#the love i have for suguru really can’t be put into words
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THE GRUDGE PROFESSOR!GETO for KINKTOBER 2023!
DESCRIPTION: everybody loves professor geto, and judging by the thousands of viewers you get on every live, a lot of people love you, too. but you and professor geto hate each other. you’ve had enough of his humiliation rituals, and decide to do something about it.
PAIRING: mean professor!geto x student!reader
WC: 5.3k i am an unstoppable beast
WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, teacher/student dynamic! adult age gap! (reader is in college, unspecified age), sw/camgirl!reader (don’t like don’t read! no shaming 😤), strong language, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, darling), reader calling geto "sir", unprotected relations, creampie, afab reader and terms
A/N: this switches between povs a lot so i hope that’s okay or at least readable lol! also i set out to write him so much meaner but he’s just kind of a simp... enjoy?
reblogs are very much appreciated i'll uwu for u :pleading eyes emoji:
it is said that those who cannot do, teach.
geto suguru could have done many things. he had the brains, the muscles, the features, the traits. the ambition to succeed in any field he desired. satoru says in a world ruled by the strong there is no place for humility.
but humility is not why suguru became a teacher. neither is ineptitude. no, he’d become a teacher because it was the right thing to do.
to use his gifts to help shape new generations, help unlock potentials long dorment and buried deep under years of a lackluster schooling system. geto suguru prided himself, above all, in being a righteous man.
but japan’s most upstanding citizen for 28 years in a row held a shameful secret. a secret in the shape of you.
he saw the darkest sides of himself on your face (eyebrows scrunched, eyes shut tightly, jaw slack as you—), your voice (higher in pitch with desperate moans that sound almost scared on the brink of your—), your body (taut and plump in all the right places, glistening with sweat, bouncing up and down on a—).
when you walked into his classroom that fateful day, the world tilted on its axis. his first thought was, fuck, then, it can’t be, then, most embarrassing of all, i’ll finally find out what she smells like.
(he did, when you went up to his desk to hand over your test. a whiff of vanilla, argon oil shampoo. too sweet, too youthful. and he’d watched you leave, tennis skirt flowing like a water lily, dick already chubby in his pants.)
it was slowly starting to consume him.
the first time you spoke in class, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. it was really you. the cute, slutty girl he’d been milking his cock to for the better part of a year.
god, when you finally said his name. you would never in your wildest dreams think that he’d been imagining those words coming out of your mouth, of him coming out of your mouth, dripping out of you, all over you—
he was losing it. this was not like him. this was never supposed to happen, and he has to put an end to it.
everybody knew of geto suguru, the prodigy professor. already getting a phd despite not even being 30, handling the administrative slack for the department while managing office hours every day of the week, promoting student events, helping organize spirit weeks and charity drives.
everything he did, he did for others. those not as capable as him — which was most people. in other words, it was really, really hard to hate him.
but you damn well managed to.
and to think you were excited to take his class. everybody told you to run, not walk, to sign up for his twentieth-century Japanese philosophy chair.
“oh, professor geto is just the best,” they’d said. “he makes it sound so interesting and engaging, he gives the most life changing assignments, he really cares about us.”
bullshit.
the first time you stepped into that classroom, suspiciously full for a philosophy class, you felt a shift in the air almost immediately.
and sure enough, professor geto suguru was eyeing you down like he’d just seen a ghost. it made you self conscious, like he’d taken one look at you and decided right then and there you were too dumb for the class.
it made your blood boil. sure, you stood out a little bit from the actual philosophy majors, but that doesn’t mean he gets to judge you. he literally doesn’t know you!
but fine, first impressions are tricky like that. for all you knew, you could’ve been misjudging him right there.
however, with each passing day, you grew more and more assured in your suspicions.
you knew the man had it out for you, always calling on you to answer when he knew you weren’t paying attention, never grading your papers above a B even though you did everything right, somehow managing to fucking avoid you during his excessive office hours.
his looks were almost the most infuriating part of it.
his beautiful face constantly set in that nonchalant look, his big veiny hands always gesticulating, his huge fucking arms straining the fabric of those dress shirts, his ear gauges and man bun contrasting the prim and proper image the rest of him conveyed.
under different circumstances, he’d make your mouth water. under different circumstances, you’d imagine him going down on you all night long, singing praise about how good you taste and how tight you are.
but in this timeline, you absolutely loathed him. and he loathed you too. why? you didn’t know.
but you knew for a fact that it was personal.
“i don’t care,” megumi said around a mouthful of meatball, cutting your monologue short. “i’m not doing it.”
you sigh, melting into your chair. “megumi. please. i am literally begging you, i just need some hard evidence so i can go report his ass.”
he eyes you curiously. “report him for what?”
“i don’t know. bullying? sexism? whatever the hell his problem is,” you pick at your food, huffing in annoyance.
“you’re overthinking it,” megumi replies, dismissively.
“okay, how about this,” you lean forward, putting an elbow on the table. “if you write the assignment for me, i’ll get your dog that expensive halloween costume you’ve been wanting.”
megumi lifts an eyebrow.
“you need to get one for each,” he says simply.
you grin. “deal.”
suguru really does give it his all to make your life with him a living hell. pulls out all the stops, years of friendship with gojo satoru paying off as he comes up with ploy after ploy to get you to drop his class.
it feels bad, being mean to you. but for the hidden, twisted parts of him, it feels delicious.
watching you huff and puff, all hot and bothered when he corrects your answers on the spot. watching you nibble on your pen at the increasingly difficult exams he hands out. letting himself wonder if you missed a stream this week because you were too busy cramming for a make up test.
he knows he’s pushing you to your limit, and even if there’s some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing you so agitated at his hands when it’s usually the other way around, he doesn’t enjoy upsetting you.
the problem is, suguru knows it’s either he gets his shit together or he continues tormenting you, and, well.
the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak.
he knows it’s getting worse, too, because he’s not infatuated by you only when you’re undressing on his screen, or all dolled up in class.
when you tie your hair up in a ponytail, when you suck on a hangnail, when you lick your thumb to erase a smudge on your paper… all of it drives him wild.
he can’t teach with a permanent half chub anymore. this has to end, one way or another.
you sit down in front of your computer, adjusting the camera before turning it on. soon, viewers start trickling in, little dings notifying you of their messages.
you smile, waving at the screen.
“hi everyone! i know i’m a little bit late today, i hope you can forgive me…” your eyes scan the chat, giggling at the compliments. “‘you look tired, sad face’, ah. i’m sorry. i guess i’ve been a little stressed lately.”
your robe falls over your shoulder as you readjust your position. a few donations come in, accompanied by supportive messages.
“you guys are so nice. it’s not a big deal, it’s just this dude giving me a hard time at college.”
you absentmindedly trace your collarbones, reading what your viewers are saying.
“you’ll kill him for me? that’s so sweet,” you joke. “nah, it’s not a student. it’s a professor. exactly, ynlover444, a grown ass man picking on me!”
you sigh deeply, allowing your body to finally unwind and relax on your chair. you prop a knee up against the armrest, giving your viewers a little peek in between your legs. you’re wearing one of your favorite sets, trying to get in the mood after the week you’ve had.
“ugh, sometimes i wish i could just…” you suck in a breath, clenching your hand into a fist before releasing it. “sit on his face and get him to shut up, you know?”
you laugh at the countless me firsts that flood the chat, bringing a finger to your lip.
“anyway! enough about that horrible man,” you reach beside you to grab a box your viewers know all too well by now. “let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we?”
as always, satoru is no help.
“why don’t you just fuck her?” he asks, eyebrows arching above his sunglasses. “ya gotta just fuck her.”
suguru clears his throat before taking a drag of his cigarette. “i’m not fucking a student.”
satoru shrugs. “everybody does it. besides, you basically already do.”
suguru wonders, not for the first time, why he ever told his friend about his situation. about your streams, that he’d stumbled upon randomly and innocently and had gotten instantly hooked, about you barging into his classroom like an angel at hell’s gates, about you you you you, everything about you.
“that won’t fix anything.”
satoru clicks his tongue, swirling his soda inside the can.
“poor, naive suguru. did you not just tell me about what she said on her stream?" and yes, regrettably, suguru had told him. "it’ll fix everything.”
suguru doesn’t even let himself consider it, except he does.
at this point it’s no secret that he’s thought about being inside you, but now that you’re here it’s just too real and too risky and completely fucking wrong.
it goes against the entire life he’s built for himself.
he’s lost. he wants you so fucking bad, wants you close, wants you so far away, wants to ravage you and never have to see you again.
it’s fight or flight. if he got you alone, it could go either way, he realizes that.
suguru wonders what part of him will win by the end of all of this.
your heels clack on the linoleum floor of the hallway as you approach professor geto’s classroom, megumi’s graded paper clutched tightly against your chest.
the thing about megumi is that he's a star student. he’s never gotten anything below an A on any of his essays, makes the dean’s list every year, tutors his seniors. so the big, bright B- on the page tells you everything you need to know.
damn right it’s personal.
you don’t even bother knocking, slamming the door open while still trying to contain your indignation.
geto is sitting at his desk, piles of papers sprawled on top. he has his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a surprised look on his face that would be cute if you didn’t want to slap it right off.
he says your last name like he’d been expecting you all his life.
“to what do i owe the pleasure?”
your jaw clenches as you take a few loud steps towards him. you slam megumi’s paper down on his desk, leaning over.
“professor geto, i demand an explanation. a real one, this time.”
the man takes a deep breath, lips twisting disapprovingly. he smoothes the paper over.
“as i already explained in my notes right here, the structure is fine, but i couldn’t help but miss a more in-depth analysis of the four nodal concerns of philosophy that we talked about in class, such as—“
“no,” you interrupt. “just no. you know you’re bullshitting me and i’m sick of it. this paper deserved an A!”
“miss—“
“what’s your problem with me?” you spit out. your eyes finally meet and there’s nothing in geto’s that could answer your question. your chest is heaving, lips wobbling and hands shaking, trying to contain your anger.
geto clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “like i said, your paper could’ve used a bit more—“
“no it fucking couldn’t have, because it’s not my fucking paper, it’s fushiguro’s fucking paper and the only reason you gave it a B is because i was the one who handed it in!”
he sits up, straightening his posture.
geto sounds austere when he asks, “do you realize how much trouble this could be for both of you if i reported it?”
you can’t believe this man. he’s been picking on you the entire semester and when you finally confront him about it this is what he chooses to focus on.
“are you fucking kidding me?” that earns you a stern look from him, eyebrow raising taller than that fucking high horse he sits on. “professor geto. what did i ever do to you?”
there must be something earnest in your voice because geto sighs, getting up from his chair.
he walks until he’s standing in front of you, leaning against his desk and crossing his feet.
“do i bother you?” is all he says. it surprises you.
you jut your chin out. “as a matter of fact, you do.”
the man hums.
“i bet that’s really difficult for you,” he speaks like he’s sympathetic, like he understands. he sounds almost sheepish when he says, “i bet sometimes you wish i would just shut up.”
you blink rapidly. “no, it’s not like that. it might shock you but i genuinely do enjoy your class, it’s just that—“
“or maybe you wish you could shut me up,” he continues, ignoring you. “maybe going as far as to say that you could… sit on my face to get me to shut up.”
your mouth goes dry.
before your brain can fully process the shift in the atmosphere or the fact that your professor is maybe possibly hitting on you, you realize where those words are coming from.
it’s what you said. about him. on stream. right before fucking yourself on your hot pink dildo.
you can’t speak, can barely even look in his general direction.
you had really thought things couldn’t get any worse. had barged into his office with nothing to lose, almost hoping he would cordially invite you to remove yourself from his class permanently.
but now? now you have no idea what’s going to happen to you.
