinted at the vast expanse of water nearby. When you finally arrived at the university, the salty tang of the ocean breeze greeted you, wafting through the warm air. You stepped out of the car, stretching your legs and taking a deep breath.

Satoru led the way across the campus with a stride that suggested familiarity. The university itself was an impressive collection of modern and classical architecture, its buildings bathed in the golden light of the sun. 

You followed Satoru closely as you navigated through the lively campus. Students and faculty alike went about their day. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, casting playful shadows on the paths that crisscrossed the grounds.

"I have a feeling this isn't your first time here," you said.

Satoru glanced over at you, a smile playing on his lips. "Ah, the director here is an old friend of mine."

"So, this is a bit of a reunion for you two, then?"

"In a way, yes." The sun accentuated the subtle lines of amusement around his eyes. "But to be honest, he's always been a pain in my ass. We've been challenging each other since our university days. Always trying to outdo one another, whether in academics, research, or... well, less scholarly things."

What's that supposed to mean?

Satoru didn't hesitate as he approached the director's office. He raised his hand and knocked firmly on the door, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet hallway. You stood by his side, a whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind.

"Come in," called a voice from inside.

As Satoru pushed the door open, you both entered.

The director was a man in his thirties, the same age as Satoru, you guessed. His hair was loosely combed back, and his hair had a light pink blush that you found rather unusual. What caught your eye, however, were the geometric line tattoos adorning his arms, revealed by his rolled-up sleeves.

The director rose from his chair upon your entrance. The familiarity between him and Satoru was immediate. "Toru, it's been ages!" he exclaimed.

Toru?

Toru?

That casual nickname threw you for a moment.

The two of them embraced each other in a firm hug that seemed almost painful to an outsider. "Sukuna, you haven't changed a bit."

Turning his focus to you, Sukuna's sharp eyes found you. "And you must be the talented co-presenter I've heard so much about," he said, his voice carrying a smooth confidence that bordered on arrogance. "How was the drive over? I hope Toru here didn't bore you too much with his old university stories."

Stop calling him Toru, for fuck's sake.

Before you could muster a response, Sukuna took your hand in his, bending slightly to press a kiss to the back of it — a gesture that felt oddly out of place and left you feeling momentarily disoriented. "Please, call me Sukuna," he insisted, his grin wide.

I'm going to call you an asshole if you don't let go of my hand right now.

Sukuna stepped back and leaned against his desk. "So, Toru," he began, "are you still trying to save the world one brain at a time?"

"Someone's got to do it, especially when others are too busy terrorizing the next generation of doctors," he retorted.

Sukuna laughed. "Ah, but you know, adversity breeds excellence. Or so I keep telling them. I remember times, where you did the same."

Satoru chuckled. "You know me, always up for a challenge."

"That's for sure" Sukuna scoffed, he then adressed you. "You know that your professor always trying to beat me at... Well, anything, really."

"That's because you set the bar so low," Satoru shot back.

"Me? Low? I just see one person in this room leading a whole university." 

Satoru leaned back in his chair. "That's just because I hate paperwork. I can't believe they even suggested you for this job after you barely making it to morning rounds for years."

Sukuna laughed, leaning forward. "Ah yes, but who was it that set the record for the most successful procedures in a single semester? Remind me, Toru."

Satoru's smirk grew wider. "Must have been the same person who had to repeat almost every exam."

Sukuna waved dismissively. "Details, details. But what happened? You became so tame."

"Grow older, you know. Wiser. Would suit you as well."

Sukuna chraked a smile and turned to you again. "Ah, so it's your influence, then?" You winced. "Impressive. I've never seen anyone manage to keep Toru on a leash before."

What is wrong with this guy.

Satoru's reaction was immediate, his eyes narrowing just a touch. "Don't go there Sukuna. We're here for a lecture you asked for, not for you to come at my student."

Sukuna raised his hands in a mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I give in. It seems you've finally met your match."

Sukuna pushed away from his desk and walked around it. "I'm looking forward to your lecture. The students and faculty are in for a treat. But now I have to go, I have a meeting in 10 minutes. But, maybe we can catch up later, reminisce about the good old days."

"Sounds like a plan," Satoru said, rising from his seat.

"I'll call you." Sukuna collected some papers and his bag, nodding to both of you before leaving the office.

"I didn't expect you two to be so close," you commented as you both made your way down the sunlit hallway. "You seem like a different person around him."

Satoru raised an eyebrow. "Different, how?"

"It's just... It's like you're returning to your university self."

He pondered your words for a moment. "Sukuna was a close friend of mine during my university days. We went through a lot together. But somewhere along the way, our paths parted. He climbed the academic ladder, and I... well, I found my calling in neurosurgery."

"It must be nice to catch up after all these years."

Satoru nodded. "It is. We've both changed in many ways, but some things remain the same."

As you both made your way out of the university and to the car, the afternoon sun made the door handles almost too hot to touch. "So what are we gonna do now?" you asked as Satoru opened the passenger door for you.

"I know a place."

─── ·✧· ───

"Feels like holiday here," you observed, taking a sip of your ice-cold drink.

"That's why I brought you here," Satoru replied with an easy smile.

Seated at a cozy corner of a beachside bar, you and Satoru found a spot in the shade. The bar was open-air, offering an unobstructed view of the expansive beach and the calm sea beyond. Around you, the soft chatter of other guests and the gentle sound of the waves in the background.

With cold drinks in hand, you both relaxed into the comfortable silence, taking in the sight of the azure waters and the feel of the light sea breeze.

Curiosity eventually got the better of you. "So, how did you and Sukuna meet?"

Satoru leaning back, glancing at you over his sunglasses. "You're really asking a lot about him."

"Just curious."

"Sukuna and I did our undergraduate together, and eventually we both decided to do an exchange semester here," he explained, his gaze drifting towards the horizon. "This place, this university, it holds a lot of memories."

You watched him, waiting for him to continue.

"Sukuna was always the more... adventurous one, I guess. Always pushing the limits, dragging me along for the ride."

"Sounds like you had quite the time."

Satoru laughed. "Guess you can say that. Sukuna had this knack for finding trouble, and somehow, I always ended up being his wingman."

As a silence fell between you, you found yourself biting your lower lip, a sense of unease growing within you.

After a moment, Satoru broke the quiet. "What's on your mind, love?"

Taken aback, you paused. "It's nothing, really."

Satoru's expression softened. "I can see that something's bothering you." As he spoke, he reached across the table, his hand finding yours. His fingers wrapped around your hand, offering a comforting warmth as his thumb began to softly caress your skin.

"Just a bit surprising to see this side of you. It's so different."

He exhaled softly and turned his attention back to the horizon, where the sea met the sky in a seamless blend of colors, his hand still holding yours across the table. "Because I was different then. But Sukuna's idea of adventure was often too close to the edge for my liking. Still, I let myself get swept along." His eyes met yours again. "But not anymore."

You offered a faint smile in response.

The calm moment was abruptly shattered when Satoru's other hand unexpectedly twitched, causing his drink to slip from his grip. The glass hit the sand below with a loud thud.

You jumped at the sudden sound. "Are you okay?"

He looked down at his hand, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "Seems so." He flexed his fingers as if to reassure himself. "Hm, that's new." His attempt at nonchalance did little to mask the undercurrent of concern in his voice.

Satoru turned his attention back to you. "Really, I'm fine," he reiterated, seeing the worry that hadn't quite left your eyes.

"How much clonidine did you take today?"

"I haven't taken any. Thought I'd try a day without." Satoru read the concern on your face, a soft chuckle escaping him. "Don't give me that face."

"What face?"

"That worried face. I'd rather see you smile."

"I wouldn't be so worried if you could just take your damn medicine."

Satoru suddenly rose from his seat, closing the distance between you two. His hands found the arms of your chair. He leaned in, his voice a low, coaxing whisper. "Then perhaps you'd be willing to administer it more... personally?"

"Satoru, we're not alone here," you reminded him, though the intensity of his gaze made the rest of the world seem momentarily distant.

He grinned. "Does it matter? No one here knows us."

"Still—"

Your protest was barely audible before he interjected, "I know something better." Before you could process his words, or even respond, you found yourself lifted effortlessly, the world tilting as Satoru slung you over his shoulder in one fluid motion.

"What? What are you doing?"

He strode towards the water's edge, the sand beneath his feet giving way to the firmer, wet surface as the waves lapped gently at the shore. 

"Put me down, Satoru!"

"Why so fierce, sweetheart?" His voice was teasing, laced with amusement.

Suspicion flickered in your eyes as you sensed his intentions, the vast, open sea just steps away. "Satoru, don't you dare—"

It was too late for warnings. With a mischievous grin, Satoru charged, plunging both of you into the shallow embrace of the ocean waves. The water was surprisingly warm, enveloping you both as you made a splash, your clothes instantly soaking up the sea. 

You were underwater for a second, before you broke the surface. Satoru shook his head, water droplets flying from his hair, which now clung to his forehead and temples in dark, damp strands. 

You pushed away, swimming a few strokes back to put some space between you. "You're insane!" you exclaimed as you splashed water in his direction. 

Satoru shielded himself with his hands, still laughing. "You have to admit, it's refreshing!" he retorted, dodging your playful splashes with ease. The sunlight, now a rich golden, bathed the water around you, each splash shimmering like liquid gold in the dying light.

"Come here," he said as he swam over to you, pulling you close to him in the water. The water lifted you both, gently swaying you in its embrace as you floated together, suspended between sea and sky.

His hand reached up to cradle your face. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he held you close. His eyes, reflecting the sky's ever-changing hues, held yours. You held your breath, momentarily lost in his gaze.

"Promise me this," he said, "as soon as I'm clean, we drop the act. No more hiding, no games. I want you, only you, and I want us to be official. I want you to be mine."

As he spoke, there was an honesty in his crystal blue eyes you hadn't seen before, a vulnerability he rarely showed. He was not the confident surgeon you knew, not the serious professor. He was just Satoru, raw and sincere, laying his heart bare before you — laying his love bare before you.

In that moment, with the waves gently crashing around you and the last rays of the sun setting the sky aflame, you knew there was no turning back. You were his, completely and irrevocably, and nothing could change that.

"I've always been yours," you whispered.

It was a promise, a plea, a surrender, a confession all at once. Because you felt like surrendering — surrendering to him — but it was easy — surrendering to him was easy. Because every moment you weren't in his embrace was lost. Empty. Meaningless.

Because in the end, nothing else mattered but him.

And he smiled.

His chest emptied of a breath he must have held for a long time.

And then, as naturally as the tide finds the shore, his lips found yours.

The kiss was soft, unhurried, as if time itself had slowed to savor the moment between you. Every worry, every fear melted away, replaced by the conviction that you were exactly where you were meant to be. It was a promise. It was home.

For in his kiss, you had found your home.

And he found his.

Your mouths part ever so slightly as you breathe out. The salty taste of the sea lingered on your lips. Satoru smiled at you, his forehead gently resting against yours. Then, with an intensity that spoke volumes, his lips found yours once more.

This kiss was different from any before, making you feel alive in a way that nothing else ever could. Beneath the water's surface, he pulled you even closer, his touch electric against your skin. You responded in kind, wrapping your legs around his hips as he held you both above the water's edge.

With the waves softly cradling you, you floated weightlessly, your bodies intertwined like seaweed in the gentle currents. And in that fleeting moment, you knew one thing for sure:

This man would either be your forever or your ultimate downfall.

─── ·✧· ───

As you entered the hotel lobby, the air conditioning hit you like a wave. The hotel staff cast sidelong glances your way, noticing the faint trail of saltwater you inadvertently left behind on the polished floor.

Your hotel rooms were conveniently located next to each other. The saltwater had left its mark, clinging to your skin and hair. After a refreshing shower, you were just in the process of drying your hair when a knock came at your door. 

You opened it to find Satoru leaning casually against the doorframe. He had changed into a fresh set of clothes, his hair still slightly damp from his own shower, giving him a carefree, almost boyish appearance.

"Hey, how about a game of pool?" he suggested with an easy smile. "Sukuna challenged us and I thought it might be fun."

You blinked. "I've never actually played before," you said as you dried your hair with a towel.

Satoru's smile widened. "Perfect, then I'll have the pleasure of teaching you. It'll be fun, I promise."

"But wouldn't it be a bit... weird? I mean, with me being a student and you both being professors..." 

Satoru shrugged. "It's just a game of pool. Besides, we're not at the university now, and Sukuna's not one to care about formalities. Trust me, it'll be fine."

You watched him for a moment, pondering.

"I really want you to come," he insisted, leaning in a bit closer.

"Okay," you said. "Let me just get dressed."

Satoru's grin widened. He pushed off from the doorframe. "Great! I'll wait for you outside."

Soon enough you found yourself leaning over a green baize-covered billiard table. 

In the dimly lit ambiance of the hotel's bar, the sound of clinking glasses and muffled conversations created a backdrop to the night's unfolding scene. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and the faint hint of cigar smoke.

The weight of the cue in your hands felt foreign. Your focus narrowed to the white cue ball that awaited your command.

Satoru moved closer, his body brushing against yours as he positioned himself to guide your shot. "Just lean over the table a bit more," he said, his voice low and close to your ear. He placed one hand on your back to guide you down. "Yeah, like that."

