#warp calculations

[bookloversofbath]

The Weaver's Book of Fabric Design :: Janet Phillips

The Weaver’s Book of Fabric Design :: Janet Phillips

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#0-7134-2598-9 #bedford cord #books by janet phillips #dice weaves #first edition books #fly shuttle looms #hand weaving #herringbone twill #joining weaves #motifs #textile arts #textile design #textile weaving #textured yams #twills #warp calculations #warp yams #weave eflfects #weft yams #wefting plans #whipcords #woven fabric design #woven fabrics

[spontaneousmusicalnumber]

I made a warping board today! I'm one step closer to being able to use my floor loom!

Who needs to spend $150 on a warping board when INSTEAD you can spend $50 on wood and supplies and *checks notes* put it off for two and a half months

#my posts #my art #weaving #if my calculations are correct itll warp up to 8 yards

[echthr0s]

"just because someone has a PD doesn't mean they're automatically going to be abusive": nodding, yes good, go on

"if they're abusive they chose to be that way": [EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER NOISE]

#always a bad time when the paradigm pendulum overcorrects and swings too far into the opposite extreme #like we ARE remembering these are disabilities right. these are conditions that hijack cognition and impair healthy social function #and we ARE also remembering that abusive behaviours are not always conscious and calculated #it'd blow some people's minds how many situations that look like ''i'm gonna fuck up this person's life On Purpose and For Fun'' #are actually not that at all. the abuser's brain was just extremely on fire all the time forever and they've never examined that #and OF COURSE their extremely-on-fire brain is their responsibility and it's going neglected #(which is a thing that happens for various reasons ranging from apathy/indifference to lack of resources to complete unawareness) #but i don't think that equals ''they're choosing to be Abusive'' as if the malignant behaviours that are common with unmanaged PDs #are a choice the person is making and not a symptom of a disorder that fundamentally warps how a person sees the world #and interacts with it #we're still making nonsensical divisions between ''the Good type'' and ''the Bad type'' and i don't think that gets us anywhere

[void-botanist]

Heads up seven up

Thank you @writinglittlebeasts for the tag!

Rules: post 7 lines from your current wip!

My brain is full of Nicea so please enjoy this random snippet I wrote because it came to me:

"This is the longest jump," she said, tracing the fifth one with a finger as though it looked longer on the map. "I'll meet you there in sixteen days?" Declan looked to Rodney, who nodded decisively. "Okay." Her eyes dropped to the map again, her finger skipping to an intermediate system. "A tip: stay out of Lestra system. It's full of pirates."

I'll tag @autumnalwalker, @sunset-a-story, and @vacantgodling plus anyone else who'd like to join in!

#Rodney and Tristan have put together a trip map and Spinder has a warp witch friend of a friend. here they are combined #when she tells you how to avoid pirates you should listen. she knows what she's talking about #sixteen days is also an extremely vague estimate for how long it will take them to get there. I don't have Calculations yet #tag games #heads up seven up #wip: nicea #c: Declan #c: Rodney #c: Christina

[wyrm-in-a-closet]

i love making funny calculators for things on desmos

#just made one to find the optimal travel time using a FTL method for one of my space settings #for instance if you want to go exactly 100 light years the optimal acceleration time is 41.107 hours before you stop accelerating #at which point you engage the warp drive #and then once you reach the destination you turn around and decelerate for 41.107 more hours #for a total travel time of around 164 hours #technically that's not fully optimal because it doesn't account for distance covered during acceleration #however #that would be a huge bitch to calculate #because while accelerating you only cover 1/200000~ of the distance covered while warp driving

[chaotictomtom]

going like this kitty cat rn because of mccoy's behaviour i love these three's dynamic so fucking much

#he's all worried and restless that jim and sulu aren't back yet #“it's been over 50min 😩” #spock fucking going “it is a stealth mission so yes it does take longer ☝️🤓” #which makes mccoy flustered going “😠😡 shouldn't u be working on your time warp calculations mr spock 🖕?!!!” #“😐....i am ☝️😏” “😧” “😐” #WAHHH they're so silley i love them #tomtom_starts_startrek

[thatone-highlighter]

2, 18, 19?

2. three last songs you listened to

Cringe by Matt Maeson, Chalk Outlines by Ren & CHINCHILLA, Fresh by Artist vs Poet

18. three songs that remind you of your best friend

Youre so mean to me for this one so im not gonna do it properly im gonna list more then 3 song so i can vague about more people Wine Red by The Hush Sound, Isometrica by Violet Pony, Haircut and Blame by Chaz Cardigan, Another Place by Bastille, Take Me To Church by Hozier, I Was So Sure by mthnl, I Remember You by Adventure Time, This Is Why by Paramore, Why Do I by Set It Off and Hatsune Miku, Making A Monster by The Hoosiers

19. three songs that are your guilty pleasures

Well first of cringe is dead, i listen to the worlds most cringe music ever and will admit to it freely. Music is made to be listened to and enjoyed theres no point in feeling bad for the music you like as long as you like it. But if i had to give you the subjective worst songs i listen to to enjoy unironically, id probably pick never gonna give you up by rick astley, the duck song, and All Star owl city remix

Ask Game

#listen the guilty pleasures on was Hard when two of my most listened to playlists are the cringe playlist and 8 year old core #and everyone knows i listen to the fallen kingdom series and the worlds most obscure imagine dragons songs #the besties one is in no particular order. and none of them have anything to do with the actual song (well one does you know who you are) #honestly the besties on has more to do with if someone introduced me to a song or we've talked about it when i hear it i think of you #dont you know bestie that i have a warped perception of what friendship is and cant pick one person to be my bestest friend #honestly how close a friend i consider you can be calculated by what pronouns you think i use #Tree Man Posts #asks #music #ask game

[medicinemane]

Anyway, this thought was because I got in the shower and noticed a bit of gunk on my stomach, so I brushed it off and blood shoots out and I go... oh... that was a mosquito

And I realized that I just can't convey how can both see most details on my stomach, but it's out of range of true clarity like about 6 inches closer has, so that's how I can mistake a mosquito for just some schmutz that's got on me

Which made me think that that would be a cool app, so (never had this happen to me, but know a lot of people who have) you can stop having people take your glasses and be like 'Woah! Your eyesight's so bad", not even getting that the glasses don't work in reverse and show them what you actually see (at least I'm pretty damn sure they don't)

Be cool to just be like "this is what I see waking up" and have it be literally true... could be an actually good use for ai

#cause ai is good at running very specific narrow calculations like how to lay a filter over things based on specific numeric data #hard to put bias in there so long as you feed it good data and training #cause it's literally just trying to get it to make predictions about the physics of light as it passes through a lens #and then get it to use that info to spit out an overlay that shows how eyesight would be warped

[inkskinned]

they keep the silverware in the same place. you forget about it a little bit when you move out, but during the holidays, it comes back. the way you smooth over your life for them, a gentle reckoning.

for a while, you tried to find yourself by being wild. throwing your body at the emergency exit. finding comfort in the sharpness of a held breath. you used to write wake up on the inside of your wrist. you couldn't calculate the weight of your own sorrow, only that nobody was looking at the anchor of it. you tried maladaptive coping mechanisms like catnip. got caught half-in half-out of them. felt, weirdly, like you should be embarrassed of all of it.

but it does get better. mostly it's just that you become a priority to yourself. it turns out that lending yourself the ragged edge is just cutting open more marrow. for a while, it felt good to see a physical representation of inward agony. but who was that punishing? you learned, slowly (so slowly it was almost invisible sometimes) that you could put love into the wound instead. that the floor was comfortable because it was certain - but it was cold, and unwanting. instead there is a warm bed. you learn to treat yourself like a kid again. gentle-parent yourself into the shower and over breakfast and into laughing without effort. you do wake up.

but then you come home again, and it is like everything is a strange kaleidoscope of childhood moments. here is how you inherited your mother's anxiety. there is the same music playing, and you can't sit down without worrying you forgot to do something. your mother's clipped words and hovering hands - are you sure? are you sure? birdlike, you find yourself seeing unwell and still end up repeating.

here is your father's anger. you are 16 again. there was a moment where you remember thinking - holy shit. i am so much more emotionally mature than you. how you have to talk him down from minor inconveniences, how you parent him like an errant and spoiled toddler who can't be told no, and i mean it. you feel the warp of you. why you can't be in the same room as people having a completely normal conflict. why your skin crawls if there's ever a hint of a fight. why you live with your hands up, placating. and god forbid you get angry. you feel that little spoiled kid rage against the iron will of you. not you, not your hands. you would rather cut your own tongue out of your head, no matter how valid her argument is.

and you're so fucking far from where you were as a kid. you've done so much healing. and there's this little sad part of you that can see the shadow of your past, and your hands wrapped into each other so tightly you made your knuckles white. and how much your parents are just people, and haven't changed much, and still keep the spoons in the drawer to the right.

there is a long dark tunnel here, and it has a name, but you haven't learned how to process that kind of speech yet. close the cabinet. make a note to go get more oat milk. close your eyes.

this place was never home, was it.

#spilled ink #writeblr

[foone]

I love how much of a blindspot for the computer scifi authors had.