“i…” you start, the words dying in your throat. geto chuckles, crossing his fat fucking muscly arms across his chest.
he says your name, low and syrupy. “is it true? you’d like to?”
you can feel your face flush hot in embarrassment, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing desperately that you’d never walked into his classroom.
you have half the mind to apologize to him, right now.
“it’s just a figure of speech,” you try. geto clicks his tongue.
“what a shame.”
your wide eyes shoot up and meet his. “w-what?”
he smiles sweetly.
“it’s a peace offering. you can take it, or we can forget you ever said anything,” and isn’t he just so slimey, actually, when he’s the one who brought it up. he had said it, and now…
now you can finally allow yourself to look at him.
those delicious, broad shoulders, the ever-present bored look, the stubborn fringe that falls out of his bun.
you could so easily forget what you came here for.
“so, like, a truce?” you ask, taking a daring step forward. geto nods, uncrossing his arms. “and you stop treating me like i’m fucking dumb?”
he tilts his head. “i think you’re a very smart young lady. determined. entrepreneurial…”
“geto—“
“professor geto,” he corrects you, hands reaching out to graze your hips. “you’re intelligent. i just like to push my students.”
you both know that’s a lie, but it’s okay, because now you know exactly why you got under his skin and it makes your own burn.
you run a hand down the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
“then… push me, professor.”
it’s so incredibly lame, the porn line you hit him with, but to your surprise it works, a low groan rumbling deep in geto’s chest.
he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing your lips together.
it’s ravenous, the way geto dips his tongue inside when you gasp in surprise. you moan against his mouth, slipping a leg in between his two.
he’s half hard already when he rubs up against your thigh.
geto picks you up with ease and sets you down on his desk, and it’s so fucking cliché, the papers crinkling under your weight, the pens clattering to the floor. but it turns you on beyond belief.
you share a few open mouthed kisses, an exchange of tongue and moans and hot breaths between your lips.
if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you've fantasized about it before. a silly idea, at first, something you'd just blurted out mid-stream.
but that little seed had been planted, and when you got yourself off that night, you might've imagined for a moment that it was your mean professor's cock squeezed tight inside you, making you come undone.
geto slips his hands under your skirt, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. you line up your crotch with his, moving your hips in tight little circles that make the both of you groan.
his fingers are tugging your underwear down, down, the soft patch sticking to your gooey cunt. he lets the soaked fabric dangle from your ankle, grazing the back of his knuckles on your core.
“mmm, fuck,” geto breaks the kiss, swallowing. his pretty lips are flushed and shiny, parted around his panted breaths. “you always get this wet or am i special?”
he’s smirking, the bastard, leaning back in to kiss your neck.
god, you smell so good, like lotion and perfume and sunshine and sin.
“shouldn’t you know?” you sneak your fingers up into his bun, pushing your chest against him. he works his lips expertly on your skin, using just the right amount of teeth, of pressure.
geto hums against your neck, kissing a line up to your jaw. he snakes a hand under your skirt, thumb pressing down hard to rub on your clit, two fingers slipping inside.
you immediately clench, a soft, drawn out mewl leaving your lips.
the slide of his fingers against your walls send a chill down your spine, filling you up so perfectly. you feel the thin skin at your opening stretch around him, burning at the friction as his fingers plunge in and out of you.
“god, look at that,” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and pulls the hem of your skirt up. “do you hear that, baby? so fucking wet for me.”
you whine, hands cupping his jaw so you can kiss him again.
“please…” you mumble against his lips. “more…”
you wonder how much of what you can say he's heard before, which exact words have left your lips and sent him over the edge. it makes you self conscious, oddly, like he can see right through you.
not-so-kindly ignoring your request, geto removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.
you watch as his eyelids flutter in pleasure, a hum rumbling low in his throat.
he looks so good like this, just edible.
you pull him in for a kiss before he can, relishing in the surprised little noise he lets out. your knees are wobbling, feet dangling from your seat as you taste yourself on his tongue.
he swallows your moan hungrily, forearms trembling with the need to hold back.
geto knows this is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, puts both your positions in jeopardy, it makes him feel perverted and primal and so fucking alive.
he’s been watching you fuck yourself on those silly toys for god knows how long now, knows every spot that makes your hips buck, knows exactly how to make you cream like a debased slut around a cock.
it should feel unfair, how easy it’s going to be for him to make you cum, only if it weren’t for the fact that your mere presence is enough to get him hard as fucking diamonds.
“tastes good, huh?” he whispers, thumb caressing your chin. you nod, smiling devilishly.
“tastes better on your tongue, prof.”
geto groans low like a starved animal, holding your throat in his hand with a loose grip. he’s overwhelmed, that much shows, not knowing what to do with you or where to start. but there’s one thing he’s sure of.
he presses one last kiss to your spit-slick lips before dropping to his knees.
you can hardly believe it. sulky, big bad bully professor geto suguru on his knees for you. you prop a foot up on his desk, your sole skidding on a piece of paper.
“scoot closer, please,” he asks, cordial even like this. you bring your ass to the edge of the desk, your dripping pussy hovering over his face.
he looks so good under you, hair already disheveled, a delicious tent in his tailored pants.
you tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistline so you can watch as he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s fucking relieved.
you throw your head back, fingers buried in his silky hair as geto’s fingers find their way back inside.
he fucks them in and out of you lazily, pushing out strings of slick. geto slurps it all up, spreading your wetness all over your clit and sucking it back in his mouth.
god, his cock is straining in his pants but he doesn’t dare touch it, can’t until he’s inside you. you taste like fucking heaven, like all his fantasies, like he always knew you would.
you’re whining softly, bucking your hips into his face almost shyly, as to disrupt his pace.
you sound so much better in person, although he can’t wait to have you moaning into his ear without needing the headphones.
“god, this perfect pussy,” geto mumbles into you, his breathing labored. he runs a thumb all over your cunt, gliding it over your soaked lips. “been dreaming about it for so long.”
“yeah?” you ask. “tell me. tell me how you stroke your cock to me every night.”
and every night might be overselling it. geto is a busy man.
but your words do make him realize that no girl he’s had since he found your stream has satisfied him quite like you do. your flirty smile, your moans, the way they sometimes turn into uncontained giggles as you stuff your pretty cunt with a dildo.
so he tells you, blush spreading across his cheeks.
“fuck, i do,” he tongues your clit, tracing lazy circles. “i do. just look what you do to me.“
and there it is, that cheeky, slutty giggle, directed at something he said this time.
he takes his fingers out, spreading your opening with both thumbs as he licks you all over.
geto gulps, tongue dipping inside of you, sucking your clit into his mouth, sliding down to your entrance, every clench of your pussy pushing out more and more slick for him. no one's ever eaten you out as thoroughly as this.
“oh, fuck, sir,” it slips out casually, the way it would were you talking to any other professor. but given the circumstances, you revel in the deep moan geto buries into your cunt.
you trap your lips between your teeth to keep anything else from tumbling out, but it’s useless.
“please, sir, i’m so close—so close just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“
“fuck,” he mumbles, pulling away to suck in a desperate breath. then, “fuck,” sultrier, right into your core.
you grind against his face, finding purchase in his hair as a final few flicks of his tongue push you right into the crest of a mind-numbing orgasm.
it’s so good, so much better than when you're alone. the friction so perfect, his long, thick fingers plugging you up last minute to viciously fuck into you.
“god…,” you breathe out, legs trembling as he runs his hands up your thighs.
his chin is glistening, bubbles of spit and cum gathering in the corner of his mouth. he looks so good like this, like he was meant to please you and nothing else.
geto feels like a fucking teenager, so goddamn close to busting in his pants at the sight of you. his dick hurts, balls tight and the head throbbing where it’s tucked into his underwear.
“please, sweetheart,” he can’t hold himself back any longer, slick fingers already undoing his belt.
you get to work on his zipper, pulling his pants down along with his underwear and damn.
you figured he was big. he was a tall man, broad shoulders, shoes the size of a yacht, and the bulge in his trousers was a pretty good indication. but it couldn’t have prepared you for the sheer size of him.
longer than it is thick, cleanly shaven, pretty veins and ridges and standing angry red in attention. god, you want it inside you.
he notices you looking.
“do you need more prep? i can—“
“no, fuck no, suguru, need it inside me now,” you wrap a hand around him and he hisses, caging you in with his arms on the desk.
he huffs out a laugh, blowing the fringe framing his face. “what happened to sir?”
you kiss down his jaw, squeezing right below his tip.
“sorry, sir,” you say against his ear. “are you going to punish me for my slip up?”
geto groans, pulling on your hair hard and making you face him.
“take your shirt off for me,” he instructs, and you obey, maneuvering around his tight grip on the back of your head.
his spirit is so unbreakable.
here you are, teasing him, coaxing him to rough you up, push you around, relieve both your frustrations properly once and for all, but he’s just so… adoring, and hungry, and just so irrevocably into you, and you find out that’s so much better.
geto relents his hold on you to unclasp your bra, cupping your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. you whine, caressing his hair.
“so fucking perfect,” he massages your tits, looking mesmerized.
“yeah? they haven’t gotten old to you yet?”
he laughs, so cute, and you can barely remember that just hours ago you hated the sight of him. you stroke his cock up and down, squeezing harder at the tip trying to milk all that delicious pre he’s been wasting on the inside of his boxers.
“no, f-fuck—never gonna get old,” he pushes your boobs against each other, imagining his cock sliding in between them, his balls nestled underneath, his load blown all over your pretty face—
fuck, he’s gonna cum if he keeps going like this.
he rips your hand away from him, ignoring your knowing smirk and pushing his tongue into your mouth.
“i’m gonna fuck you now, okay, sweetheart?” you moan, nodding, shimmying your hips so he can have the perfect angle.
a big hand clasps your thigh to wrap your leg around his hips as his tip pokes around your entrance.
you’re whining in anticipation, clenching around nothing, nails clawing his clothed back.
when he slips in, it feels like coming home. you’re like warm honey around him, cunt pushing him out but clinging to him at the same time, with every stroke. it’s fucking maddening.
“ahh, g-god, sir, ‘s too big—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat, feeling the tip of his cock in your guts.
he’s huffing, concentrated, bullying his cock into you inch by inch with shallow thrusts until he finally bottoms out.
“fuuuuck, angel,” he grips your waist with both hands, like he could just fuck you up and down his length if he wanted to. “took me so well, look at that.”
you do, dropping your heavy head to look at where you’re connected. you clench around him and he whines, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in.
the metal legs of the desk skid on the floor, papers and pens raining down to the floor as geto starts roughly plunging in and out of you.
you let out little ah, ah, ahs in time with his strokes, the ache deep in your stomach finally starting to fade.
“f-fuck, you’re gonna—topple us over, suguru, go easy—“
“can’t,” he chokes out, wheezing as he pushes his cock in as far as it can go.
he gives shallow little thrusts, his length straining the fine skin at your entrance so good, hitting a spot inside you over and over that makes your head spin.
your fingers twist into the back of his shirt, pulling him in to whine right into his ear.
he’s so big, stretching you out so thin that you feel every ridge and vein, can feel both your heartbeats inside your cunt.
“ohhhhh fuck, fuck sir, please please touch me—“
he grabs your ass before you can even finish your sentence and presses you flush against his hips.
geto’s tip is kissing your cervix now, his balls sticky and creamy against your ass, your clit grinding against his pubic bone as his thrusts violently shake the both of you.
“fuck, wanna do it so fucking loud but i can’t, we can’t, what if someone walks in—“
you moan wantonly at his words, expecting to be chided, but geto seems to love it despite his worries because his cock kicks deliciously inside of you.
“look how loud you’re being, listen to yourself,” he grunts out, the belt pooled around his feet clanging with every stroke, the absolutely lewd squelches from your pussy resonating in the entire classroom.
you two sound so good together, better than you’ve ever had, better than he could’ve ever imagined.
