#*ೃ:.✧curse being down horrendous
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ੈ✩‧₊˚ being best friends with ! satosugu
gojo satoru, geto suguru
notes # continuing my legacy with my loves <33 mayhaps poly relationship post next 😌 ALSOO there’s a mix of school days and adult hcs so ENJOY!!!!!
ੈ✩‧₊˚ satosugu being the type of best friends to either be walking 5 feet away from you or directly squashing you between them without giving you any space to breathe. suguru tends to keep a safe distance while on walks together, preferring just staying arm to arm whereas satoru ignores any personal boundaries and LOVES to walk while linking arms.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ when there’s no classes and no missions to go on they also invade your dorm to hang out even if it means just being in each others presence even if you’re all on your phones or even having fun little game nights. OR you and satoru love barging in suguru’s room whenever he ignores your texts asking to hang out
ੈ✩‧₊˚ you and satoru love drawing little things on suguru’s face whenever he falls asleep and taking selfies with him passed out on your bed. and it’s all fun and games until he wakes up and chases you guys around with one of his curses
ੈ✩‧₊˚ they LOVE crashing girls nights with you and shoko. gossiping, making cookies, doing some skincare, doesn't matter. THEY ARE THERE!!!!
ੈ✩‧₊˚ gojo cannot shut up around you!!! genuinely whenever you two are together, there is never a silent moment. and when he isn't talking he just starts singing and serenading you until you give him attention
ੈ✩‧₊˚ sometimes you and suguru will have these cute little inside jokes with each other after coming back from a mission without satoru and if you guys ever bring it up in front on him, he will start whining to stop leaving him out and start fake laughing to feel included.
ੈ✩‧₊˚ unfortunate for you but they love posting bad photos of you and will laugh at them in front of you. will probably make a competition of who can take the ugliest one
ੈ✩‧₊˚ sometimes you try to fake flirt with suguru for funsies because he never seems like the type to get flustered easily and he normally never really goes along with it, only pinching your cheek really hard but on the rare occasion that he flirts back, he's so smooth with it that you have to hide your face in your hands while he laughs at you
ੈ✩‧₊˚ if you happened to get injured during a mission, suguru always carries you back to your dorms until satoru complains so that suguru throws him over his shoulder so that he's carrying both of you. everything is fun and games until satoru doesn't shut up and suguru "accidentally" drops him
ੈ✩‧₊˚ they're very much actions over words type of people. satoru says a lot of shit but when it comes down to those deep emotional talks then hes basically useless. so they love doing small things for you that you think they don't notice but you do
ੈ✩‧₊˚ so random but satoru has definitely tried to pull down suguru's pants in public and had failed horrendously
#💭 — talkingtothemoon#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk headcanons#gojo x reader#satoru x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto x reader#suguru x reader#geto suguru x reader#gojo fluff#geto fluff#satosugu x reader#satosugu fluff
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That Unwanted Animal [COD Fantasy AU] CursedKnight!Ghost x fem!Reader
Ghost was cursed ever since his king helped him get back to life from his grave. A stench of death, strong and inescapable, renders him unable to find a woman who will be willing to bed him. What will happen when he finally finds a perfect mate?
CW and Tags: Dub-con, power imbalance, Medieval Fantasy AU, knight!Ghost, servant!Reader, sex work, brothels, dub-con kissing and touching, obsessive Ghost, dark Ghost, basically Ghost finds a girl and forces her to be his, Ghost is a half-dead resurrected knight, soft reader, submissive Reader.
AO3
Word Count: 2209
“I won’t go to him, he smells!”
“Drop the act, princess, not even half of our guests reek of anything more than their drinks and foul meat.”
“You know how he smells, Katherine. You know what he is.”
“What he is, is a client. Rich one. Do you wish to moan under the belly of another failing merchant? Or a peasant’s dick is more to your liking?”
“I bring this place more than half of its earnings! I won’t bed a man who has barely got out of his grave and should be put back!”
Ghost sighs, his head pressed against the wooden wall. For a brothel, this place has remarkably thin walls. For a brothel, girls out here have remarkably potent noses – and acquired tastes for anything that doesn’t taste like a man who was brought back to life with dead souls still clinging onto every inch of his very being.
For a man of his regals – the blessed knight, the cursed knight, the kiss-your-enemies-goodnight, the spill-your-blood-he might, he has a particular choice in the brothel he tried to entertain himself with. Not like any willing woman would bed him without a sum of gold enough to feed a family for months – and not like he stood low enough to force himself on poor servants of his castle, bringing his dignity and family name down with each handmaiden he tried to grope while on meeting with the king.
“Do you think he is really dead?”
“Dead man wouldn’t need a cunt to drown himself in. He had to have something working.”
“Maybe he likes to watch? Or to hurt.”
“Maybe, we can’t afford to turn him down, princess. Drop your act before he is willing to burn us down for refusing him.”
“Well, I heard he went through every brothel in town. Not a single soul bedded him!”
“I heard he doesn’t even like girls. Has his royal knight by his side all day.”
“He came alone.”
“He will be coming alone for the rest of his life with a smell like this!”
“Dark magic. King should have known to not trust the Empire and their lurkings.”
“Having a blessed knight is good, no? We’re not at war.”
“Cursed knight is good in your army, not your bed. But if you are so willing…”
He hears women – from the madam of this fine place, a woman of fine manners, exquisite figure, and the way of looking at him that almost convinces that she doesn’t want to press her fingers against her nose, blocking the smell of death that follows him ever since he became…that. He hears girls of not-so-fine manners, with fine bodies and perfect pretty faces, gentle hands that don’t know about the trials of war. He remembers the way they looked at him – the way they always looked at him.
Scary, horrendous, dangerous. A skull mask and dark tendrils of smoke follow his body, the Grim Reaper himself embedded in his dark armor. No matter how many perfumes he uses, no matter how many washes per day he forces himself onto, nothing can hide the stench of death. He thought he’d be fine with it as long as his battle brothers were with him – as long as he was with them.
Then he got lonely.
Finding a lay in the brothel would be a scandal for a man of his status – but Simon Riley is no man. Not anymore, at least.
“I bet he wears a mask because he is hideous.”
“Maybe he is just wounded?”
“What kind of wound would make him hide his face while not being hideous?”
“Maybe, he just doesn’t want to show his face here.”
“No use. By the dawn, all women in the capital will know about great lord Riley, refuced at every brothel.”
“What if he kills us?”
“What if he burns us?”
“What if he…”
“Let the servant bring him tea. Make her useful.”
Before he could react – as if eavesdropping on a bunch of whores was something of a pleasant chore he was dealing with – a door to his room had opened. Girl, in much simpler clothes than the ones that courtesans were wearing. With a tea tray in her shaky hands, grabbing the poor thing like there was no tomorrow. Huh. Perhaps, with a mug like his as her client, there is no tomorrow for a poor girl.
Ghost sits on the bed, large, muscular legs spread, his dick swaying with attention the longer he is looking at your face. He can’t be picky, not in his state as a not-dead not-man, but he has to admit that you’re pretty. Without all the mannerisms of a prostitute, you look like a poor deer stuck in the predator’s den. Your hands are shaking – but he looks at your face, having no shame in drinking up your expression like a vampire – and he didn’t once saw you wince at the smell. Hm. Must be potent tea you’re serving.
— I didn’t ask for the tea.
Rude, as always – he didn’t come here to be ridiculed by poor attempts at pleasing him without a girl under him, getting her pretty legs open for his cock. He didn’t intend to come here and listen to all of the workers laughing at him like he was a monster – yet, he can’t leave now, his wounded ego grows into something ugly.
— Most of our clients prefer to drink this before the…act. It makes them more potent, as they say.
His cock didn’t have any warm body to dump his semen in years. He doesn’t need tea to make him hard – he sees the glimpse of your skin under those simple robes of yours, and he can already feel it stir, standing up for attention.
— You don’t sound too certain. Your client must not drink it then.
— I…I am not a prostitute, sir. Merely a servant.
He knows already – your makeup is too plain, your manners are off, your clothes are simple grey wool with not a dash of color. If you were his – as a prostitute, a wife, a lover – he would bring you something much brighter and skimpier. You’d look good in silks, he thinks.
Not like you’d allow him to bring you home – not willingly, at least.
— So I figured, love. You’re pretty enough to be one, that’s clear.
“You’re pretty enough to be a prostitute” is a compliment that only sounds good in the head of a man who hasn’t talked sweetly to a woman in ages. His whole life, perhaps, exchanging the embrace of a lady with tight hugs of the war.
— You’re flattering me, sir.
— Bloody hell, woman. Not a flattery if that’s the truth.
— If you say so.
You shift under his gaze like a rabbit in front of an apex predator. Ghost doesn’t want to force any woman to sleep with him – but he looks at the sway of your chest, at the softness of your hips, at the way you tug and scratch on the rough fabric of your skirt as you’re too nervous to look at him…
He must contain himself.
— Why you work as a servant?
— I…tried to be a prostitute, sir. Most clients here don’t like it when you’re not…
He slowly rocks his body closer to you, his head almost laying on your shoulder. He saw the way you looked at him as he leaned to you – you’re surprised, scared, but not disgusted. your nose didn’t twitch a single time, and he is sure that no tea would ever make you this blind to the stench of death lingering on your shoulder now.
There must be something wrong with you – and he wants to save you like a rare treasure because of it.
— Most clients here don’t like what, luv?
— I…have damage, sir.
So he figured. Just didn’t exactly know what you have.
— What is it?
— A…after a bad cold, my sense of smell…never returned. Not for the last three years.
— You don’t smell anythin’? Must be bloody hard.
— It is. But…I manage. As much as I can.
He slowly drapes his hand over your shoulder – you wince at the touch. He thinks of the madam of your fine establishment. The woman didn’t seem the type to beat her girls, but you had such a shy, scared expression as he started to touch you, he can’t wait to burn this fucking place to the ground. Maybe spare a few of your friends if you’d ask him nicely. You won’t be working here again, ever – that much he can be sure of.
— Doin’ a good job, love.
— I hope so, sir.
He drags his hand on your face, squeezing the soft skin of your cheek. You’re adorable – servants shouldn’t be so pretty, it makes him feel bad, it makes him sinful. He should try to hit on the girls who actually work here – not the poor soul that as sent here to bring him here, as a little lam sacrificed to a vicious god.
— You don’t smell me, then?
— I don’t smell anything, my lord.
He chuckles, but your pained expression only makes him chuckle more. Poor thing, living in a place like this without a sense of smell – he can’t believe how you could survive without the smell of heavy incense and creams that all of the whores were using. He loves it when a pretty girl is making herself even prettier – makeup, all of those little elixirs they are putting on their faces, the flowery smells that make his rotting existence a bit easier. It never worked on him, on his disintegrating skin and stench that followed him everywhere – but then it dawned on him.
You have such an adorable, shy smile and a small posture, playing with the edges of your clothes like a girl who is extremely embarrassed to be in a room with a man of his position. But women aren’t shy in his presence, not anymore – they are disgusted, horrified, they want to put their noses into little candy boxes and smell roses just to get rid of the smell.
But you, adorable creature, aren’t disgusted. Hell, how he missed a pretty girl being so shy around him.
Ghost kisses you before he can think of anything else. Before he could give you space to escape, to come to your senses and understand what kind of man he is. Broken, wounded, pushed to the cage, and locked with a key dangling from the side – god knows, Simon Riley isn’t a good man, never tried to be. Devil knows, he will drag you to the grave with him.
Your lips are soft, untouched, you smell of cleaning supplies and sweet tea. Your hair smells like roses and dust, your hands are covered in little scabs – probably from the days spent cleaning and doing the hard work. He will make sure you will never have to work again, not with your hands, at least – he will kiss your callouses and nourish the skin into something delicate, fragile, to the smell of home he lost long ago.
Your mouth tastes like heaven, and Ghost isn’t a man who deserves to push this angel further, isn’t a man who deserves to have a pretty girl moaning under him. He makes you cry, he terrifies you, he kisses you relentlessly and can feel the way your skin burns, tears streaming down your face. If he was a better man, he would oblige to your hands, pushing him away, your mouth is trying to cry for help.
Simon Riley isn’t a good man, and he pushes you on your back, firms hands on your back, on your hips, touching, groping, feeling the skin of a somewhat willing woman. You’re scared, but you should know the kind of job girls here are doing – he didn’t pay all of this money for charity projects, after all. As much as he would pay even more gold just to take you away, to push your legs apart in a scenery much nicer than a room in a brothel. You deserve a real bed, a nice dress that he can rip away from you,
All you get is his hands on your body, ripping your simple skirt apart because he can’t wait to get to the soft skin underneath. He looks at you, precious girl, as adorable as you are, and can’t resist kissing you, stealing breath from your skin. When he finally hears you moan, when his hand goes to grab the softness between your legs – moist, prepared, smelling of roses and arousal, of all things sweet and sinful – all of his sense of self-control shatters.
He will take you on the floor of this room – over and over, claim you as his little maiden, his favorite girl, until he is sure his cursed, rotten seed has filled you to the brim. He will take you away, bringing as much money to your madam as he can manage, buying you all for himself – taking you as his prized possession for the new castle he was ordered to as a lord knight.
Ghost will make you his, hells and heaven be damned.
You cry, but he knows you’ll come around. And he can be very, very patient.
#cod#cod x reader#call of duty#cod x you#yandere cod#ghost x reader#yandere ghost#simon ghost riley#ghost#dark ghost#dark cod#fantasy#yandere male#male yandere
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→ Home.
gif credit.
pairing: soldier boy/ben x wife!reader.
rating: fluff, implied smut.
warning: bens's pov, very soft ben, implied pregnant sex, praising, horny reader, antiquated mentality....
word count: 2.4k
summary: ben's discovering new life affairs while expecting his first baby.
tagging: @zepskies
→ masterlist | ao3
Soldier Boy guzzled down his third raw drink before he decided to call it a day and go home. He took off his supe gear and changed into more casual clothes in the dressing room in his quarters at Vought's tower after he took a quick shower. He shook his head with a sneer when he tugged the shirt above his head, remembering her telling him —bossing him— that he wasn't to come home stinking with blood and cigars and whiskey and Vought. Soldier Boy didn't take shit from anyone, but he found himself helpless against her wishes—orders. He was grinning though, amusedly so. Sometimes he wondered where his obedient and good wife went. He liked that version of her, nonetheless.
Though he liked to think that his baby was igniting her wild spirit, his pretty wife seemed to have gotten quite sensitive to strong scents, and her stomach grew weak ever since he got her pregnant with their first child four months ago. It was chiselled in his mind; the memory of her hoping onto his chest with happy shrieks when he returned from work affirming the news.
He had been sensing the baby's presence for a week thanks to his superhuman senses before that, and he'd told her that night to go check on it with a doctor. They were eagerly trying to have a baby so it was of no surprise, but it still pulled a huge smile on his lips and made pride swell in his chest. He was going to be a father in nine months. The thing he wanted to be the most.
But as it turned out, pregnancy wasn't as magical as his mind fantasised to be. It wasn't all fuzzy and beautiful like he imagined. He cursed the damn commercials for that. Fucking marketing.
The first couple of months were rough. Morning sickness, vomiting, ungodly cravings at ungodly hours, horrendous mood swings, and worst of all; minimum intimacy. She'd become fragile unlike her nature. And she got overly concerned that he might hurt the baby whenever he suggested penetrative sex. Orals were, certainly, out of the equation. It was both frustrating and maddening to say the least. He was a fucking man and had needs. The best he could get was quick and not so enthusiastic handies from time to time when she could provide. Long story short, he was growing blue balls from the ordeal. Fuck, he used to make fun of men who couldn't get laid properly. The irony had such an impact on his ego; his pride of being a fucking man.
It was not easy for someone like him to stay faithful to his partner. He rarely recognised commitment before he met her, and being surrounded by blatant temptations all the time didn't make things any better. He could have anyone at any time, ladies would eagerly kneel and suck him off without a question if he wanted them to. But he'd be damned if he wasn't in charge of his own self. He'd be damned if he dared to break her heart. He'd be damned if he ruined his family, a family he never thought he'd ever have, for such vagaries.
In time, however, pregnancy did prove itself to be the most beautiful of all affairs. Surprisingly so. Whenever he spooned her up hugging her from behind, he found odd tranquillity of hearing hers and the babe's rhythmical heartbeats, or when he caressed her bumping tummy, feeling his child's life forming inside of her body, a creature they both made, lack of sex seemed to be durable and trivial at some point. Something he himself wouldn't believe before. But here he was. His disgust and appal from what pregnancy entailed gradually dissipated and were replaced with zeal and thrill. And most certainly, he enjoyed the changes of her body the most. Ben just loved the way her boobs were swelling up with milk, and the way her stomach was flourishing with his child. Boob massage was something he greatly took pleasure in. Kneading her sore breasts while hearing her moans of relief. He'd come to learn that intimacy could be found in many other things than sex.
Ben noticed he'd come to hating every moment he spent away from them. His temper got much worse, his teammates observed. And he became more aggressive than he already was when fighting crime. The happiest moment of his day was when he dropped the shield and took the helmet off to head home, where his beautiful wife would be eagerly waiting to have dinner with him even though most of the nights he'd come home and find her dozing off on the couch where she'd been waiting for him. He'd carry her to their bedroom and have dinner by himself — he skipped that very often — then slip right behind her on the bed holding her close to his body. The concept of coming back home to someone was so much alluring to him. He felt his life was complete. Real.
Ben arrived at their penthouse, assuming he'd find her soundly sleeping while she stayed awaiting him. He didn't announce his return loudly as he used to do before the pregnancy. He didn't want to wake her up. But much to his surprise — and delight, Ben found the place dimly lit with scented candles, sensuous silence prevailing within the air.
Ben's eyes glimmered, and an instant wolfish grin slipped into his lips when his eyes landed on his wife's figure as she clambered down the stairs. A thin, short gown with a raunchy red colour hugged her frame, its fabric was so thin that he could see her skin glowing through the red. Her breasts were full, putting her cleavage on more display. Whereas the bump of her belly was deliciously visible. Her hair was neatly styled and spruced up and her pretty face was elegantly painted with make-up.
“Welcome home, Ben,” She warbled with a smile, eyes filled with sultry desire as she strolled down to him. He was dazzled by her appearance, he was practically eating her with his eyes. Fuck, pregnancy did make her much prettier. “Hope you didn't have dinner yet 'cause I made you something special tonight.”
Her palm grazed his stubbled cheek. Ben leaned into her touch, pressing a gentle kiss to her palm, a grin gracing his mouth. “'Course I didn't. Why the fuck would I eat outside when I have a capable wife like you at home?”
She giggled gleefully at his statement as he pulled her flush against his body. He eyed her with a hazed gaze. Her mouth was luring him in, deliciously so. He liked that lipstick shade on her lips so much. He couldn't but to give in to the utter temptation. Ben tilted his head down and captured them in a burning kiss. An instant moan escaped her throat as his mouth passionately pressed to hers. Her arms encircled his neck, hands combing through his brown hair. He synced their heads for a better angle, and deepened the kiss, tongue slipping into her warm mouth. His hands brushed her sides then her ass.
He broke the kiss momentarily and she gasped vehemently. He could hear the rapid pace of her heart and the gushing blood through her vein, pooling down in her groin. He crushed her lips again, hands travelling up to remove the dress but she squealed and pulled back.
“Benjamin, dinner's gonna get cold!” She laughed again when he buried his face in her neck, kissing her skin softly.
“Is that really what you're fucking concerned about now?” He grumbles in a teasing tone.
She giggled, “Should I be concerned about something else—woah!” Ben grabbed her hips and lifted her effortlessly, heading to the living room with her pretty legs around his hips. His lips plundering hers again all the way until they reached the couch where he sat with her straddling his lap. The kiss went wild once they settled comfortably on the couch. His big hands stroked her thighs ardently. They trailed up to her ass giving it a firm squeeze and she moaned in his mouth, plucking the rim of her satin panties. He smirked into the kiss, fingers tracing down to her core. His grin widened when he met her bare cunt.
“Oh, baby,” He rasps when she rolls her hips slowly, pressing her cunt on his clothed cock, “Aren't you a pretty fucking tease?” He tugged at the lip of the crotchless panties, a mischievous grin playing on his mouth.
She guffawed with a coquettish tilt of her head, and his cock twitched in an immediate response. However, the innocent look on her face opposed the tortuous pace of her hips. She was fucking tantalising him with those hips. And he fucking liked it despite the screaming urge growing in his chest to flip her over and fuck her raw. Oh, she did like it rough, the little slut. She liked to be beneath him and beg him to go harder and faster, to yank her hair and make her choke on his dick. She loved how he manhandled her with his superhuman strength despite being only a human, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't take great pleasure in it too. Ben's nothing if doesn't live to be in charge. He'd been shocked that a tiny woman like her could handle him as such. But he was quick to remember that she was with his fucking child. He couldn't go rough on her like he used to do even if they both craved it.
She didn't stop her torment as her delicate hands rested on his shoulders for support. He could smell the sweet scent of her arousal soaking his crotch and he growled, “Holy fuck, you gonna let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours, or you planning on making me cream my pants?”
Her lips twisted wickedly, “Depends,”
“On fucking what?” He grunted, brows furrowed, puzzled. He was way too hard and drunk by her scent to clearly think or read between her lines, “Baby, you're fucking killing me here.”
“Aw, am I to seal the greatest era of America's history?” She giggled again, “What an honour.”
Then it clicked. The fucking slut. She was tempting him to ravish her. Maybe he should, but again, he worried about her and the child. Because honestly, he wasn't so sure if he could restrain himself if he unbridled that side of his.
Then his mouth splitted in a huge grin, brushing his cheek to hers to grumble in her ear, “The only honour you're gonna get is milking my cock empty in that slutty pussy of yours.” He chuckled triumphantly when he sensed her shivering in delight. Leaning his head backward, he saw her chewing on her lower lip adorably with a cute pinkish red dusting across her face, whereas her eyes were searing with covetousness. Ben pecked her nose and lifted her up again, gently. She trilled a series of choppy laughters and playfully kicked her legs when he carried her to their bedroom.
Needless to say, she took whatever honour he bestowed upon her like a champ.
He was craving a whiff of a cigar. He used to smoke after a good fuck in bed, she'd even share him a couple of drags sometimes. But since it was off the table — temporarily — he focused on and enjoyed her fingers running on his chest.
Fuck, pregnant sex did feel amazing. He gotta admit. He did hear from here and there that a woman with child, at some point of her pregnancy, would be touched by sudden and high libidinousness. But fuck, didn't that catch him off guard. And fuck, if he didn't enjoy it down to the last minute detail. And dare he say, it was the best sex he ever had. It was perfect; she was perfect.
Never did he think that he'd find home, his real home in a simple elementary school teacher he met on one of his tours throughout the country. A beautiful and smart woman who always kept him on his toes and had him wrapped around her pretty fingers.
Ben smiled and kissed the crown of her head, and slowly, it turned into a trail of kisses down her face. Then he captured her lips, and soon enough, they were engaging in a heated make-out session.
“Ben,” She whispered as she gazed at him, voice a bit hoarse from screaming and crying beneath him for hours.
His hand was rubbing circles on her ass languidly, “What is it, dollface?” He drawls with a thick voice.
“Sorry for not being a good wife for you the last couple of months.” She said meekly, bringing his hands to cradle them in hers, while he just frowned at her words, “They were tough times on me, on us.” She sighed, pressing light kisses on his rough hands, “But everything's gonna be set right again, I promise.”
Ben's frown only got deeper when he noticed the lick of fear and desperation in her eyes and voice. Fuck, she was scared shitless. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His wife was scared if he was screwing around on her because of her lack of attention due to the pregnancy, for she used to shower him with doting and devotion as a good wife did. Fuck, did he, by any mean, do anything wrong to arise such qualms in her? He certainly did not. Then he fucking remembered that nasty reputation of his that proceeded him.
Fuck, gotta reassure her and chill her the fuck down. He can't have her in such a position. He can't have his home in such a precarious, dark place. Not after what the two of them had done to build what they had up. He wouldn't allow it.
“Hey,” He passed rough-padded thumbs under the lines of her eyes, palms caressing her cheeks, “Nothing went fucking wrong to set back right, sweetheart,” Then he gave her belly tender strokes, “You're an amazing wife,”
She was; everyday she woke up, five in the morning, to prepare him a delicious-ass breakfast. She took it upon herself to be his barber and shaved his beard almost everyday and trimmed his hair every now and then. She was patient when he wasn't. She embraced him when he was practically a walking ticking bomb. She patched him up — when needed — at night when he'd return to her roughed up from fighting crimes. She soothed him down when frustrated and angry. She took his bad temper and relieved it thoroughly. She was everything. She was home.
Ben's finger flicked her nose playfully, “As I'm fucking sure yer gonna be an amazing hot momma,”
Ah, here it was, the sheepish smile that reached her eyes. He'd fucking cherish it forever.
He kissed her forehead, “You're perfect; my perfect wife, my perfect home.”
#soldier boy x female reader#soldier boy/ben#soldier boy fic#soldier boy#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy fanfiction#soldier boy smut#soldier boy x fem reader#soldier boy x y/n#soldier boy x you#soldier boy imagine#the boys smut#the boys imagine#the boys soldier boy
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Fifteen, what an age to be alive. Dad!Levi
Summary: Steal your father's car! What could go wrong?
Author note: Since the Marley world seemed to be around the 30s-40s, I’ll set this idea in a world that looks like the mid-50s. This is POST WAR.
Warnings: Cursing 'cause Levi, obv. And slightly mention of a group taking advantage of a girl, nothing really happens and there's no graphic description at all.
Word count: 3.9k
Pairing: Dad! Levi x Mom! Reader
His hands gripped the big round wheel of the car as his eyes scanned the dark night with a nervous smile, quickly turning into clenched teeth. His attention shifted to the passenger seat, soft as if it was a scene from one of the horror pictures he saw at the drive-in.
A light blond girl lay unconscious, her head resting against the door, appearing lifeless. She wore a typical sleeveless red button-up shirt and very short white shorts, with white socks crumpled down to double-coloured loafers. Her hair was still in a ponytail, exposing her face completely. It was August, plain summer break, and he knew that most of his classmates wore shorts or even swimsuits at the pool or beach. But somehow, her exposure made him blush and feel ashamed, as if even staring felt wrong.
Turning to the back seat of the car, he picked up his letterman jacket and placed it on top of her, covering her as much as possible. It looked big on her, and somehow, Adrien blessed every deity mentioned; he probably was inheriting his father’s uncle’s height and not his father's, a fact becoming rather obvious every day, as he was only 15 and already almost 1.80m.
“Calm down, Adie… you got this,” he whispered to himself, “I’ve no idea what I'm going to do but I got it.”
How did he get into this situation? It was supposed to be a silly night out; one of his friends invited him to a party of the seniors who were graduating from high school that year. What was the issue if he was just a freshman? Fifteen, eighteen, it’s the same! Plus, it was some party at some old forgotten building, half destroyed during the rumbling around ten years ago, in the middle of nowhere. Nothing wrong with that.
Yes, perhaps he stole his father’s keys and car. Yes, perhaps he lied about sleeping in his room. Yes, maybe he stole a bit (a lot) of money from his parents. “I mean… deep down, it’s my father’s fault for not allowing me to come legally,” Adrien argued with his own reflection in the car's mirror.
But everything went downhill when he saw a group of guys dragging a girl who was clearly not feeling well and decided to step in. Now, here he was, the party had turned into a mess as the fight happened, he got kicked out with an unconscious girl, and who knew what they had given her. He hit his forehead against the wheel as time slipped through his fingers; he was supposed to be back home already.
“Fucking shit! Who told me to step in!” he cursed under his breath. Deep down, he knew stepping up for what he had been told was horrendously wrong, knowing he had the strength to fight those assholes back. ‘The curse of being a fucking Ackerman, man,’ he thought.
He had done the right thing, at least one right thing during the entire night, but now he had to face the consequences. Muffled cries mixed with distressed groans filled the car, “My father is going to kill me!”
His forehead kept hitting the wheel repeatedly as if that would knock some common sense into him or perhaps give him a concussion and fake that he had been kidnapped or something. Surrounded by trees in a dead-end road, it wasn’t even paved. Only the footprints of multiple cars to follow back to civilization. The distressed teen didn’t even know where he was; his older friend had guided him there and left with his girlfriend at some point of the party.
Slowly raising his head up again to admire the endless kilometres of dim nothing, contemplating his options, seizing his courage. “Come on, Adie. Be a man, be a man!”
The trees’ branches creaked in the middle of the night, the car slightly swayed under the strong summer wind. “I want my mommy,” he muttered.
Hand on the wheel and turning on the car, one step at a time, he took a deep breath and then decided to go out on the road again. Forgotten somewhere, his father’s car’s papers and driver's license. In them it read “Levi Ackerman.”
Each branch from the forest that scraped the car was a personal pain, praying to any god's existence that it didn’t scratch it. Of course, his father had filled up the tank, obviously he had. Levi was like that, always cautious. Adrien did a personal wish his father had a map stored in the glove compartment, but obviously, he didn’t. After all, Levi knew the streets of the city like the back of his hand. He drove a lot, especially since his legs weren’t what they used to be anymore. Perhaps he didn’t need any support for walking any longer, but walking long distances wasn’t in Levi’s plans anymore.
“Perhaps I can… drive to the hospital, leave her, and like run away,” he contemplated, before groaning loudly, “No, I can’t do that. God, I’m dead.”
‘I could have walked away, but no, Mr. Adrien Ackerman has to be a hero. Mr. Ackerman has to do the right thing.’
Adrien had driven twice in his life; this one was the second. The first was a few years ago when his father sat him down on his lap and let him do it for a little bit. He was happy he hadn’t encountered much traffic and only had to drive ahead because he wasn’t completely sure yet what the third pedal was for.
“I got it, do not worry,” he said, trying to sound reassuring to the unmoving girl on his right. Adrien’s grey eyes checked on her from time to time, but she seemed deeply asleep, or so he hoped. “I’ll get to the hospital in no time, and you’ll be alright,” he promised.
His smile created a couple of dimples on each side of his face, but it quickly faded as fear kicked in. “And if you’re not alright, do not worry. I’ll throw myself off a bridge, and we can be not alright together,” he kept joking as if, by some miracle, the girl would reply.
He didn’t even know her name, and somehow, that made him feel even guiltier. As civilization began to appear and the sky began to lighten up, he lost hope of not dying at the hands of his own progenitor, but he was also hopeful that at least he was getting somewhere without crashing. The sun hadn’t shown up yet, but the deep blue of the sky had a particular glow to it that made it imminent.
The streets were deserted, and rightfully so; it was the middle of the night on a Monday. Adrien tried to park the car as best as he could, finally reaching the only hospital he somehow remembered the route to. Rushing to the other door, he carefully picked her up.
When he crossed the doors of the main hospital, which was almost empty at those hours, the doctors on duty quickly took her in, some searching for identifications inside her clothes. The police officer at the front gates forbade him from leaving the place.
“Alright, please hand me your ID,” the front gate secretary asked after informing him that the girl was out of danger, but she would have to stay for monitoring. Adrien’s suspicious silence made the woman raise her eyes from the form she was filling out to look at him. “You know that carrying IDs is obligatory, right?”
“Yes, madam…” He felt his palm sweating as he feared being taken to the police station.
“How old are you?”
Her voice sounded calm but tired as she quickly understood the issue, “… eighteen.”
With a loud sigh, she took off her cat-eye red glasses and then slowly blinked back at him. “Look kid, I’ve been on night watch for three days straight. I’ve no energy to deal with this.”
Adrien’s eyes remained glued to the floor, feeling small despite his stature. “… fifteen,” he admitted reluctantly.
Her unpleasant groans echoed in the empty walls that reeked of disinfectant. He slowly turned to the gates, and the security guys began to chuckle as they drank coffee. Feeling the need to clarify, he said, “I swear it wasn’t me who hurt her.”
“Kid, people who drug girls don’t carry them to hospitals,” she replied disinterestedly, pouring the information into the typewriter, the typing echoing in the place. Finally, she picked up a post-it with a pencil and raised it to the top of the reception table. “Your parents' contact number, please.”
Her eyes quickly moved to him and then back to her writing as he hesitated to fill out the paper. “You know I’ve done nothing; can’t I just go?” Adrien insisted, trying to escape the situation.
“Kid, you’re breaking national curfew and walking around without identification. A responsible adult must come and sign for you to leave; otherwise, you’ll live here until you turn 18.”
“Could you at least wait until 9 am to call my mother’s work number?” He smiled awkwardly, trying to find a way to avoid his father’s rage. The secretary looked up at the clock; it wasn’t even 5 am and then back to him, deadly. Unpleasant complaining groans echoed as he reluctantly wrote his house’s telephone number. “Sorry.”
Sat down at one of those uncomfortable waiting room’s seats with a latte and chocolate donut he brought at the cafeteria, he waited as someone waits to be hanged. The doctors and nurses moved here and there attending to the few people that came in with emergencies. Until the secretary walked by and said, “Your father picked up the phone; he said that getting the car and coming this way.”
Adrien’s grey eyes quickly turned in fear to check out of the window, grimacing uneasily as he admired the family's car parked outside. “Great…”
The longer it took, the more Adrien knew he was in trouble. Pressing his eyes closed and clenching his jaw, as if he could already feel the kick in his ass. Despite the nerves, his head bobbed forward as he fell asleep, and the tug of falling forward snapped him back awake. At some point, he rested his head on the joined seat and fell asleep, mouth open.
The front gates snapping open woke him up, and he wished to make himself smaller so he could hide behind the back of the seats. But as he turned backwards, Levi was at the front desk talking to the secretary and security guards. His dark hair was a mess, and it seemed like he had just put on some shoes and a shirt because he still had the pyjama pants on. Outside, the cap that his father had probably been forced to take there.
As the secretary picked up the forms for him to fill, his father quickly raised his grey eyes to shoot him across the room the deadliest glance he had yet to witness. ‘Goodbye everybody, it was nice knowing you.’
Avoiding facing death, Adrien remained seated, giving his back, but he quickly heard the footsteps of his father, characterized by the slight hobble he had after the war. With his presence looming, he looked down at Adrien, who slowly raised his attention up.
Smiling innocently, “Hi, dad.”
Levi didn’t smile back; quite the opposite, he frowned even more and extended his right hand that was missing two fingers. “My fucking keys.”
The teen searched for them inside his jeans and quietly handed them over with puppy eyes. Levi snapped them, but his hand didn’t withdraw. “And my damn money.” Repeating the same action but with the bills, Levi grabbed them and began to count. “And the rest?”
Adrien mumbled some incoherent groans as he refused to make eye contact. “Tch,” Levi clicked his tongue and gripped his shirt neck, raising him from his seat, pushing him to the exit. “Get in the fucking car.”
The walk of shame only accentuated as his father's angry tone didn’t match the polite one he used to greet the secretary and guards on his way out. He cowered in the passenger seat, trying to make himself a tiny ball as Levi slammed the door shut. Loud sighs that didn’t withdraw the deep frown before he turned on the car again.
