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joeloverture · 2 months

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snowbound | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog | ao3 mirror pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] joel is the only guy you know with four wheel drive in the rarely-snowy state of texas, so it seems like a no-brainer to have him pick you up from work — until his truck breaks down, leaving you two to the classic 'huddle for warmth' solution. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!joel, age gap (assumed 20s/40s), reader borrows joel's coat, but does not wear it and uses it as a blanket, self-indulgent humor & banter, joel has sarah and she's a 15y/o menace which means liberties are taken with the timeline, blink & miss it drug mention, close proximity, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, (mocking) dirty talk & dirty talk alluding to anal but no actual anal, daddy kink, degradation, dom!joel, brat!reader, brat tamer!joel, mild bondage (with a scarf), rearview mirror sex, clit stim, riding, doggy, a few pussy spanks, 2 spanks, truck sex, sort of edging, getting caught after the act [no use of y/n] word count: 12.3k a/n: this fic was a labor of love from a request i received earlier this month. i didn't expect it to be this long but i really enjoyed these two! massive massive massive shoutout to talia, @lovesickonmybed, for putting up with me + advising. this fic was way too much to handle on my own. they're the reason i pulled it off. joel is latino here, but i think game!joel can be interpreted as latino too, so read who you'd like.

“Looking ahead for our chances at wintry precipitation tonight – measurable snow, freezing rain, or sleet. It’s hard to get snow here in central Texas – if only, huh? We’re seeing some strong flurries tonight, turning into snow showers in the early morning. Low chances of any significant build up, but you can expect hazardous driving conditions. Black ice and low visibility will make extensive travel dangerous–”

The radio in Keith’s Hardware is old fashioned, curving around the volume and tuning knobs. It’s one of the ones that still has a dial pointer, which is almost always aimed at 92.7 if Keith’s in the back (country); 96.7 (pop) if it’s just you and the only other girl that works in the carpenter’s wet dream of a store. Right now, though, it’s neither of those stations. The pointer is at 162.4, the weather station.

You’d known you were in for it on the drive into work. Watch the weather and it’s real nasty out there airing from your parents lips on your way out of the house for your eight hour shift. The drive had been a gunmetal sort of gray, clouds streaked through the sky and spitting bullets of sleet at your windshield.

For a little bit, the weather had almost cleared up. You’d sworn you’d seen a splotch of sun when you’d tried to step out for break, just to be driven back in by your too-thin jacket and the cold as balls temperature.

Now, though? It’s fucking freezing, and the flurries that the weatherman mentioned are starting to fall. And as much as you’d told Keith that your shitty two-wheel-drive couldn’t handle it, he’d insisted on scheduling you and Liz for close.

Which is where Mr. Miller comes in.

Joel Miller, your dad’s buddy. Joel Miller, the grumpiest secret-softie you’ve ever met. Joel Miller, a knight in shining armor with his 4x4 Ford F150 instead of a horse. Although, if your fantasies are correct – and you like to think they are – what’s between his thighs certainly makes up for the lack of a horse. But he isn’t bringing you for a ride on his cock. He just so happens to be the only man your dad knows with a four wheel drive vehicle, or at least the only one willing to spare you from spinning out by giving you a ride home. Just thinking about it has a knot pinching in the back of your throat. His hands, big and wide and stretching over the gear shift. One muscled arm dangling over the wheel. Looking over his goddamn shoulder to back out —

Liz hops up on the check-out counter where you’re counting up the last of the cash, a spread of Hamiltons, Grants, and Jacksons. You wouldn’t expect a girl like her to work at a hardware store, especially one in the backstreets of the seedy part of town. Some sort of family emergency had driven her back to Austin from NYU design school, which you’re thankful for. Mainly because you get out of cutting wood panels since she has the better eye for measurements, but also because after years of sulking in Keith’s, you finally have someone to talk shit with.

“Those heart eyes aren’t for fuckin’ Alexander Hamilton,” Liz says, tapping her acrylics on your ledger to get your attention. You cough, flipping her off with your pen still in-hand. Liz hums, pretending to think about it as you put down the last numbers. “Although I wouldn’t be too surprised. You do love a geriatric man.”

“Joel isn’t that old,” you scoff, arranging the bills into slim white envelopes and then licking them shut. “He’s just an… acquired taste.”

“Sure, his jizz probably tastes like prohibition-era booze–”

“What the fuck,” you wheeze, hands going out to brace yourself on the closest display case. Your head dips as your chest shakes with laughter.

Liz stays completely straight-faced as she continues, “You’ll have to have 911 on speed dial because if you clench, his heart’s giving out.”

“It is not,” you say, voice still strained with the laughs that won’t stop punching out of you.

She puts her hands up in defense and crosses her legs at the ankles. “Hey, it’s not my fault you like playing whac-a-mole with Great Depression dick.”

“Liz!” You playfully shove her off of the counter, thrusting the envelopes into her hands. “You’re nasty. Fucking nasty.”

She splays a wounded hand over her heart, fanning herself with the envelopes. “You know you love me.” She slips into the office behind the register. You hear the click of the safe before she calls over her shoulder, “Any particular reason you’re fantasizing on the clock?”

“Not fantasizing,” you refute. Liz pops out of the back with a uncertain look scrawled on her face. “My dad talked him into picking me up today so I don’t drive into a snowbank.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a shitty porno.”

“Don’t give me hope.”

“I’m just saying,” she grins. “You can still come to mine. Only a five minute walk with zero chance of rejection.”

“You have such little faith in me.”

She purses her lips. “Mkay…. Pro-tip: Keith probably has some Viagra sitting around in his desk drawers.”

“Liiiiiiiz,” you say. You’re about to tune her out completely when familiar headlights light up the wet asphalt, beaming through the windows. The engine idles, a soft rumble through the linoleum floors. The truck lights dim, leaving Joel in the buttery shine of the streetlamp. His thick arms stretch across the wheel, and he rakes one large hand through his hair. “Shit, speak of the Devil.” You clip off your nametag, tossing it into your half-open bag. “Can you finish closing tonight? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“No problem, no favors necessary.” She closes the register. You fumble to get your bag over your shoulder, not wanting to keep Joel waiting. “Use protection!” she calls after you, and you make sure to flip her off one more time as the door clangs shut behind you.

A wall of cold hits you like a blade of lightning. Wind unfurls, mauling telephone lines and frosted treetops, rippling your jacket. Not even the worn scarf around your neck seems to be doing its job. Suddenly, every one of your limbs feels like an icicle. Joints almost freezing up, you half-jog, half-penguin strut your way to Joel’s passenger side. You wipe the ice off of the door handle with your sleeve. A few stray flurries dust you as you tug the door open, exhaling in relief as you haul yourself onto the side steps and into the toasty warmth of the Ford F150.

You cozy up in the seat, too preoccupied by thawing your hands with long, winded breaths to notice the affronted look Joel is throwing your way. “Are you tryin’ to catch your fuckin’ death, girl?”

“No death to catch. It’s not that cold.” The way you’re shivering says otherwise. Joel pins you with the raise of his brow.

Before you know what he’s doing, he’s groaning as he reaches over the center console into the backseat. You see a flash of his trucker jacket before it lands in your lap, flannel-lined and heavy. You use it like a blanket, draping it across your torso and wrestling your hands into the inside pockets. The canvas smells like car exhaust and off-brand Dollar General deodorant, two things that are so inextricably Joel. As much as you hate to admit it, the warmth is already inking its way across your skin – or maybe it’s just being next to Joel that’s heating you up. “Thanks,” you grumble.

When you adjust in your seat, the inside of your foot catches an empty Dr. Pepper can on the floor. It rattles when you accidentally kick it forward. You lean down and pick it up, going to place it down in the cupholder, only to find it overpopulated with random Home Depot and Whataburger receipts.

“Tax deductions,” he shrugs. “Gotta eat on the job.”

“And a…” You pick up the receipt and squint at the faded typography. “$3.29 strawberry milkshake is part of that, I figure?”

Joel grunts, “Tommy’s order.”

You smirk. “Sure it is.”

“Quit shit stirrin’ and put on your fuckin’ seatbelt.”

You reach back, fingers snagging it and tugging it down. Groping for the belt between the seats and the center console, it goes on for at least five seconds too long before Joel grabs the buckle and shoves it into the slot. His fingers brush your thigh as he pulls away from you and settles his foot over the gas pedal. The singular touch shouldn’t make butterflies beat at the walls of your stomach, but it does. Everything about him does.

Now that you’re all settled in, everything about him is also settling in. The fact that he’s only wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt now that his coat is off. His sleeves are constricting enough that his muscles bulge below the strip of fabric. Ample scruff dapples his jawline, and his hair is disheveled in the way that you’ve learned you like it. You trail your eyes down his body, his tummy, across the undone drawstrings of his dark gray sweatpants, and no, you move on quickly from there, because you refuse to get riled up in the passenger seat.

He’s slowly peeling out of Keith’s parking lot, arm thrown over the back of your seat. You’re starting to fail at your mission of not getting riled up when you see the flex of his bicep, the way his eyes meet yours as he turns to look through the back window. He turns out of the parking lot and onto the relatively barren, icy streets–

“What the hell are those?”

Joel side-eyes you, brows furrowed. He follows the line of your gaze to his feet, which you’re used to seeing in New Balances or steel-toed work boots, but are instead wearing… fur-lined crocs.

“These here? Yeah, got ‘em recently, good for my days off with all this nippy weather. Sarah told me they’re ‘all the rage’ with the youth–”

You can’t help it. You damn near double over with laughter, clutching at your stomach. Joel’s coat nearly slides off of you, but you hang onto it with your pinkie finger, quickly going dizzy from lack of air. “‘All the rage’? Oh my fucking God– Joel, she was pulling your leg. Those are fucking hideous.”

“Hey, now–” He sighs, pinching his nose bridge with the hand that isn’t dangling over the wheel. “Zip it, I don’t needa justify my shoe choices to ya.”

“Does she do anything other than give you shit these days?”

“You’re one to talk about givin’ shit, y’know,” Joel says. Unfailingly, he smiles. The smile that pulls at the edges of his lips. The smile that he only ever gets when talking about Sarah. It doesn’t matter where – loading up his plate with barbecue, your dad asking him while he’s picking up junk mail in the morning, or on the job. If someone asks him about his daughter, Joel fucking beams.

He sucks on his teeth for a second, and then, “She’s picked up soccer. Goalkeeper. Damn good at it, too, all them other kids on her team can’t match her collapse dive.”

“Of course they can’t,” you say. “She’s got better reflexes than a house fly.”

Joel hunches over the wheel, effectively ending the conversation as he concentrates on the road. The only noise is the rumbling engine and the wagging of the windshield wipers as he attempts to navigate the black ice polka-dotted roads. It shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, seeing him in such a state of focus, his thighs tensed as he manipulates the gas and brakes to stop early, start slow. His arms thickening when he makes a right turn. Thumbs drumming drumming drumming on the wheel and maybe they’d do the same between your legs—

“So how’s work?” you blurt out.

Joel mumbles something that you can’t quite make out.

“Huh?”

“Fuckin’ ‘big shot’ gringos up my ass all day. Goddamn shitshow.” He shakes his head, his lips thinned. “I tell ‘em terraforming is gonna make it look like a Flinstone-owned-and-operated putt-putt course. They say do it anyway. I tell ‘em that orderin’ custom windows is gonna put us months behind. They say do it anyway, then come up jibber-jabberin’ all ‘bout how long it’s takin’. And it’s fuckin’... window madness, not one window in that hellhole matches another. Ain’t had so much trouble buildin’ a house since Sarah had me build her one from Hobby Lobby when she was little. Their architect musta been doin’ lines.”

You think you’ve seen Sarah’s dollhouse before when visiting, just in passing when the guest bedroom door was left open a smidge. You remember stalling in the hallway to look at it, with a fleece of dust growing on the tediously placed shingles and the oakwood front door left open like it’d been waiting for someone to come home. But Sarah outgrew it, and although Joel would never admit it, you know he’s too sentimental to leave it on the curb.

“How bad can building a dollhouse from a kit be?”

“With a five year old yellin’ like a drill sergeant in your ear? Worse than you think. She even made me rig the damn thing with electric so she could have her pink chandelier.”

You pout at him, “Wah wah, I’ll bet you loved it.”

“Was a nuisance at the time. But, uh, she was fiddlin’ with some ‘a the dolls I’d gotten her. Don’t think she knew I was watchin’, had gone to put ‘er to bed ‘cause it was a school night. She was readin’ this book I always read to her. Something about… a stuffed bear with a missin’ button and a girl that was tryna to buy him. I don’t fuckin’ know–” “Corduroy?”

“Yeah, that. Anyway, she was reading, usin’ the same tone I always used with her, tucked her dolls in for the night, and switched off the lights. I don’t think I loved it until then.” There’s a glistening in his eyes at the memory.

You smirk, “Sentimental bastard–”

The truck slides. Or maybe it coasts, skimming across the thin film of black ice. Joel eases down on the brakes, hauling to a stop next to a Minivan with its warning lights on. It’s a long stretch, and you can’t even see all the way down the highway with how thick the snow is. No two snowflakes are the same, but you find it difficult to believe when you’re looking at what must be millions of them. They pirouette, landing on window panes, rooftops, and wind-agonized tree branches. Everything is blotted with white. Red warning lights glare on the ice back at you.

“Shiiit,” Joel says as he squints at the road ahead of him. He scratches at his scruff.

“Tell me you’re not going to drive through that shit.”

“I’m not,” he says.

“Then how the fuck are we getting home?”

“Chill it–” “That’s the last thing I need to do,” you huff.

“I’m takin’ the detour.”

With that, he jerks the wheel — a bit too recklessly considering the weather, in your opinion – and pulls off onto a slippery backroad. The snow seems to have clung to the trees more back here, a sort of incandescent saran wrap over the oaks. At a bend in the road, icicles hang from a yellow sign that says CURVE 30 MPH. Joel takes it at ten.

You’re not checking out his hands while he drives, no, of course not. You’re looking at the gazillion lights on his dashboard display. “You usually have that many lights on?”

“Ain’t your truck, ain’t your business.”

“I’m ridin’ in it, ain’t I?” you mock his accent.

Joel sighs heavily. “Drivin’ me up the fuckin’ wall.” His hands clench briefly around the wheel. “Auto repair shop’s been price gouging, I’m tryin’ to get Tommy to hook me up with his buddy in San Anton–”

“Won’t be able to drive to San Antonio if your bumper falls off halfway there.”

Joel’s voice is dry as bone. “Ha ha. You get off on bein’ a smartass?”

It’s three words – that’s all it is. Just a throwaway phrase that he probably doesn’t even realize he said. If it were anything more, you’d know. But Joel, saying those words in that order? Damn him, because it turns your blood effervescent. You stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together underneath his coat. You’re about to make another quip that’ll not only distract you, but also surely drive Joel up the wall, one of your favorite activities.

His truck putters from ten miles per hour to eight.

Eight to six.

Six to four.

“Motherfuckin’.... shit,” Joel says again, this time much more urgent as he wrests the wheel to the side. The truck skims over the frosted roads and onto the shoulder, rolls for two seconds, and then falls to a complete, utter stop. The windshield wipers pause while they’re still up. Heat no longer spits out of the dusty air vents.

It’s the loudest silence you’ve ever been in.

“...So do you get off on letting your truck break down or–”

Joel sighs in the way that dogs do. “Thin ice, missy.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls out his phone. “I’ll give Tommy a call.” He stares at the screen for ten seconds. Taps it. Shakes it.

“No service?” you ask.

“No service.”

“Let me try mine,” you mumble, shifting in the car seat. Sure enough, zero bars. Even though you know it won’t work, you press your dad’s contact. It goes straight to voicemail. “Well, shit.”

“Shit,” Joel echoes.

It’s unspoken, but you both know the harsh reality of this harsh wintry night: no phone service, no operational truck, and… no heater.

“Hang tight,” Joel says, reaching over the center console and hijacking his coat from your lap. He wrestles his arms through the sleeves and zips it up. He shoves the door open against the hoarse wind that keeps the trees at a slant, hops out, then slams it shut hard enough for the vehicle to rock. From how hard the wind was blowing, stray flurries dust the truck’s interior.

You can’t really see what he’s doing – the snow’s too heavy, the hood popped wide open for him to investigate the truck’s viscera. You run your hands up and down your thighs, already feeling cold. Without the heater, it won’t be much longer before you turn to an icicle in the passenger seat. The hood bangs back down.

Joel climbs in from the backseat, slams the door as hard as humanly possible, and then scoots to the middle seat.

You crane your neck to see him as he shakes out his cold-reddened hands before puffing air into his cupped palms. “What’s wrong with it?” You ask.

He lets out a frigid breath. “Don’t fuckin’ know, snowin’ too damn hard to tell.”

“Ten bucks it was one of the lights on your dash,” you say.

Joel glares at you, still huffing into his hands. His fingertips are bright red to match his ruddy cheeks. Snow is sprinkled through his hair like soot, quickly melting to beads of water on his windblown curls.

“Got some… hand warmers up in that glovebox. Grab the whole pack.”

You lean forward, kneeing it open and rifling through all of his shit. Insurance papers, more receipts, Miller Contracting business cards, a folded pocket knife, lens wipes, and –

“When’s the last time these saw daylight?” you huff out a laugh as you hold up a battered box of condoms.

Turns out, snow isn’t the thing that makes Joel Miller redder than a tomato. It’s the fifteen year old, very expired condoms hiding in his glovebox.

He clears his throat and averts his eyes. “Jesus. Forgot those were in there.”

You shake the box around and pluck a condom out of it. Looking for the expiration date, you turn it over and over in your hand. “August 31st, 2004. Really that long since you got some, Miller?”

“Put ‘em back,” he grumbles. “Pain in my ass.”

You snicker, replacing the condom box with the box of hand warmers. They’re unopened, still sealed. You snatch Joel’s keys out of the ignition and swipe them across the tape. “Happy?” you toss them over your shoulder.

“No.” He tears open the pack and rubs his hands together around the warmer, sighing when it begins to heat.

“Dick,” you grumble.

More tearing. “Brat.” Another warmer lands in your lap.

“Oughta get comfortable. We’re gonna be here a while,” Joel says.

“And whose fault is that?” You ask as you weigh the warmer in your palms. The front seat already feels cramped, and you’re quick to unbuckle your seatbelt. Your legs and arms fold like pretzels as you climb into the backseat. The curse that leaves you when you hit your head on the roof has Joel rolling his eyes.

“Pipe down. First thing in the mornin’ I’ll make the walk out to that country club a mile out and use their phone. Just gotta ride out the night. You ain’t ever roughed it before?”

You fall on all fours on the backseat, finally pulling yourself upright next to him. “Never had a reason to. Like, what if I have to piss? What if I get hungry?”

Joel shrugs. “Tough.”

The cold is starting to settle into your bones. Even your tongue feels popsicle numb, and your fingers are stiff where they wrap around the warmer. It’s like you’ve been trapped in a snowglobe and shaken up by a handsy toddler with how the wind rattles the truck and the snow swishes outside. You suppress a shiver, leaning against the door. Condensation is already building on the windows. Absent-mindedly, you begin to trace a portrait of Joel in the moisture. Your fingertip squeaks against the glass. Your masterpiece wouldn’t be complete without his signature scowl, so you’re sure to paint a frown on his face and his forehead wrinkles on thick.

“Didn’t know you were an artist,” Joel comments from the opposite side of the back. “Looks nothin’ like me, by the way.”

You smirk, “But you knew it was you.”

Because there’s nothing better to do than burn time, you spend the next ten minutes filling up the window with whatever nonsense doodles come to mind — hearts, stars, trees, and of course, the only one that Joel seems to be fond of: Sarah, smiling and curly-haired.

Reality only settles in when you’re done with the ephemeral illustrations, their outlines starting to dissolve back to regular droplets that streak down the windows. You’re stuck, for God knows how long, on this shady backroad that the Zodiac Killer would’ve loved during his heyday. With your dad’s best friend that you’ve been harboring a dangerous crush on.

And it’d be impossible to forget that it’s freezing fucking balls.

“Joel?” you say into the dark truck.

“Hm?”

Always one to speak your mind, you say, “It’s freezing fucking balls.”

A sound that might be a laugh leaves him. “Here,” Joel says, unzipping his jacket. He tosses it over to you, and you snuggle back up with it, nose burrowing into one of the creases in the fabric. His coat smells like him – like cheap body wash, chewing gum, and gasoline.

You try putting your hands in the pockets, even going as far as to open up a new hand warmer for each one, but they’re full of loose change and, expectedly, more receipts. When you curl up against the corner between the door and the seat, the hard plastic bites into your oversensitive back. Sitting upright or cross-legged doesn’t work, and when you test drive sitting diagonally with your feet propped up on the console, Joel makes a disproving noise and swats gently at your shin. You prop your forehead up against the window, but it’s cold enough to give you a brain freeze.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel snorts. “Get over ‘ere, you wuss.” He hauls you over, big hand splayed over your waist, and drags you across the bench to his side. You yelp in surprise, but only for a second before you’re crushed against Joel’s side. “Can’t have ya gettin’ hypothermia,” he jests.

You don’t know where to put your hands, but eventually, you settle on cupping his neck. Touching Joel, hell, even just being near him, is like being by an open furnace. Or maybe the heat is just your stomach doing somersaults at being this close to Joel after years of frivolous pining. His nape emanates warmth, the kind that flows down your arms and wraps comfortingly around your chest.

Joel exhales, the tendrils of his breath curling from the frigidity. He grabs his coat from the side and flattens it over the both of you, a piss poor replacement for a blanket, but all you’ve got.

Still, cold seeps in through the cracks in the doors, spoiling whatever lukewarm air remains. It doesn’t help that Joel had hopped in and out of the truck to play eye spy under the hood. The truck struggles to hold onto heat properly, especially when it isn’t producing more of it.

Joel sort of… flickers against your back. You think nothing of it until it happens again, this time in short bursts, and then turns into full on shivering.

“Who’s the wuss now, old man?”

Joel tenses up behind you. “Funny,” he says. With your hands cushioned against his neck, you feel the grate of his voice in his throat. “This is the best you’re gonna get unless you wanna be butt ass naked to share heat.”

It should be a joke. But the way he says it… doesn’t sound like a joke.

You go still, lifeless, not even sure if you’re shaking anymore. Because now, the only thought in your head is being pressed against Joel, his soft cock hardening against you, his palms splayed and rubbing over your stomach to keep you warm. And if his cock needed to get somewhere warmer, too…. Your clit twitches at the thought.

You smother the initial shock in your voice with your usual solution: sass. “So what, we’re gonna fuckin’ huddle for warmth?”

As much as you enjoy the idea, you're already dripping — and that’s just from your body being pressed against his, breathing the same air as him, closer now than you’ve ever been before. With no panties in the way, it’s not a stretch to say you’d be dripping down his thighs. You’d hate to have that conversation.

“Would you rather freeze to death?” Joel asks. You look up at him from where you’re curled into his side and find no gleam in his eyes. This isn’t just some knee-slapper for him. Joel Miller is being completely, irreversibly serious.

“I’d rather something less like Naked and Afraid, Joel!”

“It works,” he says, nose flaring. “They do it in those fuckin’... action movies all ‘a the time.”

“I didn’t know Hollywood was writing survival manuals for pervs–”

“God, you’re a piece ‘a work, ya know that?” His eyes flick down to you, and maybe it’s just the fact that this road is damn near pitch black, but his pupils seem larger than before. “Listen, I ain’t tryna perv on ya. I also ain’t tryna send you back to your old man with four fingers missin’ from frostbite.”

There’s no way you’re actually seriously considering this. You’ve heard of cold temperatures impairing thinking, but not like this. Your dad’ll go chasing after Joel with a pitchfork and a shovel if he finds out the man who was supposed to get you home safe and sound was cuddling naked with you. Cuddling naked with you in the backseat, no less. You’re certain Joel won’t try anything – he’s not like that. No matter how flustered you get in his lap, he’d never take advantage of you. What you aren’t certain of is your ability to stop yourself from asking him t0 take advantage of you.

This is practical. It’s only supposed to be practical. He wouldn’t be suggesting something this drastic if you both weren’t shaking like a rattlesnake’s rattler.

“Fine,” you say, already unwinding your scarf from around your neck. Determined to keep some semblance of boundaries up, you add, “No peeping, Miller.”

Joel makes an exasperated sound as you once again scoot out from his coat and across the bench, working yourself out of your shoes, your cotton zip-up, and then the stiff Keith’s uniform – a blue polo and jeans. Joel’s eyes are respectfully trained on the truck’s floor mats, which you’re only just now noticing has a sun-bleached Lisa Frank sticker tacked onto it.

Down to your bra and panties, your heart rate picks up. Your fingers are so fucking cold that it’s hard to get your bra straps out of the way so you can unclasp the damned thing, and then it falls to the floor. Your nipples harden in the face of the cold. The only thing you keep is your scarf, which do you do your best to cover your tits with. Scooping up your discarded clothes and tossing them to the front seat, you let out a shaky breath.

Fuck it.

You shimmy out of your panties and get rid of them just as quickly. When you try telling Joel you’re decent, or rather indecent, nothing comes out. Instead, you have to clear your throat with a strained, “All good.”

“Alright,” Joel says, rustling around. You hear his crocs scrape against the mat, and then his shirt swishing over his head.

He doesn’t tell you to look away, but since it’s implied, you look out of the window. The snowy trees tremble in the wind, and you almost wince when you see a small sliver of his tanned skin reflected in the glass. His crocs clunk on the ground when he kicks them off, and you watch his criminally tight t-shirt go flying over the passenger seat. You casually grip the Jesus handle, hoping that Joel doesn’t notice your fist tightening around it when you hear him untying the drawstrings of his sweatpants. When his sweats and boxers follow the path of his shirt, breathing gets a lot harder than you remember it being.

Just an hour ago, you’d been certain that this would be nothing more than a ten minute drive. Maybe, if you were lucky, he’d call you a casual pet name that would fuel the wriggling of your hand between your thighs that night.

The tension in the air is thicker than molasses. Each breath you take is fragile.

“I’m ready when you are,” Joel says.

Since you’re already half-naked, and since chickening out is out of the question, you inch over to Joel’s side. The air tumbles out of your lungs in one fell swoop when your bicep meets his. With some fidgeting, you bring your legs up at an angle beneath you, wrapping around his side in a way that has you feeling a little bit like a koala. You talk yourself into keeping your eyes forward and then scrub your palms across your freezing arms.

Joel, more indifferent than you think anyone else in this situation could be, abruptly casts his coat back over the both of you.

And, fuck him, he’d been right. The engulfing canvas of his coat keeps warmth trapped where it can be passed easily between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just being confined and skin-to-skin with Joel that has you heating up.

The silence is cruel – it’s much harder to make conversation about work or dollhouses or whatever the hell else when you’re naked. Only the wind’s sibilance keeps you company.

You can get used to this, you think. Drift off into a somewhat sound sleep with your head on Joel’s shoulder and hope that you don’t drool all over him or moan his name in your sleep. More embarrassing things have happened to you.

But then, as if you’re the unluckiest person alive, the temperature drops even more, and suddenly, you’re shaking like a leaf all over again. Your teeth almost clack together as you try to stammer out to Joel, “C–cold, Jesus fucking… Christ that’s cold.”

Joel pouts down at you, but you don’t miss the way his lip quivers. “Should I call the wambulance?”

“Should I call the r–r–r–retirement home to pi…pick up a ru–runaway resident?” It sounded a lot better in your head than bouncing off of your frozen tongue, you have to admit.

“Drama queen,” Joel mutters into your ear. “Can’t do anythin’ more about it. Sorry–”

“Can I sit on your lap?” you blurt out so quickly that you don’t even have time to think about it. You grimace, partially covering your face with your hands. Shit.

Joel’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

You’re already half doomed. Why not go all the way? “Listen, it’s just fucking… fucking freezing, Joel. Holy shit.”

“That bad?” he chokes out.

“You’d be warmer than the seats,” you defend. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Best behavior.”