"Now hold the cue like this." His hands gently cupped yours, adjusting your grip. His fingers intertwined with yours. The warmth of his hands seeped through your skin, sending a subtle shiver down your spine. "And aim just there," he continued, pointing to a spot on the cue ball.

In the background, Sukuna leaned against a nearby wall across from you, observing the scene. His eyes sparkled with an amused interest, clearly entertained by the exchange. Every now and then, his gaze would meet yours, a silent challenge, or perhaps a tease, lurking within their depths.

"Focus on where you want the ball to go," Satoru whispered, his breath ghosting over the nape of your neck as he spoke. With a deep breath, you attempted to steady your nerves, to push aside the awareness of Satoru's proximity and the curious gaze of Sukuna. 

You pulled back the cue, your eyes locked on the target, and with a push, sent the cue ball rolling across the table. The crack of the balls colliding echoed through the room. A stripe sank into a corner pocket.

"Well done." Satoru stepped back to allow you space to straighten up, yet his hand remained on the small of your back. "See, you're a natural."

"Don't let him fool you. He's just happy to have found someone who'll listen to him ramble about angles and force," Sukuna's voice cut in. 

Satoru laughed. "Maybe, but it seems to be working."

Sukuna pushed off the wall. "Watch and learn, kids." He set aside his glass of liquor and made his way over to the table.

Beside you, Satoru pulled you close, his arm casually wrapped around your shoulders. 

It felt oddly normal.

Oddly normal — the way his arm was around you, the way you shared a laugh with an old friend of his, the way the world's expectations drifted into insignificance. 

It was easy, in those moments, to forget the roles you each played in the outside world. Here, you were just two people, enjoying the company of each other.

The cue slid smoothly between Sukuna's fingers as he took aim. The shot was clean, the ball rolling into the pocket with a satisfying thud. "That's how it's done," he declared, turning to face you and Satoru, a broad grin on his face.

"Not bad, Sukuna. But you're not the only one with skills here," Satoru quipped. He drew you closer for a fleeting kiss on your temple before pushing away to snatch the cue from Sukuna's grip.

It all felt oddly normal.

As the game wound down and it was once again your turn at the table. You focused on lining up your shot, the cue stick feeling more familiar in your hands now. Satoru stepped back to give you space, joining Sukuna at the side of the billiard table.

"Didn't think you'd ever fuck a student," Sukuna said, in a not so low tone.

"Shut it Sukuna. She can hear you."

Yeah. You could hear him.

"You're not even denying it?" Sukuna pressed.

You could feel their eyes on you as you took your shot, the balls clattering against each other but not quite finding their way into the pockets.

"We're both adults," Satoru replied.

"Is that why you let her do surgery with you?" Sukuna insinuated with a smirk. "Is she that good in bed?"

You hated him.

He knew you could hear him. 

He was deliberately provoking you.

"You should stop drinking, Sukuna." Satoru put a hand on Sukuna's shoulder. He then moved closer to you. "Don't take him seriously," he said, gently taking the cue from your hands to take his turn. "He doesn't know when to stop."

Oh really?

You turned to meet Sukuna's gaze. He leaned back casually against the edge of the table. His gaze fixed on you as he took a sip from his drink. The casual flick of his wrist and the confident tilt of his head suggested a man used to getting his way.

"So, Sukuna," you started. "Why have you stepped back from surgery? Couldn't keep up, or were you just not cut out for it?"

Satoru's eyebrows shot up, a mix of surprise and amusement flickering across his face. Sukuna paused, his drink halfway to his mouth. A low chuckle escaped him.

"Didn't know you had such a sharp tongue," Sukuna remarked, his grin broad and unfazed. "For your information, Satoru and I were pretty much equal."

"Yet, here you are, no longer in the operating room. Couldn't handle the competition?"

Sukuna leaned forward, placing his drink on the table with deliberate slowness. "Competition?" he echoed, a trace of amusement in his voice. "Let me correct that for you. I was the one setting the pace. Satoru here was always two steps behind, trying to catch up."

Satoru scoffed. "If by 'setting the pace' you mean rushing into things without thinking them through, then sure, you were the leader."

"Ah, but where's the fun without a little risk?" Sukuna said.

You tilted your head. "And not missing the risk? Or did the thrill get too much for you?"

"The thrill, dear, never gets too much for me. It's just that I found a bigger game to play. One where the stakes are higher, and the victories, more satisfying. Running a university, shaping the future of medicine — that's where the real power lies."

You stepped closer to him. "So, this is all about power for you? Need to compensate for shortcomings elsewhere?" Without breaking eye contact, you picked up Sukuna's drink, taking a measured sip. "Or could it be that you seek power as a convenient escape from the harsh truth of your own irrelevance in the field of medical research?"

Sukuna's eyes traced over your form, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, I see why you like her, Toru."

"Only just realizing that now?" Satoru quipped with a smirk.

Sukuna retrieved the glass from your grasp, his fingers brushing against yours, and took a sip himself. "I'm quite intrigued to hear that lecture of yours."

"Make sure to listen well, you might learn a thing or two. After all, neurosurgery evolves rapidly, and you've been out of the game for quite some time."

Satoru approached you. "Don't tear him apart completely, sweetheart."

"Don't worry, Toru. I can handle a bit of attitude," Sukuna shot back with a grin.

As the evening progressed, the alcohol flowed freely, mostly from Sukuna's glass but Satoru didn't shy away either. You found yourself the only sober one left, Sukuna's teasing escalating in equal measure with his alcohol intake.

Sukuna draped an arm around your shoulder, the scent of alcohol clear as he spoke. "This man here used to be the life of every party," he pointed with his finger to Satoru, "there wasn't a dare he wouldn't take or a line he wouldn't cross. Isn't that right, Toru?"

"Those were different times," Satoru, who had been lining up his shot, paused, offering a tight-lipped smile. "We were just kids doing stupid things."

"But they're unforgettable," Sukuna persisted. "Especially that one night you decided to break the university record for the most girls fucked in a single night. How many was it again?"

The air thickened with tension, Sukuna's provocations cutting deeper with each word.

Why was he doing this?

It felt like Sukuna was intentionally trying to provoke you.

"Maybe we should get back to the game, Sukuna. Your shot," Satoru said.

But Sukuna was relentless. "Oh, but the best parts are yet to come. Like your experimental phase. How many substances did you try to 'expand your mind'? Always on the lookout for the next high, weren't you?"

Wait. 

Sukuna knew too? 

Why hadn't Satoru mentioned any of this to you? 

You felt sick—a tight knot forming in your stomach. You glanced at Satoru, noting the tension in his jaw.

"Sukuna, that's enough," Satoru's voice held a warning edge.

"What? I'm just reminiscing about the good old days," Sukuna said, his tone falsely innocent. "Unless... there are parts of your past you're not so proud of?"

You felt a chill run down your spine.

The way Sukuna wielded these stories like weapons, the ease with which he stripped bare Satoru's vulnerabilities, was nothing short of cruel.

You watched the scene unfold before your eyes. Witnessing. Unable to say anything. Perhaps a part of you wanted to hear it. Hear what Satoru had done in his past. Hear every dirty secret of the man you had fallen for, as you looked into his beautiful blue eyes.

You could see the strain in Satoru's posture, the effort it took for him to maintain his composure. It was clear that Sukuna's words had struck a nerve, peeling back layers of Satoru's past he had hoped to keep hidden.

Satoru set his pool cue down with more force than necessary. "Sukuna, what are you trying to do here? We all have things in our past we'd rather leave there. I'm no exception. But I've moved on. I suggest you do the same."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Oh, come on, Toru. It's not like you to shy away from who you are. Or has this precious student of yours made you forget who you really are?" His grip on your shoulder tightened, the pressure suffocating.

You felt awful. Every point of contact with Sukuna felt awful. Dirty.

You unwound from Sukuna's hold. "It's late, I'll go to my room."

As you started to walk away, Satoru's hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. "Please, wait. Don't leave."

"Satoru, I can't just stand here while he taunts you for his own amusement, and you shouldn't either. Come with me."

"He's just messing around. It's been ages since we've been together."

"Don't you see? He's a bad influence, Satoru. It's time to call it a night, for both of us."

Satoru sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sukuna's an old friend. Our history is complicated, but he's not all bad."

"Are you really that blind?" you questioned, freeing yourself from his grip. "Satoru, you should get some rest. We have a lecture tomorrow." With that, you turned and left the bar, leaving Satoru and Sukuna alone in the bar.

You had enough for the night.

─── ·✧· ───

You couldn't sleep.

You tossed and turned in your bed over and over, but sleep eluded you.

The hotel's corridors remained quiet. You didn't hear any sign of Satoru's return.

The digital clock on your bedside table had just flickered to 2:47 AM when you heard soft knocking on your door. Barefoot, you crossed the room, the carpet cool under your feet. You were wearing only a loose shirt and underwear as you opened the door.

Satoru stood before you,  a hand bracing against the doorframe. His hair was disheveled, clothes rumpled. The hallway light cast deep shadows over his face, accentuating the tiredness in his eyes and the unusual pallor of his skin.

Your heart tightened at the sight.

"Satoru, what's—"

"I... I need to be with you," he barely whispered, the strain evident in his voice. 

You reached out, your fingers lightly caressing his face, pushing back the damp strands of hair from his forehead. "What happened, Satoru? Did you—"

"No," he cut in hastily, straightening a bit to meet your gaze more directly. "I didn't take anything. It's just—," he paused, his brows furrowed as he glanced away, "I wanted to so damn hard. I needed it so damn hard, to feel...better."

"Come inside," you said, stepping aside to let him into your room, closing the door with a quiet click behind him.

He moved hesitantly, as though unsure of his welcome. But you urged him inward. He walked into your hotel room, where he sat down onto the bed, his head in his hands.

"It's bad," he admitted after a moment, his voice muffled. "I thought I could manage it, but..."

You approached him, drawing him into an embrace where his head rested against your stomach, your fingers gently combing through his hair. "Talk to me. What happened?"

"Sukuna knows how to push all the wrong buttons." A bitter laugh escaped him. "I should have known better. It just brought everything back. The urge, the need—it's clawing at me."

"But you didn't give in," you said. "That's what matters."

"Does it? Because right now, it feels like I'm losing my mind."

"You're not losing your mind."

His gaze lifted to meet yours, there was a raw vulnerability in his eyes that stole the air from your lungs. It was fear — fear of addiction, fear of a possible relapse and, perhaps most of all, fear of losing you. "I'm sorry, I should have left with you. I shouldn't have let you go. I should have punched Sukuna in the face for what he said to you."

"It's okay. Sukuna is part of your past, it's not easy to cut ties with someone who's been important in your life. I get it. But still, you're stupid."

"Don't be so understanding. Hate me at least a little bit." 

Yeah, you were angry with him, angry that he didn't see that Sukuna was an asshole, that he deliberately tried to rile him you and Satoru up for his own sick amusement. 

But how could you be angry with him now? 

Not when he was so vulnerable.

Not when you could feel the slight trembling in his body.

Not when you could literally feel his craving to get high.

But he didn't. He resisted. Because he promised you to.

Satoru let out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping. "I don't want to drag you into this mess. You deserve so much more than someone who can't even get his act together."

"But that's not for you to decide," you said. "I'm here, Satoru, because I want to be. Because I care about you. Through struggles and all."

"Even after what Sukuna said about me?"

"Are you asking me if I find you being a whore in your university days worse than you being an addict?" You arched an eyebrow. "Satoru, if I were easily deterred, I would have left the first time I found you high. I think we're past the point where anything about you could scare me away."

Satoru's laughter held a touch of bitterness as he rested his head against your stomach again. His hands trailed up your back, fingers tracing delicate patterns along your spine, sending shivers coursing through your body. "I don't deserve you."

"You're right, you really don't."

In one swift motion, he lifted your shirt, his warm breath cascading over your bare skin. His lips followed suit, planting tender kisses along the base of your ribcage, gradually traversing across your stomach. Each gentle touch elicited a soft sigh from you.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, every word a caress against your skin. "Every inch of you is perfect."

You gazed down at him. "Satoru, what—"

His tongue darted out to lick and kiss the contours of your waist, each movement deliberate and unhurried. Each brush of his lips sent a wave of yearning through you, forcing your body to arch towards him, each touch a silent plea for more.

"I know I'm being selfish," he whispered, his hands finding their place on your hips, drawing you closer to him. "But fuck, I need you now."

He wanted to stop, dear reader. He really did. 

He felt awful. But he couldn't. Simply couldn't. 

He needed you. 

Needed you like air. 

Needed you like drugs.

And you obliged.

Without hesitation, you gently pushed him back and straddled him. His arms enveloped you, pulling you close as you leaned in to capture his lips. 

His lips tasted like alcohol — they tasted like him.

His lips moved slowly and deliberately at first, tracing the contours of yours as if mapping out every curve. Then, his kiss became more urgent, more demanding. Tongue danced with tongue, awakening a hunger that neither of you could ignore.

"Are you sure about this?" he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your skin.

"Yes," you responded equally breathlessly.

He released your lips, trailing tender kisses down the side of your neck. His hands wandered under your shirt, caressing the smooth skin of your waist and back.

He kissed down to the base of your neck, where your collarbones met. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as though committing your scent to memory. Then he traced the delicate line of your bone structure with his tongue, making you shiver.