“You’re so fucking wrong if you think I’ll stand this type of behaviour; I'm telling you,” Levi spat the words as he drove back home. “What the hell were you thinking?!”
“Adrien!” Levi insisted as the kid didn’t even reply, looking to his right as he waited at a red light. “You don’t want to talk? Fine, fucking ungrateful brat. You know how fucking worried your mother was when we received a call from the shitty hospital? Eh?”
“The drive-in the other day, the supposed hang out at your friend’s house that you were never fucking there, and now this. Are you fucking proud?” the ex-captain of the scouts kept going as his eyes were glued to the road despite only one of them working anymore. “You’re grounded, you’re so fucking grounded that I’ll fucking die, and you’ll have to get a damn Ouija board to contact me to see if you can go out to buy groceries.”
The teen just silently rolled his eyes as the long list of unhappiness of his father about his behaviour couldn’t care less. “Don’t you dare to roll your eyes on me, brat. You heard me? Drop that fucking attitude.” Somehow his father always seemed to have eyes everywhere. “Happy now? You ruined your entire summer break; beg all you want later on. You’re not leaving the house.”
“As if you’d let me go out anyway,” Adrien murmured mockingly under his breath.
“What?” Levi demanded. “If you’re going to have the guts to steal MY car, MY money, and break MY orders, then grow the guts to speak the fuck up.”
“That you never let me go anywhere!” Adrien shouted back angrily.
“For what? To go to this damn party in the middle of nowhere to hang out with fucking rapists and get
shit-faced?” Levi argued back. “You think I was born yesterday? I know exactly which places I don’t want you to get involved with. You think you’ve everything figured out, but that’s not it, Adrien! You’re 14! Fourteen!”
“I’m fifteen!”
“You turned fifteen two weeks ago, for fuck’s sake!” Levi shouted, slightly turning to his right before focusing back on the road. “I’m telling you, better fix your attitude or this is not going to end well. You may be getting big and feel cocky, but you won’t play smart-ass with me. You can grow up to be as tall as the fucking Colossal Titan, and yet you would do whatever the fuck I tell you!”
“I did the right thing! I stood up for her; I’m not stupid enough to do whatever my classmates do. Why can’t you see that?!” Adrien complained as they reached the front of the house, and Levi stopped the car.
“’Cause you were stupid enough to steal my car even when you don’t know how to fucking drive!” Levi complained as he got out of the car, walking to the front door. He kept going with the lecture but lower as he didn’t want to wake up the neighbours. “You don’t like it? Choose another father in your next life; in this one, it’s me, and I’m not going to let my teenage kid not give a fuck about the decisions I take. I’ve gone through too much shit for a fucking brat to tell me what I believe is the best for them.”
They both walked in, and Levi locked the door behind them. The room was still dim for the early hours, and their dog greeted them enthusiastically. The keys dropping at the front plate echoed loudly, and the tuxedo cat of the family finally appeared to rub himself against the legs of the teen, who quietly picked him up. Y/N quickly rushed to check on her kid.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you somewhere?” She seemed clearly agitated, and Adrien remained with his eyes glued to the floor.
“No, mom,” he murmured, downcast. “I’m fine.”
“Oi, to your damn room,” Levi quickly ordered. “and clean it up; I won’t say it again.”
The kid left, cursing under his breath as he went upstairs and slammed the front door shut.
“What happened?” she asked Levi, who was preparing himself a tea to calm down, enveloping herself in a negligee.
“What happened? That kid is driving me nuts, that’s what's happening,”
Y/N sighed loudly, positioning herself behind her husband and running her hands through his arms, seeking to provide some comfort. She then switched to hugging him from behind. “He’s going through a phase… his new classmates are mostly kids who survived the rumbling, and some of them aren’t the best influence. He just wants to fit in, you know how important that is at his age.”
“Tch,” Levi kept facing the countertop, murmuring as the anger didn’t quickly wash away. But eventually, he closed his eyes and sighed loudly as the adrenaline slowed down. “The audacity of that kid, where the hell does he get it?”
Y/N couldn't help but chuckle against his back, “MH, I wonder,” she said sarcastically. “If they were still around, perhaps we could have asked some senior MPs… perhaps they could enlighten us on how you were as a teen,”
“I wasn’t like that,” Levi softly replied, almost ashamed of the point out.
“No haha you were worse,” Y/N was entertained as she kissed his shoulder blades tenderly. “Or do I have to remind you how you made me sneak out to meet you after curfew?”
“That’s different…”
Forcing him to turn around to place a kiss on his scar as she caressed his face softly, “He’s your kid,” she murmured against his lips. “He hates to be told what to do and has the strength to know he can get out of almost any situation. Asking him to be submissive is like asking him not to be an Ackerman; he got it in his genes,”
Levi just groaned, accepting the caress, her loving his face as if he was brand new and the residues of the war had never happened.
Days passed by, and while the mood in the house was slowly returning to calmness, the punishment still stood, and Adrien was reading in his bedroom, suffering the heat of summer without being able to go out with his friends. He couldn’t even play his record player because if in normal cases his father tolerated him to play his favourite bands loudly, now he was almost cursed to quietness. Levi didn’t seem to be very fond of Rock; perhaps Paradise music was too behind, and the period of adaptation was lacking. It sounded like loud noise to him.
A quiet knock at the front door was heard, mostly because the dog that was resting beside him in his bed raised hastily and rushed downstairs. The noise was almost imperceptible as his father was vacuuming the living room’s carpet while his mother prepared dinner. Adrien was about to raise himself from his bed and open the door himself, but the overwhelmingly loud noise of the vacuum stopped, so he guessed his father was on it.
Levi opened the front door without checking; he had faced so many adversities in life that he hardly doubted that anyone who rang his bell at 6 pm on a Thursday in their quiet family neighbourhood was a threat. “Yes?” he crossed his arms as he admired the young girl at the front gates. She was wearing the usual outfit of the time, white and brown loafers, crumpled low white socks, an inflated pastel yellow skirt that was tightly around her waist with a white blouse. The matching light cardigan was hanging from her shoulders, but she didn’t seem to put it on, another thing that Levi thought was some stupid new fashion trend from teens. That and his son’s imperious necessity to fold the sleeves of his t-shirts. High ponytail and blushed cheeks.
“Good evening, Mr. Ackerman,” The girl greeted him with kindness and politeness.
“Hello,” Levi replied, almost uninterested, his usual unfriendly nature not withdrawn even after years of not being on service.
“I was wondering if Adrien is at home,” she asked, and Levi wished he could roll his eyes at how almost immediately the girl blushed at the mention of his son’s name. “I’m the girl from the other night; I wanted to thank him…” seeing Levi’s slight frown at the memory of that early morning, she nervously added, “And you, of course, for what he did for me,” The young girl handed a package that was easily deduced to be a cake.
“He’s grounded,” Levi quickly replied. “And you don’t need to thank him; he did the only right thing to do. I don’t raise abusers,”
“Oh…” the disappointment in her voice was palpable, “Well, but please at least take the cake? For all the inconvenience,”
“No, kid, it’s alright-”
“Hi, sweetie! Adrien will be down in a minute!” Y/N popped behind Levi, slightly pushing him to the side and smiling softly at the girl. “Do you want to wait inside?”
Levi looked at his wife, confused and slightly offended by how quickly she overstepped him in the conversation.
“Ah, no, it’s alright; I don’t want to be a bother-”
Adrien appeared behind his parents, wondering what the whole issue was, and his mother quickly pushed him forward. “There he is!” She added while tugging Levi back inside. “Let’s give him some space,” she whispered to her husband, who was refusing to move.
“Oi,” Levi complained as he was forced back inside.
Both parents faking to be doing something in the living room to not be seen; Levi wasn’t spying, but his wife was. “She’s so cute,” she whispered, “and she’s crushing so much on him.”
Levi clicked his tongue, “He’s tall. All girls of that age crush on tall boys,” he argued back.
Y/N chuckled and turned to look at him, “talking from experience?”
“Ha ha,” Levi faked a sarcastic laugh. “He’s supposed to be grounded,”
“Shh, I can’t hear!” She hushed him back and then moved slightly as Levi joined her next to the window.
“Great,” Levi said annoyed, “she’s fucking bonnie,”
Confusion was written all over his wife's face as she grimaced dazed and raised an eyebrow, silently asking how those words could be said with such disappointment.
“Now I won’t only have to buy him all those stupid vinyl records, textbooks, and uniforms for the school team, but I’ll also have to start buying condoms; there goes my fucking salary,”
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JJK mens dirty little secret
A/n: I really put my whole pussy in this.
Warning: Cuckholding (nanami makes a cameo), mommy kink, Noaya being a whiny bitch, pussy drunk sukuna, cheating, domination, cheating, orgasm denial, sub space, mating press, jacking off
Characters: Gojo satoru, Toji Fushiguro, Geto suguru, Sukuna, Noaya Zenin
Gojo Satoru
Is a cuck
ESPECIALLY when it comes to his best friend Geto or nanami
Dont get him wrong, he loves fucking you, but something about the taboo of it all, gets him going
He will sit back, jack off while he watches you whine and cry for his attention while your being fucked
"Feeling good baby? Gojo coos from across the room. You can barley see him through your eyes filled with with fat tears. You open your mouth to say something but your words come out gargles when Nanami dick touches a part of you that makes your toes curled.
"Cant fucking beleive you talked me into this." Nanami grunts, his eyes trained on the way your wet pussy takes his cock; a ring of cum accumating around your hole with every thrust.
"Aw dont complain, I know your loving this." Gojo chuckles with a grin.
Noaya Zenin
Sub with mommy issues and in denial about it
And its BAD too
For someone who goes on and ON about men being above women, he sure does LOVE being under one
You werent even particually a dom in the first place, but after meeting noaya, who wouldnt want to put that infuriating man in his place
It was hard to make out Noaya's silent pleas through the sound of wet skin on skin as you glided your hand up and down his dick. You marvle at the endless stream of white pre cum that spills from his pink tip and decide and wrap your lips around the tip as you continued to slowly jack him off.
"P-please, go faster" Noaya groans, the legs in his muscles tensing. You release his tip with a pop and glance up at him with dough eyes.
"Please, what baby?" You coo teasingly, running your thumb over the senstive skin making him shudder and curse under his breath.
"Please.... mommy." He whispers the last part but it still makes you smile.
"Good boy."
Geto suguru-
Cock to phat no problems.
Nah, he likes fucking non sorcerers more
Oopsies heheh
He's a big power dom, Geto just gets off more to 'weaker' people
And when it comes to you, his special human, well thats a whole different game.
He tells himself he'll kill you but instead fucks you, tsk tsk
"Hah~ Feels good master..." You whine dumbly, tongue lolling out of your mouth from the pleasure or Geto railing into you. He presses your knees more against your chest, effectivly founding you in half and granting him the view of his dick plowing into you. He cant help but grit his teeth on how deliciously you grip him, practically squeezing him to death with your gummy walls.
"Yeah? bet your loving this, your kind dont even deserved to get fucked like this." Geto boasts, but something about his words leave a sting on his tongue. He know he shouldn't care about your pleasure, but the need to see you cum, to see your eyes roll back in pleasure because of him, well he needed that.
"Come on baby, fucking cum for me."
Sukuna
Not a secret but he hasnt had sex in eons
No really this man is down horrendously
You bet your ass he's jacking off in his free time up in Yuujis brain or what ever
Its weird but its true
Oh and when he finally gets his hands on you, the man practically faints when you touch his dick
Doesnt turn into a sub, but he does get a bit whiney
Gets very pussy drunk
“Oh fuck, you’re tight,” Sukuna says hoarsely. He knows he should be ashamed, that the king of curses is falling apart by just entering in a womens pussy, but there didnt seem to be any room left in his brain to think.
"You ok kuna?" You squeak, unintentionally clenching around sukunas dick making him let out a groan. Sukuna needed to say something about the tension deep in his stomach, how it was building and building until it was as tight as possible even though he hadnt even moved yet. His skin was buzzing, mind cloudy, and the only thing he could focus on was the heat that was taking over his body.
"Just shut up." Sukuna grunts.
Toji Fushiguro
Fucks his clients wives or the clients daughters
But of course he does, this is kinda expected of him
Yeah nothing else needs to be said.....
"Hnng so g-" Your words where cut off by a hand slamming over your mouth.
"Shhh dont want dear old daddy hearing us do ya?" Toji whispers menacingly as he thrusts his hips into your gushing pussy at an inhuman speed. Something about the pleasure made you feel sick, like a thousand butterflies where in your stomach about to explode. Your toes curl and un curl as your thighs tremble from the fat tip of tojis tip hitting that sweet spot in your pussy over and over again.
"Aw, wanna cum?" Toji coos, realsing his hand over your mouth and you nod. "What are the magic words."
"Yes please!"
"Please what princess?"
"Please please let me cum daddy!" You cry.
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let's be honest.
nanami's tie isn't what we would usually choose to wear with a suit. or with anything at all. that design is just horrendously loud and bold.
but the reason why he willingly wears it everyday to work is of course, because of you. what turned out to be a gag gift becomes something he treasures the most just because it was given by you when your relationship was still buddingly new. it's not often he loves and be loved in return.
"nanamin!" yuuji greeted the sorcerer from afar, seeing him standing around the training field. "what are you doing here? gojo-sensei isn't here today, he had a mission to attend to."
"i'm waiting for someone else." he nonchantly replies, adjusting his tie to loosen it up a little.
"hey, nanamin? i've been wondering why you wear that tie. it's not really that nice-looking." during all those times yuuji went on a mission with nanami, his gaze always zeroed in on his black and yellow printed tie but never got the chance to ask him. curses always did occupied most of his time and attention.
"hmm? oh, you don't need to know that." clearing his throat, he fiddled with his tie a little more before placing his hands in his pants pocket. but if yuuji had looked closely, he would see that his cheeks got a tad bit pinkish. nanami was just too bashful to talk fondly about you to yuuji.
just as yuuji was about to shoot another question, nanami saw you turning around the corner - wide smiles and twinkling eyes, hastily making your way to your husband. "kento!"
it's as if you turned off a switch in him just with your mere presence - tensed shoulders relaxing, his stance a little loose before his eyes soften seeing you greet him so openly with love. a slight smile grazes upon his lips.
"hi, you look beautiful as always, my love." nanami cups your face with his big, warm hands before giving you a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"thanks, darling. you look dashing yourself." you were all smiles and giggles as you look up to him, getting your fill of him as it has days since you've last seen him. he has been away for a solo mission far from home. you've missed him too much.
looking down, you noticed his tie was loose and a little crooked. sighing, you trace the pattern on his tie before straightening it a little.
"i don't get why you're still wearing this tie. it's been years since i've gifted you this as a joke, you didn't really have to wear it. i'm getting you a new one soon."
you've been dating for 6 months when you came across this particular tie while walking through a shopping street and thought it'll be funny to see the reaction of the mostly stoic sorcerer. you never thought he'd accepted it with care and wore it everyday.
"it's fine. it's still not too worn out yet, it'll hang on for awhile more." he caresses your cheek, reminiscing the time when you were so excited to gift it to him, giggling the whole time. sure, it may be a gag gift, but it was still a gift from you. all things given by you were things to be treasured. just like your love that encompasses his whole being.
"nanamin!" the both of you flinched hearing the shout coming from the boy just a short distance from you. has he been here all along?
"you- you and sensei are together? wha-when, ho-what? wait, nevermind that, sensei was the one who bought you that tie?" seeing how flabbergasted yuuji was, you face him and ruffle his hair.
"mhmm! we're married actually. and yeah, i bought the tie to mess with him but i guess he really liked it and wore it ever since." chuckling, you nudge his shoulder with your knuckles. "i didn't know you were here. megumi and nobara was looking for you."
"oh, that's right! we had plans to hang out together before i saw nanamin. see you both!" easily distracted, yuuji dashed towards the main entrance, leaving just you and nanami alone.
familiar arms wrapped around your waist from behind before you felt a kiss on your cheek.
"just so you know, i will always wear this tie even if you buy me a new one. it really helps with my cursed technique." your husband is teasing you.
"uhuh, sure. if blood gets on it, you're cleaning it up yourself." you stay contently in his arms, warm afternoon sun softly beaming down on the both of you.
—————//—————
"if blood gets on it, you're cleaning it up yourself."
your words echoed inside your head as you find yourself kneeling on a pool of blood, your husband- what was left of him, blood-soaked khaki pants adorned on a pair of legs, clutching onto the black and yellow printed tie that was found dangling from his pants pocket. it was speckled with blood.
your vision turns blurry from tears constantly trickling down your cheeks, splashing onto the blood below you.
no… the first thing you would do once this is over is to clean his tie as thoroughly as possible. you will not let this incident taint your precious memory of this gift.
but first, you have to finish whoever did this to him.
#nanami kento fluff#nanami kento imagines#nanami x reader#nanami kento x reader#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk x reader#nanami angst#jujutsu kaisen angst#nanami kento#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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Steve refuses to tell the kids his middle name. He’s fights them off after El figures out that middle names are a thing and demands everyone to tell her if they have one. And usually when it comes to El, Steve gives in immediately. But he just knows this information will come back to bite him in the ass. So he refuses.
But then they go to Nancy trying to pry the information out of her, but she reveals that she has no idea what it is - ouch but what a relief. Next up is Robin who also reveals she has no idea, and then she joins in on trying to get it out of him.
With the girls on their side, Steve is slightly terrified, but still unwilling to give up the information. He thinks they’ll let it go… but then they’re showing up at his house suspiciously only for Steve to find out that they’re trying to find his birth certificate. That’s when Eddie gets roped into things.
And the thing about Eddie is that he’s curious of course. What could Steve’s middle name possibly be which is so horrendous he won’t even tell Robin? But he respects the man’s privacy. If he wants to keep it to himself then so be it… But Eddie wants to know.
So he starts developing his own plans - without telling the kids or the girls. He thinks getting Steve drunk or high off his ass is probably a bit too manipulative. But maybe he can gain the guy’s trust.
So he starts coming along, pretending like he’s going to help as the kids dig and dig for the information. Steve is always somehow there, even when the kids start looking through the records at the library because some of them needed a ride. But Eddie sticks with Steve, talking to him about anything other than his name - the kids are convinced that Eddie is doing a great job distracting Steve.
And maybe he is, but he slowly forgets any type of ulterior motives when he’s talking to Steve. It’s a blessing and a curse being in the presence of the man.
But then it happens. Steve casually invites Eddie to hang out sometime, and that’s exactly when Eddie will bring up the middle name thing.
When the day comes, Eddie finds himself thoroughly distracted by Steve’s thigh which is pressing against his while they watch a movie. And there’s a large space next to Steve on the couch, but he chose to sit where his is now. It’s a big deal really.
“I’m gonna grab a Coke, do you want anything?”
Eddie asks for a Coke as well, hoping it serves as something to ground him as he hangs out alone with Steve Something Harrington. That’s the moment he remembers the plan. Shit, he’s supposed to be asking him stuff that casually leads to the reveal of his middle name. Easy.
No it isn’t. How the hell is he going to… Eddie glances at the coffee table in front of them to find… Steve’s wallet. Steve’s wallet containing his driver’s license. Steve’s wallet containing his driver’s license containing his full government name.
Oh this is good. This is really good. How have the kids not managed to think of this yet?
Eddie quickly snatches the wallet, opening it to find the driver’s license in a clear pocket. Okay, time to finally learn what’s been gnawing at his brain for days now, and then he’ll never have to tell Steve about it. Ever.
He squints his eyes and reads the name. Then he rereads it. Then he rereads it again.
Steven Edward Harrington
“Edward?!” Eddie yells, cringing at the fact he’s saying his government name.
Steve races into the room, two Cokes in hand and eyes wide as can be. Eddie doesn’t even have time to hide the wallet or any evidence of what he’s been doing. Well. Shit.
“Of course you were on their side,” Steve sighs, a look of betrayal crosses his face. Eddie’s gut twists.
“No, no. Okay, I’ll admit that I was curious, but I was going to find out and just put that secret away in my brain forever. But is my name really so bad?”
Steve turns a bit red as he admits, “I wasn’t hiding it for that reason.”
“Then what are you hiding it for?”
“Because… because…” He sets the two soda cans down with a thud before blurting out, “I thought you’d be making a bigger deal out of it! I thought the kids would make jokes about me having your name. Or you would tell me something along the lines of ‘You already have my middle name, why not take me last name?’ And I was not prepared to deal with that!” Steve rushes out, a hand runs through his hair before he settles his hands on his hips.
That… definitely wasn’t what Eddie was expecting but he can’t help but flirt, “You’re putting words in my mouth, sweetheart, but I can say them if you’d like.”
Steve sighs and points at him. “Exactly that! It just makes me get feel so…”
Eddie tenses up and quietly questions, “Disgusted?”
“Flustered!” Steve replies instantly.
It takes him a moment to process, but then Eddie is standing up and making his way over to Steve with a smile. “I make Steven Edward Harrington flustered?”
Steve rolls his eyes but the small smile and blush rising to his cheeks give him away. “I’m going to change my name,” Steve states.
“And take my last name?” Eddie teases, and Steve lightly shoves at him.
“Buy me dinner first, Edward.”
“How about a kiss first?” Eddie asks with an obnoxiously large grin. It’s immediately wiped when Steve leans in, and Eddie’s eyes flutter shut.
“I’m not that easy,” Steve whispers so close that his lips brush against Eddie’s before he pulls away. “Come on, let’s finish the movie.”
When Eddie’s feet are able to move again, he finds himself sitting even closer to Steve than before, but this time Steve’s hand curling around his is the most distracting thing besides the thought that Steven Edward Munson has a nice ring to it.
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His betrothed.
Barty Crouch Jr. x reader
Summary: The youngest Black sibling is getting near courting age. Regulus and Barty have a plan, and Sirius doesn't like it.
Warnings: the Black family literally, cursing, siblings fighting, idk
Author's note: I wrote this while I had a fever, so if it's horrendous, let's not judge :|
Part 2!
Masterlist
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"Siri…?"
Sirius turned his head to look over his shoulder.
Sweet little Y/N Black was standing behind him with a worried look in her eyes.
Being the caring older brother he was, he pushed James slightly, making room for her to sit next to him at the Gryffindor table of the Great Hall. She accepted, sitting down gently, her expression never changing.
Remus saw the look as well, and seemed to be just as concerned, "What's going on?"
They weren't the only two marauders concerned. In fact, they all were.
When Sirius' sibling Y/N was sorted into Gryffindor, Sirius had physically cringed. He couldn't stand seeing his darling little sister go through the Black family's mental and physical abuse due to her house. At that point, away from Walburga's watch, the marauders had taken the girl under their wings. During the summer, she still remained in the Black household at Grimmauld Place with her twin Regulus. But during the school year, she was raised by Sirius.
Hence, where this situation had come from.
James threw an arm around the girl's shoulder, leaning close to her ear, "Whatever it is, you can tell us. That's what we're here for."
She simply stared at the plate in front of Remus across the table.
The four boys stared at each other, worried and unsure of what to do at this point.
Her small voice came out, "Mum is having me go to my first… meeting…. This winter…"
Sirius' hand had a steady grip on his fork, his knuckles turning white. His voice was low. Scarily low, "What."
Remus leaned forward to him, "Pads, control yourself in front of everyone."
Sirius' head lifted to him, "I would, but she's 17 fucking years old. Too young to be staring this… this shit…."
The girl remained unmoving, James' eyes never leaving her, "Y/N…?"
A small sigh came from her lips, "that's not all…"
Sirius looked as if he would explode. "Not…all?"
Peter finally peeped, "Is everything going to be okay?"
She looked up at him, "I'm not sure…"
Sirius rubbed his hands over his face before leaning on the table, "Alright, sweetheart. Tell me."
"Mum is… well… setting up… alliances…"
Sirius knew what that meant. Merlin, he knew what that meant. And he was angry. Beyond angry.
Remus' eyebrows furrowed, "…alliances?"
She nodded, her frame getting smaller as if she was shrinking into herself with every word, "It's…. Well it's when-"
Sirius interrupted, "Mum's marrying her off."
The table went silent, each boy trying to come to terms with what they had heard.
Finally, Peter spoke up, "to…. To who?"
All of their eyes were on her. Well, almost everyone's eyes.
She shrugged, "Mum hasn't told me yet."
James, who had been staring off past the siblings to a different table, was holding a slight smirk to his face. "I bet I can tell you who it is."
Y/N looked up to him with teary eyes, her emotions finally getting to her, "Who?"
His eyes never left the person, his head moving as if to point in that direction. Sirius and Y/N followed his gaze.
Barty Crouch Jr. sat at the Slytherin table, his eyes flickering up in her direction every few seconds. When he saw the entire table looking in his direction, he quickly looked down at his food, as if forcing himself to not look up at her again until they looked away.
Sirius' voice was practically a growl, "It's. Not. Gonna. Fucking. Happen."
James sighed, "I don't know if you get a choice, Pads."
Remus looked up at Y/N, who was near tears. His hand reached out, grabbing hers from across the table, "Hey. Are you alright little dove?"
That was their name for her. Little dove. She was no animangus. But, hoping to make her feel included, they had given her a name during her 3rd year. And it had stuck ever since.
She shrugged, her bottom lip quivering. "I'm not sure."
He nodded, "That's alright. We'll figure this out… Pads?"
Sirius was in his own world. His eyes flickered around the room at every person, as if anyone could jump out and take her from them.
When Regulus entered the Great Hall, Sirius immediately jumped up, walking to him. "Regulus…"
Regulus stopped, confused. Sirius never spoke to him unless it had to do with Y/N. "…what."
"I want you to tell me what the fuck Mum is doing to her."
Regulus sighed, "Let's…," his eyes wandered around, "Let's get away from listening ears."
…
"What the hell, Reg?!"
"Hear me out, Sirius!"
"No! You're letting Mum marry her away like a piece of fucking meat-"
"-THAT'S NOT TRUE!"
Sirius went quiet. The only sound in the hall was the occasional student that walked a few corridors over. His voice finally came out calm, "What… what do you mean?"
Regulus sighed, "It's… complicated."
"Yeah, I can fucking tell…"
"Crouch…," Regulus looked like he was ready to get hit by his brother, "he asked."
Sirius' eyebrows furrowed, "Asked for what?"
"Sirius, please. Don't make me spell it out."
"He asked for Y/N?"
Regulus nodded, "He's liked her for the longest time, really. Since I can remember. And when Mum mentioned that she was going to make arrangements for me soon, I panicked knowing she'd be soon after. I told Crouch, and he said he'd happily marry Y/N. And I helped him win Mum's favor." He looked back up at Sirius, "Look. Don't judge me. I'm doing what's best for her."
Sirius scoffed, "'what's best for her'? What's best is getting her away from the hellhole we call our family. They don't fucking deserve her. Marrying her to a fucking death eater, Reg? Not the brightest idea you've had. Merlin…"
Sirius slowly began to walk away until Reg spoke up again, "I thought it through, Siri. Swear to God."
The 7th year stopped, turning around once more, "…how?"
Reggie sighed again, "Crouch… he's… he's only a first generation death eater. There's not many responsibilities he has to hold. He's loyal only to himself and those he deems worthy."
Sirius thinks it over, "And would he be loyal to her?"
Regulus let out a small laugh, "Merlin. He is already."
When Sirius didn't answer, Regulus continued, "He may not be close to his father, but… it gives her options. If they decide to run away, he can protect them. And if she decides just to leave Bartimus, then his father could protect her on his own. Crouch brought it up to Mum as a way to give more connections between the death eaters and the Ministry. But, we both know. It was for her protection."
Sirius was staring to be slightly shocked at his brother's reasoning, "I…. Okay?"
Regulus gave a final statement. "And He'll treat her well, brother."
"How can you be sure?"
Reg shrugged, "Don't believe me? Make them interact. You'll see. He's like a loyal dog. He'll do anything for her."
Sirius sighed, "I should wring your neck. But I won't. Because you've thought this out so well. I won't say I'm agreeing with it. But… I'll let it grow a bit. To see where it goes."
Regulus smiles, "That's all I ask, brother."
….
Sirius entered the Great Hall once more, sitting in his spot with a huff. At this point, James is gently running his hands through the girl's hair. She's talking to Peter and Remus over an omelette, her mind far from the previous conversation.
He interrupts, "We're talking about this later. The four of us."
She turned, "Not me?"
Sirius' tone turned condescending, his voice harsh, "When have you ever been a part of the four of us? You're not a marauder."
James' hand in her hair immediately paused, Peter dropping his fork clumsily. Remus choked on his drink. But none of them said a word in her defense.
She stared at her brother with a guilty look that slowly morphed into slight hatred. Her voice was still as soft as always, but it held a bite to it, "Fine. I didn't want Mum to know I'm around the Black family traitor anyway." She stood up, leaving the table without another word.
Remus stood up, watching her go, "Dove?"
But she had already left.
She approached the Slytherin table, her red and gold tie standing out from that side of the room.
And Barty Crouch Jr. was already looking for her, noticing her leave from the Gryffindor table.
She stood behind him, quietly trying to speak up, "Excuse me?"
Barty's eyes closed. Her voice was so sweet. He never got to hear it. And she was trying to speak to him. This situation couldn't be better.
He turned around on the bench, a small smile gracing his face and a happy look in his eye, "Hello. What do you need?"
She pointed to where Regulus always sat, "Could I… maybe…?"
He looked over to the spot next to him before immediately, "Oh. Yes. Please."
She sat, finally taking note of the people around him. The most notable one being Lucius across the table.
Lucius held an arrogant look in his eyes, "What? The blood traitor finally got tired of you too?"
Barty's jaw clenched, "Watch your tone, Malfoy."
Malfoy snickered, leaning forward. "Why are you here, Black?"
Barty was becoming highly irritated, "Hey. What did I fucking say?"
Lucius held his hands up in a surrendering way, not saying a word, but his eyes were saying more than his mouth needed to.
She stood, "I'm sorry. This was a dumb idea…"
Barty grabbed her wrist. "No, please. I want you to sit."
She hesitantly does so.
A silence falls over the table before Barty breaks it, "Regulus hasn't been back since Sirius drug him out. Think he beat him up?"
She laughs, "No. I'm sure that just had a small fight is all."
Barty smiles, "I have a feeling I know what it's about."
She nods, deciding to avoid the subject. "Do you have classes today?"
He nods as well, "Just one. Potions. Tell me yours."
She pulls out her wand, waving it. A small piece of paper lands on the table, her entire schedule written on it. She begins to study it to give him an answer.
He leans over to her, peering at it slightly over her shoulder. He smiles, "You have astronomy tonight?"
She nods, "It's my favorite."
He points at one of the classes for the day. "I know where that is. Why don't I walk you?"
She shakes her head, "You don't have to. I know where it is, I just-"
His voice was a whisper, "-please. I would love to."
She decided to look at him finally, and when she did so, she found their faces to be inches apart, his deep brown eyes staring longingly into hers. She felt her face heat up, a light pink shade overtaking them. They stayed this way for a while before she decided to talk first, her voice softer than a whisper as she caught him staring at her lips, "Do you really want to marry me, Crouch?"
He smiled, "More than anything."
The moment sat for a while before she looked away, now a deep shade of red. "Perhaps you can walk me to class then."
"And a walk after dinner."
She looked up at him, "…a walk?"
He nodded, "Please."
He points at another class on the paper, "I can walk you to this one as well… if you'll have me?"
Her eyes soften as tried to see if this was a joke. If he had an ulterior motive. But he didn't.
Regulus came up from behind, completely unnoticed until Y/N felt a kiss to the top of her head and a small, "scoot over."
She did so, pushing herself closer to Barty, who held a smile on his face the entire time.
Regulus could feel the stares from the Gryffindor table. He looked up to meet their gazes, smiling in an almost mocking way at the sight of the two betrothed finally bonding.
She was still looking at Barty, "I…. Yes. I would…. I would like that very much."
He nodded, "Then it shall be done." He stood up, grabbing his books next to him, "I must get to potions, but I'll meet you by the Gryffindor common room entrance before your class, yes?" When she nodded, he gave a nod to her brother, "Regulus," then took his free hand, grabbing the girl's hand, kissing it gently, "Y/N." And with that, he left.
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#barty crouch jr#barty crouch junior#barty crouch fanfiction#barty crouch imagine#barty crouch jr imagine#barty crouch jr fanfiction#barty crouch jr x reader#david tennant#harry potter fanfiction#the marauders era#marauders fanfiction#james potter#remus lupin#sirius black#peter pettigrew#regulus black#lucius malfoy
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The bathroom scene from Buffy the Vampire Slayer still stands out objectively as just one of the worst things in a show or movie.
The idea of reminding the audience that Spike is a villain doesn’t work that deep into the narrative, but even then there were a million other ways to display him being evil or morally conflicted, ways that didn’t involve a out of pocket attempted rape scene.
Place aside filming it made both actors uncomfortable and both to this day are still pissed about the entire thing and how bizarre and random it was.
The scene didn’t have weight. It was sudden and gross and hellish and then sort of slowly became just this thing. Nothing about it was handled well narratively speaking.
Plus it being what drove Spike to end up accidentally receiving a soul. Other than temporarily driving him insane with guilt a soul made no major difference in Spike as a person. Spike had never been a good vampire, he wasn’t good at being a man in the era he was born into and he wasn’t good at being a vampire.
As a human he was gentle and shy and soft and lovely. Traits that had him mocked and teased and pushed out, seen as “strange” and “unmanly”. Then we see him as a vampire and he’s unique as Dru is unique, he is beyond capable of love. This man, this monster fucking loves intensely and it is his biggest trait as soon as he is introduced.
He is nothing like Angel. Angel as a human was a rude sexist drunk and a bit of a prick. Angel as a vampire was as demonic and horrendous as any monster could be, even with Dru he drove her insane then turned her, he can pretend he loves her just to toy with her, but he would kill her if she proved useless to him. Being cursed with a soul is solely the only thing making him a “good” person. Every time he loses his soul he is dangerous.
But Spike isn’t like that. Even before being chipped, even before the soul he was complicated and complex, he was protective and intense and emotional.
The show if Whedon hadn’t been insistently bizarre about Spike could have explored so much that was already laid out. What does a soul even mean? What does it mean if Spike sand soul is capable of compassion and guilt and love and kindness? That he can break down sobbing when Buffy died, that to honor a promise to a dead woman he watched after her teenage sister? What does it mean that Angel without a soul uses every kindness and softness Buffy and Giles and others showed him against them? That her vulnerability becomes something he can torment her with.
What does a soul mean or matter in this case? Is Angel a good person in any real capacity? His soul given to him as a curse is genuinely the only thing making him be good. And there is something about that that makes Angel terrifying as a character for me. Don’t get me wrong I love Angel good or evil, I love him more in Angel the series, but in general it is difficult to really take him necessarily as good.
While Spike on the other hand is more in line with a human, he isn’t good or bad. He is traumatized and hurt and angry and in love and so human despite having a demon soul.