So in Heinlein's Tunnel in the Sky, humanity has developed instant interstellar travel, through what's effectively star gates. China has taken over Australia and "terraformed" it by building an inland sea, we've got weather control technology and stasis fields so that people with terminal diseases can be frozen in time until we figure out how to cure them. Most of the military is women, as changing population dynamics mean men are only like 1/5th of the population.

And at one point in this far off future, the protagonist decides to idly calculate how long it'd take to evacuate all of earth through the warp-gates, so he pulls out his slide-rule.

Instant travel to other planets? Of course. Restructuring an entire continent? Easy. Controlling the entire atmosphere? No problem. Slowing time itself to save people? Absolutely! The army is mostly women, because for some reason not as many men are being born? Yeah, why not!

But digital computers (WHICH ALREADY EXISTED AT THE TIME THIS NOVEL WAS WRITTEN) getting small and cheap enough that a high-schooler could own one and keep it in his backpack?

Well now you've wandered into the realms of fantasy. This is science fiction, we only talk about the possible futures, not silly fantasy stories with magic and dragons and such! No computer will ever be smaller than an a room, and even if you did manage to shrink one enough to be maybe the size of a washing machine, no high-schooler could afford one!

#sci fi

[mediumgayitalian]

Will wears earrings that glint in the sunlight.

Nico is very aware of them.

He’s never seen anything like them before. Bianca wore earrings, little citrine gems that dotted both earlobes, and Hazel wears little hoops in each ear. Piper has dozens of beaded earrings she made herself. Annabeth wears little owl charms. Percy has a diamond stud, Connor’s ears are pierced all over, and Lou Ellen has gauges she’s slowly stretching out. Most people in camp have a piercing or two, really, some of them done by the Apollo or Aphrodite campers, and really sunny days they glint together like the massive disco ball that spun over the slot machines of the Lotus.

But Will’s earrings are different.

There’s no…pokey part, is the best way Nico can describe it. Each piece is a delicate gold chain, maybe two inches long each, with a thin blue sapphire hanging off one end. He threads them through the tiny holes in his lobes, and they dangle, glittering every time he moves. The sapphires refract the light when he tucks back his hair, shining an array of tiny rainbows on his neck, on his jaw.

He is distracted by them, often.

“You’re staring.”

Nico blinks, twitching back to his body. The blue sapphires he’d been staring at are replaced with blue eyes, twinkling with amusement, and he flushes.

“I was — spaced out.”

“Mhm.” Will turns back to his arts & crafts project, dragging a brushful of lavender paint over stained wood. A jewelry box, by the looks of it. “If by spaced out, you mean staring at me.”

Nico returns resolutely to his own project. His is much less delicate than Will’s — the sheath he has strapped to his calf at all times broke, last week, and he’s felt naked without his dagger — and there’s a warp in the leather, where his attention slipped. He focuses on smoothing it.

“Not on purpose.”

“No?” Coming from anyone else, the teasing tone of voice would have him raising his shoulders, twisting his face. But from Will it’s — tolerable, somehow. Perhaps it’s the hand that rests gently on his wrist. “You space out at me a lot, then. Crazy coincidence.”

Nico stars at the freckly, tanned hand, waiting for it to move. It doesn’t. Will keeps it there, callused fingers brushing gentle circles on the base of his thumb, dipping and swooping along with his quiet humming.

Nico swallows. “You’re — distracting.”

Will’s smile spreads slowly across his face; stilted, almost, like he’d tried to bite it back.

“How?”

“You’re —” Nico gestures, vaguely, at all of him. Will’s smile grows, and his cheeks slowly grow pink, blonde ringlets falling out of place and curtaining his face.

“I’m?” he presses.

His voice is soft, near silent; searching, prodding. Hoping. Nico’s breath hitches, and his palms sweat, and Will’s gentle tracing pauses, briefly. He bites his lip, worrying the chapped skin, breathing quick; in, out, in, out. In a slow, calculated movement, watching Nico carefully, carefully, out of the corner of his eyes, he slides their palms together, fingers resting loosely in the spaces of Nico’s open, twitching hand.

“…Is this okay?”

Nico feels lightheaded. He’s sure his palms are clammy, although he can’t tell against Will’s. He gnaws at his lip again. Nico’s exhales are quick, short.

He curls his fingers until they rest on Will’s cracked knuckles.

“You’re striking,” he says quietly.

Ducking his head, Will turns back to his painting. He dips his brush in a deep, blooming green, now, tracing it along the edge of the lavender.

He’s smiling.

#me back on my will wears threader earrings agenda #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #heroes of olympus #hoo #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #solangelo #nico/will #will/nico #soft solangelo #100 ways #100 ways to say i love you #my writing #fic #longpost

[restlesswritingss]

In which Astarion feels guilty

WARNINGS: Talk of PTSD from sexual assaults and domestic abuse for Tav and all the normal warnings that come from Astarion's backstory.

Astarion x reader

Astarion's plan was going perfect, you were falling head over heels for him at an unfounded rate. Your night together had been, well surprisingly wonderful. He had dissociated a little bit but hadn't completely hated it. You were a kind lover, you'd actually wanted to get him off and make him feel pleasured. It'd been oddly nice. He'd felt so guilty afterward. You had trusted him.

He knew only spots of your past but he knew there was some manipulative "lover" there that had made it hard for you to properly be intimate as well. It'd made his plan take a bit longer than he would have liked, and took more manipulation than he found himself feeling comfortable with. But, he played the part perfectly whilst trying to ignore a voice in the back of his brain pointing out he was just treating you like your last abuser. It must have been the tadpole. Sure, he was using you but it had to be done.

So here he lay on the soft forest floor with your head on his chest wide awake. You'd cried when he'd made you cum from his mouth and fingers. He'd comforted you and kissed the tears from your cheeks as you apologized over and over again.

"I've just never felt this safe during sex before," You'd managed weakly as you looked up at him.

That had cracked his façade. He'd never had someone be so open with him. They always just wanted his body and their own pleasure in the end. The fact that this was also the case for you shook him. He'd made you feel safe and he wanted to feel safe too.

That ridiculous thought was pushed aside and he'd continued on, but he was a bit more present after that. It'd felt good with you.

But he hadn't meant for it to. He didn't want more with you. The flush of your cheeks and dilation of your pupils always betrayed more than just lust when you looked at him and he'd used that to fasten the noose around your neck. You were none the wiser. He'd seen the suspicion in your eyes when you first allowed him to join your little party.

You were no fool but he'd managed to find any weak point he could. Your heart was a little too kind, as seen by your offering of blood to him. Astarion at first tried his typical rake ploy, offering only carnal pleasure with no strings attached but that wasn’t the bait that had lured you in.

He still seethed when he remembered your sneer at his overly sensuous flirtations. But then he'd turned on the boyish charm and that had at least made you blush. He'd been careful, calculated in his seduction but that still hadn't truly cracked the tough outer shell that kept everyone at a distance. What had worked was sincerity. It wasn't a tactic Astarion used often, but it had worked wonders with you. Learning of his tragic backstory had caused you to open up almost instantaneously. It was almost pathetic how eager you were to divulge your backstory.

Astarion was analyzing the first time you'd opened up to him as you snuggled deeper into his neck. Anything to ignore the way your warm breath on his neck made him shudder and his arm tighten around you.

You'd caught Astarion trying to check the scars on his back. It wasn't something he thought often about but this night the need to know what was viscously carved into his skin was overwhelming. Astarion was normally sharp and always heard people coming but you had a knack for sneaking up on him.

Worry warped your voice as you asked, "Did something happen to your back? Do you need Shadowheart?"

Astarion had panicked and bared his teeth to you. His back was thankfully facing away from you but you'd seen him desperately clawing at it.

The panic in your face made him retreat further. There was genuine caring in your eyes and his whole body rejected the idea of you caring for him. Caring meant pity.

You held up your hands as if he was a cornered stray. It made him actually hiss at you.

"Are you ok?" You asked more assertively, holding his gaze.

That made him falter. You did not fear him and you were not going to let this go.

His shoulders slumped and his head fell as mumbled, "Something did happen to my back but nothing Shadowheart could heal. It was done many years ago by my master."

You lowered your hands and tilted your head in curiosity, "Does it still cause you pain? I could try to find something to soothe or dull it if you'll let me."

Your asking of his consent to help him was the final nail in his coffin. He felt bile rise in his throat as his body succumed to your caring before his mind could stop it.

He simply shook his head as he turned to allow you to see one of his greatest shames. This wasn't apart of his plan to seduce you and he needed to regain the upper hand.

"Why did he carve infernal into your back?"

Astarion's shoulders tensed at your words.

"Infernal? The bastard said it was a poem!"

Now you took in a sharp breath, "Sorry I forgot you'd probably never seen it."

"Another way I can never be free of him, an infernal poem carved into my back to serve as a constant reminder of my master," Astarion scoffed. The words were bitter in his mouth.

It was then, after hearing his vulnerability that you felt inclined to divulge some of your own. You knew Astarion would feel as if you had power over him with this information, and you wanted to make things more equal between the two of you.

Astarion was astonished that you were such an idiot. He hadn't even had to plan to get you to open up to him and divulge information he was surely going to use against you. He no longer felt vulnerable at all. You were too much a fool to even think to use his past against him. The knowledge of your past with a truly awful lover was another tool in his arsenal to get into your bed and good graces.