“so loud, so wet on this cock,” he spits out, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “do those toys make you feel this good? this full? answer me.”
“hahh, n-no, no one but you,” you can’t think straight, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes squeezed shut. “only you, sir.”
geto whines like he’s aching, pounding into you mercilessly and making a mess under the two of you.
“fuck yeah, that’s right. i’m making you feel good, baby?”
“mm-hm,” you mumble, tongue lolling out. geto's going so hard now, has you pressed up so tight against him, body caging you in, fucking every breath and thought right out of you. “close.”
“yeah?” he speeds up his effort slightly, and you’re sure he’s going to have desk-edge shaped bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “gonna cum on my cock? cream all over me?”
you let out a long, drawn out whine, tits bouncing up and down with the force of geto’s thrusts.
“let me see your face when you cum, darling,” he cups the back of your neck, breathing hard through his nose. “keep your eyes on me. that’s right, sweetie, so good, you’re doing so good.”
you preen at the praise, feeling suddenly self conscious with the man's laser focus attention on you.
you coo out little noises, growing in desperation, holding onto his biceps for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you.
your pull him into you closer and rub your clit against him, grinding helplessly as your orgasm creeps closer and closer.
the moment you open your eyes and meet his hungry ones, you’re cumming. your walls spasm around him, making the glide of his dick impossibly wetter with your release.
geto chokes on a sound, his cock hostage of your pussy’s vice-like grip as your greedy cunt milks him for all he's got.
“f-fuck, baby, look so pretty when you cum, always look so fucking sexy so fucking perfect that you’re gonna make me bust, i’m gonna cum for you god gonna cum inside, gonna blow my load all deep inside this pussy—“
it’s the most desperate he’s ever sounded, speaking through clenched teeth and a soaked mouth. you moan in return, letting him use you.
he slams his forehead down your shoulder when he thrusts once, twice, three times and cums, his balls drawing up so tight that it hurts. he fucks it into you with shallow thrusts, panting, almost wheezing in pleasure.
it feels like it lasts forever, his orgasm. like all of the blood in his body goes straight to his balls to push out the thickest, most satisfying nut of his life into the prettiest girl he's ever seen.
you feel it fill you up so good, hear it, too, squelching and sticking to both of you.
geto’s body slumps against yours and you stay like that for a while, catching your breaths. there’s cum sliding out of you, down his balls, onto some poor student’s essay you have your ass on top of.
when he pulls out of you, he takes a beat to watch it spill out of you some more, his face and chest red, his smile groggy.
“god, this,” geto has to fight the urge to say thank you for letting him fuck your brains out. he swallows.
“yeah,” you blink away the haze, feeling sore and fucked out. “this.”
“…is probably going to happen again, right?”
he knows it shouldn’t. he knows it will.
maybe both parts of geto can learn to coexist.
you grin, touching the tip of your tongue to his lips.
“well, i still haven’t made good on that promise of sitting on your face, have i?”
the next morning, in class, the students erupt in happiness at the news that professor geto had an accident that ended up ruining most of last week’s graded papers he had in his possession.
so he decided to give everyone an A for their troubles.
and finally, finally, there was peace in the world.
#OOF.#this was a doozy it feels like sooooo much more than 5k words tbh#i wanted to wait to post it bc im rly proud of it i dont want it to flop but :#i cant resist it i want it out#✩.kinktober#✩.geto#geto suguru smut#geto smut#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x y/n#geto suguru x reader smut#geto suguru x you smut#geto x you smut#geto x reader smut#ummm what else#jujutsu kaisen smut#tw power dynamics#jjk smut#kinktober#jjk kinktober#geto reader smut#✩.tw power dynamics#✩.petra.doc#geto suguru x female reader#geto x female reader
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Ride Me, Pretty Please!
(Geto x F!Reader)
Summary: You dom Geto for the first time and he loses his mind
Warnings: smut, unprotected piv (use protection irl), riding, sub!geto, dom!reader, teasing (i love me domming a usually dom man)
Word Count: 1.6k of filth
masterlist
“I didn’t realise you were so sensitive like this,” you grin, body hot from the high sitting on your boyfriend’s pretty face has brought you. Geto had pleaded, begged even, for you to sit on his face, promising to do anything for you in return. And you took up that offer - choosing to dom him after, something he never lets you do.
And now you are straddling him, hands on his chest scratching his flushed skin and flicking his sensitive nipples as you hover over him, teasing his achingly hard cock with a brush of your cunt. “Is this why you never -”
“Shut - aanh - up!” he says, gasping when you rub your slick walls over his cock, squeezing around nothing to tease him.
“So you don’t want me to ride you, okay then,” you taunt, getting away from him. Geto’s large hands grab your hips and pull you back down and you’re sitting on his stomach, his dark happy trail scruffing against your slick cunt.
“No-o! Don’t go,” your boyfriend pants, his face turning redder by the moment.
“You’re forgetting your manners, Sugu,” you coo with a strict face.
“Don’t go, please,” He says, his already fucked out face tempting you. Has he gotten his fucked out just by me sitting on his face? His messy hair only adds to his charm, tied up to keep it away from being pulled by your knees on either side of his head.
“Aw, I don’t know, ” you pull his hair out of the messy bun, playing with it as you pretend to think. “You hadn’t been the most welcoming of this.”
“You promise-” You flick his nipple, and his words turn into a quiet gasp. You love the sound of his voice, especially now that he is so needy. You wonder if he knew you’d like this too much, which is why he wasn’t letting you top him - until now. “My love, please,”
“Do you really want it that bad, baby?” you tease. “I can’t hear you clearly.”
“Please, please, please,” he pleads, a pout on his face and pretty eyes staring right up at you. “My love, please.”
“Please what, Suguru?” you say, seeing why Suguru enjoys topping you so much. It’s so hot to see him begging you to give him relief, to see him looked fucked out because of you - it’s turning you on even more than you already were. Hearing him beg for you to sit on his face had been great, but this was better.
“Please ride me, my love,” he begs, a crease forming between his usually relaxed brows. He looks so beautiful like this - hair messy and flushed face looking fucked out - his nose, and chin glisten from your slick, lips swollen from how he had been making out with your cunt. “Please, use me for you pleasure,”
“Aw, do you really want me so bad?” You tease, and he nods furiously with the adorable pout on his face. Was he afraid of how much he’d enjoy this?
You finally put his suffering to an end, taking his cock and pushing it into your wet cunt, gasping at the full feeling even just the tip of his pretty cock brought. Even with your orgasm not so long ago, you have to be slow in sinking down, giving yourself time to adjust to his size. You force your eyes to stay open, watching how Suguru’s pretty face looks with his mouth hung open in a silent oh and eyes squeezed shut in bliss. The rise and fall of his chest is temptation incarnate - you pinch his nipple in one hand and nibble on the other, and the moan you receive in response is one that you will never forget.
You’re still for a while, and the flushed Suguru finally opens his pretty eyes to look at you, sitting prettily on his cock, a feline grin on your face. You lean down, breasts brushing against his chest as you plant kisses on his neck and jaw, nipping here and there. “Aww, you pretty baby,” you coo, enjoying teasing him. His grip on your hips tighten - you wonder how long he will hold himself back from all of your teasing. You grind your hips in a back and forth motion, and his groan goes right from your ear to your cunt, clenching around him deliciously.
“Stop teasing me,” he whimpers, the sound sending shivers down your spine.
“Oh, poor baby,” you tease, “Is it not fun to be teased?”
He pouts, whimpering again when you clench around him, slick and pre gathering at the base of his cock. His pretty eyes fly between your eyes and your cunt swallowing him whole, unable to decide where to look at. Suguru looks so cute - you can’t help but kiss him, a kiss which he fervently returns. You tangle your fingers in his hair and tug at it just the way he likes it. With your other hand, you move his hands to your ass, loving the way he plays with your flesh.
Suguru lets out a sound - downright a growl as you give him the freedom to knead your ass, and he does - he plays with it so good you almost let up your control.
“Mo-oove, please,” he pleads, neck and face a lovely shade of red.
“Pretty please?,” you tease,
“Pretty please, my love,” he relents, giving you puppy eyes that you didn’t know he was capable of. The sight of it is so beautiful you involuntarily give in, and start finding your pace on top of him. Your head falls back once you find the right pace and rhythm, feeling his mushroom tip hit against your sweet spot just the right way, still sensitive from your previous high. It’s mind numbing, but you force yourself to look down at your boyfriend, giving him your best sultry eyes.
He’s lost in his own world, gasping and whimpering at your pace, which bullies his cock just right, your weight on him as you use him to your pleasure, the way your delicious body moves against him, the wet squelch coming from where the two of you were connected, it’s all too much, and the only thing holding him back is the flesh of your ass in his big hands.
His brain short circuits when you move your hands to this throat from his chest, squeezing his neck just enough to make breathing a little difficult, the way your cunt presses against his pubic bone, swallowing him whole - it’s electrifying, setting his nerves on fire, and he can’t help but plead, “please, please, please” he don’t know what he is pleading for, but you do - and when your movement quickens, and your left hand leaves his neck to play with your tits.
He knew it would be too much for him, too much for him to see you lose your mind while riding him, using him as nothing but a means of your pleasure. It’s dizzying, but he forces his eyes to stay open, to drink in the sight of you, but all that does is make the knot in his stomach tighten. You’re like a goddess of the heavens blessing a mere earthling like him with your magnificent body. The pace of your hips stutters a bit and you clench around him - both his dick and the hand on his neck squeezing it tighter.
“I’m close,” he whimpers, the knot in his stomach threatening to snap.
“Cum baby, come for me,” you look down at him, hair messy, lips bitten raw and red, eyes ready to combust him on the spot.
As if on cue, the knot in his stomach snaps, and he releases inside of your snug walls, your slick and his cum slipping out as you don’t relent on your pace, continuing to use him to chase your second high. He nearly curls onto himself as the overstimulation kicks in, your walls gripping his sensitive cock like a vice and your hands on his chest, playing with his very sensitive nipples.
You continue the sweet torture through his pleas and gasps, not stopping till you reach your own second high, walls getting impossibly tighter around his cock, his whimpers push you over the edge, and you have no thoughts in your head save for calls of his name. You back arches, pushing your clit just right against his pubic bone, you cry out his name as you slow down the motion of your hips, thoroughly exhausted and ready to drop.
“You did so good for me, baby,” you force yourself to remain sitting, gently cradling a twitching Suguru’s head in your hand. You run your hands through his silky hair and kiss him on the forehead, waiting for his overstimulation to die down before getting off him.
You drop next to him on the bed, and he is quick to pull you into his embrace, still sounding out of breath as he says, “I think you killed me a little, pretty girl.”
You giggle, kissing the tip of his nose, and he returns the affection, kissing all over your face and barely letting you speak. “And I am unable to feel my legs,”
“I’ll clean you up in a bit,” he promises, snuggling closer to you, nose buried in your neck. “You know what, we should do this more often,”
“Of course,” you say, giggling. “You were the one who was so adamantly against it, not me!”
“And you’ve taught me my lesson, pretty girl,” he relents, purring in your ear. “I’d let you use me anytime,”
“Stop saying things like that, I’m enjoying this way too much,” you giggle, caressing his back. Both your hair is a mess, but you are too exhausted to do anything but sleep. You’ll worry about your sweaty hair later.
“Love you so much, pretty girl,” his smooth voice whispers. “You’re so perfect,”
“Love you too, baby,” you whisper to him, already feeling the embrace of sleep.
A/N: Second time writing smut, and ofc its for my babygirl mother of two daughters
#geto suguru x reader#geto x reader#suguru geto x reader#geto suguru smut#geto suguru#sub!geto#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut
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Sensitive
JJK men with a sensitive girlfriend
Incl (^_−)−☆ Nanami Satoru Choso Suguru Toji
Nanami Kento:
Nanami found out how sensitive your thighs were one night when he was driving you two home from a date night. All it took was for him to just rest his hand on your thigh and you immediately closing your legs around it. He raises an eyebrow at you but he doesn’t say anything, he just keeps driving.