And these complexities could have been explored. Not a pull it out of left field sexual assault scene.
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one thing I’m hoping is addressed in future episodes is the fact that laudna sometimes acts like she’s the only one who’s ever been through her own trauma. and yes, what she’s been through is AWFUL, but everyone has been through something
- laudna was tricked, tortured, hung, revived, and wandered the world for about 30 years by herself before she found Imogen (though Marisha has stated there was someone before Imogen, but that hasn’t come up in game yet), and then died again, before being revived again. she has delilah in her head, which is Not Great, but laudna consciously brought her back
- imogen was abandoned by her mother at a young age and grew up with an absent father, who revered her as a freak, and was an outcast everywhere she went
- fearne was abandoned by her parents and has had her life be in the hands of others for over 100 years, mainly her “grandmother”, who has been stretching their time together to keep her longer. she’s also been killed, and found out that she was a purposefully made by a villain for some nefarious purposes
- ashton lives every single day in pain, grew up in a cult, died, woke up in a new body that was broken, didn’t know anything about himself, has been alone since he was a child, exploded into a thousand pieces before painfully reforming with new, more “broken” body parts
- fcg was an assassin bot that sat untouched for 2,000 years before being brought to life and thrown headfirst into society with no help or instructions, and then died tragically
- chetney has lived over 300 years by himself because his family abandoned him and he had to come to terms with the fact that they’re all likely dead, and the loss messed him up so bad that he’s avoided making meaningful connections with people ever since, and he literally JUST died, was revived, and watched the person who deemed him worthy of saving sacrifice themself
- orym watched the love of his life and his father figure be cut down in front of him, watched his friend accept a cursed crown that permanently changed her, was killed and revived
there’s no denying that she’s been through something horrendous, but she has to make the conscious choice to get better. to quote matt & marisha both: laudna is an addict, and she digs herself into her grief so deeply that she can’t see the cracks in everyone else.
she was right that orym should’ve talked to the whole group before taking otohan’s sword, but she was a hypocrite because she tried to steal it off of him. the sword is the source of her trauma, but it’s the source of orym’s too. she told chetney to not talk to her about loss after learning just mere weeks ago that he lost his entire family in one day.
i thought dorian put it beautifully: “it’s just a thing.” it only holds power over you if you let it. she’s dead. the blade no longer hurts you unless you let it.
there’s something so riveting about watching the nuances of trauma unfold in juicy, juicy ways
#in case any of y’all cannot read: this is not a critique or criticism#I think laudna is beautifully complex and wonderful and I just want to see this plot thread explored further#and while I’m an Orym defender until I die#I 100% get laudna’s points and I agreed with her about some stuff#but there has to be balance and what she’s doing is not good#laudna#critical role#bells hells
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something about the legs | h.s oneshot
summary: something about your best friends legs really does it for you, especially in skinny jeans…
warnings: besties with unexpected and very impulsive benefits, oral sex (mrec), lots and lots of talk about those mfing legs and thighs, dirty talk, h not expecting you to be like that until you are.
a/n: so it’s been a hot minute… hi again🤪 but something rlly just sent me spiralling with this pic of h’s fucking legs. look at them. anyways, enjoy me being a slut and channeling it into some fine literature, enjoy xoxo
———
Ovulation week is a curse. An absolute, utter curse.
Between the multitude of random fluctuating symptoms and skyrocketing hormones, you feel dreaded enough as it is. But the worst part, is every fucking month you become absolutely manic with need.
Some are increasingly better or worse than others, but this month is something off the charts.
There is no warrant for you to be this fucking horny at 9:32pm on a Thursday night. Yet here you are, squirming because you’re around someone that already riles you up enough as it is.
Harry is your best friend. Has been for years. Since the awkward starting phases of middle school. All braces paired with horrendous fashion choices. And into the ages of highschool throughout all the drama and predictable thematics. Into the present, where life throws you curveballs as you enter the world as young adults, and now that he’s in one direction. You can’t imagine going through all that with anyone else.
Actually, maybe it’s fit to mention you’re almost certain that this man never went through an awkward phase… despite the fact possibly everyone else on the planet did. Harry did not.
He was cute from the day he was born, it’s evident in the pictures, up until he hit puberty, then he became some ungodly mix of both cute and ridiculously hot.
It’s disgusting that someone can do both things at the same time. And also revolting that they can have no idea at all.
But tonight, he is all hot. Between the way he’s dressed, the way he’s walking, and the way he’s talking. It’s close to killing you where you’re sat.
Thighs clenched together like there’s a thousand dollar check between them, you sit on a outdoor couch at your family’s holiday house.
It’s just the two of you outside on the large decked patio. It’s a huge house by the lake that your parents and grandparents own, so you invited Harry to come stay for the week. Your family were thrilled you invited him, but have already turned in for an early night. Since they planned to be out on the lake for a day of water activities almost before the damn sun was even fully up.
Harry has a glass of alcohol in his hands— one that is completely dwarfed in his hold. It’s condensation forming small droplets over the ridges of his fingers.
He hasn’t realised the staring you’ve been doing, as he paces the deck talking about something to do with a recent song he’s been writing.
You’re sliding in small hums of agreement at the appropriate times without even hearing what he’s saying. Only the pleasing lilt in his voice that tickles your ears as it enters them.
He’s got those black skinny jeans on, the pair that cling to his hips for dear life. And not only are they fit to his hips, but they hug every single curve on his legs. The thick of his thighs all the way down to the muscle of his calf.
And if anything was the killer for you tonight, it was those.
You’re surprised you’re not drooling on yourself. Which is fucking disgusting, but fact. As there is an over-production of saliva in your mouth right now just looking at his legs.
He is so muscly there. The presumed strength of his thighs makes you actually pant, and you never thought legs did it for you like this. But my god right now, they certainly are.
“But I jus’ dunno Y/N,” he turns to you, causing you to snap your gaze from the curve of his ass which you were shamelessly just staring at, back to his face.
It doesn’t get better for you anywhere you look. The man was built and sculpted by a god. Every feature was painstaking to look at, and not be able to touch.
“What d’ya reckon would sound better?” He asks, nonchalantly, unaware you were just eyeing him up.
You feel some shame now, as you scramble to find an answer for the question you don’t even know the context for.
“Well, i think whatever you feel flows better. Yknow?” You swallow, praying to god it’s diluted enough of an answer that he’ll just take it without question.
He nods, and relief floods through you, “i s’pose you’re right.”
However that relief hardly lasts long, because he’s not as clueless as you’d presumed, “You’re pretty good at giving advice even when you’re only half listening.”
He saunters over from the span of deck he’d been pacing the last 10 minutes, sitting down next to you with a smug look on his face. You feel the cushions dip with his body weight, and you’re so delusioned that even a part of you twinges with desire at the understanding of his weight. The idea of him pressing it down on top of you during—
“What’s on ya mind, love, why are you s’faraway lookin’?” He asks, sipping at his drink with a quirk of his dark eyebrows.
“I—“ Christ. He’s manspreading a bit right now… thighs pushed apart, “I’m just tired. Been a big few days.”
His curly, and boyishly-messy hair is cascading over his forehead and casting a shadow of his green gaze, the same one that’s nailing you where you’re sat right now.
He doesn’t look very convinced. And he’s watching your eyes flicker around, looking guilty of a lie, presumably the words that just came from your mouth.
“You don’t have t’lie, dove.” He laughs, a soft songbird-like chuckle that somewhat eases your tenseness.
You feel so dirty for thinking about him like this. When he can’t tell you it’s okay to be imagining absolutely sinful things you’d do… or let be done when it comes to him. However, you are so hormonal right now, that you don’t have it in yourself to stop.
He was just simply the wrong person, in the wrong place, at coincidentally the right time in your hormonal cycle.
And you feel even worse because there’s years of history behind the two of you. And friends are not meant to think of each other like this, it makes things quickly complicated. And this is not a hallmark film.
“I know.” You sigh out, “it’s not you, H. I’m just… hormonal.”
His first thought was that you were on your period, a look of tender concern flitting across his face.
“Oh, is your period making you feel sick?”
You could laugh at the irony. You are infact neither of the things he thinks. Not bleeding, and not ill.
He has looked after you before when you’ve been in the trenches with your period. He is always so willing to get you anything when you’re not feeling well.
And you can tell by the look on his pretty face he’s about to ask you he can get you anything to help— pain relief, water, snacks or simply a hug.
A gentleman, as always.
But if he asks you if you need anything, you only have one answer and that’s him. You need him, and not in a platonic way. So you interject before he can ask,
“No, quiet the opposite.” You shake your head, pursing your lips.
“But it’s fine,” you amend curtly, “just girl stuff.”
The two of you get consumed by a momentary silence, he was waiting for more information, which you simply were not giving. After a few seconds, he sputters out a sudden laugh.
“You can tell me, if you want, idiot.” He laughs, nudging you with his knee. His very attractive leg being left pressed into yours. “Gross details and personal stuff never usually stop us.”
Your whole body is burning up, overwhelmed. He is so fucking hot, and caring. You want him filling up your goddamn throat.
“No, trust me. This is all left best untold and ignored. I can’t help it, so we’re just ignoring it.” Your tone is certain, and to this he nods. Able to tell that’s as much of an answer he’d be getting for now, so he begrudgingly accepts it.
“Fine, fine, you’re just so stiff. Need t’relax.” He slides his free hand behind your back to pull him into his side.
Tugging you the small distance between you two, your head comes naturally to rest in the crook of his neck. Nose inhaling the woodsy scent of his cologne, smelling like the refreshingly cool breeze on a muggy summer night.
His thumb strokes a delicate back and forth rhythm on the bare skin it’s found between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your fitted top.
It’s killing you, because he’s so gentle with you. Such a sweetheart really, but you’re breaking out a sweat at the feeling of his fingertips against your skin. You need a cold shower.
You try not to let your eyes wander down to the legs in those fucking jeans.
“S’long as ya alright,” he murmurs into your hair, “is there anything you need from me? ‘Cause if I can do anything for ya, yknow I would.”
Your stomach drops, how are you even supposed to answer that. Your face heats with even more guilt.
Your internal voice drops in her two cents on the question— your cock, she confidently stated. That was what she wanted.
“No, nothing you can do that’s reasonable, H.” You say, too dangerously close to him dragging the truth out of your needy mouth for your liking.
He tilts his head down to look at the profile of your face, curiously prodding further, “How unreasonable are we talking?”
“Ridiculously and foolishly unreasonable.”
“Why?”
“Sh. Don’t make me tell you, because I don’t want to.” You state defiantly, rolling away from his hold, since now you’re talking about it— although vaguely— it’s just making it worse.
Focusing on it is making the need more intense, your eyes feasting unintentionally on his muscled body relaxing on the couch.
He’s got this smirk on his lips. One you want to kiss off.
“You’re blushing, is it that bad?”
You scoff, “Yes, that bad.”
“Okay… so, it’s not your period, and it’s technically fixable— since you just said it’s unreasonable for me to do it… not impossible.” he’s wondering out loud, watching your every move.
Which now you’ve stood up and started pacing, trying to distract yourself from the pulsing between your legs and the begging voice in your head that wants to touch him so badly.
“Stop being nosey! God!” You frustratedly whine out, and he laughs at your sudden anger at not only him, but at seemingly just being a woman.
“Just trying to help, baby, don’t get mad.” He teases, and between his suddenly mocking mouth, your resolve snaps like a fickle twig.
“Fuck, I’m horny. Harry!” You groan out, covering your eyes over with the palms of your hands so you don’t have to see his likely disgusted face at your confession.
But now that you’ve started you can’t stop, “You just… your fucking legs and thighs are just… I don’t know! I’m ovulating and you’re just really sexy, it’s frustrating and I really want to die right now, H.”
In reality, his brows had just shot up with surprise, lips parting in shock. He could not believe you just admitted that.
He glanced down to his legs. He’s just in jeans, it wasn’t like he felt as though they were anything to write home about.
It shocked him that you even… well obviously the two of you are best friends. But it was rare that topics of sex came up, so all the sudden the conversation being about that and also about you is making his head spin.
Yet something comes over him, he doesn’t think as he speaks his next words, “Tha’s not as unreasonable as you made it out to be.”
You snap your hands down from your face, eyes locking onto his— he doesn’t look repulsed or uncomfortable as you had originally expected. He looks inexplicably open to the topic.
“I’ve got somethin’ you need, somethin’ that can fix it, love.” He states, shrugging his shoulders, his voice going almost sultry, “An’ yknow what I said, hm?”
At your silence— because you’re too stunned to even speak— he finishes the sentence for you, “Said I’d do anything for ya.”
Oh, is this quickly snowballing.
“Harry!” You shake your head, it feeling so wrong to be talking about this with him.
He abandons his drink on the small side table beside the couch, standing up and breaching the distance between you.
“Jus’ say the words, and then im yours.” He lowly whispers, and this is about to make you pass out. You’re clenching around nothing in your underwear, and the proposition is so tempting.
“We shouldn’t though. It’s not your responsibility to… satiate me.” You gulp out, nervous, yet body flaming with heat.
“Y/N, best friends help each other out… tha’s all it has to be, jus’ me making y’feel better.” he says, hand coming to run down your upper arm. And the second you started talking about this, his cock has been twitching where it’s confined his jeans.
“You can make all the decisions, all the calls, m’kay?” The statement was reassuring.
You lean into his touch, caving without anymore of a fight, “Okay… alright. Just… tell me if you change your mind. Please?”
His lips curl into a satisfied smile, feeling his hand get taken by yours. It’s much to risky to be fucking around with your best friend on the families patio, so you lead him down the steps into the dark, open backyard.
They have a pier, that’s lit with small solar lights, and that’s the first place you can that is reasonable enough to go. You tug him along the wooden decking it has, feet drumming against it.
Against a tree was too dark, and you at least want to see his cock if you’re getting the opportunity to touch it.
“On the pier, hey? That desperate.” He teases, and you push him with your free hand into one of its big wooden pillars.
“I want your cock down my throat, how’s that for desperate?” You scoff, pulling a laugh of pure shock from his own lips.
“I’m serious, H.” You look at him, stone cold expression. You are so riled up and ready to touch him that you need immediate confirmation this is something he wants.
“Go on, said you wanted it.”
Before you sink down onto your knees, you question him further, “you want this, though?”
A smile spreads over his mouth, “baby, you’re gonna be able to feel just how much i want this when you get down there. I was bricked the second you said you were horny.”
That was all you needed, dropping to the ground on your knees— now with his consent, your filter completely disappeared.
“Fuck me, Harry. I don’t think you understand how sexy you are.” Hands immediately coming up to squeeze the muscle of his thighs.
He hums a noise as he looks down at you on your knees, “Never thought legs would do it for you, but here we are.”
“Only thing i could think about is digging my nails into your thighs…”
You drag your hands back up to where the buckle of his belt laid, grabbing at it and undoing it. Slipping it out of the loops in his pants in a swift movement.
Leaning forward, you lift the hem of his black shirt, pressing your mouth against his happy trail.
You’re a slut for that little teasing patch of hair that dips below his low jeans. It causes you to whine out, a wordless sound of appreciation as you peck kisses over it.
The button and zipper quickly got undone by your nimble hands, and you finally brush over the prominent bulge that’s perked up in his boxers.
A realisation that you’re about to see your best friends dick for the first time kind of hits you, causing you to roll your lips between your teeth.
His suddenly strained voice comes from above you, “fuck, Y/N, don’t get shy with me. Y’can take me out.”
He’s almost ready to beg, even though this is all technically for you. But he didn’t anticipate how sensitive he would be when it’s a special girls hands running over his bulge.
However that’s exactly how it is, he’s already biting his lip as you cup him through his briefs, head tilted backwards with a sudden shared need.
You draw his jeans further down, “patience, im just enjoying you, pretty boy.”
The doting nickname earns a small groan from his lips, paired with the fact you’re now mouthing at his inner thighs. They’re warm and firm, dusted with dark hairs. You suck the most inner and upper part of his thigh into your mouth, causing him to grunt out.
You busy yourself with that particular part of his skin for a moment, rubbing the backs of your hands around the flesh of his ass. Still unfortunately covered by his briefs.
“So fuckin’ good to me, H.” You muttered into his soft skin, dragging your nose over to kiss the fabric covering his hard cock.
It makes him twitch, “letting me do this… and touch you where I want.”
You sound so out of it, replacing your mouth with your hand momentarily so you can go back to kissing his thighs, teeth impulsively barring over them. He shudders at the sensation.
After a bit more teasing, you finally start to pull the waistband of his black calvins down.
When his cock is fully out, you moan. You straight out moan at the sight of it. It’s glistening tip is a flushed red, beading out a sliver of precum for you, and it was safe to say he’s well equipped.
The two of you curse in sync as you hold him in your hand, feeling the weight as you stroke gently.
“Christ, tha’s good.” He curses out, hips stuttering forward slightly. You take a moment to look up at his face.
His cheeks have gone a slight red, and his lips are shiny from his teeth and tongue constantly running over them. Not to mention the way his lidded eyes are gazing down at you.
You hold eye contact as you lean in to lick over his tip in one solid stroke, watching his face twist in pleasure.
It makes your core drip. Seeing his cock, tasting it, watching him react to your touch. It fuels you to take his tip into your mouth, giving a gentle suck.
Your fingers take refugee digging into his thighs, and you are already loosing you mind with him between your lips. Somehow, you’re almost convinced you could come just from sucking on his dick.
Your self control is completely shattered now, you draw back and spit over his length, listening to him groan out as he watches the action.
“Drool on me, darling.” He says, the gentle demand makes you eager to impress him. You liked the idea of him telling you what to do… maybe even forcing you.
Fuck, you are sick and twisted, you scoffed internally at your self. Yet proceeding to gather your saliva and let it dribble down onto him.
“Thank you, thank you…” you murmur against him, and he twitches at your still airy voice. He would kill to know just how wet you were between your legs.
It was such a sight for you though, seeing him start to get slicked up with your own spit. Your mouth reconnected with him, sliding further down, hand coming up to massage his balls.
You’re whining around him now, starting to move in a sort of rhythm over his cock. You can’t help it, you were becoming frantic at him filling your throat.
The vibration of your mouth sends his hand flying into your hair, drawing a cuss from his lips, “fuck, Y/N…”
You get his cock as far as you can into your mouth without gagging— you’ll leave that for a little later— stroking the remainder. There’s something about the way he takes up the space between your lips, the feeling of his thick cock atop your tongue.
You glance up at him, fingertips teasing the inner parts of his thigh. Just as you look up, you give a harsh suck, hollowing out your mouth and lathing your tongue on the underside of him. Feeling the vein that runs along him.
His head almost bangs back against the wooden beam he’s leaning on, you feel the slight stutter of his hips.
A moan reverberated around you, filling your ears pleasingly. You draw back for a breathe, “you taste so good.”
His hand curls in your hair, panting out, “You’re such a needy girl…”
“Like that?” He asks at the whimper that come from you, “like being told that I see how desperate y’becoming?”
You nod immediately, “please…”
At your way of asking for more dirty talk he smiles, “becoming my little slut? Warming my cock with your mouth just because you’re so horny for it.”
When you don’t reply with words, and only a senseless moan, he taps your mouth with his fingers gently.
“Show me, baby.”
You part your lips almost instantly at his command, jutting your wet tongue out, ready to take him back into your mouth.
He guides his cock back between your lips, and that’s about as far as he gets before you have to take over from him again. All he can register is how hot and warm you’re mouth is as it wraps around him again.
You start to bob your head, taking him all the way down your throat with a slight gag. You’re whining without warrant now, all over his spit slicked cock.
It’s paired with his own moans of pleasure and words of praise as you suddenly draw back, flicking over his wet tip with your tongue, teasing it and making him grunt.
Your soul existence quickly slips to being just about his cock and hearing his noises. Being able to look up at him and see the sweat beginning to sheen over his forehead, and the mess of his soft hair.
His eyes are squeezed shut, and he has to forcibly open them every so often to see you. A reality check for himself that down on her knees, is his best friend. Drooling all over his prick with a insatiable need.
“Good fuckin’ girl.” He states as you take him all the way down your throat again.
“Taking me like the slut y’are. Might ‘ave to fuck you like one later, how’s that sound?” His mouth has gone loose now, brain muddled with only thoughts of you in it.
You suck and nod over him, brain rioting with a yes at his question.
“Probably so wet, so warm.” He mutters in half thought, and the idea of him even thinking of you like that makes you clench multiple times in your panties.
You roll you hips against nothing which he is grateful he caught with his half lidded eyes. The look of sheer desperation that crossed your face.
Moving faster, you starting taking his cock at a pace that immediately made his hand coil tighter in your hair.
“Fuck… im gon’ come faster than I’d like if y’keep— shit— doing that.” He moans, and you draw back quickly.
“Need to taste it… please, Harry.” You beg, forcing your throat back down around him once you’d got a breathe.
You gagged around him in full this time, earning his hips bucking against you.
Strings of dirty talk and cusses were flying out of his mouth, like a litany being repeated over and over. He kept praising you.
“That warm mouth…fuck… fucking me so good baby. Want to keep y’down there for hours, like m’personal little cockslut.”
Your nails dug into the backs of his meaty thighs, making you moan around him. Spit was covering your chin as you moved hastily over his hard prick.
“Like that idea?” He asked gruffly, “making you drool all over me like this until I’m empty, an’ y’ve come in y’panties to the point you’re dripping.”
You feverishly bob your head, sucking hard against him. If his bucking hips and loose mouth are any indicator, he’s getting close.
A few more minutes of your mouth, and he’s swearing, “im gonna come, dove— fuck— where do y’want it?”
Trying not to stop to long, looking up at his flushed face and blown out eyes, you lowly plead, “on my tongue, please…”
“Good slut, good fucking girl!” He slurs out.
You draw back to his tip, eager to taste him properly. You spit messily over his pulsing red head, kitten licking over it while your hand fucks the rest of his length at a fast pace.
It has him a wreck, and before he know it, he’s moaning out so loud he’s almost scared he woke someone in the house up.
“Fuck! I’m going to come, baby, im gonna come!”
You watch in completely infatuation as his eyes screw shut and his mouth drops into a gasp for air. You feel his hips stutter, and his cock pulse and twitch as it releases onto your awaiting tongue.
He tastes so good. You feel ashamed for even liking it that much, but as it spurts out his tip and drips onto your lower lip, your insane over it.
You rub it in with his tip, coating it over your tongue, and he pants as he opens his eyes to watch you.
It’s a sight etched into his mind forevermore. The fact his come is painted all over your tongue right now.
“Swallow it, pretty girl, let me watch.” He exhaustedly instructs you, voice raspy and deep in his post orgasm haze.
You do as told, and realising some has spilt even onto the corner of his thigh now that you’ve let him go.
Not letting it go to waste, you clean it off with a lick of your still eager mouth. Gently kissing over the spot as well.
“Taste so good, H.” You whisper against him, moving over to kiss his tip a final time.
“Thank you, again. For letting me do that…” You almost feel more satisfied than you would have if you had gotten to come as well.
“Made me feel amazing, baby.”
Or so you thought, because once he raised the point again… “If you want, since I can only imagine how desperate your little cunt is, I can return the favour somehow?”
And it was impossible to say no when he looked like that, boxers still half down his beautiful legs and face flushed that sexy shade of red.
You were in for a night, that was for sure. So much for an early morning.
———
#harry styles#harry styles smut#harry styles fanfiction#fanfiction#harry styles imagine#harry styles fluff#harry styles oneshot#harry styles x reader#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles writing#harry styles one shot#he’s so#fuck me I need him so bad#anyways#hope you enjoyed#ily#last oneshot of 2023
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Hmm, anything for sexually deprived Husk who snaps at you but feels bad so opens up? You offer a hand, but only that unless he wants more? 🤷♀️🤷♀️🎉
Anon, I am so sorry if you didn't want breeding kink, because what came out of my cursed hands is breeding kink.
Husk goes into a rut, Reader offers to help him out, Husk quickly comes unglued. About 2.5k words. Seriously NSFW. Breeding kink, mating press, all that good nasty furry shit.
---
Husk has seemed especially agitated these past few days.
It’s not like he’s ever been the friendliest resident of the hotel, not by a long shot, but normally that manifests in him offering terse responses and no-nonsense advice. In fact, he seemed to have developed a bit of a liking for you. He enjoyed bantering with you over drinks, and even smiled in your presence a few times, a real rarity for him. Recently, however, he seems to be outright avoiding you. He won’t sit near you during hotel bonding activities, and when you go up to the bar, he silently pours your usual drink and seems to be waiting for you to finish it and leave. He hasn’t even looked you in the eye in a while.
Did you do something wrong?
It’s the third night of Husk’s attitude, and if anything, he seems worse off than ever. He’s making a horrendous racket as he digs through shelves, slamming bottles and glasses onto the counter.
“Where the fuck did I put it?!” he growls to himself, before finally finding a black, gold-trimmed bottle at the back of a shelf. “Fuckin’ finally…” He twists the cap off of the bottle, then tilts his head back while he gulps down as much of the bottle as he can in one go. He finally stops his gulp with a heavy exhale, then shakes his head. “That’s the stuff…”
“Husk…?” you ask as you take a seat at the bar.
“What,” he growls as he slams his liquor bottle onto the bar in front of you. His fur is bristling, and his ears are pinned back.
“S-sorry,” you stammer out, immediately regretting opening your mouth. “I was just wondering if you were okay…”
“Do I look okay?” he asks before taking another long swig from his bottle.
“...I guess not.” You watch him drink, wondering what could have possibly happened to make him this moody for this long. “Did Alastor do something?”
“For once, no,” he says after pulling the bottle away from his lips. He’s still not looking at you. Whatever he’s looking at doesn’t seem interesting; he seems to have chosen that direction simply because it’s not yours.
“...did I do something?”
His silence isn’t encouraging.
“If I did, I can’t make up for it if you won’t tell me what it was. It’s been three days, Husk.”
Husk groans as he pinches the bridge of his nose between two of his claws. “It’s nothing you did… it’s something stupid. Just forget about it.”
“You’ve heard me talk about stupid stuff all the time,” you say. “Aren’t we friends? Can’t you at least tell me why you’re avoiding me?”
He needs to drain his liquor bottle before he can make up his mind. “...yeah. Okay. I’ll talk. But only to you. If anyone else walks in, this conversation is over.”
“Of course.”
He grabs another identical bottle from the cabinet and takes a seat next to you. “When I died, it didn’t surprise me when I woke up in Hell. What I didn’t expect was waking up as a cat.”
You’re not sure where he’s going with this as he pauses to open his new liquor bottle, but you’ll hear him out.
“I still had all my human memories, my human personality… but there was still something different in my brain. Different instincts. Stuff I couldn’t suppress no matter how irrational I knew it was, like wanting to climb and scratch things, or suddenly being afraid of water.”
“Or like chasing laser pointers?” you say with a smirk.
“That was one time,” he answers, not at all amused. Your punishment is for him to take a particularly long swig before he’ll continue talking. “And one of those instincts is… well… mating.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Every once in a while, I need it bad. I know it’s stupid! Why is that instinct even there?! Sinners can’t have kids, and even if I could, why would I want to bring new life into this shithole?! But the thoughts still take over. I need to mate. I need to have kits. It only lasts for a few days, but it’s frustrating. I can barely think about anything else.”
“I’m guessing you… can’t take care of it yourself?” You know it’s an obvious question. He’s been here for decades; if he could take care of it himself, he would have figured it out by now.
“I actually can, normally,” he says, to your surprise. “I can feel it coming, take a day or two off, maybe get some toys, stay in my room and ride it out. But sometimes…” He trails off and looks away from you again.
“Sometimes…?”
“Normally that instinct isn’t directed anywhere. I just wanna mate, I don’t really care with who. Led to some… interesting nights as an Overlord. But sometimes… someone catches my eye. I don’t know what it is. Does that person have to be someone special? Do I just have to be in their proximity the instant it hits? But whatever it is… that person ends up being all I can think about.”
Your face grows hot over what he’s implying.
“And when that happens, it’s fucking miserable. Nothing short of being with that person will make me feel any better. Trying to take care of it myself just makes it worse. Just reminds me that they aren’t there with me…”
“What if that person didn’t mind helping you out…?” you ask, testing the waters.
He raises one of his large eyebrows. “You… do realize who I’m losing my shit over this time, right?”
“I figured as soon as you mentioned someone catching your eye,” you admit. “It’s not like you’d wouldn’t tell me about it if it was someone else. And if there’s anything I can do to help…”
“What are you gonna do? Jerk me off until I can finally get some fuckin’ sleep?” He laughs coldly at his own joke before finishing his second bottle, and as he sips, he realizes you aren’t protesting. “...you’re fuckin’ serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I like you, Husk.”
“I couldn’t take advantage of you like that.”
“You’re not taking advantage. I’m curious about you, myself. Just for a bit, to see how it feels for us both?”
It takes him a moment to think, and you can’t imagine his screaming instincts making it easy to turn down your offer. “All right. Fine. But if I do anything you don’t want me doing, I give you full permission to beat the shit out of this stupid cat body.”
—
Husk isn’t wasting any time as soon as you get up to his room. Within seconds, he’s stripped of his pants and underwear. You can’t help but stare as his already-erect cock is revealed; it’s quite thick, and covered in curious looking bumps. Husk is panting, already struggling to catch his breath.
“Okay. Just a handjob,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed. “Just once, maybe twice if we both wanna keep going. You don’t owe me more than that. You don’t owe me anything.”
“Husk, it’s fine. I want to do this with you, I promise,” you assure him as you take a seat next to him. Normally you’d warm up a partner with some kisses and cuddles, but given the way his face is flushed, you don’t think he has the patience for that. Instead, you go right for the prize, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock.
Husk instantly hisses through his teeth as he jerks his hips up. “Fuck, that’s it…” His tip is already leaking precum down his shaft and onto your fist. You lightly pump his cock, adjusting easily enough to the small, rough barbs that line it. His rapidly building precum makes it even easier to glide your hand against them. Within seconds, his eyes are starting to glaze over.
“Can I hold you?” you ask.
“I mean… if you want…” he says as he jerks up again. “Fuck… that’s better already…”
You wrap your free arm around his shoulders and pull him against you. His body is so heated with need right now… you can only hope you’re helping to alleviate that need, even if only slightly. You nuzzle your head against the soft fur on his neck, and he purrs in satisfaction.
“Mmm… babe…”
He’s never called you that before, but you like it.
He wraps his arms around you in turn, burying his face into the top of your head. “Damn, you smell good…”
You grip him harder, and he gasps and squeezes you tighter.
“Oh god…” He starts peppering the top of your head with rapid kisses, seemingly unaware of himself. “You’re doing so good, baby…”
You could easily get used to this rhythm, working him up to a climax while held tight in his arms…
“I want more.” He grips at the back of your shirt as he pants. “Want more… want you… wanna mate…” He kisses you again as he tugs at your clothes. “Wanna mate… wanna mate…”
You turn your face up so that his kisses catch your mouth instead. This doesn’t stop him from kissing you. He groans against your lips as he presses further against you, his body trembling. “Want you, baby… want you…” he whispers against your lips.
“Take me,” you whisper back.
He pulls your hand away from his cock so he can seat you in his lap, leaving you free to return his embrace as he kisses you. You lean in deeply to the kiss, letting his rough tongue caress your own, as he keeps tugging on your clothes. You only break the kiss for as long as it takes for you to get your top off in one piece. He slides your pants down off your ass, and groans as he palms your cheeks.
“So fuckin’ hot…”
The instant you’re naked, he turns to pin you to the bed, landing your head directly on the pillows. He moves quickly, squatting above you and holding up your legs so your thighs are pressed against his. The whole time, he can’t stop muttering to himself.
“Want you, baby, want you…”
You cry out as in one swift thrust downward, his cock fills you to the hilt, his hips flush with yours.
“Want you… want you…” His irises are blown wide as he stares down at you. “Want you…”
You smile reassuringly up at him as you fold your hands behind his neck. “I want you, too.”
You don’t know if it’s your words or your touch that set him off, but either way, he’s launched immediately into a frenzied pace, thrusting down into you as if his life depends on it. It’s a rough way to start, but you adjust easily enough to his pace and to the barbs scraping your walls. His claws are tearing at his pillows, and he’s growling and panting, as if there’s no human thought left in his head.
He’s fucking hot like this.
“You’re… gonna look so good…” he growls as he keeps thrusting. “...when you’re filled…with my kits…”
“Fill me, Husk…!” you gasp out. His tail lashes as he fucks into you even harder.
“Have my kits… have my kits…!” His speech is becoming more choppy, his thrusts more erratic. “Have- want- fuck-”
As his cock throbs inside you, you pull him down for another kiss. This seems to be what pushes him over the edge, as he slams deep inside you and immediately lets loose. His cum fills you deep, your current position preventing anything from leaking out.
“Fuck…” he groans, just barely pulled backed from you kiss. “C’mon… take it…” He keeps thrusting, pushing his cum as deep inside you as he can. “Take all of it… you gotta have kits for me…”
“I will,” you promise before kissing him again. He relaxes against you, comparatively; his body is still hot to the touch, his cock still hard inside you, but at least he’s breathing a little easier.
As he pulls back from the kiss, he looks down at you through dazed, half-lidded pupils, his tail’s swaying now a lot slower. “Beautiful…” he murmurs with a laugh before kissing you again. “You’re gonna have kits with me… I’m so glad…”
You don’t have the heart to ruin his fantasy right now. You’re sure his mind will clear it out any second, anyway.
“Babe…” he whispers as he strokes your face. He smiles, and his cock twitches inside you. “Can I do that again? I wanna make sure…”
—
Your hips are so sore as you wake up in Husk’s bed. Just how many times did you let him fill you? You lost track after the third. It’s hard to keep your head on straight with a beast pumping you full of cum over and over again.
You know he would have stopped if you asked him to… and that’s why you never asked.
You look over to see Husk sprawled out on his stomach on his side of the bed, snoring loudly. You can’t help but smile; he’s so handsome when he’s asleep. If you had to pick a resident of the hotel to wake up next to like this, he would have always been your choice, no questions asked.
You spend some time stroking the soft fur on his head, paying special attention to his ears and cheeks. It takes him a while to finally stir.
“Why do I feel like I got hit by a truck?” he grumbles as he tries to push himself up, before quickly giving up and letting himself drop back down to the bed. “What happened last night?”
“Good morning, Husk,” you greet him, voice a lot more cheerful than you really feel. You wouldn’t mind sleeping for a few more hours, and it doesn’t seem like Husk would object to that idea.
“What the-” He turns and stares blankly at you for a few seconds, as if not quite comprehending what he’s seeing. “...was that real?”
“You mean, you fucking me and begging me to have kits for you?” you say as you stroke his ear again. “It was real. Thank you, Husk.”
Husk groans as he grabs another pillow and sandwiches his head between two of them, apparently trying to smother himself. “What the fuck was I saying last night?! Of course I don’t want kits! We just barely met! What the fuck!”