Astarion wasn't new to feeling immense guilt for tricking his exploits, but before he had been able to comfort himself that it was Cazador not him. But his manipulation of you was all him. Cazador no longer controlled him while the tadpole was in his head. Astarion was manipulating you completely out of his own volition. And to his surprise, it felt utterly awful.

Another dagger to his conscience came in you nuzzling your face into his neck in your sleep. Your soft breath on his neck felt oddly nice. He wasn't used to cuddling after his exploits. That's not to say he was a stranger to any sort of romance involved in sexual exploits, he was an expert in literally romancing the pants off of people. But this, this was new in how it made him feel.

He normally wanted to crawl out of his skin and couldn't get out of his lover's bed fast enough. But here he was on a dirty floor in the middle of the godsdamned forest actually enjoying the feeling of your body pressed to his. This was not a part of his plan.

* * *

The first rays of sun awoke Astarion, the old panic that it would burn his skin still overtaking his body. But now it was overridden by a desire to bask in the sun's rays while he could. The only thing making him hesitate was your limbs completely entangled him. He sighed, half-heartedly exasperated. Even with his extensive skills, there was no way of disentangling himself without waking you up. Astarion found himself hesitating not because he didn't want to speak with you more, as was normally his reasoning behind being quiet as possible with previous marks, but more so because he enjoyed watching you sleep.

A very creepy and unwelcomed thought. But, a thought and feeling he couldn't help as you drooled on his chest and snored into his ear in a way he found endearing. A worrying development.

But Astarion couldn't let his precious time in the sun go to waste. As soon as he tried to move your arm, you stirred and blinked up at him with sweet yet bleary eyes. The unfiltered softness and adoration in your gaze made what was left of your blood in his system rush to the tips of his ears.

"Good morning handsome," you drawled, smiling up at him before turning away from him to stretch all your limbs.

Astarion frowned at the loss of your warmth. His arms moved of their own volition to snake around your middle to pull you back flush against him. The flitty laugh you let out as you melted back into his embrace made his mind go blank. The comfort and sweetness in this simple embrace warmed him more than the sun ever could.

Spooning was a common request amongst his previous partners, but this, this felt natural and intimate.

"How are you feeling?" You asked, your hand moving to cover his that was placed on your stomach.

"Me? Wonderful darling, better than ever. I ought to be the one asking you that question," His voice lost it's humor and went far too soft at the end. Worry seeped in, worry that you would regret this exploit or that he had hurt you in some way.

Your other hand reached behind to stroke his hair lightly. Astarion resisted the urge to moan at how good your nails felt on his scalp.

"I feel better than I have in a long time, I just hope I made you feel as good as you made me feel," the insecurity crept into your voice.

Astarion tightened his grip on you, wanting to keep away the dark thoughts he knew were creeping in. He didn't want you to think of past abuse or mistreatment. You didn't need to worry about his pleasure, or fear that he would be angry with you for not focusing on him at all times.

"As I said before, last night was positively divine," Astarion stopped himself before continuing.

His instinct was to put the mask back on and make a suggestion to continue the fun in the morning light. But he didn't really want a part two in this moment. He was enjoying this tender embrace.

You sighed contently, sinking further into his arms. As you began to drift back into sleep, Astarion looked up towards the rising sun. The divinity of basking in the warm sun rays was tainted slightly. There was a nagging in the back of his skull that wasn't the worm in his head.

It was guilt. Guilt for manipulating you. He didn't truly return the romantic feelings he was fostering in you with his honeyed words and longing gazes. He was using you for protection. He tried to remind himself that it was necessary for his survival. But the level of his manipulation was a bit much, even for him. And this cuddling in the morning was not necessary for his survival. He was just enjoying it.

This was going to blow up in his face. He really should work on his planning skills.

Author's Note: IDK what the fuck this is but I just needed to get something written. Let me know what you think even if you hate it I appreciate any feedback!

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Keep your eyes on the road (aka an unexpected sex pollen adventure)

Summary: Honestly, this is what Bucky gets for not listening to you.

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ only. Oral sex while driving, sex pollen, sex in a car, bad language, Bucky desperately needing to bang. Also please do not try to replicate this unless you are in fact with a super soldier who has super reflexes, as blow jobs while driving should probably be attempted by super people. 

A/N: Is this really my first time writing sex pollen? Yes it is. Is Bucky being needy and desperate kinda fun? Yes it is. Did I enjoy writing this? Yes I most certainly did. I hope you enjoy it too. ;)

*****

The thing is, you told him you didn’t feel like coming on this mission.

And you told him not to open that container with the giant blood red skull on it. 

And you told him to to wear a mask.

And you told him to let you drive, but he shouted something about you being a passenger princess before unceremoniously shoving you in the getaway car.

So yeah. You told him all these things.

The thing is, Bucky fumes, glaring at the swerve of headlights advancing in his rearview mirror - he really needs to learn how to fucking listen.  

“Shit, shit, shit!” He slams the accelerator to the floor and the car gives a sickening lurch. Beside him, you crack your head on the window, trying to buckle your seatbelt and swearing at the top of your lungs. 

“Bucky what the hell’s the matter with you? Just drive.” 

“I’m trying,” he snaps. He can feel the flushing prickle of sweat beading down his neck. Rubbing a shaking hand down his face, he blows out a harsh breath. “Why in god’s name is the heater on? Turn that shit off, I’m burning up over here.”

Craning your neck, you watch the headlights gaining. Fumbling for the Glock taped under the seat, you shoot him a confused look. 

“The heater isn’t on, it’s freezing in here. I told Steve to fix it and he ignored me because he's a giant asshole.”

Eyes locked on the road, Bucky reaches blindly for the window handle, hurriedly rolling it down. A blast of cold air rushes through the car and he gulps in relief.

“Better, much better,” he mutters. He squints into the rearview mirror again, mentally calculating the time between headlights and taillights, when he feels a twisting wrench in his chest. It sends bursts of heat skimming under his skin, snagging every nerve along the way. A panicked whine slips through clenched teeth. Alarmed, you turn back and meet his wild eyes, sweat now pouring down his face.   

“What the - what’s wrong? Bucky? Talk to me!” 

When you grab his arm, he visibly recoils. 

“No no no, don’t touch me, don’t - ah holy fuck, don’t touch me. If you do, I can’t - I’m gonna put the car in the ditch.” 

“You’re scaring me Bucky, what is this?”

He says nothing, deep in thought as his brain runs through the mission on warp speed, trying to identify something, anything, that could possibly -

Wait.

Oh.

Crap.

It's like a sucker punch when he realizes.

“The gold dust that flew out of that container, did any of it touch you?”

“You mean the one I told you not to open but you did it anyway because you can’t follow directions? Bucky what is wrong, you need-“

“Answer me,” he snarls. In the dashboard glow, you see his face pale. He blinks rapidly, trying to focus. “Sorry, sorry, just - please answer. Did any of it get on your skin?”

Baffled, you shake your head.

“No. None of it touched me, it just hit you.” 

Bucky nods, relieved. 

“Good, okay. Okay. Think I know what this is,” he grits out. Another shudder wracks his body and he grips the steering wheel so hard it squeals in protest. “HRNE-75.”

Your response is a blank stare.

“Am I supposed to know what random letters and numbers mean?”

“It’s a stimulant.” 

“Like caffeine?”

“No, like a drug.” You can hear him breathing faster. “Like a - like an aphrodisiac.”

Still a blank stare.

“What kind of aphrodisiac?”

“People call it sex pollen,” he says flatly. “It makes you horny. Like - really fucking horny. And it hurts like hell unless you do something about it.”

“Well, okay. We’ll figure that out when we get home, but for now - “

“I can’t - I don’t think I can wait until we get home,” he interrupts. Sweat soaks the collar of his shirt and he shifts uncomfortably, glancing down. Following his gaze, you can see his cock straining against his jeans. 

“Jesus Christ. Bucky if you’re in pain, just pull over and let me drive, you can jerk off in the backseat.”

“We don’t have time to pull over, that fucker’s right behind us and if we don’t get us past Steve’s stupid check point, we’re gonna lose him and then the whole mission is wasted and I got sprayed by some bullshit horny dust for no reason and I’m sweating so much right now and I think I’m going to throw up, my dick hurts so fucking bad!” 

His voice reaches an hysterical pitch and you press your lips together, choking down the laughter. 

“Okay okay, I got it. So if you come, does that stop the pain?”

“Yeah, but doesn’t matter,” his shoulders slump miserably. “We can’t stop yet and I can’t jerk off and drive at the same time. Maybe under normal circumstances I could do it, I mean sure I have done that before because sometimes I get bored driving, but I just don’t have that kind of focus right now baby, I don’t.” 

Tremors are rattling through his entire body now, as he fights for control. As he shifts his hips, unconsciously searching for some kind of friction to offer relief, an idea pops into your brain.     

“Hey. Let me give you road head.” 

His hands slip on the wheel and he double-takes. 

“Wha - road head? Like - what does that mean? Like you’d give me a blow job? While I’m driving?”

If this were any other situation, you would tease him mercilessly for the way his voice squeaks, but you smother the urge. Plenty of time for that later.   

“Of course. If it helps.”

“But you mean, you’re going to suck my dick? While I’m driving?”