The date always ends with a movie night, so you two are sitting on the couch. Nanami glances over at you who’s engrossed in the movie, that’s when an idea pops into his head. He places his hand onto your thigh and squeezes softly, you feel yourself tense up again. “You did it again.” You turn to him with an unreadable expression. “Did what Ken?” No use in playing coy cause Nanami can and always will see through you. He just raises chuckles softly knowing that he just uncovered something new about you.
That’s how he ends up between your thighs, one hand keeping them spread apart while he traces soft kisses up your inner thighs. It causes your legs to quiver in response, and a soft gasp to escape your lips. “Didn’t know you were that sensitive here.” He says as he eyes drift up to yours, suckling softly to leave a light mark on the flesh.
“M not…”
“Is that so?” Nanami smiled as his kisses trailed higher and higher until they reach the spot where you need him most.
Satoru Gojo:
Satoru is a boob lover! He loves all of them no matter the shape and/or size. He never leaves boobs alone. He’s always squeezing them, looking at them, and laying on them whenever he got the opportunity to. No matter how many times you swat his damn hand away.
Anyway when that time of the month was approaching your boobs would always get sore and especiallyyyyy your nipples. You would complain to Satoru in which he would always say “why don’t you just let me massage them?” In which YOU reply with “I don’t like the way your eyes just lit up, you’re too excited so no I’ll deal with it.” He just pouts like a big baby he is, asking- no pleading for you to let him help out. So you agreed. Which was silly of you :0
But you’re not really complaining when he has you on his lap, your back to his chest as he lifts your shirt up. It was going good as he used his hands to lightly massage the mounds of flesh. Until his fingers just slightlyyy brush over your hardened nipples, causing you to let out a soft moan. “Oh?”
“Don’t.”
“Didn’t know my baby was that sensitive there.” Satoru continued to tease your nipples, applying just the right amount of pressure that has you squirming in his lap and breathing heavily. “Satoru.. fuck-“
“Think you could cum like this?” Satoru can’t hide that stupid smirk on his face.
Choso Kamo:
You both are extra sensitive when it comes to sex. All it takes is one touch and the both are you are shivering messes. When you two have sex you both get wrapped up in the sensation it’s hard to stop, no matter how overstimulated you or him get. Well to make a long story short you two are just one big whiney, filthy, and loud mess!
You’re on top bouncing on his cock, a creamy ring of cum where you two meet. Choso holds onto your hips as he throws his head back, moans just falling from his lips. “Fuck fuck fuck..” The both are you are SWEATY from multiple rounds but neither of you can stop, not yet one more won’t hurt right? The way his cock is repeatedly hitting that sweet spot inside of you and the way your walls are tightening around him is maddening!!
“A-ahhh… Cho ‘m gonna…”
“Fuck me too baby- shit I’m..” His words don’t finish as he spills inside you once again, the both of you gasping in euphoria. But! As soon soon as you two catch your breath your hips are moving against his again. “One more Cho.. jus can’t get enough.”
Anyways at least TWO more rounds after that!
Suguru Geto:
He is obsessed with your neck.. like he loves to buy you pretty necklaces so he can put them around you. Suguru loves it when you get slightly tense when he places kisses on your nape once he finishes clasping the necklace on your neck. “What was that for? You like that don’t you pretty girl.”
You could be in the kitchen making dinner by yourself when he suddenly comes up behind you and nuzzles into your neck. “Mmm smells good in here.” One kiss on the side of your neck. “Thank you Suguru I found this recipe online.” Another kiss to the back of your neck, his hands come around to rest of your hips. You can feel the wetness pooling at your core, pressing your thighs together as you focus on chopping the vegetables. “Kinda busy right now… save that for later.”
“Yeah? Later? Sure you don’t want it now.” Suguru nips at your neck, pressing his tongue immediately after to soothe the spot. His trails two fingers into the waistband of your underwear, feeling how damp you were. “You’re soaked and I haven’t done anything.”
“Sugu…” you whine trying to seemed annoyed but you make no effort to move or stop him.
Suguru just coos at you, burying his face into your neck as he buries two fingers inside of you. “Just focus on the cooking, let me take care of you real quick baby.”
Toji Fushiguro:
I’ll just get straight to the point because he knows exactly how to make you feel good. He knows your body like the back of his hand, he knows exactly how to make you cry for more… or less ^ - ^.
Toji has this thing where he won’t stop until you’re a crying mess. He thinks you look the best while he’s sucking and licking at your pussy, it’s already puffy and soaking from previous orgasms. He’s in heaven as your juices dribble down to his chin, your hands splayed in his hair. “T-toji.. c-can’t.. too much.”
He just responds by prodding his tongue at your hole, lapping at your wetness before he places his mouth on the part that makes you squirm the most. “You can take it I know you can just give me one more, you can be good right? I know you can.” Is the last sentence he says before latching onto your already overstimulated clit, sucking harshly on the swollen nub. And just like that your thighs are closing around his head as another mind blowing orgasm washes over you.
“What a good fuckin girl.”
ty for the love on the last one! If you have any requests or feedback I’ll gladly take them (^o^)
#jjk smut#nanami kento smut#satoru gojo smut#choso kamo jjk smut#toji jjk smut#suguru geto smut#jjk drabbles#jujutsu kaisen smut#toji smut#choso kamo smut#gojo satoru smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen drabbles#kento nanami smut#toji fushiguro smut#choso smut#geto suguru smut#jjk x you#kento nanami x you#yunnys ׂׂૢ
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the paint doesn't move the way the light reflects ; suguru geto
synopsis; when the king puts you under the supervision of a dashing knight, you promise to make his job as difficult as possible. unfortunately, suguru geto is the patient sort.
word count; 21.1k (this accidentally turned into a novella idk how it happened either nobody look at me 💔)
contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, knight!sugu x royalty!reader, royalty au (not accurate to any time period ever), technically a bodyguard au, slowburn, reader is a brat and suguru likes it a little more than he should, reader also has thinly veiled daddy issues, protective sugu :3, he goes feral in one part (descriptions of violence and bloodshed), reader gets briefly kidnapped lol, very fluffy overall though!!, includes shifting povs & time-skips, also lots and lots of devotion, knight!sugu is real & beautiful & loves you specifically <33
a/n; HAPPY late BDAY SUGU MY BABY THE LOVE OF MY LIFE this fic has been in the works for a WHILE now and means a lot to me much like sugu himself :’3 dedicated to my beloved @kissxcore for infecting me w this concept & also my dear @mossmurdock for bringing knight!sugu into my life, both of u have made the brainrot infinitely worse and i will never be free (and ofc @softgirlgonehaywire & @dollsuguru & @jtkys for being the sweetest always) I LOVE U ALL!!!!!!!!
like most things, it begins and ends with a dream.
images form in the depths of your subconscious, wild and vivid, splattering on the canvas of your mind. a dream of cold metal, dark thickets, iron-scented skin — and a knight.
(or… a wolf?)
before you is a small clearing. trees sprout from the rugged grounds, blooming proudly, clogging up the wool-coated sky. all around you lie empty, discarded suits of armor, dirty with rust and something that smells of death. wilted sunflowers stumble under their own weight, and dragonflies buzz in a frenzy, manic, driven to hysteria. in the distance you think you hear the shrieking of ravens.
and there’s a knight, just ahead, tall and imposing, covered in steel from head to toe. holding a blinding sword, facing the sky, doing nothing to stop the pitter patter of raindrops ricocheting off his burganet. you stand by the entrance of the woods, and watch him in silence.
he looks a little lonely.
and in comes the wolf. gracious, growling, big and bad, snarling and showing off the white of its fangs. dragging its claws against the ground, unruly fur ruffled by the harsh breeze; widening its maw, a silent fury on its tongue. from this angle, it looks a little like a grin.
the wolf begins to chase the knight. or maybe it’s the knight chasing the wolf — you can’t really tell. they run in circles around each other, like the sun and the moon, an orbit of violence, matching their steps. almost in harmony — almost, but not quite, because suddenly they’re closing in on you, great and ugly, beasts wearing different hides, and —
and that’s when you wake up.
”your highness!”
a groan pushes past your lips, groggy with fatigue, and your eyelids flicker open like the drawing of a flimsy curtain. a series of mismatched little blinks, until your vision clears.
above you waits a familiar face; impatient. one of the maids, your foggy brain tells you. and she isn’t pleased.
but all you do is drag your limbs up to cover your pillow-creased face, sluggishly, muttering beneath your breath. ”a wolf…”
silence.
the maid tilts her head, with a furrow of her brows.
”… excuse me?”
”there was a wolf,” you echo, a dreamy exhale muffled against the skin of your palm. stifling a yawn. ”and a guy… he was cool.”
she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. settling back into her usual rhythm. mildy berating. ”did you have another one of your dreams?” she asks, a little irritated, and for a second you think you hear a tick-tock ticking down. ”at any rate — you need to get up. the king and queen demand your presence.”
ah. of course.
a huff, displeased, even as you force yourself into a sitting position. stretching your limbs like a grumpy feline. ”demands…” you murmur, a click of your tongue. ”they think they can just wake me up whenever they want? at the crack of dawn?”
”it’s 11 a.m, your highness.”
”early as hell,” you rasp, willfully tuning out her murmur of mind your language. letting your legs hang off the bed. ”what do they want, anyway?”
following your silent cue, she hums, walking towards the edge of the room. picking up your discarded blouse, and bringing it to you. ”i was told it was of utmost importance,” is all she says, lifting the fabric as if getting ready to dress you.
”i can do that myself,” you hiss, snatching the white silk from her outstretched hands. as always, she does nothing but sigh, sigh, sigh. it’s all they ever do. ”i’m not a toddler.”
from your position, still cozied up in bed, on messy sheets and fluffy pillows — you can see the view beyond your translucent window’s glass. a sky so gray it’s almost comforting, dark clouds forming in the distance, silently ruminating. when the maid pushes it open, and a cold breeze slips through the gap, you can smell the rain; heavy, earthy, daffodils and oak wood. in the distance, sunflower fields seek shelter from the downpour.
but your eyes remain glued to the woods. far ahead, but still close enough to see — the woods you long for. the ones you’ll never get to see up close.
a bitter taste blooms on your tongue.
(spitefully, your teeth sink into the tender flesh of your bottom lip.)
”fine,” comes a heavy sigh, ruefully resigned. forcing yourself into compliancy. before you can change your mind, you hop off the mattress, running your fingers through tousled strands of hair. ”i’ll go see them.”
and she brightens, visibly, disapproving frown smoothed away with the breeze. for now. ”thank you. they are worried, i’ll have you know.”
a scoff, as you cross the threshold of your private quarters. humorous. ”i bet they are.”
”your highness,” she calls, following close behind. her tone is reprimanding, now; you will yourself not to shrink. ”we almost lost you.”
”i almost got kidnapped,” you huff. ”not the same thing.”
again, that exasperated sigh. it’s a wonder her lungs haven’t run out of air. ”do you have any idea who that man was?”
the question makes your mind still. shifting gears, a clockwork coming to life, repeating it inside your head — do you have any idea who that man was?
”… he was hot.”
sigh. you hear it before it comes, and raise your lips on instinct.
”no, i mean it!” you ensure her, throwing a fleeting glance behind you. ”he just had that rugged look about him, you know? the scar and everything…” a blissful little exhale, as you gush over your would-be killer. ”what a waste. if only he had gotten away.”
”with you in tow?” the maid quips, raising a brow. her words are steeped in irony.