Joel seems to ponder it for a moment, brows stitched together while he looks down at you from where you’re furled up against his side. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek before giving you a slight nod. “Alright.” You nod in return, heart in your throat. “–But you better mean it when you say best behavior. Can’t have any ‘a this shit gettin’ back to your dad.”

Another nod. You hold your breath as you shinny your way onto Joel’s lap, mounting him from the front so his chest hits your back. In your attempt to get comfortable, you bracket your legs around his. His soft cock fits at the small of your back, and even though he’s as flaccid as can be, he’s big. Apparently your imagination isn’t too far off. Joel’s sharp intake of breath forms a pit in your stomach, and you know when you’re warming up for an entirely different reason than close proximity, you also know that you need to calm yourself down. Fast.

Think of something awful. Like that time that you had to dissect cow eyes in sophomore year biology. Think about mold. How many murderers you’ll walk by in your lifetime. Expired leftovers. Anything–

You adjust yourself in an attempt to get away from Joel’s cock. Instead, your hips move just so his cock slips between your thighs and bobs against your slit.

You whine.

Your body immediately locks up once you realize what you’ve done. Crawling out of the truck to die a hypothermia-induced death seems like a much kinder fate than facing Joel, but no matter how much you scream at yourself to reach out and unlock the door, your hands refuse to move. You hadn’t noticed how wet you’d gotten, and you have no idea how. It’s smeared across your thighs, and now pressed up against your back after Joel’s dick had dragged through it all.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit–

Chancing a look over your shoulder, you’re surprised to find the tips of Joel’s ears flushed, cheeks cherry ripe. His Adam’s apple bobs when you meet his eyes. Holy fuck.

You’ve flustered him.

For some reason, the thought makes your chest a lot lighter. You look away nonetheless, but this time, with a newfound gleam in your eye. There’s no such thing as a bad accident, right?

Maybe Liz was right about having to call 911, because when you ‘accidentally’ repeat the movement, Joel stops breathing all together. His cock, almost hard now, you’ve noticed, bumps against your clit. You almost swallow your tongue trying to keep your moan down.

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” he asks, his gruff voice scratching at your ears.

“I didn’t mean to,” you lie straight through your teeth, a smug little grin spreading on your face. Something about his semi-hard cock between your bodies tells you he’s going to say no to your next suggestion. “Maybe you should put the coat between us, instea–”

“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, girl?” Joel’s voice comes out raspy. He shakes his head, clears his throat. The vibrations rumble up your spine. “And take away the whole point of stayin’ warm? Now quit it. Ain’t that hard to sit still.”

You try your hand at listening – for all of two seconds.

You hike your hips up, fumbling with his coat as you slot his cock against your slit once more, pushing yourself forward. The coat slides right off of you, falling in a dark lump on the floor. Neither of you care — you’re both too heated for the lack of cover to make a damn difference. Joel hisses, a sound like water hitting an open flame. His hands fly down to your waist, anchoring you to his lap. A surprised noise squeaks out of you.

“What, you got rocks rattlin’ around in your brain?” Joel scowls. “You’re real impolite for a cocktease, sweetheart.”

Butterflies flap around in your stomach from his words. It’s enough to make your head tip against his chest so you can look up at him, lips shaped in a perfect pout. “I’m not,” you say.

“Not a cocktease, huh? Not even when you’re rubbin’ all over my lap?”

You gasp as your hands fly down to cover Joel’s, nails etching into where his fingers meet your bare skin. You tug at his wrist, trying desperately to guide him where you so desperately need him.

“Not happenin’,” Joel grunts, yanking your hands behind you and pinning them to your waist like you’re nothing more than a poseable doll. His large, work-worn hands make yours look damn near miniature as he holds you down. The sudden roughness douses your inner thighs with a new wave of wetness. “Jesus, girl. Poor thing, gettin’ all hot and bothered. Don’t blame ya for tryna get me to help out. Can feel ya dripping down my legs, gushin’ like a sprinkler.”

“S–sorry, fuck, ‘m sorry,” you whisper, words sticky with your arousal. Your clit twitches from his words, embarrassment and need doing all the work to keep you warm.

“Nahhh,” he says. “I don’t think you are, baby.” Maybe it’s the condescension he’s purring in your ear, maybe it’s the pet name; most likely, it’s a combination of both that has you convulsing in his lap. It’s like he’s found all of the right buttons to press to get you riled up, getting you back for all of your snide comments earlier.

His fingers find the fabric of your scarf, luring it off of your neck so he can cord it around your wrists. You squirm when you realize what he’s doing, and a breathless huff of his laughter brushes your cheek. “I’ll be damned if you ain’t gonna be, though.” He draws it tight, tight enough for you to feel your pulses bumping into each other. Joel leaves a fair amount of your unreasonably long scarf loose.

“Joel, what the fuck are you up to?”

“Teachin’ you some sweet southern belle etiquette, darlin’. Such a goddamn troublemaker, grindin’ on me like I’m some kinda… frat boy.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “Pullin’ that shit with your pops’ friend. Real fuckin’ classy.”

“Like you’re so different. Who’s the one that’s tying me up? Huh, Mil–”

You hear the hit well before you feel it, a firm whack to your cunt that makes your vision blacken and electricity scurrying up your spine. It takes you a second to come back to yourself before a ragged cry pulls its way out of your lips. You jolt in his lap, bound arms bobbing in front of you as your body instinctively lurches for control. You damn near kick your feet, accidentally ricocheting yourself into Joel’s chest. His forearms hold you there.

“Guess I’ll make it crystal clear for ya, baby, since that dumb lil’ head ‘a yours is havin’ some trouble. My truck, my rules. You’re ridin’ in it, ain’t you?” You nod reluctantly as he turns your words from earlier in his favor. “That was a warnin’, you showoff. Think you can bat your slutty ‘fuck me’ eyes an’ get away with murder.” He fucking tsks at you.

He pulls his hand away from your pussy, and you’re both surprised and not surprised at all to see it covered in your arousal, webbed between his calloused fingers.

“Got a whole goddamn slip ‘n slide down here…” murmurs Joel. You whine, bucking your hips against him. “Oughta just…” he starts, nudging his cock towards your hole. The noise you make is pathetic. “Stop ya from ruinin’ my seats. Cork you right up.” You tense up, fully expecting the intrusion, but his dick passes your cunt right up, instead sliding up to meet your clit. It taps against your swollen nub, and if his goal was to stop you from ruining his seats, you’re certain he’s already failed with how quickly you gush all over the upholstery.

“But that’d be real nice, wouldn’t it? Givin’ ya what ya want so early on…” Instead of pulling away like you expect, Joel griiiinds the head of his cock against your clit. You moan helplessly, head falling back across his shoulder.

And then he does it again.

And again.

And agai–

“Joooooel,” you whine, knees jerking each time his tip meets your most sensitive spot. Heat spins in your stomach.

He backs his hips up “What? Thought you loved this with how much you were gettin’ at it earlier.”

You shake your head rapidly in the negative, chest rising and falling at a breakneck pace while he teases you.

“So you can deal, but you can’t play?”

“I think you’re just taking your sweet old time getting it up, old man,” you grit out, knowing damn well he’s stiffer than titanium behind you.

Joel hums. “Ah, she’s got jokes.” His cock slips back, quickly replaced by his hand engulfing your mound. Your clit twitches ever so slightly against his palm lines, and you’re almost convinced you could get off from that alone. His palm cracks against your cunt again, somehow even harder than the first time. You cry out, eyes burning from arousal and the slightest edge of pain.

With his thumbpad, he taps your clit like he’s just scrolling through the cable guide with a remote. Fleeting movements that have you wanting more more more. It heals the sting of his slap even if the echo of the hit still simmers in your stomach. Your cunt throbs so hard that it hurts, jumping up to meet Joel’s scarce ministrations.

When he retracts his hand, your hips chase the movement. “See this?” he taunts, fluttering his wet fingers in front of your face. You make a choked noise when his drenched middle finger breaches your lips. He doesn’t even need to tell you; you latch on and suck yourself off of his calloused skin. You’re mostly salty, but a little sweet, and tasting yourself on your own tongue by his insistence manages to make you even wetter.

Joel takes his spare fingers, just as soaked, and smears them all around your chin and lower cheeks. He presses down on your tongue as he does. You gag from the pressure, and you can’t hear his laugh over the roaring of your blood in your ears, but you feel it rattle his chest where it meets your spine. Your slick cools quickly against your burning skin, syrupy as it clings to your face. “Need a bib, baby?”

He pulls his finger from your mouth with a pop and your scarf-wrapped hands spring to wipe yourself from your lips, hoping to save yourself from the humiliation of having your own pussy juice anointing your face. You only scoop up a little before Joel lowers his forearm over yours, but for once, you’re faster than him. You swipe your wet hand over his mouth, smudging as much as you can along the scruff surrounding his mouth.

He wraps a burly hand in the scarf and yanks your hands back into place. All you can do in response is giggle, but the breath is swiftly knocked out of you when he drives his cock right into your clit. “Think you’re funny, don’t ya?” He asks, and finally grunts as he rolls his hip into you. A break in his resolve, a sign that he wants this, or at least the discipline of this, as badly as you do.

You almost weep from the pressure, that rope of pleasure in your stomach that he keeps knotting tighter and tighter and tighter with each stroke of his cock, his fingers. “Joel!” you cry out as he follows it up with another firm swat to your clit. His cock spreads your folds as he softens the bashing, nuzzling his tip against your spasming cunt.

“Really, oughta give standup a go one ‘a these days. Be a real hotshot.”

“Oh yeah?” you pant, light headed and woozy.

“Mhm. If the whole crowd’s drunk.” His cock nudges your nub with a new vigor.

“Assh–”

Right as you’re about to press down and follow the sensation, Joel senses it. His cock gives way through your cheeks, just in time for him to land a ruthless slap across your pussy. It’s harder than the others – makes your ears ring for a second, gives you a sort of visual snow that has you doubling over and gripping at the closest object for purchase, which just so happens to be the metal rods coming out of the headrest.

“Ain’t what you should be sayin’ if you’re plannin’ on gettin’ what you want, sugar,” Joel tuts. He shakes his head at you. “Don’t wanna hear no lip from ya, girl.”

You open your mouth, argument on the tip of your drool-loaded tongue, but your halfhearted attempt at defiance doesn’t last long. Joel’s hand clamps around your chin, denting your skin into your teeth. He jerks your head to face him, knocking you down a peg with scathing eye contact. “You’re pushin’ it.” He loosens his grip.

“As if, Miller. If those pre-Cold War condoms are anything to go by, you’ve been dying for a chance to get your dick wet. Doesn’t matter how much lip I give you, you aren’t gonna blue ball yourself for much longer.” Satisfied, you raise your brows at him.

Turns out, he is going to blue ball himself for much longer, because he lands six slaps in rapid succession across your sopping cunt. The skin smarts, and you cry out. Your grip tightens around the headrest rod to the point of strangling it. Your eyes water, and you can’t tell if you’re crying. Too consumed by Joel, everything has melted into him – the smell of sawdust perpetually sewn into his skin, his cock sealed against your body.

“How many times are ya gonna poke the bear before you learn your lesson, you cheeky little shit?” Joel’s palm cups the inside of your right thigh, just above the knee. He traces circles with his thumb, and heat trails after him with everywhere he touches. “See, the thing about havin’ ‘pre-Cold War condoms’ is that I’ve had a helluva lot more time to learn self control than you. Can wait as loooooong as it takes for you to get your head on right. Don’t matter if you’re waterfallin’ down my seats or not, pretty girl. I’m giving you exactly what ya deserve.”

You whimper, trying (and failing) to get your magma hot core closer to Joel’s unfairly large hand, still splayed out on your inner thigh. You can’t stop how you squirm in his lap, smearing your arousal everywhere with each movement you make.

At a snail’s pace, his hand begins to inch up your leg. Joel pauses to grope at you as his hand travels upward. Handfuls of your skin, rubbing at your scalding hot thighs. Your patience is wearing thin by the time he gets midway there. You need him to touch you. And that’s just the tip of this impossibly destructive iceberg.

You shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t have let him go down this shitty backroad, shouldn’t have agreed to your dad’s ridiculous idea of Joel picking you up, shouldn’t have asked to be naked on his lap, shouldn’t have gotten naked on his lap, shouldn’t be leaking like a twenty-year-old pipe in a building he’d been hired to renovate. If your dad ever finds out–

“Joel, please, please – plea…” you trail off, dissolving into incoherent whimpers as his hand hovers over your cunt. You’re running hotter than a radiator now, and if you both wanted to be warm, then you’ve got your wish. Although mostly gibberish, Joel has to understand what you want from him. It’s just that the bastard is unwilling to provide.

Joel reaches down to pinch your clit, and your body can’t even discern from pleasure and pain anymore. You react the same to it all, back arching as you try desperately to plant yourself on his cock. “Shhh, shhh, quit runnin’ your filthy mouth. Only gonna get yourself into more trouble.”

You swear you hear angels singing, swear you see the pearly gates when he gives your clit a merciful rub. Melting into him, you exhale shakily.

“See? All nice ‘n quiet when she’s gettin’ what she wants.” You wouldn’t even dream of mouthing off to him now.

“I want – I need…” you gasp out, putty in his hands. Moldable to his liking. Everything you’d pretended not to want.

“Go on,” he coos. “Tell daddy what you need.”

You don’t even hear him say that word. You’re too hooked on begging, begging, begging. “Please – Joel, oh god, please – I need… I need… please please please, fuck, it hurts–”

Joel clicks his tongue. “Nuh uh. Start over. Always such a chatterbox ‘cept for when I need ya to be.”

“Wha…?” you ask, admittedly dazed from the harsh treatment that you’ve come to crave more of.

“Tell daddy what you need,” he repeats, words molasses slow.

You clench, gushing even more all over him. Shit, your next paycheck might have to go to replacing the goddamn seats if you keep up like this.

“D–D… D-” you start stammering out, but you’ve lost autonomy over your body long ago, and apparently that goes for your tongue, too. “Da– Da… pl–”

“Any day now,” he scoffs.

“Daddy!” you spit out all at once. “Please, please, daddy, fuck – fuck me, daddy, please, I want your cock, daddy. Feels so fucking big. Need it daddy, it hurts… please, ngh– daddy!” Tears are burning the corners of your eyes, fueled almost entirely by arousal and partially by frustration. You squirm, cunt crying all over the place.

“M’kay, baby,” he says. Running a hand down your chest and squeezing your nipple on the way down. He slides his hand down your stomach to cup your mound, giving your clit slow, gentle circles. Your hips jump forward, and this time, he doesn’t stop you. “Daddy’s got ya.”

At the first intrusion of his middle finger in your cunt, you jump. It’s a lot compared to what he’s been giving you, but nowhere near enough. A second finger slips inside. He doesn’t have to do much work to stretch you out — you’ve been seeping out of you since you first got on his lap. He’s all too quick thrusting them in and out of you – the messy squelch of your pussy filling the backseat has you burying your chin against your chest, averting your eyes. The heel of his palm bumps persistently at your clit with each shift of his fingers inside of you.

“I know you ain’t a virgin, but you’re soakin’ like one. Too damn cocksure to ain’t have had a cock in ya before. Prancin’ around like a glorified dick trap.” You inhale sharply when his fingers scrape that spongy spot inside of you that you can never reach yourself. A moan rips out of you. The combination of him talking down to you and rubbing your g-spot has you dangerously close to cumming. Your moan is quickly swallowed up by more of Joel’s condescension.

He starts mumbling to himself then, obscenities that make you clench even tighter around his fingers. “Gonna get you all sore baby, make you regret beggin’ for this dick like a horny ‘lil bitch that ain’t ever been laid in her life. Fuck you so hard you’ll be cryin’ for daddy’s cock up your ass instead, turn you into an anal slut, too.” He’s too busy listening to himself talk, too absorbed in his own world to feel you balancing on that razor-thin edge.

The noise you make is inhuman. You pulse around him, doing your best to stave off your impending release. “Daddy–” you warn, but he cuts you off then, too. Joel grinds his cock between your ass cheeks, his precum dripping down your slit to meet your trembling cunt.

“Ever been fucked here before baby?” He swipes his tip along your asshole, and the way you shudder is answer enough for him. “Don’t get all jumpy, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna fuck ya there right now. Be cruisin’ for a bruisin’.” Still, he replaces his tip with his free hand’s thumb, simply rubbing at the ring of muscle. You fidget in his lap without an end-goal. You just want to be close to him, want to take everything he’s willing to give you. His fingers hook just right inside of you. “Would love to be the first to unlock this pretty backdoor. If this tight ‘lil pussy’s anything to go by… Christ. You’d look so pretty squirmin with my cock in your ass, baby–”

“Daddy!” You scream as your orgasm guts you. His fingers and his voice rip your climax right out of you and your cum streams down your inner thighs and Joel’s hand, still smacking against your clit with each thrust. Your cunt spasms around his flexing fingers. He has to fold an arm over your chest to keep you from sliding off his slippery lap entirely.

All the way through the aftershocks that make your limbs quake, Joel holds you upright against his body, still bumping his palm and fingertips against your clit and g-spot. You swear you can feel him smiling against your shoulder.

“Didn’t tell ya you could cum, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, flicking his cum covered finger across your clit. You wince in overstimulation, a whine catching in your throat.

“‘M sorry, daddy,” you pant. His hands go up to

“‘S okay, babygirl. Pretty pussy couldn’t help it when I was talkin’ ‘bout fuckin’ your ass, huh?” His hands rove up your stomach to play with your tits, palming and stroking, getting his hands all over every carnal part of you.

You hum into his bicep, “Mmmm.”

“That’s alright. Don’t mean you’re gettin’ away with a slap on the wrist though. C’mon, up,” he guides with a small slap to your thigh. You adjust, bringing yourself onto your knees so he can enter you from behind. You look down at his sturdy thighs, flexing as he adjusts himself between your legs. He gives you one more teasing thrust through your thighs, poking your oversensitive clit one more time before reaching down to spread your folds.

You moan as he presses against your entrance, and it’s not the best time to have a come to Jesus moment, but – Joel’s size was in no way over exaggerated between your legs. You stiffen in realization, and Joel, attentive as always, notices. He guides your chin to face him and nuzzles his nose up against yours, mouth tracing down to your lips. Your breath mingles, stagnant in the long-forgotten chill. A cushion of softness against all of his spiky edges that showed up tonight. “You’re on top, baby. Take it as slow or as fast as ya want.”

Nodding at the reminder, you find yourself that you don’t want to take it slow. You want to be as sore as he’d promised, want to feel him for days and be reminded of this every time you look at the winter morning’s frost on the shingles outside.

Sinking down over his throbbing length yanks the air out of your lungs as you seat yourself with him bottoming out and going balls deep in your cunt simultaneously. He grunts against you in surprise, softening the blow of your heady moan. “Attagirl,” he huffs into the crease between your neck and shoulder. It’s a stretch, searing up your thighs and to your lower back. You’re brought back to yourself when Joel rolls his hips into you, making the pain liquefy into mind-numbing pleasure. You spend thirty seconds waiting for him to fuck up into you in a way that changes your philosophy around the world, but instead, he’s still and solid inside of you.

“Go on,” Joel coaxes, placing a steady hand just shy of your mound. “Gotta prove you deserve to cum again.” He taps your thigh as if he’s telling you to giddy up, and the shame warms the back of your neck better than any heater ever could.

You whimper. His hands coast up your thighs, squeezing your hips tight before falling to grip the seats below. You’re still weak from your last orgasm, shaky legs struggling to hold yourself up as it is. “Daddy… I can’t…”

“Ain’t no different than fuckin’ y’self on that vibrator or dildo or whatever the fuck’s in your nightstand. Girl like you, gotta have a wimpy ‘lil fucktoy somewhere.” His words make you clench around him, and he groans into your neck. Joel looks up at the front window, now covered in snowflakes. He smirks when he spots the rearview mirror. “Oughta make you watch yourself. Show a pathetic, cockstarved slut what happens when she bites off more than she can chew.” At that, you mewl, grinding yourself down. The chuckle he lets out is lined with cruelty.

Joel pins you to his chest with one burly arm and leans forward with a hash of grunts from effort. He reaches out towards the rearview mirror, lowering it to face the middle seat that you’re both braced on. He sinks back quickly, and it almost gives you whiplash before you make eye contact with yourself. You can see everything. Tremors travel up your legs and into your arms. Your body is getting freezer burn from how cold and hot you are at the same time. Pleasured tears threaten to spill over your waterline. Joel’s smug fucking face as he murmurs endlessly at you.

Your mouth is parted as you take yourself in, truly a pathetic, pretty little picture as you pant. “C’mon,” Joel coaxes, squeezing your ass. “You can do it. Make daddy proud. I’ll even give you a boost.” Joel reaches to your tied hands and quickly undoes the scarf, letting it drop to the floor. You flex your fingers and then reach out for the chairs ahead to get a good grip.

You prop yourself up on your knees, anchoring yourself to the two chairs in front of you. Using a combination of your upper and lower body strength, you rise halfway off of Joel’s cock before your body gives out. His balls slap wetly against your clit. He laughs, still not touching you at all. Your head flops forward as you look down to where the two of you meet, and then at the mirror where his cock is buried deep inside of you. You whine in dismay.

He wasn’t lying when he said he was going to get you sore. You can only moan. It’s pleasure like you’ve never had it before – too much, not enough, painful, so good. “Please, Joel – I can’t… can’t handle it.”

“I’ll decide what you can handle,” he says.

“You’re– you’re so fucking mean,” you rasp.

“Gets you this soaked, baby. Don’t see your pussy complainin’. You love bein’ treated like a piece ‘a meat. Like a little fleshlight for men to fuck.”

You clench, tight. “Ah!” Joel fucking sniggers behind you, but a rush of confidence spills through you at the underlying moan in his throat.

Determined to get what you want, you tighten your grip on the front seats. Haul yourself up, almost so that the tip slips right out, and then collapse back onto Joel’s cock. And, shit, it’s a lot. You doubt you could handle his cock in missionary, but being made to ride him in such a compromising position, sprawled out across his shitty backseat? That’s an entirely different animal, one that you hadn’t expected to have to handle.

You focus on doing just enough to please him and just enough to keep yourself intact. You repeat your movements two or three times, rising and falling. Little moans and whimpers, some pained, some good when he nudges your g-spot just right, slip in and out of you.

“Mmmm, yeah, that’s it. Daddy’s ‘lil wannabe pocket pussy. Doin’ a ‘lil better baby. Keep doin’ that. Jus’ keep doin’ that.”

You’re shaking like a leaf on his cock as you somehow manage to lift yourself another time before fucking back on him. “Daaaddy.” Your lips quiver as you form the word. A single tear runs down your face from overexertion, and he’s quick to wipe it up with his thumb as if it was never there. You look truly whorish and pathetic, just like he’d wanted, bouncing on his cock with the last of the energy you have left in you.

His tip jabs against that goddamn spot again, and you double over on the center console. You take heaving breaths, making eye contact with yourself in the mirror, desperate to please as you attempt to keep humping him with the change in angle. You’re letting out strings of disoriented words, but barely can tell that you’re talking.

“I fuck you dumb already? Slutty little girl. Told ya you were in for it. Ain’t ever had much of a knack for listenin’. Gonna dick you down now, sweet girl.” He drags your legs into the crook of his elbows, holding you upright for him as he shifts to his knees between your legs. Braced on the center console with your pussy settled on his cock, the new angle makes you cry out. You hold yourself up on your elbows, giving shallow rolls of your hips in return as Joel gets settled inside of you.

The first thrust makes your eyes roll back so far that you see black. “Feel good?”

“So… so fu–fucking goo… good daddy,” you whimper into the console, gripping the sides of it just so you have something to hold onto.

“Swallowin’ daddy’s dick whole in this greedy cunt. Goddamn, drippin’ down my fuckin’ balls. Such a masochistic slut, all after a poundin’ from an old man. All up in a tizzy for this cock.”

You moan your agreement, completely submissive to Joel’s wills. You move like a ragdoll for him, letting him yank you back on his cock while he meets you there, thrust for thrust. He pulls out, a small mercy, but when he sheathes himself back inside of you in full, it’s the beginning of a punishing pace.

You don’t even notice yourself drooling all over the console until Joel says something about it. “Droolin’ from two places. Yeah, baby, you needed this. Daddy’s pretty cockslut.” You whine especially loudly when Joel drags you back across the console, damn near fast enough to give your stomach rugburn.

Hands framing your spread legs, Joel hooks them both around his torso, using the leverage to plow into you. You’re boneless beneath him, mouth frozen in silent moans. His hips meet your ass with each shove of his cock in your sloppy cunt, the obscene sound of slap after slap pealing out within the truck. “Damn lucky we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Joel growls on another thrust. “Someone woulda been knockin’ on the window long time ago with how loud you’re bein’.”

“Mmph,” you gasp when Joel tosses one of your legs up and over the passenger seat. You hold yourself there as he digs his fingers into your other thigh, shifting his spare hand to your mound.

“Daddy please please please plea–” you start panting like a broken record, desperate to feel his hand on your clit, which throbs with inattention on the console. You grind frantically on the edge just in case he denies you again.

Joel laughs above you, fully smudging two fingers across your clit in a blur of indescribable pleasure. “Ain’t gonna make ya beg this time. Can’t wait to feel ya creamin’ ‘round me… maybe I’ll make ya lick that up too. Nasty bitch.”

“Joooel, oh fuck, please…” you whine as he continues railing you, this time fiercely tweaking your clit in-time with his movements.

The new position has his thrusts meeting your cervix, and you scream, pleasure corkscrewing through your body. There’s nowhere for all of it to go with how viciously it burns in your stomach – all you can do is take it and whine for him. “Takin’ it real good. See what happens when ya behave? You get this fat cock splittin’ your whore cunt in two, jus’ like you were askin’ for.”

He grips your hip tight, clearly expecting an answer. You slur, “Mhm, daddy!”

Joel rubs faster circles around your clit, spouting filth while he drills your pussy. You can tell he’s chasing his own release, too, hips frantically fucking in and out of you, his cock twitching every single time you clench. You’re burning up as he jackhammers your pussy. Your second orgasm of the night brims low in your stomach, “Come on, baby, know you’re close. Feel this slutty pussy squeezin’ me. You gonna ask permission like a good girl this time, or are ya gonna go back to your defiant little slut self?”

“No, daddy,” you whimper, suspended in thin air over orgasmic bliss. He’s rubbing your clit erratically, doing everything he can to hold you in place. “P-please daddy, can I come?” You practically scream it out.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Come for daddy’s, come allll over daddy’s cock.”

The band snaps. Your back arches, and you feel time stop in the second before you fall slack on the console, spasming from the best orgasm of your fucking life. Your clit feels like there’s fucking pop rocks on it, something that not even your vibrator has ever achieved. “Thank you daddy!” you cry out, repeating it as you lose all feeling in your bones. You hardly have any control over your body anymore – it’s just Joel Joel Joel Joel. Sated and weary, you just lay there, letting Joel fuck into you.

And fuck into you he does – roughly, helping you ride out your orgasm as he pursues his. “That’s my girl,” he says, and you swear that alone could make you cum all over again. “Lettin’ your daddy use this juicy, well-fucked cunt to get his own.” He can’t hold back his moans, that’s how you know he’s close, grunting and gasping as he rocks his hips into yours. His hand lands on your ass in a sharp smack, and your pussy clenches in exactly the way that he expected. He lets out a particularly ragged noise, folding himself over you to nip at your neck and rest his forehead against your shoulder blade. “Daddy’s close, where do ya want me, baby?”

“Tits,” you whine. It’s a miracle you can even get that one word out, but somehow, you manage a few more. “Come on my tits, daddy.”

“Fuck!” Joel shouts, yanking himself over you. You help him roll yourself over and sit up on your elbows, and he jerks himself once, twice, before spraying his load all over your tits with the loudest groan yet. His brows fold together as he cums, eyes drooping and his mouth parted as he takes deep breaths.

You sit there for a handful of heavy minutes, listening to each other’s jagged breathing and the sawtoothed wind outside. You’re both so fucked. Literally, and figuratively. Stuck in the buttfuck middle of nowhere, you with your dad’s proclaimed bestie’s cum drying on your tits, and said bestie staring at you with post-coital puppy dog eyes and your cum all over his balls.