You closed your eyes and let out a soft moan, surrendering entirely to him.

You began to grind against him, savoring the rough texture of his pants against your bare skin. Your fingers entwined in his hair as you leaned further into him, feeling his arousal pressing against you. You wanted him inside you, needed him to claim you completely.

He tilted his head back, strained moans escaping his throat—fuck, he was so hot when he moaned. You could feel his muscles tense, his breath hitching with every subtle shift of your hips. You felt him growing harder, his arousal swelling against your core.

He plunged forward once more, planting a wet, open-mouthed kiss right on the hollow of her throat. The suddenness of the move left you breathless. You clutched his shoulders tightly, trying to ground yourself in the rising tide of longing.

Slowly, he worked his way back up your neck, each kiss more intense than the last. By the time his lips returned to yours, you were panting heavily, your mind spinning with need. 

"God, I want you so badly right now," he muttered hoarsely, his eyes fixed on your parted lips. 

"Then fuck me already," you replied boldly, your heart pounding in your ears. 

He grinned wickedly.

Without breaking stride, he let himself fall onto the bed behind him and dragged you with him. He pushed you up onto him. His hands roamed over your thighs as he guided you to sit on his face.

Satoru wasted no time. He pushed your underwear aside with one hand, the other hand held you in place, fingers digging into your waist. Then his tongue darted forth to claim you, teasing you, causing you to gasp aloud. 

Savoring your initial reaction, he continued to tease you, licking your clit with expert precision. His tongue plunged deep into your core, tracing circles around your clit before flickering rapidly across its tip.

He slid one finger inside you, curling it upward to press directly against the inner wall of you. As he continued to thrust into you, you moaned, feeling your walls tighten around him in response. "You taste so good, I can't get enough of you," he purred, adding another finger as you cried out.

He began to move his fingers in a steady rhythm, driving himself deeper and harder into your core. Your legs began to tremble, overwhelmed by the sensation of his fingers stroking your insides as his tongue continued to lick and suck your sensitive clit.

"Yes, right there...oh God!" You cried out as he hit all the right spots. Somehow that man seemed to perfectly understand precisely what you needed to push you beyond the point of mere pleasure and into the realm of wild, unbridled ecstasy.

"Come for me, beautiful," he urged, his warm breath against your skin drawing another moan from you. "Give yourself up to me completely."

Between his fingers and his talented tongue, you quickly approached a fever pitch. You cried out his name as the tension finally broke. Satoru pushed his fingers deeper into you than ever before, enjoying the way your walls contracted around him as you rode out your orgasm.

Breathless, you tried to regain your composure as Satoru continued to lazily lick your clit, making your legs twitch. "You get so fucking tight when you come," he said, then meticulously licked you all up and placed a final kiss on your clit.

You let yourself fall to the side of him. He rolled over to be on top of you in an instant. He wiped his mouth with the flat of his hand before his lips found yours again. The taste of you still lingered on his lips as Satoru deepened the kiss.

His hand reached up and gripped the side of your throat tightly, adding just enough pressure to make you moan into the kiss. Your hands began to move restlessly across his chest, clutching his shirt and pulling him closer.

You couldn't help but notice the way his shirt hugged his broad shoulders, the way his hair fell in soft strands around his face. Then you reached out and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the hard muscles of his torso underneath.

"God, you drive me wild," he rasped, reaching out to stroke the inside of your parted thighs. "The sight of you alone makes me insane." His lips brushed against your neck, trailing kisses along the length of you throat.

Your hands slid down, fingers deftly working at the buckles of his belt. "Take me, Satoru. Don't hold back. Use me however you need me," you whispered as you impatiently tugged at the leather strap.

"Don't say that." Satoru's eyes darkened as he watched you work at his belt, his fingers trembling slightly. When the belt finally came loose, you pushed at his pants, urging them downward until they pooled around his knees.

"Why?" you breathed, your gaze locked with his.

"Because I can't hold back if you say things like that."

"I don't want you to hold back. I want to feel every inch of you inside me, Satoru. Now. Please." With that, you leaned in, capturing his lips in a searing kiss, your body craving his heat and his touch.

At your words, Satoru felt a primal surge course through his veins. You offered yourself to him willingly, with no reservations whatsoever. It was an invitation he couldn't refuse — one that left him reeling with desire. He stripped off the rest of his clothes, leaving only his bare skin exposed.

Satoru grabbed you by the waist and rolled you over, pulling your underwear down.

You gasped as his hands slid down your back, caressing the smooth skin of your back before he lifted you just enough to be at perfect angle to him. You moaned softly, pressing against him as he positioned himself behind you.

He paused for a second, savoring the sight of you before him, the one who had captured his heart and soul in such a short time. It still didn't seem real — that someone like you would choose to be with someone like him.

You gasped as he started to push inside you, stretching you slowly but surely with each inch. As he sank deeper into you, he knew that he would do everything in his power to make you happy, to protect you, to love you.

But right now he only wanted to fuck you like you deserved it.

He grabbed onto your waist, pulling you back against him so he could delve even further into your depths. You moaned as he began to thrust into you, deep and hard, filling you completely. Each time he pulled out almost completely, before he slammed into you again and again.

Your head fell forward, your hair cascading down your face. Each time Satoru pushed deeper into you, low moans escaped his parted lips, his head thrown back. "You feel so good...so right..."

You closed your eyes, your fingers digging into the crisp white sheets below you as Satoru moved behind you. Your senses were on fire, every nerve ending ablaze with the intensity of his touch as you felt Satoru's fingers digging deeply into your skin, leaving bruises that would linger long after tonight was over.

Satoru's hands then moved up your chest underneath your shirt, pulling you close and up against his muscular frame. You're back against his chest as he continued to thrust deeper and deeper into you. His other hand found your throat, grabbing it tightly as you arched into him. His breath hot against your neck as he moaned into your ear.

He quickened his pace, each thrust more fervent than the last. It was almost too much. Sill, you craved more — needed more. "Please, Satoru. Make me yours."

He obeyed, slamming into you with renewed force, pushing you harder and faster toward your orgasm. Every inch of your being focused solely on the sensation of his thick shaft filling you, making you feel alive in a way you never thought possible. 

As Satoru continued to move inside you, you felt his hand reach up, parting your lips. Your heart skipped a beat as he slid two fingers into your mouth, pushing them deep inside. You gasped slightly, the sensation electric as he thrust his fingers into your mouth.

You moaned loudly, your head falling back as you surrendered completely to his will. In that moment, nothing else existed outside of the two of you. You didn't care if anyone would hear you. All that mattered was the overwhelming rush that pulsed through you, threatening to consume you whole.

With a sudden force, Satoru withdrew his fingers and pushed you forward, forcing you down on all fours. He wrapped his hand in your hair and yanked your head back sharply, causing you to cry out.

Without hesitation or mercy, he drove himself inside you, pain and pleasure melded seamlessly together. His hips pumped fiercely, pounding into you with an intensity that took your breath away. He gripped your hair even tighter, pushing you further and further towards the edge.

Your walls clenched tightly around him, desperate for release. And when you finally reached your peak, your cries blended seamlessly with his own moans. Satoru's body convulsed with the intensity of his climax as he released inside you. You could feel his muscles contract with each pulse of his ejaculation.

As you both tried to regain your composure and your breathing steadied, Satoru leaned in close, his warm breath caressing your skin. "How do I even deserve you," he whispered huskily.

You turned your head to meet his gaze. "Are you feeling better now?" you asked, the words slipping awkwardly from your lips as you felt a trail of fluid running down your inner thigh.

He leaned in closer, pressing a gentle kiss on your back before pulling out of you, wincing slightly as he did so. Satoru then collapsed next to you, one arm flung over his forehead, the other behind his head. 

Despite his heavy breathing and the slight furrow in his brows, a tender smile graced his features, the dimples on his cheeks deepening. "Yeah," he exhaled with a long sigh. "I feel fucking great."

Turning on his side to face you, his features were illuminated by the soft moonlight filtering through the window. He tenderly brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, tracing its path down to your cheekbone, he caressed your skin with utmost tenderness.

"Do you want to know what I thought when I first saw you?"

"What?"

"I thought, this woman knows her way around a challenging aneurysm like no one I've ever seen.'" His hand lingered on your cheek, the warmth of his touch caressing your skin. "It was... captivating to say the least. And beyond that, you were absolutely breathtaking."

"Captivating or arrogant to challenge you like that?"

He chuckled. "A bit arrogant, perhaps." His smile broadened. "Yet, I remember thinking, this woman is going to be the end of me.'"

"You're just saying that because you're flooded with oxytocin right now."

"No, it's the truth." He leaned in closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, a moment so full of emotion it seemed to pause time. "You are everything I've ever wanted," he whispered, affirming his words with another kiss.

"And I'm definitely going to talk to Sukuna tomorrow," he added.

"You don't have to. I'm a big girl, Satoru. I can defend myself."

"Yeah, I've seen that," he laughed.

Glancing at the clock, you sighed. "We should try to catch some sleep. We've got that lecture in like five hours."

"Sleep sounds good." Satoru shifted and pulled you closer into his embrace. You nestled into his arms, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest. The warmth of his body enveloped you, soothing the lingering tension of the night.

As you drifted into a peaceful slumber, wrapped in each other's embrace, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

─── ·✧· ───

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

x a/n:  to be honest, i don't really like this chapter myself, but i've been editing forever, so i'll just post it now and hope i can make up for it in the next one. kinda afraid that satoru comes off like an asshole in this chapter, but he's just having a bad withdrawal day D: he'll protect our dear reader again in the next chapter, as he should! ♡

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11

#gojo saturo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x you

[bellaveux]

hi! could you do one with wanda x reader being college best friends, and both of them being popular, but wanda is actually in love with reader and decides to tell her at one of their sleepovers? love love your writing :)

I ALWAYS HAVE | wanda maximoff x fem!reader

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: after a long night, wanda shows up at your apartment, carrying the heavy rain and her love for you past your doorstep.

content warnings: fluff, college!au, best friend!wanda, best friends to lovers, wanda is in looove, confessions

word count: 4.5k

note. srry for the long wait! i hope u like it n ty for requesting :)

Life without you was something Wanda could not picture. Each time she planned out her future, you were always there right beside her. To Wanda, life without you was unimaginable, a dark and lonely existence that held no joy or meaning. She was in love with you. You were her light in the darkness, her anchor in the storm, her best friend. Though the road ahead was uncertain, Wanda knew that she would always love you, with all her heart and soul, for as long as she lived. For Wanda, the love she felt for her best friend was a force that defied description, a deep, and abiding affection that consumed her heart and soul. From the moment she met you, Wanda knew that there was something special about you—so special that she wanted to be with you for the rest of her life.

Your friendship with Wanda was a beautiful paradox—a yin and yang of personalities that complemented each other perfectly. Despite your contrasting natures, the two of you were inseparable, joined at the hip in a bond of friendship that was the envy of all who knew the two of you. Your outgoing nature and sparkling personality were the perfect foil to Wanda's natural reserve and introspective tendencies.

She was always there for you, as you were for her. As best friends, you shared everything—your dreams, your fears, your triumphs, and your failures. Wanda was a steady presence in your life, offering a listening ear and a comforting hug whenever you needed it most. Whether it was a tough exam, a broken heart, or a difficult decision, Wanda was always there to support and encourage you, regardless of what was happening, offering her wisdom and perspective born of her own experiences.

It wasn’t easy to hide how she felt for you as they only intensified after time passed, and yet, Wanda could not bring herself to tell you the truth yet, afraid of the consequences that might follow. She knew the grace danger of losing you if you didn’t return her feelings. She pictured it; the confession, drifting apart from each other, to the point where you barely talk anymore, then becoming strangers. That timeline in her head was a dreadful imagination, and she prayed for it to never happen. Though, in her mind, she’d always think about what it would be like if you were hers, how she would kiss you, how she would hold you, how she would tell you that she loved you. She loved to imagine it; being the person you loved. It would’ve been heaven. But for a long time now, she was content to love you from afar, cherishing your friendship and silently yearning for something more.

“Hey, (y/n)!” A voice called out from behind you as you gathered your books.

Natasha walked up to you and smiled. She was the embodiment of the perfect blend of athleticism, intelligence, and charm. You were one of the fortunate few who had the privilege of calling Natasha a friend and found in Natasha a confidante, someone who was always willing to listen and offer sage advice. And Natasha, for her part, cherished your steadfast loyalty and unwavering support.

You’ve always known the unwavering attraction she had always had for you since you met, and always flirted with you lightly, wanting to have the honor take you out. But as flattering as it was, you never reciprocated as you weren’t really interested in being in a relationship with Natasha.

“Tony’s having a gathering again,” she informed you with a smirk. “It’s at his new house, the one with the big backyard. Think they’re doing some kind of campfire thing and Steve’s in charge of barbecue… Wanna go with me?”

“New mansion, you mean?” You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at the sound of her sultry voice. “Also, isn’t it going to rain today, Nat? I’m not trying to be a party pooper, but barbecue in the rain doesn’t sound too inviting.”

Natasha shrugged, softly wrapping an arm around your waist, “It’s pretty sunny out, so maybe the forecast is wrong today.”

“Well, you should hope that it is,” you say, pulling away from her before she could get any closer. “I’ll be home enjoying some time to myself while you guys have your little barbecue.”