“Husk, it’s okay,” you assure him as you take the top pillow from him. “It was just a fantasy, right? And I enjoyed it.”
“We just barely met,” he repeats. “And I said all that shit to you already.”
“Did it make you feel better?” you ask.
Husk hums in thought. “Well, my brain isn’t screaming at me to start fucking you anymore…”
“Then it worked,” you said.
“But now you know what I��m like when my brain goes stupid on me,” he continues. “So I bet that won’t happen again.”
“Of course it will,” you assure him. “I told you, I enjoyed it. And next time you start feeling like that… I’d rather you asked me than someone else.”
He stares at you in what seems to be disbelief. “So… you know I’m a creep, but… we’re still friends?”
You can’t help but laugh. “Maybe a little more than friends, after something like that.”
Thankfully, that got him to smile. “Okay… just don’t tell anyone what just happened.”
Given how loud you two were, it’s probably a little too late.
“And maybe sometime… we can do that when I’m not a horny idiot. I have a softer side, too, I swear…”
You stroke his cheek and kiss him. “Can’t wait to see it. “
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel husk#hazbin husk#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel husk x reader#hazbin husk x reader#irk blubbers about nothing#irk talks to strangers#irk got asked a thing#irk huskposts
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winter wind — lee minho.
trope. best friends to lovers. pining. minho is astronomically down bad.
synopsis. a look into lee minho’s realization that maybe he is eager for the affection of someone else featuring the menaces, seungmin and jisung
word count. 1.5k words
warnings. curse words and nothing else i think
note. this idea just suddenly came to me so please enjoy tsundere minho and this silly little fic
Lee Minho sighs out in relief when the pair of you finally make it to Chan’s apartment, immediately being greeted by a warmth in sharp contrast to the weather outside.
The winter wind was unforgiving, as it always is, nipping at Minho’s skin and harshly blowing a deep shade of red on his nose and cheeks. It’s a sight that elicits teasing from his friends, and he tries to shut them up right away before you can hear anything.
You’re still by the doorway, struggling to take off your winter boots. With the information that you’re out of earshot, verified by a quick glance your way, only heightens their teasing.
Heavy on Seungmin. He’s the only little fucker that isn’t easily intimidated by Minho’s infamous glare.
“You’re practically naked, hyung.” Minho wants to wipe the smirk off of his face so bad, but Seungmin isn’t technically wrong, only confirmed further upon double checking his appearance from the huge fucking mirror decorating Chan’s living room.
A sweatshirt and some pants — a pretty fucking terrible choice considering the temperature outside.
“It wasn’t that cold.” He dismisses.
His shivering hands and runny nose deeply contradict with his statement, and Seungmin all but laughs at how persistent Minho is at defending his case. Though, he is having an awful time trying to justify his friend’s clothing choice when he knows Minho usually walks to Chan’s place.
Lee Minho is far smarter than a sweatshirt and some pants.
Seungmin, and the rest of the boys, can only share glances in understanding when you come stumbling into the living room wearing almost all of Minho’s outerwear. His favorite puffer jacket is on you, engulfing your entire figure and that scarf sitting on your neck looks awfully like the one Hyunjin had gifted the boy a few birthdays ago.
So you’re the culprit as to why Minho’s quietly made his way to stand by Chan’s heater to catch a glimpse of his normal temperature.
“Coldcoldcoldcold—“ You pause your conversation with yourself when you see the boys all smiling at you in the living room. As if they know something yoh don’t.
“Hi.” You mumble, trying your best to show a smile as you puff out a breath of winter air. They greet you back right away with accompanied squeals and pinches in the cheeks.
The scarf looks adorable covering half your face, and Seungmin has to physically bite back his laughter when you raise your hand and Minho’s (too big for you) gloves greet them. His friend is horrendously in love with you, and it’s so obvious that Seungmin’s dumbfounded as to how you haven’t realized it yourself.
It doesn’t help that Minho is absolutely useless and won’t confess first — refuses to, even. It’s come to the point where Chan, always the one to tell the boys not to meddle, has practically begged the boy to confess.
The boys probably can’t count with all their hands combined the number of times they’ve told him to confess and he outright avoided the question.
Though, despite being the most straightforward in the group, it seems his feelings for you has made him turn a complete 180 (at least when it comes to the part of his brain reserved for romance). They can’t blame the boy though. It might as well be his first time experiencing the overwhelming tides of feelings and everything that comes with it.
Lee Minho has never been the type that was eager for the affection of someone else either. Among the eight boys, they’d say he was the one who didn’t really have the time for intimacy.
And then you came, in the form of the biggest contradiction to everything Minho had established about love.
Now, the poor boy is falling over, pupils dilated as he silently makes his way to stand by your side to ask you — in the softest tone the boys have ever heard from Minho — “you weren’t too cold from outside?”
There’s a faint smile on his face when you shake his head. And the scene playing in front of everyone would perfectly fit in one of the sitcoms they watch together when they’re bored from how fast Minho’s fond smile changes into a look of feign annoyance when he turns his attention to his other friends in conversation.
Perhaps they just aren’t lucky enough to look behind the scenes, to bear witness to his gentle voice and sweet smile and the way he (without a question) stripped himself off of his outwear as you tread against the white blanketed ground minutes earlier.
He simply shrugs his jacket off and slips it on you, dropping the scarf on your neck and tying it to make sure it’s secured on your neck. Quiet scoldings leave his lips as he does so, eyes focused on taking his own gloves off to put on your hands. If he was too much of a coward to hold your hand, he would have to sacrifice his gloves and bear the cold.
He’d take the harsh winter wind over a call in the morning telling him you’d caught a cold from the winter. Nevermind that there’s a higher chance he get sick instead.
The coming scratchy throat and runny nose are nothing compared to the grateful smile you had directed to him and the way you look clad in his clothes. He almost feels guilty for thinking he could get used to that sight, for hoping to be subjected to your beauty everyday for the rest of his life.
Almost. He was nothing if not a boy who was willing do anything just to see you in his clothes again.
Of course, he hides it well. He’s practiced enough from the months of his dawning realization to the present. So, he keeps the abundance of his teasing remarks high in hopes that they continue to work.
He tells you his hat is too big for you that it makes you look silly or how your height matches that of a 12 year old compared to him which is why his clothes are swallowing you whole. And he tells you that the red on his ears are definitely because of the sandpaper wind and not because of the warmth he felt when you hugged him — it shocks him to the point that he had to push you away and you almost fall on your butt because Lee Minho doesn’t think he can hold back the confession bubbling in his throat if you kept holding him like that.
“You seriously need to tell her.” Jisung is the one who breaks Minho out of his reverie.
The boy can’t just catch a break.
Minho had just settled on the couch, watching you intently as you laugh with Hyunjin at one of Seungmin’s jokes, when Jisung decides to add another tally to the number of times they have failed to get him to confess.
The unconscious grin from watching you laugh turns into a scowl as he directs his attention to Jisung.
“No.” He says pointedly. Han Jisung doesn’t need to clarify for Minho to know what he’s talking about.
“I don’t like her like that.” Minho adds as a weak attempt to get the boy to stop trying to meddle but he knows he isn’t being truthful. And he knows Jisung knows too.
“Sure you don’t.” Jisung snickers, playfully nudging the boy’s side. “We’re not blind, you know. We can see the way you look at her… and the way you’re looking for her right now.”
Minho’s heart thumps at being caught. He simply groans in response, begrudgingly grabbing the brownie in Jisung’s hand and shoving the remains down his mouth.
“She’s in the kitchen, by the way.“
“I didn’t ask.”
“But you were thinking it! You are soooo down bad that it’s actually kind of funny now.” Jisung giggles to himself. “You’d do anything for her, wouldn’t you? So stop being a pussy.”
Minho would’ve lunched his friend to the living room ground if not for your voice calling out his name from Chan’s kitchen. Han Jisung is saved another day from Minho’s wrath.
(He’ll thank you later.)
“Min?” He’s quick to give up, and he closes his eyes in surrender because Han fucking Jisung was right, he would do anything for you, and Minho can already hear the boy telling him he told him so.
Perhaps Lee Minho isn’t as immune to love as he thought he was. There’d have to be a new rebranding towards the part of his brain he had thought was repulsed by the idea of romance. Especially when you had introduced to him the feeling of beating hearts and sweaty hands.
So this is what love is. Now, he knows of the fondness he used to think he could only direct to his cats. He knows of the romance he used to laugh at when watching romantic comedies.
And maybe Lee Minho isn’t so opposed to the idea after all. Especially upon walking in to the kitchen and seeing you smile up at him with a new batch of brownies Felix had saved up for you (that you’d happily share with Minho).
Despite the cold, Lee Minho feels warm, and he looks at you like he does with the little things he loves — a small grin tugging on his lips and his eyes focused on you, diluted and relaxed. Genuine.
Perhaps there is time for intimacy, and perhaps he’d have to put an end to that tally and finally fucking confess.
(If he didn’t, the boys will have owed Seungmin a lot of money).
#k-labels#stray kids fic#minho x reader#lee know x reader#lee minho x reader#stray kids lee know#stray kids au#lee know x you#stray kids minho#lee minho#minho fic#minho imagines#minho au#stray kids fluff#minho fluff#stray kids scenarios#stray kids oneshots#stray kids scenario#lee know scenarios#stray kids imagine#stray kids fanfic#stray kids x reader#lee minho fluff#minho x you#skz minho#stray kids x you#stray kids oneshot#skz x reader#skz imagines#skz fluff
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where you lead me, i’ll follow ; suguru geto
synopsis; opening up is hard, even under the comfort of a starry sky, seated next to your childhood friend. fortunately, suguru knows you like the back of his hand.
word count; 10k (dont even look at me i got carried away ok….)
contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, mutual pining, childhood friends to lovers (eventually. probably.), hurt/comfort (mostly comfort tbh), fluffy overall!!, reader is silly and suguru is down horrendous, written with a no curses au in mind, i’m madly in love with suguru geto and it shows
a/n; nothing goes harder than sugu w/ the childhood friends trope i fear. the angst potential, the fluff potential….. the slow burn of it all……….. anyways can u tell i miss him :’3
time goes by so very quickly.
as you look up at the starry sky, the thought envelops you like a fuzzy tidal wave; heavy, suffocating, entirely unavoidable. these days, sinking beneath its weight is all you seem to do.
a sigh flows from your parted lips. soft and quiet, somewhat resigned. the midnight air tastes cold and crispy on your tongue, turning into a flurry of vapour as you breathe it out again, watching it dissipate into the summer night. beyond the boundary of your vision, stars burn in tandem. all you can see is the darkness of the cosmos, pupils dilating as you take in the immensity of the world, the little flickers of starlight that glimmer in that all-encompassing veil of black — blooming out across the galaxy.
the moon is beautiful, tonight.
a big blob of reflected sunlight, smiling down at you so very tenderly, so gorgeous that it makes your heart ache. shining with a hazy kind of brightness, soothing like the lilt of a mother’s voice.
and there’s a comfort, in the familiarity of the sight. because the moon is always, always there. always shining down on you, always when you need it most, even when it’s carved into a crescent or hidden by a blur of clouds. a view that never ever seems to change, no matter how many years go by.
what a lovely thing to be.
another second lost, as you gaze into the nothingness of space. time keeps passing you by, never stopping — seconds turning into minutes, minutes turning into months. that incessant moving of the hands of the clock; tick, tock, tick, tock. over and over again.
and, really, it’s a little bit scary. you think you might be terrified of time. you’re so afraid, afraid of being left behind, afraid that the world will turn its back on you and then walk away. afraid that everyone and everything will change shape before you know it.
but even in this always-changing, turbulent mess of a life —
one thing remains the same.
”ah. there you are.”
(that voice.)
honeyed and smooth, but still rough around the edges. just a little husky. deep and familiar, etched into your brain; even if you were to forget everything else, you’re sure you’d still remember it. that familiar, familiar voice. it sounds like moonlit nights, and sunkissed kitchens.
it sounds like coming home.
a turn of your head. it’s a subconscious reaction, as natural as the beating of your own heart, memorized down to the very marrow of your bones — muscle memory, to seek him out after hearing the low timbre of his voice. you do it as if it’s the only thing worth hearing.
and suguru is smiling, when your eyes meet his. that gentle upward tug of his lips, small yet sincere. the one that always puts your mind at ease.
a warmth settles in your chest, at the sight of him. hair down, cascading over his shoulders and back, a little messy; as black as the night sky. a stark contrast to the white of his shirt, old, oversized, with some indie band on the front.
his eyes glimmer like little pockets of stardust in the darkness of the night. cutting through the haze, into your very soul.
”… damn,” you click your tongue, faux pout playing at your lips. ”how’d you know i’d be up here?”
suguru shrugs. ”lucky guess,” he lies.
of course i knew, he thinks. finding you is his specialty. always has been. like that one time he found you hiding under a table at your twelfth birthday party, or the time he found you crying in the woods when you got lost on your school field trip.
finding you comes easy, to suguru. almost like he’s always seeking you out, subconsciously or otherwise, always paying attention to your movements. you go south, and he follows. you go north, and he’s already waiting up ahead.
he’s worried. just a bit, is what he tells himself, but truthfully it’s more than that. because tonight was supposed to be for you. for the both of you, a celebration of your shared graduation — but before he knew it, you had slipped away. seizing the opportunity as soon as people grew too sleepy to notice.
(sadly for you, no amount of fatigue could ever distract him from the lack of your presence.)
you look small, suguru thinks, curled up with your knees to your chest. sitting all alone up on the roof of his home, a place you’d always go to on nights when you couldn’t sleep. together, sharing whispered secrets and hushed laughter until the sun began to rise again.
back then, it felt like the two of you were the only ones awake in the whole world.
(the safest world he’s ever known.)
the distance between you grows narrower, as suguru makes his way over to you — and it always does, at the end of the day. no matter how much time you spend apart, that uncomfortable distance always, always ends up broached. one of you always moves closer. as if it’s unavoidable, two planets spinning around each other’s orbit.
suguru plops down right next to you, crossing his legs and leaning back. his knee bumps against the side of your shoe, and his shoulder grazes yours. it’s natural, as natural as the glow of the moon, this closeness between you. it reminds you of the gentle lapping of ocean waves at your bare ankles; on mellow summer days, comforting and familiar. a warmth that never goes away.
a brief inhale, and your heartbeat settles into a tender rhythm again. the scent that always lingers on suguru’s skin drifts throughout the air, mingling with your own — it can be hard to distinguish between the two, with how often you end up wearing each other’s clothes, but you could never mistake it for anything else. cedarwood and earl gray, with a hint of coconut-scented shampoo. enveloping every single one of your senses, grounding you in a way nothing else can.
leaning just a little closer to him, subconsciously, you let a fond exhale slip from your lips. barely audible. and suguru mimics it.
”of course i knew,” he whispers, voice gone soft. ”i know you.”
(your chest tightens. it doesn’t go away.)
another tiny breath flows into the air, as you gaze up at the stars in wonder. ”… yeah.”
the silence between you is a comfortable one. always has been. a little fickle, always shattered by one of you before long — usually you, though suguru isn’t much better.
but this time, he stays silent.
he’s waiting. you know he is, because he always does. he’s waiting, waiting for you to break the silence first. waiting for you to say something, tell him what’s wrong, explain why you’re up here instead of celebrating with the others. waiting for you to explain why your eyes have looked so tired, this past week.
(you’d like to ask him the same thing. he’s an idiot if he thinks a little makeup is enough to hide those dark circles from you.)
suguru is nothing if not patient. so he waits, unbothered by the silence. admiring the stars, and the flicker of their light. a vague worry simmers in his chest, however, and he can’t stop himself from glancing down at you every now and then.
an insatiable yearning to soothe you gnaws at his heart — but he can’t, not unless you let him.
a sigh drops from your lips, suddenly. deep and heavy, like a rock thrown into the depths of a lake. the silence breaks.
”hey, suguru.”
the man in question doesn’t speak, only emitting an inquisitive hum. he doesn’t look at you, either; a form of respect. knowing you’ll find it easier to get whatever’s bugging you off your chest without him scrutinizing you.
the pads of your fingers tap at the tiles of the roof. an absentminded habit, as you inhale a bit of the midnight air. it tastes like summer. ”do you remember how we first met?”
suguru glances at you, a surprised glint in his eyes. he can’t help himself — unable to resist the temptation of seeing your face, drinking in your expression.
then he chuckles.
”haha.. are you feeling sentimental?” he teases, a lighthearted sense of amusement in his voice. bubbling up like seafoam. ”did you come out here just to brood?”
the corners of his lips quirk up when he hears you huff, hugging your legs closer to your chest with a furrow of your brow. cheek squished against your kneecap as you meet his gaze.
”c’mon,” you whine, pouting childishly in a way you know will make him give in. ”just indulge me a little…”
suguru smiles. it’s soft around the edges, smoothed over with an unmistakable fondness — and he does indulge you. he always does. ”of course i do,” he assures you.
the silence that settles between your words is tender. a mutual understanding, of sorts.
of course i remember. how could i not?
”you broke into my backyard.”
a sigh. heavy and sharp, as it tumbles from your lips, and suguru has to bite back a grin. his eyes shine with something teasing, in the dark, when you shoot a glare his way.
”okay, first of all —” you begin, ”i didn’t break into anything. i climbed over the fence. peacefully.”
suguru raises a brow. ”that literally doesn’t matter? it’s still trespassing.”
”i was seven years old!”
”some criminals start young.”
another harmless little huff, as you halfheartedly try to sound annoyed. it doesn’t work. in an attempt to hide your growing smile, you tuck your face into your knees. ”whatever.”
then your gaze shifts. towards that expanding starry sky, the vibrant flicker of the moon, like a moth to a flame. helpless to its charms. it looks like a giant sponge cake, the kind you and suguru used to make when that was the only recipe you knew — you’d eat from the batter, and he’d scold you. then he’d do it too, when your back was turned.
a smile settles on your lips. in every star, you find a new memory; and the fuzzy nostalgia that engulfs you makes your heart feel bare. ”i just wanted to pet your cat,” you recall, softly.
suguru nods. gazing down at you, basking in the expression on your face — peaceful and relaxed, a little more yourself. so effortlessly pretty, bathed in moonlight. ”yeah. i remember.”
he allows the memory to sweep him away, for a second or two. recalling the sight of you, all those years ago, an unfamiliar child in his backyard. it was like you had just fallen out of the sky. quiet and meek, but looking at his cat with an excited glimmer in your eyes.
”you just pointed to her and expected me to understand,” he continues. a grin blooms on his face, hopelessly endeared. ”you were shy back then.”
a raise of your eyebrow. ”um? i’m still shy?”
suguru gives you a look. he doesn’t have to say anything — it’s written all over his face. the classic suguru look, the kind where you can tell he’s itching to say oh, really now? the kind where he tries to look judgemental, but never quite manages to hide the amusement in his eyes.
a small giggle leaves your lips, and suguru smiles, once more. so helpless in the face of your joy.
”then we watched movies at my place.”
you hum. ”it was fun.”
”yeah.”
another bout of silence. soft, terribly precious. the air is chilly, but not enough to make you shiver; a mild summer night, pleasant on your skin and light on your heart. a gentle breeze tousles your hair. in the distance, you hear cicadas buzzing — a familiar sound. unchanging.
(if only everything else could stay the same, too.)
”do you remember what movie it was?”
a lazy smile plays at suguru’s lips, when he angles his face to look at you. one eyebrow raised. ”is there a point to this, or —?”
”i just wanna reminisce.”
suguru pauses. your eyes trail across the view that stretches out before you, from the moon to the distant city lights, as you fidget absentmindedly with the strings of your hoodie. he thinks to himself that you look a little lost. gaze forgotten, within the depths of that endless night sky.
no more teasing, he decides, tactfully. instead, he opts to answer your question; softly, as if he could hurt you if he raised even a single octave of his voice. ”whisper of the heart,” is all he says.
a hum, as you nod. decisively. ”the best one.”
suguru turns his head away, and mutters something under his breath. but you can still hear him — and you know he wants you to.
”spirited away is the best one…”
out of the corner of your eye, you shoot him a thoroughly unimpressed look. he bites back a soft bout of laughter, teeth sinking into his lip gently, not enough to sting.
”you’re so basic,” you grin.
”you just want to feel quirky,” suguru shoots back, instantaneous. ”and you only like it because of seiji.”
”you only like spirited away because of haku!”
suguru closes his eyes, and leans back a little, crossing his arms in a childish fashion — and you know he only does it to make you laugh. ”i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies.
”oh please,” you scoff. ”you really think i don’t remember your queer awakening?”
”hm? what was that?” feigning confusion, he puts a hand to his ear. but there’s a mirth in his eyes, impossible to miss. ”you’re gonna have to come closer, i can’t hear you from here.”
another unimpressed look. you exhale, something in between a huff and a chuckle. ”if i get any closer i’ll be in your lap, dumbass.”
suguru bites his cheek, softly. gulping down the words that almost slip off his tongue.
(i wouldn’t mind.)
”sorry, say that again?”
a little push meets his shoulder, as you roll your eyes. ”yeah, yeah. whatever.”
the banter dies down, as fast as it appeared. then a smile breaks out across your faces, in tandem, the atmosphere shifting into something more sincere — and doesn’t it always, when you’re watching the starry sky with the one you love most?
when suguru continues, his voice has taken on that softer tone, again. the one he only ever really uses around you. ”i liked thinking of us as them,” he admits. ”me as haku, and you as chihiro.”
a soft blink. then your smile grows, sweet like syrup. ”.. hehe. that’s funny,” you cross your legs. palms flat against the roof, knee leaning comfortably against suguru’s. ”i always thought of us as seiji and shizuku.”
there’s something faraway, in your eyes. something suguru can’t look away from.
tentatively, his fingers dig into the skin of his palms, and he speaks. absentminded, a little uncertain.
”… they get married at the end, don’t they?”
a pause. then your gaze snaps over to suguru’s, suddenly mischievous — and he regrets opening his mouth.
”oh?” you purr, almost beaming. inching closer, like a predator sizing up their prey. ”oh shit? are you about to propose, mister geto?”
”i’m just stating facts,” he quips, hands raised in defense. desperately hoping you won’t notice the red tint crawling up his neck, obscured by the darkness of the night.
”incorrect facts,” you grin. if you notice the blush on his face, you don’t say anything. ”they get engaged. not married. big difference.”
suguru huffs. it’s small, as he tries to keep himself from smiling. the beating of his heart is faint, a tender rhythm, stirred by every move you make. he pushes the words he yearns to say back down his throat.
(i wouldn’t mind that, either.)
again, silence blooms. curling around the space between you. it feels nice, just to be like this; just you, and your very best friend, under the soft lighting of the moon. as if you’re the only ones who exist, in an otherwise empty universe — devoid of space and time. like the night could just stop, and stretch on forever.
there’s an unspoken question in the air, though. one suguru is still waiting for you to answer. one you refuse to answer properly, until he does the same.
you’ve both noticed, of course. even if no one else has, neither of you could ever miss it. suguru has noticed the turmoil in your eyes, and you’ve noticed the fatigue under his. those little signs of stress, as everything around you keeps spinning on; as the future grows closer, with every passing day.
(it’s overwhelming, you both muse.)
— and finally, you’ve had enough.
”suguru,” you call out, and his gaze finds yours instantly. ”have they been stressing you out, lately?”
suguru blinks, eyelashes fluttering softly. a little sleepy. they.
then he smiles. maybe a bit weak, but still as sincere as always — resigned to the fact that he really can’t hide anything from you, after all.
(of course you’d notice it. he was stupid to think you wouldn’t.)
a hum, as he breathes in the air and then exhales it all. trying to formulate the words inside his head, turn the feelings into syllables. and you’re patient. silent, as you admire the way moonlight caresses his skin.
”i’ll manage.” is what he finally says, and your lips curl down into a frown. ”they’ve just been getting on my case, again. you know how they are.”
suguru closes his eyes, and you inch closer to him. barely, by a hair, just to let him know you’re still listening. that you’re waiting for him to continue.
it’s tough, for him. opening up, being vulnerable.
but he knows you won’t do it unless he does, too. so he takes that leap, despite the insistent voice in his head urging him to just keep it to himself.
”it’s just… all these expectations, you know?” he meets your eyes, a little sheepish. downplaying his troubles so smoothly, as if you wouldn’t notice. ”i’m used to it by now, but sometimes i guess it still gets to me.”
you hum, and he continues.
”i feel like i have to be… solid,” he decides on. ”put-together. responsible, and mature.” a sigh, as he wrings his hands together. ”and that’s fine — but it’s like they have everything planned out. like everyone does. how i should act, where i should go…”
suguru gnaws at the flesh of his bottom lip, so focused on verbalizing his thoughts that he barely notices your fingers curling around his. but he still squeezes them, lightly. as naturally as breathing.
”it’s like my future’s already set in stone. and i’m just expected to follow it,” he looks up at the moon. ”which is also fine. i already know what i want to do. but somehow, all of it just feels so…”
he pauses. unsure of how to put it.
”… suffocating?” you finish for him.
there’s a second in which suguru can do nothing but breathe. as if frozen, stuck in motion, caught off guard by how deeply your minds are intertwined.
— what a wonderful thing, to have someone pluck the words you’re afraid to say from the back of your throat.
a smile blooms on his face, and a gratitude shines in his eyes. almost overflowing.
(you’ve always been the only one who ever seems to understand.)
”yeah,” he sighs, relieved. and suddenly his chest feels a lot lighter. odd, how just the tilt of your voice when you say a certain word can chase that discomforting sensation away.
”don’t listen to them,” you say, assuredly, so softly it’s like you’re coaxing him into believing you. it works. ”they don’t matter.”
suguru chuckles, rueful. ”they’re my parents.”
”so? they aren’t you.” you nudge his side with your elbow. ”they have no say in how you live your life. you don’t need to live up to all those expectations, you know.”
a soft little breath leaves your lips, and suguru wonders how you seem to always soothe his heart so easily. ”you just need to be suguru,” you mumble, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ”that’s all.”
a moment passes. suguru parts his lips, closing them again when no sound comes out. and then finally, he speaks.
”… yeah,” he muses. ”maybe.”
”definitely,” you huff. ”trust your best friend. i know best.”
”careful,” he teases, tilting his head lazily to meet your gaze. ”you’re starting to sound like them.” the smile on his face only grows when you gape at him, wholly offended, as if you can’t believe what he just said.
”wha — suguru…” you whine, sleepy, clinging to the sleeve of his shirt. digging your nails into the fabric and tugging on it childishly. ”don’t say that. i’m nothing like them!”
a giggle pushes past his lips. ”sorry, sorry,” he soothes, ruffling your hair with his palm. rough hands, big and warm, that always seem to find their way to your skin. ”i’m just kidding. thank you. really.”
the smile that he gives you glows brighter than the moon. he squeezes your hand, softly — a silent i love you. eyes closed, formed into little crescents, and when he speaks he sounds so painfully sincere.
”i think i’ll be fine as long as i have you,” he says. it comes out sounding something like a prayer.
the words make your eyes soften. melting into a mellow hue, so full of affection that you can almost taste it on your tongue.
”everything will turn out fine,” you murmur, consoling him. still not letting go of his hand. ”you have your whole life ahead of you, you know.”
he chuckles. the sound would be sweet if it didn’t have that teasing tilt to it, the one that tells you his amusement is at your expense. ”now you’re starting to sound like my grandma,” he quips, as if itching for something to bicker about.
but you only pout, and let your fingers slip from his. the warmth that leaves you is so jarring that you’re almost tempted to take his hand into yours again — but you just frown at him. ”i can never win with you, huh?”
suguru shrugs. ”need to keep you humble,” he chirps, pulling at your cheek gently. a lazy grin on his lips. ”we don’t want that ego of yours to grow as big as satoru’s.”
trying to keep yourself from grinning with him, you slap his hand away, playfully. ”that would never happen.”
”uh-huh.”
you give him a look.
”my bad.”
a moment passes. gradually, you feel your heart beginning to melt — just a little, but enough to get your voice hopelessly soft on your tongue. the glimmer of the moon embraces every cell in your body, painting over your features with a certain kind of bleeding tenderness. it’s hard to stop it from seeping out.
”you know that i love you. right?” tumbles from your lips, breathed out into the sky, words too heavy to be held back. ”even if your parents give you trouble, and everyone else, too — i’m still on your side.”
”always,” you promise, devotedly earnest. meeting his gaze. and suguru can’t look away.
something flickers, in the depths of his eyes, like a shooting star. something delightful.
he doesn’t quite know what to say. but he nods; almost meek, in a way, and it makes your chest ache. suguru’s always been the type to keep his troubles to himself, content with never letting anyone see into his heart — even if he’d like them to deep down.
if you can be there for him, even just for a night, then that’s more than enough.
he lets the silence linger for a while longer, soft breathing and the rustling of grass filling the space where your words would be. then he looks at you with newfound determination, suddenly, eyes shining in a way you don’t recognize.
”— and you know that i love you, too.”
a moment passes.
an affirmative hum buzzes in your throat, and you give him the ghost of a nod, shying away from his deep gaze. hoping to escape the intimacy of the question. but he doesn’t let you, stare so heavy that you have no choice but to meet his eyes again, after he nudges your hand with his.
the words that fall from his lips surprise you. something akin to a pout plays on his lips, but it’s more serious than that — he looks dejected.
”… do you, though?” he pushes, a troubled frown on his lips. ”do you know that i love you? just as much as you love me?”
at your stunned silence, suguru sighs, bringing a hand up to smooth over the crease between his brows. ”sometimes i worry that you don’t,” he admits. ”you always think too much. but i don’t want you to ever have to worry about that.”
his voice is firm, when he continues. ”i don’t want you to ever second-guess my love for you,” he declares, and you cower a little under the intensity of his gaze. playing with your fingers instead of looking at him. ”— so i want your answer.”
when his hand finds its way to your face, you stiffen, just barely. but it’s soft, the way he cups your jaw; the warmth of his palm smoothing over your skin. gentle, as he forces you to meet his eyes, tilting your chin up slightly. a bold move, even though physical contact is no stranger in your dynamic. you feel your heart pick up in speed.
”do you know that i love you?” he asks, and it sounds almost pleading. you can only find it in you to stare.
suguru’s eyes are filled with something, something you’d like to call love. and they’re looking deep into yours, almost as if coaxing you into drowning in their hue. mesmerizing. ridiculously pretty. if you stare into them for too long, you fear that you might never be able to look away.
but they’re sweet, and warm. painted over with worried hue, something very kind. familiar. the same eyes that have soothed you for as long as you can remember.
in your flustered state, you can do nothing but blink dumbly — gaze darting from his eyes, to his forehead, to the sky, to his lips.
he can tell the eye contact makes you nervous, but some part of him won’t allow you to squirm away. this is important. he needs to know that you know. he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep at night, otherwise.
finally, you squeak out an affirmative yes. and that’s all it takes for him to relax; in one smooth motion, his hand leaves your skin, a relief having bloomed in his eyes.
”okay. that’s good,” he exhales.
swallowing down a gulp, your gaze drifts away from the boy to your left. suguru is terrifying, really — doing stuff like that out of nowhere. you check your pulsepoint, discreetly, just to make sure your heart is still beating.
”alright, then,” he suddenly proclaims, breaking the fleeting silence. ”your turn.”
a blink. your eyelashes flutter in confusion, as you gaze up at him, a question painted on your features. suguru glances at you out of the corner of his eye.
”you’ve been stressed, lately,” he remarks. stating the obvious so you don’t have to. with a soft gaze, eyes that shimmer with understanding. ”i can tell, you know?”
(yeah. he always can, can’t he?)
”… uh,” you croak. clearing your throat and attempting to gather your thoughts, hoping the words will find their way to your lips. ”well. i dunno, really...”
suguru emits a low, affirmative noise, not looking at you. opening up like this makes you feel so uncomfortable. but it’s suguru. you trust him. and you know he won’t let you get away from this, either; he’ll stay up all night if he has to. just waiting for you to put your faith in him.
a sigh leaves your lips, finally, and it comes out sounding just a tad exhausted. ”i… guess i’ve just been thinking, lately.”
and, really, it’s an understatement. thinking is all you’ve been doing, for these past few weeks. thinking of this, and of that. the past and the future. him and you.
suguru hums. an unspoken encouragement.
”everything is just so…” you move your hands, haphazardly, hoping they’ll make the words easier to say. but nothing comes to you. everything is all jumbled up, inside your mind, and it’s just —
”overwhelming,” you finish. the word falls off your tongue like a tidal wave. ”everything passes by so quickly, and…” you bite your lip. ”i feel like i can’t catch up. i can’t visualize the future at all, and that’s…”
(it’s scary.)
”— it just makes me feel confused.”
suguru waits. patient, attentive, making sure you get all the words out before he speaks. as grounding as the moon, as warm as the sun.
when you don’t elaborate further, avoiding his gaze, he opts to finally soothe you.
”that’s understandable,” he chimes, voice buzzing with care. ”you don’t have to think about the future right now. living in the present is enough,” a breeze drifts by, tousling his black hair. ”.. it’s for the best, really.”
a smile. it’s a little sad, as you wring your hands together. ”i know,” is all you can say. because you do. it just doesn’t change anything.
the sensation of your nails scraping against the tiles of the roof is discomforting, but you don’t stop. when you part your lips, your voice comes out tiny. barely above a whisper.
”i’m so afraid of change.”
suguru looks at you. his gaze softens, impeccably.
”everything keeps changing. all the time,” you bite into the flesh of your cheek, harshly. ”i hate it.”
”that’s understandable, too,” suguru soothes. tentative, as his hand goes to rest on your head, smoothing down your hair gently. ”change is unavoidable. but you get better at dealing with it.”
”mm, i know.”
”and some things stay the same, too.”
you glance up at him, and his eyes crinkle. there’s something unspeakable in them, something that’s always been there. light and heavy, all at once. something a little bit too wonderful for words.
suguru smiles. almost a little shy, as he looks into your eyes. ”like you and me.”
…
a deep love unfurls in your chest, warming you up from the inside out. fuzzy and tingly. but with it comes a deep sadness, bittersweet, that you can’t chase away no matter how hard you try; like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe, no matter how many times you try to scrape it off against the concrete.
like you and me.
(he doesn’t know that’s what scares you the most. the thought of that one thing changing, while you just stand there, helpless to stop it.)
”yeah,” you breathe. a wounded little breath.
suguru notices it, despite your vague attempts to act like nothing’s wrong. he notices the fear in your voice, the uncertainty. and once again, he gets the impression that you look a little lost. like you aren’t sure where to plant your feet.
it bothers him. an itch he wants to scratch away. but before he can get to the bottom of it, you begin to speak, once more.
”with you, it’s like…” a breath flows from your lips, as you try to find the words. but this time, they come to you with relative ease. ”if i could do my life over again, and make everything turn out different… then i’d still always keep you.”
silence. you continue, suddenly a little embarrassed at the honesty in your tone. but it’s too late to back out now.