You’re the first to speak up, still winded. “That was… that was good.”

Joel nods mindlessly, tongue swiping out to lick his lips. He beckons you closer, and on trembling legs, you bring yourself to the backseat. You return to your previous position, huddled up and curled next to the door. Joel fumbles around under the back bench for a little until he comes up with a small, sunbleached pack of princess-themed pocket tissues that have to be as old as Sarah is. He dabs at your chest before stuffing them into the closest empty cupholder, and then brings you closer to his chest.

You don’t notice yourself falling asleep when all you can feel is Joel.

There’s better ways to wake up than a furious rapping on the window, but that isn’t the first thing you notice. You blink your eyes open groggily, only to face an egg yolk sun cracking wide open over the treeline and snowmelt bleeding out from every given surface. Joel’s behind you, nose in your neck, snoring softly with his arms wrapped around your middle. You take a moment to admire him – his sun kissed skin and his peaceful expression. It takes you a moment to remember you slept with him. You slept with Joel, and it was the best fuck of your life.

You’re stretching, on the verge of a yawn, when you see the familiar head of black hair over the window. “Shit!” you shout. Joel jerks to life behind you, mumbling something that sounds a lot like ‘what?’.

You scramble to pull the coat over the both of you from where it fell off of you in the middle of the night, covering your naked bodies. “Get dressed!” you hiss to Joel, searching for wherever the fuck your panties ended up last night.

“What the hell’s gotten into ya–” he starts, and you feel the exact moment that he realizes Tommy Miller is outside of the truck. “Motherfucker,” he curses, swaying towards the front seat to snag his clothes. You see him almost put his head through his T-shirt armhole three times before he gets it right. His sweatpants are next, which he tugs up his bare legs without even searching for his boxers.

“Joel?” Tommy shouts outside. “Wake up, sleepin’ beauty!” He knocks on the door again, the windows blurry from melting snow. You have that to thank, at least. It buys you enough time to tug your polo over your head, but not enough time to button it all the way up.

“Fuckin’... dumbass,” Joel huffs as he clips the lock on the door and kicks it open, looking at least somewhat composed. You take deep breaths, looking between the two of them. “How’d you find us?”

Tommy looks Joel up and down, scrutinizing him. “What happened to southern gentleman manners? I came out here to save ya from Mt. Everest, brother! Least you could say is ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you,” you fill in for Joel, even if the last thing you’re feeling is grateful.

“Her daddy threw a hissy fit, y’know? Told him you were fine and we’d go lookin’ for ya in the mornin’. We saw all that backup on the highway, I went this way, he went that way, turns out my gut was right. ‘Course my dumbass brother would take this route… hey, you’re truck’s a fuckin’ mess.” Tommy sinks his hand into the closest cupholder, pulling out a wad of tissues that have been soaked in his cum. You hiss as if you’ve been scalded with boiling hot water.

Joel starts, “Tommy–”

“What the fuck is this shit?” The realization seems to dawn on poor Tommy when he’s peeling apart the tissues, and he drops them like they’re a thousand pounds. You can’t even bring yourself to scold him for littering as the wind carries them away. “Joel. You dirty dog!” He says, eyes flitting between the two of you like it’s the most impossible thing in the world.

Your heart picks up to a speed that can rival most NASCAR drivers and your face burns like hot asphalt. You look pointedly down at the ground.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel seethes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get outta here, you little shit.”

Tommy’s hands go up. “Hey now, I ain’t doin’ anything. That is not a conversation I wanna have with her daddy.” He clears his throat, effectively clearing the air along with it. “So, uh, truck break down?” Joel grunts in affirmation.

“Been tellin’ ya you need to make a stop at the auto shop… C’mon, I’ll get y'all home,” Tommy says, jingling the keys to his own truck. “Call a tow on the way.”

Joel drags his feet all the way to Tommy’s passenger side. You get your wallet and jacket together, winding the latter around your waist. The sun almost blinds you on your way out, and Tommy stops you.

“I hope you didn’t let ‘im stick it to ya with them prehistoric condoms. You’re smarter ‘n that.”

“God, no,” you huff out.

“I dunno what’s stupider, lettin’ my asshole brother hit it raw or gettin’ a UTI–”

“Okay!” you announce, hands going up as you round the back of Tommy’s truck. “Conversation over.” You’re still smiling playfully at Tommy as you clamber into the back of the truck, sighing when the air conditioner hits.

Just like that, back to the same old same old sunny, shithole state of Texas. Joel looks at you in the rearview mirror and winks at you. You guess not everything has to stay the same these days.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader #joel miller/f! reader

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glassrowboat · 1 month

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I Grew Up. Jing Yuan.

Summary: Before Jing Yuan was the general of the Luofu, he was just another kid who would play with wooden swords and bugs; a menace who was always ready to prove himself as a Cloud Knight. And besides him? An apprentice from the Alchemy Commission who was always ready to annoy him in his endeavors.

Warnings: Mentions of war, gore, death, there is an NSFW part (when both characters are adults), so fingering, smut, oral

Word count: 11,300+

A loud, cheery voice called out “one, seventeen, five hundred and seventy two,” as a blade swung in the air. The rustle of clothes coming with each move, every practiced hit to a non-existent enemy having a random number sang out into the air to match it. No chirping bird nestled in the trees to be had as the source of the voice had long since scared them all away. “Nine hundred and ninety nine, fifty six!”

And with each shout Jing Yuan was repeating the number he was actually on in his head, trying not to let a certain annoyance distract him as she has done so many times before. (Y/n)’s antics just as familiar as the spot he found himself training in. Cracked stones with bits of moss growing between the once upon a time smooth concrete, a red tree providing shade from the blaring sun, and a bench only five feet away currently supporting a girl with her hands to her mouth, trying to echo out each word.

“Sixty nine! Two thousand one hundred and five!”

Her green dress was tell enough that this girl was from the alchemy commission, but they both already knew that, the details of swirling clouds so unlike the ones above the two providing shade. A shadow cast out over the courtyard helping keep the air just cool enough that a light breeze would have anyone considering fetching a sweater. Well, anyone not in the middle of a training session.

“You are being a nuisance.”

Per usual.

Bringing his sword back up to practice another swing Jing Yuan tried his best to ignore the taunting words just begging him to chase her around the small space, again. “Oh, big word for a little guy. Jingliu teach you that one recently?”

“What if she did? Master is-”

“Three hundred eighty six.”

“Master is-”

“Seventy nine.”

With a clamor Jing Yuan drops his sword in a way one could compare it to a knight getting his weapon knocked out of his hand in the heat of battle. A daunting enemy above him threatening to end his life with their own blade as he scurried to fetch it back in time before that looming presence, a terrifying face about to become the last thing his ten year old self sees. So like a prince charming in a fairy tale, his fingers would grasp the worn down hilt from the shape of his hand just in the knick of time, blocking the enemy’s strike. A triumphant hero. Except it was the complete opposite. The sword just fell to the ground from a slip of Jing Yuan’s fingers.

“Smooth moves, Yuan.”

“If you hadn't distracted me.”

“And what Cloud Knight is supposed to lose his weapon because a chicka said a few words?”

Jing Yuan had to stop himself from biting on the inside of his cheek or maybe even a scoff just so he could get out: “any knight should know that sometimes you will lose your weapon in combat and what really matters is what I do next.”

Like he could grab a hidden dagger! Or….”I could just take the blade of a defeated foe.”

“Like what? Those giant ones the mara use?” (Y/n) held a hand up above her head, waving it in the air to call extra attention to it, a habit from waiting to be called on in class after listening to someone drone on for hours at a time about the medicinal properties of lily of the valley or something of the like. “I've seen those before, and they're taller than both you and I, so good luck! You'd have to spin around in circles just to give the blade any force behind it.”

A small giggle fell from her lips as she pretended to swing a giant blade, mocking the same way she would see Jing Yuan use his own.

‘Just what in the world is she imagining?’

“Just admit it, evolution didn't choose you, short stuff. So you'll just be a knight in training even when you're five hundred years old.”

‘As if!’

Picking his blade back up Jing Yuan slid it away in its designated sheathe with a satisfying click, the glare from the metal no longer reflecting on the ground beneath him as the sun peaked out from behind the clouds. “I told you that I'm going to be taller than you one day. Besides, you're only four inches taller than me, that isn't a lot.”

“I feel like I can make a joke here but it might go over your head.”

“Nope! Nope!” Not wanting to hear it, Jing Yuan smacked his hands to his ears. Maybe it would be enough to block out her shrill voice even as (Y/n) got closer to try and pull them off and out of place. “Just because you had to earn about that stuff for your studies doesn't mean I want to hear it. Not again. Mom already gave me the talk and it was awful!”

“You're such a kid.”

“She was talking about things with things and wouldn't let me leave until I repeated it back to her.” Right after he had run to go try and wash his ears out by dunking his head in the water can outside his home in hopes of the water knocking the words loose.

“You're not helping your case here.”

“It doesn't matter! That stuff like kissing other people the way mom and dad do is so not on my agenda. That can be saved for your princess stories and other girly stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” A little grin curled at the corners of her lips, most likely due to having another retort right on the tip of her tongue. (Y/n) even got out the words “then why are you so huffy over this stuff” before being cut off with little to no mercy by a loud call of her name. A man’s voice shouting for the girl again and again, only drawing nearer with each passing second. “Shit! I-I mean shoot. Shoot.”

Dropping his hands he stood there watching the panic come to her face. Only slightly smug. “Sure you did.”

“You're not helping!”

Quickly her form ran over to the courtyard's many walls, green dress fluttering behind as those little legs scurried around in a panic. Her voice only picked up in speed as (Y/n) tried to get the situation out, and understood, as fast as possible. “Yuan, I have to go right now. I left without permission again.”

‘Of course she did. Probably to get out of those talks about being switched out to advanced classes.’

“Hoist me up!”

“And why should I? You've been doing nothing but trying to get under my skin this entire time.”

Again, another call of her name sounded. Haize’s voice becoming clearer and clearer. A man Jing Yuan had only come across in passing when trying to drag a certain nuisance into playing with him. Or, a better way to put it, (Y/n)’s master.

“You motherf- I'll owe you!” Her hands were scrambling at the bricks on the wall, trying to find just the right ones to use for purchase. As if that's how scaling a flat wall would work, like rock climbing. Sure. “Just help me up or for the Reignbow Arbiter sake!”

He couldn't help the chuckle he was trying, and failing, to fight back from escaping, not with how quickly she did a 180. From teasing the life out of him (per usual) to now looking like she would plead like her life is on the line. Though with master Haize it was hard to tell, he could very well deal out writing the same sentence a thousand times over worse. At least that's one of the lighter one's Jing Yuan has heard about.

‘One shall not leave the alchemy commission without permission’ with each ‘I’ dotted with one of her hastily drawn hearts.

“Why should I? I think this is simply karma.” Despite his words Jing Yuan was already coming over to help, eyes going up and down the wall to figure out the best way to go about it.

“You little- I'll owe you, okay?”

“I know you will.”

And just like those five years ago, when they were both kids running amok trying to help one of them escape from an unjust punishment, (Y/n)’s shoe fell between his interlocked hands to his shoulder as she managed to swing a leg over gray tiles of the walls roofing. Admittedly it was a bit of a blessing that at least this time she didn't have to step on his head to get that proper step up. Last time that left a good mark of dirt in what was otherwise Jing Yuan's pure white hair as she scrambled away with a wide eyes scanning over the courtyard like she was expecting her master to pop out of thin air and a quick “see ya!”

Now though? (Y/n) was looking down at him from up high, her hand held out to help him up to follow her.

“And why are we sneaking into one of the alchemy commissions gardens when you have full access to go here?” This entire thing didn't really make sense to him, but here he was playing along even as the scent of flowers hit Jing Yuan in a way that was comparable to a woman accidently spraying her perfume in your face.

“Because, esteemed Jing Yuan, you're not allowed back here. And we have to do something to celebrate you officially becoming a cloud knight.”

Grabbing her hand the very same ‘esteemed knight’ pulled himself up and along beside her with very little help besides a tug or two to his blue sleeves. The uniform he now gets the privilege to wear with a red ribbon Jing Yuan ties around his waist every morning with pride after years of work and swinging that same blade over and over again. He swears that if he took a moment to just sit there and close his eyes while this menace of a woman jumps down into the garden below that he could feel the grip in his palm.

That is until his eyes shoot open as he hears a grunt and sees her figure kneeling on the ground, one of her hands brushing dirt off her face. Failing at that too, but for now she doesn't need to know that.

“Smooth moves.”

“Shut it.”

Jumping down after her, in a proper landing, Jing Yuan helps her up as (Y/n) huffs.

“But my point still stands, cloud knight.” Knocking a hand against his chest she turned back to the garden before them. An array of colors. Each petal is like a brush stroke on a canvas. “You got to your big goal, so we should celebrate.”

“Many of the other trainees after getting accepted were shooting the breeze with shaoxing glasses in their hands, and you choose a flower field you know like the back of your hand to take me to?”

“Fine, don't appreciate it. But I at least thought it would be nice. It's been a while since you've been allowed back here after you ruined a flower bed.”

“And last I recall you're the one that pushed me into said flower bed.”

“Anyway-” trying and failing to hide her laughter at what was most likely the memory of tripping Jing Yuan straight into a pile of dirt and seeds before her fellow classmates (Y/n) bent down so she could properly look at the blossoms before her. She probably knew every little detail about that flower, but Jing Yuan couldn't place it as anything more than just another pink one.

‘Anyway, she says.’

“Since when did it hurt to stop and smell the roses? Besides, if anyone catches us I'm just here….getting a few herbs I need to dry out for a project I have planned out. The number in my dorm has been dwindling.”

Moving besides her he sat down on the wooden walk set up to make sure no one would repeat his mistake so many years ago of mistaking where the path ended and patch started. At least that's the lie this one who thinks proper decor is bottles full of potions ultimately decided on before their scolding began. Jing Yaun’s boots making a hefty clunk as he settled down.

“And not even a drink to be had?”

“Yuan, wait until you're older. I shouldn't have to go over the repercussions of drinking before your prefrontal lobe has fully matured with you. I'll do it too.” Another huff. “It's very important for you not to touch a drop before your behavioral patterns-”

“Is this you talking or the lessons you've learned, prodigy?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

Plucking one of the flower's petals off she held the fragile thing up, studying the veins as she held it up to the full moon. The only source of proper lighting to be had when neither of you could afford to turn on the ones for the garden without being caught. Who knows what trouble could be had for you two from this even with her supposed foolproof excuse for being here.

“Carnations. You've probably seen a few as decorations at those fancy tea houses, the ones we've seen those Foxian ladies favoring so much. These can be used for their anti-inflammatory properties if you're in short supply of the normal pain meds the commission makes. A poor substitution in my book, but it's best to always have something extra on hand just in case.”

Raising his hands up Jing Yuan brings them together a few times in a short round of applause. She always did look so intense when bent over work tables with mixtures of all sorts at her fingertips, eyebrows knit together just as they are now. “You really do sound like a proper healer when you go off about this. Shame I know you for mainly cussing when you stub your toe.”

“A lady is allowed to express herself!”

“‘Lady.’”

“‘Cloud knight.’”

“You can't use that on me anymore now that it's true.”

It takes a moment, her eyes on him in silence before finally relenting and muttering a short “touche” he almost missed.

Taking the petal from those hands lacking the calloused his have Jing Yuan pinched it softly, trying to view the one little piece of life the same way she seemed to. A well of endless possibilities that could be made into something more than just a woman's perfume. “Say, I think it's time I cash in one of the many favors you owe me.”

“And what favor do I owe you, big guy?”

“Ah, someone's still petty I grew taller than them.” Chuckling Jing Yuan looked up from the petal to a face that still had the slightest smear of dirt on its cheek, barely seen in this lowlight. “What happened to those precious three inches you had on me?”

“It was four.”

“Three inches.”

“Well, it's perfectly normal for a young man to be tall. If anything it's just a sign you were able to grow up strong and healthy despite all the times you slid your fried cabbage on my plate.”

Something she had let him do on multiple occasions as they shared a table at either the alchemy commission when everything was stuffed full of nutrients and seemingly without a sprinkle of sugar or at his family home as Jing Yuan’s mom always slipped them an extra dessert whenever (Y/n) was over.

“Well, uh…”

‘Okay, it seems we're getting off track here.’

“You owe me for helping you escape Haize when you were thirteen.”

“No, I gave you my desserts for a week in recompense. It's been paid off already, Yuan. Try again.”

Huh. Tilting his head at that his eyes rolled up to the star covered sky. The Luofu was on its night cycle meaning they could properly see the galaxy beyond the blue hue and clouds that would be overcast during the day time.

“It's pretty, isn't it?” A hand pushed his shoulder, not nearly enough to knock Jing Yuan down to the wooden path but it had him rocking in place for a moment. Tall but lanky as a certain healer had described him, right after saying he needs to eat more, then he'd properly fill out once he ages up and grows out of the awkward teenage phase. “Just say what you want. I'm fine with you owing me for once.”

“Of course you are.”

And of course he shoved her shoulder right back.

“Can you tell me what it's like to see a mara-struck up close? If I'm to meet one in combat I should know what I'm going into, and master Jingliu can only help so much.”

‘Master has only one perspective.’

“Good to know you're not so over confident that you're rushing into battle with your sword raised for a charge. I didn't know you had a brain in there.”

“Seriously? You- Just back to my question.” Jing Yuan snapped.

“Okay. Fine. Impatient much. The thing is with your question…It's simply not a fair comparison.” She took a moment, eyes going from between him to the flowers that surrounded them. Lavender, marigolds, chrysanthemums, and so so many more. A field. And if he asked Jing Yuan was sure (Y/n) could tell him the scientific names of each one without issue. “The one's I deal with are primed for dissection, not for a fight.”

A sigh.

“But, it's not pleasant. Master had me- let me try again. You know those gingko leaves that tree in the courtyard you used to always train in? How would they slowly turn from green to yellow only to fall off soon after?”

“I would always be tasked with cleaning them up. Part of my ‘due diligence’ and training in patience. I'm pretty sure though it was just master Jingliu not wanting to clean it up herself.”

“Well,” a small giggle came from her at that, “someone needed to do it. And if I caught you sweeping I'd always fetch a broom and spend the afternoon helping you catch up on chores.”

‘And she would always hold it over my head after.’

“I loved gingko leaves when we were younger, because they made me think of you and those moments where we were threatening to hit each other over the head with those old brooms that probably couldn't even handle a single strike. I would pick one out from the dustpan and keep it stored away in one of the many pots in my room. Like they were precious.”

“Is rambling included at this time to stop and smell the roses?” He couldn't help the little grin that came to him, lips quirked up at the edges with absolutely no effort to stop it.

“Don't interrupt me if you're the one who wants an answer. No lecturer wants a student that can't shut their fucking trap.”

“Okay, okay.” Raising his hands in surrender was automatic at this point after hearing just that pissed off voice alone. “Go on, teacher.”

“Thank you. For the Reignbow Arbiter’s sake. So,” (Y/n) clapped her hands together, calling attention to herself despite the fact Jing Yuan was already paying more than enough to her, “back to my point.”

“The thing is…After my first dissection, even with master Haize watching over the entire procedure, I couldn't look at the mara-struck all at once. I was supposed to dissect it like a frog, something I've done dozens of times before, but I couldn't even just take a step back to look at the thing properly. It was a task to be objective.”

‘Couldn't look at them? Was it someone she once knew?’

“When I finally did it was at the end of the process when the master said I could wash off, and there I stood by the sink with those stupid blue rubber gloves covered in the coagulated blood of a dead body and gingko leaves.”

“I couldn't think about them the same way anymore.” Her head dropped. Eyes downcast on the very hands that had cut and opened up what was essentially, or at least should be, a corpse. “The abominations are so different from us, Yuan.”

“I know.”

Even the thought of those creatures could ruin a night like this it seems, one full of their usual antics and trouble seeking habits. The mara-struck, an inevitable fate for all Xianzhou natives if death doesn't take them first.

“Maybe you were right, maybe a drink to go with this night of celebration would have been better. Then we could be cheering about something stupid and-”

His hand was raised, reaching out to her, only stopping midway when (Y/n) glanced up at him with a disapproving stare; most likely for interrupting her or getting caught off track despite all the times she's done so to him. “And you were just getting on my case about it earlier too. Frontal lobe..something or another.” And he wiped the dirt he had been letting stick to her without a word off. The grainy texture is a sharp contrast to her own smooth skin.

“You- how long has that been there without you telling me?”

“Since you fell off the wall.”

“I didn't fall, I jumped.”

“Are you sure about that, prodigy?”

She swatted his hand away, much like she was dealing with a pesky bug flying around near her ear.

“I hope you know that when you get hurt on the field, and you inevitably will because all you knights do at one point, they will bring you back to me. When that happens, I will make sure that whatever injury you acquired will somehow end in my fellow healers being convinced they need to chop one of your limbs off due to risk of infection. You will be at my mercy, Jing Yuan.”

‘Great, another threat.’

She's made hundreds of threats since the moment they met varying from some that had Jing Yuan stumbling over himself in shock to wondering if the best she could do was smack him over the head. Especially when he's still getting taller. Who knows, maybe one of those days she'll have to ask him to lean down for her just to be met with a solid hit to the head. The thought alone had him laughing.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Hey! What's so funny you two bit bitch?”

“You don't need to worry about it.”

Taking one of those pink carnations Jing Yuan plucked the stem from the ground, not bothering to mind the dirt when his fingers were already dusted with it. Fragile petals and a soft hue. It truly was just a flower in his eyes, but somehow it looked like more than that as he tucked it behind (Y/n)’s ear as she scolded him for picking something without permission.

It was two years later Jing Yuan found himself holding a bouquet of the very same flowers after toiling over the best way to do this for hours, but they seemed only fitting. The shop owner he bought them from was nice enough to wrap them in those sheets of paper used for…well, decoration? And a red ribbon much like the very one in his hair.

The only difference being from when he bought them ten minutes ago to now is how the long stems had been wrangled as he clutched them tight in his sweating hand.

And her, staring up at them.

“Happy Luofu alliance day to you too.”

“You're all the way out here instead of joining in on the festivities?”

Papers were scattered all around her like a blanket on the grass, some clearly torn out from their notebooks as pages were frayed at the ends and others were slightly yellowed from years of use and spills of what is most likely more than just coffee stains. Scribbled notes that had Jing Yuan careful not to step on one and leave a footprint behind (for fear of being scolded, again) as he caught glimpses of diagrams, highlighted margins, and sketches of organs as he walked closer to her.

“There will be countless more years to spend in the Dragonvista Rain Hall. For now, I want to spend my one free day organizing my notes.” As she spoke (Y/n) lifted up the notebook that had been on her lap in the air.

“Your ‘one free day’ being a holiday you're required to take off.”

‘Yet here she is working.’

Glancing up Jing Yuan’s eyes fell on the tree she was sitting under. Foliage far from dense enough to keep the occasional sun beam peaking through the leaves as they cast golden rays on her green dress; still wearing her alchemy commission uniform, even now.

“Did you not have to be dragged to classes once kicking and screaming?”

She would even cling onto his arm, shouting for the future cloud knight to protect the poor damsel in distress from the fearsome bad guy. That being Haize as he plucked her up from the ground and carried her out of the courtyard like a disgruntled cat. Jing Yuan’s ear would be ringing for the rest of the day, but it was always worth it seeing her so pissed off after purposefully being a frustrating little brat. Teasing him like no tomorrow.

“Times change, Yuan.” She said, her words full of laughter. “Though, I did see this poster earlier about some foxian theater troupe putting on a performance. Epic of the Old Verdant House, if I remember it right.”

“That explains why we can hear drum chanting all the way out here.”

A melodic beat full of energy that matched the chatter of the crowds down below. From here he could see the lanterns hanging off of every pillar they could and tops of tents full of wares with people being waved in to 'come and see what we're selling, benefactors.’

“Sure does….say, I'm surprised you have the day off. Shouldn't an esteemed cloud knight be going around patrolling the streets to help keep the peace? I thought you'd jump at the chance to try and show your dedication, yet here you are not even in uniform.”

Standing there in everyday wear without a single piece of armor Jing Yuan shifted his hanfu sleeve, the fabric stretching only to fall back as he let go. It wouldn't hinder him, but it certainly wasn't his usual garb.

“I switched out my shift with that kid you helped last week.” Though she had many patients. It wouldn't surprise him if (Y/n) had forgotten about the event entirely. Things do tend to start blurring together when it's the same day after day, or at least that's what she says. “The one who got all bruised up in training, Aiguo?”

She hummed at that, seemingly to take a moment to recall. “The blond? For a cloud knight he sure does bruise easily.”

“He does…” The flowers in his hand were only wrangled up further as this conversation continued. This was besides the point. “So, rewriting your old notes then instead of going to that performance? I might have to grab a rose so you're forced to stop and smell them.”

Her eyes flicked up to him and he had to grip onto those already wrangled stems even harder to keep himself from simply choking the words out in his haste. A few white knuckles were easy enough to stand in favor of making this right.

“It's a better use of my time then watching you try and catch a goldfish at one of those scooping games again. I'm pretty sure by the time you were out of credits to waste away the vendor and I had become dear friends.”

He couldn't help but raise a brow at that. The only reason he was trying so hard in the first place was because only a week before she was forced to get rid of her pet scorpion. Ingredients had been found in her dorm by a supervisor, and after an apparently long meeting, it was determined the thing had to go despite her begging to just let him stay in the alchemy commission.

“It was rigged.” He said, slightly shrugging as he did so.

“All carnival games are rigged. That's the point.”

‘True, but at least it got her laughing. Even if it was at my expense.’

“Or, and hear me out on this, Yuan. It could also be that you just suck.”

“Thank you, so much.”

“Oh you're so very welcome.” Picking some of the sheets of paper up she tucked them between the pages of her notebook. Brand new but it was already covered in dirty fingerprints. No doubt from her collecting samples to tie into the pages as he could already see some of her old notes with a dried out jimson weed (if he recalled the name correctly) pinned down with thin metal wire keeping it in place. “I just don't have the time to do this any other day.”

“So.” stepping in closer to her spot under the tree Jing Yuan kneeled before her, making sure they were eye to eye even if she wasn't paying him the same amount of attention he was her. “If I asked you to come down and watch me struggle to catch you another fish?”

“And do you have the credits to spend on something so lavish?”

“I can spare a few.”

“I…I'm busy. I want to get this done.”

“And I can get you some osmanthus jelly.” Lifting the bouquet up, Jing Yuan held it up to her, the end of the red ribbon softly swaying from the movement. “You preach to me the importance of taking a break but you can't take one yourself?”

“You know I hate when you use my words against-”

And her words were drowned out by the loud sound of an engine, of a starskiff racing on by as fast as it could go. A familiar sound that would normally have Jing Yuan nodding to himself at the sight, taking in the beauty of such skilled piloting, but right now it only had him spitting out hair from his mouth as it whipped right into his face. White filled his vision as papers flew before his very eyes. A specimen of belladonna seen for only a moment before it trailed off, caught in the strong breeze the ship kicked up.

“No! No, no, no!”

Like confetti the notes she had spent years on flew away. Not even her hands snatching to grab anything proved fruitful as she scrambled up to pluck anything from the blue sky. Her fingertips barely grazed a sheet completely covered in yellow marker over the written margins before it fell to the crowd below.

Multiple people down below dressed in their finest attire, the festival masks, and waving their fans to keep cool in the generated heat of the Luofu's system were caught looking up and around them as the notes fell all around them. Ranging from the rooftops to the streets as those years she spent were tread over with little to no care, like they were nothing more than posters advertising something or another, as (Y/n) whined at the sight.

“Fuck!”

As Jing Yuan pulled the last bits of hair from his mouth he could see her flipping off the direction the pilot flew off in, even as it was long gone.

“Fuck you you punk ass bitch! Come back here before I shove a catheter up your dick!”

“Interesting insult.”

Grabbing a sheet of parchment from the branches of the tree, only a few of them stuck in there, Jing Yuan held it out to her.

“I hate this fucking household.”