Natasha watched with a smile, shaking her head as you waved and walked away from her. She left the classroom shortly after a few seconds passed, and you made your way over to the back of the room, where your best friend sat far from you, thanks to your crazy professor’s decision to have assigned seats.

Wanda sat near the back of the lecture hall, towards the top of the seats, where she had the power to overlook everything. She was talking to someone, you noticed. Some blonde who stood by her seat, clutching her books against her chest with a slight blush on her cheeks, while Wanda stared with that cold gaze like she always did. She, the enigmatic figure of the college campus, was known for her striking beauty and effortless charisma. Everywhere she went, people seemed to be drawn to her, hoping for a chance to catch her attention. Her reputation preceded her, with stories of her charm and poise spreading like wildfire amongst the student body. However, despite her overwhelming popularity, Wanda remained steadfastly serious and uninterested in the throngs of admirers vying for her attention.

That is, until it came to you.

“Who was that?” you sang, walking up to her long after the girl left and walked away.

“No one,” she shook her head, eyes lighting up the moment you stepped into her line of sight.

Truthfully, it really was no one—no one Wanda was interested in at least. The girl did seem to like her, and it showed in her mannerisms; the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the nervous laughter, and the rosy cheeks that donned her face as she spoke. It was all too obvious, but as always, Wanda was never interested.

But, she wished it were you who stood in her place instead.

Wanda had always been a serious and focused individual, her demeanor reflecting her dedication to her work and her determination to succeed. Yet, amidst her stoic exterior, there was a hidden softness, a tenderness that few had ever seen. And it was this tenderness that was reserved only for you, the one person who could make Wanda's serious façade crumble. Whenever Wanda was around you, her stern countenance would give way to a smile, her eyes lighting up with a warmth and affection that she rarely showed to anyone else.

“No one?” you repeated with a smirk playing at your lips. “Looked like she was in love with you.”

“In love? What are you talking about?” Wanda's smile grew wider, and she began to collect her books, nudging you slightly as she stood up.

You leaned against the edge of the desk behind you and shook your head at her, “God, Wanda… Did not you see how she was looking at you?”

“Yes, I did. In love is kind of a stretch, don’t you think?” Wanda raised her eyebrows and smirked. “Why? Are you jealous?”

“If you started dating someone, you’ll start seeing them more than me, so obviously, I am jealous,” you rolled your eyes and let a soft laugh fall past your lips.

Wanda couldn’t help but admire how pretty you looked in front of her, as you always do. Her green eyes took in every detail of your appearance, from the soft curves of your face to the graceful lines of your body. And yet, it wasn’t just your physical beauty that captivated Wanda. It was also the playful glint in your eyes as you rolled them, a subtle expression of humor and self-awareness that only served to enhance your charm.

Everyone else seemed to like you too, although, you practically chose not to notice. Your kindness and beauty were two sides of the same coin, each enhancing the other in a way that was truly breathtaking. With your radiant smile, you were a natural head-turner, drawing admiring glances from all who crossed your path. And yet, it was your innate kindness that made you truly remarkable, for you had a way of making others feel seen and valued, no matter who they were or where they came from.

God, was she in love with you.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” Wanda said honestly, gazing at you tenderly.

“You could literally have anyone you want, Wanda. I don't understand why you haven’t started dating anyone yet.” She watched as you brushed off her last statement as a joke and started to go on a rant about how many people liked her, “But, I’m not complaining… I’d keep you all to myself if I could.”

If only you knew how much Wanda’s heart fluttered at your last sentence.

“Are you going to Tony’s later?” she asked as you linked your arm with hers, beginning your walk out of the room.

“No, I think I’ll stay home tonight. I’ve got some studying to do anyway,” you told her. “Are you?”

“Well, Pietro’s going, and you know how he is so…”

“Yeah, okay,” you smiled. “Well, I think it’s raining later, so you might want to dress properly and bring an umbrella.”

And you were right. It did rain.

As the day wore on and the sun gradually dipped below the horizon, time seems to slip away from you like sand through your fingers. Your college classes, once a focal point of your day, now felt like a distant memory, and the sky, once bright and clear, now grew darker and more ominous with every passing moment until the clouds finally let the rain fall.

You sat by the window in your cozy apartment on a tranquil night, the soothing sound of raindrops tapping against the glass adds to the serene ambiance of your home. With a captivating book in your hand, you lose yourself in its pages, finding solace in the words that transport her to another world. The dim light from the lampposts outside casts a gentle glow, highlighting the pages of your book as you read with intense focus. The occasional flash of lightning illuminates the sky, offering a brief glimpse of the city below. The pitter-patter of the rain creates a symphony of sounds, creating a peaceful backdrop for your reading.

Yet, despite the tranquil setting, your mind raced with thoughts of your best friend and the party she had attended. A sense of curiosity and longing to know what Wanda was up to consumed your thoughts, as you began to watch the rain fall in a mesmerizing cascade. At this moment, your emotions were palpable, and your longing for connection with Wanda was almost tangible. The subdued light that filtered through the rain gave a melancholic tinge to the scene, mirroring your feelings of wistfulness and yearning.

As you glanced at the clock on your wall, you felt a sense of dismay wash over you as you saw the glowing digits read 1:42am. The late hour had crept up on you while you had been engrossed in your book, and now you realized with a tinge of regret that you had let time slip away from you once again. With a heavy sigh, you reluctantly closed the book and set it aside, feeling a sense of longing to continue reading, but also a growing awareness of the importance of rest. You began your nightly routine of getting ready for bed. You brushed your teeth with care, changed into your comfy clothes, and fluffed up your pillows.

Just as you were about to settle into bed and drift off to sleep, a notification from your phone interrupted the tranquility of the moment. It was a text message from Wanda.

can i come over?

You raised your eyebrows as you read it. While it wasn’t new for her to be sleeping over at your place, the timing of when she asked felt a little unfamiliar. Usually, she’d ask way earlier during the day, giving you time to prepare for it to do things like clean, although she never minded your mess, or buy food and snacks, renting a movie. You’d stay up late into the night, swapping stories and sharing each other’s deepest secrets. You’d talk about hopes and dreams, fears and doubts, and everything in between. Your conversations are always filled with warmth, kindness, and empathy, as you listen intently to each other's thoughts and feelings.

You sent a quick reply back as you sat on your bed, telling her that she can and not even a minute later, you heard a knock at the front door of your apartment. Had she been standing there? Waiting for your permission before she knocked? That sort of behavior was quite new, coming from Wanda. At this point, you even wondered if it was Wanda who was at your door right now, but all your questions were thrown out the window when you opened the door to see her standing before you, drenched from head to toe in the pouring rain outside. The droplets of water cascaded down her hair and clothes, leaving trails of wetness in their wake.

You let out an incredulous laugh, almost not believing your eyes, “Are you insane, Wanda? Did you walk all the way here? Can’t you see it’s pouring outside? I even told you to bring an umbrella!”

Questions followed out of your mouth as you grabbed her hand and pulled her into your apartment. Wanda couldn’t really focus on what you were saying in the moment, eyes falling down you to the hand that was intertwined with yours, feeling how perfectly they fit in her palm and wanting to soothe her thumb over your skin.

As Wanda stepped into your apartment, a sense of relief washed over her like a warm, cozy blanket. Her skin, drenched from the rain, was immediately enveloped by the comforting warmth of the room. The contrast between the cold, wet world outside and the snug sanctuary of the apartment was stark and palpable. Wanda could feel the heat radiating from the walls, radiators and the soft furnishings, creating an inviting ambiance that invited her to linger. As she stood there, basking in the toasty atmosphere, the chill from the rain slowly dissipated, leaving her feeling refreshed and rejuvenated.

She took in your fragrance and smiled lightly as you pulled her all the way through, leading her into your bathroom. Much to Wanda’s disappointment, you let go of her hand and gave her a clean towel, shaking your head as you eyed her closely. You still wondered why she’d shown up so abruptly, worried that something happened that made her seek your comfort.

“You should take a warm shower before anything else,” you said. “Don’t want you to catch a cold.”

As Wanda stripped off her rain-soaked clothes, you couldn't help but notice the shivers wracking her body. Determined to provide with some much-needed comfort, you turned the shower on to let the water heat up. As Wanda stepped into the welcoming warmth of the shower, you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at being able to provide with a small slice of respite from the tumultuous world outside.

You glanced down at her body for a brief moment, noticing the tiny scars she had told you about long before. She was beautiful. You’ve always thought it, and you always let Wanda know that she was, even when she felt like she wasn’t. And she truly is. Everyone on campus would agree with you.

Wanda comes out of your bathroom some time later with her hair damp, a small towel around her neck, sporting the clothes you had given her to borrow — which were practically already hers, since the two of you shared clothes quite often already. She met you in your kitchen with your back facing her as you fiddled with a mug, making tea for your unexpected guest.

“Care to explain to me why you were out in the rain this late at night?” You asked, turning towards her to pass her the mug.

Truth is, she just missed you. She spent the whole night at this party Tony threw, inviting practically half of the school. What was just a small gathering with a barbecue quickly turned into one of the largest and hectic parties known to man. Of course, it was nothing new for Tony, but she still felt out of place, especially since you weren’t there with her. And to be fair, she was getting tired of listening to Natasha talk about pursuing you and how she thought you’d have no choice but to give in if she continued to insist.

“Nothing,” she lied, sipping her tea before setting it down on the counter behind her.

You stared her down, almost as if you were trying to read her mind, “Is everything okay?”

“I said it’s nothing, (y/n).”

“Well, I don’t believe you,” you told her, the worry slowly making its way on to your face as you looked at her. “You can tell me anything, Wanda, you know that.”

Wanda remained quiet. And for a moment there, you almost wanted to cry, wondering what was eating up at her that she couldn’t even tell you. You know her. You know when something is wrong. But, you weren’t going to force it out of her. You knew that she’d tell you when she was ready, whatever it was. You just wished she’d ask for your help sooner.

“I just… I wanted to see you,” she said, staring down at her feet.

After a beat, you wasted no time walking up to her, wrapping your arms around her frame, softly pulling her into a hug. She sighed contentedly, dropping her head onto your shoulder as the air seemed to still and time stood still. The warmth of your body and the gentle pressure of your arms created a cocoon of safety and comfort that enveloped Wanda. Her heart, which had been racing with fear and uncertainty just moments before, began to slow down as she breathed in the scent of your hair. The tension in her shoulders and back melted away, and she felt herself surrender to the moment.

She hated nothing about you as much as she loved you. She loved how you smelled, how you felt against her, how soft you were. She loved everything about you.

“I’m here,” you whispered.

When you pulled your head back to look up at her, you smiled softly, one of your hands cupping the side of her face with the pad of your thumb soothing over her soft cheeks and her damp hair dripping onto your skin. You couldn't help but be drawn to the intense gaze that met yours. Wanda's green eyes seemed to be filled with a deep and pure love, one that you had never experienced before. The way Wanda looked at you was both tender and vulnerable, as if she was entrusting all of her heart to your care. And yet, there was also a hint of sadness in her expression, a small pout that seemed to suggest she wished the moment would last forever.

“Wanda?” You said softly, eyebrows turning up in concern as she moved her arms over to wrap them around your waist.

And for a moment, it was quiet. All Wanda did was stare with that same expression, silently wishing she could keep you in her arms forever.

But then, Wanda's eyes seemed to shimmer with a newfound intensity as they darted down towards your lips. The way your full, plush mouth parted slightly as you embraced only served to intensify Wanda's desire to kiss you. The sudden rush of desire stirred within her, a longing to taste those lips and feel the warmth of you in an entirely different way. Wanda's heart raced as she tried to compose herself, but the yearning inside of her was too strong. Her mind was filled with thoughts of what it would be like to kiss you, to explore the depths of your soft and inviting mouth.

And in that moment, Wanda decided to follow her heart's desire. With a quick and impulsive movement, she leaned in and pressed her lips to yours, surprising you with the suddenness of the action.

As Wanda's lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss, she felt a yearning deep within her finally fulfilled. For so long, she had kept her feelings for her best friend locked away, afraid of what might happen if she dared to act on them. But now, as she tasted your sweetness, all of her fears and doubts melted away. Wanda savored the sensation of your lips moving against hers, the warmth of your breath mingling with her own. She was struck by how perfectly they fit together, like two puzzle pieces finally coming together to form a complete picture. The softness of your lips against hers was a revelation, a culmination of the yearning that had built inside her for so long. Wanda's body tingled with electricity as she pressed closer to you.

You pulled away softly for a breath of air, and Wanda chased your lips with hers, kissing you softly once again. You hummed and sighed against her lips, and it sent shivers down her spine, only for her to want more and more—to turn your breathing into pretty moans. God, you tasted so good. So soft. So perfect.

And when you pulled away again, Wanda wanted to start over and kiss you, over and over.

“Wanda,” you breathed, her forehead pressed against yours with your hands on her shoulders.

Panic suddenly began to rise in Wanda’s chest as you said her name. Was this a mistake? Did she just ruin everything she had between you two? Questions filled her brain left and right as she watched you closely.

You kept your hands on her as did she, keeping you close as if you’d slip away from her if she wasn’t careful. She was scared. She was scared of what you might say. Scared of you turning her down. She wanted to say it first, before you said anything else.

“Please don’t push me away,” she whispered, staring down at your lips instead of your eyes. “I love you.”