”and even if everything else changes, if i could pick just one single thing to keep — then it’d be you, too.” the smile on your face is small, a little sheepish. “that’s how it is, so…”
you trail off. not sure what else to say. suguru isn’t, either; he feels just a little bit stunned, in the face of your sincerity. yet he parts his lips, softly, words making themselves manifest before his mind can even begin to catch up.
”i don’t think i’ve ever told you this,” he begins, not entirely sure where the words will take him. blinking up at the sky, entranced, whilst you look at him quizzically. ”you always call me your guardian angel, right?”
the question makes your lips curl up. it’s a habit of yours, one that’s become almost muscle memory. you don’t remember how it started, but it’s in everything suguru does; from the way he can always tell when you’re feeling overwhelmed, to the way he never fails to bring you a coffee right before your exam starts.
suguru is always looking out for you, even when you’re apart. like a guardian angel. yours.
you nod. ”because you are.”
suguru smiles, breathing out a fond chuckle, and then shakes his head. ”it’s the opposite.”
you turn to the man beside you, and he’s already looking at you. with his pretty, soothing brown eyes, and the barely visible dark circles beneath them. his gaze is warm and fond, grateful in a way that makes your chest squeeze tight. you melt a little, under its weight.
”you’re my guardian angel,” he says, sickeningly sweet. ”always have been. even back then.”
inhaling the mild air, suguru lets his eyes flutter shut. the taste reminds him of the summer vacations you used to have as kids, when you would ride your bikes to the nearest river and play all day. stopping by any ice cream stand you found on the way there; you always took a bite out of his without asking, and he always tried to get angry at you. but he never could.
on your way back home, the sky was always dark. a soothing blue hue, stars glittering in the distance, while the moon looked close enough to touch. a night just like this one. you’d walk, together, talking about everything and nothing — sometimes he’d carry you on his back. not once did he drop you.
a breath, deep and drawn out as he exhales, basking in memories you aren’t privy to. a saccharine smile painted on his lips.
”without you…” he muses, voice a little breathless. fond, and somewhat helpless. but he’s smiling. ”i don’t really know what i’d do, to be honest.”
a moment passes.
”it’s the same for me,” you echo, words escaping your throat before you even get the chance to realize their weight. gaze stuck to the stars, as always. ”i can’t imagine life without you.”
suguru doesn’t speak, afraid that his heart may crawl out his throat if he does. the honeyed smile on his face says more than words ever could, anyway.
a small bout of laughter leaves your lips. sudden, sad, dripping with longing. it surprises you, catches you off guard — like something within you just overflowed.
“you know what my biggest fantasy was?” you grin, ruefully. maybe just a little manic. ”i used to think about it all the time, when we were kids.”
suguru looks at you in silence, but there’s a confusion in the way he tilts his head.
there seems to be a knot of some kind, stuck in the very bottom of your chest. something that makes it hard to speak. ”i’d get on a train, and just kinda… leave,” you breathe, hoping it’ll unclog your throat. it doesn’t. ”you know? to somewhere far, far away.”
and suddenly, the world grows just a little blurred. suguru can see it, in your eyes — you’re someplace else now. gaze trained on something he can’t see. there’s an amused touch to your voice, but also something rather pitiful. a childish wish that never came to fruition.
there’s regret, there, suguru thinks; something close to pain.
”maybe, like… a small port town,” you continue, closing your eyes. “with a cute little café close by, or whatever… somewhere you can see the sea.”
another breath. you pretend it tastes like salt, like an ocean breeze. then you swallow the lump in your throat, and whisper. ”with you.”
when you finally muster up the courage to meet suguru’s eyes, they shine with nothing but pure understanding. he doesn’t say anything, but he understands. he’s always been like that. not a single word is needed for him to ground you, the way a rock always meets the bottom when it’s thrown into the depths of a lake.
suguru’s comfort is as natural to you as the gravity that keeps the stars up in the sky.
the voice you’ve grown so used to hearing reaches your ears again, and it’s a low sound, a little raspy. but soft. achingly so, enough that you could almost miss it if you weren’t always so aware of every word that falls from his lips.
suguru looks up at the moon, in tandem with you, and lets the ghost of a smile show. ”… you know what my biggest fantasy was?”
his gaze is sincere, a little forlorn; hopelessly softened, as you meet his eyes. they’re painted over with something sweet, and something that looks just a little bit like regret.
a tilt of your head beckons him to continue, and the corners of his lips curl up further.
”running away with you,” he breathes. ”anywhere at all. wherever you wanted to go, i’d follow.”
for a moment or two, all you can do is stare.
you feel your lips part, but no sound comes out, nothing at all. suguru’s hair sways with the breeze, softly, and the light of the moon makes him look somewhat ethereal. like he could disappear if you blinked.
the silence that blooms in the space between your words is fragile. precious, if a little overwhelming, as it stretches out before you — growing heavier with every passing second. so tender that it makes you feel sick to your stomach, as if the sound of the wind whistling could shatter it into pieces.
(your heart aches, aches, aches.)
a weak laugh bubbles up from within your throat, something raw and tender hidden behind a veil of faux amusement. something vulnerable you're trying to cover up, like the glassiness of your eyes.
like a memory that never got to happen.
”what, so you’re saying we could’ve been by the seaside by now…?” you groan, forehead slumping against your knees with a bonk. ”what the hell, dude…”
suguru lets out a chuckle, resting his jaw on the heel of his palm and looking down at you with a smile on his face. one that reaches his eyes, glimmering with something akin to starlight.
”we can still go there,” he consoles you, reaching over to tousle your hair with a palpable softness. ”to the seaside, i mean. i’ll take you.”
for a while, you don’t say anything. a pout plays at your lips, as you attempt to get your emotions under control.
then you lean back, to lie down flat on the roof. the movement is so sudden that it stings a little when the back of your head meets the tiles, and you wince — a soft but exasperated murmur of careful comes from the boy on your left.
your elbows go to cushion your head, as you take in the immenseness of the sky. ”alright, then,” you hum. ”take me there sometime soon.”
suguru blinks. then his lips curl up. ”got it,” he chirps. mentally mapping out a nice spot, trying to remember the timetables at your local train station.
(next week, maybe. a picnic by the sea. he’ll make those sandwiches that you like.)
then he follows your lead, and goes to lie down on his back. right by your side, so close he can smell the fading scent of your shampoo, curled up right next to you. breathing out a sigh as he takes in the night sky in all its glory.
there’s something tender, in the air. something that doesn’t need words. a kind of comfortable silence that you’ve learned to treasure, whenever suguru is with you.
so you simply stare at the dark veil over the city, in tandem with him — a pitch-black blanket sewn with stardust.
everything expands, before your very eyes; an infinite cosmos, with all the light you could ever want. the stars blink down at you, as if saying hello, mapping out the galaxy. you try to find the constellations you’re familiar with, the ones suguru have taught you about in the past, but nothing really comes to you.
it’s nice, though. just staring at the stars in wonder.
an exhale, as you breathe in, and then out. you part your lips to whisper, breaking the sleepy silence.
”the stars are so pretty….”
suguru hums, the sound buzzing right by your ear. a soothing summer lullaby, that only you get to hear. ”yeah,” he whispers back.
a moment passes.
then you both part your lips to speak; smoothly, in a fashion that would be embarrassing if you didn’t feel so terribly safe in each other’s company. simultaneous, as the sentence tumbles from your throats.
”and so are you.”
silence. the seconds stretch on, and on. everything goes quiet.
you’re the first one to burst into laughter — deep, the kind that comes from the very bottom of your stomach. almost wheezing, as you try to catch your breath, arms snug around your shaking body. suguru follows close behind, trying to contain his laughter, but you can hear his little chuckles clear as day.
”eww, what the fuck?” you grin, shifting to lie on your side so you can get a good look at his face. ”you’re so corny!”
suguru snorts. ”i heard you say it too, dumbass.”
a little giggle flows from your lips, and you slump against his shoulder, still trying to control your breathing. suguru curls an arms around your midriff, bringing you closer. muscle memory, to make it more comfortable for you.
”haah…..”
the smile on your face shines brighter than the stars, suguru thinks, looking at you with a bleeding kind of fondness. as if you’re the only thing worth looking at.
”i hope things stay like this forever.”
the light of the moon shines down on the roof, bouncing off the white of your teeth. your canines shine in the dark as you grin, youthful — but there’s a sadness in your eyes, now. one that suguru will never fail to notice.
(one he’ll always yearn to smooth away, the same way his thumb always goes to wipe at any stray eyelashes on your skin, or crumbs at the corner of your mouth. muscle memory.)
”they will,” he assures you, reaching over to find your hand. enveloping it in his bigger one, cradling it, linking your fingers together and squeezing them softly. ”i’ll make sure that they do.”
a chuckle leaves your lips, but suguru thinks it sounds a little meek. like you still don’t believe him.
”i mean it,” he reiterates. more serious this time.
”i know,” you grin. ”but, i mean —”
a moment passes, and then your grin falters. ”you can’t promise that, though.” the expression on your face seems sort of pained, now, troubled by something. ”maybe we’ll move away from each other, or just drift apart, or —”
”that would never happen to us —”
”maybe you’ll meet someone.”
…
”a nice guy, or girl…” a sigh, as you run a hand through your hair. ”and then you’ll… i dunno. get married, i guess. and then eventually you’ll have kids, and buy a house, and —”
a pause. in a smaller voice, you continue. almost childlike. ”you’ll leave me behind.”
suguru bites back a scoff. it takes concentrated effort. he turns to look at you, but you won’t meet his gaze, and a frown finds its way to his lips. ”… do you honestly think that’s what i want?”
another moment passes you by. more seconds lost, never to return. ”… isn’t it?”
suguru sighs, a little exasperated. maybe just a little hurt, too. ”marriage and kids aside…” he mutters, burning holes into your skin with his steadfast gaze. determined, self-assured. the tilt of his voice leaves no room for doubt. ”there’s only one person i love.”
resisting the temptation to keep your eyes away from him becomes nearly impossible — so you let your gaze trail over, and take him in. in all his glory, silky black hair framing his face, a soft look painted over his features. looking at you as if you matter, as if nothing matters except for you.
and again, something breaks out across the scope of his iris, a shooting star you don’t know what to do with. he looks so hopelessly sincere.
for a second, all you can do is stare.
then you nod, solemnly. ”satoru, right?” you hum. ”you’re gonna break my heart if you keep bringing him up when we’re together, sugu.”
you don’t need to see his face to know that he’s giving you that unimpressed look, again. the suguru look. he rolls his eyes, and you bite your cheek to stop yourself from smiling.
”i love him too, but that’s different,” he huffs.
”how so?” you prod, eyes crinkling. but there’s something a little meek about the question. he notices it, of course, because what doesn’t suguru notice?
something soft curls around his features, and a hum buzzes in his throat. a heavy tenderness bleeds into his voice. ”i wouldn’t die for satoru,” he says, simply.
a moment passes.
”… you totally would.”
”huh?” suguru blinks. ”no, of course not. are you insane?”
”suguru,” you sigh. ”you are literally the most self-sacrificial bitch i’ve ever met —”
”well, obviously i’d take a bullet or two, but —”
”what do you mean obviously —”
”— you’re the only person i’d die for.”
suguru is smiling, now. amused, sincere. almost on the verge of laughter, the sweet and soft kind that always turns your heart into a puddle. his eyes almost seem to glimmer, in the night, and it’s all you can see for a while. as you try to gather your thoughts, get the right words out.
”… always so dramatic,” you murmur, at last, a little gruff. his smile grows. you shift a little more, lying on your side to face him with a serious expression. ”don’t tell satoru that, okay? he already has it out for me. at this rate he’ll kill me and steal you away.”
a chuckle rumbles through his chest, deep and fond. you continue, a frown tugging at your lips. ”… and i wouldn’t want you to die for me, anyway.”
suguru lets a giggle slip, a bit too sleepy to hold it back. ”mm, i know. but if it ever came down to it, then i still would.” he shifts, too, lying on his side to face you properly.
”to me,” he exhales, and he’s so close you can smell the mint off his breath — ”as long as you’re by my side, i can make it through absolutely anything.”
the smile on his face is boyish. all teeth and crow’s feet, blooming in the light of the moon, a flower just for you. it’s perfect, you think. you don’t want a single day to pass without you seeing it.
”me too,” you mumble, linking your pinkies together. a silent promise. ”so don’t die. ever.”
suguru’s eyes soften.
then he hums, absentmindedly. ”… well. i mean,” he clicks his tongue. ”eventually i will. that’s not really something i have a say in.”
a roll of your eyes. ”alright, smartass,” you scoff, and suguru’s eyes crinkle with humour. ”just don’t die before i do, then.”
a hand comes to touch your skin. and it’s sudden, warm, but you don’t flinch away. suguru smooths over your cheek with the back of his hand, seemingly unable to stop himself. soothing, as he exhales a soft breath.
”… i think i’d prefer that to the alternative, honestly,” he admits.
you furrow your brows, softly. a part of you wants to protest, to call him a selfish prick — for even thinking the thought of leaving you behind without a best friend.
but something in you knows he won’t budge, on this one.
(it’s childish, in a way. stubborn, for him to take a joking conversation so seriously. but suguru doesn’t think he could even jokingly suggest that he’d survive without you.)
”seriously, though,” his voice takes on a firmer tone. ”i wouldn’t leave you behind like that. it’s us we’re talking about. you and me.”
he says the words like they’re undeniable — because they are. there is no him without you. that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?
suguru stops to think. do you not feel the same? there’s still a crease between your brows, a sign of worry that’s impossible to dismiss. he can’t help but wonder just how long you’ve been thinking about this; how many nights have you spent sleepless, thinking of the future? of the possibility that it entails your parting?
(the thought makes him feel a little bit nauseous.)
”are you afraid that we’ll grow apart?” he asks, into the haze of the summer night. it resounds in the air around you, softly spoken, gentle but coaxing. almost pleading you to open up to him.
and it’s a stupid question, really.
of course you are. it’s the only thought that really scares you.
time moves so, so fast — always leaving you behind. who’s to say that suguru won’t do the same? that he won’t be taken away from you, swept away by that flow? into the future, while you stay glued to the past — stuck on the roof of your childhood, while he moves on to better things?
the night sky is infinite. sometimes, on nights that are a little too long, when your mind has grown a little too muddled, you think of suguru as a star in that sky. blinking down at you, while you can do nothing but watch. hopelessly out of reach.
gaze trailing down to rest on suguru’s collarbone, you swallow the lump in your throat. a little too vulnerable to feel comfortable with looking into his eyes, afraid of what you’ll see in them.
but he’s patient. waiting, always waiting, for you to catch up. for as long as it takes.
”… of course i am,” you mutter, at last. a weak little thing. farther down the street, a car swooshes by, drowning the sound — but suguru still hears it clear as day. ”i mean, it’s just…”
a meek intake of breath. you blink, desperate to chase away the glassiness forming in your eyes. trying to grasp control over your wavering voice. ”even if you say that we won’t… it’s not like there’s any guarantee. you can’t know for sure.”
suguru wants to stop you, right there. wants to ensure you that he does know, that it’s the only thing he’ll ever know for sure. just that one fact; you and him. never one without the other.
wherever you’d go, he’d follow — that’s how it’s always been. that’s all he’ll ever need.
but he knows you. knows you better than he knows himself. and he knows that he needs to let you speak freely, without interruption, until you’ve gotten every last worry off your chest.
so he settles for simply looking at you, curled up and biting his lip to stop himself from speaking. wishing he could smooth away the moisture in your eyes, already — but the tears need to fall first. he knows it’ll make you feel better.
”i love you,” you whisper, and suguru’s heart claws its way up his throat. ”i love you, and i want to be with you forever — but…” a shaky inhale. ”but i can’t get rid of that fear. the idea of losing you… i just can’t deal with it.”
”don’t you think i feel exactly the same?” he cuts in, softly.
a beat. you glance up at his face, for a split second, and then back down to his collarbone. a little fragile, curling into yourself as if hiding. ”i don’t know,” you sigh.
(suguru’s heart breaks.)
”i know that you love me too, and all. and i trust you. but…” you trail off, swallowing thickly. ”you already have your future planned out, and everything. maybe i just… don’t have a place in it.”
suguru scoffs, unable to bite back the sound any longer. it’s soft, but frustrated. ”there’ll always be a place for you in my future,” he vows. ”i wouldn’t accept anything less.”
you cower a little, under the warmth of his gaze. sweet, but stern. so distinctly suguru that it makes you falter.
”besides,” he clicks his tongue. ”i don’t need to follow the future that’s been planned out for me. i just need to be suguru.” a warm smile. ”right?”
at the sound of your own words, a light flush blooms on your skin. but for once, suguru isn’t teasing you.
”and you just need to be you,” he continues, arm still wrapped around your midriff. trailing up slowly, so that his hand can smooth over the back of your head. ”that’s all.”
”as long as both of us do that — we’ll always be together.” he looks into your eyes, and you think you spot a constellation inside his iris. ”won’t we?”
another moment of silence, the familiar comfort that settles between you. there’s no pressure to continue — but you do so, anyway. muddled mind still spinning, worried about this and that, despite suguru’s soothing words.
a part of you can’t put your faith in that kind of future. one where the two of you are together, that you could envision so clearly when you were younger — when him and you was all that you knew for certain. it’s not as simple as it was back then.
(but another part of you desperately yearns for him to prove you wrong.)
”… but,” you mumble, shaky. ”what if it’s not that easy?” a chuckle pushes past your lips, humourless. ”i mean, you can’t possibly… always stay by my side, you know?”
there’s something childish, in the way you say it. like you’re still kids, and you’re whining for him not to leave you behind. selfish, in a way.
what right do you have to chain him to you?
suguru emits a hum. his eyelids flutter shut, for a few seconds — and then he opens them again.
”… alright,” he drawls. ”let’s make a promise, then.”
confused, you glance up at him. he just smiles — responsible, dependable. your very best friend.
”have i ever broken a promise i made to you?” he asks, and you pause.
”… no,” you answer, hesitant. voice still a tad meek, a little helpless.
(and it’s true. not once has he broken one. when suguru makes a promise, he keeps it. you’ve always, always admired that about him.)
”right?” he grins, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. admiring your moon-lit features. ”so let’s do it.”
a frown tugs at your lips. furrowing your brows at him, your voice flows out, uncertain. ”promise… what, exactly?”
the moon glows, big and bright. hanging in the sky, a beacon of light, the same as it’s always been. suguru thinks you look radiant, under its illumination — even though you’re nervous, and a little teary eyed. just a single glance at your expression is enough to make his heartbeat soften.
you look like what home feels like.
he could never bear to let that go, to let you go. his very best friend; the one thing in his past he has no qualms about. the one thing in his future worth hanging onto, cherishing fully. no matter what.
suguru parts his lips, smiling. he links your hands together. ”keep being you,” he implores, steadfast. ”and stay by my side.”
a moment passes.
something crumbles, inside your chest. unable to break away from his gaze, all you can do is fall deeper into the hue of his eyes, crinkling softly — in the same way they always have. he squeezes your palm in his, tightly. a silent promise not to let you go.
— and then you realize something. the same realization that always comes to you, at the end of the day.
the man in front of you is just the same as the boy you met, all those years ago. the same boy who saw you climb over his fence, and let you pet his cat, and watched whisper of the heart with you even though he wanted to start with ponyo instead.
the same boy, always the same boy, no matter how much time passes. even though he’s all grown up now, features more defined. voice deeper and huskier. hands larger, with rougher skin.
he’s changed, just like you have — but he’s still just suguru. just that cool, sweet boy. a dorky guy who never, ever lets you fall too far behind.
a tremendous softness seeps through your veins. a kind of love, old and matured, carefully nurtured. the blinks you indulge in are slow, and your eyes shine with tears. it’s overwhelming, seeing him so up close, but you still can’t look away. he’s so beautiful it hurts.
”suguru…” is all you can sniffle, meekly.
your best friend is still smiling, fondly. wrapped up in you, as close as he can be. a familiar warmth, like a big fuzzy blanket draped over your shoulders; smelling of cedarwood and earl gray, and just a hint of coconut-scented shampoo. tailor-made just for you.
suguru never breaks his promises.
”but… you can’t,” you croak out, gasping as if searching for air. ”you don’t know if —”
”i do,” he cuts you off, gently. ”i do know.”
a breathless inhale of air, as you grasp tighter onto his nimble fingers. you feel meek, lost. not sure where to put your hands, or what to believe. ”how?” you ask, terribly fragile.
suguru takes a deep breath. oxygen enters his lungs, exiting as he breathes out. a soft flicker of life. his thumb goes to wipe away the stray tear that trickles down your cheek, his touch delicate. and then comes his response.
”— because i need you the way i need air.”
and, really, it’s a sappy thing to say. a little pretentious. he’d feel embarrassed if it wasn’t for the soft flicker of the moon, the intimacy of the moment. he simply couldn’t bear not to tell you the truth — even if you end up bringing it up tomorrow, just to tease him. he can deal with a little embarrassment, every once in a while. just for you.
fortunately for him, no thoughts of teasing run through your mind. maybe if you were in a better headspace, a little less of a wreck, you could muster the will to make fun of him a little. who do you think you are, shakespeare? i knew i shouldn’t have lent you that copy of romeo and juliet. — something light and amused, just to distract him from the rapid beating of your heart.
but right now…
all you can do is take a deep breath. and you think you understand what he means, when that breath of life courses through your lungs.
”i’ll never leave you behind,” he continues, words so very self-assured that it leaves you reeling. rubbing comforting circles into the skin of your palm, without thinking. muscle memory. ”can you trust me on that?”
connected to his gaze, you stumble for something to say. anything.
but then he smiles, again. that familiar, familiar smile. as soothing as a mother’s caress. and only one single word makes it past your lips.
”… okay.”
you do trust him. more than anyone else in the world. so you take that leap, no matter how frightening it is —
and the world narrows down to just the two of you.
just you, and him, in this one single moment. illuminated by the light of the moon, lying side by side and looking into each other’s eyes, on a roof you always find yourselves at one way or another. laughing and sharing secrets until the sun begins to rise; a silent promise that needs no words.
(the promise of tomorrow. a summer that never quite seems to end.)
suguru cups your cheek. his touch buzzes with warmth, trickling down his wrist and through his veins — and you melt into his palm, eyes fluttering shut instinctively. the sight makes the corners of his lips curl up, hopelessly.
leaning close, he plants a kiss on your cheek. delicate, tender; his lips against your skin, a silent whisper of i love you. fervent, full of devotion. of a love that’s as steady as the sea.
”i’ll always, always be by your side,” suguru repeats, like a mantra. hoping you’ll feel his conviction through the whisper. ”you’ll always have me to fall back on. i promise.”
a little smile breaks out across your lips, meek and teary. as fragile as a sheet of glass, but still persisting in the dead of night. your voice wavers, as you raise your pinkie, right in front of his stupidly pretty face.
”pinkie promise?”
it’s a childish gesture. something to lighten the mood a little, make it all easier to chew. you expect him to roll his eyes, or raise an eyebrow, or tease you a bit. but he doesn’t.
instead, suguru raises his own pinkie, and curls it around yours. then he smiles. sweet and boyish, painted over with a rosy, tender nostalgia.
”— pinkie promise.”
and you believe him.
you believe him, because suguru has a way of making you do so, even when he has no idea what the hell he’s talking about. with that confident tilt of his voice, that makes it sound like he has all the answers in the universe — that flicker of genuine faith, in every word that falls from his lips, that tells you he truly does believe in them.
you believe him, because suguru is the only person in the world who’s never once broken a promise he made to you. not a single time. and some part of you suspects that if he ever did, he really would be okay with you cutting his pinkie off. a little frightening, the depths of his devotion. the pure loyalty that courses through his veins.
so you believe him.
you believe him because he’s suguru. and, just like you can't exist without him, he can't exist without you. never one without the other.
on instinct, you inch a little closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and squeezing him extra tight. face hidden away in the crook of his neck, just like you used to do when you were kids. he’s bigger now, harder to properly embrace — but still so very, very warm.
and he squeezes you back, just as tight. comforting and grounding, and so, so secure. tugging you closer, like he needs to have you near to properly breathe. like he needs to feel that you’re there to relax, melting into the hug with a soft sigh. relieved, that you’re still with him. relieved at the promise that you always will be.
wherever you go, he’ll follow. to the roof of his home, to the seaside, to the ends of the earth. the same way every star in the sky orbits around the center of the galaxy, endlessly, before burning out into the night.
the smell of cedarwood and earl gray floods your senses, filling your lungs as you nuzzle into his neck. he’s warm, and soft, and your very best friend.
you close your eyes. indulging in his body heat, every familiar sensation that’s been etched into your bones for as long as you can remember. and you can tell he’s doing the same — breathing you in, arms resting securely around your back, pressing his cheek against the top of your head.
and maybe it’s true, after all. maybe suguru really does need you, just as much as you need him.
and maybe that’s all you really need to know.
the moon rests in the sky. smiling down at you, unchanging. a living proof that some things really do stay the same.
— you hug suguru tighter, and decide that his presence is proof enough.
#suguru geto my bicoded princess…#he could fix me.#sugu is suchhh a ghibli boy u cant convince me otherwise. his fave movies are spirited away and porco rosso#(and ponyo but hes a lil embarrassed to say it LOL… he was obsessed w sea animals as a kid. <3 now im just making stuff up but im right)#physically incapable of writing for suguru without giving him a silly reader…. unbeatable dynamic#i have other sugu childhood friends fics planned but some r. Angstier than others#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#geto fluff#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen fluff#geto suguru x you#geto hurt/comfort#geto angst#geto x reader#geto x you
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❝ PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME (PLEASE DON'T FALL) ❞
Gojo Satoru x male!reader | Nanami Kento x male!reader | arranged marriage, angst no comfort (serious) | sub. bttm. reader (AMAB) | wc: 23K | not proofread
warnings: hint/implied SH through passive means (no descriptions), loss of virginity, blowjobs, handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, major character death, graphic descriptions of violence, yn's low-key going insane
masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's
authors note: this is going to have an open-ended ending so you can let your imaginations run wild. also, I'm sorry it took so long to publish this but I hope it satisfies you! also also - i truly apologize for how frantic the shibuya arc is as I'm an anime watcher so (T T)
they'll be no continuation of this fic but there'll be a one-shot fic of nanami kento x reader having some sweet moments just for the heck of it along with a short fic of gojo and yn's wedding day...maybe.
“This is nice,” he murmurs. Uncaring of the water trickling into the shape of his leather shoes or how it makes his clothes cling onto him like a heavier second skin. It’s cooling, feeling like relief that was manifested into a palpable form. Pulsing, moving, pushing, and pulling as the shadows undulated. Sunlight dances on the ocean, piercing through the waters to reach as far down as it can.
Your arms around him make him grin. He reaches to hold you, the rarest of treasures appearing on his face as he feels your lips press onto his left cheek.
He holds your flesh with a gentle squeeze. The weight of you on his back is like a comforting blanket draped over him; he kisses the delicate muscles and marks you have. You burrow your face into his neck, he closes his eyes and chuckles.
"I'm sorry, my love."
“You’re going to make me late.”
It grins wide and proud at the sight of your disgruntled face. The cursed spirit was as ugly as a piece of dogshit on the street. Smelled like it too. It was a semi-special grade that had popped up in an abandoned hospital. It was the subject of a bountiful amount of paranormal fans, which meant a handful of people and teenagers had disappeared after entering its premises.
Ah, didn’t I go on a mission like this once? You thought to yourself.
“Or was it Utahime’s mission?” you muttered.
She — the curse — opens her split mouth to screech. Her white hair flies behind her as she furiously charges towards you. The corners of your mouth twist in disgust. What a wretched being. Her hands were bound behind her back as she was in a straight jacket. So far, her attacks had been long-distance but the ones that truly hurt were when she got close enough to sink her teeth in.
The chunk of missing flesh on your hand was proof of that. It was covered by your tie but those blackened veins were a clear sign of trouble if you didn’t exorcise her.
“Yeah, yeah. Come and get it, bitch.” Tucking in your chin while taking a quick breath as her horrendous form gets closer, you feel the familiar rush of energy flowing through you. She was running like a bat out of hell. Her chin probably would’ve been shaved off if she bent any lower — her disgusting mouth was slobbering all over as she unhinged her jaw. She lunges and you release a breath. With your outstretched hand, palm facing up, you press the sides of your pointer and middle finger together. The curse screams, her teeth now a hair away from biting the tips of your finger off.
“Divine Flame.”
The birds seem to freeze midflight and the ants appear static; even the clouds above the building had been glued in place. She sees your lips split into a grin, a puff of air that mocks hers as she struggles to breathe. The curse drags her ruby-red eyes to the spark of black that ignites on your fingertips.
"Gods Blade."
A second ago, she was so close to taking your wretched hand off and leaving it a bloody stump. Her stomach wants nothing more than to savour the flesh of a sorcerer and hear him scream in agony as she triumphs in the fight. The memory of it, the bright flash of white that burned her skin off her flesh. She can still taste it in her mouth, she can feel the phantom pain of it slicing the back of her throat.
Everything tasted like smoke and blood. As you kick her head, she tumbles until she is gazing up at the sky.
The sky?
What happened to the roof?
The sight of her shaking pupils made you scoff. The building was torn down. Sliced cleanly in half according to the angle of your fingers; everything your technique made contact with was bright orange, smoking, and singing. Cement crumbles into ash, and metal turns to oozing and bubbling liquid.
“Shit. I haven’t used that move in a while. I’m sorry, I’m in a rush, okay? I think I went overboard.”
Thankfully, Kiyotaka had raised a veil or else you’d never hear the end of it. The building shudders with each step you take. She watches as you crouch next to her, grabbing a fistful of her white hair and bringing her eyes level with yours.
“Not that you don’t deserve it. You glutton. 14 people in three weeks? You brought this on yourself.”
Her eyes fill with tears as she feels your palm warm and warm and then it burns. Her screams were like nails on a chalkboard but you bore through it. Staring into the black flames that consume her you ponder about your agenda; those spikes of fury remind you of Megumi’s gravity-defying hair.
“You’re really shitty, you know that right?” she’s down to her bones now and it’s slowly piling up into a mountain of ash. Still, she finds it in herself to scream. “Your crappy domain was creepy. It’s been a while since I’ve been back in Japan. I’m just settling in. You were supposed to be a simple mission. Now you fucked up my hand and I’m covered in soot.”
Suguru would surely laugh at you. He often did when you were muttering to dying curses. It was a habit you formed, wanting to annoy them to the very end about your minuscule grievances. They weren’t to you but the curse spirits probably felt like tearing your head off as they died.
“(Y/N), you’re really unique, huh?” Suguru leaned against the red-bricked wall with his arms stuffed in his pockets. Shoko watched impassively by his side, holding a plastic bag filled with burn relief gel. It’s not as though your flames burn you. The heat they produce stung your skin. You suppose you’ve built endurance to it but you appreciate your friends pampering you; your clan was ruthless in fine-tuning your abilities, and there was no such thing as pain-relief creams or gels.
The (L/N) weren’t like the Major 3 of Japan. They were considered to be imitations. Mocked for their gaudy technique names and overzealous attack styles but weak bodies. In order to chase after the huge power gap, your clan brought the children to their knees. Grinding them forcefully on whetstones; until they either become sharp-edged or they break.
As the son of the head of your clan, breaking was not an option.
Luckily for them, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique. Unluckily for you, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique.
Your pout makes him smile. “Calling me unique feels like an insult, Su-Su,” you turn your attention toward the husk of a curse. He was pinned to the wall with one of Suguru’s spear-wielding curses as he was being toasted by your curse technique.
“I’m just trying to make them pass on easily.”
The curse warbles its disapproval as he shakes his head, its skin flaking and smoking. Shoko crouches beside you, unboxing the gel after you spread your fingers and exorcise it.
“I think it might’ve cursed you instead,” Satoru appears with canned drinks. He presses it tenderly to your warm cheeks as Shoko tends to your hands. “Here, you did most of the work today,” he thinks nothing of how flushed you seem and simply shrugs it off when you avert your gaze. Satoru ruffles your head, which erases the blush into nothing but annoyance,
“Man, can you believe we’ll be second-years soon? We’ll have juniors to bully,” Satoru says with too much glee. Suguru knocks the back of his knees with his own and Shoko and you barely muffle your laughter.
Kiyotaka smiles warmly as he spots you. It falls as his veil disappears to reveal the ruined building.
“Mr. Gojo…” Kiyotaka gasps with his hands curled to his chest. He must be pissed, Kiyotaka thinks as he glances your way. “Mr. Gojo!” you lift a hand to stop him from fretting over your bleeding hand, unknowingly showing him your fingertips.
“You used — “
“Principal Yaga won’t appreciate my tardiness, Kiyotaka.” The tie around your gaping wound unravels and he rushes to open the car door for you. “Ms. Ieiri will tend to me just fine, I’m not going to die. Oh, and please just call me (Y/N), Kiyotaka. Honestly, we’ve known each other for so long, I feel bad if you kept calling me using honorifics.”
How can he be married to Satoru? He thought as he nodded at your words. Half the time he’s expecting to be beaten up by Satoru, the way he speaks sometimes is as if he is deaf to how crass it is. As he rushes to get into the driver's seat, you try your best to tend to the soot and ash on your fingertips.
Kiyotaka watches you from the mirror. What worries him is the missing chunk from your left hand. The irritated edges and bulging veins weren’t easing his worries either. “Mr. Gojo,” you lift your head with a polite grin. Kiyotaka unconsciously returns it.
“Your husband left some burn relief gel at the back of the driver's seat,” he says. It leaves you stunned. He says nothing as your cool expression turns bashful. He was glad to see you find relief despite your twitching wound.
“I’ll drive you there as fast as I can, Mr — “
“Kiyotaka,” you huff.
“M-Mr — Mr. (Y/N).”
It’s strange what a familiar sight can do. Seeing the peeks of the sloped rooftops made your palms clammy. This was a form of torture and of that you are certain.
With every step taken to climb towards your destination, the wind carries forgotten voices and laughter. This school was a picture you kept in a box under your bed; meant to collect dust and only seep out through the cracks in the forms of nostalgia. Seeing it materialize the closer you get makes your throat tighten. The tree branches dance in the wind and sunlight falls into step. This would be scenic in any other circumstance.
You had no one to blame but yourself. Satoru may have pestered you to agree but he didn’t force your hand; you caved in all by yourself.
‘ Get a grip, ‘ you scolded yourself. This was doable. The anxiety that’s coursing through your veins does not compare to everything you’ve already been through. First-day jitters are all it is. Megumi will be there with his friends, Yuuji and Nobara.
Along with them, Satoru’s other students would meet you again!
They were all great kids (and an amazing panda). You’ve only ever seen them in passing, sometimes Satoru would’ve asked for you to meet him whilst his students were already there. They were a memorable bunch. Meeting with a cast-aside Ze’nin daughter had shocked you. It was no surprise she narrowed her eyes at you.