”of course!” another disapproving glance. ”i mean, did you see those biceps —”
”behave.”
with a flutter of your puffy sleeves, you turn around to face her. and ah — there it is. the hardness of her jaw, those frosty pupils, the impending signs of her dwindling patience. you can see it, hear it, that eerie tick-tock signaling the breaching of her limit. all humans have one; a clockwork heart, of sorts, ticking down to the moment they run out of leftover kindness to give unruly heirs.
over the years, you’ve gotten expertly good at making the clock tick quicken. a skill you’re very proud of.
”and what if i don’t?” you bite back, just barely restraining your growing grin. delighted at the attention. ”he had nice biceps! what, am i not allowed to tell the truth?”
and the tick-tock quickens. she stills, just behind you, hands on her hips. frustration bubbling beneath her sharp syllables. ”my god, you are impossible today!”
for a moment, you stop to look at her. weighing your options. should you reel it back in, try and appease her? or keep pushing? the answer, as always, is push. it’s all you’ll ever do.
so you turn on your heel, and take a step forward, a spiteful grin curved into your lips. ”deal with it, or leave.” a beat. ”i don’t remember asking you to accompany me.”
before you round the corner, your ears pick up on one final harsh sigh. she makes no move to follow you.
(hmph.)
”where is your maid?”
in front of you stands a throne, proud and luxurious, polished marble, two seats right next to each other. the quarters of the royal pair are the same as always, vivid paintings hanging from every wall in sight, wolf pelts thrown over tables and windowsills. the scent of dried lavender seeps through the air, suffocating you.
and, of course, the king. speaking to you with the same judgemental voice as always; one you’ve grown painfully accustomed to.
”i wanted her to get me breakfast,” is the lie you decide on, finely tailored in white. just to make sure she doesn’t get into any actual trouble. ”you didn’t exactly give me time to eat any.”
the king sighs, mild disappointment laced into the breath. nothing new. when he says your name, it comes out sounding like a bad joke. ” — you aren’t a child anymore. one day you’ll be ruling this kingdom; forcing the maids to do your bidding won’t win you any favours.”
”mhm.” absently, you fidget with the sleeves of your blouse. not quite listening. ”so, what did you want? it’s not often i’m allowed here.”
an evil glint shines in your eyes, for a moment. you cast a meaningful glance at the maid by your father’s side — his personal favorite.
”don’t you have, ah…” you taste the words on your tongue. ”more pressing matters to attend to?”
he doesn’t flinch. as always, he pretends not to know that you know — that everyone knows.
yet he still gives you that cold, cold look, colder than the howls of wind beyond the castle walls, cold enough to send a shiver down your spine. it makes you want to push, push, push. break the clockwork in half.
but he’s wise enough to follow your lead. “let me get to the point, then,” he cranes his neck, showing off the fox pelt snug around his shoulders. ”the queen and i thought it best to hire a new knight for you.”
you blink. eyelashes fluttering. all you can hear is the pitter patter of rain against the windowpane.
then you groan.
”another one?” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet on the floor. ”please, no. it’s such a pain getting rid of them. you know they won’t last long!”
”we aren’t talking about any ordinary knight,” he tuts, as monotone as ever. ignoring your little temper tantrum. ”after what happened with toji zenin, we aren’t taking any chances.”
you tilt your head. confused, for a moment. ”toji?” the gears of your mind turn, clicking into place; zenin. a family of assassins, a man with a scar on his bottom lip. ”ohhh — the hottie.”
your father pretends not to hear you.
”it was a close call,” he hums, and you muster the strength not to crack another joke about his biceps. it takes restraint. ”we need someone who can protect you properly. indefinitely, from even the stealthiest of assassins. so…”
your eyes meet his. gazes overlapping, the same colour, one above and one below. he’s always, always towered over you. for as long as you remember.
that is what royalty means — absolute dominion.
(it makes you want to curl into a ball.)
”today, you’ll be meeting with the greatest knight.” he says the words with an odd sense of pride, an inner satisfaction. ”he’ll be here any moment. i thought it best for you to get acquainted as soon as possible.”
a moment passes. you’re broken out of your bout of compliance, like a rubber band snapping. a clock tick quickening. ”wait, what?” you gape. ”father —”
”your majesty.”
…
the correction is stern. gritting your teeth, you force the words from out your throat. ”… your majesty,” there’s a slight grumble to your voice, ”what the hell? now? i haven’t even —”
”you have no choice in this matter,” he cuts you off. coldly, coldly, coldly. ”behave, and there won’t be any complications.”
behave.
behave, behave, behave. it’s all they ever want from you.
(you might as well be a pet.)
the queen is silent, as always. eerily so, not saying a word, like a puppet on a string. she hasn’t looked you in the eye even once so far, not even a passing glance. not like you’d expect her to. her clockwork heart stopped beating for you a long time ago.
automatons, the both of them. making decisions for you, like there isn’t a sliver of rational thought in your brain. how irritating.
you’re just about to part your lips, when —
”… am i interrupting?”
you still.
a velvety voice. silky, smooth, tailored by the finest seamstress — tucked between the slightest raspy vowel, a hint of something deeper. it sounds like honey, wine, a molten mass of spring clouds.
the king ahead of you brightens, suddenly, lips curling up into a smile. it looks almost warm; you didn’t know he was capable of making that kind of expression. ”ah, suguru!” he calls out to the source of the noise. ”no, certainly not. forgive me for the short notice.”
when you turn around, you see a knight.
he’s beautiful. gorgeous, even. fair skin, sharp facial features, no scars to be seen. a sword hangs in a scabbard by his hip, and he’s wearing a set of armor, still glistening with the aftermaths of the rain beating down outside. his hair cascades down the metal like a black river, loose and silky, a single strand obscuring his pretty face. and his eyes are a soothing shade of brown; you’re almost certain they’d look warm, if there was any sunlight to engulf them. as it is, in the shadow of a murky spring morning, they’re a dark cedar, almost obsidian. but they look kind.
and they’re fixed on the king. he’s smiling, too, a dangerous little tilt. disgustingly charming. he hangs his head in a bow, hand on his heart — reverent.
(ah. he’s one of those knights.)
”my king,” the strange knight greets, tongue wrapping around the vowels like a dragon curling around a pile of gold. ”not at all. i’m always grateful for an opportunity to see you.”
(oh god. it’s even worse than you thought.)
”i should say the same of you,” the king echoes, with a warmth that you’re wholly unaccustomed to. your stomach churns, swirling with discomfort. ”our nation’s pride and joy.”
the knight chuckles; muffled by his closed fist. he’s feigning embarrassment, you can tell. ”you flatter me,” he purrs, words flowing smoothly from his lips. too smoothly. ”i’m simply doing my duty as one of your subjects. but, needless to say — i’m honoured to have earned your respect.”
finally, his gaze shifts to you. and you think he must notice how disgusted you are, the reproach you feel for him, that silent contempt. because you aren’t trying to hide it; it’s there, clear as day, in the crease of your brow, your frosty pupils. lips pursed, like they’re aching to bare and to bite.
but he continues to smile. warm, still, like a mellow summer breeze. a well of pizzicato drops.
you feel a little nauseous.
”ah, and you must be the royal heir?” a tilt of his head, knowing. a shimmer of recognition painted in those ashen eyes. ”or should i say…. my liege.”
he walks towards you, in long strides, slow and steady, only to get down on one knee. ew. ”forgive me; my name is suguru geto. your knight, from this day forth.” his palm unfurls, cedar eyes crinkling with feigned endearment. holding it out towards the subject of his newfound devotion. ”i’m delighted to finally meet you.”
(suguru geto. you’ve heard of him, of course. who hasn’t?)
his hand stills in the air, waiting patiently for yours; to bring it to his glossy lips. but you don’t do anything. nothing, other than studying his smile, picture perfect, tailor-made, sweet enough to melt on your tongue. so sweet you know it must be at least a little bit fake — the smile of a liar.
it’s a smile you know well.
so you mimic it, a bitter glint in your eyes, only for your hands to retreat to your pockets. and out comes a purr. ”you’re a bad actor.”
silence. the knight doesn’t flinch, not even close, but he blinks, a flutter of his dark eyelashes. like a raven taking flight. that everlasting smile never falters, but for just a second, a clock-tick or two, you swear you catch the slightest hint of something flickering through his keen iris.
interest?
”forgive them, suguru,” the king is quick to chip in, finally stepping down from his throne to join you on the floor. the queen doesn’t move, but she gives suguru a fond smile, and it makes your grimace deepen. ”they woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning. and they’re a bit of a problem child — i’m sure you’ve heard.”
that makes you snicker, silently. maybe just a little bit smug. you’re sure it must be a headache for him to deal with.
”i can’t say i haven’t,” suguru chuckles, raising himself up from the marble floor. your smile falls. ”but it’s not an issue. i understand.”
he looks at you, really looks at you, and you give him an unimpressed stare. wholly disinterested. trying not to squirm under his scrutiny.
”i’m sure it must feel suffocating — being under this kind of supervision.” he gives you a tilt of his head, strands of charcoal following the movement. smooth, like a waltz, one you didn’t agree to. ”isn’t it?”
ah. the sympathy card.
before you can answer, he bows; hand on his heart. knights and their rituals. ”i’m at your service, my liege. if i make you uncomfortable, at any point, just tell me.” once more, he meets your gaze, a sincerity in his own — reserved just for you. ”really.”
… ugh.
to your right comes a pleased voice, deep and satisfied, as self-affirming as ever. ”i knew i could entrust them to you,” the king speaks, placing a palm on your shoulder. you try not to flinch. ”aren’t you grateful? this handsome, kind man is all yours.”
a sharp scoff is all you can muster, nails digging into the skin of your palm. but suguru only chuckles, good-natured.
they continue to speak, about this and that. you tune out most of it, caught up in preparing for the long headache ahead. sure, you’re an expert at getting knights to quit, but it takes time. weeks, sometimes, just to make them finally crack, push and push until their patience reaches its limit. and suguru seems resilient. more than anything, he seems thoroughly loyal to the king; that really doesn’t bode well for you.
but before you can formulate a step-by-step guide to making his job a living hell, the sound of your name snaps you out of your trance.
it’s the king, of course, as always. you hate that you still instinctively respond to his call. like an obedient puppy. ”show suguru to your quarters. he’ll be accompanying you indefinitely, from now on. don't give him any trouble.” his voice finally sounds cold again; a warning. ”i’ll hear about it.”
(indefinitely.)
a moment passes. then you sigh, deep and heavy, haphazardly hiding a roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah,” you cross your arms. ”i got it.”
suguru meets your furrowed brows with something gentle, a soothing little smile. offering his arm, for you to hold on to. knights and their rituals. ”shall we?”
but you brush past him. stubborn in your independence, in your desire to make this as discomforting for him as it is for you. ”follow me,” is all you say, a dissatisfied huff. loud enough to pick up on.
to your great displeasure, he matches your hurried pace. side by side, as you walk down the halls, the clicking of his shoes echoing against the marble. a shadow you can’t shine away; one that’ll stay with you indefinitely. you feel his gaze burn into you.
”my lord.”
”don’t talk to me,” you sigh, sharp like the sword by his hip. a low click of your tongue. ”just so you know, i didn’t agree to this.”
”that was my question, actually,” he grins, ever so slightly. fingertips tapping against his scabbard. ”i am sorry, you know. i meant what i said — i’m sure it’s difficult for you.” he casts you another one of those meaningful glances, a meaning you have no intention of discerning. ”but i have my orders.”
you bite back a laugh. ”you guys love those, huh?” when you turn your head to face him, still walking forward, he’s met with a taunting smirk. ”your little orders.”
but his smile doesn’t falter. damn.
”not a fan of knights?” he asks, instead, a playful lilt to his syrupy voice. coaxing, accommodating. infuriating.
”nope.” your footsteps quicken — but he keeps up, effortlessly. curse those abnormally long legs. ”you’re all just bootlickers. especially you.”
”oh?”