Sighing Jing Yuan looked back at the paper in his hand as she just pouted at the sight of it. There goes his chance to confess it seems. Another day then.

“Come on prodigy, I'll help you find everything we can. It doesn't matter if it means spending the entire Alliance day peaking into alleyways or climbing over crates.”

“Just another favor I'll owe you.” She grabbed the paper from him as she spoke, fingers going over that messy handwriting that was no doubt scrawled down in a rush to get everything in her mind to a proper record. “Years of work.”

“No, there's no….”

‘No need for a favor.’

“Actually.” The flowers were over by the tree now, forgotten in the midst of what just happened, but did he really need them right now? Sure, this wasn't how Jing Yuan had been wanting this to go down, but what did those hours before the mirror practicing what to say as his friend, a fellow Cloud Knight, mean in retrospect when she was pouting like this? “I'd like to cash in that favor now. I’m going to ask you something and I don't want you to immediately say no. Take your time to think about it.”

“Now that's a big ask.” She said, grip tightening a little bit more to the point the paper started to crinkle under her touch. Maybe she was worried it would grow wings and fly away on her too.

“I know.”

Grabbing her hand, careful to make sure his actions did not tear anything, Jing Yuan squeezed it softly. She had no calluses made from the efforts of swinging a blade, of wielding a weapon. No, they were soft from the amount of lotion she used from always applying some after washing her hands again and again once she was done making some new medication or concoction or another thing of the like. Somehow that made it all the easier to hold her just like this.

“The next Alliance festival, I want to go together not as friends, or two people trying to find your notes, but as eachothers date.”

“No.”

“Now that's not taking your time-”

“Ask me again later, when I'm in a better mood; and pick an event that will happen sooner than a once a year festival.”

‘Oh…. Oh!’

Squeezing her hand a bit tighter Jing Yuan asked: “will you go on a date with me sometime this month? We will have to figure something out between your busy schedule, prodigy.”

“I said, ask me later.”

“Technically it was ‘later,’ just by a few seconds.”

“This is the worst confession I have ever heard and I've seen people proposing on the medical beds when one of them is so drugged they can't even understand what is being said to them.”

After a moment she added in, “you still have to help me find my notes though, then I'll say yes. And I want a better confession too, like in those romance books. Give me a whole speech.”

“Are you seriously asking me to study those girly novels of yours?”

“Yes. Or no dice.”

“I- fine.”

‘To believe that years ago I'd cringe at the thought, but here I am agreeing to it just to satisfy this bossy woman.’

“You're always a headache.”

Later that day, after spending hours combing the city to find every last sheet they could manage, Jing Yuan tied the red ribbon around her pinky, admiring how it showed she was his as (Y/n) told him she'd find the time in her busy schedule to squeeze in one little outing.

And it was that very same hand he tied a ribbon to, that he grasped that day, the very same day he played in his head again and again with a smile that could never leave him at the memory, that is now threaded through Jing Yuan’s hair.

Tugging. Pulling. Unapologetically leaving knots he'd have to comb out later.

“Patience.”

“You've been saying that for the past ten minutes, Yuan.”

The way her voice came out slightly strained had his lips tugging up. Soft little pants he was drawing out of her from those pretty lips he yearned to kiss right now even as his own were sliding along her naked thigh. Tongue just barely lolling out to leave a small lick before retreating once again.

She'd call him a tease. Has been, actually. But Jing Yuan couldn't barely help himself when seeing her like this.

Blankets pushed off to the side and barely hanging off the edge of the bed that was cast in only the low glow of a lamp on a desk nearby. One covered in glass bottles full of things he's been warned not to touch, and he knew well enough to listen. It was enough to have his fingers gleaming as he pulled them away again.

Much to someone's dismay.

“Stop being mean to me. Please.”

Jing Yuan only hummed in response, not minding her begging much as his teeth just barely dug into her skin; the idea of leaving a mark was so, very, tempting. To know that under her skirts in the days to come would be proof of this moment in the dark.

Her thigh tensed in response, muscles flexing before falling back to a relaxed state as his lips ran over the imprints of her underwear he had been pulling and tugging at earlier left. A garment discarded as soon as his head dipped between her thighs, yet here she was urging him to give her more.

‘How greedy.’

But he is too as Jing Yuan’s cock strains against its confines. Fabric he'd usually consider loose, breathable, and easy to move in suddenly betraying him with every shift of his hips against this old mattress. Barely providing anything friction as he breathes in the scent of sex. Of slick. Of her need for him.

Just that alone had his hips bucking forward.

His gaze moved from the way she sucked his fingers in as they slid back inside her with a wet squelch up to those half lidded eyes that flicked between him and the ceiling.

“Yua-”

A chuckle fell from him as she chased after him, her breath hitching and eyes falling closed as his tongue slid between those lips he's never had a proper chance to taste before, and oh what he would do to let those legs wrap around his fluffy white head and eat a meal he's never had before for hours just to find what would make her unravel beneath him.

Would she call his name in those final moments with her toes curled the way they are now? Would she be clinging onto the sheets with a knuckle white grip? Would her chest heave as he watches those breasts still red from being tugged and teased at fall with every breath?

Yes, they were both greedy.

“I know you're doing that on purpose.” She finally managed to say between her whines and attempt to stifle them away under her free hand.

“Am I now?”

That accusatory glance had Jing Yuan curling his fingers over a soft spot that felt different from the rest, spongy even, as he tried his best to act innocent. Not very convincing when his words are muffled by her pussy, but it was a try nonetheless.

“F-fuck…”

“I can't help but think you liked that.”

It was a wonder she wasn't trying to kick him in some way, but maybe that's just because with every movement of his fingers her head was being thrown back into the white covers.

“Where do you…how do you even know where that is?”

“This?” Jing Yuan asked, fingers crooking even more by just the slightest amount to brush over that spot inside of her again.

(Y/n) didn't need to know the real answer to that, not when she wouldn't let him live it down if she ever found out. She'd get on him until his ears turned pink and she'd only make it worse by pinching them and saying something like “oh sweetie, you're looking sick. Maybe we should take your temperature, yeah?”

So no, he'd keep the fact that one of her fellow students in the alchemy commission went around to all the guys he knew were in a relationship during the mess hall. Lunch hour as silverware clattered against those metal food service plates while some young lad with a diagram of all things pointed out…well...where to touch a woman in exchange for a hundred credits in turn.

Money well spent in his opinion if it had her looking at him like that. Glazed over eyes enough to have Jing Yuan wanting to press a kiss to those soft lips. To let her know just how she tastes.

“Maybe I'm just a natural; a prodigy just like you.”

Wouldn't that be nice? To know just where to touch her to have his name cried out like a prayer. The Reignbow Arbiter an afterthought to his fingers, but he was willing to give her the rest of their lives together to figure this out. To have her melt in his embrace on all the nights they will have, just like this one where she sneaked him into her dorms.

The door didn't even creak on their way in.

He didn't even stop to do anything more than lock the door before Jing Yuan had pulled (Y/n) into his arms. Hands playing with the fabric of that green dress as it traced over the

gold accents on her chest all the way up to the clasp keeping it shut as their lips met in hurried kisses. One after another as she tugged him along through the bedroom to help keep those heavy boots of his from accidently kicking and knocking over anything of importance as they found their way between boxes of files to the bed.

Designs of swirling mist made Jing Yuan feel like he was on cloud nine as they slid up her thighs.

She rolled her eyes as he asked about her underwear, wanting to know if it was just for him. If she anticipated this happening and wanted to look her best for him.

The thought was a sweet one.

But right now that pair was tossed off somewhere long forgotten as his face was covered in her slick, and hands forcing her legs apart as she writhed beneath him.

How long could he take without breathing in some more air? The thought only came to Jing Yuan as his ears buzzed the same way they would after staying too long underwater. (Y/n) his lake he would willingly jump in even if it drowned him.

“Pr-prodigy my ass.”

A kiss to her trembling thigh, eyes locking with hers.

“Are you saying I'm not doing a good job?”

“Not at all.”

‘Sure. She's so snarky even like this.’

A whine, a plea for more met him as Jing Yuan pulled his fingers out. The curve of her plush ass he wanted to squeeze and grope at again covered in spittle and arousal just like his mouth.

Maybe if she was in a sane enough mind she'd be saying something like it's been twelve minutes now. That is if she ever got the chance as he kissed her again. Body hovering over hers, taking note of just how small she looked under him.

How easy it was to grab her wrist and pull her flush against him.

Cock brushed against her through those damnable layers of clothes Jing Yuan wore that had his head burying away in her neck to take in the scent of herbs that clung to every piece of clothing she had. Trying to bite back a groan as he did his best not to rock against her in a frenzy, but it was (Y/n) who ran a hand along his bare back and whispered in their small sanctuary of sheets and pillows “we can stop if you're nervous.”

And like an over eager fool he rushed out a no.

“No, I promise I'm fine.”

‘Worried I'll cum in under a minute, but fine.’

“Besides, you made me wait for a full year so I'm not going to pass on this now.”

“Patience,” She teased back. Hand brushing along his cheek that he couldn't help but to press a kiss to. “Besides, it seemed only right to wait until we were both adults.”

��Is this where you lord over the fact you're three years older than me again?”

Though she hasn't done that since he passed her in height, much to a certain someone's annoyance.

“Maybe.”

Tightening his grip on her waist Jing Yuan pulled her impossibly closer. Her warmth, her laugh, her hands tracing the muscles on his back she could surely name off the top of her head like it was nothing, it was all a reminder of how much he held her dear.

“Can we….”

“Start now?” That laugh again, the curl of her lips as she looked up at him through those long lashes she has cursed everytime they ‘betrayed her’ by letting something in her eyes.

“Yes.”

It was as Jing Yuan had tugged those pants down and out of the way that she grabbed his chin to lead him into a kiss. The taste of her still there, still lingering as her lips parted into a moan as for the first time it was his cock that filled her. That they were intertwined in a way that would make the Aeons themselves blush.

And it was in that moment as his hips moved to meet hers with a wet squelch that had him biting his lip not to moan too loudly and give away what they were doing to any of her neighbors in the dorms did the words I love you fill the air.

Her hands in Jing Yuan’s hair as she whispered them right back.

I love you.

That's what she said to him as the wind whipped around from an awaiting ship. Luggage in her hand as she looked back between the people on board who were walking back and forth from the dock to a place Jing Yuan couldn't see with wooden crates full of provisions. Old nails clearly being the only things keeping the boxes together as he watched the cloud knights assigned to this mission just like she was.

Blue armor much like his own, but he wasn't one of the few that were chosen for this. No, (Y/n) was. A healer is always needed.

“I shouldn't even be gone long. At most maybe a year. Maybe two.”

Far from long in the eyes of a Xianzhou native, that's for sure. The denizens of the Luofu had their lives tick by as the humans who came to the ship for trade and sightseeing grew old and suddenly stopped showing up. All due to a very obvious conclusion. But two years without her?

“Why wasn't it someone else assigned? There's always Aihan.”

“That girl? She still gets squirmish during autopsies.”

Meaning no can do.

The stomping of boots continued as men tread back and forth. Some of the knights even stopped to give Jing Yuan a respectful nod or even a wave before continuing on with their task. His brothers in arms despite the fact he wasn't going to be besides them on the field this time.

“Besides, it's only Yaguoret. This should all be wrapped up quickly. At least compared to the thirty year missions some people are assigned to.”

A shrug, like this, wasn't a big deal at all despite the fact they both have been on a battlefield now. They both knew what it was like.

“Look Yuan, I'll be back in two years at max and when I arrive in your awaiting arms,” her hand slid along the blue fabric of his uniform, playing with the material she had sewed back together for his time and time again, “you can keep me all to yourself for a week. Just you, I, cute dates or… other things.”

“Two weeks.”

“One and a half.”

“Two weeks, prodigy.”

The two stared at each other for a moment before she finally sighed, shoulders dropping for only a moment.

“Fine, two weeks. I'll be all yours.”

Grabbing her hand, Jing Yuan locks their pinkies together. Silly, childish really, but it always worked when they were younger. Though it was mainly her wrangling him into compliance.

“Promise me.”

“I-I…..promise.”

So why was he now sitting in her room staring up at Jingliu listening to his master say something he never thought would be uttered?

The file boxes had been taken away, the bottles that had once reflected his own golden eyes back to him as Jing Yuan asked about the contents now missing, even the terrarium for Ingredients (Y/n) never bothered to get rid of was gone like it never existed in the first place. The dorm room is bare, hollow of the personality it had accrued over years of use.

Photos of them ripped from the walls leaving dark squares from the sun aging the wallpaper that once framed those cherished memories.

“What do you mean she's been exiled?”

“I mean exactly what I say, Jing Yuan. Miss (Y/n) of the alchemy commission, student to cauldron master Haize, has been exiled from the Luofu.”

Jingliu's hand moved to rest on the empty desk, brushing over the dust that had accumulated during the past three months that no one had properly cleaned this room. It was always something he intended to do, to keep up with making sure this place was as spotless as he could make it so she wouldn't come back to dust bunnies and a fit of sneezes, but work had been suddenly thrown onto him like something was amiss. Something massive had obviously happened, but he knew better than to ask when every time those who talked about it would shut their mouths the second even a wisp of his hair was seen.

“The fact she wasn't sentenced to death is a surprise.”

Because of course no one would want to talk to him about his own partner being….

“This is a mistake!”

Getting up from bed that creaked under him from the sudden movement Jing Yuan stood before his master, eyebrows pinched together to keep himself from outwardly scowling at the woman he owes so much to after years of training with the sword.

“You know her just as well as I do! She never would have hurt anyone like this.”

“When I knew (Y/n) best was when she was a fledgling. A kid, just as you are now. Letting your emotions blind your view of the truth will do nothing to help you.”

“I've known her for fifteen years. There's no way the same woman I know who takes spiders outside after finding them would be capable of murdering a hundred knights.”

(Y/n) can't even hold a sword properly. She is a healer, a woman who makes mixtures and applies bandages. Who presses kisses to his wounds as Jing Yuan tries to brush them off like they're nothing to avoid the bitter sting of hydrogen peroxide she would mercilessly apply to him with a smile like nothing was wrong. A woman like that holds no contest to men trained for combat. Some of those men that were sent out even had hundreds of years under their belt.

“Even if she poisoned them?”

Jing Yuan hissed out a breath at that, jaw tensed just the same way it would when the antiseptic met his braised skin.

“She's…she may be capable but that doesn't mean-”

“After the soldiers died the effects started to show in the village people that lived on Yaguoret. Even cauldron master Haize said it was the same symptoms the corpses of the cloud knights seemed to have gone through.”

Jingliu pulled her hand back from the desk, a small coating of dust on her fingers she brushed off.

“Haize has done everything he can with what he has, but the people native to that planet keep dropping faster than he can try and make new remedies.”

The two stared at each other for a moment, like Jingliu was waiting for Jing Yuan to finish what she was trying to say himself, but he bit his tongue. Refused to use it. He wouldn't say the words aloud.

“Only your partner would know the best way to go about making a poison that her own master could not find an antidote, or whatever those alchemy commission bunch need, to stop this issue in time.”

“The elders have decided this will be written off as a plague. That will be what is documented as to keep Haize from having his position looked at with suspicion, but he will be on thin ice from here on.”

What Jingliu wasn't saying is: it's a wonder the man is keeping his job at all.

“This isn't possible.”

‘She wouldn't do anything to risk her…and the promise.’

As it felt like his chest was being clawed at by an invisible hand winding its way through his mouth, past Jing Yuan throat, and ripping his lungs apart to grasp at his heart Jingliu placed a letter in his lap. The envelope it was in clearly had been torn open, but it was his name on the white parchment with the ‘I’ dotted with a heart.

Somehow the sight of it made it even harder to breathe.

“She left this behind for you, clearly. When they were cleaning out her room trying to find evidence that was stumbled upon.”

That would explain why her room is so empty.

The words why is it open then we're right on the tip of his tongue, but they both already knew the answer to that.

“Do you know its contents?”

Jingliu nodded at that, not saying a word as her red eyes flicked down to the torn apart packaging of something that was supposed to be meant for only him.

“Does it mention…”

‘Does it mention why?’

“It's best you read it yourself if you want to know.”

It was the force of habit alone that had Jing Yuan nodding as he was given one last glance by his master before she left him alone. Most likely he can process this thing on his own, but just the sight of it, the idea of what's inside, made him feel sick. Hell, he was half tempted to burn it and throw the ashes of what's left out the window so he can watch them dance on the wind the same way those specimens of belladonna and jimson weed got carried away.

Swallowing down the taste of bile licking at his tongue, Jing Yuan folded up the envelope and tucked it away in his uniform.

That… can be saved for another day.

A day for centuries later.

A day for when he was stopped short as a bird flew down and nestled upon the crook between his shoulder and golden armor piece strapped down to Jing Yuan's arm. Little chirps filled his ears as he walked through the streets of the Luofu. Sing song, a perfect background to his afternoon stroll as the few people he passed by on this path he's memorized after years of use bowed their heads.

Surely, if it wasn't for the upkeep on the potholes or cracks in the sidewalk he would have worn the shape of his boots into the white concrete long ago.

Another chirp and Jing Yuan looked down at the red beaked creature with a lazy smile. These things were always so comfortable with him, to the point he's even gotten a few comments from Fu Xuan about being a Disney princess. Something he just nods along with without complaint.

It was amusing how much his acceptance seemed to annoy her.

“Now, now, if you're too loud you might make this old man lose even more of his heari….”

His hearing.

But there he was stopped short, one foot in the air waiting to follow along the path only he knows the exact details of even as people try to record the goings and happenings of the Dozing General. Frozen in space, in time, like it was ice that kept him stock still and not a single image that came onto one of those many blue screens depicting today's news.

The words wanted written right under the white and red pictures of Blade, Kafka, and a woman Jing Yuan never thought he'd see again.

That old ache blooming in his chest again like a flower in a patch of dirt just waiting to be watered as her eyes were revealed to him. Even in a drawing meant to capture her image they never changed.

Teasin, inquisitive, and seemingly filled with thoughts he never had the neverending years to dig into like he was planting his own garden.

Wanted Stellaron Hunters.

Turning on his heel the bird that was nestled against him flew off, its wings flapping away as it took flight, and he was left to stride out of Starskiff Haven with his boots thudding their way back to the Seat of Divine Foresight as Jing Yuan tried with all his restraint not to break out into a full out run.

“You're dismissed,” is all he said as he entered those old walls, loud and clear for everyone inside to hear.

Heads turned his way, some immediately moved to leave, and the blond rascal of a kid he was so fond of came up to him only to hold his tongue as he saw the look on Jing Yuan’s face. A “very well, general,” threw his way as Yanqing followed everyone else out.

Jing Yuan didn't even notice the glance back to him as the doors shut.

Now it was just him standing there on the giant board surrounded by blue holograms, banners hanging from the beams up above, scrolls stored away in their exact places, and the lion statues he himself commissioned to be built in this place.

All alone.

Just like he was with a letter he never wanted to read as his feet carried him to that desk he hovers over day after day. Fingers moving along the smooth bottom to press a button that forced a drawer open. Thin, barely able to contain anything at all. When he first got this piece and requested such an addition the odd looks didn't bother him much, not when the carpenter didn't need to know what it was for. As far as he cared the simple phrase ‘official documents’ would have held enough weight.

But it wasn't some folder filled with the Xianzhou Luofu's darkest secrets, well, not fully anyway. Rather, it was a torn open envelope and the messy scrawl of his name.

‘Jing Yuan’ staring back at him.

Even after all these years later and his memories fade in favor of a blanket of mist keeping all those years locked away, he knew well enough she didn't like to refer to him that way.

It was Yuan.

It was her Yuan.

The paper felt odd in his hands, despite the amount of times he's pulled it out and debated opening the thing before it fades away to dust, like it was brand new. A clean sheet of paper despite it no doubt having passed through multiple hands before something that was rightfully his possession fell into his grasp for the first time. Fingers teasing over the ripped envelope as he pushed it aside and pulled out a folded note.

It wouldn't be too late to back out now, just how he has done a hundred times before as he failed to bite the bullet even his old master was able to, but then the image of her flashed in his mind again. The wanted poster was an accurate portrait, but it still felt like a character compared to the memories that were like a migraine that never ceased to ache.

‘Evolution didn't choose you, short stuff.’

‘Since when did it hurt to stop and smell the roses?’

‘I don't care if I'm busy, I'll find the time to go on that date with you. I promise.’

‘I love you.’

‘I'll be back in two years.’

A whirlwind of moments together, of her words, that had him just barely creasing the note.

The thought that she promised to come back quickly buried away as he, for the first time, unfolded the note he's kept all these years without her by his side.

‘Dear Yuan,

I have drafted this letter over ten times now and I can't quite seem to get the beginning of this right, so I think it's best just to get into the thick of things. You agree, yes? I hope you do.

I'm sure the news of what has happened (or is about to happen, if you're looking from my point of view) has reached you now. Is this a shock beyond words or did a part of you know this was going to happen? We do tend to let our unconscious selves be quieted and hushed away by emotions. Such is the way of any sentient creature whose instincts do not drive them. But you cannot look me in the eyes and tell me this was not something you would fully deny being something I am capable of if you weren't driven right now by what I can only guess is…betrayal.

I didn't mean to be your first heartbreak, my Yuan. No, I never wanted that at all. I wanted things to stay just the way they were when you'd take that wooden sword of yours when Jingliu hadn't yet given you permission to wield a real one and chase me around with it because I teased you too much. Or maybe back when we would turn rocks over a day after it rained so we can try and find bugs together.

Oh Yuan, I could list countless moments I wish time had chosen to freeze us both in so this outcome never had to come to pass.

But it did.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not sorry for my actions.’

The words ‘I can't afford to be’ were crossed out.

‘Do you remember that night when we snuck into the gardens? I do. Very well at that. I hope you do too, just for different reasons. That night to me was being with you, of enjoying our time, until you brought up the mara-struck. Those creatures that plague us all at the end of our lives like a withering flower bound to end up as nothing more than a husk of itself as its body is preserved much like that one I keep with a red ribbon tied around it (the one you gave me when you tried to ask me out like a bumbling mess) pressed between pages as it's currently being used as a bookmark. The abominations, they have made me realize something you might not have yet.

Maybe those three years I have on you really do mean more than I would care to admit. Maybe in three years time when you are at the age I am now you'll realize this for yourself too. This war is never going to end. This war will taint what is beautiful in the world. We were blessed to have a loll in the time we were growing up, but that is only because of the sacrifices of many given for such peace.

But still, many died when our eyes were blinded by youth.

And when the battles did come you were a guard on some street in the Luofu as I was called out of my dorm to treat the few men who came back from their efforts in the middle of the night. Blearly, I was lacking sleep, but I did my job just as I always have. That is what I told myself when I had to dissect my first body at the age of fifteen. ‘Do your job, girly’ despite the fact I was surrounded by those older than me and even they cringed as Haize yanked some pubic hair from a corpse to store into a plastic bottle for proper collection.

It took a while for them to forget this thing before them, this hunk of meat, was dead and therefore couldn't feel pain. It took me a while too.

Back to the men…They would come in covered in blood, scratches that were left by creatures I never would have dreamed of existing before until they told me about them as I figured out all on my own how to detach a chewed up limb from a man without making it too painful.

They still passed out in the end.

One day you will know war, you will know what it's like to be on the battlefield for more than a skirmish, you will know the smell of the dead as all their bowels release and the smell of shit fills the air, just as I do now after having been called to be a medic in those poorly put up tents behind the fighting men.

Yet I don't want people to have to know about war. I don't want you to know about war despite you jumping at every chance to prove yourself as a Cloud Knight. I don't want those people of Yaguoret to know about war as we descended on their planet. But it is inevitable. They are a poor people who know little of what to do with the land they possess, and we are a civilization that sees their planet for the resources it has.

It was already discussed after the first talks with the people there after they turned away our offers of trade that they needed to be…wiped out.

Children, mothers, fathers who can't even put up a proper fight, let alone to a Cloud Knight.

So if you are wondering if I killed our men, the very people we talked with in the mess hall, or annoyed on the training grounds, or that I bandaged in the past, then I have to tell you I will.

They won't survive, of course they won't. What kind of prodigy would I be if I couldn't make a simple poison that would properly kill a man? Or a good hundred.

Sorry, I shouldn't be making jokes now. Force of habit.

There will be no war if the people trying to make a war are dead.

There is no way to enact change without sacrifices. That is how medicine is made. First someone must come to you with an issue, a sickness, and it is their loss of life that allows you to test the boundaries of this illness.

But that doesn't change the fact that I will soon become a murderer.

Somehow I am calm, at ease, yet the most scared I have ever been in my life.

But I have cast aside my alchemy commission uniform. Green never was my color.

I am no longer a healer. A murderer cannot claim that title.

So, as I said before, I won't apologize for my actions, but I'm sorry I had to face this world before you did, to come to my own conclusions. I can't help but wonder if I was younger, if I didn't have those three years on you, if we could find our own conclusions together. Ones that we could support side by side that wouldn't result in this.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is-’

And the last words, with a dried teardrop smearing the letters so they were barely legible as Jing Yuan had to narrow his eyes to read.

‘I am sorry I grew up without you.’

#jing yuan x reader #jing yuan #hoyoverse #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #fem reader #x reader #steamy #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #honkai sr x you #smut #banner by cafekitsune

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the-modern-typewriter · 9 months

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Can you write something about the protagonist being adopted by a family of heroes, but they just want to live a normal life, but the villain finds them? Please and thank you!

"So, you're the super new addition to the family."

Given everything that their new family had told them, the protagonist had been expecting it. Unfortunately, that didn't make it any less horrifying to hear the villain's voice behind them in the empty classroom.

The protagonist's shoulders tensed.

Someone would probably come running if they screamed for help. But what were most people going to do against the villain except die? Besides, the protagonist...

They turned, stomach twisting into a thorny knot, still clutching a paintbrush in hand. "I'm not going to fight you."

The villain raised their eyebrows at that, seeming amused. "Oh?"

The protagonist swallowed. "So if that's why you're here, piss off. With all due respect."

"Piss off with all due respect?"

"I have an art project to finish. It's 20% of my final grade."

The protagonist half expected them to saunter close, fearless and menacing, but the villain stayed where they were - leaned against the closed door in a long black coat and gloves. Everything about them was dark. A shadow come to life. Their smoky gaze roamed the painting over the protagonist's shoulder.

The protagonist was halfway through painting a seascape. Calm. Nice. Possibly twee, they knew that. The sort of thing that felt like it couldn't feasibly be in the same room as a supervillain like them.

"Yeah," the villain said. "If your teacher has beige walls and a puritan sense of right and wrong, they'll love it."

The protagonist's jaw clenched, but they didn't say anything.

The villain's attention fixed on them again, considering. "How is hero life?"

"I'm not a hero."

"No, you're a cataclysm waiting to happen. But I was being polite."

The protagonist flinched.

"That's why they took you in, right?" the villain asked, head tilting. "So they can keep an eye on you? Manage your powers?"

"They're helping me."

"Uhuh." The villain's eyes gleamed. "Do you think they love you? Like a proper little family?"

"I'm not joining you either," the protagonist said, after a winded beat. "So, again, with all due respect-"

"Piss off?"

"Please."

The villain smiled. "I'm not here to fight you. Or recruit you."

"Then why are you here?" The protagonist's voice quivered.

The villain shrugged, too light and careless for it to be true. "Curiosity. They said you wanted a normal life."

The protagonist could only imagine how that conversation had come up and gone down. They managed a small nod.

"You're not normal," the villain said.

The protagonist flinched again, despite themselves.

"Power like yours, destructive power, it wants to be used," the villain said. "Starts eating away at you if you don't channel it. Makes you ill."

The protagonist met the villain's eyes. Because, yeah, they'd noticed that.

"For what it's worth," the villain grimaced, like the very acknowledgement was disgusting. "I do think they're trying their best with you. I think they have good intentions. They always do. And better them, I suppose, then you being with someone who doesn't have any powers if things..." The villain twirled their fingers, and a smoky little mushroom cloud popped up from the tips.

"Yeah," the protagonist said, a little hoarse. That had been exactly their thinking.