Your eyes only widened as you listened to her, and Wanda silently thanked you for not moving away yet.

“Please say something,” Wanda pleaded.

You let the seconds go by without saying a word and Wanda almost wanted to run away, to never be seen again, that is until you finally spoke, “Say it again.”

Wanda stared at you for a moment, wondering what was going inside that pretty head of yours. She looked into your eyes and noticed you were looking down at her lips this time, and Wanda couldn’t help but curve her lips into a soft, tender smile.

“I love you, (y/n),” she said earnestly. “I love you… I always have.”

As you listened to Wanda's words of affection, a gentle warmth spread throughout your being, suffusing every inch of your body with a sense of peace and contentment. The soft timbre of Wanda's voice, infused with love and sincerity, seemed to fill the room, permeating every corner and crevice with its gentle resonance. You felt a sense of belonging wash over yourself, as though you had found your place in the world, and all was right with the universe. In that moment, the worries and anxieties that had plagued your heart seemed to evaporate, replaced by a serene sense of joy and fulfillment.

Wanda’s eyes fluttered closed, sighing when she felt your hands run through her slightly damp hair. Your fingertips pressed into her scalp softly.

“Why haven’t you told me earlier?” You asked, voice soft and soothing as Wanda dropped her head down to your shoulder once more.

“I was scared. I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same way,” she confessed, savoring the feeling of you in her arms. “I still am.”

Wanda's heart was pounding in her chest as she stood there, waiting for your response to her heartfelt confession of love. The air felt thick with tension and uncertainty as she anxiously waited for your reaction. Wanda's mind raced with thoughts of doubt and fear, wondering if she had made a mistake in revealing her true feelings. She was scared that you didn't feel the same way, and the thought of rejection filled her with another deep sense of sadness and longing.

“Well, you shouldn’t be,” you whispered into her hair.

With those words, Wanda pulled her head back up immediately, her green eyes locking with yours as she searched for any sign of rejection. There was none.

“What?” She breathed out, almost unable to believe what she had just heard.

“I love you, Wanda.”

Wanda's heart fluttered as your words echoed in her mind. Shocked but elated, Wanda felt as though her entire world had suddenly lit up with an indescribable warmth. It was a moment she had longed for, yearned for, and now that it was finally here, she could hardly believe it. As she gazed into your eyes, she felt a sense of completeness, as though everything in her life had fallen into place. The shock of the moment slowly melted away, replaced by an overwhelming feeling of happiness that filled her to the brim.

“You really do?” Wanda brought her hands up to cup both of your cheeks in her hands, watching that lovely smile she loved so much creeping its way onto your face.

“I always have,” you repeated her words as you looked up at her, and Wanda couldn’t help but smile back.

As Wanda gazed into your deep eyes, her heart swelled with a joy so pure and intense that it felt like it might burst out of her chest. When you finally whispered those three words that Wanda had been longing to hear, Wanda felt as if all of the colors of the world had suddenly come to life. Without a moment's hesitation, she leaned in and pressed her soft lips to yours one again, savoring the sweet taste of your mouth and the gentle warmth of your embrace. It was a moment that Wanda knew she would remember for the rest of her life—a moment of perfect bliss, of love and acceptance, of two souls coming together as one. And as you pulled away from each other, still lost in each other's gaze, Wanda knew that nothing could ever come between them—for her love was too strong, too deep, and too beautiful to ever be broken.

She would make sure to keep you all to herself this time, not giving you a chance to slip away from her. She loved you forever, and Wanda planned to be with you forever.

— navigation | masterlist

#bellaveux writes! #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel

[midnightorchids]

Slightly controversial opinion!!

I’m gonna be honest I don’t like most Jason fan casts (especially that one hockey player that everyone keeps using recently and obviously that one guy from shadow hunters).

In my head, Jason’s got slightly tan skin and a big (kinda crooked) nose. I don’t think he’s one of those “conventionally attractive” guys. Don’t get me wrong, he’s gorgeous, but like in a way that defies the beauty standard. I think that’s why the face claims make me annoyed, people just grab a random pretty boy and call it a day.

But anyways, I think he has messy wavy/curly hair (with the streak ofc), which he only really styles when there’s a gala.

He has super sharp features, his cheekbones are crazy. He’s got random cuts and scars on his face and neck. I think he has a longer face shape? If that makes sense? I also don’t know how to describe this, but he just has a sad face? Like you know how people have a rbf, it’s that but he just looks kinda sad.

He has dark green eyes, that sometimes feel like they’re glowing (because of the pit). I think he has very intense dark circles and eye bags as well. I like to think that he wears kohl or eyeliner in his waterline sometimes because he’s edgy like that lol.

He’s tall but he’s not insanely tall. He’s huge in terms of muscle, big neck, big thighs, massive back and shoulders, he’s just a really big guy. On top of that, I think he wears baggy hoodies and big cargos, so he just looks even bigger. Another reason why I don’t like the face claims is because most of the guys look so small? And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that but that’s just not Jason?

Also, he wears chunky rings and I think he has massive hands, I mean it only makes sense considering his size. His hands are super rough and covered in bruises, his knuckles are almost always taped up.

Anyways that was my rant! If you know someone that fits this description let me know!!

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #jason todd headcanon #red hood headcanon #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #batfam

[crave-mp3]

I LOVE BEING ARO SO MUCH!!!!!! I WILL NEVER FEEL ROMANTIC ATTRACTION AND THATS BEAUTIFUL AND NATURAL AND SOMETHING I WILL WIELD AS A WEAPON AND A SHIELD AGAINST ANYONE WHO WOULD CHANGE ME OR ERASE ME!!!!!! REALIZING I AM ARO WAS ONE OF THE MOST JOYFUL AND FREEING AND ILLUMINATING EXPERIENCES OF MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY EXUBERANCE AT LIVING WITHOUT THE NARROW SOCIETAL IDEA OF "LOVE" KNOWS NO BOUNDS AND I SEE BEAUTY IN EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!! MY LIFE OVERFLOWS WITH JOYFUL ABUNDANCE!!!!!!!! I AM BURSTING FOR AFFECTION WITH EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I WILL NEVER BE "ALONE" (I WILL NEVER BE LONELY) BECAUSE I WILL MAKE FOR MYSELF A LIFE THAT SINGS AND SHINES!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE LIVING A LOVELESS LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE THE SELF RELIANCE OF MY HAPPINESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM INFINITE AND BOUNDLESS AND DEFY DESCRIPTION OR CATEGORIZATION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I AM AROMANTIC!!!!!!!! ALL IS JOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ALL IS LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#i see a lot of posts about aro grief and ive been there. believe me ive so been there. #BUT!!!!!! we need to talk about aro joy too!!!!!! #living a joyful life regardless of expectations is THE most important thing we can do!!!! both for the aro community and for ourselves #as complete and whole people!!!!!! #+ by expectations i mean both amatonormativity and the weird sort of...... defeatist mentality i see a lot of ppl in the community voicing #our lives are a triump!!!!! a rebellion of joy!!!!!!! living the happiest life you can is your victory!!!!! #and you show others (especially young others + aro or not) that you don't need romance to be completed or happy!!!!!! #aro joy as a mission aro joy as a mantra aro joy as reaching out #this is deffo ok 2 rb but just before anyone starts being all 'not every aro on the face of planet feels the exact same way u do' #i wrote this about ME. ok? #i would love it if ppl wanna rb/add tho bc like i said. we need more aro joy!!!!! #vic.txt #aro #aromantic #arospec #aspec #alloaro #aroallo #aroace #lovequeer #amatopunk

[dishonestlies-if]

(Dis)honest Lies

Demo: TBA || About The Archivists Age Rating: 16+ CW: Violence, death, child endangerment, child death/descriptions of child death, classism, manipulation, forced isolation/confinement (technically?), parental neglect, mild homophobia RO-specific CWs (contains spoilers): here

The king is dead, cries the crowd of mourners that line the path towards the Royal Tombs. As you walk down behind your father's coffin, you note that there are no commoners among them. Not surprising, given they are not allowed to entire the palace grounds, though you wonder if anyone beyond these walls are mourning with you. Your father was a much-beloved king, but no one beyond the Court had ever met him - or you, for that matter, or any of your predecessors since the Curse took effect. You wonder briefly what the outside world is like - the Advisors describe it as a beautiful place of wonder and innovation, at least in the capital. Perhaps the people are holding their own ceremony out there, in honour of your father.

You turn your attention back to the procession. There will be time to ponder this later.

You have a speech to give, a coronation to attend, a kingdom to rule.

There is no place for such pointless thoughts. You were born in this palace, and in this palace will you die. You will never see the outside world.

Will you?

Play as the newly crowned monarch of Batrinoa! Bring your kingdom to new heights, or send it plummeting into chaos - the choice is yours, and yours alone. After all, you are the monarch - who would dare defy your authority?

Customize the MC Veridas (27) (name changeable); gender, appearance, personality, etc!

Be swept off your feet by five potential love interests (gender selectable) - or don't! You can be swept off your feet by friends, too. And enemies. But that might be a bad idea.

Ally with your neighbours, or start a war - Batrinoa is powerful, why not utilize your military and expand your territory?

Solve problems that arise in your nation, or make them worse - where there's money to be had, who really cares if a few peasants die?

Face crushing moral dilemmas that make you question your reality!

Find the truth behind the web of lies that surround the Court - there are many hidden secrets, and if you look in the right places, you might find them. Assuming, of course, that they don't kill you first.

And why in the name of the Divine do you keep seeing the Archivist-in-training in your dreams?! You barely even know her!

Love Interests

The Guard Caelum/Celestine/Calytrix Hildebrand (28) is the fourth child of the Hildebrand family, your best friend and confidant, and godparent of your daughter. As children, you were inseparable, and even when C was in the army you kept in touch. Now they serve as your loyal guard - wherever you go, they will follow. It is their duty, after all; what the monarch wants, the monarch will get, nevermind how they feel about it. So long as it makes you happy, there is little they won't do to achieve it.

The Silver-Tongued Minister Elias/Elora/Elwyn Alinac (29) is Head of the House of Alinac, one of the Four Great Families and a member of the Advisors. They are, without a doubt, the Court's most charming noble. Intelligent and quick-witted, Batrinoa's Director of Foreign Affairs is well-versed in the art of communication, especially when it pertains to getting what they want. There are flocks of men and women alike who would kill to hold E's attention for even a fraction of a second. Fortunate, then, that they only seems to have eyes for you.

The Unapproachable Advisor Orpheus/Odette/Odilon Marchand (26) is Head of the House of Marchand, one of the Four Great Families and a member of the Advisors. O is rather unpopular with the nobility and common folk alike; their blunt speech, cold demeanour, and prickly personality make for rather unpleasant company, though none can deny their skill as Batrinoa's newest Minister of Finance. They maintain a professional distance from everyone around them, but perhaps you can close that gap - surely it must be a lonely existence, to hold everyone at arm's length as they do.

The Revolutionary Mervyn/Maira/Maverick (27) is a commoner of Batrinoa, a tailor who lives with their mother and three siblings near the slums of the capital. Passionate and rebellious, they abhor the monarchy and how the nation is run, and everyone knows it; M is an outspoken critic of the throne, and far from the only one. As the new monarch, you are the very pinnacle of everything they despise - can you show them that you are willing to do what your predecessors would not, or will you just add fuel to the fire?

The Flirtatious Informant Legacy (29) is the best informant in your employ (and the best assassin). They once swore loyalty to your father; now, they serve you. They're a shameless flirt, and never serious - about anything, really, not even their own life. You've asked where they came from, but you've received 14 different back stories at this point and you're not sure they're even capable of telling the truth if it doesn't pertain to their job. You wonder how Legacy ended up in this employ; surely this is not a job most would willingly choose to pursue?

Other Characters

Alix Morozov - your late spouse, the other biological parent of your daughter, and a relative of Drelix's King Vsevolod. They died three years ago, leaving you a single parent. Your marriage was for two reasons only - to end the war between your kingdoms, and to produce a precautionary heir for the Batrinoa line. Having succeeded in both, you considered them a good person and a dear friend, though there was never any love in your relationship.

Luminosa 'Lumi' Batrinoa (5) - your daughter from your marriage with Alix. Now that you are monarch, she is heir to the throne and the only other member of the Batrinoa bloodline. A lofty title that may be, though it paints a massive target on her back. You can only hope you will not need to arrange a political marriage for her.

Beau Marchand (32) - the disgraced son of the Marchand family, his reputation for debauchery and excess is known far and wide throughout the capital. You remember him vaguely, having interacted with him as a child, though you haven't seen him since he was disowned thirteen years ago. O has since restored Beau to the family, but you have yet to see him return.

Dolion (53) - the Archivist, sometimes called the Secret-Keeper. One of the Blessed, his Miracle naturally makes people rather wary of him, and his sour demeanor does nothing to help his case. At the very least, none of the Advisors seem to like him, though you're fairly certain that's more because he was born a commoner rather than a child of the nobility.

Fialova Solanaceae (20) - Dolion's successor, the current Archivist-in-training. Timid and shy, she seems to dodge you at every opportunity, though you often catch her staring as if she has something she'd like to say. There's more to her than meets the eye, but are you brave enough to seek out the skeletons in her closet?