“Love the emphasis on the important words. Yes, I’m going to suck your dick, while you’re driving.”

Bucky bats the idea around, debating whether you’re actually serious and whether he is probably definitely going to drive down a highway at - he checks the speedometer - 145 miles per hour, while you suck his dick. Another wave of heat roils through him and he stifles a groan. Glancing at your expectant face, he gives a shaky nod.

“You’re sure?”

Rolling your eyes, you unbuckle your seatbelt and scoot closer to him.

“It’s not a hardship Buck. You know I’m your dick’s number one fan.” Carefully popping the button on his jeans, you tug down his zipper and he pushes up his hips, struggling to help. The slight pressure on his aching cock already has him whimpering. “Just drive careful, alright? If I die because you wreck Steve’s car while I’m sucking your dick, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Bucky breathes. “Careful. Sure. Whatever you say.”

Grasping him firmly, you lower your head and take his dick all the way down in one smooth move.

“Oh my fucking god,” he shouts, eyes fluttering. “Sweet shit that’s good!” 

He keeps one hand in a death grip on the wheel, while he places the other against the back of your neck, keeping you firmly in place. Bobbing up and down, your tongue strokes along the ridges of his cock and you feel him swelling impossibly thicker. Tightening your lips, you suck hard, dragging slowly up  and he croaks out a garbled plea.   

“Keep going, keep going, please keep going.” Beneath your practiced mouth, his entire body begins to vibrate and he grips the back of your neck tight, chanting desperately. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, holy fuck, I’m gonna come.”

He thrusts up, holding your head tight as he comes down your throat. When your fingers scratch along his thigh, his foot inadvertently pushes the accelerator harder. The car climbs to 155 miles per hour and above you, the sound of ragged panting fills the car. 

Releasing his dick with a soft lick, you look up and Bucky chokes at the sight of your spit slick, swollen lips curving into a smile.

“That was fast. Feel better?”

He breathes a whispered yes, but you can still see the red flush still spreading down his neck. He swallows hard and grimaces.  

“Helped. Definitely helped. Still hurts, but better,” he says faintly and you see his cock is still rock hard. “It’s okay, it’s enough for now, I appreciate the - “

Rolling your eyes, you lean down and take him back in your mouth. Slipping a hand between his legs, your fingers carefully cup the heavy weight of his balls, squeezing gently. The rest of his sentence fades, melting into a rush of fervent praise.

A luscious ache settles in your belly, feeding off the hot desire you feel sparking through him, at the filthy words you hear him whispering above you. If you weren’t driving down a pitch black highway at a completely inappropriate speed, you’d consider reaching down to take care of yourself, but since you’re already flouting the most basic rules of automotive safety, you figure you should keep your hands on Bucky’s balls instead.

Of course, that doesn’t stop you from rubbing your thighs together to try and relieve some of the pressure. 

Bucky glances over at your movement, a deep growl rumbling in his chest at the sight. He didn’t think anything could make him harder at this point, but the image of you so turned on by giving him a blow job, does the trick. He grinds his teeth, dangerously close to just pulling over and saying fuck this ridiculous mission. Rubbing his hand between your flexing shoulder blades and slowly bobbing head, his rasping voice carves into you.

“Does this make you feel good? Doin’ this for me? Fuck me, wish I could help you out right now. You’re so damn good to me baby. Moment we stop this car, I’m gonna fuck you so good.”

With his dick buried deep in your throat, your enthusiastic hum of agreement vibrates deliciously and he struggles to keep his eyes on the road. Everything feels incredible. Your tongue curling around the head of his cock, sucking gently on the tip, before sliding back down. The way you swallow around him, the squeeze of your throat, so hot and slick and tight. It feels so god damn good and he’s close again, one more second - 

The transmitter sitting in the console squawks to life, an ear piercing siren shocking you both from the lust fueled haze. You jerk off Bucky’s dick in a panic and he nearly screeches at the loss. Scrabbling with the device, he smashes the green TALK button.

“What?! What the fuck do you need, I’m busy.”

“Calm down there, speed racer,” comes Steve’s breezy voice. “Just letting you know we pulled the guy over. Turn around and come back so we can - “

Steve’s voice is abruptly silenced when Bucky crushes the transmitter with an easy squeeze of vibranium fingers. He flings the shattered splinters of plastic into the back seat and slams both feet on the brakes. The car fishtailes across the road, before skidding to a stop in a spray of gravel. Throwing it into park, he flips the lever under his seat and slides back with a mechanical thunk. Scrambling to pull his pants down all the way, he spreads his legs wide and takes his dick in hand. His eyes are dark, blown black when he turns to you.

“We’re safe. Get your pants off and get over here. Now.” he barks. 

Grinning at him, you tug on your tac pants, shimmying easily from the stretchy black fabric and clambering into his lap. There is no pretense. Bucky lines himself up and yanks you down, filling your cunt in one rough thrust. You’re so wet, he slides in easy. 

“God, Bucky,” you hiss. “That feels so good.”

He tugs on your shirt, pulling everything off until your breasts are bared. His mouth finds a nipple, teeth gently scrapping and tugging, greedily sucking the sensitive peak between his lips. He moves your hips faster, lifting and dragging you down on his cock over and over, until he jerks you down one final time, slams his head against the seat and comes with a long, guttural moan. Deep inside, you feel him pulsing over and over, until you can feel it dripping down your thighs, hot and sticky. 

Head tipped back, he struggles to catch his breath and you can see his heartbeat jumping wildly at his throat. When he finally opens his eyes to meet your questioning stare, you can see.

His eyes are still dark. 

“Need more?” You smile gently, smoothing sweaty hair from his forehead.

He swallows hard and then nods slowly.  

Rocking your hips, you grind down on him and lean in for a deep kiss, sliding your tongue against his. Bucky gives a shuddering sigh, sinking back into the feel of your body rolling against his. Warm hands stroke lightly down your spine and you can feel the thick, heavy weight of him growing hard again between your legs. But waring with the pleasure, a nervous tension seems to grip him.

“Bucky. I’m not made of glass,” you admonish. Licking delicately along his earlobe, he mumbles a string of apologies and your lips trail down his neck, pressing a kiss against that fluttering heartbeat. “You won’t hurt me, I promise. Use me however you need. Make yourself feel good. Just make me come before you’re done. Deal?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he says, shivering uncontrollably at the heady combination of your cool breath and fiery words. “I can do that. ‘Course I’ll do that.”

His hands slide up your back and hook over your shoulders, his fingers splayed over your collarbone. He holds your body firmly in place, thrusting up into you and simultaneously rocking your hips forward. The angle is perfect and you moan at the feel, dizzy with desire as his cock rubs that spot inside just right. 

The sounds filling the car are purely pornographic. Wet skin slapping, Bucky grunting with every hard snap of his hips. The feel of his calloused fingertips stroking up your belly, between your breasts, pressing divots into your skin. He stares up at you, his eyes heavy and hooded and utterly adoring, relishing the sight of you grinding your pussy against him. His hand slips between your legs, stroking over your clit, rubbing fast tight circles. He smugly drinks down the breathless gasps he coaxes from you.   

“Bucky, I think - I think I’m - ”

The words falter when your hand slams into the car roof and your head falls back, eyes drifting closed. Lust slaps him hard as he watches you come, writhing above him, your voice cracking when you moan out his name again and again.  

“That's it, there you go baby,” he whispers roughly. The vision is breathtaking. Stunning. He figures maybe he could get used to sex pollen and a perpetually aching dick if it means he gets to see you like this.

He was already close (again), but the pure pleasure in your face is enough to knock him over the edge. He buries his face between your breasts, pinching your nipple and licking over your skin and your fingers tangle in his damp hair. You hold him tight as he gasps out your name, emptying himself inside you one more time.

And this time, finally, you can feel some of the spring tight tension disappear. His skin is still hot, but the shivers begin to diminish. Rough hands still grip your hips, but it feels controlled. The manic lust begins to fade, leaving a smoldering fire in his chest.   

Bucky tips a weary head back and meets your amused expression. A smile tugs the corner of his lips and he shakes his head. 

“God damn,” he sighs.

Scratching your nails lazily along his scalp, he leans into your touch, humming like a contented, if slightly feral, kitten. 

“Feel better?”

“So much better,” he murmurs. “Sorry that went completely sideways. Wasn’t really expecting that. Obviously enjoyed it, but still. Unexpected adventure.”

Pressing a kiss to his forehead you laugh.

“Next time, maybe don’t open the can with the giant red skull on it. Deal?”

“Deal.”

A comfortable silence settles. Bucky trails his fingers down your arms and you eye him thoughtfully.

“So, do you think they’ll come looking for us?”

“Maybe. Eventually. What should we do while we wait?”

There is a moments pause. And then you begin to roll your hips against him again and Bucky feels the electricity flare to life once more.

“We keep going.”

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bitsmasterlist

[heartlyrins]

sorry for the second ask lord Sunday is seeping into my brain like a parasite rn but 😭😭😭 imagine being the second sister of Sunday. After the passing of robin he slowly started getting more obsessive and controlling over poor sister readers life due to his paranoia growing.

Oh you want to go out? Too bad. You can’t. It’s too dangerous for you he’ll insist. At first it was reasonable as you both harbored your grief together. You were scared for him too but it slowly started growing worse as the days dragged on. Your friends grew concerned as you started being distant; not answering their messages and calls and always excusing yourself from hangouts.