"But it won't be enough. Their best won't be enough to contain you."

"We don't know that."

"I know that."

"This doesn't sound like curiosity."

The villain laughed, though it wasn't an entirely joyful sound. They straightened up off the door, finally taking that step closer.

"Curiosity in the sense that I'd like to meet the apocalypse. It's a one time experience. I'd kill you myself, but...you know. No guarantee that all that power inside you won't just go boom when you die. Better to adopt death incarnate, in this instance. Keep you safe. Love you enough that you don't want to end everything prematurely."

The protagonist felt bile, hot and acrid, rising in their throat.

"Piss off," they whispered. It definitely sounded more like please.

"You need to use your powers," the villain said, all laughter gone. "In small chunks. Micro doses. Otherwise you're going to be dead or blow us all up by the time you're thirty, and I would rather avoid that for as long as possible."

The villain reached into their pocket, pulling out an envelope. "A list," they continued. "Of the help you should be asking them for. They won't listen if it comes from me. But love isn't going to be enough, if you're serious about this."

The protagonist's brow furrowed. They hesitated; their family had told them not to take anything the villain offered. They took the envelope.

It struck them, after all, that the villain knew what it was to be a little bit monstrous. The villain hadn't chosen normalcy. But they knew, better than anyone else, didn't they?

The tension left the protagonist's shoulders. They sagged.

"Enjoy your normal life," the villain said, softly. "I hope you get it. And I hope, I truly hope, the rest of us will yet be lucky enough to survive you."

They bought the protagonist's art piece at the end of year presentation. The protagonist didn't know what to do with that information.

#villains and heroes #heroes and villains #writing #story #short story #creative writing #writing snippet #story snippet

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impact-theater · 4 months

Text

𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓

Pairing: yandere!Xianyun, yandere!Ga ming

TW: yandere, obession, self-aware

You've collected 60 wishes for this banner. Ever since you saw Ga Ming, and then Xianyun, you knew you needed them in your team! Especially when you saw their leaks!

89%... this game is really taking forever to uploud. You might as well go grab yourself a cup of coffee.

Inside the game, there was fight going on you didn't knew about!

─ "They'll be here soon!" - Ga ming panicked, going all around wishing screen

─ "I wouldn't count on that. They just went to get cup of coffee and still have 3 more procent." - While Xianyun kept her calm, not bothered by how fast the bar went

─ "It can pass in a second! I just bet my cutie will first wish for me and I will appear in their first 10 wishes!" - boy fixed his hair and brushed off the non existing dust from his shoulders

─ "As you wish. I'm taking their first wish." - woman said with her eyes closed and her face unbothered

You came back to your pc to find game already installed! You could only click "launch" and let the white screen blind you as you took a sip of your coffee.

Xianyun stood up, fixing her glasses and began walking to her banner space, stopping in front of brown-red haired boy first though...

─ "I wouldn't mess with Cloud Retainer on your place." - she kept her head high, so only her eyes looked down at the boy. her voice somehow menacing

─ "I'm willing to risk ANYTHING for them to see my fice as first thing after loading." - Ga ming on the other hand seemed to not get scared at all and instead kept his face courageful

While you finally entered the game. You claimed all the rewards possible before finally clicking on the wishing icon. Immidietly seeing Xianyun and Ga ming you smiled, getting any of your ritual objects ready.

Ga ming already had a big grin, so luckily he didn't had to hold back from that. What he needed to hold back from was blush that was risking being more and more visible. While Xianyun, having rather cold face, needed to keep herself back from cracking smallest smile or else you'd notice.

Seeing you had not 60 but 61 wishes, you decided to challange the fate and do one single wish first! Promising yourself oh so dearly outloud that you'll main and triple crown whoever comes first.

In that 2 seconds of making a wish, happened more than you could imagine. Ga ming runned like he never did, motivated to make his cuties day. Though Cloud Retainer seemed to not stand back and watch as she made sure to pass the boy. Surprisingly they arrived at your screen almost at the same time!

Well... almost...

On your screen appeared woman with long black-green hair and name "Xianyun" above 5 stars on left.

You let out small squeak and Xianyun couldn't help but crack a grin which she quickly turned into well known cold face to not raise suspicion.

You clicked the x button hoping to check out skills but you were surprisingly stopped... you saw image of boy with brown-red hair, name "Ga ming" above 4 stars on the left...

─ "Weird... I only made one wish..." - you thought to yourself, thinking it as of a simple bug. well at least you gained 2 wanted characters just like that!

After clicking x again, you returned to simple wish screen you knew. Leaving Xianyun and Ga ming enough time to talk again before you check any of their profiles.

─ "Do you realize what you just did?" - woman asked furrowing her eyebrows

─ "Oh don't tell me you wanted to see cutie's sad face when they wouldn't get me!" - boy asked furrowing his eyes in response, his tone slightly annoyed

─ "No, I'm saying that if they or anyone who discovers about this reports it to Hoyoverse, they'll fix this 'bug' in a second. You might loose your self-awarness and so may I."

─ "Oh it won't happen! They're gonna triple crown me after all~"

─ "They saw me first I'm afraid."

─ "Maybe. But they said they're gonna triple crown whoever end in their first pull! And that was me as well!"

Xianyun rolled her eyes, annoyed by boy's confidence. She looked at your happy face from the other side of the screen and smiled on her own.

─ "How cute you are, my dear~" - she thought seeing you clicking on "characters" button

─ "I can't wait untill you start to main ME~" - he thought seeing you hesitating who to check out first

Author note: I wanted to write something based on actual genshin bug or so but since these 2 are coming out, I decided to just do classic self-aware fic. Still thinking of what next to do sooo I'll figure it out later!

#genshin impact #gi #x reader #gi x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #xianyun #ga ming #xianyun x reader #ga ming x reader #yandere #genshin fanfic #genshin fic

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venuslut · 5 months

Text

tw: violence

I've just been obsessed with the whole strong evil man with an equally, maybe more, evil woman by his side.

Just think about it. Them sitting on a throne and you're sitting at his feet with your head in his lap, and he's running his hands through your hair as he kills off the useless or traitorous people to give you a show.

I would be on an absolute power trip in this position. My favorite pastime? Planning world domination with my man. My hobbies? Bathing in the blood of my enemies. What's my ideal date? Going on a shopping-turned-murder spree and then fucking while covered in blood.

Some may not be ok with participating in the killings and all that and that's ok. But imagine the pure sexiness your man emits when he kills someone. He's covered in blood but goddamn. Just being turned on by him being covered in his victims blood and just smirking so evilly as if he's getting off on it too.

Maybe it's after a major fight and you're both high off of adrenaline. You saw your lover cut down people with little effort and you can't help but shiver at the thought of him bringing his brutality into the bedroom. Him manhandling you like a ragdoll and treating you like a common whore. It sends tingles to your core and makes your enemies afraid of why you seem more energetic and bloodthirsty than before.

Then when you get home, you both can't keep your hands to yourself. Wanting desperately to take each other's clothes off and fuck until your both stupid and drooling. You don't even care about the blood staining your designer clothes or your silk bed sheets. You wanted the blood on you as well, you wanted to taste it as you passionately kissed him, to feel it on your skin as he thrusted his cock into you. As he bit you in different places, drawing your own blood while you clawed at his skin in pleasure, both clouded with overwhelming lust for each other.

Aside from the sex, he would treat you like the queen you are. If they insult you, they're insulting him. Of course, he wouldn't need to put the person back in their place as you were capable of doing so yourself. He would only need to stand on the sidelines and smile proudly while their screams of mercy echo out. He would be so in love with you and shower you with gifts 2417, ranging from new clothes and jewelry to expensive things.

I rave about you fighting alongside him and all that but in hindsight, he wouldn't let you lift a finger. Having you by his side was already a grueling task so he didn't want to run you off by overexerting yourself. Your room would be filled with the softest and lavish bed, and while gone, he would allow you to sit on his throne. You're not always by his feet, sometimes when you find the position to be demeaning you sit on his lap or arm-piece instead. After all, you wanted to get a good view of the impending blood bath or look just as menacing as your lover.

Sometimes, you don't want to be the bimbo or the nice and main girl y/n. Sometimes you want to be evil, cruel, and bloodthirsty. You want to ditch your morals and watch the world burn, and you want to do it with your lover by your side.

Or maybe that's just me.

#[𓆩⟡𓆪] xoxo love…#geto suguru #geto x reader #sukuna ryomen #sukuna #sukuna x reader #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo x reader #muzan kibutsuji #muzan x reader #toji fushiguro #toji fushigro x reader

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wangxianficfinder · 2 months

Text

Fic Finder

March 15th

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1. Looking for a post 1st seige burial mounds fic on ao3. It was a wip but it's been awhile so may no longer be the case. In it jc only participated in the siege as a cover to get close enough to his brother w/out endangering lotus pier. Since he leads the charge he finds wwx first and when wwx passes out after destroying the seal jc fakes wwx's death and smuggle him back to lotus pier & hides/kinda imprison him. But the longer they're together the more jc realizes a lot of the things he blamed wwx for aren't adding up (seeing through Jin manipulations).

Jc also forgot/didn't know about ayuan so when wwx wakes up he freaks out about where his baby adopted son is, but by the time jc gets back to bm yuan is no where to be found (implied lz had already got him) but jc and wwx think this means yuan is dead. Wwx is very depressed and becomes Jin ling's secret nanny whenever the kid is at lotus pier. In the most recent updates (at the time) a baby xue yang was introduced.

He saw a disguised wwx in a hidden area by lotus pier playing in the water and is basically like 'I'm cute and small too' and plots how to get himself adopted so he can also be pampered like the wealthy kid. I think there were some alternating povs. Might of been a Lan pov too, creating dramatic irony since both yuan and wwx are alive but neither side knows? Was setting up yunmeng bro reconciliation.

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2. I'm looking for a specific fic, it was modern, WWX took LWJ to a concert of post modern, like synth? Chinese music and I think NHS told WWX about it?? It had some good song recs and I'm mainly looking for the the songs- if you guys could help me out? Thank you!!!! @recombinantdna

NOT FOUND! The Quiet Room by trickybonmot (M, 39k, WangXian, Modern AU, 1990s, Goth LWJ, Cellist LWJ, College Student WWX, House Hunting, Dating, Clubbing, San Francisco, Implied/Referenced Past Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Academic Disaster Aftermath, Getting Together, Repressed Teen Crushes to Strangers to Lovers, Homelessness, in the form of couch surfing, background NieLan) in which WWX finds LWJ being a DJ in a goth club in the 90s and it talks a lot about music. NHS is totally an enabler.

FOUND! show me a quiver, give me tonight by spookykingdomstarlight (E, 115k, wangxian, lwj/others, communication failure, mutual pining, artists, demisexual wwx, angst w/ happy ending) WY surprised LZ by bringing him to a performance of an artist LZ likes, H i d d e n f r a g r a n c e who plays electronic guqin. The sample songs can be found in the author notes in Chapter 10

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3. hi! im looking for a fic and the only thing i remember from it was wangxian (canon divergence, maybe arranged marriage but im not sure) in maybe caiyi?? sitting down at a noodle place, and there was a thing about how wwx loved the gusu dialect and kept pestering lwj to say something in the dialect, and he knew enough of the dialect to flirt or haggle so when lwj said an endearment term (i think it was something like sweetheart?) he froze and got all panicky about wwx recognising the word because he froze too, but then wwx just asks if he swore?? THANK YOU SO MUCH IF YOU FIND IT ive been combing my bookmarks and history for almost weeks now and im so close to thinking i made it all up

FOUND? Your Hand in Mine by cerbykerby (T, 20k, WangXian, Humor, Comedy, Pining, cursed to hold hands, Light Angst, Sharing a Bed, First Dates, Embarrassment, Fluff, bathing together, wwx is a menace to society, and lwj Suffers A Lot, Canon Compliant)

FOUND? Fentao-laoshi’s Guide to Cut-Sleeve Pleasures by occultings (microcomets) (E, 31k, wangxian, canon divergence, pining while fucking, friends with benefits, first time, cloud recesses study arc, practice kissing, sharing a bed, jealousy, getting together, confessions, happy ending)

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4. For fic finder: I have lost a modern-au fic where Lan Zhan is in the hospital, in a children’s wing, and Wei Wuxian visits a lot/volunteers there. Wei Wuxian has prosthetic legs and he gets a new red pair around the point I lost the fic. I am pretty sure I found the rec through this blog but I can’t find it again TT Help please!

FOUND? 🔒 some things go forward by everythingispoetry (T, 73k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hospitals, Teenage Drama, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending)

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5. First, thank you for everything that you do ! Your posts and recommendations and "I'm in the mood for" collections have kept my heart and soul busy for years now! I am honestly in awe of all the hard work and time you dedicate to both pages! 🥰

Unfortunately I don't remember much of the summary of the fic I'm searching for, but I wanted to try my luck. 🙈 It was a light modern dom/sub fic where WY accidentally sort of turned LZ into a sub. I think by giving him indirect orders all the time? And nobody noticed until WQ pointed it out? I searched through Ao3 with the light dom/sub tag for ages and then eventually gave up.

Maybe it rings a bell for you? 🙏🤞❤️ @papperlapapp1

FOUND? And They Were Roommates! or The Accidental Domming of Lan Wangji by DizziDreams (E, 21k, wangxian, Dom WWX, Sub LWJ, inexperienced BDSM practices, un-/under- negotiated kink, horny climbing, horny cohabitation, horny on main except by main I mean at a party surrounded by innocent bystanders, Praise Kink, Masturbation, Bondage, Lingerie, Orgasm Delay/Denial, omg they were roommates, Modern, BDSM, debatably a bit of dom drop, Public Masturbation, Edging, Getting Together, WQ has to come in and straighten this shit out)

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6. Okay so looking for a fic where lwj or wwx accidentally summon incubus/succubus wwx or lwj. (I can't remember who was the sex demon or who was the human but it is a wangxian fic)

So, the succubus needs food and it is, unsurprisingly, cum. As in they have to literally eat cum to survive. So the human is followed by this succubus/incubus everywhere they go to including his university.

The human does love feeding the sex demon and even lets him feed in the uni bathroom during breaks.

Does a fic like this exist? Does it ring any bell?

FOUND? An Array of Good Decisions by celerydragon (E, 11k, WangXian, Demon Sex Size Kink, Size Difference, Consensual Non-Consent, dubcon, Tongue Sex, Omegaverse, Humiliation, Mild Breeding Kink)

FOUND? Lan Wangji's Fullproof Guide on How (NOT) to Summon a Demon by fardimensions (E, 3k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Porn With Plot, but not a lot of plot, Incubus WWX, Demons, wwx has a tail, Wings, Interspecies Sex, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Anal Sex, Crack, Filthy, size queen LWJ)

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7. for the fic finder: it's a fic (dom/sub canon au?) where wei wuxian gave lan wangji a collar before he died. lan wangji keeps the collar for as long as he can but eventually the leather is too old and it breaks. there's a bunch of sadness but all is well when wei wuxian resurrects.

thank you for all you do!!

FOUND? Breathe Again by Sheehan_sidhe (E, 4k, wangxian, Grief/Mourning, Depression, Breathplay, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, POV LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings, Submissive LWJ, Crying LWJ, Grieving LWJ, Collars, Angst with an Eventual Happy Ending)

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8. for fic finder: my heart tells me it was a modern/modern with cultivation au, but my searches have been fruitless. i just remember our beloved wangxian dancing around each other, and the juniors being there with a similar problem. specifically, jin ling being tested at archery, and sizhui Totally Only There For Emotional Support And No Other Reason.

FOUND? with you, I am home by tellthemstories (M, 47k, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, fake dating for reasons, Meeting the Family, There Was Only One Bed, Casual Domesticity, wwx is oblivious in more ways than one, 'this fic is like emotional edging', this comment sums up the entire fic)

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9. heyI've been looking for a fic for a while.WWX and LWJ were in the turtle's cave of slaughter... they had no energy to fight and decided to do double cultivation.

When it comes to the part where WWX donates the golden core to JC.... during the surgery, WQ discovers WWX is pregnant, the double cultivation generated a uterus.

He is still captured by the Wen clan and thrown into the grave hill.He believes he lost the baby because of this and uses his resentful energy to survive and get revenge.

When he reaches the part at the end of the campaign where the sun falls, he goes into labor without knowing that he is still pregnant.

It's not Omegaverse.

Sorry if my writing is bad, english is not my first language @crazy-tai

FOUND? Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, unplanned pregnancy, mpreg, gore, sunshot campaign, assumed miscarriage, medical procedures, childbirth, golden core reveal)

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10. Hello! I was wondering if anyone here knew of a fic that took place during the Wen Indoctrination? If I remember right, it was only one chapter, set mostly in the Untamed universe because Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning had worked together to make it seem like he was dead for the Wens after being locked in with that dog, but he was grabbed too early and basically paraded in front of the other disciples under the belief that he was dead. If anyone else has seen this fic, I'd be extremely grateful!

FOUND!🔒💖 the universe would turn to a mighty stranger by RavenclawLoki (T, 11k, wangxian, Angst, Eventual Fluff, Some mentions of blood, it looks like someone is dead but!!, it is okay, everything is going to be okay i promise, First Kiss, Canon Divergence, Wwx and lwj know they're in love, They just don't know the other loves them back, Everyone Lives AU, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ)

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11. For your next fic finder, I'm looking for a modern wangxian dating reality tv au. It's omegaverse and in the first half of the show, everyone is paired up, but in the second half of the show, it's wilderness survival with the alphas trying to catch the omegas. Wwx is a career omega who is trying to get a cash prize instead of an alpha. @leahlisabeth

FOUND? 🧡 shoot your shot – hot or knot by defractum (nyargles) (E, 51k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Reality Show, Hunger Games Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Extremely Dubious Consent, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Humor, Additional Warnings In Author’s Notes)

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12. Guys I need help finding this story. So it’s about Wei ying being hit by this memory yao. And he is in pain. So lan zhan, lan yuan, lan qiren, lan huan, Jin rulan, and jiang cheng. They use this spell to take Wei ying bad memories. They hold onto this bad memories because they don’t want Wei ying to go through all of that and remember. Ofc they are traumatized but they love him, etc. sooo please if you know the name write in comments. I have been looking for it for DAYS @zodime101

FOUND? Window of the Waking Mind by mrcformoso (M, 8k, wangxian, LSZ & WWX, JC & WWX, Graphic depictions of violence, Major Character Death, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad with a Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Torture, Golden Core Transfer, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, Hurt WWX, WWX Needs a Hug, WWX Needs a Break, Flashbacks, Curses, Night Hunts, Suicide, Starvation, Canonical Child Abuse, Canonical Character Death, Cannibalism, Although it was forced by the situation to survive, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, lots of comfort, Soft LQR, Learning To Communicate, Zidian Spiritual Tool, JC Tries, Reaction)

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13. hi! for the next fic finder — it was sizhui centered! him being raised by lwj but also wwx, but wwx is a ghost. and wwx has no recollection of his death and there was this one scene where he curls up around ayuans body and falls asleep and he wakes in the cloud recesses and i think he thinks he's being ignored? and then there was the whole realizing he was a ghost thing. and also lwj burying his body at the bm. pls help me T^T its Not "the dark doesnt frighten me, its mine" btw!

NOT FOUND! the moon, grown full by Deinde (T, 22k, LSZ & WWX, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Spirits, Identity Reveal, discussion of war crimes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Homecoming, reclaiming your name and identity, Names, Families of Choice)

FOUND! The Intervening Years by rosemu (G, 11k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, LSZ centric, Parent-Child Relationship, Wangxian is background, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort)

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14. Hi! For fic finder: I am looking for a canon-era fic where cultivators have golden blood and regular people have red blood. When Wei Wuxian loses his core his blood fades to red, which means he has to work harder to hide his wounds or they will give away his core-less state. I particularly remember the scene where Jiang Cheng stabs him in their “mock” fight WWX hides his wound with a cloak. He takes to covering up his body fully from head to toe to avoid showing any scrapes. Then after he is revived and Jiang Cheng whips him he purposefully shows the red blood to “prove” he isn’t WWX, then I think the core reveal happens when Jin Ling stabs him and everyone knows its him and they see the red blood too. Thank you!!

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15. I need help finding a fic, I didn’t get too far into it but I really want to finish it. I think it was a longer fic and I think it’s well known and/or already in a comp or itmf answer. I i remember is that the summary put wwx as a temporary head of the Jiang Clan, from the first few chapters I think he’s tricked/strong armed into this position by JC. He had some Buisness at koi tower or a conference that would take a while so he needed a filler and wanted WWX. I think it’s post-cannon and it had someone insulting WWX in the summary and something along the lines of a statement of spite and a declaration to prove said person wrong.

This is likely a terrible description but it’s all I have. I know I got the og link from this site so someone should recognize it… Help would be greatly appreciated.

FOUND? Twelve Moons and a Fortnight by stiltonbasket (M, 290k, WangXian, Humor, Slow Burn, Post-Canon Fix-It, Long-Distance Relationship, Epistolary, Love Letters, Family Feels, a-qing lives, teenage romance, Adoption, Romantic Comedy, Happy Ending, Weddings, Case Fic, Parenthood, Politics)

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16. Hello! For the next fic finder I have two fics:

A) the only thing I remember about this fic is that it deals with the "do not speak with Wei Ying" rule. Lan Wangji was really angry when he found out and was about to go yell at his uncle, but Wei Wuxian kept trying to stop him. I remember Wwx threw himself into a pond or down a hill or something to snap Lwj out of it? I don't remember anything else about the fic unfortunately.

B) vampire au where Wwx was a vampire and the lans hunted the supernatural I think? Wangxian had to work together to stop some evil thing. I remember Wwx's backstory was something like: Wen Chao captured him and locked him in a room with a vampire, thinking it would result in Wwx dying (cultivators couldn't be turned into vampires, they would just die). But Wwx had given up his core so he got turned and Wen Chao locked him in a house with Wen Ning. There was a fire and Wwx turned Wen Ning to save his life. I also remember a scene where Wwx tried to go into Cloud Recesses, but the wards wouldn't let him. He thought this meant Lwj wanted nothing to do with him, but it was just Lan Xichen updating the wards or something.

Thank you!

16A)

FOUND?🔒Scenes From Three Winters by LtLJ (G, 12k, wangxian, post-canon, romance, family feels, family issues, family drama, PTSD, body horror, bad parent LQR, happy ending) Wei Ying throwing himself in a pond and down a hill to snap LWJ out of anger at his uncle sounds a lot like what happens at the end of Scenes from Three Winters by LtLJ but it's not specifically the 'do not speak to Wei Ying' rule that's the problem (will probably need to read other fics in the series for context)

16B)

FOUND?🔒hear the monsters calling home by sundiscus (M, 8k, wangxian, Modern Cultivation, Vampires, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, blood drinking (romantic))

FOUND? And you must keep your soul/ Like a secret in your throat by athena_crikey (E, 48k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Vampire WWX, Cultivator LWJ, Case Fic, h/c Angst, Falling In Love, First Time, Reference to Torture)

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17. Hi!! for the next fic finder, I was hoping of you guys could help me find a fic where it takes place in post canon: lwj cultivates to immortality even though he didn’t want to be and wwx tried hard to catch up to him but later on passes away bc he was never able to. Lwj was so devastated and during wwx’s funeral, jc came to pay respects and lwj found out that jc has also become an immortal. lwj says something along the lines of “how dare you cultivate to immortality with his core?” it might be a reincarnation fic but that’s about all i can remember from it. Thank you so much! @makkachiin

FOUND!🔒Closer Than Eternity by Netrixie (T, 26k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reincarnation, an unhealthy addiction to starbucks, Immortals, Self-Doubt, POV Alternating, Minor Original Character(s), Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Temporary Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending, not for jc fans, This is not a reconciliation fic) The scene at WY's funeral is in Chapter 3.

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18. Hi! I hope my request will be clear, since English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance. I really want to read it, but I can't find a fic in which Lan Sizhui dies on a night hunt, saving the distracted Lan Zhan and Wei Ying. I don't remember many details, but I remember how the grief of A-Yuan's family and friends was described, and then A-Yuan was reborn. The fic was on ao3. @amelliss

FOUND? Setting Of The Sun by heartsdesire456 (M, 8k, WangXian , Character Death, Or Is It?, Grief/Mourning, Child Loss, Heavy Angst) i don't think it's reincarnation but this sounds similar to

FOUND? Our Son Reborn by RenaFair (T, 103k, WangXian, Mpreg, Deities, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Build, There's smut, Rollercoaster of Emotions, baby a-yuan)

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19. hi, I’m look for a fic from ao3, I can’t really remember the plot but the end was wwx absorbing the tiger seal and in the process made a SILVER core. It happened in the burial mound (I think after the seal was stolen in Lanling but that might be a different fic)the timeline was before wwx’s first death because wen Qing was still alive @teasong

FOUND? ❤️ kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 75k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Kid Fic, teen shenanigans, two a-yuans, Fluff and Angst)

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20. Hello! I am looking for Wangxian fanfiction where Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are lovers before Demonic cultivation and Wei Ying hurt Lan Zhan as in canon later the reunite after 13 years or something like that @abz18699-blog

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#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic finder #wangxian fic search #the untamed #wangxianficfinder #long post

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silverzoomies · 1 year

Text

Honeysuckle

peter Maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sugar blues

warnings: female reader (sorry), sex pollen, aphrodisiacs, overstimulation, shameless smut, rough sex, kissing, porn with (slight) plot, canon divergence

word count: 4466

a/n: hiii !! this is my first fic posted to trunglr !! i've diverged from canon a lot here. timeline is modern day. remember deadpool 2? and the x men cameos? just ignore the fact that everyone would be old af now. pretend they're not old. also, even though he doesn't show up; it's the kelsey grammer beast btw. because i'm based. tyvm

chapter 2 here.

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Peter really didn’t mean to be such a menace.

Like, pffbbt…this was totally the most accidental instance of the classic phrase: Wrong place, wrong time. Outside of Hank’s lab, Peter noticed something he hadn’t seen the day prior. A faint light, emitting a firefly-like glow. Curiously snooping, as one naturally does, he peeked through the window of the lab door. Only to find…no one was there.

Peter checked the digital watch on his wrist. A Garfield watch. Totally sweet.

Hm.

Hank’s lab was usually occupato on late Friday evenings like today. He should’ve been inside, poking around with some newfangled gadget. Or conjuring up some gnarly formula. But, upon further inspection? The lab was entirely absent of any big, beastly scientists. Not a hint of blue fur to be found.

Maybe he took a break?

Nah. If there was one thing Peter knew about Hank? He never gave himself down time. Ever. The big guy would rather stay up for 72 consecutive hours in a row. Pounding down enough black coffee to scald his throat. Pouring through documents and schematics, keeping his brain persistently active. Such is the life of a mega nerd.

Which begged the question: Where was said mega nerd?

The faint glow from inside the lab caught Peter’s curious eye again. Tempting him to be just a little nosier. Something about the light was almost mesmerizing. Irresistible, even.

Screw it, he thought.

Even these days, in his early thirties; Peter was just as much of a menace as he was in his youth. Had he chilled out by a touch? Absolutely. Did he still enjoy a little mischief-making every now and then? Most definitely.

It really wouldn’t be so bad if he allowed himself one, quick look inside, right? A fast one. Faster than fast. No accidents. In and out.

Peter rushed through the door and into the lab at high speed. His movements were a little too careless and overconfident. And in his carelessness, he may have accidentally bumped straight into a lab table. How he hadn’t seen it coming, he’d never be able to guess.

Somewhat distracted, Peter crashed straight into the table. The force of his body against it caused a series of glass beakers and test tubes to come tumbling down. They shattered upon hitting the tiled floor below. And Peter stumbled back to try and avoid the mess.

His worn sneakers (one of the laces was untied. Must have been the true culprit. Sneaky sneakers.) crushed bits of fragile glass. The soles slid along a neon, pink substance. A glowing substance. The same, faint light he’d been hella curious about in the first place.

In seconds, a hot-pink gas unexpectedly rose into the air. It drifted upwards with a cloudiness much akin to cigarette smoke, straight from the substance Peter stepped in.