”don’t oh? me,” you snap, practically growling, ”like you weren’t seconds away from making out with the king back there. it’s all so fake.” the comment makes the corners of his lip quirk up, but you don’t turn around to see it. ”now that you’re alone with me, you’re already acting way less uptight, see?”
he hums. ”i figured it’d make you feel more at ease.”
”god, will you just cut it out?” a hiss breaks out of your throat, sharp and exasperated. tired, drained. you just want to go back to sleep. ”quit acting like you care about what i think. you’ll do whatever the king asks of you — that’s all you really care about.”
suguru stays silent, this time. matching your steps, observing you silently, out of the corner of his eye. the frown on your lips, the crease between your brows. etching them into his memory. you’re pissed, that much he can tell. and you definitely, definitely don’t like him.
(”you’re a bad actor.”)
the knight comes to a standstill. parting his lips, enough for his voice to flow through, silken sheets and molten honey. a raspy tilt he tries his best to hide.
but his words carry a sincerity he could never fake.
”from now on, i serve you.”
when the clicking of his shoes against cold marble flooring fades away, you halt. turning around, hesitantly, quirking a questioning brow. rain beats on beyond the window to your left, flicking against the glass, droplets clinging to the translucent surface. marigold petals kiss the windows in a flurry of cream and orange, fluttering about with the harsh bites of the wind, carried from the castle’s orchard. the endless hallway you find yourselves in smells of rainwater and spring.
suguru looks steadfast, where he’s standing, immovable. a little like a pillar of salt. when he speaks it sounds like he’s reciting a scripture.
”i’m loyal to the king. i have to follow his orders.”
there’s something about his words that you can’t quite pinpoint. is it guilt or pride? ”but i am at your service. certain things are set in stone, but not others. i’ll let you decide how this goes.”
the hallway goes silent. he smiles, again, smaller this time. somehow more genuine.
”from now on, i’m your knight.” the pitter patter of rain mashes with the steady beating of a clock; rhythmic, soothing, a lullaby of rust and time. ”that’s all. i won’t be anything else.”
you stare. lips pursed, awaiting a clarification, but it doesn’t come. he’s giving you time to respond.
(he’s your knight, now. indefinitely yours.)
an inhale. the clock hands of your heart begin to move. ”in that case,” you exhale, lips curling up into a taunting smile. pleased with yourself. ”i promise to be the most insufferable lord a knight has ever had. i won’t make your job easy for you.”
and suguru only chuckles. raspy, like the bark of a tree, claw marks on the ground. ”good,” he grins, eyes rich with mirth, golden pears hanging off the branches. ”i wouldn’t have it any other way.”
he looks sincere. sounds sincere. all you do is blink, a sense of frustration nibbling at your heart, but the knight before you doesn’t falter. he only offers his arm to you, once more; a silent step towards reconciliation.
you watch him, silently.
then you’re turning on your heel, swiftly, a low grumble at the base of your throat. ignoring him and his offer, walking towards your room with irritated steps that fade as you turn the corner.
behind you, suguru’s smile only grows.
”good morning, your highness.”
blinking sleepily, still regaining your ability to form coherent thoughts, all you can do is stare. studying the figure above you, towering over your half-asleep form, the deadpan expression on your face.
black hair, and amber eyes. a disgustingly charming smile.
the gears of your mind finally click into place.
a whine flows from your lips, meek and disapproving, and you roll over to your side. pulling the covers over your head, as if to protect you from the existence of your newly hired knight. so it wasn’t just a bad dream.
but he doesn’t fade away, like an apparition. he stays right by your bed, crouching down next to it. you feel the weight of the mattress shift when he rests his elbow on the cushion. ”still too early?” he asks, soft enough not to grate your sensitive ears. ”i was told you usually get up around this time…”
a muffled groan. ”leave.”
”i’m afraid i can’t,” he hums, but you don’t sense much remorse. ”i’m not supposed to let you out of my sight for more than brief intervals at a time… that’s one thing i can’t compromise on.”
”i don’t care,” you whine, petulant. tightening your grip on the blanket surrounding you, desperate to savour the leftovers of your fuzzy dreams. ”’m not getting up…”
a click of his tongue. quiet, contemplative. until he decides on a course of action.
”would you like me to bring you breakfast, then?”
…
slowly, your eyes flicker open, consciousness beginning to stir. the tasty temptation rouses you from your half-slumber, ever so slightly; because he sounds sincere. he sounds like he really will bring you breakfast, if you just give him the order.
it’s tempting. dangerously so.
(how long has it been since one of the maids actually bothered to serve you breakfast?)
”… whatever,” you croak, finally. weighing the value of your own response — putting effort into not sounding too excited. (but you are.) ”sure. do what you want, just let me sleep.”
a relieved little breath slips from suguru’s lips, as he watches the lump under the blanket stir. ”alright,” he breathes. ”what would you like, my lord?”
(suddenly, you get an idea.)
a smug grin crawls up to rest on your lips, fresh mischief on your mind. ”figure it out yourself,” you chirp, awfully pleased with yourself.
silence.
then, you hear him hum — rising to his feet with a quiet groan. ”understood,” he quips. ”i’ll be back as soon as possible, your highness.”
when you hear the creaking of the door, as he steps over the threshold, you barely restrain the urge to kick your legs in victory. now he’s sure to get you the wrong breakfast; and then you can be as difficult as you please, demanding something else, over and over. an ungrateful, spoiled little brat. that’ll definitely make him quit.
— sadly, it seems you were underestimating him. just a tiny, tiny bit.
before you, on a silver tray, lays a wide variety of breakfast foods. everything from syrupy pancakes and buttery croissants to neatly cut sandwiches and porridge, slices of fruit and fresh lemonade, coffee with cream and sugar, tiny jars of marmalade and jam. sparkling, glittering, begging to be devoured. handmade, you can tell, meticulously crafted by someone who knows what they’re doing. with a gulp, you attempt not to openly salivate — you had no clue the kitchen workers were this talented.
for just a moment, you’re entirely speechless. he really went ahead and got you some of everything.
stumbling for the right words, any words, the only thing that escapes your throat is a meek huff. meant to sound displeased, but coming out just a little awestruck. ”this is… way, way too much. are you insane?”
he only shrugs. a sweet smile on his lips, sharp jaw resting on the heel of his palm. ”well, you wouldn’t give me any specifics,” he reminds you, a bit too smug for your liking. ”just eat what you like. i’ll keep your preferences in mind.”
you want to protest, want to put up a fight. want to resist his charms, his little peace offering.
but your stomach growls, suddenly. loud enough that you’re sure he hears it, but you don’t turn around to see any silent laughter — just picking up the fork, embarrassed, eager to just get rid of the ache in your gut. eager to get a taste of the delicacies in front of you. with hesitance, you cut into one of the fluffy pancakes, slathered with syrup, trying to ignore his expectant gaze. biting into it with your eyes closed.
when the sweet taste curls around your tongue, you physically feel yourself perk up. letting your eyes flutter open, your eyebrows raised, a sweetness that makes you sit up straighter. it practically melts in your mouth, honeyed and buttery, and it takes all your willpower to withhold a blissed out little sigh.
it must be evident, on your features. because suguru sounds amused when he asks; ”good?”
”... better than usual, i guess.”
despite your half-assed attempt at hiding how pleased you are, his ever-present smile extends. ”oh, really?” he leans back in his chair, right next to the bed. exhaling in relief. ”i’m glad. i was worried my cooking wouldn’t be to your tastes.”
…
you pale.
silently, both awestruck and horrified, you look up to meet his teasing gaze. ”wait. you…” a pause. silent, palpable, dreading his answer. ”… made this?”
”yes.”
another pause.
”… like. all of it?”
”mhm.”
your gaze falls down to seek solace in your lap. avoiding his own, biting down on your lip, not quite enough to sting. fuck — you accidentally complimented his handmade breakfast. not off to a great start.
wallowing in your silent loss, you simply dig in; desperate to savour it, despite the lingering taste of failure on your tongue. once you’ve sipped the last of your coffee, foamy and rich, the knight to your right speaks up.
”so, your highness,” he begins. tactful, careful. clearing his throat. ”now that you’ve woken up a bit… and, forgive me if i’m overstepping, but —” he searches for your guarded gaze, playing with the beginnings of a smile. ”i was thinking it’d be good for us to get to know each other better.”
”ugh.”
a chuckle — seriously, does nothing offend this man? — flits past his lips. ”oh, don’t be like that, your highness. don’t you think it —”
”cut it out.” you shoot him a glare, voice set to a shivering tilt. ”stop acting like some perfect servant. it’s so obvious you’re playing it up.” a tiny huff, as you pop an apple slice into your mouth. ”makes me sick.”
”… right. you called my acting bad, before.”
”it is,” you nod, a mocking imitation on your tongue. eyes fluttering shut as you bring a hand to your chest. ”oooh, look at me, i’m so humble and loyal! why, of course i don’t mind being summoned with no prior notice! would you like me to lick your shoes, my sweet king?”
and, honestly, you expect him to get at least a little bit angry. the last guy certainly was.
but suguru laughs, suddenly, from the bottom of his gut — a genuine sound. sunshine spilling from his lips, amusement laced together with the octaves. his eyes are crinkled at the edges, like the leaves of a golden ginkgo tree. ”okay, okay,” he puts his hands up, as if readying for a smooth surrender. still amused. ”i’ll try to be more… unguarded, then. would that satisfy you?”
you give him a look.
he returns it with a smile. ”i’ll take that as a yes,” is all he croons, reaching a hand out. it hangs still in the air, waiting patiently for a response. a familiar sight.
you blink. looking at it, silently, as if trying to solve a puzzle in the pattern of his fingertips.
then you sigh. ”for the last time, i’m not letting you kiss my hand, you —”
”a handshake,” he cuts you off. soft, a tilt of his head; awfully charming. reassuring you. ”no kissing involved.”
a handshake.
(come to think of it, you don’t think anyone’s ever tried to shake your hand before. it’s something you see other people do; maids, knights, butlers. people on equal ground with each other.)
after a moment of silence, you avert your gaze. there’s a slight, slight flush to your cheeks, one you hope stays hidden from his keen eyes. you grumble, intent on not appeasing him. ”… i’m not shaking your hand, either.”
suguru quirks a brow, smile yet to fall, waiting a few moments more until he gives in. ”you are difficult,” he chuckles, and it sounds almost pleased. ”kento was right.”
kento? now, why does that sound familiar…?
”— but that’s okay. i look forward to getting to know you better, either way.” his hand retreats to his lap, pliant. ”eventually.”
”that’s not happening.”
”oh?” you swear that smile of his grows, just a little. a man who enjoys a good challenge. humming, closing his eyes for a brief second, switching tactics as if shifting gears. ”then, tell me — is there anything you’d like to know about me?”
hell no, is what you want to say. and you almost, almost do. eager to move one step ahead of him, stubborn in your desire to scare him off.
but then you remember the tale.
so you still, ever so slightly, and suguru leans forward. by a hair, noticing your expression, maybe, the curiosity simmering in your veins. seeping out, little by little, and even though you know you shouldn’t — you just can’t resist the temptation to ask…
”… is it true?”
he tilts his head.
”the … you know.” you move your hands, a bit, as if hoping they’ll say the words for you. they don’t. ”your sword. did you really…” a pause, as your eager gaze trails down to his hip, the scabbard attached to his belt. and then a gulp.
”… pull it out of a stone?”
a series of silent blinks. then suguru chuckles — dripping with fresh amusement, a glimmer of teeth behind his lips. ”oh, so you’ve heard?”
and, like a pair of shooting stars, your eyes flicker over to meet his. almost gleaming with newfound excitement, a little erratic. ”is — is it true?”
”it’s an old folktale,” he’s quick to intercept. ”gets said about basically every great knight… or, what the public deems as good, anyhow.”