But since Sunday is usually admired and respected, none of your friends questioned him when he stated you were having mental issues due to your sisters passing.

Slowly his feelings of obsession lead into dangerous territory, suddenly talking about having a family with you. He insisted it would save you both and eventually poor reader fell to his demands, being brainwashed into thinking he was right.

(Also aaa if you don’t mind could I be 🪽 anon? :3 I’m the one that sent sensitive reader with Sunday)

HELLOOO, of course you can be the 🪽 Anon! Sorry this took awhile to respond.. Also I love the idea of possessive!Sunday.. I want this man to obliterate me.

Tw:Incest, Incest, Incest, suggestive, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, brainwashing, implied noncon at the end, DLDR under the keep reading

After the death of Robin, you noticeably notice the change in your big brother.. As the head of the family, he's always been calm, calculating yet after her death you can slightly see the twitch in his eyes. Nowadays, it's becoming more recent.

Especially when you're in his sights.

At first, it starts slow. He starts limiting you from going out or into the dream world without a guard or him. You still could accept the reason that it's dangerous outside, it's understandable that he's worried since what happened to Robin.

But then he starts going further, he doesn't let you visit your friends or talk with your friends under the reason that it could be an impostor or something.. It makes you laugh the first time he said it, but then you realize he was serious.

At that point you were already fed up with his antics, but the final strings were him not allowing you to go out of his room or go into the dream world.. Like at all. You're forced to stay inside his room which you couldn't understand, why can't you stay in your own room?

You would go and meet him up yourself.. But the problem is that you're too scared, scared of your big brother and how much more terrifying he could be.

So you kept silent the first few days and you can see that he's pleased with that, he starts to let you out of his room and inside the dream world once again.

But then— you notice that your friends started to distance yourself from you, they didn't want to reply to your messages or when they coincidentally meet with you in the dream world they seem scared out of their wits and excused themselves of being busy.

You pinpointed it all to him—who else could it be? He would be the only one terrifyingly powerful enough to scare your friends away—or even threaten them!

And that's where you snap, you stormed into wherever he's at and yell at him to stop messing with your life! He mostly kept a calm composure but you can the little twitch in his eye that he does once again—

Suddenly your head feels dizzy and you feel like everything around you is warping.. There's strange purple trails in your vision, your inner being is telling you—no, commanding you to follow his every saying.

You don't remember how you ended up in this position;in his bed, naked while he's stroking your back, whispering sweet nothings in your ear and how he wants a family with you.

You can't move—you can't think for yourself, but somehow your mind deluded yourself into thinking that this is where you belong.

And right here is where you'll stay, beside your big brother.

#tw.dark content #tw.noncon #tw.incest #sunday #hsr sunday #yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #hsr noncon #hsr smut #yandere sunday #sunday smut #honkai star rail #hsr #yandere hsr #Sunday noncon

[yooils]

everything i know about love. itoshi brothers (seperately!) x reader. bittersweet. fluff & angst. unrequited love.

☆彡– but really, how can he mourn for something he’s never had ?/ or, reasons why they’ll never love.

a/n: i’m so sorry for the way i delayed all my writings!! the rin thing took so long.

SAE ITOSHI can’t love. (at least, that’s what everyone believes, and what he tells himself.)

he doesn’t love. he criticises, observes, scorns it, but he doesn’t know how to love.

maybe that ability was lost a long time ago– along with his naive passion. maybe it was never there to begin with– a fitting explanation, it seems, for a heartless being like him.

sae itoshi doesn’t love. sae itoshi doesn’t allow himself to indulge in such luxuries. (after all, isn’t football supposed to be his only passion?)

but when he meets you, he feels like his world’s been thrown into turmoil.

you’re leagues above him, he thinks.

you’re more than he deserves; more than what he’s signed up for when he chose his future at the age of 13. there was no love included in the contract. there was only a sponsored one-way trip to spain.

(if anything, he could probably learn to love you.)

you’re kind. you’re so pretty to him that his heart aches when you smile at him. your accidental caresses to his skin makes it feel like it’s burning incessantly, permanently scarring where you touched him. your jokes are so bad sometimes a smile creeps out from his stoic face– but vanishes before you can point it out.

he likes you, but he’ll never love you.

not in this life.

(“you’ve probably noticed, but i do like you as more than a friend, sae.”

sae’s breath hitches. he wants, so desperately, to say yes.

he doesn’t.

your understanding smile lingers with him for days.)

it's no surprise when you start to draw away from him, really. but why does his heart ache when he thinks about a world of soccer– without you?

sae itoshi doesn't love, but now he'll be forever haunted by the whispers of what could have been.

RIN ITOSHI has a warped perception of love.

(after all, he's been hurt before. he knows of the horrors that the ephemeral feeling of love comes with. he knows how this story will end. but while sae itoshi cannot love, rin doesn't need it. he's given up on it, really; the very fabric of love having fallen into his category of 'lukewarm' even when he was a teenager who didn't know better.)

yet through the number of lenses you've seen him through over the years, you wonder if he truly is incapable of loving.

the flame in your heart grows bigger, despite the torrents of mental warnings in your head.

exhibit 1.

for someone who exhibits such emotionless behaviour, he really likes stupid dating sims. and he denies it vehemently, when asked.

“it’s not a matter of the romance. it’s so stupid that it takes my mind off things.” rin deadpans, raising an eyebrow at your sudden question.

exhibit 2.

cutely enough, he has an emo, teenager romance playlist.

(when you point it out, he disagrees that it’s angsty. "it's just for homework. i work better with songs i don't care about as white noise."

–the blatant lie that slips out of his mouth makes you question the very foundation your long standing friendship with rin. was he really that intent on lying about something so amusing?)

exhibit 3.

you've been rin's self proclaimed best friend for as long as you can remember. maybe preschool, or even before.

you know how hard it was for him to keep up with his prodigy brother. you know the lengths he's gone through to earn rank #1 on japan's top 300 footballers. you know rin itoshi, the boy behind the stoic and calculated facade. the boy who says he doesn’t cry, but sometimes finds himself tearing up over sentimental pet movies.

(it’s better this way, you know. it’s better to conceal the fact that you’ve been totally in love with him for almost a decade, from you were both angsty pre-teenagers in middle school until now, in your early twenties, when he’s becoming a rapidly-growing football celebrity and you’re still right where he left you, five years ago.)

there’s no happy ending to this story. there was never meant to be one.

exhibit 4. (the disaster)

it was a mistake.

okay, maybe it was less of a mistake, and more of an impulse decision, considering how little he regretted it the morning after.

he should regret it, shouldn’t he? it’s normal to not regret sleeping with the only person he trusts with his life, right? even if his feelings towards you were only platonic..?

he’s been enchanted by the illusions of love underneath the sheets. now he doesn’t know what to do– when he’s so wrapped up in thoughts of you, you, only you.

does he want to like you? no, heavens, no.

(does he like you, realistically, in an ideal world? yes. so much– maybe he would even sacrifice his career for you in another life.)

love is a curse. love ends everything. love is what fuels his hatred.

does he love you?

even if he does, it’ll be astronomically less than how much you love him, wouldn’t it? does it matter? when he’ll never be enough– when you deserve more?

his rejection– blunt, cold, hits you like a truck.

of course it does.

summary

a part of you will always like rin, you think.

rin is childish– rin, at his twenties– still doesn’t know the true extent of how much you actually like him. you don’t think you’ll ever tell him, either.

maybe you should move on.

how can you, when you’ve been in love with the same person for a decade–? how can you, when he was- is everything to you?

(how could he move on as well– when he’s completely ruined the only person who ever liked him genuinely– without any sort of obligation to do so? how could he, when he was the only one who could be blamed?)

maybe, in ten years, he’ll regret it.

11.22.2023

#blue lock #bllk fluff #blue lock x reader #blue lock angst #bllk angst #log– works #blue lock imagines #rin angst #rin itoshi angst #rin itoshi imagines #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #sae itoshi angst #sae itoshi x reader #sae blue lock #sae imagines #sae itoshi #rin itoshi #blue lock sae #blue lock rin

[just-jordie-things]

[part thirteen] to build a home - gojo satoru

word count: 5.6k warnings: !!manga spoilers!! swearing, jjk-verse style fighting series summary: when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn't tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn't the hard part, it's lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately.

series masterlist

[part thirteen] : “Melt My Soul” ___

How long after a traumatic incident does your body begin to process it? A minute? A day? Or was it the very moment the incident took place?

Does the soul know that this event was going to change the body forever? Or is it the body that processes the trauma the quickest, in order to protect the soul from the impending pain and grief?

It feels as though someone had drilled into (y/n’s) bones, and filled them with metal.  Quick hardening, heavy, toxic metal.  It keeps her trapped in place, stuck.

So stuck, she glances down to study the concrete of the sidewalk, just to see if there was a curse there keeping her put, or cement being poured over her feet.

But no, there was nothing holding her in place.  It was simply her own mind, processing the scene before her too slowly for any of her other bodily functions to operate.

She’s standing outside of a KFC, of all places, close to Shoko’s side, and just barely hiding behind Satoru.  She doesn’t exactly mean to be hiding, but again, she can’t bring herself to move.  Her hands are curled into fists so tight that they’re shaking- or was that just me? She wondered, and hoped at least no one could notice.