“Oh…well…shit…that can’t be good.” He mumbled to himself, pulling his earphones down to hang around his neck. Thin Lizzy’s Sugar Blues echoed quietly from them.

Peter stepped even further back the moment the foreign gas met his nostrils. He coughed, swiping away at the heavy cloud of smoke. A sweet-tasting thickness, like honeysuckle, coated his tongue and filled his throat. Peter blinked away an unexpected, stunned stupor. And he looked down at the pink glow, now having stained one of his shoes.

“Shiiiiit…shit shit shit.”

Glancing around to make sure no one saw what happened, Peter sighed. Annoyed with himself. Way to fuckin’ go, dude.

“Hope that wasn’t anything toxic.” He whispered with a soft cough, clearing his throat. Sugary sweetness littered his taste buds, and he smacked his lips.

Peter bent down to pick up the larger shards of glass on the lab floor. And as he poked through the pieces, he found the occasional strand of blue, beast hair left behind. A reminder. Which made him feel all the more guilty, knowing how annoyed Hank would be once he saw the damage. Sighing again, Peter looked over the mess of broken glass and mysterious liquids.

He shook his head. For a split second, he felt dizzy.

In a rush to clean up the evidence of his escapade, Peter tried to move quickly. However, he found his body refused to kick into speedster mode. His brain, which usually operated at lightspeed; now functioned at a pace way too mellow for his liking. He almost wanted to panic, but his reaction time moved like molasses.

Shit. Fuck. Maybe that glowy, pink substance was something toxic.

The physical effects of whatever-the-fuck he’d breathed in started, weirdly enough, in his fingertips. A strange, almost alien warmth, unlike any Peter had ever felt before. It spread from the tips of his fingers, into the thick veins of his hands. Peter hesitated, dropping a shard of glass. He raised his hand to carefully inspect it, furrowing his brows.

Should he call someone for help? Maybe wait for Hank to come back? Aw, but Hank’s totally gonna give him shit for messin’ things up so bad…

A tingling sensation in his hands kept Peter’s attention for a moment longer. The minute on Peter’s Garfield watch changed with the agonizingly slow passage of time. And a single second ticked by in silence. The only sound to be heard was that of Killer on the Loose playing through his earphones. But in his laggy state of mind, Peter barely registered the tune.

And like the flip of a switch, both Peter’s thoughts, as well as his body, finally caught up with reality. Speeding to an inhuman degree all over again. As if returning to normal. His normal.

Normalcy lasted 0.1 seconds.

Warmth lingering under Peter’s skin turned to blistering heat. A heat which immediately surged through his blood. It gave him goosebumps, causing Peter to jump in his spot. He dropped the pile of glass he’d picked up. And in a blink, Peter stood, struggling to catch his breath. Every inch of his burning body tingled, as though his veins were injected with buzzing, electric static.

The fiery buzz lit aflame in his veins, and moved with a furious rush. It settled somewhere completely unexpected. Boiling deep within his pelvis, the scorching sensation caused his muscles to tighten. And following that, Peter felt his cock spring to life. It twitched under his shining, silver jeans.

A millisecond passed, and his dick grew rock hard.

“Ohhhh-…wait…what the fuck???”

He knew he shouldn’t leave the mess he made behind. That’d be, like, mad rude. Majorly inconsiderate. And probably hazardous too? Fuck! Not fuckin’ cool!

But, at the same time, there was no way in hell Peter could face Hank, or anyone else right now. Not while this was happening. Whatever the hell this was.

Before he bolted, Peter disappeared from the lab and reappeared in a flash. He placed a wet floor sign over the mess of scattered glass and science-y substances. And left a hastily scribbled, sticky note behind:

My bad, Beastie.

- Peter

Panicked, he made a mad dash to his (his mom’s) house. And in a blink’s worth of time, Peter disappeared behind the door to the basement. He hoped with every fiber of his speedy soul, that his mother wasn’t home to hear the sound of it slamming shut.

Once locked in the basement, Peter didn’t bother to turn on the lights. He stumbled through the messy space in a confused, feverish daze. His mind seemed to race a million miles faster. So fast, even Quicksilver himself could barely keep up. Muffled thoughts he couldn’t yet comprehend echoed in the furthest reaches of his subconscious. Peter felt his cheeks flare up with red heat, his breathing growing more labored and hot. Every step he took, every inch he moved, flooded Peter with overwhelming discomfort. Why did his clothes feel so irritating all of a sudden? His skin cringed at the sensation of cotton fabric brushing against it. Peter couldn’t breathe like this. How could anybody breathe in clothes as suffocating as these? He needed to shed them immediately. Now. Right now.

Peter tried to catch his breath as he shrugged off his signature, silver jacket. Next, came the goggles. They were tossed carelessly aside, along with his Walkman. Which he forgot to turn off, leaving it playing through a Thin Lizzy tape he’d already heard a thousand times over. Chinatown.

Sweat drenched articles of clothing were all dropped on the floor. Until Peter was left in nothing but tight, grey, boxer-briefs. And the Garfield watch. He kind of forgot about the Garfield watch.

Peter left a trail of soaked clothes to his unmade bed. Weakly, he fell into the cushions and off his quivering legs.

For a torturous moment, all he could do was writhe around in clouded, heated agony. Every single one of his limbs ached with dull pain. And the blistering heat pooling in his pelvis made him squirm with amorous starvation.

A starvation for something he hadn’t yet figured out.

“Fuuuuuuck. Fuck this.” Peter groaned in soft, breathy pants.

A powerful surge of an even stronger, electric heat fired through him again. And his eyes flew open wide. Beady, black pupils flooded the brown of his irises. Sucking in a deep, labored breath; Peter rolled onto his back. A trickle of steaming sweat dripped down his temple. Titling his head up, Peter squinted. His vision blurred slightly as he stared ahead.

Dark, half-lidded eyes met the twitching bulge in his boxer-briefs. And he knit his brows together.

Something seemed…different.

So, like, whatever. Maybe, privately, Peter had always prided himself on his size. Most definitely above average. His dick had a nice thickness to it, and wasn’t weirdly shaped in any way. And the few times he fucked around with it, he never heard a single complaint from anyone.

But this…

Unless he was totally blind to the size of his own dick his entire life? Something really wasn’t right here.

Another rush of hot, sticky heat washed over Peter like a feverish wave. He trembled, hissing in response to the overwhelming burn that came with it. Under the fabric of his underwear, Peter’s bulge pulsated with demanding aggression. Begging for any stimulation. In a foggy, desperate haze of sexual frustration, Peter reached downward. Hesitant fingers dragged frantically across a trail of soft, silver hairs. Guiding themselves to the waistband of his underwear. A wet spot caught his eye, and he groaned. In one, quick motion, Peter shoved the garment down his trembling legs. Slick precum pulled with the fabric, separating from the tip of his leaking head.

And Peter’s aching cock finally bounced free.

He struggled to comprehend the image in front of him. Peter rapidly blinked, staring down at his dick in muddled confusion. Blossoming desire burst with an electrifying buzz through his cock. And Peter hissed again. He sank his teeth hard into his lip, mindlessly bucking his hips into nothing.

Nothing.

An instinct in his subconscious mind forced itself forward, demanding Peter find something. And fast. His cock bounced on its own again, visibly pulsating. Thick, wet precum spilled from the tip. And he threw his head back with a whine.

“H-Holy shit…”

Yeah. No doubt about it now. Peter’s dick looked a lot bigger than he remembered. The length ached so painfully, vibrating in a most subtle way. Imperceptible to the human eye. Colored a dark, pinkish hue, and decorated with pulsing veins; Peter’s cock appeared on the verge of bursting. And the tip sputtered with so much precum, he was left wondering if he’d cum already without realizing it.

Whatever! Be cool, dude! So, yeah! He must have exposed himself to some kind of weird, sex chemical. What the hell was Hank even doing with something that potent?? No way he was saving it for personal use. Peter really didn’t wanna think about that right now.

But he couldn’t have slapped a warning label on it?

Don’t touch! Lest ye be horny!

Not that Peter would’ve seen a label anyway.

No big dealio! Maybe all he needed was to get off. And really get off. Like, maybe Peter needed to nut so hard, the afterglow would slow him down for a good, few minutes. Instead of his usual, mere seconds.

He could totally do that! Easily! If Peter felt it necessary, he could beat off in the span of a second. Maybe after? He could finally move on with his life. Never to race carelessly through Beastie Boy’s nerd lab again. Call it a lesson learned.

Peter took his girthy(er) length in his hand, the veins straining under his skin. Based on feel alone, he could tell he’d grown in size. His hand was big enough on its own as is. But his cock held an even heavier, unfamiliar weight in his palm. Extremely sensitive too. Peter’s cock was so hypersensitive, that a single, light grasp got him writhing across the bedsheets.

He sucked in another, ragged breath. Just a quick second was all he needed. And this heinous experience would finally come to pass. Relief. Peter only wanted to feel sweet, freeing relief.

Reminder. Note to self: Maybe don’t go barreling through any science labs like a total spaz next time.

Several, squeezing pumps of his cock happened in an instant. By the next second, Peter came in bursts. Thick ropes of cum burned hot on his skin, quickly spilling over and making a filthy mess of him.

At the height of orgasm, his body convulsed in small twitches. Subtle vibrations raced through his veins, bringing feelings of ecstasy with them. Peter bit his lip even harder to hold back the obscene moans threatening to leave his throat. He breathed humid, exasperated pants of air through his nose.

Being the king of speed, it was completely natural for Peter to recover immediately after cumming. A couple seconds, and he’d be good to go all over again. Peter secretly prided himself on this trait too. His endless stamina came (no pun intended) in handy, should any totally hot babes wanna screw around for hours at a time.

Such a trait wasn’t so handy now. Under the alluring spell of magical, sex chemicals? Recovery took less than a nanosecond.

Peter’s head fell forward, his hand still wrapped around his raging hard-on. Absent-mindedly, he pumped the length without thinking, spreading the remnants of his first release. Running his other hand through the damp, silver locks of his hair, Peter groaned.

“Ohhh….this sucks so bad…auuugh…”

That same, now all too familiar ache fluctuating in his cock raged on. Orgasm did nothing at all to calm the storm surging with electric, tingling heat through Peter’s body. His dick twitched, pulsating red. Desperate to bury itself deep in something hot, wet, and so tight. Fuck. Peter needed something tight around his cock, milking him for all he’s worth. And he needed it so, wickedly bad.

He pushed himself over the edge two more times. And after that, another three. Eventually, his maddening frustration got the better of him. Peter stood from his bed in a fwip. Slumped over in a heavy breathing, cum drenched mess of himself; Peter observed his sweat-soaked body in a full mirror.

His heart hammered away fast enough to send even him into cardiac arrest. Peter couldn’t catch his breath. And no matter how many times he felt the sweet, sanctity of orgasmic release; his desire was never satiated. Peace lasted only a fraction of a second, before dissipating completely. Leaving Peter to suffer in endless, boner agony.

The next second, Peter found himself hunched over in the shower.

Cool, icy cold water cascaded down his trembling body. Bracing his hand on the wall, Peter kept his other pressed to the wet glass. In an attempt to relax himself, Peter took long, drawn out breaths. Trying to calm the stirring fire in the pit of his belly; he fought the insatiable desires raving on in the back of his mind.

The cold did little to rid him of his painful, oversensitive erection. Peter couldn’t shake his thirsty, carnal needs. Even as he basked in the peace of cool wetness on his scorching skin, horniness consumed him. Dragging him down into the flaming depths of frisky hell. Praise be to our dark lord and savior: Boner Satan.

Peter made another, more frustrated attempt at stroking himself off. Just one more time, he thought. Standing under heavenly, frigid water; Peter wrapped a warm hand around his length. He was so, insanely desperate for anything to fuck that, by now; Peter instinctively rocked his hips into his own fist. Fucking into the wetness of it, he kept a palm pressed to the shower glass.

“Please please please please please please please pl-f-fuck! Oh, please please-” Peter whined, a flurry of needy moans leaving his lips. Yet another second passed, and Peter came again. Shooting a thick load of hot cum straight onto the shower wall, he shuddered. Peter’s hips moved on their own accord. And he found himself unable to control his own movements. His cock continued to fuck itself rapidly into his fist, even despite the near-painful overstimulation coursing through his veins.

Peter couldn’t stop the tearful moans of torturous pleasure flying off his tongue.

“F-FUCK! FUUUUCK! PLEASE!” He cried, forcing himself to free his cock.

Falling forward, Peter pressed his forehead to the cool, shower wall. And he braced himself with an elbow to its surface. Soaked, silver locks hung over his face, and Peter stared down at the shower drain in hazy thought.

He knew he was beyond exhausted, having pushed himself too far. Peter’s mutation never allowed him to sleep. But once this was all over? He promised himself he'd be taking the longest nap ever recorded in human history. Jot that one down in the Guinness World Records.

Peter lazily blinked, his eyes half-lidded.

Time to face facts. Only one thing could possibly satisfy this unending, carnal need. Peter’s animalistic instincts blared like a siren, shrill in his ear. They screamed out - Another person. Peter needed to feel the intimate touch of another, living, breathing body. Someone to breed. That word seemed to echo in the back of his mind like a forbidden whisper. Breed. Breed. Breed.

A conflicting onslaught of embarrassment swung like a wrecking ball through Peter’s thoughts. It shattered the lecherous desire holding itself stable in his head. Sure, he needed to feel the touch of another person. But…who??

Truthfully, Peter wasn’t comfortable screwing around with anyone in this state. Had this been any normal day? And he only wanted a fun, playful fling? No strings attached? He’d be a lot more open. But…like this? Misty headed, overstimulated, and choking to death on an ultra-desperate, sweet smelling, horny spell? C’mon! That’s just-...that’s so, majorly embarrassing! How was he even supposed to explain this totally weird scenario to anyone anyway?

Sup, babe! So, I was fuckin’ around. Bein’ a pest. Y’know, as usual. And I sorta knocked some stuff over in ol’ Beastie’s lab. Yeah. There was this weird aphrodisiac involved, I guess. It was totally an accident, by the way. But I’m, like, so horny right now I can’t breathe. Already tried jerkin’ off. Yeah. Like, a lot. So, uh…listen…wanna screw?

Nope! Not happening! No way in hell!

But dammit all, he needed it! Peter was so, painfully hard and starving to fuck; he was almost convinced he’d die if he didn’t get to. If he didn’t bury his dick in something so deep and warm; if Peter didn’t stuff someone full of enough cum to cause a pregnancy scare. He would literally die. Plain and simple. A fact of science. Confirmed by Bill Nye himself.

What else was he supposed to do? Ask Hank for advice? Pfffbbt…

Burning, insatiable desire swarmed Peter again. He disappeared from the shower in an instant, now completely dried off. And he paced the basement at a speed so quick, he looked nothing more than a nude blur in the wind.

Okay. Fuck. Who, man? Who?? Think about this logically! How could Peter get his dick wet with as little embarrassment involved as possible?

Peter’s first thought?

You.

It shouldn’t have been you. But it was you.

Because of course you were his first thought. Peter had known you long enough now, that he felt he could trust you with anything. Even wickedly awkward situations like this one. You were his best friend. His dorky, little partner in crime. So patient, and so understanding. He knew for sure you’d never, in a million, bajillion years, judge him. For anything. No matter what.

Not to mention, you’d look so damn fine with your ass bent over for him, eagerly taking his coc-

Peter shook away the thought.

Jeez…that’s…a hella twisted thought to have about your best bud, dude.

Regardless of what Peter told himself, his instincts seemed to think otherwise. He felt his cock pulsate with painful, aching need again. And yet another, more torturous burst of heat blazed like a wildfire through his blood. Peter had become so oversensitive, he couldn’t hold back anymore of his needy, whiny noises.

Bolting to his bed in a flash, Peter grabbed a pillow. And he buried his face into the plush of it to conceal his moans.

“A-Aaaaa…fuck-” He whined, his voice muffled. What followed was a distressed laugh.

Focus! Focus, you horny spaz!

Other options. What were his other options, if any?

Some random stranger? No.

One: Peter wasn’t at all comfortable with total randos touching him like that. And Two: Talking some randy into messing around would take wayyyyy too long. Peter didn’t have the patience for it. Especially not right now.

You.

Mystique? Hot. So hot, she’s deadly. But, no.

She was Hank’s girl anyway. What kinda bro would Peter be to steal her away, just to relieve some horny tension? And tension he brought upon himself, while being a nuisance in Hank’s lab, no less. That’d be messed up, man!

You.

Any other members of the X-Men?

Ehhh…probably not. Most of ‘em were too young for Peter anyway. How warped would it be if he went to them in need of a sexual favor? They already thought he was a bit of a screwball. Why make it any worse?

You.

Wade Wilson?

He’d been assisting the X-Men a lot lately. All under the guidance of mister Russian, steel-dick himself: Colossus. Wade was a pretty eccentric guy. And a huge pervert. Really kinky. The kind of dude who’d be open to virtually anything if the right person asked him. So… why not?

But Wade would probably have a field day ripping Peter’s dignity apart. And more than likely, he’d spill the details to everyone completely unprompted. Plus, he’d be so obnoxious and teasing about Peter’s situation the whole time. And when was Wade ever gonna stop calling Peter ‘Jeffrey’ for no reason?? That shit didn't make any sense! Augh…

Nah. Couldn’t be him.

You.

Peter sucked in another, shuddering breath. His limbs trembled in humming surges of unbearable pleasure. As his pulsing cock bounced in a distracting desire for touch; Peter forced himself to ignore it. He checked his Garfield watch, squinting to make out the numbers through hazy vision.

Right about now? He knew your schedule should be open. Peter had memorized your daily doings at a distance. In a totally-not-creepy way. More in a clingy-lost-puppy-who-missed-your-company kinda way. Not that you knew about it. Which…yeah…maybe that did make it a little weird. Oops.

Peter fell onto his back on his bed, sinking into the blankets. He rapidly drummed his fingers on his bare belly. And he nipped his bottom lip in thought.

He’d always been a bit of a risk-taker. Facing the forbidden often gave Peter a kind of rush he sorely missed at this point in his life. And of all the risky chances he could take, none would be as forbidden as sticking his dick in his best friend.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before. No duh, he’d thought about it. A lot. Ever since he met you, Peter hadn’t been blind to the obvious. Of course, he noticed how your hips swayed as you walked. How could he resist staring at the fullness of your lips, while you giggled at another one of his corny jokes? And it was virtually impossible to ignore the way your eyes sparkled up at him. Especially when he called you babe. And what about the cute look on your face when you blushed, all because Peter teased you one, too many times?

Wait. Shit.

Either he was way too far gone, and lost without hope in a desolate desert of horny.

Or…Peter only just now realized he was totally, undeniably in love with you.

Probably both. Or, maybe? Just horny.

Teeth sinking further into his lip, Peter grinned mischievously through the pink flush in his cheeks. He’d been absentmindedly stroking his cock while lost in a daze of filthy, wreckless thoughts. Ultra, mega, next-level, wreckless thoughts.

Peter should have known. The very instant he thought of turning to you for help? He was done for. No turning back. No other option. There was nobody else in the world he’d rather screw around with right about now.

Another thought flashed through Peter’s mind. Like a brilliant light. The image of you on your back in his bed. Your legs spread open wide, just for him. Your gorgeous, doe eyes timidly looking up at him as you helped guide his cock into your-

Peter’s throbbing dick stood to immediate attention then. So, extremely rock hard it seemed to have a mind of its own. Peter’s cock pulled itself from his grasp, pulsating with a swell of hot desire. For you. And only you.

He really, really, really shouldn’t do this. It’d be leagues beyond stupid. Reaching levels of stupidity only found in far off, distant universes.

But, hey! Peter might literally die! So, fuck it. Right? No way you’d be happy if he died. His death would most definitely break your heart. And he didn’t wanna break your heart!

A fwip, and Peter grabbed his phone from where it was buried, deep in some sofa cushions. His phone was a device he barely ever used. Social media wasn’t his forte. Peter wasn't afraid to admit; he was pretty out of touch. He still listened to cassette tapes on a Walkman, for fuck’s sake.

Typing something into his phone in a heated stupor, Peter’s fingers sped across the keys. Embarrassingly enough, he found he made an ungodly amount of spelling errors. Not his fault. He could barely even think straight. Instead of correcting his mistakes, Peter erased the text entirely. Replacing it with something much more simple and to-the-point.

He only hoped you’d understand.

- Basement. SOS

#peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #smut

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wannaeatramyeon · 7 months

Note

I'm not sure if this is the kind of thing you write but the idea was rotting my brain so I thought I'd try! Basically, I was thinking about Gun hunting down vampire!reader but she's just infatuated with him and is just excited for when he'll come to try to kill her again because it's an excuse to see him.

Anon, sorry for the delay! This one was FUN!

Vampire Hunter!Gun Park x Vampire!Reader

G/N

Stiff lifeless bodies, glassy eyes, pools of crimson.

No pulse, no heartbeat. Skin pale and blue. Left out in the cold murky night, dangled to Gun Park like a carrot on a stick.

He doesn't need to get any closer to the corpses to know this is your handiwork.

The trail leads to you, it always leads to you.

Your lair isn't difficult to find. You move around often enough that other vampire hunters can't track you down. Leave your scent so that Gun always can.

"You're here!"

Your voice echoes, bounces off the crumbling stone walls. Most would mistake your tone for a reunion between two lovers.

Gun takes a drag of his cigarette, ignoring the shadows fluttering around him. Amongst the flurry of movement, his eyes stay glued to one spot.

The far left corner. Shrouded in haze, an unholy aura emanating. It reeks of you.

You always make it so easy.

He takes a final inhale, filling his lungs and veins with nicotine.

Lets the cigarette fall to the floor, slipping from his fingers. Waits for the ember to extinguish, then lunges.

Leaps the entire threshold of the old manor hall in a blink of an eye. A blur of muscle and power and savagery.

You're barely able to track his movements. You might not be able to completely evade him even if you tried. But why would you? You've missed his touch.

Gun's hand is gripped around your neck as you're slammed into the wall, forcing the breath out of your lungs. If you were human, your back would have been broken.

You're not. It will leave bruises at best.

You think of it as a caress.

"Come to see me again?" You choke out, throat straining against the fingers pressing into your windpipe.

His hold tightens and you consider scrabbling for breath. Digging your nails into him and ripping his skin open.

"To kill you." Gun corrects, leaning in. So close you could taste the smoke on his lips. See the bloodthirst and interest in his eyes.

"Admit it," Your hand comes up, flexing the full force of your power and you remove his own with ease, "You've missed me."

"You are causing too much trouble for me."

"Gunnie," you purr with a wide smile, "Don't say that."

"Didn't I tell you I would kill you the next time I see you?"

"You always say that-"

His hand comes up again to your throat and he squeezes. Tight and constricting. He's relentless, always has been. One of the reasons you were drawn to him.

It’s crushing this time. You don’t want to admit it, but it’s too much.

Yet. When you try to free yourself, you find yourself completely helpless.

What the...?

You look at him, brows furrowed, trying to work out what is happening when-

You see the exhale from his lips. The vapour rising.

His eyes, turning from the warm brown that you're familiar with. That you've fantasised many days about. Clouding over, darkening, dimming.

Until they're completely obsidian.

Two pure white irises stare back at you.

Same as yours.

Shock, and fear, flashes across your face.

Two sharp fangs glint in the moonlight when he growls in your ear, menacing and low.

"This is my territory."

He sinks his teeth into your neck, and it is nothing like you imagined.

#lookism #lookism x reader #lookism fic #gun park #gun park x reader #park jonggun #park jonggun x reader #wannaeatramyeon

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blossomthepinkbunny · 2 months

Text

Hazbin Redesigns pt.2

These characters are mostly ones, whose designs I never had big problems with, I just had different ideas for them sometimes.

Sir Pentious is female in my AU because her backstory requires it. Also I thought she would be cute as Ms Pentious. I made her colours more earthy and gave her a more serious look, since she will probably be an antagonist (she is still very excentric, she mostly pretends to be serious). I gave her design some elements that resemble steam and clouds to fit with her inventor theming. I kept the eye hat thing because I think it's fun.

For Cherry bomb I kept a lot of stuff from her original design. Her colour palette, her tights, her shoe situation and her hair looks pretty similar too. I toned the brightness down and made her look more Punk (because i'm pretty sure that she is supposed to be Punk). I gave her a prosthetic since I can imagine that she would loose a limb in an accident with her bombs. Ms Pentious made her the prosthetic (she and Cherry are officially dating here and are both antagonist from how it is now). I tried to make her look chaotic and spunky so her design was very fun to figure out.

The main issues I have with Velvettes original design is that she doesn't look like a demon really and pretty much just like a human with weird eyes. Also she suffers from the fact that Viv makes all her black characters grey. I made her a Vampire/Bat Demon because Vampires are creatures of the dark and it reminded me of how people on the internet often are. For her outfit I was mainly inspired by fashion dolls like Monster High. She is supposed to look modern and like a fashion influencer. Her redesign is very bright and obnoxious kinda to reflect the overload one can get from the internet and trends.

I wanted to make Vox older and boxier looking. He is an old TV show host who is upset that he has to stay current with the trends to keep being relevant, even though he doesn't view modern television as "real" television. He is jealous that Alastor can afford to keep his older format and style. I gave his outfit a similar colour sceme to that of Alastor. Vox is meant to look slimy and kinda pretentious. Other that that he isn't so neon anymore and has a less modern TV as a head.

I have some ideas for Valentino but I didn't make the effort to actually make a full drawing for him, because I didn't want to (not for him). Also he probably won't really appear in my AU (still figuring out wether the Vees will even be important at all). He is not a moth here because Vaggie is already a moth and I didn't see the need for two (not related) characters with the same gimmick. He is a scorpion, since they're more intimidating. His outfit isn't all too different (from when he opens his coat in the show). Val would be more muscular and in general more menacing and still very manipulative.

Final character lineup.

Feel free to ask questions/give suggestions for my redesigns/rewrite.

#hazbin hotel #vivziepop #hazbin hotel redraw #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel critical #i dont support vivziepop

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mononijikayu · 13 days

Text

family line.

Sukuna’s betrayal of the Ryomen—and by extension, the descendants of Hiromi—had left a deep, festering wound that never truly healed. The eradication of Ryomen Sukuna was not just a mission; it was a sacred vow that bound the family, a duty that had been passed down through a millennium. People had died for it, people had lived for it. Every generation felt the echo of this vow, this duty a resonant call to action that Itadori Yuuji’s existence as Sukuna’s vessel now urgently beckoned. The family line exists for that very purpose, after all.

GENRE: pre - hidden inventory arc to shibuya arc (1990s to 2010s);

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: family line by conan gray

NOTE: genmei and hiromi both having family issues is so insane. i keep wondering when i write about them, how do they survive? in any case, i think we'd have something we can drink about, if they're real!!! anyway, please enjoy this new chapter!!! :]

masterlist

u s and t h e m

GENMEI WOKE UP BEFORE THE CLAN BELLS COULD RING. A small yawn escaped Genmei's lips, tinged with the faintest trace of annoyance. As her lilac eyes narrowed against the thin slit of the window, the intrusive morning light already spilled into her chamber, disrupting what little rest she had managed to capture. Her body, always prompt in waking, continued to betray her desire for sleep—a constant irritant that had plagued her long before the nightmares of her past had begun to haunt her nights.

Even in her earlier years, sleep had been a fleeting companion. Often, the murmurs of voices in her head would parade through her thoughts relentlessly, echoes of past conversations, or the menacing whispers of the Zenin clan, reminding her of darker times. There were nights when the fear of being thrown back into the pit by one of her own—a punishment all too familiar during her time at the Zenin estate—kept her alert, her senses wired in anticipation of danger.

Sleep had never been her friend. This shared struggle with insomnia was one of the subtle threads that connected her with Satoru. They both bore the scars of their burdens, their responsibilities, and their pasts—factors that mingled and mingled well into the realm of their private sufferings. Yet, despite this kinship in sleeplessness, Genmei often wondered if she would ever experience the simple solace of a good night's rest. But as she slowly rose from her futon, skepticism clouded her thoughts; she highly doubted such peace would ever be hers.