(ah. the humble facade slipped away.)
in a matter of seconds, you seem to deflate, slumping back until your spine meets the headboard. sulking silently. ”so you didn't pull your sword out of a rock?” you huff, mood souring again, a lemony flavour in your veins. ”lame.”
”stone,” he corrects, unperturbed. ”and i'm afraid not.” he gives you another one of his placating smiles, barely concealed amusement swimming in his amber eyes. ”i pulled mine from an oak tree.”
…
”wait, really?”
the gleam in your eyes is back. suguru almost, almost feels bad.
”depends,” he quips, shooting you a lazy grin. ”how gullible are you, my lord?”
(... oh. he was teasing you.)
an embarrassed heat crawls up your neck, rooting itself into the column of your throat, and all you can do to distract him from it is to scoff. sharply, as if hoping just the sound will be enough to cut into his smooth skin. ”whatever.”
suguru continues to smile, crows’ feet by his eyes, something deliberate in his silent stare. so you stumble for something, anything to say.
”also, can you quit the my lord stuff?” you settle on, taking a shallow sip of the lemonade. sour and sweet, nice and chilled on your tongue. ”it’s creepy.”
he blinks. a flutter of his dark lashes, fingers tapping at his bended knee. he looks contemplative, for a moment. ”does it make you uncomfortable?” he asks, tilting his head. ”i can stick to my liege, if that’s better. just say the word.”
”god, you’re so annoying,” you groan, licking the lemony residue off your lips. ”just use my name.”
suddenly, suguru stills. fingertips frozen, for a moment, no longer tapping at his thigh. he traps his bottom lip between his teeth, a hesitant hum crawling up the confines of his throat.
”that….” he trails off, thumb absentmindedly smoothing over the leather of his scabbard. ”seems a little much.”
when you turn to look at him, he seems a little put off. uncomfortable, maybe — or just caught off guard? it’s hard to get a read on him. for someone who smiles so often, his emotions don’t appear very bright.
a pang of something grasps onto your clockwork heart, and a frown pulls at your bottom lip. frustration gnawing at your veins. ”you’re here to service me, aren’t you?” you ask, with a shallow huff. ”just do as i say.”
”well, i still have my boundaries.” suguru leans back, crossing his legs, gazing at you with slightly lidded eyes. ”and, on paper — i’m only here to protect you. the servicing is my own choice.”
a very, very judgemental look. he returns it with a tug of his lips.
”… you really do like being ordered around, don’t you?”
suguru shrugs. playful. ”makes me feel needed,” he purrs, watching you wolf down the breakfast he made.
once you’ve had your fill, he’s quick to gather the silver tray in his steady arms, and you do your very best to hold back from thanking him for the meal. it aches a little, but you can’t give in — you don’t have a choice. you can’t allow yourself to be anything other than the most ungrateful, annoying royal in the kingdom.
anything to snap his clockwork heart in half.
— a week passes with no particular developments. you try your damndest to bother him, but suguru is stubborn. stubborn enough that you’re starting to doubt he’ll ever leave you alone, no matter how much you ignore him, or hiss at him, or whine at him to make you an annoyingly specific assortment of breakfast foods.
he never stops smiling, no matter how bothersome you’re being. the tick-tock of his patience remains unbroken.
(so for now, you figure you’ll just have to adjust.)
a sense of contentment simmers in the open air, when suguru knocks at your door, waiting for a groan and a grouchy come in. it takes you a few moments longer to respond than what he’s used to, and he notes that you sound a little less irritated when you do.
as he steps over the threshold, bowing his head instinctively, he’s met with the sight of you fully immersed. holding a paintbrush between your fingers, lifting it, movements delicate, self-assured. like it comes to you without thinking. you’re seated right by the window, enough for the would-be daylight to flicker in. as it stands, the weather is still sour.
he walks up to you, as always, never more than a few steps away.
and, for a moment, all he does is watch you. silently, as you dip your brush in smeary cobalt paint, a splatter of colour on the white canvas. melting together with the indigo and obsidian. there’s a certain rhythm to it, a kind of dance between you and your mind and the painting in front of you — not even close to being finished. a dip of your brush blooms into a jaw, a flick of your wrist into a set of fangs. cobalt cream and silvery edges, an imitation of what you saw in your sleep. murky, blurry, a dream-like clearing in the woods.
as you work, a sense of relaxation smooths along your sinuses. coaxing you into breathing out, into letting your clenched jaw rest for a while. turning all your irritation into brushstrokes. into a hungry, hungry wolf.
finally, your knight opts to break the silence.
”you’re quite talented.”
it’s an earnest comment. filled with respect, not the idle flattery you’re so used to. and despite yourself, you can’t help but grin — glowing a little beneath the praise. prideful, smug, almost giddy. he watches intently as your expression shifts, as those fleeting flickers of joy dance along the contours of your cheekbones. as you lap up his praise like the chamomile tea he served you this morning.
suguru smiles. you have a cute side, he thinks. for no more than a mere moment, he finally feels as if he’s getting somewhere; getting closer to breaking that thorny, thorny shell of yours. closer to meeting the little lamb beneath the wolf’s hide.
but your mind quickly catches up to your body, realizing that your lips are curled up into a pleased smile, and you clench your jaw again. mindful not to let him see it. painting makes you far too careless, too unguarded; you have to be mean.
stuck in a bout of frustration, you put a little too much force into the motion of your fingers, a small slip of the hand. but that’s all it takes. suddenly, the smooth, calm sea of fur on the canvas turns violent, a little more unruly, and you withhold a wince. doing your best to mend the damage. flick, flick, across the canvas, as if to appease the hungry wolf.
from behind you, a tiny exhale. laced with a kind of stifled amusement, one that makes you snap your jaw in his direction. brows knitted in anger.
”what?”
suguru clears his throat. ”nothing, my liege,” he hides a smile behind his knuckle. eyes gliding across the murky smear of fangs and fur, interest piqued. ”i’m just curious… why a wolf?”
a huff. briefly, you consider ignoring him, but….
(something in his tone convinces you not to.)
”… i saw one,” you admit, absently, staring at the blue and gray of the canvas. flick, flick. violet, navy, a little more depth. ”in my dream.”
silence. your knight doesn’t respond. surely, he must think you childish; everyone else does. why would he be the exception? why did you tell him anything at all? a sense of regret mixes with the paint.
the weight of a brush in your hand truly does make you careless, doesn’t it?
”… huh.”
a clenching of teeth. you muster the will to turn your head, just to give him a questioning look, a silent aggression. biting before he can. but he’s not looking at you; he’s looking at the painting, the wolf that isn’t quite a wolf yet, just blue and gray on paper. a blur of messy motions.
then he shakes his head. ”no, nothing.”
you quirk a brow.
but you don’t say anything. falling silent, falling back into the rhythm of it all, painting until you grow bored of it. the wolf looks at you both, still thoroughly unfinished, jaw half-painted, no trees or knights to keep it company. solitary, blurry; baring its fangs towards no one at all. a sorry spectacle of teeth.
— a couple days later, as you’re walking through the castle with suguru in tow, still adamantly refusing to curl your fingers around his bicep, a loud crash breaks you out of your hushed banter.
the two of you share a look. it came from farther away, just beyond the next turn, a certain hallway decorated with delicate vases. one the castle maids desperately tried to keep you from, when you were younger, worried about your habit of jumping around while pretending to be some sort of feral animal. worried, of course, about the safety of the porcelain rather than the safety of the child.
it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the source of the sound. and, lo and behold, what waits beyond the turn ahead is a crying boy and a broken vase.
fat tears cascade down his reddened cheeks, silent fear knit into the way his face is scrunched up. he can’t be older than six or seven; one of the maid’s children, you assume, the kind that doesn’t have the luxury of making mistakes. he looks panicked, down on his knees, holding a large piece of porcelain, painted flowers etched into the front.
what a mess.
when the clicking of your shoes reaches his little ears, he looks up at you with wide, shameful eyes. still sitting amongst the littered shards, the spilt water and irises soon to wilt. it reminds you of something, a memory you don’t quite want to recall; a different child, tiny and alone. taught to feel shame at the moment of their birth.
it makes your pace falter, a bit, but suguru moves without hesitation. long, careful strides, one foot after the other.
he crouches down in front of the boy, gentle as he takes the shattered piece of porcelain from his tiny palm. so he doesn’t hurt himself. ”hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, speaking even softer than usual, his voice like a flurry of feathers and jasmine petals. ”are you hurt?”
he’s patient. smiling comfortingly, considerate, grounding, a blanket of wool like the one forming on the border of the horizon. but the child continues to sniffle and hiccup, curling into a ball as if readying for a strike. like an abandoned puppy.
you sigh.
after a moment’s hesitation, you’re stepping forward, figure slipping from the shadows and coming into view. joining the miserable pair, the jagged shards on the marble floor.
there’s a cold, cold look in your eyes when the boy raises his head to meet them.
a flick of your wrist; you wave your hand once, then twice. ”shoo. hurry up.”
he blinks. tears clumping his lashes together, cheeks flushed from the panic of it all. he stammers when he parts his lips. ”b… but —”
”didn’t you hear me?” comes a scoff, harsh, cutting through the air. right through the fear and panic. ”that was an order. just run back to your mommy already.” you cross your arms, shaking your head in disapproval. mimicking the king, though you think it’s lost on your spectators. ”all that crying is making my head hurt, geez.”
a series of hesitant blinks. crumbling beneath your commanding gaze, the child stumbles to his feet, sparing suguru one last unsure little glance before scurrying off. the sigh that slips from your lips is quiet, barely audible, tinged with relief.
when you look down to the floor, you find that suguru is already looking at you; a furrow to his brows. angry, for once. just a tiny, tiny flicker of distaste. you reward him with a cold smile.
(so this is how you get under this skin. cruelty, aimed not towards him, but towards the defenseless.
what a picture-perfect, self-destructive little knight.)
just as the child turns the corner ahead, you hear the echo of a maid calling out from behind you. her voice is dripping with fatigue, exasperation, a flurry of sighs you’ve grown far too familiar with.
”your highness! what have you done now?”
there it is, you think; the curtain call you’ve been waiting for. with a swift turn of your heel, sheepish expression ready to go, your focus shifts onto one sole objective — act annoying.
”walked into a vase,” you chirp, proudly, just the slightest bit theatrical. gesturing dismissively towards the broken spectacle, as suguru raises himself from the floor. ”my bad. not my fault you make them so easy to break, though.”
she inches closer, with a disapproving stare, and you hear a tick-tock in your ear. sensing the limit of her patience. ”i’ll have you know these vases are expensive,” she clicks her tongue. ”do you truly think you can go around breaking whatever you please?”
”… i mean. i do kind of own this place, don’t i?” you tilt your head, faux contemplation on your features, shifting into a spoiled smile. ”or i will. so — technically — i broke my own vase. no harm done!”
”… my lord —”
”quiet.” suguru stiffens, ever so slightly, following your sharp whisper. ”don’t fuck this up.”
he looks at you, silently. not saying another word.
(there’s a shame in his eyes that you don’t turn your head to see.)
it doesn’t take long for the maid to shoo you away, pinching her brow at your carefree laughter, bitter at the prospect of cleaning up your mess. she makes sure to give suguru a sweet smile, though, and doesn’t bother to hide the sympathy in it. sympathy for him, such a handsome, well-behaved knight, forced to service such a brat.
the smile he gives her in return is a stiff one. almost, almost cold. but he bows, and follows your retreating form, until you’re all alone together.
the walk is silent. maybe just a little heavy, as you try to ignore the stare burning into your skin, trying to swallow your own displeasure. it’s subtle, something you learned to internalize long ago, but it’s there; a slight sadness. you don’t enjoy getting yelled at.
a thick silence stretches on, before crumbling into dust. you aren’t sure how much time has passed when a certain velvety voice curls around your senses.