Shoko did.  She hadn’t taken her eyes off of (y/n’s) trembling hands since she’d arrived.

Neither of them had said a word, but even if they weren’t frozen in shock, there wouldn’t have been a chance to.  Satoru hadn’t offered even a moment for someone to cut in with their own piece of mind.

“What’re you getting at!?” He snarled loudly, not caring about the non-curse users passing by, just trying to go about their days.

(y/n’s) eyes landed on a particular disgruntled couple, who hastened their steps upon seeing the public display.  How she wished to be them, at this moment.  What a luxury, to find this scene annoying, maybe mildly entertaining.

To think the world as she knew it was crashing down around her, burning up into a crisp.  If only she could walk away and roll her eyes.

“If I could be you…” Suguru speaks and it sounds rehearsed, calculated, as if he’d had this conversation before.  “Wouldn’t my impossible ideal become possible?”

“You can’t be serious” Satoru’s voice finally drops in volume, and (y/n’s) eyes dart from one friend to the other.

She stares at Satoru hard, trying to read him, trying to figure out what was going through his mind.  It’s useless, because she already knows.  She already knows exactly what he’s thinking, because she’s thinking the same thing.

Satoru’s hand curls into a fist, and when (y/n) notices it, she relaxes her own hands, which suddenly feel sore from how long she’s kept them tensed.  Her palms feel raw as the cool breeze hits them.

For the first time since she’d arrived, she opens her mouth.

“Don’t do this, Suguru,”

All eyes are on her now as she steps forward.  Her entire body is aching, maybe from the intense workout she’d done before warping here, maybe from the way the heartbreak is killing her soul.

But then again, what was one more heartbreak?

“Just- just come back, okay? Come back home and we can- we can talk this out”

Satoru and Shoko stare at her, surprised by the offer, wondering if she meant it, that she’d forgive him for his heinous crimes against non-sorcerers, against his own family.

What they don’t know is she’s speaking without thinking.  The words that fall from her take a piece of her heart with them, making them sound like the most sincere thing she’s ever spoken, but truthfully, she just doesn’t want to accept that this is who Geto Suguru was now.  She wanted to give him a chance to prove it all wrong.  She wanted to give them all a chance to forget the last few months and go back to normal.

Suguru chuckles, shaking his head and plastering on a smile.

“Ever the hypocrite, (y/n),” He says, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Her posture stiffens, and her features harden too.  Forgiveness was only Plan A.  Her fingers twitch at her sides, and she fights the urge to curl them back into fists.

“Your exhaustion becomes you,” Suguru continues, with a smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are pointed at her with a venom (y/n) can recognize even from the distance she’s at.  “I see you’ve made your choice”

It’s a comment that doesn’t make sense to the others, but (y/n) knows fully well what Suguru was getting at.  Her teeth grit together.

“Don’t you speak to me about choices!”

On it’s own angered accord, her arm shoots over her shoulder, fingers wrapping firmly around the hilt of one of her swords.  Before she can unsheath it, Satoru’s hand is around her wrist, halting her.

Her head whips towards him so fast she hears a joint pop in her neck, but she’s not bothered by the unsettling crack, consumed enough by her rage to glare at him, silently demanding to know why he was stopping her.  Satoru doesn’t say a word, but when he slowly releases his hold on her, she doesn’t try to draw her weapon again.  The fire in her eyes doesn’t die as he holds her glare.

Suguru laughs to himself, shrugging his shoulders.

“I suppose this is goodbye, to all of you”

Satoru and (y/n) look back over to him, neither of them knowing what to say.  Shoko is wilting behind them both, not having said a word since Satoru and (y/n) had shown up.

Suguru raises his hand, giving what appeared to be a friendly wave.  It feels like a finishing blow.  With that, he turns around, and walks away.  He doesn’t run, he doesn’t summon one of the many curses he could have used to carry him away at high speed.  He simply strolls away.

Satoru raises his arm, and (y/n) watches with baited breath as he positions his middle and forefinger to his palm, tucked there by his thumb, and keeps it aimed directly at Suguru.

It’s only for a few seconds, but with her breath caught in her throat, it felt like ages.

Did she want him to do it? Her heart pounded in her chest, getting quicker with every beat.  Did she want to stop him, just as he had stopped her? Did she want to beg him not to kill him?

The question hits her, and her breath is finally released, a heavy, shaky exhale that makes her entire body deflate.  

Did she want Suguru to die?

Satoru lowers his arm, although his eyes are still trained on the spot his best friend once stood.  He was gone now, lost in the crowd of people.  Leaving the three of them to stand together, staring at that spot, at a loss for words.

What was there to say? Their best friend had defected, he wasn’t the person they knew, he was a murderer.

(y/n’s) the first to move, although it’s staggered, she takes a step back, putting distance between herself and the others.  Satoru and Shoko look at her with worry, and Shoko even reaches out a hand, as though to help stabilize her.  (y/n) takes another step backwards.

“(y/n/n)...” The girl whispers, but (y/n) can’t even meet her eyes.  Her own eyes are glazed over, locked in a fixed position on the ground.

I can’t dwell on this, she thinks to herself rationally.  Her heart begs her to let go, to sit down, to breathe, but she ignores it.  I need to move on.  I need to focus on Megumi and Tsumiki.  I can’t let this distract me.

“(y/n), slow down,” Shoko’s voice is closer to her now, and (y/n) barely registers how her hands set on her shoulders with a feather-light weight.  “Breathe”

She doesn’t notice her breathing has gone ragged, uneven.  She’s panicking.  This is a panic attack.

Move on, she wills herself to get over the incident like it wasn’t her present situation.  Think about the kids, and move on, she tries anyway, because she has to.

The funny thing about trauma was that you couldn’t bend it to your will.  It hits her now that her chest is heaving, her mouth is dropped open as she gasps for air.

Shoko’s trying to get her to focus, something about matching her breathing, and looking at her, but (y/n’s) vision was blurry, and she couldn’t hear a thing over her pounding heart and her own thoughts.

You only have two days left to prepare, she reminds herself.  In two days, the Zen’in Clan is going to come for Megumi, she repeats it like a mantra, a toxic coping mechanism to combat the panic threatening her body.  

She had no time for things like panic and fear.

If you don’t get it together, you’ll lose them.  And if you lose them, what will you have left? You’ve pushed everything away to protect them, you put your life on pause, and you’re about to risk what’s left of it by challenging one of the most prominent families in Jujutsu Society.

Finally, her head snaps up, wide eyes meeting Shoko’s, who flinches upon the contact, and then she turns to Satoru, who was now also standing before her.  (y/n) doesn’t say anything as she looks between them both, and neither do they, at first, but their concern is evident.

“Are you alright?” Satoru asks, leaning in closer as he speaks.  She holds his eye contact, but it doesn’t look to him like she’s processing a word he’s saying.  “(y/n),” He says her name, catching a flicker of recognition in her eyes.  “Can you breathe?”

You don’t have time for panic, the voice in her head reminds her ruthlessly.  You don’t have time for any of this.

She looks back to Shoko, whose tears are spilling onto her cheeks, after too long of holding back her emotions.  Her lip quivers, and her hands tighten on (y/n’s) shoulders, gripping the fabric of her uniform shirt.

You need to leave, the voice commands, and she doesn’t give it a second thought.

She draws her hand upwards, not noticing the violent tremble of her entire arm, she brings her middle and pointer finger to her forehead, closing the rest of her hand.  Satoru recognizes this motion instantly, and jumps forward to rip her hand away from her head.

Using Hexing Eye so recklessly couldn’t be good for her right now.  She hadn’t perfected it, hadn’t learned to use it as a means for teleportation, and without a hex in place, she was bound to lose consciousness as soon as she warped.

(y/n’s) faster, throwing herself backwards just as she closes her eyes and focuses her mind on her dorm room.

“Don’t-!” She barely hears Satoru’s voice before she’s warped away.  It’s distant, almost an echo, almost dream-like.

Her body lands hard on the floor of her room before she even has the time to open her eyes again.  With a groan of pain, she tries stretching her already aching limbs.

I guess that’s why you don’t teleport while mid-fall, she thinks bitterly, pushing herself off the floor on a shaky arm.  Her legs aren’t any better, wobbling like jello as she half-drags herself onto her bed.

She’s going to be bombarded by Satoru and Shoko later, for this defiant act, she knows.  And even as her strength is giving out and her vision is blurring in focus, she thinks it was what she had to do.

She tries to plan on what she’s going to do tomorrow when she sees the Fushiguro kids, but she loses consciousness just as their faces flicker in her mind.

Using Hexing Eye without a hex on the place she was warping to still wasn’t a viable form of transportation.

A tear slips down her cheek as she passes out, still in her uniform, mind still swarming with half-baked strategy plans, and fear.

Despite finally getting a few hours of sleep after two days, it wasn’t a night of rest. ___

When (y/n) picks up the Fushiguro kids from school the following afternoon, they can see her weariness right away.  Even though she smiles, and excitedly asks about how their last couple days had been, they can see through it all.