It was fair. The elitist nature of the major clans of the sorcery world was hard to escape and unlearn. Satoru could escape unscathed due to his curse techniques, spoiled by everyone and entrusted as head of the Gojo clan the second he was deemed worthy enough. But for Maki? She had to steel herself when your eyes landed on her. Especially because you were dressed in traditional attire, the silk of your clothes decorated with the sigil of your clan and Gojo's (your half-sibling had just been born, so you wore it to celebrate her first birthday).
You simply offered a downward gaze and nodded as a greeting. Flashing her a quick show of teeth that you showed to Toge and Panda as well.
“Mr (Y/N), are you okay?” Kiyotaka’s hands hover over your shoulder. You’ve half a mind to swat them away. He means well but at the moment you need someone whose heart isn’t racing louder than yours. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. You weren’t going to die, Kiyotaka just needed to get that memo.
“I’m well. Let’s just hurry before — “
“(Y/N)?” Satoru's presence causes Kiyotaka to stiffen up like a board. His footsteps approach you from behind. You prepare for the questions he's bound to ask. He doesn't say much, simply does a once-over on you, then focuses on the bloody bandages around your hand. An attempt to hide it behind you was made though he’s already reaching to pull it into the light.
“Satoru, it’s fine. Shoko can fix it up, I’m already late. Principal Yaga is going to have my head.” Satoru reluctantly lets your wrists fall. “You’ve got 25 minutes before the meeting actually starts. I built a reputation for being 7 minutes late for a reason. Why doesn’t anyone else abuse it?”
The twitch of your brow makes him grin. Satoru greets Kiyotaka with a nod and he promptly greets the couple a goodbye.
Satoru stays. It seemed as though Satoru was following along on your impromptu trip to Shoko’s.
“He’s excited to see you, even though he won’t say it,” he turns his head in your direction. “He sure is attached to you. All he ever does is be snarky to me. How come I’m getting all the teen angst?” he makes you guffaw.
“Can you blame him, Satoru?” you snort. “Megumi is pretty guarded after what his step-mom and his father did. I don’t blame you for taking on so many missions either but I did end up staying home more often compared to you. Besides, you’re love language of gift-giving looks more like buying love sometimes.” Satoru’s jaw goes slack and his brows pinch into that annoying expression.
“You’re saying I’m like a rich benefactor rather than a parent?”
“More like a gay uncle who likes giving expensive gifts,” you grunt as he tugs on the lobes of your ears. He’s not that offended by your words, it’s not as though you’re denying that he cares for Tsumiki and Megumi. Simply stating that they still hadn’t bridged the gap. Partly due to his frequent goings and partly due to Megumi’s abandonment issues.
It must sting to know your father sold you to a family who only cared about your abilities. It’s no wonder he keeps his walls high. You’re excited to see his friends climbing it, hoping his fortune is as bountiful as his name.
“Must you be so blunt, husband?” Satoru opens the door for you, eyeing the stains on your shirt. "I heard it was a semi-special grade," you shudder at the reminder, "did she cause you so much trouble? It's been a while since you've used God's Blade."
The fluorescent lights of Shoko's don't help your nerves. The theme of today seems to be revisiting memories. The chill in the building does not ease you in the slightest. It reminds you of the same eerie hallway you'd be escorted to, the sickening green-blue lines of light that light the path would make your palms clammy every time. Those five men were akin to statues as they held onto the thickly bound rope plastered with talismans.
"She couldn't talk just yet but managed to create a weak domain. I don't know why. I wasn't expecting it. It was so unsettling."
Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulders, stroking your shoulder as he steers you through the hallway. He knows you don't like long hallways with cold lights. Satoru doesn't ask the why's or what's. Those rigid lunches and dinners with your father and stepmother are all he needed.
Shoko's eyebrows jump at the sight of the both of you walking in.
"Hello, lovebirds," she stands from her chair, "d'you guys need some condoms or something?" The joke earns her an unamused expression while Satoru just chuckles.
"My dearest husband was injured in battle."
Your exclamations of protest fall on deaf ears as Satoru forces you to sit at Shoko’s check-up station. She idles over, pushing Satoru away with a gloved hand. Her touches are careful and light as she takes a close look at the wound.
Then, she grasps your other hand and you can’t help the gentle smile that graces your face as she tuts at the sensitive skin. “You’re here to meet the Principal, right? This won’t take long. You owe me dinner.”
“Yes, Ms Ieiri,” you coo. It was an odd sensation, to feel your flesh regrow, veins stitching together as muscles intertwine. Meanwhile, Satoru is moving around in her office, sticking his head in cabinets and drawers while you wash your hands. Shoko does nothing to stop your meddling husband.
“Found it!” Just as you turn, Satoru’s face looms over yours. Your gasp is choked on the lollipop he puts in your mouth. Shoko’s stethoscope is looped around his neck and her spare doctor's coat makes him look absolutely ridiculous.
"A treat for being such a good boy at the doctor's office today!"
“Those might be expired, by the way,” Shoko says. “‘Toru!” he giggles unabashedly, avoiding your wrath with glee.
“Mr. Gojo is married!?”
Megumi regrets ever saying it in the first place. Nobara and Yuji are staring at him with wide eyes, practically sparkling with curiosity.
“Did you guys not see the ring on his finger?” The chair creaks as he leans back, crossing his arms as they place their elbows on his desk. “Now that you mentioned it, I have noticed it. I didn’t think he was married,” Nobara tilts her head. “I mean, I guess he is pretty good husband material,” Yuji says. “He’s strong, handsome, and he’s generous too!”
“The lip balm he wears is expensive too,” Nobara nods as she speaks. “It’s not that expensive,” Megumi mumbled though the two simply ignored him. He was on another financial level. His standard of ‘expensive’ had been skewered.
“He just doesn’t seem like he has a wife. How does she put up with his childish attitude?”
Footsteps come from the hallway. Megumi says nothing as Nobara and Yuji press their faces to the indoor windows, trying to steal glances. His heart picks up its pace as he clasps his hands together. He kept his guard up for a reason. He expects disappointment so he can never feel that fear of abandonment — a childish wish. Your trips overseas were something he didn’t think would make him fearful again, so he iced them out the best he could. But now that you were back, he felt entirely too excited.
“Shh! Itadori, shut up! Let me sit here!”
They wrestle for the chair closest to the door. The ridiculousness of it has Megumi hiding his smile behind his palm, rolling his eyes fondly. Nobara wins and Megumi buries the feeling of excitement that Yuji is sitting close.
The doors rattle open to reveal Satoru. The silence that greets him disturbs him enough to hesitate to take a step inside. Instead, he stretches his neck and lets his head jump from one student's face to the other.
“Is this some sort of ambush? Why are your faces so intense?”
“Mr Gojo!” Yuji exclaims (he doesn’t need to). Raising from his seat, Yuji plants his palms on his desk and speaks: “Is it true that you’re married and that your spouse is going to be teaching us?”
Satoru beams, one long leg crossing over the threshold. Megumi spots a flash of (H/C) coloured hair and no matter what he does he can’t stop his heart from squeezing in anticipation.
“A guy like me? Of course, I’m married!” Satoru wiggles his fingers in the air. The ring is a simple silver band with a beautiful gem held preciously by silver roots. It was personal, something that would twinkle under the light but remain bashful in any other setting; it didn’t make it any less beautiful or inexpensive.
Nobara stands next. “What is she like? How does she put up with you? Is she cool?”
Soft laughter floats inside. Megumi’s shoulders hug his neck as you walk into the room. You were dressed in a nearly identical faculty uniform to Satoru’s though there were little adjustments and accessories here and there that made it more your own.
“They’ve been your student for less than a week, and they already wonder how your spouse puts up with you, husband,” your eyes meet Megumi’s and turn warmer. Nobara and Yuji gasp, eyes going comically wide as they stare at you.
“They’re overexaggerating. I’m an amazing teacher.” Electing to ignore your pouting husband, you address the first-year students with your hands politely folded in front of you.
‘ Ah, always so proper, ‘ Satoru thinks. It’s probably where Megumi’s manners got reinforced because it sure as hell wasn’t from Satoru. You really were a marvel. How lucky would anyone be to be yours? An idea popped into his marvellous brain. Satoru suppresses his urge to rub his hands together schemingly though hopes Nanami won't mind that he meddles a bit with his mission.
“My name is Gojo (Y/N), it’s nice to finally meet all of you. Mr Gojo has told me what promise all of you show.”
Yuji doesn’t pretend not to notice the way your eyes linger on him. He stiffens up, jaw locking as he feels his tongue spasm. Your eyes — the colour of it seemed to sway, like a flame dancing in the dark. It was spine-chilling.
To stand next to Gojo Satoru, to be his husband — to be his equal. Yuji imagines you must be strong. He wonders what your curse technique is. He is not the only one wondering. Deep in the recesses of his soul, four eyes split open and illuminate the darkness.
“We were thinking of taking all three of you on a field trip around Tokyo!” Satoru says with glee.
“It better not be like yesterday’s trip to Roppongi,” Nobara mutters. You glance towards Satoru, brow raised in question while he laughs innocently at Nobara’s accusing glare.
Megumi takes note of the smell of ash, and cobalt gaze immediately dropping to your folded hands and narrowing as he notices how irritated your fingertips look.
“You’ll enjoy this trip, trust me. Everyone can show off their skills to Mr Gojo, even Megumi,” Satoru said. Megumi's cheeks burned at the callout despite that, he was excited. He learned a lot in those 4-months and he has much to show you. Nobara snickers at his annoyed expression but catches Yuji’s lack of response. Satoru did as well though since there were no marks or mouths sprouting on his face he elected to wave it off as him being stunned by you.
For being a man? Surely, not. Perhaps for your handsomeness? That seems very likely.
It wasn’t as though he was sullen, just tight-lipped as he smiled and guffawed at the ongoing conversation.
“You may call me Mr (Y/N). It might be confusing for everyone if you both refer to us with our surnames."
Satoru pretends not to grimace at the lame excuse. It was not for their sake. It was for yours and his. In 8 months, you would no longer bear the heavy weight of his name, placing it on a mantle of your victories and regrets.
“Gojo?” Kento’s voice causes you to jump. He felt bad for disturbing you from your reading, you looked so peaceful. It's been a while since he's found time to sit down and digest the words of a book. The mountain of unread literature in his home begs for a crumb of his attention — they remain untouched until he's sure he won't die without reading the final chapter. That would truly be a nuisance. The cafe had the smell of fresh paint quickly being overshadowed by freshly baked pastries and brewed coffee.
Kento apologizes for startling you. An apology you wave off, setting your book down after slipping the bookmark between the yellowing pages. The spine of it was cracked and the front of it slightly warped despite the plastic cover it was wrapped in.
"A good read?"
“It was my mother’s favourite book,” you trace the title on the cover, sheepishly grinning. “She left some of her books in my possession after her passing. It got banged up after a mission with a curse in America, some alligator curse.”
“What is it about?” His voice was so deep. Had it always been that deep? Admittedly, you’d only had the pleasure to see Kento again during Suguru’s proclamation of war. At that moment, you weren’t ogling him or relishing in the baritones of his voice. He’d grown up to be a handsome man. Those high cheekbones and strong eyes finally settled on his face. Despite the coat he wore, you could tell his body was chiseled and firm. Muscles stacked on muscles. He’d always been studios — his technique did require a more hand-to-hand approach. It didn’t surprise you. Most active sorcerers tend to train their bodies in order to survive strenuous missions.
As students, you recalled having sparred with him a few times. It didn't surprise you he became a Grade 1 sorcerer. With his flexible ability and his sharp wit, Kento was a force to be reckoned with then, you cannot imagine what he's capable of now.
“It’s a bit dark,” you turned the cover to him, “it’s about a woman whose sister and old friend from school died. They were murdered. We follow her through her memories of them and her emotions. It’s quite interesting if you have the stomach for it,” he takes the book as you slip it into his hands.
Your fingers brushed and your ears warmed up.
‘ Ah, stop it. Stop it! You are (Y/N), a powerful sorcerer. Stop acting like a schoolgirl! ‘
“It was inspired by a murder in 1997.” Kento reads the synopsis on the back, his eyes drinking in every syllable. You wonder if his gaze is always so intense. Do they soften when he leans in to kiss? Thankfully, the book distracts him from your aggressive sipping of your drink.
"Is the protagonist compelling?" After all, what's more horrid than a boring storyteller. Kento has consumed his fair share of bland-tasting media. It was just how life is, he supposes. Still. It didn't mean he was any less disappointed.
He flips through the first few pages. His touch was featherlight as he traced the edge of the pages. "She's angry," you reply after a moment of contemplation. "She is...unapologetically resentful, overly judgemental. But, for some reason. It's almost relieving to read," he watches you scratch the back of your neck as if admitting it out loud made you a bad person.
“I’ll have to keep an eye out for it in bookstores. This looks intriguing.” Kento hands the novel back to you. You’re only a little disappointed that your fingers don’t brush again. He reaches into his coat as you put the book back in your bag. The file he pulls out makes you sober up from the butterflies in your stomach.
Right, this wasn’t a date — despite Satoru's jests — this was a mission. It must be a pretty daunting one if two Grade 1 sorcerers were needed.
“Gojo — “ Your huff makes Kento pause. “Honestly, Ken, just call me (Y/N).” Your eyes widen. Stumbling over your words, you try to apologize for your bluntness, your hair practically lifting and puffing like a panicked cat. It has been so long since you’ve been classmates. A whole decade had breezed past. Calling him by an old nickname after so long was so rude!
To your surprise, Kento smiles. It’s unlike Satoru's, free and sharp, the corners curled like a sly fox as he set his sights on adventure. Kento’s smile was reliable, assuring you without words. Like a prince, though one that was gentler in his ways of living compared to the gallivanting knight that is Satoru.
“Only if I can call you, (nickname).”
Yū’s face floats to the surface. You had given Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and Kento their nicknames.
Satoru, ‘Toru. Suguru, Su-Su. Shoko, Ko-Ko. Kento, Ken.
Yū, well, you had trouble giving him one considering how short his name already was. So he gave you a nickname instead. It stuck more than the others, every time you saw him he’d immediately call you that and you’d struggle to find a nickname that’d stick for him.
After his death, nobody called you that anymore.
If spirits were kept alive through memory, you’re certain Yū’s was thriving thanks to Kento. His classmate, his best friend. What an honoured spirit he must be. Kento was a quiet man, your mother often said those stoic ones were filled with such blinding love it left them tight-lipped so as to not overwhelm others. You wonder if your feelings have tainted Suguru in any way. The very thought makes your knuckles whiten. How awful. You hope he does not resent you.
You remember visiting Kento after Yū’s funeral, leaving food for him at his front door for weeks until you found out he had moved out.
That was a dark summer.
“Of course you can, Ken.” He stands as you do, falling into step next to you as you make your way towards your destination.
This was an interesting mission. It was located in an alleyway that once harboured a noodle shop. Something chased away the people. The building on the right was an abandoned temple, and the building on the left was a nightclub that was torn down after a murder happened.
An unlikely set of locations sprinkled with fear and isolation. The perfect breeding ground for curses. The mix of religious trauma and debauchery formed a mass that seemed forcefully threaded together by a thick rope in the center that looked oddly like noodles.
What peeved you about it was that it took less than two hours for Kento and you to investigate and exorcise it.
He swung his weapon in the air, the dissipating gore of the curse splattering on the walls in a spray. You’re waving away some dust and debris, coughing as you crush a minor curse’s head under your boot. This mission was dangerous, a perfect mission for a Grade 1 sorcerer.
A Grade 1 sorcerer.
It hardly required a duo.
‘ Satoru, ‘ you’re choking him in your mind. This must be his doing. He'd joke about setting you up with Kento but you thought it was that, a joke.
A heavy hand places itself on your shoulder, turning to face him you’re caught by how close your faces are. “Are you alright?” your body twists and you can't remember when he got so tall.
“I’ll be sore, but it’s nothing new.”
You were his favourite out of his upperclassmen. Kento never said that out loud, he wasn’t sure why; you weren’t the quietest or most polite. You were any other teenage boy. Except that was a lie.
(L/N) (Y/N). You were a product of your clan’s race to stand out. The destiny many searches for was laid out ahead of you the second you were conceived.
But you were kind. Not that the rest of the upperclassmen weren’t. You were different, a shining light that Kento finds himself gravitating towards like a moth to a flame. You were the night sky, twinkling and watching those around him. Kento was a mere mortal. All he could do was admire from the ground as he helplessly reached up to embrace deities.
He slides his hand down to your arm, and the reaction is immediate. Pain shoots up your arm, blood hidden by the dark uniform. Kento undoes his tie and wraps it above the bleeding cut. It’s crazy what adrenaline can do to you.
“Kento, you didn’t have to,” you wince as he tightens it. He offers no apologies though his jaw still clenches.
You were strong, your ranking was proof of that. But you were a (L/N). Kento heard of the rumours they tell about your clan's weak bodies but overeager abilities. It was a nice way to say that your clan was in over your head. As history notes, your clan was more devious than forthcoming. Hailing from ninjas or assassins or whatever it is that seemed more malicious.
“I’ll bring you to the school,” his tone was resolute. “It’s just a cut,” he frowns as he takes another look at it. It was deep, not bone-deep, but deep.
He’s terrified that there’s truth in them. The rumours. As you stand here with your heated cheeks and too-warm touch, he’s worried that your brain is overheating. Or maybe your blood is boiling and killing you. You could drop dead right in front of him right now, despite the amount of times you get up each and every time.
He’s terrified, (Y/N). He cannot lose another person he cares about. Kento absolutely refuses to do that all over again.
“Kento,” that stubborn purse of your lips never did go away. He can see the fight you have in you, that fire that fuels you.
As you smile, Yū’s face eclipses yours. For a split second. Just a second. It makes Kento loosen his grip. “I’m fine, Ken. Swear it,” he reluctantly lets you go.
“I apo — “
Your fingers thread through his. They’re intertwined and your grip is firm.
‘ I’m here, ‘ each squeeze relays, ‘ I’m safe, Kento. ‘
The coolness of your ring on his skin earns you a firm press.
He’s content watching you from afar, Kento had long decided that would be his fate. There was no honour in it. He sure as hell didn’t expect a heavenly reward for it. Perhaps he’s a fool for living the way he does. Kento knows he's lying to himself. Deep down he wants nothing more than to kiss you, hold you, make you his, and let him be yours.
But Kento’s fear of losing you outweighs his love for you. Staying by Gojo Satoru's side ensures your safety, wealth, status and prosperity.
Kento will be content with that. Tripping through these messy tangles of heartstrings would just be how his life went. Even if Gojo Satoru did not deserve you, he provided you with more.
He would come home without fail. He was the strongest.
“After we patch up, let me buy you dinner tonight, (nickname). We can catch up.” The offer brightens your expression.
You’d always been so divine when you smile, (Y/N).
“(Y/N)?” Satoru always smells so sweet before bed. It’s the lotion he puts on his skin, specifically everywhere else Fushiguro Toji had stabbed him.
It was expensive and meant to heal and moisturize damaged skin. They’re barely there anymore. The only proof of that day was nothing more than stark lines, and barely blushed skin that hides beneath his bangs. It was just routine now, a habit he couldn’t break. Or perhaps, a reminder for him; to know what it felt like to bleed out, to die, to let others die. The day he ascended to the heavens and became the honoured one. The day everything shifted.
“Oi, (Y/N).” You’re burying your face into his neck and Satoru stiffens. He’s ticklish there, he’s told you that before.
“Are ya’ drunk? Did Nanami get you drunk?” His voice lifts in amusement at the end. He'd heard that Nanami was quite a heavy drinker from what Shoko had told him. He hadn’t expected you to come here after a date. He was nearly asleep when you stumbled into the bedroom. Did you forget your new address? Satoru feels your hands tighten around his waist. A blanket of sadness shrouds you.
“Oi. Did something happen?”
You shake your head. Never in a million years would you fathom hating grain or bread. It wasn't her fault for holding Kento's heart but what sort of cruel joke was this? The gods were mocking you. Satoru swallows thickly as your lips brush the junction of his shoulder and neck.
“Did Nanami do something?” His anger was immediate, you could taste it from how close you were. Had he always been so responsive to your emotions? All it took to make him lose his coolheadedness was a suspicion that someone had hurt you.
“Why are you here, (Y/N)?”
“Ken, he dropped me off here.” Your legs stumble as you sway so Satoru holds your hips. He can smell the grilled meat from your hair, the alcohol from your breath, and the antiseptic wound dressing under your clothes.
“You didn’t bring him home?” Satoru teases.
“He brought me home.” Satoru can feel your lashes tickle his neck. Your breath is fanning that barely-there-scar and it makes gooseflesh ripple across his skin. Right, in the public’s eye, this was still your home. Kento was a gentleman, of course, he’d send (Y/N) back to his husband.
“This is my home, S'Toru,” he agrees with you with a nod, “Of course, beloved. We should get you ready for bed, yeah?”
His breath gets caught in his throat as he takes you in. The moonlight makes your skin look absolutely ethereal. Those tales of forest spirits with decadent forms and whispering eyes that lure men to their deaths pale in comparison to you. The drunken flush that looks silly on others makes you look like you’re a teenager all over again. Your gaze was unfocused, jumping or lingering from one thing to the next.
But your eyes meet him and they're so dark. He’s taken aback. It happens when someone’s in a dim room like you are currently. Your pupils dilate to let more light in. Satoru knows that’s not the case. You’re 17 again and the windows to your soul betray you by letting Satoru in. It’s silly what humans do when they’re in love. How our eyes insist on seeing more of them. Take in every microscopic detail despite not having the ability to do so. Fluttering those eyelashes as if curling a coy finger.
' Come, ' your eyes are saying. ' Let me show you where I ache the most, this void in my chest. Come. Inhabit me. Bare your soul to me. '
The act of kissing is perhaps the silliest. Moulding your lips with another person, feeling them against you as your soul breathes into their body. It’s Satoru’s favourite sensation. The intimate act of it all, of breathing life into someone you love. It was almost cannibalistic in a way. As you stand in front of him, hiccuping from all the drinks you took and only being supported by his hands Satoru can’t stop the way his gaze lingers on your lips. Satoru wants to kiss his husband. He wants to feel your soul burn him from the inside and he wants you to harbour his own in yours.
“Why can’t I just sleep now?” You mumble. Satoru’s palm cools your flushed cheeks, his thumb ghosting the edge of your lips.
“You smell like grilled meat and beer,” he traces your jawline and cups the back of your head to pull you into his embrace. Too drunk to care about how fast your heart is beating, you simply let it happen. Satoru’s big hands travel down and he shushes you when you squirm.
Down to the sides of the waist, then to your hips, further down and down until he catches the back of your knees. He lifts you so you wrap your arms around him, going all but limp.
“Grilled meat and beer smell great! I’m so sleepy, please,” he chuckles as you kick your feet. “I prefer if the bedsheets smell the way they do now. Man, how much did you have to drink?”
The hiccup you make when he sets you on the counter makes him shake his head. Satoru tells you to lean back so he can undress you. It’s amusing to see the emotions on his face as he does.
The metallic scent still lingers judging from how Satoru’s nose is twitching. Suppose the new jacket you got did little to mask it. He unbuttons your undershirt and his eyes widen. At that, you turn to breathe in the mirror, entranced by the way your breath leaves traces of itself on the smooth surface.
Satoru ignores the way your chest stutters as he traces the outlines of the fucked up star-shaped scar on your chest. It was a sick imitation of your skin colour. So close to your heart, too close. Your hand rests on top of his as you trace his knuckles.
“There aren’t a lot of doctors like Shoko overseas,” Satoru slips his hand away from you. It rests on the big scar on your side now. He can feel the marred skin beginning from your back all the way to the front, like a sickle. He can imagine it, see the way a claw or a tooth had nearly split you in half if you hadn't gotten out of the way.
It must've ached. He would know. Muscles being torn apart viciously, bone thudding so harshly on the ground that sometimes he's convinced it's broken. You must've been in pain — muscles and nerves screaming at every movement despite whatever sorcery was used to heal it.
Scars are a part of the sorcerer society. It’s a rite of passage just as much as dying is. He’s not surprised you have them. He’s seen your bare torso before. When it’s an unbearable hot summer or on a beach, you’ve chosen to shed a few layers. Sometimes, you’d even sleep topless if it was too humid.
Each time, Satoru would find himself looking at your scars. Counting them, wondering where some came from and what mission caused it. Or was it an accident? A childhood scar that never went away. Was it your training?
Was it your father?
He never asked. Satoru didn’t want to say anything for fear that you’d no longer be comfortable around him. The ones he remembered, he'd let his gaze linger on but the others? No. It felt shameful to ask. So he never knew. Simply wondered.
In those four months, why had your scars increased? The severity of it looked more and more painful.
“You’re usually not so careless,” fear grips him and his expression is so morbid you laugh. Satoru finds no amusement in it and his firm gaze makes your chuckle fade away.
“Maybe my family’s curse is catching up to me.”
“That isn’t a laughing matter.” Satoru knows you’re not completely immune to the flames you cast. You’ve certainly grown a tolerance for it (and other flames), once or twice he recalls you casually patting away at the inky flames that catch on your clothes. But it’s a great technique.
Too great some would say.
Divine Flame. A technique that enabled the user to control cursed wildfires. To manipulate it to burn through nearly everything it came into contact with. A searing black that makes you sweat even from a distance. That is so bright when cast, it blinds those who dare gaze upon it.
The whispers of your clan making a deal with a cursed spirit followed you everywhere you went. People claim that your ancestors made a Binding Vow to become great sorcerers. To rival the other houses and to fill the void of power that Sukuna Ryomen left your society in after he massacred great clans.
But your ancestor got greedy and the vow was broken, which left canyons of karma engraved in the bones of their children. It was why your clan could never flourish. It was why the children die out, why the women grow barren and the men weak.
It was ridiculous but Satoru himself wonders if there’s truth in it.
Why would the Gods give you a body you couldn’t sustain?
Were you truly cursed? This mighty curse technique engraved into your skeleton burns you from the inside out; is it hurting you?
If it was, Satoru would demand the Gods to come down and face him. Why should you pay for the mistakes of your ancestors?
Why would they dare take more from you?
From Satoru?
Had they not have their fill?
Just rumours, he tells himself. If they — the Gods — dared taking you from him he'd raze heaven and hell.
“...You would tell me if it was, right?”
Has Satoru’s eyes ever looked as dark as they did now? There’s a ring of blue surrounding that endless void. As he peers up at you, all you can focus on is that sliver of heaven. That cerulean that reminds you of the sky and the sea, that you swear shines in mischief or glows like a good omen.
What is this darkness you're peering into? An abyss that whispers for you;
' Come. Let me show you, come, teeter over the edge and fall with me.'
“Would you stop it, Satoru?” your hands on his cheek make his skin burn. “This so-called ' great family curse, ' could you stop it?”
“I’d do anything to protect you, beloved.” He'd make the Gods ever regret making him fall in love with you.
You grin as your thumb swipes over his cheekbones and all thoughts of killing unreachable Gods dissipate. Satoru lets you come down from the counter, ready to catch you if you fall as you attempt to take your pants off.
Satoru is squirming like a worm under the sun. He’s sat on the toilet lid, refusing to let you tend to him. “Gojo,” your sigh makes him chew on his inner cheeks. Finally, you manage to get his shirt off and without that second skin, he feels far too cold.
You’re in nothing but a towel. Your funeral garbs are being tended to by servants. They were probably steaming out the wrinkles while you attempted to wring Satoru back into shape.
“I can do it by myself.”
He hasn’t eaten. What little he does eat is barely sustaining him. Satoru could barely stand after his adrenaline wore off, you truly hope he will not be stubborn. You reach for his boxers and he exclaims, once again;
“I can do it by myself!”
The blood that rushes to his head humbles him. Satoru stands and Satoru falls. You catch him, gasping out his name as your arm wraps themselves around him.
His face is on your chest, resting on your clavicles while your chin is on his shoulder.
Look away, he wants to tell you. Look away from me.
Suguru’s love letters are still dark on his pale skin. Like flowers blooming under sunlight, they decorate him from behind his ears to the nape of his neck. Satoru can recall pushing Suguru away as he did, his skin remembering unfeeling metal but Suguru kisses him and Satoru forgets it all.
He thought Suguru could forget it too. He tries not to cry but he does anyway. Satoru sobs into your chest and a part of you feels anger. It was your mother’s funeral.
Why the fuck is he crying?
But your grief is hanging outside the bathroom, neat and crisp and proper. It will weigh like boulders when you slip it on and you’ll feel your stomach twist into knots as you hold back the urge to vomit. In this bathroom, Satoru’s guilt is his and you’ll be there to wash it away.
He hates himself for it. He hates how you rub his back and shush him, gathering him in your arms as you stand so you can brush away all these feelings.
He couldn’t imagine going to his mother's funeral.
He also couldn't imagine Suguru not being by his side but that was now reality.
Your mother was a kind woman. Not naively trusting, barely had any faith in others his mother once told him. But she was warm despite it. Cunning underneath the pleasantries she shared.
His mother enjoyed her company. He can’t recall if she ever enjoyed anyone’s company other than his father and his own.
‘ She’s a wonderful woman. Shame she’s married to such a horrible man, ‘ she once told him.
“Let me wash your hair, Gojo.” The water hides his tears but you wipe them away regardless. You offer him a smile and Gojo can feel that tree of guilt sprout.
He catches you as you trip on your discarded pants and perhaps you should feel bashful or shy as your naked body is pressed against his clothed one. But you’re too drunk and too sleepy to care.
Your face rests on his chest and his chin is over your shoulder.
“Why do you call me that?”
Satoru turns the shower on, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist as he tests the temperature.
“Beloved?” You nod against him and the hair that tickles his throat doesn’t make his insides shudder in memory of that day.
“Do you want me to stop calling you that?”
He pushed you into the shower and the warm water has you groaning. He’s gentle as he manoeuvres your bandaged arm up, telling you to brace it on the wall to not get it damp.
His eyes are still so dark.
“Your shirt is getting wet,” you point your finger at it. Neither of you addresses your blatant brush-off. He tells you to turn around and you do. From the corner of your eyes, you see his clothes getting tossed onto the floor and the sound of his hand's lathering soap has you fluttering your eyes closed.
He envies the careless way the water hugs you. How it slithers from your shoulders down to the curves of your legs. Rivulets of ambrosia ease your sore muscles in ways that he wished he could.
“People...people usually use baby or babe,” Satoru’s hands lather soap on your back and you lean forward to press your forehead on the wall.
“Hey,” it twists beneath your arm, brushing over your chest and tilts your head up. You can feel his chest hovering over your back and you wonder if there are raised lines where Fushiguro Toji stabbed him.
“Do you want me to call you baby or babe?”
You shrug, wanting to hang your head again but somehow keeping it exactly the way Satoru had positioned it even as his hand moves to your back again. “It’s because you’re dear to me. Calling you my dear sounds way too archaic though.” He smiles as you scoff, “As opposed to my beloved?”
You’re sobering up from the water. He can feel your muscles tensing under his touch.
“What did you call Suguru?”
You prayed that you didn’t ruin this moment. The sick curiosity of it all has rotted in you for too long. You need to know how great his love was, from his mouth alone.
If you’ve spent a decade of your life resenting yourself for being in love with a man who was never yours, you’d like to know if he was truly unreachable.
“I called him my one and only.”
He sees no point in hiding it from you. Satoru didn’t want to hurt you, he hoped if anything this would make you run into Kento’s arms. A restart, a good man who had more than enough money to make sure you wouldn't have to give up too many comforts (Satoru's money and Kento's were no laughing matter but his was as infinite as his abilities due to generational wealth). From what he gathered on Nanami, from previous partners to his parents and health, he was clean.
You deserve that. His beloved, you deserve to be with a man who would never hurt you.
“Your one and only.” Your face is hidden from him. He wants nothing more than to turn you around so he can see what you’re thinking.
“But I am dear to you, Satoru?”
“You are. You’re,” he struggles to find the words. As he does, he struggles to say it.
Cutting him off, you tell him; “You are my first love, Satoru."
He inhales sharply. Crimson seeps from the gauze of your bandages. Staining the white with red. The pinpricks of pain barely register.
“Suguru was yours. I don’t hate you for it. I don’t blame you. You alone hold the sorcerer society’s expectations on your shoulders. Its happiness and misery are all on you. The strongest. I am vindictive. I am selfish.”
“Beloved, you’re not.”
You turn to face him. Here you are, standing in front of each other. Bare and vulnerable. You might as well say what you need to.
“I am, Satoru. I wanted you to hurt, I wanted you to be in pain, for 10 years all I ever wished for was for you to feel what I felt. My love for you was tainted by my own feelings by my own hate. He was your one and only. How could I hate you for that? How could I hate him for that?”
Satoru looks to the side, clenching his jaw as his hands ball up into fists. He shouldn't say anything more but there's this voice pleading for him to say it. Say that he forgives you despite the fact that you didn't need to apologize in the first place. Isn't this what couples do? They kiss and make up. After a decade of this, of wearing rings and honouring vows, you would think it was something the both of you got used to doing.
That's not what you are, in a few months, the only remains of this marriage will be harboured in memories alone. So why does this voice grip him so tightly? This hope that the both of you can actually be together...he needs to extinguish it.
“I’m glad we had each other throughout these years, I'm glad you stayed even if it was out of pity. Even if we were unhappy, even if I could not...please you. We’re friends, and I could never hate Suguru for being your great love.”
“Stop, please.” Your blood is trailing down your arm. Turning the water into a pale red as it swirls down the drain. “I married you so I could marry Suguru.” He releases a shuddering breath. Satoru’s words sobered you up like a slap to the face.
“I was 16. There were marriage proposals from everywhere, even from overseas. I didn’t want to marry them. Not because they were strangers but because my duties would pull me away from his side. But I was forced to. By higher-ups, by clan members, by my mother, the world was looking at me. You said it yourself. The misery and happiness of the world we live in depended on me. But I wanted Suguru more than anything."
He’s looking at you with tears in his eyes. It's your heart that's being shattered.
So why the fuck was he crying?
“I told him if I married you, we would divorce and you would understand the reason. Because you were our friend. Suguru said it was cruel. He knew you loved me.”
These words were like striking a match and holding it to the leaves of that beautiful willow tree you made him.
“Stop, Satoru.”
“I knew too.”
“Please, stop!”
“I — I didn’t...I would take it back if I could. But I can’t.” That voice within him withers to nothing. He pretends he doesn't feel his chest ache as he stares at your betrayal. Your arm pulses in pain but you can barely find it in you to care.
“My beloved — "
“You knew I loved you? All that time, you knew I loved you?”
Was this better? For all these years, you thought he chose you because he held some sort of fondness for you. Perhaps the comfort of familiarity wasn't too far off. But the fact that he chose you due to your proximity? The reason he was so insistent on binding your hands together in matrimony was due to distance?
In another life, Suguru is where you stand now. Except there’d be no distance. They’d be pressed together, lips locked with a passion even your flames couldn’t rival. Would you be happy in that life? Knowing that your marriage was all a facade until the honor was fulfilled and Satoru would whisk his true husband to the altar.