Helianthus Solanaceae (54) - Head of the House of Solanacaea, one of the Four Great Families and a member of the Advisors. She is the supreme judge of Batrinoa's legal system and handles all legal affairs within the kingdom's borders. As your godmother, she cares greatly for your well-being. She would happily spoil Luminosa rotten if you didn't stop her in time.

Volker Hildebrand (61) - Head of the House of Hildebrand, one of the Four Great Families and a member of the Advisors. Arrogant and conceited, he takes great pride in being the Minister of War. Objectively the most powerful member of the Council, he has the nation's military at his beck and call and takes great joy in lording over the other Advisors. The Court has no great love for him, though none can deny that it was mainly thanks to him that the war with Drelix went as well as it did. Though he has little interest in anything besides battle and bloodshed, he has returned to the capital for your coronation and to assist you in acclimating to your new position.

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #if #interactive game #twine if #if wip #if game #cyoa game #cyoa #twine interactive fiction #interact if #(dis)honest lies #upcoming if #fantasy #fantasy if #ch: c hildebrand #ch: o marchand #ch: e alinac #ch: luminosa #ch: m #ch: legacy

[starrierknight]

𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬

“Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling, and Domine non sum dignus should be on the lips and in the hearts of those who receive it.” ― Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 23' | AO3

wc— 5k

pairing— vampire slayer!dom!gn!reader x vampire!sub!gojo

cws/tags— enemies to enemies w/ benefits, S&M, predator/prey dynamic, knifeplay, bloodplay, blood as an aphrodisiac, heavy degradation (+use of “slut”), humiliation, biting & marking, oral + fingering (reader receiving), reader has AFAB anatomy but isn’t gendered, dry humping, hairpulling, inaccurate vampire lore, porn w/ plot, porn w/ (angsty) feelings, very description heavy

The passage of time had led you to this decisive moment. There he kneeled, ensnared by the circumstance of your bait, his once confident demeanour reduced to vulnerability. Wide-eyed and labouring breaths betrayed his desperation, his pale chest heaving under that billowing white shirt. 

You stood tall, your gaze an icy lance that pierced through the layers of cunning that once cloaked this despicable being. A vampire, an embodiment of the dark myths that have haunted humanity for centuries. In the story of your seasoned exploits, the ones you’d slain had been unfathomable monsters, grotesque aberrations. The raw power that you expected to emanate from a monster so ancient, so sinister, seemed to have dulled into something strangely human. His aura of malevolence was overshadowed by a pitiable aura of need. The haunting question dawned on the precipice of your thoughts: Could it be that even the darkest of beings can yearn, can ache for something beyond their cursed existence?

The tableau is one of stark contrasts—the resolute hunter and the feeble prey, the chilling void of the night and the warmth of desperate need. The air remained unbroken: You, the embodiment of unyielding purpose, and he, an enigma knelt before you, leaving the promise of revelation in his desperate, longing gaze.

The monster before you took on a hauntingly primal quality. A languid, serpentine motion as his tongue darted out, collecting the remnants of blood, your blood, that clung to his lips. The taste, metallic and potent as you knew it to be, was like the sweetest nectar to him. A guttural groan escaped his parted lips, a sound laden with both pleasure and pain; The very act of an existence marked by unending darkness and insatiable hunger. With deliberate slowness, his eyes shuttered closed, a brief surrender of ecstasy. His lashes casted long shadows against his pale, parchment-like skin. 

“Speak, monster,” you said in a cool, steady tone.

Time seemed to expand and contract, a canvas stretched taut, as he eventually broke the stillness.

“Oh, come on. Why the formalities?” he taunted in an airy whisper, a smug lilt to his tone. “Don’t you think we’re past that?”

His eyelids parted, revealing pupils dilated to a darkness. Those eyes, a chromatic anomaly amidst the desolation of his existence, were a cerulean that defied nature's palette. They were too blue, too vivid—a celestial fragment from the vast expanse of the heavens that had fallen into his wretched possession. 

“Tell me your name before I slay you tonight,” you spat, your will unwavering.

His eyes drank you in with an uncanny hunger. “Gojo Satoru. Though, please, Satoru will do just fine.”

You tilted your head to one side, leaning down to inspect him with morbid fascination. He was disturbingly beautiful: Far too angelic in appearance, though you supposed it was a façade to lure in his prey. How ironic.

“Gojo Satoru,” you murmured, still inspecting him. Satoru shuddered at the way his name fell from your mouth, and he groaned again. “That’s a very human name, unfit for you… Though it’s your vampiric desperation that got you here, isn’t it?”

Satoru's response sliced through the charged atmosphere like a serrated blade. His lips parted in a breathy exhalation that transformed into a rueful laugh, a delicate sound that danced in the air. The corners of his mouth quirked into a crooked smile, a wry look that exposed his pointed fangs. 

“Was it yours, by the way?”

“The blood?”

“The blood. The blood in the chalice—that bait you left for me. Was it yours? Did you… alter it?”

You frowned and raised a brow. Instinctively, your hand moved to your belt, where your weapon of choice rested. The scabbard relinquished its hold with a whisper of leather, allowing the ornate silver dagger to emerge into the moonlit room. Your fingers curled around the hilt, finding solace in the familiarity of its weight. 

“Your final moments are rapidly approaching, and you question my methods for luring you here?” you asked bemusedly.

Satoru shrugged one shoulder, but his eyes snapped to focus on the blade. “I’m just making friendly conversation.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No,” he laughed again, hunger flashing in his eyes, “I’m not. Tell me, though.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “It’s mine. Unaltered.”

Satoru's throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed, the sound resonating. He took a deep breath. “So, you just taste… like that, do you?”

“Like ‘that’?”

“Just so… sweet. Humans aren’t usually so sweet,” he clarified.

With a fluid motion, you idly twirled the dagger through the air. The blade's polished surface caught the moon's glow, transforming its silvery sheen into an almost-blue hue, the ornate dagger an extension of your intent. The blade's tip, sharpened to a lethal point, found its mark with an almost imperceptible pressure against Satoru's skin.

The chill of the metal against his neck was a stark contrast to the warmth that radiated from his body. The sensation was immediate, a jolt of icy reality that underscored the gravity of your confrontation. His breath hitched, his pupils dilated more, the pulse of his veins thundering in tandem with the rhythm of his twisted excitement. 

“You disgust me,” you hissed, pressing the blade to his neck so that it was perilously close to breaking his skin.

The whine that escaped his lips was involuntary, a mixture of pain and desire that reverberated through the charged air. It was a reminder that his existence, no matter how abhorrent, was still woven with threads of need and yearning. He pressed closer to the flat of the blade—the dichotomy of his action hauntingly human. The cold metal met the feverish heat of his pale skin, his lips parted as he breathed heavily.

“Please,” the longing etched into his contorted expression spoke of desire both primal and inexplicable. “One last request before it’s over. Please.”

“You think you deserve a last request?” you challenged, eyes narrowed with scrutiny.

Satoru moistened his lips, eyes darting from you to around the room as he scrambled to provide you with an answer to your question. The room, with its moonlit corners and shadows, seemed to close in, the walls serving as both witnesses and silent participants in this exchange between hunter and hunted, captor and captive. The request that followed was both shocking and strangely intimate:

“I was human, once,” he began, “I wanted a good death for myself, once. Please, give me a shred of humanity to die with. Please, let me taste you before you kill me.”

It's a collision of desires—a yearning for connection, for a glimpse of the humanity he once possessed, and the chilling reminder of his vampiric nature.

You laughed coldly, sneering down at him. “And humanity is blood, is it?”

“Please.”

Jutting your chin out, your gaze seared downward. The intensity of your stare, unyielding and incisive, spoke of your unwavering resolve in the face of his plea. The retraction of the dagger was a calculated move—an action that rippled with implications.

As the blade sliced across the palm of your hand, your own blood welled forth, a crimson testament to your commitment to the path you'd chosen. The sting was a reminder of the sacrifices you were willing to make, and the offering of the blade, now smeared with your blood, was a bridge.

His reaction was immediate and visceral. The scent of your blood, intoxicatingly sweet to his heightened senses, seemed to fill the room; A siren's call. Satoru’s breathing grew heavy. His eyes locked onto the vivid liquid, reflecting a hunger that surpassed all others.

“Have your taste before I slaughter you, Satoru.”

As if drawn by an irresistible force, Satoru's compliance was immediate and unquestioning. As his tongue darted out to lick the smeared blood from the flat of the blade, the room seemed to hold its breath, a voyeur to this intimate ritual between predator and prey. The metallic glint of your blood met his tongue with an electric charge, a connection that transcended what he thought he had centuries of damned experience with. The blood's influence, as it coursed through the currents of his veins, was immediate and potent. 

The sweet nature of your blood sparked an undeniable fire within Satoru; A desire, once lurking in the shadows, that now surged to the forefront of his consciousness. The echoes of his moans, the rise and fall of his uneven breaths, served as evidence of the pure need he experienced. 

“You really are the most repulsive thing I’ve ever seen,” you muttered, regarding him with sickly interest. Satoru's gaze—those magnificently blue eyes, like pools of sapphire—rose from the blade, still in his kneeling position, to meet yours. 

“That was hardly a taste,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Your indignant silence was punctuated by the steady rhythm of dripping blood. Drip-drip-drip. You felt the warmth from the gash on your non-dominant hand curl around your fingers, falling with resonance onto the aged wooden floorboards. Drip-drip-drip. As your gaze swept across the space, the play of light and shadow painted the scene. Your attention fell upon a solitary chair nestled in the corner.

Without uttering a single word, your injured hand lifted and extended, your blood-stained fingers pointing with stark clarity towards the chair. Drip-drip. The gesture was a directive, an invitation, an unspoken promise. Satoru, his towering presence marked by the contrast of moonlight and shadows, heeded the call of your gesture. With a deliberate grace, he approached the chair, the sound of its legs scraping against the wooden floor, the very air itself holding its breath.

The surprise that unfurled within you was mirrored by the unexpected turn of events. As he dragged the chair closer, your pulse quickened, and you sat. Then, in a gesture that defied your expectations, he knelt before you once more, his handsome expression a mixture of reverence, his own expectation, his own unrivalled desire.

“You deserve less than I’m giving you,” you said lowly, “But enjoy yourself while you can.”

You extended your injured hand, the delicate appendage still weeping ruby-red tears. Satoru responded instinctively, cradling your wounded palm in his larger hands, their touch exuding a profound gentleness. As if guided by an innate sense of care, he brought your bloodied offering to his face, a visage that seemed both ravenous and reverent. The moment his tongue made contact with the open wound, a jolt of sensation shot through your body. The taste of your blood, infused with the sweet essence of your very being, flooded his senses. His eyes, once fixed on you, now fluttered closed, and a euphoric expression painted his features. As if overwhelmed by a wave of intense pleasure, his eyelids fluttered, and his irises seemed to lose focus, rolling upwards.

The world around Satoru seemed to dim, his focus narrowing to the essence that flowed from your wound. Each taste, each drop, acted like a potent aphrodisiac, igniting a fire that blazed within him. His body responded with a tremor, his pale hands involuntarily tightening their hold on your injured palm. His muffled groans, now a mixture of raw need and aching restraint, reverberated through your body.

Satoru’s soft, warm mouth enveloped the open wound, a fervent kiss that drew forth the crimson nectar. As he sucked on the source of this intoxicating sweetness, rivulets of blood painted intricate patterns on his lower face, a macabre, and yet strangely artistic, display. Despite his immense presence, he remained on his knees before your chair, his powerful form now a portrait of vulnerability. Satoru’s head, heavy with the weight of his longing, found its place on your lap, a gesture that radiated a delicate surrender. His silvery hair, like silk against your legs, contrasted starkly with the increasingly depraved display.

“You really are vile,” you breathed, the sting from the wound shooting up your arm.

Your grip on the dagger in your dominant hand tightened instinctively, and a mixture of apprehension and curiosity coursed through you as his tongue lapped at your skin. Your senses keenly caught the subtle shifts in his body language, the telltale signs of his arousal and need. The feeling of his fingers tightening around your wounded hand, his thighs pressing and rubbing with a rhythmic urgency—a plea for something unattainable yet relentlessly craved.

With a languid grace, he shifted his kneeling position, his body settling. As if guided by some unseen force, he positioned himself so that he was seated on one of your boots. His head found its resting place on your thigh, and his mouth maintained its fervent dance upon your hand—his lips and tongue slid over your skin, causing a paradoxical sensation of tension and pleasure that set your nerves alight.

His body responded to the all-encompassing craving that had engulfed him with a feverish urgency. The torrent of desire coursing through him could no longer be suppressed, and his body moved of its own accord. In a desperate bid for release, he pressed his hard-on against your boot, the friction providing a fleeting respite from the intensity that consumed him. Desperate moans, heavy with frustration, escaped him, the sound an unbridled testament to the intensity of the moment.

Finally, his fangs sank into the tender palm of your hand with a swift, hypnotic movement. The moment his fangs pierced your skin, a rush of sensations cascaded through you and a gasp, half surprise and half excitement, tumbled from your lips. The pressure of his bite, a fierce declaration of his need, sent shockwaves through your body. 

"Did I say you could bite?" you hissed through gritted teeth. 

With a decisiveness born of instinct, your dominant hand moved with purpose. The edge of the dagger's blade found its place against the vulnerable curve of his neck, pressing into his pale skin as his own blood, darker and more tainted than yours, seeped onto the cool metal.