The bags under her eyes are dark and heavy, and she’s moving slower, almost stumbling over her own feet.  Tsumiki and Megumi share a look of concern, neither of them knowing how to approach the subject.  As involved as (y/n) was in their lives, she hadn’t been very open about her own life outside of them.

Tsumiki takes her hand as they walk home together.  She knew she wouldn’t be strong enough to catch her if she fell, but she hoped that it was enough to bring her some sense of comfort.

Megumi tangles his fingers together, picking at his skin nervously.  He’s reminded of the day in the park, when he’d seen her talking to a supposed friend from her school.  He remembers how she’d looked when she’d told him that a fellow peer of hers had passed away.

She has that same look in her eye now, he notices.

(y/n) feels him staring at her, and when she looks down at him, she gives him a smile.

It looks genuine enough, but he knows it isn’t.  It doesn’t reach her eyes.

Once they get back to the Fushiguro house, (y/n) is quick to whip them up an afternoon snack while they get started on their homework.  Tsumiki and Megumi get right to work, quietly focused on their assignments.

(y/n) sets down the plate of snacks between them, quietly praising them for working so hard.

As she takes a seat next to Tsumiki, Megumi notices the way her body seems to slump into the chair, as though melting into it.  He quickly lowers his gaze back to his homework, but the sight troubles him.

She looked like she was going to drop and pass out any moment.

He tries not to worry about it, because she might not be a real grown up, but she was older than he was, and she was always put together like a real grown up.  Megumi knew that he looked up to her like a grown up, and grown ups didn’t look like this.

He didn’t know what he was looking at, really.

Both kids finish up their homework quickly, and are quick to gather on the sofa to watch tv and relax for the evening.

(y/n’s) slower, still sat at the kitchen table while they dove into their program.  She was still mulling over her options, trying to figure out if it was wrong to hide the letter from them, or if it would be more wrong to tell them about such an adult matter.

Which wasn’t fair, she cursed herself, hanging her head in her hands.  She wasn’t an adult either, she shouldn’t have to deal with all of these decisions either.

Despite her better judgment, she decides to put it off for just a little longer.

She gets up from her seat, and slowly makes her way over to the living room sofa, plopping herself in the space between both kids.

“So, what are we watching? Catch me up” She tells them with a smile, and Tsumiki happily fills her in on the drama in her favorite characters’ lives.

(y/n) tries to sink back into that familiar, domestic feeling she’d grown accustomed to when she’d first joined their lives.  That sense of normalcy that she’d tethered herself to.  But even as she engages with Tsumiki, asks her silly questions about the show, she can’t help but fear this may very well be the last normal night she spends with them.  Tomorrow was Friday, so she wouldn’t see them, and the next day… well, the next day she’d have to face the Zen’in Clan.

Before her mind can derail further, (y/n) feels eyes burning in the back of her head, and she turns to see Megumi staring up at her, completely turned away from the tv.

His expression is neutral, but his eyes are hard as he holds his stare on her.  She almost feels uncomfortable, but she covers it with a small chuckle and a quirked brow.

“Somethin’ wrong, Megumi?” She asks.

His eyes shift to his sister, who gives a small shake of her head, warning him not to say anything about (y/n’s) troubling demeanor.  Megumi sighs, and sinks back into the couch, focused on the tv again.

“No” he mumbles back to her.

He’s not a good liar, but he’s eight, so (y/n) lets it go.  He seems to relax as he watches the show, anyway, so she figured whatever it was, couldn’t be too big of a deal.

The rest of the night continues in the same way.  Until eventually she’s bringing them both upstairs to put them to bed, just like she always does on nights she spends with them.  Except tonight, Tsumiki hugs her for a little longer than usual, and Megumi lingers in front of his bed, unwilling to get it.

“Megumi,” (y/n) calls softly from his doorway.  “Are you alright?”

He turns around to face her, revealing the book in his hands.  Charlotte’s Web.

He hesitates before speaking.

“I’m not tired…” He says, but his voice sounds slow and sleepy.  “Will you read to me for a bit?”

(y/n) smiles, nodding her head back at him.

“Yeah,” She agrees, not thinking twice about the time, or how she should be getting back to Jujutsu Tech soon.  “Yeah, of course”

“Can we go back to the couch?” He asks.

(y/n) wants to ask why she can’t read to him while he’s tucked into bed like she usually did, but she quickly assumes he’s just being a kid that wants to fight sleep, so she nods her head.

“Sure” She agrees with a smile, and steps out of the doorway so he could lead the way down the stairs.

Megumi climbs onto the couch with his book in one hand, his other hand reaching for the ratty old throw blanket on the cushion beside him.  (y/n) takes a seat beside him, taking the book and flipping to the page that he’d last marked.

“How many times have you read this now, anyways?” She asks.

Megumi ducks his head shyly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I dunno,” He admits.  “It’s my favorite”

She smiles as she looks back at the page before her.

“It’s becoming my favorite too” She says, before she starts at the top, and begins reciting the story she’s told him many times before.

She gets through about a chapter and a half, with Megumi curled up in his blanket beside her, his eyes following along as she reads.  He’d had most of the story memorized by now, it really was his favorite, but he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Hey, (y/n)?”

His voice is quiet when he cuts her off mid sentence, but (y/n) stops speaking instantly, turning to give him her attention.

“What is it?” She hums, her finger holding her place in the book.

“Tsumiki said it was rude to ask,” He began, his eyes focused on his lap.  “Are you okay?”

(y/n’s) brow furrows in concern, but Megumi doesn’t look up, too busy playing with his fingers.

“It’s not rude…” She says slowly, trying to find the right thing to say.  “And I’m okay”

It’s not very convincing.

Megumi looks up at her, blinking his wide eyes as he stares at her in disbelief.

“You don’t look okay,” He says, and it’s blunt, but it’s the truth, and he doesn’t know how else to make her be truthful with him, too.  “You look tired.  And sick”

(y/n) chuckles at how intuitive he is.

“I appreciate the concern, honey,” She says, trying to play it off.  “But don’t worry about it, I’m just fine”

“Did you have another mission?” He asks.

(y/n) winces, shaking her head.

“No, not exactly,” She says honestly.  “I’ve just been… busy… that’s all”

Megumi frowns, not caring for the bullshit answer.  It wasn’t like her to lie like most adults did, when they thought they were being smart and misdirecting.  (y/n) almost laughs at how such a young boy can tell when she’s beating around the bush.

“Megumi, you don’t need to worry about me-”

“But you worry about us all the time,” He mumbles defeatedly.  “And you don’t look very good so… so we’re worried about you,”

He blinks, and (y/n) swears she even sees tears in his eyes.  Fretting over him, she closes the book, and brings one leg onto the couch so she could face him properly.

“Can you just tell me the truth?” He asks quietly.

(y/n) sighs, but nods her head.  When he asks her so sincerely, she can’t bear to lie to him again.

“Of course,” She says, because if he’s telling her it’s what he needs, then it must be the right thing to do.  “Megumi…” She starts, but the words fail her as soon as she tries.

How does she explain her situation to an eight year old?

“I… I had a friend.  A close friend,” She begins.  

Megumi’s eyes widened.

“A boyfriend?”

“No,” (y/n) scoffs, pushing his shoulder gently.  “I’m too busy raising kids, I don’t have time for a boyfriend.  But this was my best friend.  And he… well he recently left the school”

“The one from the park?” Megumi tilts his head.

(y/n) frowns, before turning her face away to quickly hide the sadness of the whole situation she’d been trying to bury.  It appeared she had quite a friends that weren’t around anymore, for whatever their reason.  Megumi also frowns at this.

“No… no this is a different friend,” (y/n) says quietly.  “Do you remember when I told you about the sorcerers who… who don’t want to follow the rules?”

“That they defect?” Megumi asks.

If it didn’t break her heart, (y/n) would praise him for his sharp memory.

“That’s right,” She murmurs.  “Well… that’s what’s happened to my friend,” She tells him.  “He didn’t want to follow the rules anymore, so… he left”

“Oh…” Megumi looks back down at his lap.  “Did he die?” He asks quietly.

“No, no he didn’t die,” (y/n) said.

She lays her palm between his shoulder blades, rubbing his back comfortingly.  Even as she censors some of the truth from him, she feels like her words are still putting a weight on his shoulders.

“I’ve been sad because he left,” She tells him.  “I probably won’t ever see him again”

I hope I don’t see him again, she thinks.

“That’s worse,” Megumi says sadly.  “I’d rather know that they’re gone forever for a reason”

(y/n) feels her heart leap into her throat, and she can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about his dad.  She’s surprised a child so young could understand how she feels.  It hurts her more, knowing he’s experienced this same heartache.

“I think I’d have to agree,” (y/n) hums, raising her hand to mess up his hair.  Megumi looks up at her with a frown.  “It’s not easy being a Jujutsu Sorcerer,” She tells him.  “I never said it was easy, never thought it’d be easy…”

Megumi pulls her hand out of his hair before she could mess it up further, before he fixes the messy locks himself.

(y/n) looks at him, and swallows the lump in her throat that makes her want to cry.  If only he were older and she could explain all of this to him.

“But listen, Megumi,” She leans forward, and hopes he can take her seriously, even for just a minute.  “You don’t have to worry about me, okay? I’ll be just fine,” She gives him a smile.  “I’m sorry I made you worry, but you don’t have to worry that little head of yours about me anymore, alright?”