The Mikoto family ethos, deeply ingrained in her since childhood, demanded punctuality and discipline in all aspects of life. If one was deprived of rest, then one would simply have to find time later to recover. Duty came first, always. This principle had steered her through countless difficult days, propelling her out of bed even when her body cried for just a few more moments of reprieve.

Today was no different. There was much to be done—duties that required her attention, decisions that needed her clear-headedness, and younger sorcerers who looked to her for guidance. Letting out another sigh, a soft resignation to the start of yet another long day, Genmei prepared herself mentally for the tasks ahead.

She moved through her morning rituals with practiced ease, each step a reaffirmation of her commitment to her roles, both as a leader within the Jujutsu community and as a mentor. Yet, as she tied her hair back, preparing to face the world, a part of her mind still clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight might be different. Perhaps the night would be kinder, the voices quieter, and sleep would not be such a fleeting stranger. Duty does come first. A Mikoto must not abandon duty.

"Are you awake already, Genmei-sama?" A reverberating voice questioned against the wooden doors in a soft manner. Genmei wonders how Akihiko was able to get rest at all. He always wakes up too early. "Genmei-sama?"

"I'm awake." Genmei responds groggily, blankly staring at the wooden doors. "You can enter."

As the shoji door slid aside with a soft whisper, the space between servant and master diminished, bridging their respective worlds with practiced grace. Mikoto Akihiko stood in the threshold, his presence subtly commanding yet deferential. His attire, an elegant ensemble of white and red robes accented by a dark scarlet haori, spoke of his high rank within the household. His hair, meticulously groomed and gathered into a ponytail with a simple hair string, added to his dignified appearance. As his eyes met Genmei's, he offered her a respectful bow, his head dipping towards the gleaming mahogany floors that reflected the morning light filtering through the rice paper windows.

Hiromi, observing from the side, pursed her lips in a quiet contemplation of the scene unfolding before her. She noted the ease with which Akihiko carried himself, a testament to his years of service and understanding of the household's dynamics. As he straightened, meeting Genmei’s gaze with a serene confidence, Hiromi nodded slightly, a silent acknowledgment of his flawless conduct.

Akihiko then carefully slid a tray across the tatami floor towards Genmei. On the tray was a bowl of cold water, its surface gently perfumed with floating flowers, and beside it lay a washcloth made from the finest silk. The simplicity of the offering belied the thoughtfulness behind its preparation—each element chosen to provide a subtle refreshment and start the day with a sense of serenity.

With a graceful gesture, Genmei raised her hand slightly, silently bidding Akihiko to enter. He moved with quiet efficiency, stepping into the room to place the tray within easy reach of Genmei. His movements were fluid and precise, each step and action measured and full of purpose.

As he settled the tray beside her, Genmei allowed herself a small moment to appreciate the meticulous care with which Akihiko attended to his duties. It was not just in the grand gestures or significant events that his loyalty and value were manifested, but in these small, everyday attentions that he continually proved his dedication to her well-being.

"Good morning, Genmei-sama." Akihiko greeted, slowly entering with the tray in hand. "I was told to bid you awake for the day."

"Everyone's about to wake then?"

Akihiko nodded. "Yes, Genmei-sama. The morning prayers at the shrine would come first, and then breakfast."

"Hm," Genmei says as she starts to wash her hands, her face, her neck and arms with the water. Soon, she takes the wash cloth and starts drying herself. "I wouldn't have expected everyone to be so vigorous."

"How so, Genmei-sama?"

"I kept everyone up for days straight, the elders especially." Hiromi responds, putting away the wash cloth. "I would have thought the elders would finally take the time to sleep."

"Duty does not stop, Genmei-sama. I doubt the elders would want to also miss the opportunity in doing their part."

Genmei laughs as Akihiko slowly reaches for the tray. "I suppose not. They may have lost their voice trying to make their point towards their disagreements. But they're still servants of the clan one way or another."

The council session had been grueling and exceedingly long, but Genmei couldn’t help but find humor in the enduring nature of such discussions, especially given the gravity of the topic at hand.

The matter concerned Itadori Yuuji, the unfortunate boy who now served as the vessel for Ryomen Sukuna, a curse whose name was written in the darkest annals of their clan's history. Given the weight of the issue, it was no surprise that the session had dragged on for hours and hours — to no end.

In the Ryomen clan, discussions held by the elders were typically open to all members, a tradition that had been maintained since the clan's inception. This openness was meant to foster transparency and collective decision-making. However, when it came to matters involving Sukuna, the protocols shifted dramatically.

These discussions were strictly confidential, held behind closed doors, a testament to the sensitive and perilous nature of the subject. No information was allowed to leak, a precaution to prevent any manipulation or interference from external forces.

People had died for it, people had lived for it. Every generation felt the echo of this vow, this duty a resonant call to action that Itadori Yuuji’s existence as Sukuna’s vessel now urgently beckoned. The family line exists for that very purpose, after all.

During the session, the division among the clan’s elders was palpable. Half of the prominent members were staunchly against overriding the order of execution. This faction saw no alternative but to eliminate the threat Itadori represented, unwilling to risk the potential resurgence of Sukuna’s full powers.

Their refusal to support Satoru, who had shown a rare leniency towards Itadori, underscored the deep-seated fears and traditionalist views still prevalent among the clan's leadership.

Genmei, ever the strategist, had spent long exhaustive days navigating through the sea of concerns, countering objections with well-reasoned arguments and logical deductions. Her efforts were bolstered by the support of other, more progressive elders and crucially by her aunt Arisu’s authority as the clan leader. Together, they had managed to forge a compromise, albeit a tenuous one, that temporarily aligned the clan’s diverse viewpoints.

Yet, Genmei was no stranger to the undercurrents of clan politics. She was acutely aware that her opposition might be harboring resentments or plotting quietly behind her back. The complexity of clan dynamics, coupled with the stakes involved in dealing with a matter as volatile as Sukuna, meant that alliances were fragile and could shift with little warning.

As she stepped out of the council chamber, the weight of the responsibility felt heavier than ever. Despite the temporary resolution, she knew that the issue was far from settled. The discussions might have ended, but the real work of ensuring the clan’s safety and navigating the precarious situation with Itadori Yuuji was just beginning.

With a slight shake of her head, Genmei allowed herself a brief moment of levity amidst the tension. ‘If politics within the clan were as straightforward as fighting curses, perhaps we’d have less need for such long discussions’, she mused wryly. ‘We’d get all of this done sooner. Less headaches.’

"Has the letter been sent to the office of Gakuganji? About the support to suspend the execution order indefinitely?"

"From what I heard, the decision had been sent to everyone." Akihiko says, taking a small sigh. "But I would not be surprised if he and Zenin are a thorn in your side. They would contest this. Much more so, Gojo dominance."

"The clan leader would most of all scoff at the thought, mayhaps even my foolish uncle." Genmei snickers, her tone nonchalant. "I would not be surprised if I am summoned to Zenin manor today."

Akihiko frowned at her. "It would not be good upon you if you come and see Naobito-sama at all conditions, Genmei-sama."

Genmei’s gaze lingered on Akihiko, noting the unmistakable concern etched across his features. Akihiko had been a steadfast presence in her life, joining her mother’s household many years ago when she had left her maiden home to marry into the formidable Zenin clan.

His loyalty had been unwavering, his service impeccable, and over the years, he had become much more than a mere attendant; he was a confidant, a silent witness to the trials she had endured.

The Zenin clan, known for its ruthless vanity, was a place where familial bonds were often overshadowed by the relentless pursuit of strength. Within the clan's walls, your value was measured strictly by your power, and weaknesses were exploited, not shielded.

Gojo Genmei knew this all too well, having navigated the treacherous waters of Zenin politics. Despite her formidable abilities, she had often found herself appalled by the brutality her family members could exact, even on one of their own.

As a subtle chill traced her spine, Genmei unconsciously clutched her wrists, the memory of past cruelties momentarily resurfacing. Akihiko, ever observant, noticed the small, telling gesture and his frown deepened. He knew much of her pain, having been there through many of her darkest moments, yet he maintained a respectful silence on such matters.

Despite the complications, Genmei understood the necessity of maintaining connections with the Zenin, however fraught they might be. Her lineage was an integral part of her identity, one that she could not simply cast aside, even with the relative freedom her marriage to a Gojo provided. Akihiko, while concerned for her well-being amidst such a toxic environment, also understood this duty, though it never stopped him from worrying.

To speak of them would not only breach his position but could also jeopardize Genmei’s standing within both her natal and marital families. His discretion was as much a shield as it was a sign of his respect for her.

The weight of her responsibilities weighed heavily on Genmei's shoulders as she pondered her next steps. Her expression revealed a mix of determination and slight exasperation, a reflection of the myriad duties pulling her in multiple directions.

She knew all too well the delicate balancing act required between her roles as a clan leader, a sorcerer, and a wife. Each role demanded her attention, yet there were only so many hours in the day, and Genmei felt the strain acutely.

"It's the only way," she reiterated, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she let out a weary sigh. "It would not last long, I should say. I had delayed being home already." Genmei’s voice carried frustration. "I'd rather not seek more headaches in Tokyo. Besides, my husband's quite upset that he didn't get to spend some time with me. Soon enough he'll be busy. Best to settle it now."

"That should be all for now," Genmei said, cutting off any further discussion with a polite yet firm tone. She offered him a soft smile and a nod, signaling that she appreciated his concern but had already made up her mind.

Her attendant, a seasoned elder who had served her faithfully for years, listened with a somber expression.

"Genmei-sama....." he began, perhaps hoping to offer some word of caution or to suggest an alternative, but he was promptly interrupted. “Perhaps—”

The decisions were hers to make, and while she valued the counsel of her trusted servants and advisors, ultimately, the path she chose was one she had to walk herself.

"Now call for the female servants to come and bring me my clothing. I’d like to have something comfortable now," she instructed, her voice gentle yet imbued with an authority that brooked no argument. "Thank you, Akihiko."

The elder gentleman paused for a moment, his face reflecting his deep respect and understanding of his lady's wishes. With a resigned sigh, he bowed his head deeply. "As you say, Genmei-sama," he replied, his voice a mixture of deference and a touch of concern.

As he turned to carry out her orders, Genmei's mind raced ahead to the tasks that awaited her. She needed to return to her family’s estate, to manage the brewing issues within the Zenin clan, and to support her husband in whatever small ways she could from afar. Each responsibility was critical, each demanded her best effort, and Genmei was not one to shirk her duties, no matter how heavy the burden.

Left alone for a moment, she allowed herself a brief pause, a few seconds of quiet respite before she would change into her comfortable clothing and prepare for the journey ahead. In these fleeting moments of solitude, Genmei gathered her strength, fortified her resolve, and readied herself to face the myriad challenges that awaited her.

When he left the room, Genmei could only sigh and look at the window slit.

Genmei slowly stood from her position and started to look out into space.

It was then and only then that the clan bells rang with a loud vigorous echo.

The Mikoto Clan was now awake to the sound of bells in the morning light.

GENMEI THINKS THAT SHE'S TOO SENTIMENTAL THESE DAYS. As Genmei stood alone, her thoughts meandered through the corridors of her past, each memory shaded by the hues of longing. She had come to understand that with each passing year, the weight of grief did not lessen but settled deeper into her bones, a constant reminder of those she had lost along the way. Each loss carved a hollow in her heart, a space that no amount of time could ever fully heal.

She knew that death was as natural as breathing, an inevitable conclusion to the lives of those she cared for. Yet, knowing this did not ease the burden of grief. If anything, it was a stark reminder of the relentless march of time and the finite nature of existence. Over three decades of her life, Genmei had stood by too many gravesites, had murmured too many final goodbyes. The faces of those she longed for often visited her in the quiet moments, their smiles as vivid in her mind as if they were still beside her.

There were indeed times, too many to count, when Genmei yearned to meet her lost loved ones again. To hear their voices, to share just one more moment together. Yet, she recognized that such desires were beyond her control. The tapestry of fate was woven by forces greater than herself, by the gods and the immutable laws of the universe. She could no more alter these threads than she could stop the sun from setting.

And while she might wish to join those she had lost, to find solace in their ethereal presence, Genmei knew that her place was still among the living. There were people who depended on her, who needed her strength and guidance. Her duties anchored her to this world. To abandon those responsibilities for her own grief would not only be unfair but a betrayal of the trust placed in her.

Genmei accepted her grief as a companion, one that reminded her of her humanity, of the deep connections that had enriched her life, even if those connections eventually led to pain. She allowed herself to feel the sadness, to embrace it fully, for she knew that it was through experiencing this pain that she honored the memory of those she loved.

As the chill of the morning dew caressed her skin, Genmei kneeled solemnly in front of the ancestral shrine, a sacred space where time seemed to fold in upon itself, linking past and present in an eternal embrace. Each bow she performed was a gesture of deep respect, her movements deliberate and full of reverence. As she rose and entered the hall, her flowing robes caught the gentle morning breeze, trailing behind her like whispers of the past.

This hall, with its rows of colorful columns and ornate marble niches, was where Genmei felt most vulnerable—stripped of her worldly titles and roles, laid bare as merely one in a long line of ancestors. Here, under the watchful gaze of those who had come before, she felt the weight of her heritage most acutely. The lilac eyes scanned the figures that lined the hall, each ancestor's ashes resting within their marble confines, their features forever immortalized in stone.

The faces carved into the marble seemed familiar to Genmei, as if she had seen them not just in the flesh but in dreams that bridged the gap between life and death. Walking slowly along the hall, she whispered each name with a soft reverence, a ritual of remembrance. To know one's ancestry was to hold a map of one’s soul’s journey; it was the Mikoto way—a deep-seated belief that understanding where one came from provided the guidance needed to navigate life and, eventually, find one’s way in the afterlife.

Unlike the Zenin, who often eschewed such traditions in favor of strength and power, the Mikoto cherished these rites of heritage and memory. The Zenin might believe strength was the sole measure of worth, but to Genmei and the Mikoto, these moments of quiet communion with the past were a source of inner identity. They believed that the blessings and wisdom of ancestors fortified them, offering not just guidance but also a reminder of the responsibilities they carried as their living descendants.

Genmei paused before a particularly intricate carving, the face of a long-departed matriarch whose stories were legend within the family. Ryomen Hiromi stridently glared back at her in stony tenderness. She placed her hands together, bowed her head, and took a moment to praise her, to thank her, to worship her, to ask for guidance. Every Mikoto needs to. If there was no Ryomen Hiromi, none of them would exist.

As she continued her solemn procession through the hall, each step was a reaffirmation of her commitment to uphold these traditions, to honor the legacy of her ancestors, and to carry forward their teachings not just in memory but in action. In this sacred space, surrounded by the watchful eyes of her ancestors, Genmei renewed her vow to lead with integrity to her duty.

In the subdued light of the ancestral shrine, the air hung heavy with the scent of incense and the quiet whispers of the past. Genmei's steps were measured and reverent as she approached a particularly modest memorial, distinctly less ornate than the others that lined the sacred hall. This was her father's resting place, a reflection of the man he had been in life—unassuming, grounded, and wise in his simplicity.

"Father, your loving daughter comes to pay respect to you," Genmei whispered softly, her voice barely audible above the gentle flicker of the candles that cast a warm, dancing light on the stone surface. She knelt gracefully before the memorial, her movements fluid yet full of the profound respect she held for the man who had shaped so much of her life. Her bow was swift, deep. Only for her father. “I came to see you, and nii-sama.”

"How have you both been, father?" she murmured, settling back on her heels as she gazed at the inscription bearing his name. Though she spoke to the silence, the question was laden with genuine curiosity and the hope that, wherever he might be, he was at peace.

Genmei paused, allowing the silence to envelop her, half-expecting a whisper of wind or some subtle sign that would serve as her father's reply. In these moments, she felt closer to him than ever, bridging the gap between the physical and spiritual with the strength of her memories and the sincerity of her words.

The shrine around her felt alive with the echoes of her ancestors, but it was her father's teachings that resonated most profoundly in her heart. He had taught her the value of humility, the importance of staying true to one’s principles and the strength that lay in simplicity. These lessons had become the cornerstones of her own philosophy, guiding her actions and decisions throughout her life.

“I haven’t seen both of you and nii-sama in a long time, I’m sorry.” The lilac eyed woman whispered. “I hope you are both reassured that I am well. Satoru takes care of me, he takes good care of Megumi too, nii–sama. Don’t worry about him.”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, feeling the weight of her responsibilities momentarily lift as she imagined her father's hand on her shoulder, steady and reassuring. It was a moment of solace, a brief respite in which she could lay down her burdens and just be a daughter again. It had been nearly twenty years since her father had died and still, she longs for him. She longs to have a father again.

As Genmei stood before her father Naoki's statue in the shrine, she couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and a profound sense of loss. The statue captured more than just his likeness; it seemed to embody his essence. Even carved in cold stone, Naoki’s eyes radiated a warmth and tenderness that was rare among the Zenin clan, known for their ruthless and often cold demeanor. His smile, gentle and inviting, seemed almost out of place in the hall filled with stern, imposing figures of his ancestors.

Naoki had always been an anomaly within the Zenin family. His kindness and empathy set him apart in a lineage celebrated for its stoicism and strength. Growing up, Genmei remembered how the servants and lower-ranking members of the Zenin manor would often speak of her father with a fondness and reverence that was seldom afforded to other members of the clan. They were relieved that Naoki, unlike many of his relatives, carried his power with grace and used his influence to shield rather than to demand.

This difference in character, Genmei knew, was largely attributed to Naoki's mother, who had been known for her compassionate nature. It was often said that Naoki was more his mother’s son, which, while a badge of honor in any other context, was seen as a weakness by the more traditional and harsher members of the Zenin family. Perhaps it was this gentleness that had fueled the animosity between Naoki and his father, Naobito.

Genmei reflected on the tragic narrative that had clouded clan leader Naobito's life. His heart, once perhaps capable of warmth, had turned to stone after the death of his beloved wife during childbirth. The loss had been too great, and instead of seeking solace in his son, Naobito saw only the cause of his greatest pain. His grief had manifested in bitterness and an increasing dependence on alcohol, which only further estranged him from his son.

Naoki, for his part, carried the heavy burden of misplaced guilt throughout his life. He believed, as his father had so cruelly insinuated, that his birth had been the cause of his mother's death. Yet, despite this, Naoki never harbored resentment toward Naobito. He understood his father’s grief, even if he fell victim to its sharper edges.

Standing there, Genmei felt a deep connection to her father's enduring empathy and strength. Naoki had managed to transform his pain into compassion, reaching out to those around him with kindness rather than succumbing to bitterness. It was a legacy of love over resentment, of understanding over judgment.

Genmei touched the cold stone of her father's statue, tracing the lines of that all-too-familiar smile. She whispered softly, "You taught me the strength of kindness, Father. In a world that prizes power, you showed me the power of heart. I hope to carry that forward, as you did, and make you proud."

“You speak so highly of a man who’s long dead.” Naobito had said, his voice carrying a dismissive edge that immediately set Genmei on edge. “How interesting, little girl.”

The air in the shrine thickened with tension as Genmei faced the Zenin clan leader, Naobito, his presence an unwanted shadow on what had been a moment of private reflection. For a moment, Genmei’s eyes turned bright purple. Naobito snickers. It was obvious. He could see that she was upset to know he was there. The aura around him, as always, was charged with the abrasive charm that had marked his leadership—effective, yet isolating. She hated it.

“What are you doing here?” she asked quickly, more sharply than she had intended. Her lilac eyes, usually a soft echo of tranquility, hardened into icy shards as she faced the intruder. The sight of him, dressed in the dull colors of autumn, his haori reminiscent of dead leaves, was distinctly unwelcome.

“You are not welcomed here,” she stated flatly, her lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure.

Naobito’s response was a snicker, dismissive and irritatingly calm as he began to close the distance between them. “Am I not welcome to visit my own son’s grave? Of my kin?”

“You hate your family, I doubt you’d be welcomed here for loving them enough.” Genmei shot back, matching his nonchalance with her own icy detachment. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a clear indicator of her disdain. “I thought you would rather I go to pay my respects to you in Zenin manor myself.”

“It would be too much to deal with Naoya and his temper,” Naobito retorted, referencing another member of their troubled clan. “Too much trouble for me to handle, little girl.”

Genmei couldn't help but snicker at the mention of Naoya, her disdain for the man barely concealed. “And I would have killed him,” she said flatly, her tone half-joking yet edged with seriousness. “That you know, clan leader.”

“Are you a kinslayer?” Naobito’s question was pointed, intrigued. “You seem so true to your word, little girl. Tsk, to desire to kill your uncle.”

“I am a Zenin, after all,” Genmei replied, her voice laced with bitter irony. This response was layered, acknowledging the ruthless reputation of their clan while also critiquing its brutal legacy.

Gojo Genmei's thoughts lingered on the clan leader as she processed their recent confrontation and the complex dynamics of their relationship. Naobito's visits, rare as they were, invariably left a bitter taste. Over the years since she had decisively stepped away from the core activities of the Zenin clan to forge her own path with the Gojo and the Mikoto, Naobito's sporadic appearances had been laden with contention and thinly veiled disapproval.

Each visit seemed to underscore a broader struggle between the old guard represented by Naobito and the progressive forces within the jujutsu society championed by Satoru and herself. His challenges weren't just personal; they symbolized the tension between tradition and innovation—a clash of ideologies where Naobito often appeared as an unyielding bastion of the past.

And yet, his behavior was unpredictable. Sometimes, he was overtly antagonistic, pushing against the changes Gojo Satoru advocated with a stubbornness that bordered on cruelty. Other times, he was merely a silent, brooding presence, an enigma that left more questions than answers. There were moments when his laughter rang out, harsh and mocking, as if he found some dark amusement in the shifts occurring within their world or perhaps in Genmei's defiance of Zenin expectations.

Despite these challenging interactions, there was a part of Gojo Genmei that acknowledged the complex role the clan leader played in maintaining a certain level of peace—or at least a balance of power—within their clan's politics. His distance, while often a source of personal pain, ironically kept the family discord from escalating further. It was an uneasy peace, fragile and fraught with undercurrents of unresolved conflicts, but it was stability of a sort nonetheless. Genmei sighed deeply, crossing her arms as she reflected on this paradox.

Naobito's words hung in the air, thick with emotion and a complexity that Genmei found both unexpected and suspect. His expression softened slightly, an uncommon vulnerability that seemed out of place on the hardened features of the Zenin clan leader. Yet, Genmei remained wary, her experience with the clan leader teaching her to tread carefully around his often ambiguous intentions.

"I have to ask again, clan leader, what are you doing here?" Genmei whispered, her voice low and steady as she held his gaze. "If there was business, you ought not to desecrate my father's grave."

Naobito sighed deeply, his arms crossed defensively, a gesture that seemed to shield him as much as it signified his own internal conflict. "A father also longs for his son, too. I would not desecrate my son's grave by hurting his only child," he responded, his voice carrying a trace of sincerity that was rare and disarming.

Genmei's initial reaction was skepticism, her mind racing as she assessed his statement. Her features softened involuntarily, reflecting a momentary lapse in her guarded demeanor as she contemplated his words. The thought, 'How much of a liar are you?' echoed in her mind, a silent question that stemmed from years of navigating the tumultuous and often deceptive waters of clan politics.

Yet, despite her doubts, there was a part of Genmei that wanted to believe there was truth in his words—that perhaps, in this moment, Naobito was reaching out not as the stoic and manipulative clan leader, but as a grieving father longing for connection with his late son through her, the granddaughter he so rarely acknowledged in any affectionate capacity.

"I want to believe you, clan leader," Genmei finally said, her voice a blend of cautious hope and lingering suspicion. "But you must understand why that's difficult for me. Your visits are seldom without motive. Can you blame me for questioning your reasons now?"

“I can’t.” the clan leader whispered at his grand-daughter, his fingers tracing against his whiskers. “I visited my son. And now my grand-daughter.”

She snorted. “To express concerns of my husband’s actions, ones which offend your clan.”

He laughs harshly. “You speak as though you were never a Zenin, girl.”

“I have always been more than that, clan leader.”

Naobito’s laughter dwindled into a wry smile, the harshness fading as he acknowledged the iron in Genmei’s voice. It was clear that while she bore the name and blood of the Zenin, she did not confine herself within the boundaries of their legacy—a point of both pride and contention for the old man.

“You have indeed,” Naobito conceded, his tone softening. “You’ve forged your path, integrating the Gojo and Mikoto influences into your being. It’s an amalgamation that some in the Zenin find... difficult to accept.”

Genmei’s expression hardened slightly, a clear indication that she was fully aware of the traditionalists' disdain within her clan. “And yet, it is this very amalgamation that has allowed me to see beyond the narrow confines of what our clan believes strength to be."

“You ought to be proud that I continue his work.”

Naobito nodded slowly, the trace of a smile lingering as if he appreciated her resolve, even if it ran counter to his own values. “Yes, your father would be proud,” he admitted, his voice carrying a note of genuine respect that surprised Genmei. “He too believed in the evolution of our ways, even if he could not enact it himself.”

Naobito's snicker, dismissive and tinged with a hint of the patronizing attitude that often characterized the older generations of the Zenin clan, was a stark reminder of the deep-seated beliefs that still governed many within their ranks. His perspective, focused inward on the power and preservation of the clan rather than the broader implications of their actions, was reflective of a mindset that Genmei had long found constraining and, at times, dangerously shortsighted.

"Not all should be about the wider world, silly girl," he said, his voice carrying a blend of amusement and rebuke.

"It is precisely because we are part of a larger world that we must consider the broader impact of our actions," she responded calmly, her voice steady and clear. "The isolationist views of the Zenin may have served us in past conflicts, but the world is changing. New threats and opportunities demand that we adapt."

“Traditions must also be kept in a changing world, should it not?”

She paused, her gaze steady on her grandfather, challenging him to consider the bigger picture. "Not if we wish for such tradition to continue. If we remain inward-looking, focused only on our own power and survival, we risk becoming obsolete—worse, we risk becoming oppressors or tyrants blind to the real needs of those we might otherwise lead or protect."

Naobito frowned, the lines on his face deepening as he considered her words. For a moment, the dismissive facade seemed to crack, revealing a flicker of the strategic thinker he had once been, a leader who had navigated the clan through turbulent times with a firm hand.

"You think the old ways are no longer sufficient?" he asked, his tone less combative and more reflective.

"I believe there is wisdom in many of our traditions," Genmei conceded, her approach diplomatic yet firm. "But wisdom also lies in recognizing when change is necessary. Satoru’s initiatives, while challenging, are not about discarding our tradition. It is stupid to think that way, clan leader.”

His eyes, which had wandered in contemplation, now met Genmei's with a clarity that conveyed both the depth of his entrenched beliefs and his acknowledgment of her steadfastness. “I see you and I will be just like your father. Never to agree.”

“Perhaps that is a curse to you, as it must be a blessing to me.” She paused, allowing the words to resonate within the sacred space, surrounded by the memories of those who had come before. “Disagreement does not have to lead to disconnection. It is only you who sees it that way.”

Naobito considered her words. He nodded slowly, an acknowledgment of her wisdom. “You have your father’s way with words and ideals,” he conceded, his voice softer than before. “And perhaps, if you had married your uncle, there would have been such charges to change for our clan. A level headed heir is better than a foolish one. A mad dog, even.”

Genmei laughs. “Perhaps not, clan leader. I would rather not wed a man who would have deprived me of my liberties.”

“You would have killed him first before he ever did anything.”

“Perhaps.” Genmei nodded at him. “But it shouldn't ever happen now. I have married a good man.”

“I’d like to learn how good he truly is, if he wasn’t such a—”

“I’d like to remind you that I would never tolerate such words said about Satoru like that.” She glares at the old man. “He has cared for me well. More than Naoya would have ever done.”

He did not say anything.

He knew Genmei to be right.

Naoya would have killed her.

And it would be shrugged off.

Jinichi killed his own wife too.

Naoya would find a way too.

As Naobito neared the threshold of the shrine, poised to leave, he paused, turning back to Genmei with a look that signaled unfinished business. “Before I go,” he began, his voice carrying the weight of authority he was accustomed to wielding, “What of the vessel of Sukuna? The elders council is in disarray over it. Surely, you must have an opinion.”