“You used me.” He tries to grab you but you flinch away, stumbling over your own feet as your back meets the wall.
“I’m so sorry.”
"You keep saying that, Satoru!"
You needed to get away from him. There was no way this could work. Not as friends, not as husbands, not as anything more. It was foolish to think otherwise. You attempt to squeeze past him and out from the glass doors but he holds you by your shoulders.
Satoru holds you to his chest as you try to slip out of his grasp. You'd think it'd be easy since you were practically covered in soap suds. If your tears were gold, you'd be the richest man alive. He's glad you go limp, gathering you so close you can feel the raised skin of the scar he had.
Blood is seeping through the fine hairs on his arm, staining it as you hang your head in defeat. He turns you around and the foggy glass doors of the shower make your back arch.
He should stop. This absolutely won't end well. He's broken your heart, cremated it into dust. Was this his punishment from a past life? Had he scorned a lover? Was it you? Were the both of you destined to love each other this way?
Why must he love this way?
You can't tell what's running through your veins right now. Adrenaline? Anger? Beer? You don't know what it is, but it makes you stay as he stares at you.
"Hate me if you need to. I can take it, (Y/N). I promise you I can."
That's the problem. You can't. The definition of hate had been skewered for you centuries ago. Maybe this is how you love Satoru; with bitter longing and resentment. They had four letters, practically indistinguishable from each other in your mind because that's what Satoru has done to you.
From the second you saw for the first time, he'd burned his very soul on your heart. Branded you like cattle with his smile, left cuts with every exhale and inhale as he laughed; this is what loving Satoru feels like.
How did Suguru manage? Was he a stronger man than you? You wish you could ask him. Would his cold corpse cushion your back with his chest, praising you for taking Satoru's sadistic love so well?
The tip of his nose brushes against your ear as he embraces you. This is what Satoru feels like slotted against you.
So many questions are running through your mind. None were answered. They kept buzzing and it's making your eyes water. The steam, the familiar scent of your favourite soap, and Satoru's fading sweetness as the lotion is washed off.
"I hate you," Satoru's breath does not hitch. He turns his head and your lips quiver as he brushes along your jaw. He can feel you trembling as his face hovers across yours. You should put distance between him. Scream and tell him to get away.
Still, there is this terrible desire to be loved by him.
Just.
Just once.
' Come. '
His eyes are still so dark.
' Inhabit me. '
So are yours.
' Let me show you. '
They flicker to your lips, pure white lashes do little to hide heaven away.
' Bare your soul to me. '
His cheek twitches when you place a hand on it. No barrier between your palm and his face. Being naked isn't the reason why you feel so exposed. It's the way he's looking at you. As if your very skin was peeled away, muscles torn apart, bones bashed to smithereens; as if he used Hallowed Purple and eviscerated you into nothing but the very essence of your soul. He drinks it in with that unlimited darkness.
' I have. Now fall with me. '
He kisses you.
It's not the other times when he tries to initiate intimacy. No. It isn't methodical, hesitant, awkward. On the other hand, it isn't passionate either. It's wet. It's pathetic. Both pairs of lips bumbling fools that try to make jagged pieces to fit. Tears sting in your eyes, and Satoru can't understand why he does this to you.
' Look at what I do to you, ' he thinks, ' all I do is hurt you. '
You gasp when his hand pulls you in closer.
Just once.
He needs to hold you like this just once.
To show you how he loves the only way he knows how — to devour you with his sin so you know how much he meant. He knows he shouldn't. This would only muddy the dark waters you tread through. But fuck it.
Fuck it.
Fuck the world. Fuck the higher-ups. Fuck the clans, fuck expectations, fuck Suguru, fuck Shoko, fuck Kento —
"Satoru," you're breathing into his mouth, lips still pushed against the other as you try to catch your breath. Praying at the altar of the body that holds your soul; Satoru is weakest before you.
His godhood is forgotten.
The strongest kneels.
The taste of him is making your head fuzzy. The pain feels insignificant and for a moment the heartbreak is forgotten.
"(Y/N)," there, where you ache for him, he's there.
His tongue feels like velvet. With one leg tossed over his shoulder, you're at his mercy. Those plush lips paint your skin, ushering your blood just under the skin's surface. The tugs on his hair make him groan as he leaves apologetic licks on your inner thighs.
"Satoru," your whisper could make a mountain bow. A brush of his teeth has you gasping. It's soon replaced with a moan as he takes your cock into his hands.
It's obscene. Sex was never meant to be anything but — however, the sight makes you feel dizzy.
This ethereal man is on his knees, cerulean eyes staring up at you as he kisses the tip of your cock. A hand squeezes the underside of the thigh on his shoulder, slithering up to your hip and reaching for your chest and neck. The whisper of his touch on your chin has you whimpering.
"Don't look away," he says, "keep your eyes on me, my beloved."
Your hands attempt to grab the purchase of the glass doors, but all you manage is a handful of steam. They cover the marks you leave as your palms press on the glass. Satoru's mouth and tongue feel like velvet — so warm and wet. When you nearly slip his nose is pressed to your pubic hair so he simply lifts your other leg. The only thing you can do is thrust into his mouth.
He strokes your hips, nails lightly scratching the surface as he encourages you to do as you please. The noises he makes go straight to your dick and you feel like you're losing your mind.
As you curl over, gripping his head, you can only see white. Satoru's throat is gulping all of your cum down, and the sensation of your cockhead being squeezed has your heels digging into his back.
Those 10 years of denying him felt ridiculous now.
There's a distinctly (Y/N)-shaped stain on the bed. There's still soap on your skin. The coldness in the air makes being wet and naked uncomfortable. But Satoru is there.
He's kissing you like he wants to eat you alive and you're weak to his whims. Your cock is in his hands, painfully hard as he strokes it and swallows every pitiful mewl you let out.
Here he is again, ruining you, branding you.
He's not entirely at fault. You let him.
It was not his fault he loved another and it was not your fault you loved him. He was a teenager, so were you. What did he know of consequences, of choice, of pain? He was 16, in love.
Were you truly vindictive? Why were you so devout in your worship?
What were you worshipping?
The tragedy of this marriage? The humour of it all is a great soap drama that the Gods peer down at to coo at.
"(Y/N)," he says your name like it was a prayer. Such reverence in his worship. His lips are trailing down to your neck and the scriptures of adoration he places on your skin make your back arch into him.
"Satoru," he answers his name with a whisper of yours. He takes a nipple in his mouth, teeth catching to feel your chest try to escape it. He doesn't let it. He tongues at the scar you have, pressing kisses there and to the scar on your side, the scar on your hip, the one on your thigh, the one near your belly button...
"(Y/N)," he'd whisper every time he does.
Satoru is in between your legs but you don't want him there. He grunts as you pull on his forearm, a breath away from showing you his dedication to you but he doesn't complain because you're kissing him.
He likes kissing you.
Satoru moves his jaw up and down, you can barely catch up but that isn't without trying. The feeling of his undercut makes your hand move to grab his hair so you can breathe. His forehead is on yours and water drips from his bangs as he pants.
That endless void; it reflects only you.
"(Y/N)".
It's your name that leaves his lips.
"(Y/N)."
He's pleading for you.
"My beloved."
You're dear to him.
Your grip loosens and he relishes the way your soul burns as it goes down his throat.
When he's inside of you, you were certain you were going to die. Life has taught you plenty of lessons and one of them was that nothing good came without a price.
His cock split you open as gently as he could make it. It was tight. You were grateful for his fingers that stretched you despite how uncomfortable it had been at first. Tears still fall as you try your best to breathe, Satoru kisses them away. He's braced on his arms with you underneath him.
It takes all his strength not to pound into you. He's barely halfway in and all he wants is to stay inside you forever. You're squeezing and he inhales sharply, a breathless chuckle escaping him.
"Easy, you're gonna cut my dick off, baby," you sniffle in response. Satoru reaches to pump your cock and shushes you as you moan out his name.
"I'm right here, beloved."
"Satoru," he meets you halfway when you lean up. His heart clenches as he tastes your tears, saying nothing as you laugh in between the lip-locking. His hips move and you clutch onto him tighter.
"Oh fuck, 'Toru." He's there. Nestled in the space he had molded inside of you. Satoru is sheathed fully. You're convinced you're about to die as your chest grows heavier. He cradles your face in his hand, wiping that steady flow of tears as he thrusts in and out. You simply let him, gasping for air and mercy as your body hangs onto him.
"(Y/N), fuck, (Y/N)," his nose curls as his lust-lidded eyes drink you in.
"'To - Toru, Satoru." He can feel your nails digging into his back. It stings but fuck does it feel good.
"More. Nuh - Need more, 'Toru. Need — "He nods. You don't have to say it. You need him.
"Me too, (Y/N). You feel s'good, s'fuckin' good."
When his hips rattle yours, it's enough to have you sobbing.
"Love you so fucking much," he says. You don't have to say it back. Because your eyes betray you. They only reflect him and you're sure this is how you die.
"Satoru."
With his name on your lips.
"Please."
Begging for his mercy.
"Satoru."
You ____ him.
The clouds are strangely dark today. Earlier this morning, the reporter had babbled on and on about the clear blue skies and bright sunny day. Weather predictions weren't an exact science, Satoru knew that, but the sky was not cheery much less sunny.
It was baleful.
The Gojo clan's grounds were meticulously opulent. Preserved history in every shimmering roof tile and old ghosts whispering tales from the creaking wooden frames. The servants are dressed to the nines as well. They lower their gaze with such grace, Satoru wonders if they're robots.
"Satoru, you've come home."
His mother does not meet him at the entrance, nor anywhere else other than her office. It's a traditional room with an open floor plan, despite her aging body she prefers sitting cross-legged as she works or writes or draws or whatever it is she likes to do.
If the sharpness of ice could be personified, it was his mother. It was spine-shivering every time someone told him that he resembled her. Her hair was colder than his own, having an almost silver tone to it compared to his lilac. Her eyes were almond-shaped with delicate double eyelids that lifted up at the end, which resembled a cunning fox. Satoru knows his nose was from hers, his chin as well although his lips were passed from his fathers instead.
"Yes, I have."
Before her, on the short-legged table (which she had commissioned from a talented craftsman), were the signed divorce papers.
It'd only been a day. There was no surprise, if anyone was going to find out it would not be the head of the (L/N) clan.
It'd be his mother.
"Was he not good to you, Satoru?" The shadows swallow his visage as a cloud covers the sun. "It was a mutual decision," he says, "we both thought it'd be best."
"Because of Itadori Yuji's death?" his brows pinched together. A sigh escapes her. "If you feel so much for children, I wonder why you never had some of your own. Men like yourself can have bloodlines now through extraordinary science."
"It wasn't because of young Itadori."
"Well, it'd better have been for a good reason then. This divorce will not reflect badly on you. I know why you settled for (L/N) (Y/N) despite his clan's reputation. However cruel it was, you told me yourself you'd take responsibility. I recall you using your power as head of the clan to strong-arm the decision despite much more powerful families offering their sons for you. This ' mutual ' decision will only have a consequence on (Y/N)."
She sniffles prudently.
"I quite like him as my in-law. His late mother was an honorable lady. I do not wish for her to haunt you for hurting her son."
"I cannot keep him against his will. He wishes to be free."
She scoffs at him. He does not need to lift his eyes to know how sharp her scrutiny is. The clan may have spoiled him with care and affection, but his mother had not. A hand was never raised and she never yelled, however, she ensured that her son was able to lead studiously.
"Free? Of you?" she places her temple against the knuckles of her fist. "Do you beat him? Are your words harsh and cruel? Do you rule your house with an iron fist like his impudent father?" Satoru shakes his head, frowning at the very suggestion.
"Mother, of course, I wouldn't — "
"Do you take him despite his protests? Force him to labor heedlessly to your whims? Is there a lustier boy waiting for you in a seedy hotel?"
"Gods, no! What do you take me for!?"
Her brows cover her double eyelids as she glares at him. "Then what is it that he wishes to be free from? If you are not mistreating him, if you treat him kindly, what is the freedom he seeks?"
"My informants tell me he had signed it before you did. They tell me that he had moved to a penthouse 4 months ago, mere days after Geto Suguru's death."
The light filters through that grey cloud. It highlights the upturned tip of her nose, her pink-dusted cheeks, and her lilac eyes. She was such a refined beauty, it was no wonder her son was too. But this made her look especially cruel as she stared him down.
"I took responsibility, I told him what my initial intentions of marrying him were," he says. "You idiot," she seethed. "He was a respectable man. A good man. A strong sorcerer with a cunningness his late mother had passed down to him and you chose a dead man?"
"You humiliate him, Satoru. The poor boy will be eaten alive by the gossip. Will you take responsibility for that too?"
"How are you doing, my love?"
Megumi raises from below the covers. The distinct sound of the windows rattling open makes him rub the sleep from his. He takes a breath, then says; "I'll be training with the second-year students today with Kugisaki." He hears you exhale and he can see the gentle grin you have on your face even with your back turned to him.
“Is she going easier on you?”
“No point in training if they’re going easier on you,” he mumbles. It makes you laugh while you settle next to him on the edge of the bed.
“Fair. You still haven’t answered my question, Megumi.”
The silence drones for a minute. Despite this, you can tell what races through his mind. Memories bursting with every blink and laughter echoing in his ears. All the things he should not have to know, all those precious moments ripped away from him.
“Does it ever get easier?” His cobalt gaze is especially heavy as they dance around the room.
“Losing someone?”
You stared at the wisps of steam that escaped the spout of the kettle on the kitchenette. Losing a comrade was a rite of passage for sorcerers. Through death, through betrayal, through this or that. For you, you supposed, it was a gentle albeit tedious loss.
The morning after that night had left you nauseous. Satoru was awake just as you woke, and both of you silently, rigidly, stayed in the embrace. His toned arms wrapped around your torso, nose pressed to the top of your head whilst your lips were mere inches away from his neck. His grip tightens as you squirm but ultimately he lets you go.
You couldn't bear it. That night of bittersweetness, of passion you've been craving for, of weepy love confessions and apologies. Not anymore. So you signed the papers despite the 8 months left and sent them to him.
It's Megumi who witnessed the death — according to the reports he'd been fighting with Sukuna Ryomen all by himself. That trait you know he got from Satoru, not the cockiness, but the self-sacrificing resolve. You hate Satoru for tainting Megumi with it, even if most would call it valor.
There is no honour in a child dying.
“Yeah,” Megumi inhales through his nose. It stings. Every inhale is a reminder of Yuji’s last.
“No, it doesn’t. It stays, shrinking or stretching sometimes but it remains.” He had hoped you’d say something else. Tell him that one day he’ll forget about it all. That this sinking feeling will fade away.
But you know he wouldn’t want that. He’d want to remember. No matter how painful. To keep Yuji’s spirit alive, he’d remember.
“It’ll get easier to carry it though, that much I can promise you.” Your arm slips over his shoulders and cradles his head. He is pliant as you pull him in, closing his eyes as your lips press on his temple.
“I loved him, dad."
Megumi stares stoically, eyes rimmed with red. Those words strain to escape his chewed lips. It quivers and as much as he tries to stiffen it, a cry escapes him.
Megumi knew his time with Yuji was limited, he told himself he was content with what they had. He was a lamb sent for slaughter and the butchers were the higher-ups whose orders he fulfilled. Megumi felt like a butcher. He feels Yuuji's blood drying on his hands, he can still feel the weight of his body on his back when he carried it.
He remembers how tightly he held him when Satoru tried to pull Yuuji away from him. How unwilling he was to part with the boy who didn't deserve any of this to happen to him. Megumi starts gasping, bowing his head as he presses the heel of his hand to his teary eyes.
"Oh, Megumi." He turns into you and weeps. Body racking with sobs as you comb through his hair, curling over him as he clutches at your torso.
"I'm here, Megumi."
Tokyo is dark by the time you reach your home.
The beeping of your intercom makes you pause.
Ice-cold water travels down your spine at the overwhelming aura that comes from the front door. Although you hope for it to be Kento, or even Satoru — hell, even his mother would be great — you know who waits for you beyond that door.
To deny him what he wants will just make this more painful. What greets you as you open your door is your father’s hulking frame. Steeling your expression, you widen the door. No entourage waits in the hallway. It was just him. He always dishes out his punishments that way. He says nothing about it. Closing the door felt strangely final; the soft click and thud blanketed the penthouse in silence.
As you turn, a fist connects to your jaw. The force has your skull bouncing off the wall, crumpling to the floor.
There was a monster in your house. Trapped with you as it grabs fistfuls of your hair. It drags you to the living room, lifting and then slamming you down on the glass coffee table. The wood breaks and the glass shatters but at least it lets you go. Taking a desperate lungful of air you lift your arms to protect your head but it lifts a mighty foot placing it right on your chest.
Your ribcage screams its protests. When your hands fly out to desperately push its weight off, it merely places its knee on your chest instead. The pressure has you gasping, and blood blurs the vision in your left eye which doesn't help the disorientation. He grabs at your neck and you swear you feel your ribcage concave as you desperately try to breathe.
"You worthless child!" The beast roars. Finding a purchase of broken wood, you imbue it with cursed energy and strike it above its knee. It yells, shifting its weight enough for you to push it back and away.
Your back presses against the balcony doors and your hands tremble as you bring it to your chest and face.
The monster snarls, baring its teeth at you as it stands.
It's funny how much bigger he looks right now. It's as if you've shrunk back to being a child when you stopped being one a decade ago. It was frightening how much fear your father put in you.
When Tsumiki and Megumi first met you, you were apprehensive about adopting them. You were a teenager, barely fit to take care of yourself, much less keep two children alive. You were certain that kids were never in your cards either.
The night Tsumiki and Megumi found themselves nodding off as you were huddled up together on the couch watching some stupid TV show was when you were struck with a moment of realization.
You could never imagine laying a hand on them. The very thought made you feel sick. You wanted to protect them, cherish them, love them. Loving them felt like the most natural thing in the world.
How could your father not feel the same for you?
"I gave you everything!" He growls, veins bulging across the back of his hands.
"You breathed your first breath because of me! I gave you life!"
"Get out of my house," the words are strangled and garbled. His eyes darken as he takes steps towards you. Not like Satoru's that night. No. His eyes are dark like the walls of that hellish room. They only reflect you but not because he cares for you; because he wants to kill you.
There's a sharp whistling sound that comes from over his shoulder. The glass door behind you shatters as shards of red crystals fly towards you. His innate ability was to control broken shards of glass, changing their shapes and imbuing them with cursed energy. Blood flows from your cheek and torso. The wound from your mission with Kento spills open with fury. Cold wind rushes in as your hips bump into the railings of your balcony. He looks warbled in your vision, painted crimson.
"You're nothing without me! I made our clan rise from the ashes. I saved it from shame as I gave you that tyrant of a husband! I prevailed. I sacrificed everything for it! What do I get in return for giving you this auspicious life?"
You bring your hands up and yell as the shards intently aim for your scars, intent on ripping them open.
"Humiliation! They denied me entry to high society. Me! Denied of my destiny because of my weak-willed son!"
The neighbors are rushing to their balconies and out onto the hallways. They yell if you're alright, trying to catch a peek of the scene by holding out their phones and aiming it at you. They yelp as his crystals fly into the air, clearly shocked at the unusual phenomenon.
This beast. He had 10 years to make himself worthy enough to stand between those of "high society."
Is it your fault that high society never — and would never — accept him in the first place?
He reaps what you sow. That's the kind of man he is. His pride comes before all, your mother once said to you.
She knew sacrifice. You knew sacrifice.
He knows nothing, yet he spouts his ideologies so loudly, so defiantly, it is as though it is gospel.
What a foolish man.
"Where is your respect!? Your gratitude!? I gave you life, I'll take it just as easily, boy."
He was close enough to reach out and grab you. When he did, he quickly regretted it. Fire engulfed his fist, the flame dark as ink as it roared. He yells in pain but you don't let him pull away. Instead, you bring your hands to wrap around his wrist and keep it there. His flesh smells rotten as the fire melts the skin away, charred almost. It sizzles on your skin, leaving its mark as more and more fat renders and pulsates. Bubbling like a foul soup.
Pull as he might, you keep him there, glaring with blood in your eyes.
The hand that holds his wrist lets go as he falls to his knees, summoning his weak ability again. They cut and slice furiously, emboldened by his pain, but yours was greater. With him on his knees, your hands thrust through the fire and grab his face.
It hurts. Your skin screeches in pain as the flames eat away. It feels insignificant. Before you, kneeling, was the beast that played the role of your father.
He feels as though your grip would completely crush his jaw.
The hand on yours is beginning to show bone. You feel nothing. His vomit slips down your hand, lumps of tears as well, and he looks so pathetic, so utterly inhuman. The grinding of your teeth makes your temples feel as though it's about to burst.
"Here it is! Do you feel it!? " his nerves burn to nothing, the crisping sound of his eyelashes distracting him from your voice.
"I asked you a question, boy!"
The flame lashes out, crawling to his elbows, and he strains out a scream.
"Here is my sacrifice!"
The fingers gripping his cheek warm and the fear in his eyes sends shivers up your spine.
There. In your eyes. That cursed candle. Its flames roar. The heat causes the windows to burst into a million pieces, sharp shards flying around. He tries to summon his ability, windows bursting as he forms a large spear. It flies to pierce through your back but your flame is too hot.
Your eyes are dark. He sees himself in them.
Had he always looked so weak?
His glass spear melts and bursts. The sound causes the building to shake and the screams that follow make your grin widen. Flecks of orange embers swirl around the both of you.
"Savour every drop of it, father."
It's always too sterile. The walls, ceilings, floors. He threatens to slip on the wooden floorboards with every step. Satoru watches the black car drive away, jaw clenched as it grows smaller and smaller into the distance.
The (L/N)'s clan manor lacked warmth. Despite the open courtyards and shoji doors, the meticulously cared for trees and shrubbery. It felt plastic. A show put on for the sake of being presentable.
The servant bows, telling him you are awake and he follows her.
The room is bright, facing the inner courtyard with a windchime swaying calmly from the threshold. You're sitting up on a futon, staring out at the small bamboo spout water feature.
Satoru can't believe his eyes. Every inch of skin below your face was covered in white bandages.
"Master (L/N), presenting Gojo Satoru."
The title brings a smile to your face.
He wasn't dead, your father, he was elsewhere. Getting his wounds treated by the best of the best but most importantly, far away from you. If Satoru thought you looked like a walking gauze, he hasn't laid eyes on your father yet. According to your stepmother, he was wrapped from head to toe, resembling a mummy from Egpyt.
It serves him right. The bastard.
You inclined your head and she bows, that same swirl pattern greets you goodbye. Master (L/N). Head of your clan. The position was temporary seeing as your father was still alive but the very title made him uneasy. Satoru settles near the wall, observing the sight before him.
The night of your 'scuffle' with your father had been the same night he fought that one-eyed curse. He had sensed a chill in his bones but with the opponent (and teaching opportunity) before him, he elected to brush it off.
"Satoru, did you see my stepmother on your way out?" He squeezes his biceps, shifting his knees as he adjusts his crossed legs. It wasn't his fault he was born with elegant legs, it felt uncomfortable to sit this way but to point his feet at you was a disrespect he wouldn't toe.
"Yeah. She seemed like she was in a rush, your brother and sisters have grown."
Of course, she would run. Make a scene of it to show her fear. To say she was displeased at the news of your fight with your father was the understatement of the century. She had wasted no time in calling for a trial, pointing a hysterical finger your way, and screaming that you did this to be called the head of the clan.
A quick mention of how your siblings lacked any resemblance to your father but an uncanny one with his trusted servant made her very tight-lipped.
"The higher-ups aren't pleased with the fiasco?" you inquire.
"What d'you think?" Satoru says dryly.
The entire population of the building had to have their phones wiped, memories too, and paid a huge sum in repairs due to your powers.
Apparently, people had thought there was a fire-breathing dragon that appeared in Tokyo.
Facing the garden, you pull the covers away. Crimson seeps through the white, like blood-tainting snow. Satoru is dressed in black pants and a white shirt, his bomber jacket was the same one you'd picked out for him some time ago.
This familiarity is not lost on him. The look in your eyes, that faraway gaze and twitching of your lips. When your mother had passed, you seemed lost but at this very moment it was as though the answer was right before you, that mishappen vision of your destiny a hair away from you.
Suguru had that same look.
"They whisper about you now," you giggle out as he takes his glasses, folding them in his lap. "They always do," he tries not to sound cocky but it's interwoven with every word.
"No. Satoru. They whisper about your curse," you wiggle your toes and stifle a grimace as the cut on your foot stings in protest. "Geto Suguru who killed his parents and (L/N) (Y/N) who nearly burned his father alive."
"They think you made us insane."
"I need reassurance." A laugh spills from your lips. He watches you curl your knees and place your elbows on them with your forehead braced on your knuckles as you give him your full attention. The sun glowed from behind you. The light does not reach your face.
"I'm not crazy, Satoru." His eyes meet yours and your smile slips away.
"I need reassurance that you won't go the same path Geto Suguru did."
"I don't resent non-sorcerers," you say curtly. "Don't play dumb." Satoru's neck is littered with traces of you. Akin to a collar. "Did the higher-ups ask you to execute me, Satoru? Do they wish to incite war on the (Y/N) clan?"
' My, you took to your role quickly, ' Satoru thinks.
"They worry that the new head of the (L/N) clan took his title with force."
"Not all of us were born with such legendary curse techniques. Is that a crime?"
Satoru's grip causes spiderwebs to appear on his glasses. "Do not be obtuse, (Y/N). You know what is implied. You've played this polite game of veiled threats and boasting for years. You know what they ask and you know what I ask."
"I don't." Shades of red bloom underneath your bandages. If Satoru concentrates enough, he could hear how the gauze seeps it and how your stitches strain as you straighten your back.
"Speak plainly."
"(Y/N)," your glare silences him.
"Speak plainly, Gojo Satoru."
Red-veined roots wrap around his throat. That precious willow tree was smoking, sparks of embers bursting from the center as it creaked and moaned. Its branches gnarled, its flowers leaving nothing but ashes.
"If the Grade 1 sorcerers weren't called to stop the fight, would you have killed him?"
The windchimes sing gently. Water gently flows from one end of the bamboo spout to the other. The birds chirp, the clouds move, and the world continues its song and dance.
Satoru's ears feel like someone has stuffed cotton in them. He makes sense of the words you speak by reading your lips, he hopes you're jesting so he looks into your eyes.
The windchimes still.
The shoji doors slide open and the same servant greets you.
"You have visitors, Master (L/N). A man named Nanami Kento and a woman named Shoko Ieiri. They've come with Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara as well."
"Please, send them in and escort Gojo Satoru to his car."
She stands, waiting for Satoru to do the same as his glasses threaten to shatter in his hand.
"Do not do this to me, my beloved."
"Have you ever loved me? Truly?"
His indignation fuels you with sick fascination. The corpse of Suguru grins, his cracked lips pressed to the junction of your neck as he praises you.
"I love you, (Y/N)."
"Then give me the same grace you gave our beloved Suguru. Leave me and cast your gaze aside. If you truly love me, husband. Grant me this final wish."
He whips his head to the side, reaching forward and grabbing the back of your head. It aches. Every shredded muscle and rattled bones, bruised organs and cut skin.
But he holds you against him. His lips taint yours.
Suguru chuckles coyly.
"Please." His forehead is pressed against yours, and you can feel it, that raised scar.
"I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, don't do this."
"Satoru," Suguru whispers it along with you. His tears almost taste sweet as they slip down his cheeks and land on your lips. That ghost, the one that drapes itself on your back with his bony ribs and dirt-covered gojogesa, his smile graces your face as Satoru's heart dies once again.
"Fuck off."
"Is it strange?" Megumi quirks a brow at you from across the table. You set down a plate of cut-up fruits, stealing an apple for yourself before you sit.
"Finding out he's alive 2 months later."
The expression on his face makes you struggle to hold in your laughter. You've never said it out loud but Megumi looked like a prickly sea urchin every time he was pissed off and now he was pricklier than ever.
"I wanted to pummel Gojo to the ground. Yuji too." He stabs into an apple and the loud, angry, chewing makes you giggle. His brows pinch as you grimace but you tell him not to worry.
The dining room is unmistakably grand. Feeling far too empty. Megumi much preferred your old penthouse. This manor was far too big, far too pretentious. Which wasn't a slight on your clan, just their tastes in design.
"Did he really never tell you?" he narrows his eyes.
"We haven't talked much," you reply. Megumi finds that hard to believe. You were both teachers at Jujutsu High, so interactions were unavoidable. Everyone has seen you and Satoru side by side, talking to each other about this or that. No matter how short or icy the interaction was...it was still something.
Formalities were still shared, and Satoru's crass behavior softened just as his voice does when he talks to you.
There must be some lingering awkwardness, Megumi is not naive to think that there wouldn't be. But, it was clear that there was still some affection Satoru held for you. It was almost jarring to see how blatantly you ignored it when once upon a time, you’d been silently blushing at his efforts. Megumi wondered if the two of you had yelled at each other again. He hoped that was not the case. Your relationship was far from perfect but...it wasn't as though Gojo did not deserve your bitterness.
"Is it because you're seeing Mr Nanami?" Sweetness slips down the fork and you hand him a tissue. “Is this like those shitty TV shows?”
The idea of this being a revenge arc against your ex-husband was humorous. Kento was far from the plotting type. He may be annoyed by Satoru but he wasn’t a man who would intertwine his hands with another for the sake of hurting someone.
“Haha,” you said dryly. “Finish up your homework, I’ll drive you back to school.”
Megumi doesn’t pout. At least he think he doesn’t.
He does.
He pouts as you walk out from the room.
Megumi continues to pout even in the car ride back to the dorms. You’re watching from the corner of your eyes, lips curled in endearment.
“Do you like Mr Nanami?” He blinks at the question, turning his head to look at you. Megumi crosses his arms, pout dissipating into a thin line.
“I don’t know him, but from what Yuji tells me, he is a very reliable man.”
“He is,” you continue to gaze out the window, ignoring the itchiness of the healing wounds. The only solace in this pain is that your father’s was greater. Still comatose, skin still peeling as the heat lingers in his bones.
Saying this out loud would make the crows that follow your every movement very rich though.
“In some ways, he reminds me of you. Both of you have a stoic expression, so mature-looking. Mr Nanamin is 27, so it suits him. But you, my beautiful son, — “
Megumi grunts as you poke his forehead.
“ — you are only 15. Stop frowning!” He yells in protest as you stretch his cheeks, frowns only deepening as he tries to escape your grasp.
Yuji waits in the hallways. Megumi and you pause in your steps and Yuji’s eyes widen as he opens his mouth.
“Mr (Y/N)!”
Mirth swims in your eyes. “Itadori, did you need something?” He scratches the back of his neck as his cheeks blush. How cute. Young love was such a sight to behold.
“Isn’t it?” Suguru sighs. “In the same halls, we used to walk through too, (Y/N).”
“No! Ah, just, I heard footsteps so I thought I could hang out with Fushiguro for a little.” You push Megumi not to subtly towards his room/Yuji.
“He’s all yours,” your cooing tints Megumi’s ears pink. He mumbles he wants to wash up first and Yuji just seems excited he didn’t turn down his offer. “Don’t stay up too late, Itadori. Classes are bright and early tomorrow,” he salutes you and the bright smile he has is so contagious you grin as well.
The eye on his cheek split open to take a glimpse.
As you turn, it slips close.
Kento waits for you at the house. He smells like petrichor and as you get closer there’s the distinctly sharp taste of lightning-struck earth. You burrow your face in the crisp white shirt he wears, and he smiles. You can tell even without looking. He always huffs in amusement before he smiles.
“Did you have a good day?” You shrug your shoulders and he slips his hands around you. Those strong arms squeeze you, molding you to his frame. “Did you?” He makes a noise, something between a hum and a grunt and you peek up at him.
Kento visited you frequently during your recovery. He sent you to school during your first days back, then he sent your favourite foods during your lunch and they turned into flowers.
His shy courting was anything but. Kento pursued you with a hunter's grace but a priest's devotion.
Could anyone blame you for accepting his attempts? He made your heart flutter, swoon and race. For the first time in your life, someone was sending you flowers in hopes of you paying attention to them. Kento fed you while you healed and the same day you find out that his eyes do soften when he kissed.
People whisper about how quickly you brought Kento home. Infidelity, they say. Hah! What a load of bullshit. A servant must’ve opened her mouth, one whose loyalties still laid with your stepmother.
How unlucky was it that her home had been burnt down the very day she was fired?
You wrote her your condolences. She begged for your forgiveness.
Kento doesn’t know this. You’re determined for it to remain that way.
“Today was nothing special. Tonight is a different story,” your brows raise at his flustered gaze. “I made reservations for us.”
There it goes again, your heart swoons. Kento tilts his head into your palm and you wonder what your life would have been like if you had noticed his gaze back then.
After that kiss, after knowing that he returned your feelings and only spoke of his interest in a baker because of your marriage, he confessed how he’d been smitten with you the longer that school year passed.
“You were training hand-to-hand with Geto,” he whispers to you, as if shy to confess this. You’re sat with the covers a mess at your legs and the food on the tray forgotten. He’s flustered? He kissed you silly mere seconds ago while you were wrapped up with bandages. The scent of healing ointments practically radiated from you. He was so put together and you’d been going through your clan's financial statements since 3 am.
Kento remembers it like it was yesterday. The way you lifted yourself up into the air, your leg was a blur as you spun. Tendrils of your hair caught the gleam of the sun and it glowed like vinyl. The ringing laughter that followed as Suguru dodged made his heart squeeze.
“We’re supposed to be working on your close combat skills, Su-Su!”
“Quit aiming for my head, (nickname)!” Suguru dashes towards you and you yelp as he catches your middle but the shock wears off. Suguru grunts when you press your palms down on his shoulders and dig your heels into the ground before kicking off, pushing Suguru down.
“Go, (nickname)!” Yū cheers beside Kento. He rolls on top of you, smiling victoriously until your legs wrap around his waist and twist.
“Oi, S’guru! I bet money on you!” Satoru waved his fist around while Shoko curled her fingers expectantly his way.
Kento can’t believe you’re real. Your smile is so wide he can see your gums, the sweat that beads down your skin makes you glimmer like a gem and despite the dirt on your skin Kento can’t fathom it to be a smudge or mistake.
Because everything about you seemed deliberately made. The blood and flesh of those before you must have loved each other so greatly to bless you with such a face. He wonders if, in the future, they’ll find traces of him in your bloodline.
Fire in the wind. Wild and free and untameable.
“You win, you win!” Suguru goes limp and you giggle. Rolling off of him, you lay down on the grass as he spreads his arms out like a starfish. You cushion your head on it and spot the bruise on his neck that peaks out from his unzipped jacket.