Satoru’s eyes fluttered open, looking at you with a desperate apology. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please…” 

His lips sought redemption in a sequence of fervent kisses. They trailed across the delicate skin of your wrist, your knuckles, and the tips of your fingers. The gesture, if not for the lingering urgency of his movements, would have held a sweet tenderness, an attempt to mend what had been broken. Amid this tangled web of feelings, the grinding of his arousal against you persisted, a relentless echo of his desire. The moans that escaped him seemed to punctuate each kiss, a wretched symphony of need.

“You’re fucking pathetic. You should see yourself right now,” you scolded, “On your knees for me, grinding against my leg like a fucking feral animal.”

His body moved with a desperate rhythm, a primal need guiding his every motion. With each rutted thrust, he sought an elusive release, a respite from the smouldering longing between his thighs. His movements were fueled by a frenetic energy, his hips surging upward in a rhythm that spoke of desperation and longing. The dagger's lethal caress against his neck seemed only to further stoke the fire within him.

Gasping for air, Satoru’s breaths came in ragged intervals, but amidst the tumult, a single word slipped past his lips—a plea heavy with need. "Please."

“Please what? What are you even begging for, slut?” You laughed at him. “You wanna taste some more? You wanna cum for me?”

“Fuck, please… I need you… I need you so badly, please,” he whined, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, his head still resting on your thigh.

“You want more? More blood?”

“Y-yes, but… more you. I just, fuck… Need more of you,” he panted.

The sound of his own confession served as a catalyst, the final thread that unravelled his restraint. With a loud and unfiltered moan, Satoru fell apart on his knees before you. His hips jerked against you with a frantic urgency as he whimpered. The tension that had been building, coil by coil, snapped like a taut band, releasing a flood of euphoria that consumed him entirely. At that moment, there was no room for thought, only the unadulterated pleasure that surged through his veins. The pleasure, a heady mix of physical release and emotional surrender, overtook his senses, rendering his mind blank and his body malleable under its power. His mouth parted in a silent exhalation of bliss, boring witness to the depth of his pleasure. 

Even in the aftermath of his release, his body continued to move in a slow, rhythmic grind against you as the aftershocks of cumming reverberated through him. The room seemed to shimmer with the echoes of his moans.

Your bloody fingers laced into his silky, white hair. With a firm tug, you lifted his head, his body draped across your leg in surrender to the aftermath of his climax. The tip of the dagger's blade traced a deliberate path along his jaw; The steel's cool touch acted as a focal point, drawing his attention to you in his post-orgasm daze. The sensation pierced through the fog of pleasure, reorienting him.

“Vampires are supposed to be scary, Satoru. Where’s the beast I came to slaughter tonight?” you taunted, a lopsided grin splitting your features. Caressing his face with the flat of the dagger’s blade in your dominant hand, your grip on his hair tightened—he winced and whined in pain, much to your satisfaction.

“I’m… I-I am still a monster,” he mumbled in weak protest. “I’m still a monster, even if I need you… Oh, God, how I need you…” 

His white, billowing shirt, once pristine, now clung to his skin with a sheen of sweat. The fabric, once airy and light, had transformed into a second skin, moulded to the contours of his form by the heat of his actions. The shirt, rendered translucent by the moisture, hinted at the contours beneath—the rise and fall of his chest, the sculpted lines of his handsome body.

"You're a fucking mess, y'know that? A mess so pathetic, it's disgusting," you remarked, your voice a mixture of exasperation and a touch of distant amusement. 

Just before he could retort, you acted swiftly, clapping your injured hand over his mouth. The surprise on his face was palpable, a mix of alarm and intrigue as he found his voice silenced. The sensation of your touch against his lips seemed to ignite a response within him, a mixture of surprise and a familiar yearning. Despite the unexpectedness of the action, his instincts seemed to guide him. His tongue, quick and warm, darted out to taste your blood once more. A groan escaped his lips. His body responded with a shudder, a ripple of pleasure that coursed through his frame.

“Dumb fucking slut,” you laughed quietly. “I’ve been so good to you, and you’re talking back. I’ll teach you manners before I slay you tonight.”

A muffled moan, laden with a mixture of need and surrender, escaped from behind your bloody palm that covered his mouth. The sound seemed to hang in the air. His gaze, fixed upon you with half-lidded eyes, held a certain vulnerability. You leaned in closer, your proximity a tantalizing promise. His half-lidded gaze met yours.

"You need to taste me? Let's see how badly." 

The words held a challenge, a daring invitation. The proximity between your lips, the touch of your hand against his skin, the dangerous lilt to your voice—it made him crave so much that he ached for you. Satoru's back arched like a bowstring, his head tilting back slightly as he let out a small, soft moan. You removed your hand from his mouth and retracted the dagger’s blade that had been held against his neck. 

In a frenzy born of unbridled desire, Satoru's actions took on a new urgency. His hands, no longer restrained by inhibition, sought purchase against the buttons on your trousers. Fingers that trembled with need fumbled against the fabric, the movements driven by a hunger that consumed him entirely. Each button undone marked a step closer to a line crossed, and the air crackled with the intensity of his actions.

With your trousers discarded, his hands found their place on your bare thighs, his touch both tentative and determined. He shifted between your legs, his form kneeling before you while you remained seated in the chair. His positioning spoke of a certain vulnerability, a submission he had adopted in your presence. His hands traced a path across the expanse of your bare skin, a map of desire that unfolded beneath his touch. Beginning at the inside of your knee, his movements were deliberate and unhurried, a slow exploration of the terrain he now navigated.

“Thank you… Oh, thank you, I need this so badly,” he murmured.

Your breathing had grown laboured, a lazy smile tugging at your lips as you watched. “You’re so desperate, aren’t you?”

“Yes. God, yes, please… I just need you,” Satoru whispered.

The dagger in your dominant hand clattered to the floor, and both of your hands took root in his white hair instead. The sensation of your hands in Satoru’s hair seemed to awaken a primal response, his body shivering and trembling beneath your touch. His closeness, his lips against your skin, painted a vivid picture of his passion. His kisses, once deliberate and slow, had transformed into something more. They were now passionate, desperate—an unfiltered expression lust.

His mouth moved with an animalistic need, tracing a fiery path up your thigh. The pressure of his fingers, his grip bordering on painful, mirrored the urgency that had taken hold of him. The threat of his fangs grazed against your sensitive skin, and your hands gripped his hair harder. Satoru was lost in the sensations that pulsed through him, his body a vessel for the consuming ecstasy that had taken hold. His lips, once soft and reverent, were now a reflection of his unfiltered need—a need that was unashamedly on display, stripped of all pretence.

As his jaw moved against your skin, the strength of his bite left indelible marks, and the lines between pleasure and pain blurred to become one. The room echoed with his cries, each whine and moan a declaration of his longing. Your name, a desperate refrain, punctuated his every sound, the syllables a litany of desire. Saliva glistened on your thigh as his teeth left behind a trail of marks and bruises. His grip on your thighs, unyielding and possessive, held you captive. The drool that trailed down his chin, mingling with his moans, was a visual testament to the intensity of his lust. The sound of his needy moans, louder than ever before, echoed in the air. His teeth digging deeper into your skin were causing bleeding that added to the pleasure.

You let out a sharp exhale, the sound escaping through clenched teeth, your body reacting to the dual sensations. A low groan followed, a mixture of discomfort and an unexpected yearning, escaping from deep within you. Your hips, an unconscious reaction to the intimate contact, shifted towards him—a movement that made him whine needily. The warmth of his tongue against your skin, the wetness that traced the path of the blood and saliva, painted a vivid picture of your shared bloodlust.

"God, I want you so bad... So bad. Oh, please... Please... Don't hold back... Let yourself have me... Let yourself have me..." the words were a broken mantra that emerged from his lips, the syllables heavy with longing.

“H-Have you?” you groaned.

His bites became harsher, leaving even deeper marks in your flesh. But your moans were having the opposite effect, driving him closer to that sweet insanity. 

"Oh, God... Please, please... Please..." he begged in a fractured voice.

As his tongue swept over the wounds he had created, an intense heat spread across your skin, merging with the dampness of the blood that trickled forth. Iron lingered in the air, mingling with the primal scent of exertion and urgency. With an unyielding grip, his fingers clenched around your thighs, the strength of his hold leaving imprints. Your senses wavered between the stinging sensation where his nails dug into your flesh and the surreal touch of his mouth at work.

With firm urgency, you guided his face to your cunt, an unspoken directive that he obeyed without hesitation. As your fingers threaded through his hair, a mixture of tugs and pulls that mirrored the ebb and flow of your need, his name escaped your lips like a prayer. In response, a resonant moan spilt from his lips, a reflection of your name, as if he were returning your prayer in kind. Completely at your mercy, his obedience was an unspoken offering, his face moving to kiss the softest skin of your inner thighs. 

Satoru’s breath was hot enough that you could feel him breathe against you, as if the fabric of your underwear was a mere afterthought. Inhaling through his nose, the combined sent of your blood, and your arousal pooling between your thighs, made his eyes shutter closed, moaning. His fingers quivered with anticipation, his nails scratching your thighs as he licked a flat, broad stripe across your clothed pussy. He tilted his head and rhythmically moved his lips against you so the fabric was soaked with your wetness and his spit. Oh, how he yearned to taste everything you would offer him, making it run down your thighs just so he could lap it up.

His mouth became a haven of sensations, each deliberate nudge of his nose against your clit igniting a cascade of sparks that danced along your nerve endings. The friction created by his touch caused a cascade of moans to spill from your lips. His devotion was palpable in the way he knelt before you, an embodiment of desire and submission that bordered on divine: His open mouth, his cheeks rosy, his eyes sealed shut in a state of blissful surrender. 

“Fuck, maybe there’s a use f-for you, after all,” you murmured.

One of his hands slid your underwear out of the way. The moment hung in suspended animation, a pause that held as he halted his other movements to marvel at you. The vision before him was a masterpiece; You were a masterpiece.

Satoru’s long, pretty fingers dipped between your folds, sliding through the velvety slickness, before bringing his fingers to his mouth and cleaning them. He whined praise at the taste, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes that shined with reverence. His eyes, those pools of cool blue, met yours in a gaze that transcended words, brimming reverence that could only be equated to worship. 

He carefully pushed a finger inside you, looking up at you hungrily as he felt your walls hugging the digit. Your breath trembled and hitched, a shaky exhale escaping your lips as you indulged in the feeling—a primal yearning that coiled hotly like a serpent in your abdomen. With steadfast devotion, he turned his attention to your sensitivity, his mouth finding purchase on your clit. The skilled wetness of his tongue traced deliberate circles around the tender bundle of nerves, each flicker of contact a jolt of sensation that reverberated through your core. A plaintive whine emerged from him, the vibration a tantalising echo that melded with your own moans.

Another finger joined the first, the slow glide in and out of your depths accompanied by a lust that seemed to resonate through your entire being. Your body responded, a silent plea that spurred his rhythm, the pumping of his fingers sending shockwaves of heat rippling through you.

Satoru's presence in the moment was visceral, his desire manifesting audibly as he pressed his face against your dripping centre. The noises that escaped his lips, a cascade of moans and whimpers, melded with the wet sounds of your shared pleasure. His fingers were adept, plunging into your pussy with a rhythmic thrust that strummed a chord deep within your core. With each push, his fingers curved and curled, a deliberate manipulation that seemed to coax the most exquisite sensations from your body. The taste of you, an intoxicating blend of your essence and arousal, consumed him wholly. His gaze, though hazy, still found you, his pretty eyes locking onto yours with lustful adoration.

You came undone on his fingers with a moan of his name, his mouth was flooded with the taste of you, as his fingers, slick with the evidence of your ecstasy, bore witness to your release. Your nails dragged against his scalp deliciously, twisting his soft hair, inciting a drawn-out groan from deep within him. He kept you riding that high, guiding you through the bliss he had manipulated. Your body was tingling all over, waves of pleasure radiating through you as you gasped. Every drop of cum, every trace of your arousal, became an offering that he ardently consumed, letting no taste of you go unadored.

As he finally withdrew his fingers, the absence was palpable, but his attention didn't waver; Instead, it shifted to a new focus. Your thighs trembled, but his hands became gentle instruments of comfort and affection to soothe you. He massaged and caressed the tender skin, his lips following a path his fingers traced, each kiss a sweet tribute to you. The chorus of murmured gratitude that escaped his lips lingered in the heavy air as you caught your bearings. 

“Thank you, thank you… You taste so perfect, so perfect…” Satoru said, with his voice still broken and raspy from his intense moaning. "Thank you," he repeated, the phrase becoming a mantra. 

The timbre of his voice was a blend of vulnerability and sincerity, each utterance a token of his appreciation for you. The emotions that had coursed through him, the moans and gasps that had marked his need, seemed to linger in the remnants of his voice.

"Perfect," he continued, his words resonating with a kind of awe that transcended mere description. "Beyond sweet," he concluded.

You looked down upon him kneeling between your thighs, your hands still in his hair, with a mixture of awe and reluctance. Satoru, this enigmatic creature, had been laid bare before you. The dichotomy of his nature, of his humanity and his vampiric instincts, hung in the air like a question unanswered. What had you done to him?