Genmei turned slowly to face him once more, her stance firm and resolute. “The council’s disarray does not concern me as much as the consensus of those who understand the broader implications,” she responded calmly, her gaze steady. “And as for the vessel, my position is clear and supported by Mikoto. We seek a path that is not bound by past fears alone.”

Naobito’s eyes narrowed, the mention of Mikoto bringing a flicker of annoyance—or perhaps apprehension—to his features. “Your vote, or Mikoto's stance, does not align with tradition. The Zenin have always—”

“My vote,” Genmei interjected firmly, “And the vote of the Mikoto no longer requires your validation, clan leader. The council respects our perspective for a reason. Times are changing, and so must our strategies. Sukuna is a threat, yes, but how we handle this vessel, Itadori Yuuji, could redefine our future."

The old man’s jaw set tightly, a clear sign of his frustration with her words. It was difficult for someone of his generation and convictions to accept such shifts in policy, especially from a younger family member, albeit one as formidable as Genmei.

“You tread dangerous waters, silly girl,” Naobito warned, his tone darkening. “To think that handling Sukuna’s vessel with anything less than absolute lethal intent could be anything but catastrophic is naive.”

Naobito scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “And what of the danger he poses? What if Sukuna gains control?”

“Perhaps.” Genmei conceded, her voice still calm, “But the Mikoto believes in looking at bigger picture. Itadori Yuuji is not just a vessel; he is a potential asset. And moreover, he’s a child. We must be cautious, yes, but we must also be wise. We cannot afford to act in haste based on old fears.”

“That is a risk,” Genmei admitted, “But one that comes with potential gains. We monitor, we prepare, and we act swiftly if needed. But to eliminate a potential ally out of fear is to act no better than the curses we seek to eradicate. The Mikoto will not endorse such a path.”

There was a long pause as Naobito considered her words, his expression unreadable. Finally, he let out a long breath, as if releasing some of the weight of the argument. “Very well,” he said grudgingly. “I see that your mind's made up, and your influence on the council is not insignificant. But be cautious, silly girl. Not all are pleased with this... progressive stance.”

“I am always cautious, you know this best.” Genmei replied, her tone unwavering. “Thank you for your concern, clan leader.”

With a stiff nod, Naobito turned and left the shrine, his steps echoing slightly in the quiet morning air. Genmei watched him go, feeling the weight of the confrontation slowly lift from her shoulders.

Gojo Genmei sighed deeply.

She wished that duty would end.

At least for today, it has to end.

She needs to get some more sleep.

IT WAS A RELIEF TO FINALLY RETURN TO TOKYO. As Genmei sat by the window of the gently rocking train, her gaze occasionally drifted out to the blur of passing landscapes, but her mind was anchored firmly in the present — burdened by the weighty discussions with Zenin Naobito and the decisions that lay ahead. The rhythmic clack of the train on the tracks seemed to echo her repetitive thoughts, cycling through the implications of each word exchanged, each potential shift in clan dynamics.

Her sighs filled the quiet compartment, mingling with the soft hum of the train. The concerns with Naobito weren't just fleeting worries; they were deep-seated issues that threatened to resurface time and again. Each recollection of their conversation deepened her resolve but also underscored the complexities of her position.

Beside her, Nobuhiko's presence was both a comfort and a reminder of simpler times. He had always been a grounding force, his steadfast nature balancing her more strategic inclinations. As they traveled together, his occasional pouts and the childlike sulkiness he displayed when discussing his duties in Kyoto brought a rare smile to her face amidst the swirling anxieties.

Yet, as Genmei observed him, she couldn't help but feel a surge of nostalgia for the days when life was less complicated, when the boundaries of their world were defined merely by the adventures they concocted in their youthful play. Back then, Nobuhiko's pouts were about who got to lead their imaginary quests, not about the weighty responsibilities of a Jujutsu Tech instructor.

It was heartening, yet poignant, to see traces of the young boy she had known in the accomplished instructor he had become. Nobuhiko had grown into his role at Jujutsu Tech with commendable dedication, shaping the minds and abilities of his students with a passion that mirrored his own commitment to growth and learning. His reluctance to leave Kyoto, even temporarily, was a testament to the bonds he had formed there, the responsibilities he felt, and the identity he had carved out for himself independent of the family legacy.

“Do I really have to stay here?”

“Todo would be depressed if Nobu–sensei leaves.” She teases him, a wide grin on her face.

“Not you too, Genmei–sama. This is….” He started turning red. His lips form a sharp line. “It would be better, if I was by your side.”

Genmei raised a brow. “But aren’t you always by my side?”

Nobuhiko's face flushed deeper, the ruby hue of his pin almost mirrored in his cheeks. His discomfort was palpable, caught between his duties and his longing for a different path—one alongside Genmei, where he felt more directly impactful and perhaps more appreciated.

His frustration momentarily silenced him, the words catching in his throat as he grappled with his emotions and the stark reality of their discussion. The simple, teasing question from Genmei wasn’t just a casual remark; it was laden with deeper meanings about loyalty, presence, and the invisible ties that connected them despite their physical separations.

“You know what I mean, Genmei-sama,” Nobuhiko finally managed, his voice a mix of earnestness and exasperation. “Yes, in spirit, perhaps, but there’s a difference in being actively involved in the same causes, in fighting the same fights side by side.”

Genmei’s expression softened, understanding the depth of his feelings. She knew too well the complexities of their lives, pulled in multiple directions by responsibilities and roles that often left little room for personal desires. Yet, she also recognized the strength of their bond, one forged not just in shared childhoods but in continued mutual respect and support as adults.

“Nobuhiko, you are vital where you are,” Genmei responded gently, her tone conveying both sympathy and firmness. “Your work at Jujutsu Tech isn’t just about teaching techniques—it’s about shaping minds, guiding the next generation. That’s no small feat, and it’s every bit as crucial as the battles we fight in Tokyo. It’s what we need, if this is to work, this change.”

She paused, her gaze steady on him, ensuring her words sank in, not just as platitudes but as sincere recognition of his contributions. “And know this,” she continued, “Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, you are always by my side in the ways that truly matter. It’s only a three hour ride away. If you feel that tedious, use a warping spell. Come and see me, hm?”

Nobuhiko listened, the initial flush of frustration gradually fading as he absorbed her words. The tight line of his lips relaxed slightly, a sign that he was reconsidering his stance from a broader perspective.

“I understand, Genmei-sama,” he admitted, though his voice still held a hint of reluctance. “And I appreciate your faith in me. It’s just... sometimes the distance seems more significant than it is.”

Genmei nodded, acknowledging his feelings. “Distance can be bridged,” she reassured him, her voice imbued with a conviction born of years navigating similar challenges. “You know that better than I.”

Genmei stepped out of the car, the soft click of the door closing behind her muffled by the ambient sounds of the bustling train station. She turned to face Ichiji, her expression a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. The journey had been long, the rhythmic hum of the train wheels accompanying her weary thoughts as she traversed the miles between Kyoto and Tokyo.

"Thank you, Ichiji," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet laden with genuine appreciation. Ichiji, her loyal attendant, nodded in response, his expression a blend of solemnity and understanding. He had been with her through countless journeys, his steadfast presence a reassuring constant in the ever-shifting landscape of her duties and responsibilities.

"It was my pleasure, Genmei-san," Ichiji replied softly, his tone respectful yet tinged with a hint of concern. He had sensed her weariness, her burdened spirit evident in the subtle lines etched upon her face. “Welcome back to Tokyo.”

Genmei offered him a faint smile, a fleeting expression of warmth amidst the weariness that weighed upon her. Despite the fatigue that tugged at her limbs, she knew that she must press on, her resolve unwavering in the face of the challenges that awaited her in Tokyo.

Turning away from Ichiji, Genmei gathered her belongings and took a moment to steady herself, drawing upon the inner reserves of strength that had carried her through countless trials before. With a deep breath, she straightened her posture, steeling herself for the tasks that lay ahead.

As she made her way through the bustling station, her footsteps echoing against the polished floors, Genmei's thoughts turned to the purpose of her journey. Tokyo awaited her, a city teeming with life and energy, yet also fraught with the weight of responsibility and expectation.

As Genmei walked through the gates of Jujutsu High, she was instantly enveloped by the dynamic atmosphere of the school. The campus buzzed with the vibrant energy of young sorcerers honing their craft, each one focused and determined. The sounds of rigorous training filled the air, a symphony of discipline and hard work. Instructors barked commands that were met with immediate responses; the thuds of bodies grappling on the mats punctuated the air, underscoring the physicality of their training.

Yet, it was the loud boisterous laughter, the spontaneous bursts of joy amidst the stern discipline, that truly characterized the spirit of Jujutsu High. It was a reminder that despite the grave responsibilities these students would eventually shoulder, they were still young, still capable of finding lightness amid the severity of their training. Genmei couldn’t help but be nostalgic about her own days there in Jujutsu High too.

Gojo Satoru had always looked happy at Jujutsu High. This was the environment where Satoru thrived, his formidable talents— but most of all, his youth. Genmei thinks about when she first met him, quite brash and self–centered. A true little prince. But in his three years here, Genmei could only remember him as he was now to be what he was in Jujutsu High. Genmei thinks she can only be glad for it. He’d ended up being someone she was proud to be married to.

Genmei's eyes were focused on the training grounds, watching her husband in the distance. He was fully engaged, demonstrating a complex maneuver to a group of attentive first-years, his movements fluid and precise. Watching him, Genmei felt a surge of pride. He was bringing the world he had always dreamed of to life. The one that Genmei had seen him dream of for all the years they’d been together. It feels so good to know his hard work was not wasted.

The lilac eyed woman drew closer, watching the intensity of the training session. But Genmei was certain that they seemed to have dialed down a notch as Satoru caught sight of her. Genmei thinks her husband was quite a dog, with how he seemed excited even from afar. His face lit up with a mischievous grin and waved at her. Genmei laughed, waving back half–heartedly.

Satoru called out to the students, "And that's how you ensure your technique is flawless!"

As Genmei stepped closer, the dynamics among the students shifted palpably. Megumi's sigh was not one of irritation but of familiarity, a testament to the countless times he had witnessed such warm exchanges between Satoru and Genmei.

He understood too much that Gojo Satoru was a man who truly, deeply, passionately, tenderly, does so loves his wife. He’d known that all his life, living with them and all.

Yuji Itadori, the energetic boy with striking pink hair, tilted his head, his eyes wide with curiosity. Next to him, Nobara Kugisaki, poised and observant, also turned to look at Genmei. Genmei waved at them, a tender smile on her lips.

Both were new enough to not fully grasp the personal life of their enigmatic teacher, and their faces mirrored their intrigue and slight bewilderment at the obvious affection displayed by Satoru. Gojo Genmei seemed so normal. So utterly normal. And compared to their teacher, this loud, boisterous, crazy enigma of a man —it leads to confusion, most definitely, how you both seem to be married.

As Genmei walked up, Satoru sauntered over with a playful swagger. "And here comes the only person who can outmatch me," he declared with a theatrical flourish, reaching out to pull her into an embrace. “My most beautiful, beloved, darling, extraordinary, one and only, wife!”

Genmei felt laughter echo against her belly and gently pushed him away, not missing a beat. "Behave yourself," she chided, through her eyes twinkled with amusement. Turning to the first years, who were watching the exchange with wide eyes, she extended a warm smile. "You must be the new first year. I'm Gojo Genmei, Gojo–sensei's wife."

“You’re just not my wife, darling! You’re my most beautiful, beloved—”

“You’re embarrassing yourself to your students, Satoru. Think of Megumi!”

“I don’t wanna be part of this conversation.” Megumi crosses his arms, looking down at his shoes. “Exclude me…please.”

Satoru’s lips turned into a pout, “My son turning on me like this, I never thought I’d see the day!”

“I’m not your son—”

“Now, now, calm down.”

The students' expressions shifted from amusement to shock, Nobara Kugisaki's eyes widening, "You're married to Gojo–sensei?" she blurted out, clearly trying to reconcile this new information with the enigmatic image of their teacher. “How? How are you married to Gojo–sensei?”

As the shock registered across Nobara’s face, Satoru’s trademark grin only widened, clearly enjoying the ripple of surprise his announcement had caused among his students.

“Because she loves me!” he declared, throwing his arms wide as if to emphasize the sheer inevitability of it all.

Megumi, who had been quietly observing the scene, couldn’t help but snicker at his teacher's theatrics. “That sounds like a lie,” he muttered, just loud enough for those nearby to hear, his deadpan delivery a stark contrast to Satoru’s flamboyance.

Satoru feigned a wounded look, clutching his heart dramatically. “My son, turning against me again, Genmei!” he exclaimed, looking over at Genmei with exaggerated betrayal. “How is fate ever so cruel?”

Genmei laughed, shaking her head but deciding to keep out of this particular fray. “I’m not gonna get involved,” she declared with a smile, her tone light and teasing. “You and your son need to talk this through.”

Megumi sighed, “I’m not his son.”

Yuuji, who had been watching the exchange with a growing smile, jumped into the conversation, his enthusiasm unchecked. “Wow, sensei never mentioned he was married! It’s great to meet you, Genmei–sensei!” His voice carried a mixture of excitement and a touch of awe, as if the revelation added yet another layer to the already complex puzzle that was Gojo Satoru.

Genmei grinned at Yuuji's exuberance, appreciating his straightforward and lively nature. “It’s lovely to meet you too, Yuuji–kun. But please call me Genmei.” But then Genmei turned to Nobara, who blinked at the sudden turn of the elder woman. “And you too, Nobara–chan.”

Satoru, not one to let a teaching moment slip by, even if highly embellished, wrapped an arm around Genmei’s shoulders. “You see, everyone, this is why you always keep them guessing. Keeps the mystery alive,” he said, winking ostentatiously. “Right, wifey?”

Gojo Satoru's grin broadened into a full-fledged smile, his cerulean eyes sparkling with amusement at Nobara's expressed candid astonishment. His posture relaxed as he leaned back slightly against his wife, clearly reveling in the students' reactions.

"How do I bag a woman like her?" Satoru echoed, gesturing towards Genmei with a dramatic flair. "It's simple really—I'm irresistible." His tone was teasing, laden with his usual cocky humor, designed to elicit more laughs than serious consideration. “I am quite a good gentleman. How could she not fall for me?”

Genmei shook her head, a gentle, indulgent smile playing on her lips. She decided to play along, stepping closer to Satoru with a mock-serious expression. "Actually, it took him a lot of effort. He had to prove he was more than just a pretty face and outrageous antics. Isn’t that right, dear?" she said, giving Satoru a playful nudge.

The students burst into laughter again, watching the banter between their sensei and his wife. Yuuji, still grappling with the novelty of the situation, added, "So there was a lot of persistence involved, huh? Gojo–sensei must have gone through a lot, an adventure!”

"Mmm, something like that," Satoru agreed, nodding sagely. "But let's just say it involved a lot of proving that I could be a responsible adult when needed."

The blue–green eyed Megumi sighed, “Gojo–sensei, you’re just saying anything and everything.”

Satoru’s eyes twinkled mischievously, embracing Megumi's skepticism with his typical flair for theatricality. “Ah, Megumi, you’ve uncovered my secret,” he declared with an exaggerated bow. “My entire life has been a carefully orchestrated performance designed to woo Genmei!”

Genmei laughed, stepping in with her own playful jab. “And he almost failed the audition, too.” she quipped, winking at the students who were now thoroughly enjoying this rare glimpse into their sensei’s personal life. “He was such a klutz, you know?”

Yuuji, unable to resist joining in, chimed in. His eyes were shining. “So what was the final move, Gojo-sensei? How did you clinch the role well?”

“Well, Yuuji,” Satoru said, adopting the tone of a wise sage sharing ancient secrets, “It involved a lot of strategic thinking, a grand romantic gesture involving perfectly timed sakura blossoms falling like snow, and… a cat.”

“A cat?” Nobara echoed, her eyebrows arching in disbelief. “This is too far-fetched, Gojo–sensei.”

“No no, I’m not. It was a cat,” Satoru nodded solemnly. “You see, wifey here has a soft spot for stray cats. I found the scruffiest, most endearing little stray and presented it to her, claiming it reminded me of myself.”

Genmei rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her amusement. “What he’s not telling you is that the cat immediately scratched him and ran off. It was the most honest review of his character I could have hoped for.”

The students burst into laughter, picturing the usually unflappable Gojo Satoru being bested by a stray cat. It was a laughable thing. But Satoru often does this every time someone asks how they met. Megumi narrows his eyes, almost as though he was having a flashback. Genmei was certain that Satoru had traumatized Megumi enough about it all. He was the one who always gossiped with the school moms, after all.

“See, it’s all about resilience,” Satoru grinned as he continued, totally unfazed. “The key to winning someone over is not giving up, especially if you love someone. Even when attacked by small animals.”

Yuuji shook her head, still laughing. “This feels less like romance and more like a battle strategy, Gojo-sensei.”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “It seems to me that he’s just being crazy.”

“You definitely are correct.” Megumi added, which caused Genmei to snicker.

“Ah, but love is the greatest battlefield of all!” Satoru exclaimed, spreading his arms wide as if embracing the whole world. “And I won the best of the best!”

Genmei gave him a gentle shove, chuckling. “Alright, that’s enough for you. These students came here to learn about Jujutsu, not your questionable courting techniques.”

“But wifey!” Satoru’s pout got even worse. “We’re just starting to have fun!”

“No buts, Satoru.”

Satoru’s exaggerated pout didn’t last long under Genmei’s amused but firm gaze. He knew well enough that his theatrical sulking wouldn’t sway her once she had made up her mind, yet he couldn’t resist playing up for his students. His arms remained crossed, and he huffed dramatically, managing to draw more laughter from the group.

“Oh, I forgot.”

Genmei turned her attention to Megumi, her smile warm and genuine. She reached into her bag and pulled out a small package, the familiar sight of moon cookies that she had thoughtfully brought with her. “Megumi, I remember how much you enjoyed these last time.” she said as she handed him the package. “Arisu oba–sama knew you liked them a lot too. So she gave you a lot.”

Megumi’s typically reserved demeanor softened noticeably at the gesture, and he accepted the cookies with a quiet, “Thank you, Genmei-san.”

Noticing the curious glances from Yuuji and Nobara, Genmei chuckled and handed each of them a cookie as well. “I asked the temple for quite a few of them. I thought it’d be nice to share some with all of you. Just let me know if you’d like more later, okay?”

Yuuji’s eyes lit up as he took a cookie, his usual enthusiasm bubbling over. “Wow, thanks, Genmei-san! These look amazing!” he exclaimed, eagerly taking a bite and nodding in approval.

Nobara, too, accepted the cookie with a smile, her earlier shock at Satoru’s marital status now giving way to appreciation for Genmei’s thoughtfulness. “Thank you, it’s really kind of you to think of us,” she said, tasting the cookie and giving Genmei an approving look.

The light and friendly mood was palpable as each of the students enjoyed the moon cookies, their earlier training session momentarily forgotten in favor of the sweet treat. Genmei started to tell them about moon cookies and how it’s made.

Yuuji was asking questions about the ingredients, but failing – as it was a Mikoto family secret. Nobara was fawning over the cute packaging and taking pictures. Megumi, as he always does with moon cookies, ate them as though he was savoring them. Satoru admits that watching his students and wife interact made his feigned pout slowly transform into a genuine smile. All he has now is his pride and joy.

“See, it’s not just Jujutsu techniques I’m good at sharing,” Satoru quipped back at her, finally uncrossing his arms and stepping closer to join the circle more fully. “I’m also excellent at sharing the best snacks, thanks to my better half here.”

Genmei gave a light laugh, shaking her head at Satoru’s attempt to regain some of the spotlight. “Well, we all have our strengths, dear,” she replied, giving him a playful nudge. “Mine just happens to include giving people the motivation to live.”

The students responded with a mix of laughter and nods, appreciating the familial and caring atmosphere that both Genmei and Satoru brought to what could have been just another grueling day of training. Yuuji, still not quite over the novelty of meeting Genmei, turned to Satoru with a mischievous grin.

“So, Gojo-sensei, does this mean we get snacks at every training session now? Is that part of the curriculum?” he asked, the hopeful tone in his voice eliciting more laughter from his peers.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, then looked at Genmei as if considering the idea. But he laughs soon after. “Well, if my most amazing loving wife is willing to keep supplying, who am I to deny you all such delicious motivation?”

Genmei laughed, amused by the turn of the conversation. “I think that might make the temple suspicious if I start clearing them out of moon cookies every week. But perhaps for special occasions…”

Megumi, who had been quietly enjoying his treat, looked up at her with a tender look in his eyes. Genmei thinks that he’s the most passionate about moon cookies. “It’s a good incentive to perform well, Genmei–san.” he noted, his voice low but clearly suggestive. “It’s good for morale.”

Nobara nodded in agreement, her expression one of mock-seriousness. “Absolutely, I think performance-based rewards could really enhance our training outcomes,” she chimed in, playing along with the theme, with a grin playing on her lips. “You know we’d come out the best in Jujutsu High with this!”

The group continued chatting and joking about potential “cookie rewards” for outstanding Jujutsu sorcery maneuvers. This continued on as the sun went and set, the end of the day just bursting with the conversation that was full of laughter. It was nice to take it easy, that was for sure.

Genmei thinks her years in Jujutsu High were rigid with Gakuganji creating hell for them. But Kaiko and Namie always made it fun. Genmei was glad that they were together, these three. These three were, after all, still kids living this cruel life. It’s the least she could do.

It wasn’t long after that when Satoru thought that the day should end on this high note for the kids. He had them start cleaning up the training materials, but Genmei is scolded him about ordering around the kids and soon enough, the strongest sorcerer of this life time, was carrying bamboo spears back into the storage huts as his wife enjoyed the remainder of the moon cookies he had on his own packet.

“Remember, you’re all welcome to come by anytime you need advice, training tips, or just a friendly chat,” Genmei called out as she and Satoru started to head back. “Just call me, okay? Megumi has my number!”

“I’m not giving it to them.”

Nobara frowned. “Yes, you will! Porcupine, get me your phone, now!”

“Don’t call me that.” Megumi responded back, mirroring her frown.

“Thank you, Genmei-san!” Yuuji called back, waving energetically. “And thanks for the cookies!”

As they walked away, Satoru slipped his arm around Genmei’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “You really made their day, you know,” he murmured softly.

Genmei smiled up at him. “And they just made mine. I’m very glad to see them together, finally.” she replied, her voice filled with warmth. “They reminded me of youth.”

“They really do, don’t they?” Satoru's tone was playful, infused with affection. He smiles down at her too. “But I make you day too, don’t I?”

His wife laughs tenderly at his words. “Yes, yes. You always do.”

“Ah, my wifey is such a beautiful romantic!”

Genmei laughed, the sound mingling with the fading echoes of the bustling campus around them. "Only for you, my love." she responded, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "But I still have to learn to keep up with your dramatic flair somehow."

Satoru grinned, clearly delighted by her comeback. "Ah, but who could resist such charm? And even then, who am I to resist your charm? You keep me grounded, wifey. You always have." His voice softened, the playfulness giving way to sincerity. He squeezed her shoulder a bit more tightly, reinforcing his words with the gentle pressure of his touch.

As the doors behind them closed, shutting off the sounds of the outside world. Satoru and Genmei entered a quieter world within the confines of Satoru's dorm room, a space that often doubled as a strategic meeting point for discussions far removed from the ears of even trusted allies.

The transition from light-hearted banter to serious tension was almost palpable, as if crossing the threshold into the room also required a shift in mindset to address the challenges that lay ahead.

The walls of the room, lined with books and various artifacts from past missions, served as a reminder of the many facets of their lives as sorcerers. Satoru walked over to a map pinned across one wall, dotted with notes and markers, each representing an event or a point of interest that required their attention.

Satoru’s face furrowed with concentration. Her husband somehow liked marking where he goes to missions often. Genmei thinks that she should suggest he get a new map. It was already too full to tell, she couldn’t tell anymore where he hadn’t been just yet. But he’d never replace it. He’s too attached to it. It’s been with him for ten years after all.

Genmei crossed her arms as she observed his focus and slowly approached and stood beside him, her lilac eyes scanning it all. "The stakes are getting higher, Satoru. With the postponement of Yuuji's execution, we've bought some time, but it's only a temporary reprieve," she said, her voice steady despite the weight of their discussion. “But we’ll have to be careful. I’m not sure how long before they’ll break it.”

Satoru nodded, leaning against his desk, his demeanor becoming more contemplative. “I know,” he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. “We can’t let our guard down. I don’t trust them one bit. Not even those elders in Mikoto who said yes.”

Genmei purses her lips. “I know. This will also stir more tensions between us against the higher-ups and the clans. It’s already a controversial thing. They won’t sit quietly with this kind of disruption to the status quo.”

Satoru crossed his arms, his gaze drifting towards the window before returning to meet Genmei. “We need to be vigilant. Some of them might see this as an opportunity to undermine our plans or to push their own agendas more aggressively.”

Genmei nodded, her mind racing through potential scenarios and countermeasures. “We’ll need to keep a close eye on the movements of the clans, especially those who have always been less than supportive of us. And it’s not just the clans—we should be wary of any unusual activity among the higher-ups as well. The kids, we’ll have to have closer eyes on them.”

Satoru pushed off from the desk and started pacing slightly, a sign of his growing concern. He withdraws his blinds and lowers them. Her eyes meet his own. “I agree. We can’t afford any surprises. Yuuji’s case is sensitive, and any misstep could be catastrophic not just for him but for the fragile balance we’ve been trying to maintain at the school and within the wider jujutsu community.”

Genmei watched him pace, her mind equally busy with strategizing. “I’ll start by enhancing our intelligence network. I’ll have Nobuhiko and mother look into everything. I’ll see if I can get in touch with Todo. If there’s even a whisper of a plan against Yuuji or us, even the school, we need to know about it before it becomes a threat.”

Her husband stopped pacing and turned to face her, a determined look on his face. “Let’s also make sure to keep it as quiet as possible. The less, the better. I’ll talk to my mother. I’ll have her watch the higher ups.”

Genmei nodded at her husband as she stepped closer, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “We’ll manage this, Satoru. We’ve faced tough challenges before. We just need to stay one step ahead, as always.”

Satoru’s expression softened slightly, and he placed his hand over hers. “Thank you, darling. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The way Satoru looks at her made her fall in love again.

She pulled him close and wrapped her arms around him.

Satoru felt the scent of vanilla scent, returning the embrace.

“I love you so much.” Genmei whispers to her husband. “I do.”

He grinned at her, kissing her temple. “I love you too, darling.”

He was the only family she truly had; she thinks of it now.

Gojo Genmei thinks that Gojo Satoru was her forever home.

facts about the chapter

ryomen hiromi in her will changed the family name to mikoto, consolidating her second husband's clan with her own. she did so to cut ties with sukuna.

the mikoto clan were always the biggest voice when it comes to the matter of ryomen sukuna. they consider it their duty to see sukuna eradicated from the world.

the mikoto, unlike the rest of the clans, kept their ancestral home in their ancestral province. its still under the ryomen name and all mikoto are expected to spend some time there to train their jujutsu.

ever since her marriage to satoru, it became more apparent that genmei has had conflicting views with the wider jujutsu society. being satoru's wife also means they can't do anything about it.

genmei was the one that adopted nobuhiko in the clan in 2003. she raised him from then on, giving him his name and his position in life.

nobuhiko teaches in kyoto jujutsu high and is in charge of the third years. todo is his student - who is very happy about his answer when asked about his type.

naoki zenin refused to be buried in zenin manor, so the mikoto buried him in their shrine. the zenin had been asking for his body back, but they have always refused.

genmei buried toji with her father after he passed. she thinks its only right that toji and her father are together.

genmei does not have a good relationship with any of her family, except megumi, mai and maki.

genmei has a particular hatred for naoya more than her other uncles. she considers him the most vile.

megumi doesn't like too much sweet things, but he fell in love with the moon cookies when he first visited mikoto manor as a child. he eats it often with black coffee.

genmei is very close to all of satoru's students and considers them as her own children. but genmei is closest to megumi, since she's raised him.

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