“Su-Su, you’re not holding back, are you?” you turn your gaze to the sky. He’d be a Special-grade sorcerer with no problem. His ability was insanely useful, and flexible - a trump deck of a technique. If he exceeded in close combat, that grade would be his with no ifs or buts.
The strongest.
Suguru blinks once, and twice, then offers a warm smile.
“Give yourself more credit, (nickname). You totally beat my ass.”
“You‘re amazing,” Kento tells you as the memory fades away. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I was content with watching from the sidelines,” your finger presses to his lips and Kento’s eyes widen. It slides across his bottom lip before it travels below his jaw and ear and you’re leaning in.
“A reservation?” Your eyes twinkle. It would explain why he was dressed so nicely. It must not be the fanciest place since he wasn’t dressed in a suit and tie but the watch he wears hints at luxury nonetheless.
“Go, get ready,” he tells you in that gentle tone that makes his voice go so deep. Everything about Kento’s actions felt so intimate. You would think he’d be reserved, wanting to go slow as to be proper. In your world, death is a guillotine blade that’s dug into your neck over and over again.
Kento can be courteous but to assume he would go slow was not likely. He knows you, (Y/N). From those times in high school to the fleeting glances of you during meetings and the mission you went on; he sees you.
Perhaps it’s just the way sorcerers will always love each other.
The way Suguru loved Satoru. The way Megumi loves Yuuji. The way you loved Satoru. The way Satoru loves you.
None of you were made for casual affection. Everything and everyone that falls for wicked beings like you find themselves with deep marks embedded in their shoulders, arms, and neck; desperate hounds begging for their man to not leave them but unable to pull their teeth out.
So Kento grips you and kisses you with a heavy weight of relief and you return it.
The Gods have taken too much from you. Kento will not be one of those things they rip away from your fingers - no, not him.
“‘Atta boy,” Suguru’s decaying arms circle your waist as you walk the halls of the house. When you shed your clothes to clean yourself, Suguru sits on the edge of the bathtub. The humidity makes him look paler and his eyes more bloodshot.
“You deserve someone like him. A good man to fill that cavernous void. Kento’s always been hiding his flustered face every time you walk past him,” Suguru moves his hands around as he talks. You don’t remember him being so chatty but as of late, this apparition keeps the voices in your head quiet. He makes sure you’re not alone.
Your father must’ve knocked your head hard enough for some screws to come loose but you find it hard to care.
“Cavernous?” you mumble. Suguru pauses then leans back a bit. His hair swaying as he does so.
“Do you think it’s enough? Being loved after everything you’ve been through, is that enough for you?”
“...Was it enough for you? In your final moments, was it enough?”
What would this Suguru know about his final moments? He wasn’t real, he never had been. He’s just a manifestation of your hurt, a coping mechanism your brain conjured for some hellish reason.
“I died by Satoru’s hand and then, died in his embrace. What could be more poetic than that?”
You died in Satoru’s arms too. That night he took you as his husband. The weeping, the love confessions, the moaning. Your heart was racing in your chest as he thrust into you, his face nearly scarlet as he kissed you.
The heat that pools between your legs makes Suguru guffaw.
He dips his hand in and traces your thighs.
“Kento’s hands are rougher than ‘Toru’s. Fingers thick and finger pads sanded with hard work. Everything you taught him as his upperclassman he still uses today.”
Shuddering, you slip your knees apart. Suguru takes a hold of your cock.
“You’ve always had the best legs, ya’ know. So strong, even your punches hurt like hell."
You lean back, eyes lidded with pleasure as Suguru pumps his fist. The water spills over the side as he slips in with you, his hair acting like curtains as he peers down at you. His slanted eyes and those onyx eyes make you feel powerless against his desires.
"He'd be so sincere with you. Every thrust," a gasp makes him chuckle darkly. "Every stroke," you moan and grip the sleeves of his robe. "Every kiss," his lips trace the bridge of your nose.
"S'guru..."
"A testament to his adoration for you. He'd worship you, (nickname). But will that be enough? His skin on yours? Is his heart in your hands instead of the other way around exciting? Will that finally fill this void?"
Your spine arches and your knees bump into the edge of the bathtub. Suguru's breath feels like a hurricane as he kisses the side of your jaw, his fist damn near merciless.
"Will you accept his sacrifice, (nickname)?"
When you come, you squeeze your eyes shut. The floor is slick with water and steam makes everything fuzzier than it needs to be. As you lift your hand from beneath the water, you grimace at the sight.
How shameful.
You settle the bath by yourself, the servants didn't need to see more than they've already heard.
Kento is waiting by his car when you step out. He drinks in the sight of you, unable to stop himself from kissing you as you come close. As usual, he opens the door for you, and you stroke the cream-coloured leather seats of his Mercedes Benz.
"Ready, (Y/N)?" He reaches over to hold your hand and you bring it to your lips before he can. He can feel the softness of your lips, the slight gloss that sticks to his skin that makes his crotch tighter than his pants liked.
"Ready, Mr Nanami." Kento chuckles, squeezing your shameful hand and bringing it to his lips next.
Suguru sits in the backseat, his dark eyes keeping themselves glued on you. You see him in reflections, in puddles, in every monotone face that walks past.
As Kento settles you on his lap, his thick cock making you feel stars and heaven itself, Suguru is still watching.
"Ken, I - "
Kento sinks his teeth into your neck and you groan. His hands are big and rough, just like Suguru said they'd be. They grope and squeeze and bruise. He grabs a handful of each cheek and your thighs are thankful for it. Kento lifts you so effortlessly it makes your desire feel unquenchable.
His strength doesn't surprise you. The gym in his apartment complex was one he frequented. If he didn't want to mingle, he had a dedicated room for working out in his home. You've seen the weights he has, how interesting was it that they were the same weight as you, (Y/N).
"(Y/N), does that feel good?" You squeeze the tip of his cockhead in reply and sink down on him to cement it. His cock keeps kissing your prostate, the drag of his dick makes you want to be keen and whine.
His hair looked good when it was dishevelled, which makes his jaw sharper and his nose makes you want to grind on it. Kento shifts and moves to lay you down on his pillows. Your legs wrap around his waist and twist.
The aching muscles hiss in protest but the lust that flows through you overcomes it.
"(Y/N)..."
Kento tries to sit up but your hands on his chest keep him down.
"(Y/N)".
"Kento."
Suguru traces his jaw and it's no surprise Kento does not react. He grips at your waist, whispering your name again. You pin his arms next to his head and Kento's eyes widen.
There it is. That darkness that takes over that molten brown. It only reflects you. Suguru is peering over your shoulder, his hands circling your neck as his dark tongue licks your cheek.
"You want what I want, Ken," you murmur against his lips. "To come undone by each other's hands, to devour each other, to be one."
"Yes," he breathes out. "Then let me feel you like this," you brought his hands to your waist once again, and he planted his heels into his mattress.
"I want to see you unravel under me, Kento. I want to see you, all of you, just as you do."
He nods and you grant him a kiss, allowing your tongues to dance.
"Do you intend to keep following me forever?"
Kento's balcony is unexpectedly warm. You can smell the breakfast he's making as you nurse your cup of tea. For your throat, he tells you.
How pervertedly kind.
The crow tilts its head and you narrow your eyes at it. "They must've paid a heavy sum. Or was it my stepmother?" It flaps its wings, preening the under feathers. Lifting your hand, you press your pointer and middle finger together. It squawks, hopping as it flaps its wings again.
"I'll pay you more to leave me alone. My ex-husband has left a hefty fortune for me. If this persists, I won't hesitate to wipe the floor with you, Mei-Mei."
The crow squawks again but turns its head to leave.
A crisping feather floats gently down onto the floor of the balcony. By the time Kento walks over to place the tray of food down on the table, it turns to nothing but ash in the wind.
"You spoil me," your legs are over his lap and he brings those hands to massage them. "You spoiled me," he answers. "Just showing my appreciation."
A group of crows flies past but Kento is cutting up your food and moving to feed you. Your cheeks burn, you open your mouth and Kento's gentle grin makes your heart race.
"I don't recall him having a temper, are the rumours true?"
Mei-Mei had better things to do. Her time was worth more than stalking someone's ex-lover. However, the head of the Gojo clan was a generous man. How could she refuse?
"Do you truly make them go insane?" He can hear her smile from over the phone. "He attacked you?" Satoru rolls his ring over his knuckles and between his fingers. The classroom was empty as the students trained on the field.
"He's committed arson against a servant who was trading secrets with Lady (L/N) and now he's burned a crow into nothing but dust. He even offered to pay more than you have. What a lucky man he is to have divorced from an endless fountain of wealth."
"Yeah? Maybe you should try that instead of chasing after green."
"Careful, Gojo. I still have my pride."
He places the ring on his palm, curling his fingers over it.
"Kento and him make a handsome couple. I almost feel jealous." Satoru would be stupid to believe Mei-Mei trusted that this stalking was him feeling possessive. She wasn't an idiot. He was concerned about you. Your grandiose act of nearly burning your father alive was the talk of the town.
The evidence of it being self-defense was backed up by the cameras in your home (the ones that hadn't melted anyway).
But it was too convenient.
Satoru is a man who is filled with memories. As careless and crass as he portrays himself as, he's sentimental. He slips a hand into his pocket and your ring is accompanied by Suguru's button.
The cameras were damaged enough to make it out as if it was just saved by fate. But Satoru knows your flames better than most. It burns everything. Devours with a hunger that no beast could compete with. It's indiscriminate. Which is why your aim is immaculate.
If it hadn't melted, you wouldn't be as free as you are now. Even in your rage and fear, you were careful to ensure your longevity.
"I'm sure you do."
"The divorce barely made a dent?"
"You already know the answer to that. Make sure he doesn't suspect me, I'll pay double."
"And if he faces me?"
Satoru grits his teeth together.
"Run."
Kiyotaka waits for him at the front of the school, that usual sour-puckered face and obscene politeness manages to elicit a grin from Satoru. The drive to the house on the hill is filled with silence, which is for the best seeing as how tightly wound he was.
Kiyotaka knew divorce could put people on edge but seeing Satoru’s fists tremble on his lap, knuckles nearly turning bone white and all, terrified him.
The gates are opened after Satoru rolls down his windows. He should ask why they were here but his instincts knew better.
“I’ll be out in an hour or so. You don’t mind waiting, do ya’?”
“Of course not, Mr Gojo.”
He smiles, giving Kiyotaka a firm squeeze on his shoulder before walking inside the modern home. Its grey colours looked atrocious against the vibrant greens of nature. Ah, Satoru was glad you had better tastes compared to the rest of your family.
Your stepmother waits for him in the living room. The carpet before her is littered with toys of all sorts. The youngest of the family takes a liking to smash some toy cars together while the others were most likely tended to by their governess.
“Mr Gojo,” she stands with a certain air of grace that prickles his skin. He nods politely her way.
"Is he doing better today?" The machines that they've hooked him to made him resemble a sick science experiment. Perhaps it's poetic justice from his late wife. The curtains were drawn and the only light was dim to ensure his skin wasn't exposed to any more unnecessary heat. There were talisman papers pasted on the walls and ceilings which Satoru thinks is entirely too much.
"Have you..."
The exposed split of bandages reveals nothing more than charred flesh and peeling skin. A hint of bone and muscle too that help him speak. Satoru ignores the hazmat suits, stepping through the heavy plastic curtains. His infinity wouldn't bring any harmful germs into this room, never had so far too.
"Leave." His wife commands in that shrill voice.
The doctors and attendants bow deeply and the door closes behind her. She sits close to the wall, outside the curtain.
"Have I?" There's writing on the bandages. Sutras are written in some sort of special ink that emits curse energy.
"killed (Y/N)." He sighs, crossing his arms as he spreads his legs.
"My son-in-law — " It might be cruel to tune out the words of a man who's half-dead, but Satoru cannot believe he's spouting this again. A part of him wished you had burnt through his throat. Satoru sighs loudly, tossing his head back and scrunching his face.
"Old man, the divorce papers have been signed. I haven't been your son-in-law in a whole month."
Between this and your increasingly violent tendencies that Mei-Mei keeps reporting back, those curses spirits working together popping up, Itadori Yuji's attempted assassination (and the mysterious way he rose from the dead...) — Satoru was in no mood.
He does not agree with your decision to commit attempted murder. But make no mistake, he fully believed the bastard deserved it.
"You keep telling me to kill him. I shouldn't have to say this, but you do know in the decade Geto Suguru was gallivanting around, I did nothing because he was dear to me. (Y/N) is dear to me. I'll wait 50 fucking decades before I lay a hand on him."
"You dare curse at my lord husband?" Satoru glances at her from over his shoulder. That distorted reflection makes her look more attractive than she actually is. "Lord of what? Gauze and morphine? If we're doing a dick-measuring contest, I win. Sit down. Your voice is annoying."
She sputters, mouth opening again. So Satoru tilts his head, flexing his fingers as he clicks his tongue.
"Woman." The ' lord ' croaks out. She watches him raise a hand, shaky fingers flicking outwards and Satoru swears steam nearly shoots out from her ears. The door has a soft-close feature which makes her attempt at slamming it void but it brings a smile to Satoru's face.
"The rumours, of my clan."
Now that was far more interesting for Satoru. His silence is a prompt for the man to continue. A sharp intake of breath comes in quick twos and threes as his bandaged hands squeeze the trigger for the drip of morphine.
Then his shoulders sink into the mattress and he speaks.
"The Binding Vow we've broken. The karma we faced since then...I think, I fear, I..."
Satoru feels his ring heat up against his sternum, so he leans forward and it's cradled by the button of his shirt.
"I fear he's paid the price, wholly, his self-righteous pain...he's balanced the scales..."
"I messed up."
The chattering of the skulls at least fills silence. Satoru can see why it'll quickly become a nuisance that will make his ears shrivel in disdain but for now, he finds it better than nothing. Whatever it is underneath him pokes him and shifts against his clothes.
Slipping a digit under the rim of his blindfold, Satoru tugs on it and exhales through his nose.
"Things are not looking good."
"Yo, Satoru."
The weight of the blindfold rests over his eyelids and Satoru sinks into the mass below him.
"I'd kill him a thousand times if I could, Satoru."
' Would you really, my beloved? ' Satoru's lips twitch into a grin. No, you wouldn't. Maybe in the moment, that night fuelled by fear and anger. The morning after when your pain still pulsed under ripped-open skin; but he knew you, his beloved, his darling friend; his (Y/N). Your father was nothing but a frail man who knew nothing of what he spoke of.
You'd be safe, protected, and cared for regardless of who you lay with or whose heart you hold. Kento be damned. You were his first and his always. Suguru's corpse was a jarring sight. A painful one too. He'd bury him properly, his love for him will join him in that new grave. His love for you will haunt him for as long as you walk this earth.
He unbuttons his outerwear, tugging on the silver chain until he unclasps it. The blue gem twinkles sweetly his way and he slips it on his finger where his skin all but sighs in comfort.
"Well, there'll always be a way. I'm counting on you, everyone."
"Sealed...?"
Kento moves forward and you stare at his frame as he does. Megumi's head swivels to follow him and Ino's as well, they walk in step with him but you stand there in shock.
"Move," Suguru whispers to you. The joints of his fingers dig into your back as his hair curtains your peripheral field of vision. "(Y/N). Move."
"(Y/N)?" Ino's voice causes the group to pause. Their eyes are expectant. Megumi wonders why he cannot pinpoint the flickering emotions on your face while Kento's gaze takes note of your trembling hands.
"NA-NA-MIN!"
His touch shocks cause your pupils to jitter into focus. Kento says nothing, simply squeezing your forearm as he whispers your name.
"If they sealed him, our top priority will be undoing that."
"You know this, (nickname)," Suguru bites, the click of his teeth sending shivers down your spine. "(Y/N) — " You move past Kento, curling your fingers into fists and feeling Suguru thread him through yours.
"Let's be quick about it then."
This feeling...
"It's like that day," Suguru croaks, "the day he died. Your heart is beating so fast. Do you still ____ him, (Y/N)? Do you truly?"
"Why is he off limits?" Geto does that serene smile that makes Jogo simmer in annoyance. "Jogo, you can't kill everyone you see in battle. There's some grace in keeping a certain few alive."
"Will he be used as a hostage to make Gojo Satoru fall in despair?" his words humour Geto, truly amuses him. Mahito lifts his head from the ground, leaning on the heels of his hand as he peers at the two of them.
"Man, Jogo. You really are wicked," Geto peers at the shimmering scales of the curses that lurk within the waters.
"He's not for Gojo Satoru's imprisonment."
"Don't keep us in the dark, Geto," Mahito voices out Jogo's thoughts, his mismatched eyes impatient.
"Gojo (Y/N) is for..."
You yell as the eel tightens its body around you, digging your heels into the sand as Dagon summons it to themselves. The force of it makes your back bow and no amount of strength could stop it. Dagon holds the back of your skull and you hear Megumi yell out for you.
"(Y/N)!" Kento takes several steps forward and Maki grits her teeth.
Naobito focuses his gaze on their escape, knowing that they would be able to help the poor fool if they were outside of the domain.
But then.
"That man — " Dagon pulls you to its chest and your eyes widen as Fushiguro Toji appears before you. His eyes, it must be some sort of sorcery cast, a trick, a body double. Your fear recognizes you. He shifts his gaze to meet yours and there's a smirk on his face.
"Still alive, are you, freak?" The cursed weapon in his hand rattles in the air and then straightens. He aims it right at you and you brace yourself for the pain.
Dagon blocks it at the cost of its hand.
' It's protecting me!? ' You grunt at the blood that sprays onto your face and into your mouth, coughing as Dagon tries to fight Toji.
"Hah? Did you leave your husband for this thing?" The eel that held you disappeared into nothing after the barrage of hits he had laid out. Dagon tries to grab you but you engulf your fists into flames and spin to punch its face. Dagon does not let you escape but Toji is running toward you again so you plant your heel into its head, kicking off from its chest to fall right into the waters.
Kento catches you in his arms, and the tension of the surface breaks with monstrous sea beasts that try to land a hit on Toji. With his arms occupied, he relies on you to deter them as he makes his way back to Megumi's simple domain.
Megumi —
You stare at him as he asks you if you're alright.
Megumi, you should tell him who this man was. You should —
Dagon is exorcised.
The ground beneath you disappears. It takes a second too long for you to catch your bearings. Brain rattled and breathe knocked out of you as peel yourself off the ground. Kento, Maki, Naobito —
"Megumi!?" Kento helps you up and you take a step forward to follow the sounds of destruction but the air grows thick.
Satoru was never an artist. The horrendous rendition of the curses that attacked him the same night your father had looked as though it'd been drawn by kindergartners. But it was unmistakably him.
The disaster curse. Bald and one-eyed.
His fire makes the water on your skin steam into the air. He removes Naobito, and you move to protect Maki by getting between them. Barely in time, she still crumples to the floor but she would live if taken to Shoko quick enough. His eye widens as you stand unscathed, your clothes flaking off like snow as your skin reddens and steams.
"Gojo (Y/N)."
"Divine Flame."
He lifts his hand just as you do.
"Do not let him use his curse technique, Jogo. He's not as strong as Satoru, but you'll thank me," Geto's voice coos.
"God's Bl — "
"Kuantan?" he sets down the rest of the breakfast he made. His home is as neat and crisp as he is — though there are still traces of himself. His hopes especially. The mountain of books, the pamphlets about Malaysia here and there. If you peered into his room, Kento had even laid out a few notes of plans he hoped to fulfill. It was as if he was waiting for the perfect moment, lying in wait.
"The beaches are nice. The food as well," he sits across from you and pauses as you pat the spot next to you. Endeared, Kento settles where you ask. "Perhaps after Megumi graduates to a second year," he stays silent for a moment and watches you eat.
"...Would you resent me for not marrying you until I retire?"
You pause mid-chew, blinking at him for a moment. Then you turn your gaze on the plate, eyes trailing after the dew drop of water on the lettuce.
"I won't if you do not regret marrying someone from a sorcerer clan."
He pinches the lobe of your ear gently, tracing the shell with so much fondness he chuckles as it warms under his touch. It was damn near perverted how he did it — your heart races as he turns your face his way.
"I could never regret being yours, (Y/N)."
That memory burst into flames. His house, his books, his hopes, and his dreams. Jogo stands there in the ashes and he smiles at you with those blackened teeth.
"(nickname)," Suguru whispers. Your trembling hands stiffen as he strokes the insides of your wrists, his empty gaze reflecting you as he stands in front of you. "Balance the scales."
"Gojo (Y/N)!" Jogo exclaims proudly. "Y — !"
Jogo barely had time to react to your kick. Bursting through windows and walls. He digs his fingers into the floor and just as he lifts his head he sees your shadowed face. Your pupils were nothing but a speck of (E/C) on white as smoke slithers between your lips.
"Divine Flame — "
A spear pierces through your stomach. Jogo covers his eye just in time before your blood splatters on it. Breathing through your nose, you grasp at the crimson-soaked spear, eyes widening as you take in the details of it.
"Impossible," you turn to look and it's there. Satoru had let you name it this time, among the Fredericks and other silly names he dubbed Suguru's curses as this one was the one you named.
"Togatta?" It does not give any sign of recognition but there was no mistake.
Jogo's fist makes contact with your chest and you choke, coughing up spit and blood before he lands a final blow on the back of your neck.
The puddle of blood grows next to him. Those stupid girls, demanding things of Ryomen Sukuna, threatened to fight him with no plan nor strength. Humans were really something else.
Jogo waits for Ryomen to ask and then and only then he tells him he didn't want anything but Ryomen's freedom. Sukuna's crimson eyes take interest in the cursed object Jogo has slung around his neck; a dark shard of glass that pulses a steadily beating blue within it.
"Ten fingers and what's mine?" He looked beyond pleased.
"You've outdone yourselves." Jogo gulps, unbinding the rope around his neck and using both hands to present it to Sukuna. He takes it after a particularly gentle stroke of the sharp edges, then places it in his pockets.
"Ryomen Sukuna?" Geto nods assuredly. The rolling waves melting into the sand give leeway for Jogo and Mahito to process his words. What could Ryomen Sukuna find useful in Gojo (Y/N)? He was a Grade 1 sorcerer but he was not like his husband.
"His family line, the (L/N) clan, is a disgraced one. All the men are weak, all the women dimwitted and the children cursed. Sorcerer society looks at them in disdain, calling them desperate and thieving. It was the child from the (L/N) clan that made it possible for Ryomen Sukuna to be sealed. A son with a curse technique so strong and a face so beautiful, Ryomen Sukuna took him as his property. He had forced the boy into a Binding Vow — one the boy broke to defeat Ryomen Sukuna."
"It left the clan with nothing but shame. The Gods inflict karma on generations to come even if the Vow was wicked beyond belief. Sorcerer society rejected them and curled their noses at the clan that saved them from extinction. I still remember that boy's face."
Geto chuckles, leaning back in his seat as he closes his eyes.
"Mahito, do you think a soul ever comes back in a new body?"
Reincarnation or divine coincidence.
Jogo does not ponder on the question. All he knows is that giving Sukuna an ancestor of the boy whom he favoured, whom he made into a treasured concubine, pleased him.
"This is your reward for the fingers. Come at me. If you manage to land even a single blow on me, I'll work under you all."
Megumi is still leaning against the shutter doors. The shinigami he released, it's a beast that Sukuna had never had the pleasure of seeing before he was locked away. Placing his hand over Megumi's chest, he heals the wounds to ensure Megumi is no longer on the precipice of death and darts his eyes toward the rope that sticks out from his pockets.
He slips the shard into Megumi's hand, recalling how fond you were of the boy. How perfect. This world — this era, truly was made for him. Everything would be his. Men, women, and children — all for him to devour indiscriminately.
With Uraume and (Y/N) with him, this age of haughty sorcerers with abilities he'd never seen, ah. His mouth waters from the very thought. Once he obtains Fushiguro Megumi's body. Once you submit to him. Once he kills Gojo Satoru. Once he destroys Itadori Yuji into nothing.
"Na..."
The sight before him, it made his stomach twist into knots again and again and again...
Kento sees himself in Yū's eyes, he points to Yuji and Kento can't bring himself to say anything to the boy.
"Nanamin..."
The nickname makes his heart squeeze in relief. That youth that he wants to protect, is still there in his final moments and that alone would have made Kento die without regrets — but he's lying to himself.
He made a promise to you to return to your side. You did not ask him to say "alive" because just having a body to bury is a miracle in your world. (Y/N), he saw that stubborn strife in your eyes even as you nodded.
Too little time spent with you. Those 2 months of pure love with you, it would never be enough but he cherishes them all the same. He hopes you can tolerate this pain — he never wished for you to go through this before him, (Y/N).
He should have introduced you to his family.
He should have kissed you deeply before tonight began.
He should have given you everything you deserved.
Ah, regret truly is the worst feeling in the world.
He wants to take care of you like he promised to, (Y/N).
What could he say to Yuji to make him understand what this means?
Mahito's curse energy was enveloping his soul and Kento used the bit of strength he had left to ensure Yuji would not be the one to kill his transfigured corpse. The least he could do, this cruel kindness...
"I'll leave the rest to you."
"My husband."
Shoko pauses. Satoru is not looking her way, instead, staring at the ceiling with a bored expression.
"He did not greet me," she's glad that he does not see the way she clenches the box of cigarettes in her pocket. Or maybe he does because he straightens his composure and asks;
"Is he still pissed at me or is he dead?"
"....We don't know, Satoru." His nose curls in distaste. Still, he waits for her to continue.
"Nobody has seen him and there's no time nor resources to sift through the rubble of Shibuya to find him. The last person to have seen him alive was Maki, she says that he was against the onne-eyed disaster curse."
"He'd have no trouble exorcising that baldy." Satoru is being too kind, you would struggle but you'd still win. He was sure of it. Then again, your abilities were too similar — a tie maybe? You had more wit, you'd win.
Or is that denial talking?
"Nanami died by Mahito's hand," Shoko pulls the box out and tosses it aside as he takes out the final cigarette. "Does he know that?"
"Maybe he's already with Nanami."
"Shoko."
"All of you are dropping like flies around me. Was there an invite I was never given?" She doesn't cry but Satoru stands to walk towards her anyway.
"Yū, Suguru, Kento, (Y/N)," she allows him to hold her shoulder and pull her in but does not return the affection. Should she? Would this be the final memory of Gojo Satoru she had?
"He isn't dead." Satoru pulls away after a long minute. The smile on his face makes her hopes soar and Shoko doesn't understand why she can't force it down.
"I can feel it. He's still here. Don't host a funeral just yet, yeah?"
"You're way too cocky, do you know that?"
"I have every right to be."
"Mr Gojo." Satoru wonders what Yuji would say to him. He wonders where the scars come from, when his eyes had ever been so dull or hardened, he wonders if Yuji will bounce back from everything; if he'll regret being so selfless in the first place.
"Itadori," he braces his arm on his hips, and Yuji's shoulder droops.
"Mr (Y/N), Nanamin...he said he'd leave it to me. You told Ms Ieiri that you had a feeling he was alive."
"Eavesdropping, Itadori?" Yuji's laughs as Satoru slings an arm around his shoulder, attempting to escape his hand that is ruffling his hair.
"Aah, Mr Gojo, quit it!" Satoru settles with a few more chuckles so Yuji continues. "When everything settles, could you help me fulfill Nanamin's wish?"
"Yuji."
Satoru smiles brightly, squeezing Yuji close as he ruffles the back of his head.
"You leave (Y/N) to me."
"Does this form please you more?"
Your eyes can't take themselves off the sight before you. Satoru — no, his corpse. What a strange string of words.
Satoru's corpse.
It's too unreal. Those words do not belong to one another. He grasps the back of your head and forces it to face him. You can't decide what is worse; when you wake to Megumi's face twisted in a cruel expression, finding out Tsumiki was being used as a vessel, being shown Kento's death on replay through Sukuna's/Yuji's memory of the moment, or this monstrous being before you with Satoru's corpse behind you.
"My, my, my, don't tempt me," Sukuna does not let you squirm. His four hands held you firmly within his grasp as you wept.
"I truly am delighted your bloodline prevailed. The betrayal should be punished with death but, seeing you again, I'll not make the same mistake twice."
The binding vow that was made with your ancestor, one that made Sukuna keep the flame technique within his grasp and your ancestor in the other. Breaking it left your bloodline with a technique meant to be used only after mastering the innate technique — to put it simply, it was akin to making someone tame a pack of rabid wolves before they even potty-trained a puppy. It was no wonder you were all so weak.
"Keeping such a trump card of a technique hidden from me, how shrewd."
Yuji cannot believe it. Everything was moving too fast. Gojo Satoru was dead, and the era of sorcerers was coming to an end as reality settled in the bones of curses and sorcerers alike. But then, you're there.
Apparated out of thin air — no. The necklace around Sukuna's neck. You were kept there, did you spectate everything? The entire fight? Every person Sukuna had killed —
They had tried their best to look for you and you'd just been there, hidden in plain fucking sight.
Suguru is in your peripheral, you blink and you swear you feel your mind break as he loops his arms around Satoru's corpse. Another blink and Kento and Yū appear, pale and rotten and burnt and dead.
"I'm going to fucking kill you!" His eyes are filled with nothing but amusement as you will yourself out of his grasp, your foot making contact with his face as you kick yourself off from it.
The rubble stings your bare feet as you dig your heels into the ground, your dark flames eating away at the sleeves of the silken garments his loyal servant, Uruame, had dressed you in. Feeling its weight disappear fuels you with more ire than you ever thought you'd ever feel.
This man, this monster, had taken everything from you. Even if it kills you, even if you end up burning the entire world into ash and cinder — nothing matters anymore.
Your mother, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Megumi —
Heaven and Hell will rue the day they took them. The Gods have created a new monster in the form of you and Yuji shudders at the empty look in your eyes.
What had you gone through in the months you were gone? The garments you wore were that of highly respected concubines, heavy and silken and patterned.
What had Sukuna done to you? Had he taken the very essence of your soul and ripped it to pieces just like he had done with him?
Kento's words echo in his mind, and Satoru's face appears with a blink. He needed to step in and save you — from yourself and from Sukuna's grasp. His two mentors, he can't let them down, he can't. You were precious to Megumi, to Tsumiki from what Megumi had once told him. Satoru looks at you with such a warm aura, that Kento always threatens to smile when he even mentions you.
Desperation pumps through Yuji's body and he feels his nails elongate, giving it a quick glance before spotting Kashimo descending from the sky.
Sukuna's laughter booms throughout the empty planes and echoes around the destroyed buildings. The very earth shakes with each inhale.
"You truly haven't changed, my concubine! Come! Let's go insane together!"
#s3thwrit3sstuff#reader insert#male reader#gay reader#male reader insert#male!reader#satoru gojo x yn#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo x male reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x male reader
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I hate you , right? | GR63
George Russell x Red Bull Driver! y/n
warnings : swearing
Summary : George was a little too attractive after the summer break.
“Oh fuck off Russell! Are you blind? Side mirrors are there for a reason! Learn to fucking use it! You almost cost me my race, dickhead!”
Y/N L/N the first ever female driver for the Red Bull racing team, only through sheer determination and hardheadedness was she able to achieve such an amazing feat.
Being the only female on the grid was hard enough as it is with misogyny and sexism biting at her rear , but adding a British asshole really did put the cherry on top on the cake of ass-hattery that Formula 1 offered.
“Not my fault you drive like a fucking lunatic, that turn was mine and you know it L/N! maybe next time learn how to actually drive rather than depending on your car”
The two drivers are at each other’s faces yet again . This had been a normal event, that even the teams have grown accustomed to the shouts and curses of each driver — whether its swearing at each other in the Red Bull garage or nearly pouncing and succumbing to physicalities at Mercedes. Y/N L/N and George Russell are sworn enemies in and off the racing track.
They used to be friends, best friends even. Both driving for the Mercedes driver academy with George racing in F2 while Y/N in F3. When George won the F2 championship, earning himself a seat at Williams ; Y/N then was promoted to a seat in F2 . A year later Y/N had won her own F2 championship, but no F1 seat was offered in Williams nor in Mercedes to the female driver. Another year had passed, George was offered a seat at Mercedes while Mercedes had no news for Y/N L/N. That was until a seat was offered by Red Bull — giving a shock to the whole motorsport world. As Y/N raced for the Red and Blue team , she had flourished and proved everyone who doubted her wrong.
No one knew how George and Y/N’s rivalry exactly started , but all hell broke loose when George collided with Y/N during the 1st lap and both had DNFed the race.
Y/N was furious and snapped , storming into the Mercedes garage straight to where the English driver was standing still holding onto his racing helmet— shoving him with all her strength into the garage wall. Their faces almost touching as unpleasant words were exchanged ; rendering both teams speechless and leaving them with a horrendous PR mess to clean up.
This time was no different. Y/N and George were at each other’s throat, only this time it was Y/N pinned to the wall inside George’s driver room . George tightening his grip on the Red Bull driver’s waist, leaning his full body weight on the girl who was squirming for release.
“What even is the problem Y/N? We’re both on the podium and you’re team got a 1-2. Stop being a child, it’s racing! What do you expect”
“My problem is you Russell! You’re so careless and aggressive, we could’ve crashed again. You never changed, George , you’re still the fucking same!”
George’s eyes darken as his face drew even closer to the female driver— his voice like honey, dripping as it lowered an octave.
“Yeah?!And you changed so fucking much, I don’t even recognize you anymore Y/N! Now all I see is a bitch obsessed with winning. Tough luck! You’re Verstappen’s teammate, you will always be second.”
Not backing down , Y/n drew herself closer to the english driver ,enough that their noses where touching. A teasing yet derisive smirk formed on her lip, tongue darting out wetting her lips. Catching George’s eyes , as it glanced down towards y/n lips.
“Oh how rich! Coming from the guy who’s living in Lewis Hamilton’s bloody shadow. Like I care what you see me as , you were blind from the very beginning.“
A deep chuckle vibrated in George’s chest , drawing shivers up Y/N’s back , as he said
“ I hate you”
“No, duh Sherlock. I hate you more”
His eyes quickly darting from her eyes to her lips , as if contemplating something. Having enough of his antics and taking matters into her own hands, Y/N fisted his Fireproofs as she brought him down to her level. As their Lips almost touched , rapid knocks on the door distracted them from their daze.
Suddenly realizing their positions , Y/n pushed George away from her. Fuming, the female driver parted ways and left the Mercedes garage with a huff ; wrapping up the first race of the seond half of the season with glares and silent threats. Not realizing what was on each other’s mind
“ Such a rude mouth, what i’d do to shut that up and get a taste”
“I need to control myself. I was ready to pounce on George and have my way with him. Damn him and his perfect hair and golden skin”
The Red Bull and Mercedes driver starting the other half season with pent up anger and sexual tension thick enough to suffocate.
#f1#formula 1#formula one#george russel x reader#mercedes#george russel imagine#george russell#gr63#red bull formula 1#red bull racing#f1 imagine#mercedes amg f1#f1 fanfic#f1 2023#f1 fic#f1 x reader#george russell x reader#george russell imagine
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