“You can kill me now, and I’ll die human,” he murmured.

Though after sharing a little death with him, could you kill him?

a/n: I guess you could say he's your #1 fang... Buh-dump tch! LOL, I hope you enjoyed. Be grateful I didn't include Twilight refs, bc I was tempted to. Happy Kinktober, lovelies :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

#꒰ ✎ ꒱ — tongues in trees #꒰ ✑ ꒱ — they kiss consume #꒰ ☠︎︎ ꒱ — the serpent under't #꒰ 🝮 ꒱ — kt 23 #gojo satoru x reader smut #sub gojo satoru x reader #sub gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #sub!character #dom reader #dom!reader #sub character #sub!jjk #sub jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #sub jujutsu kaisen #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #gn!reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader

[mermaidfanficlibrary]

🐉.Fly High Dragon King | How To Train Your Dragon X Male Reader

The description is down below. This is also on my Wattpad and Quotev! Enjoy!

Description: Fly High Dragon King | (You are Here) More about you: More about you Prologue: New Home From Across the Sea Chapter 1: Old Friends from the Starry Sky |TBW Chapter 2: The Chieftain's Decision | TBW Chapter 3: My Good Friend and Maybe Yours | TBW Chapter 4: Understanding This Way of Life | TBW Chapter 5: Convincing Her of Sky Bound Beauty | TBW Chapter 6: Lifelong Friends Over War | TBW Chapter 7: The Queen Faces the King | TBW

Growing up with dragons, Y/n became something like one. He didn't have wings or a tail, but he had the scales, teeth, and appetite of one. Not to mention his aging stunted. His body adapted to live with these glorious winged reptiles as he made his home in their nest. He was stuck, at the age of 2, living with these dragons for 10 years. These dragons would try to provide him some education; bringing him books from the vikings boats they had shot down. The dragons all cared for Y/n as their own, and he loved each of them dearly. All dragons knew him as the Dragon King. No dragon would defy him, not even the babies. Y/n would fly with them and would act like them. But after those 10 years, Y/n wanted to explore and figure out what made up vikings and why they would hurt the creatures he cared so much for. With the help of 2 night furies, whom he had befriended over those 10 years, they brought him to an abandoned ship and Y/n had sailed away. After a few months of sailing, his boat crashed into Berk, and he became a part of their community as he tried to understand the reason they killed those he considered family.

Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

#🪸.mermaid time #🐉.Fly High Dragon King | How To Train Your Dragon X Male Reader #how to train your dragon #httyd #how to train you dragon x reader #how to train you dragon x male reader #how to train you dragon x gn reader #how to train you dragon x dragon rider reader #how to train you dragon x male dragon rider reader #httyd x reader #httyd x male reader #httyd x gn reader #hiccup x male reader #hiccup x reader #hiccup x gn reader #astrid x reader #astrid x male reader #astrid x gn reader #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #toothless

[kismetconstellations]

"Do you understand that just associating with you could cost me my inheritance?"

"Oh, it could cost you more than that. You’d be risking everything. But, on the other hand, well... you just might find yourself a free man."

#Zac Efron #The light of my life. #The love of my life. #Beauty that defies description. #Phillip Carlyle #My melancholic disgraced alcoholic love. #Hugh Jackman #P.T. Barnum #The Circus King #Barlyle #OTP: You brought joy into my life. #The Greatest Showman #Aesthetic. #Ship Aesthetic. #TGS Aesthetics. #Mine. #All I want is to fly with queue.

[tybaltsjuliet]

If you have the time, I'd love to hear more of your opinions about how Belle's aesthetic should be Gothic Heroine™ instead of Smart™. Can you elaborate on what that means?

for sure!

so, first off, this is all rooted in how i feel that intelligence is vastly overhyped and overstated as belle's Defining Trait. it's quite lazy, to my mind, that she has been deemed The Smart Princess because She Reads Books. ariel displays far more intellectual curiosity about the human world than belle does about anything. tiana is a successful businesswoman and mulan is a full-on war strategist by the time their stories conclude! i would sooner call them The Smart Princesses, whereas i think belle is far more defined by her passionate heart, her willingness to throw herself into danger, and her yearning for adventure. of course, those aren't terribly descriptively snappy, so i like to say belle is The Gothic Heroine Princess, as shorthand, because of the atmosphere of beauty and the beast and because she is a Capital R Romantic.

take the things we meet her reading, for one:

“i just finished the most wonderful story about a a beanstalk and an ogre and...”

“far-off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!”

“here's where she meets prince charming, but she won't discover that it's him till chapter three!”

this isn't to say that people who enjoy fairy tales and fantasy aren't intelligent, or that they aren't intellectually stimulating genres (consider villeneuve's full, literary “beauty and the beast” - if you want a fairy tale to rotate around your brain for months, that's it!) but intellectual stimulation is not what belle is focusing on. she delights in reading for the escapism - the adventure, the magic, and the romance that she craves.

and, speaking of which, for all the jokes people make her about her Daily Mean Song (and i do think that tweet is extremely funny), she's not even intellectually snobbish! the most derision in that vein she ever gives is in response to gaston - “well, some people use their imaginations.”/”you are positively primeval.” - who fully deserved it in the moment, because he was disrespecting her, her book, and generally behaving like a boor!

yeah, she remarks on the poor, provincial town and its little people, but what is her chief complaint? “every day like the one before.” “every morning just the same since the morning that we came.” yeah, she remarks that there’s no one in the town she can really talk to - but it’s clear from the opening number that it’s not that it’s because she thinks she’s better than them, but because they think she is the strange one!

leaving those thoughts aside, it’s also worth noting that throughout, belle acts far more from her heart than her head, relying on her emotions. racing off alone into the woods to try to find her father is not smart. sacrificing herself to become the prisoner of the beast is not smart. going into the west wing, after being expressly forbidden to do so by the beast, is not smart. for all she knows, the beast could have killed her for that. and defying gaston publicly, in front of his mob of angry villagers - decidedly not smart! and belle does not give a fuck, because she is The Gothic Heroine Princess, and she knows instinctively that her Capital R Romanticism will save the day. her good judgment of character - distrusting gaston, for instance - is often cited as another example of her intelligence, and it is - but that is something else that’s rooted in emotional intelligence versus intellectual intelligence. her emotional strength - her compassion and her passion, her sense of adventure and her sense of what is right, no matter what the rest of the world tells her to do and feel and think - is what gets her through her ordeals in the village that ostracizes and rejects her, as well as the enchanted castle with danger and mystery around every corner. (indeed, the line between “enchanted castle” and “haunted castle” is but a gossamer thread, and she makes that castle her home.)

and, of course, there is absolutely nothing more gothic heroine than falling in love with disney’s very first byronic hero.

#;ask me your questions and get some answers. #;dream factory. #;ever just as sure as the sun will rise.

[smallgodseries]

[image description: A wildly opalescent oval with a sweet vaguely-feline face, eyes closed and a purple/violet gem on its forehead. Text reads, “ #260, LAMELLA, SMALL GOD OF OPALESCENCE”]

• • • • •

Whether refraction or reflection, opalescence is beautiful: no one can deny that.  It transforms something simple into something infinitely complex, layered and deep in ways that can defy description.  It’s not the only effect of its kind—aventurescence is spoken less frequently, and labradorescence less frequently even than that—but it’s the one everyone knows, the one pursued in children’s playsets and in countless shades of nail polish.

There are many complex, scientific explanations for the phenomenon of opalescence, but for most, it seems like magic, and where magic and physics are invoked together, gods are born.

Lamella isn’t inherently a good god or a bad god.  They don’t care about morality.  We’re not sure they even understand what it is.  They’re a god of appearances, of the surface of things and the deep structures that support that surface.  They just want things to be beautiful.

Blood can be beautiful, before it dries.  So can a butterfly’s wings in the sun.  Lamella loves them both equally, and they will not save you.

Remember that when something shimmers.  When it shines.

#small gods #seanan mcguire #lee moyer

[josie-marks]

Y'all I just read the description of the Wicked movie that was shown at cinemacon, I'm going to talk about it so there will be a spoiler of the movie!! (you can see the description here)

Anyways, when Glinda tells Elphaba to not be afraid during Defying Gravity she adds another thing, she says "You can do this, you can do anything". I think that's such a sweet addition to their dialogue, it shows that Glinda is THE person that has absolute faith in Elphaba and I think that's beautiful and it just make me realize that we will have new Gelphie dialogue in this movie!!! Like?? Hello?? There are so many possibilities, maybe the new dialogue will make everything even gayer yeah that's a possibility.

#wicked #wicked movie #gelphie #elphaba thropp #glinda upland #text #a lot of people have strong negative thoughts about this movie #but i choose to watch it with an open heart #maybe i'll end up loving or hating #i don't know i just need to >>see<< it first #so yeah #i really liked this new dialogue i'm so happy with this

[flurrin]

I know it's petty to still be disappointed about the Netflix adaptation of Watership Down but it feels like few things sum up my feelings of how far off base it is compared to the 1978 version better than the relevancy of the credit songs. Fire on Fire is a beautiful, stirring, gentle love song, inherently queer and powerful, I love it and listen to it a lot and have it on an OC playlist, it's very dear to me. That said:

Bro... what the fuck ever does any of it have to do with the themes of Watership Down. Kind of the entire point of the book was that they don't fall in love like humans but that doesn't make them a society less capable of protecting and caring for each other. The Netflix adaptation also didn't focus any more on a romance between Hazel and Hyzenthlay (despite giving her a lot more time and things to do, good job!) so the song at best reads as Fiver and Hazel, which is... certainly a direction to take brothers?? I would genuinely get a lot out of that interpretation if the song wasn't explicitly romance-coded. There IS a lot of dread and perseverance through inevitable conflict in it (they say that we're out of control and some say we're sinners / but don't let them ruin our beautiful rhythms) and again in regards to Fiver I think it handles his panic attacks really well with the way Hazel understands him and gives him a focus point to calm down. it's a good song, it's just...why does it have to be about a modern day human romance (my mother said I'm too romantic / she said "you're dancing in the movies").

So why is Bright Eyes better for Watership Down? Because one of the major themes of the movie and book are the characters' constant relationship with Death, orbiting it, defying it, accepting it.

Aside from leaning heavily into descriptions of nature and how death reflects in it, there's an emotional element of curiosity as well, which is another big thing for the rabbits in the books--curiosity helps Hazel understand how things literally beyond his understanding, like the concepts of boats and flight and domestication, can save his warren. The scene featuring the song makes it about Fiver's refusal to accept Hazel's death, paired with his insight into the spiritual.

Like my argument here is not "the song should have been about rabbits". That's dumb. I honestly think Fire on Fire is a better song than Bright Eyes just on their own with no context, i love how much the line "fire on fire would normally kill us" communicates and i think Bright Eyes' " following the river of death downstream" spells out the meaning of the song too literally and weakens it. But Fire on Fire still doesn't feel like a Watership Down song. And Bright Eyes will always be THE Watership Down song.

#even the really weird 2000s cartoon that wasn't ALLOWED to show death got it #watership down #media epiphanies #flurr text

[queenimmadolla]

hi, love! i’m write fics and i’m white and i try to leave things out of my fics like readers cheeks being red or running fingers through her hair, things like that, i was just curious if you had any tips on what else i could to do make my writing as inclusive as possible and avoid anything that’s white-coded

one thing i try to do is mention the head a lot or open action. i have my moments of slip ups to, my fics aren't white coded but i mention fingers through hair sometimes (because for me it was possible, just painful as heck cause he was ripping through my curls when his fingers got stuck in my fuzzball and now it's possible due to my hairstyle but i have to watch myself there) and to mitigate that, i mention playing with hair, cupping the back of your head, stroking your hair─because this doesn't imply the hair is a certain texture─and you can follow that one up with reader shaking their hair out to keep it from being flat and smashed down, because now we're including readers with thick hair, braids, locs, pixie cuts, wolf cuts, pretty manes of curls, beautiful 'fros, etc.

when you wanna maybe imagine your reader with an updo, imply the reader's hair is just out of their face and out of the way. that can just mean they've put it back, be it in a ponytail, slicked back, with a bandana, etc. but my trick is to not be descriptive. i once tried that with an outfit while writing a fic and one of my friends proofing it for me said they liked to imagine the outfit themselves and i realized i didnt need to go super into depth about my reader's physical appearance because their imagination was gonna do alllllll the reader inserting, i just had to make sure to not include any major descriptors which snap them out of it. so i stopped being super descriptive regarding appearance.

yes, saying "Your long hair had enough tangles in it to resemble a well put together rat's nest", is more Shakespearean─per say─but if you say "Your hair was a complete and utter wreck you'd have to spend an entire episode of Games of Thrones to fix to your satisfaction" you don't state the texture or length of the hair but you imply it's bad enough to take a while to maintain and trust me─your readers are gonna imagine their worst nightmare all on their own and what they want the outcome to be.

i focused more on the reader's actions and emotions more than squeezing in some blushing moments or physical descriptions. eddie just said something heartwarming that she never imagined in her wildest dreams he'd say to her? why have her blush when she could feel like her knees were going to give in while simultaneously feeling as though she could defy gravity, disregard the very laws of physics and float on air?

that's just what I do though, anyone else have more advice for our pal????

#$ replies #poc!reader inclusivity #black!reader inclusivity #writing inclusivity tip