Megumi isn’t sure if he should believe her, but she ruffles his hair again with a laugh just to mess with him, and when he swats her hand away she only laughs more, so he thinks she’s okay, for now.

“You know you don’t have to raise us, right?” He asks.

(y/n’s) eyes widen at him, stunned to silence.

“It’s okay, if… if you have to go.  You have a lot to do, don’t you?” Megumi drops his head again.  “We would understand.  We would be okay”

Her heart breaks, and before thinking, she reaches out and wraps her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Megumi, I’ve told you before,” She has to focus on keeping her voice even.  “I’m sticking around whether you want me to or not”

His hands cling to the back of her shirt.

“There’s nothing that would make me leave you guys.  I knew what I was getting into when I met you both.  I knew what I was getting into when I started looking for you.  And I’m still not going anywhere”

She rubs his back and keeps hugging him until he pulls away.  Her focus remains on him, and she frowns when she sees tears on his face.  Her fingers gently reach out to brush them away.

“I know you won’t just leave” Megumi sniffles.

(y/n) takes his little hands, smiling at him fondly.

“I won’t ever leave,” She whispers.  “I’ve put a lot of trouble into watching out for you two.  You’re important to me.  And I’m going to make sure you guys can have everything you want”

Megumi musters up a small smile.

“Okay,” He mumbles, pulling his hands away to wipe the rest of the wetness off of his face.  “Can you read a little more?”

(y/n) smiles warmly, and nods her head.

“Of course,” She says, picking the book up again, flipping through the pages to find the spot she lost.  

Megumi gathers himself up in the blanket once more, and when she finally finds their place and begins reading again, he leans against her arm.  He might have an eight year old’s willpower to stay up late, but the tiredness had finally caught up to him.

It didn’t take long before he fell asleep against her.  (y/n) stayed still for a while, marking her place in the book and setting it aside while she sat quietly with the sleeping boy.

She petted his head gently, untangling the knots in his hair with careful fingers, and making his body relax more as he drifted deeper into his slumber.  Even long after he’d fallen asleep there, she remained by his side.

I hope you believe me, Megumi, she thinks as she lays her own head against the back of the couch cushion, suddenly finding the old thing the most comfortable place she’s ever rested.  And I hope you forgive me.

She drifts off to sleep with her hand on his head, and hopeful thoughts that she can do right by him. ___

With a jolt, (y/n’s) body is thrown forward in bed, tears streaming down her face and her hand outstretched, reaching for an imaginary figure, one that had been suffering before her in her dreams, but now was nowhere to be seen.

Panting to catch her breath, she tries to tell herself it was just that, a dream.  Well, a nightmare.  It was over now.

“(y/n)?” A tired, raspy voice rang out, before a warm hand smoothed over her shoulder.  “You alright, sweetheart?”

“Satoru,” She breathes out his name as she turns to face him, a relief spreading through her chest upon seeing him there.  “You’re here”

Her breathing steadies as she looks at him, his sleepy eyes and disheveled hair a sign that he’d actually been sleeping comfortably.  She was surprised, considering he’d spent most of his nights in her room to dote on her, to ensure she was the one that slept well.  Since Yu’s death, she’d been plagued with nightmares, the reminder that even jujutsu sorcerers face their mortality had been brutal.

“Well ‘course I am,” Satoru mumbles, giving her a small smile.  “Where else would I be?”

She’s not sure why, but when she’d first laid eyes on him, his presence had shocked her before it had relaxed her.  Her brows furrow as she wonders why that is, but she quickly brushes it off and lets herself relax.

The nightmare was over.  She was here now, and so was he.

With languid movements, Satoru props himself up on his elbows, his eyes flickering over her curiously.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, pulling his hand from her shoulder to rub the tiredness out of his eyes.  “Your nightmare?”

(y/n) pulls her knees to her chest, keeping her arms wrapped around them so she could comfortably rest her chin there.  The longer she was awake, the more the horrors of her dream seemed to fade away, until it was just a few flashes of images that barely made sense.

“I think I’ll be alright,” She replies, laying her cheek against her folded arms so she could look over at him.  “Satoru,” She hums his name softly.  “Thank you, for staying with me,”

He gave her a look, displaying his confusion with her sudden sentiment.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you,” She says.  “And I should have, a long time ago.  So, thank you.  For everything”

Satoru sits up, mimicking her position as he rests his arms on his legs, staring at her with an intensity behind his cerulean eyes that only she seemed to be able to take on directly.

“You want to thank me…” He says slowly, before his brows furrow.  “When all of this… has been your doing?”

The chill that shoots down her spine seems to spread over her heart.  The relaxation that had settled into her bones now replaced with freezing cold fear.  (y/n) lifts her head up, unblinking as she stared at him.

“What?” She mumbles, her voice barely audible.

“You couldn’t track down Toji, and I almost died” Satoru spits out.

“No…” (y/n) shook her head in a small but trembling motion.  “No, I… I followed him for days I- I did everything I could to-”

“Tch,” Satoru scoffs, the disgust evident in his face now as he glares at her.  “And then you don’t even have the guts to fess up,” He mutters.  “You sneak around and lie and cheat.  What makes you think it will be any different?”

As he snarls at her he shoots forward, and she flinches, hard enough she had to steady herself so she didn’t tumble out of her bed.

“You think that you can protect them? You?”

She’s still shaking her head, unable to find her voice, or any words to defend herself.  Where was this coming from? Why was he doing this?

“You can barely operate your own cursed technique, you have the ability of a first year, and you’re spineless, (y/n).  It’s pathetic that you consider yourself a jujutsu sorcerer”

“‘I- I’m doing everything I-” She tries to speak, but it’s useless.  Her breath had gone ragged and the panic inside of her was bubbling up too much for her to focus on speaking.

Satoru leans closer, and even though they’re both sitting, he towers over her as his glare hardens.  She’s never seen him so filled with hate, and the fact that it’s directed at her makes her heart drop to her stomach.

“Your ‘everything’ isn’t good enough,” His voice is a low growl.

Tears burn in her eyes.

“How can you be the only one that doesn’t see that?” He laughs bitterly.  “How are you the only one left that can’t see how weak you are?”

“I- I’m sorry-”

“Even your apologies mean nothing!” He yells now, and she squeezes her eyes shut so she doesn’t have to look at him any more.  “You’re destined to fail, you’re weak, just like the rest of them.  You can barely protect yourself, you think you can protect Megumi? Tsumiki?”

“I have to try!” She wails, but it’s drowned out by his vicious laughter.

“And when you fail, their blood will be on your hands!” He’s practically roaring over her.

She’s cowering, sobbing into her hands as she desperately attempts to wipe the tears from her face, but it’s no use.  They won’t stop.  Satoru scoffs at the sight, disgusted by what she’d been reduced to.

“Face it,” He mutters.  “You could have stopped Toji, and you failed.  You could have stopped Suguru, and you failed.  Now you think you can take on the Zen’in Clan?” He scoffs and shakes his head.  “You’ll die in vain” ___

“Stop it!”

(y/n) shot outwards, her strained voice leaving her throat in a pained cry, but as the blur in her vision clears away, and she gains her bearings, she realizes she’d just awoken.

A dream? She thought distantly, looking around herself, finding she was still in the Fushiguro’s living room.

That’s right… I fell asleep here… reading…

But she finds that Megumi is no longer sleeping at her side, and the blanket he’d had was now thrown over her lap.  He must have woken up and gone back to his room.  The realization that he’d given her the blanket to keep her warm brings her a moment of peace.  Picking up the ratty material that was barely enough to keep her legs covered, (y/n) begins to calm down.

Her breathing calms, and she closes her eyes to focus on bringing herself back to the present.  It was all just a cruel dream.

However it’s not as easy when she’s alone, she realizes.  There was a time, although short, where when the nightmares would rob her of her sleep, there was always a comforting presence right there, ready to lull her back to sleep with a warm embrace.

And sometimes he’d read to me, she recalls.

Although the plaguing images of her nightmare had worn away from her mind now, she still feels a wetness pool in her eyes.

She missed him.  Dearly so.

A tear drops to her cheek against her will, and soon she was quietly weeping into her hands.

Deciding to lay back on the couch, she gives in to staying the rest of the night at the Fushiguro house.  She’d never stayed the entire night, but she was long past curfew now, and she was in no position to walk or warp back to Jujutsu Tech.  She carefully pulls the small blanket over herself as she settles into the cushions.  Her tears wet the place where she lays her head.

If she survived this, she’d have to thank him, for all the nights he stayed by her side, she recalls the short period of warmth that her dream had brought her.  She hopes she can drift back into it’s sweetness.  And then she’ll have to get on her knees and apologize for the rest of her life.

She knows she won’t earn Satoru’s forgiveness.

If I survive. ___

(a/n): wow that kfc breakup do be hurtin but it hurts so goood.  reblog to dry ur tears <3 taglist: @whats-humanity-lol @malinq-ashida @mor-pheus@bekahtaylorgriggs@pookiea@megumimind@thealchemical@pearlstiare@niallerhere@96jnie @purpleguk @peqch-pie@yukinemaroop@makis-girl@sadtoru​ @kamikokii​ @nerdiel-has-no-braincells​ @googlesheetshoe​ @vzleria​

xoxo ~ jordie

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