”your highness.”
he’s come to a standstill, again. you really should just ignore him and keep walking. but you still, anyway, following his cue, turning towards him with a look that says what now? — you aren’t sure what to expect. certainly not the sentence that ends up spilling from his lips, like a spring breeze through an opened window, tinged with something you fear may be close to fondness.
(in your chest, your heartbeat tick-tocks.)
he smiles, gentle, with eyes that see right through you. and he speaks.
”you’re actually kind, aren’t you?”
…
”… huh?”
he pays no mind to your stupefied expression. continuing, unperturbed, eyeing you with a look you distinctly dislike — as if he’s trying to glimpse into your mind. ”the vase,” he hums. ”you took the blame, even though you didn’t do it.”
a huff escapes you. face hardening, setting into firm lines. ”that wasn't intentional,” you grumble, defensive. ”i just wanted him to leave.”
but suguru shakes his head. ”you could’ve left when the maid came. but you stayed, and lied, and got yelled at so he wouldn’t have to.” a second passes, silence thick with meaning. intentional on his part, you’re sure. ”is that not what you’d call kind?”
another moment gone, little tick-tocks of your heartbeat counting down. you part your lips, but no sound comes out, as you stumble for words to say. irritation stirring in your veins. or is it nervosity? you think your skin feels a little hot, suddenly.
just what the hell is happening?
”i’m… i’m not — ” you bite down on your lip. harshly. stammering, voice cracking a bit, to your great dismay. ”… not kind. i hate all of them.”
”but you protect them,” he whispers, ”look after them.” his smile doesn’t waver, never ever, but you’ve never seen it look quite this knowing. and suddenly, he’s closing in on you, gazing at you with laughter in his eyes.
you try to stand your ground, wanting nothing more than to flee, curl into yourself, scratch at him until he leaves. but your throat feels so dry, all of a sudden, a sensation that only deepens with the next words he breathes into life.
”a little sweetheart who pretends to be all big and bad…” he eyes you up and down, a meaningful look, raven locks moving as he tilts his head. towering over you. ”is that what you are?”
nothing. no smart reply comes to you. all you can muster is a harsh glare, a low hiss crawling up your throat, like you’re preparing to lunge at him. it serves as a warning, but the amusement in his eyes doesn’t fluctuate. ”you…”
he chuckles. raspy, breathy, a shiver down your spine. ”your acting is even worse than mine.”
”shut up,” you snap, baring your teeth. it comes out almost like a growl, hot and heavy in your veins, and you don’t understand where all this emotion came from. strangling you, bubbling up within your bobbing throat. ”you don’t — understand me, okay?”
no one does.
and that’s fine. you don’t want them to.
(you just want him to stop looking you so fondly.)
”not yet,” he admits, eyes fluttering shut. a thoughtful hum on the tip of his tongue. ”… but i think i’m beginning to.”
he’s looking at you, again, amber and honey and raven lashes, lapping up every hint of a tell in the way you shift from foot to foot. speaking like he knows you, like he’s known you all his life. ”you act difficult — scare everyone away… but deep down, you love them, don’t you?”
a scoff. desperate. ”no.”
”you want to loved,” he continues, not allowing you to flee. relentless in his pursuit of whatever he imagines must be hidden inside your soul, beneath all those layers of frost. ”understood. everyone does.”
”not me.”
”your highness.”
…
the knight continues to look at you, and you avoid his gaze like it could burn you into cinders — like it could turn you into dust. but he parts his lips, anyway, and speaks. so sincere it makes your chest hurt. words that echo through the endless hallways of the castle, against the surfaces of glass that line the walls. words that make your skin flush under the shadows of rain soon to fall.
he smiles, wide, teeth showing. and he speaks.
”that was very, very kind of you.”
silence. so thick you wonder if you’re about to faint, or fall to the floor, or something equally embarrassing. a sentence so simple shouldn’t be making you feel this way, this weird. you don’t understand why it makes you feel anything, anything at all, and you don’t understand why your eyes suddenly feel a little glassy.
(someone saw through the act.)
”… whatever,” you squeeze out, at last, but it sounds a little meek. a tiny puff of air. turning around, sharply, blinking rapidly to shoo the tears away. ”i just didn’t want to hear that brat whining. it was hurting my ears.”
suguru bites back a coo.
as he watches your back retreat, hurrying back to the comfort of your room, he’s almost certain that he’s making progress. that your walls are beginning to crumble, slowly but surely, bit by bit. the path before him clears — a thorny, foggy path through the woods, until a sunsplatter falls on the ground and tells him where to plant his feet.
it’s not much, barely anything, but suguru’s always liked his hunts blindsighted.
you turn a corner, and he follows suit. sparing a passing glance at the clouds on the boundary of the horizon, the sole ray of sunlight breaking through. and then he’s catching up to you with long strides.
(it’s his duty, yes, but he doesn’t think he’d mind it so much — getting to know his kind, misunderstood little lord.)
sadly, disappointingly, to your great shame — you begin to grow used to suguru’s presence in your life. constant, always close behind, always ready to be of service. as infuriatingly patient as ever. it’s a stretch, but you may have become just the slightest bit fond of it.
maybe, possibly, you’ve even silently decided to stop trying to scare him away. stop acting so difficult with him, all the time.
or, well — sometimes.
”take me outside, please?” you whine, bottom lip jutting out into a deep pout, accompanied by a flutter of your lashes.
the voice that spills from your lips is hopelessly meek, pleading, so sweet you’d get cavities if you didn’t know how fake it was. effortless, perfected, your one god-given talent; an irresistible pair of puppy dog eyes.
suguru answers with a smile, tight-lipped. ”no.”
a beat.
”aw, come on,” you whine, barely resisting the urge to stomp your feet. frustration bubbles up inside your veins, trickling down to your wrist, nails digging into your palm. ”why not? you’re supposed to listen to my every command!”
”still no, sweetheart.”
a series of grumbles scratch at the base of your throat, but suguru pays them no mind. patient, patient, patient. he’s even kind enough to ignore the way you pointedly avoid his gaze after the term of endearment slips past his lips. ”sorry, but that part is non-negotiable. you know i don’t have a choice.”
you do know. but it still makes your mood sour, pulls a sigh from out of your lips. he moves closer, familiar silver tray in hand, dragging a chair to where you’re seated by the windowsill.
”i did bring you this, though,” he gestures towards a particular glass bowl, filled with red berries. they shine like rubies in the light. ”strawberries, like you asked for. wasn’t easy to get a hold of.”
he places the tray right next to you, smiling as he takes a seat. ”cheer up, hm? don’t be so grumpy.”
your pout remains, but you do settle down a bit. just the teeniest, tiniest bit. definitely not because he was kind enough to indulge your cravings.
”… thanks for breakfast.”
suguru beams, and you avoid his gaze, like always. biting into one of the rubies, the soft murmur of thanks still burning your tongue, soothed by sweet nectar. he lets you flee, lets you continue on like nothing happened, like it isn’t obvious how much you’ve warmed up to his presence.
”you’re welcome, my lord.”
…
(even after spending more than a month together, he still won’t call you by name. won’t even entertain the idea. why does that bother you so much?)
peacefully, your morning ritual continues. the same as always; you eat, while suguru watches, a sweet smile on his lips. the silence remains until he opts to break it.
today, he sounds a little hesitant.
”say, your highness…” he picks at a piece of lint on his cloak, absentminded. ”could i ask you for a favour?”
you almost drop your fork. gaze snapping up to meet his own, as a few silent seconds tick on by. tick-tock, tick-tock. then you clear your throat, regaining your composure. trying to sound nonchalant.
”what is it?” you probe, cutting across the yolk on your fried egg. watching the orange seep out, trickling down, sinking into the crust of your toast. suguru hums.
”a friend of mine — he’s also a knight…” he wrings his hands together, legs parted. tapping his heel on the floor. ”we’ve been sparring together for a while. once a week, at least. but ever since the king hired me, we haven’t been able to.”
you watch as his gaze flickers down to his lap, then up to you again. it’s smooth, charming, but you still think it seems a little out of place. he must not be used to asking for favours.
”i was wondering if you’d be willing to accompany me? just down to the training fields by the castle.” his fingers tap against his bended knee, slow and methodical, from pointer to pinkie. ”the king gave us permission to spar there, but i’m obviously not allowed to let you out of my sight…”
you bite back a huff. obviously. he waits for a response that doesn’t come.
”… so?”
you meet his gaze, expectant. hopeful, maybe. it’s a nice touch — matches with the amber of his eyes.
”would that be alright with you?” he inquires, again. you think he sounds just a tiny bit unsure of himself.
a moment passes. silently, you look down at your lap. folded hands, itching to do something. something fun, new, exciting.
your tongue forms around a wish. it spills into the air like a shooting star, a meek little whisper. ”… i wanna swing a sword.”
suguru blinks. once, then twice. ”you…” he tastes the words on his tongue, turning the image of you around in his head. ”want to swing a sword?
you nod. glancing at him, coughing a little under your breath. summoning just a bit of audacity, eyes trailing towards the sword by his hip. longingly. ”… i’ll only watch you spar if you let me try it.”
a brief pause. he studies you intently, a mystery he’s yet to solve.
then he chuckles, light and airy, full of mirth. a sound you’ve grown fond of. ”well, okay. that’s fair.” he rises to his feet, smiling down at you. ”thank you, my lord.”
you don’t respond. but your eyes glitter with excitement, as you dutifully finish your breakfast, wolfing it down. waiting patiently for him to head down to the kitchen with the tray, for him to change into his training gear.
when he knocks at your door, he’s wearing a flimsy little blouse. almost see-through, if you squint your eyes enough, exposing his bare skin. you think you see a scar curling up from his chest, reaching for his shoulder, just below it by a hair. and you can see his biceps, the fat, the muscle, practically begging to be bitten.
(tantalizing.)
he’s speaking to you, saying something, but you tune him out. focused on trying to restrain your growing urges. when he reaches up to fix his hair, tied up into a bun, the muscle of his arm twitches.
and, suddenly, you can’t contain yourself.
giving in to the salivating temptation, you grab hold of his bicep, sinking your teeth into it — gentle, but enough that he feels it, enough to leave a set of teeth marks soon to fade. gnawing at it like a dog with a bone.
suguru blinks. pupils wide, quirking a silent brow, quick to smooth over the surprise in his eyes.
you don’t move. teeth planted against the fabric, the firm muscle beneath it, surprising even yourself; his arm just looked so biteable. you wonder if he’s put off. upset.
but, as always, he’s eerily placating. like nothing you say or do could rock the ship of his patience, an endless sea. smooth, airy laughter flits past his lips, giving way to an indulgent smile. he studies you with fascination, like you’re a creature he hasn’t encountered before.
ever so gently, he grabs hold of your jaw — and the warmth of his touch shocks you into letting it go slack. before you can say anything, he’s rolling up his sleeve. exposing the tender skin.
”go wild, your highness,” he grins, offering his arm up like a lamb to a hungry fox. a teasing mirth in his eyes, his voice coming out as a low purr. ”i don't mind a mark or two.”
to your horror — it flusters you terribly.
you cough. taking a step back, averting your gaze, suddenly disinterested. feigning indifference, anyhow; that was definitely a scar. and a cool one, too. you think you might even have caught a glimpse of a birthmark or two.
”i’m… just keeping you on your toes,” you stumble for an excuse, still unable to look at him properly. missing the way he stifles a bout of laughter. ”for your training, y’know? gotta stay on your guard.”
”of course. i appreciate the help,” he quips, fond, as he gestures for you to take the lead. ”he’s waiting for us. are you ready?”
for a second, just a second, you consider grabbing his arm. letting him guide you. but the thought is fleeting, like a bundle of peach blossoms, brushed away by the sunshine seeping in through the window’s glass — illuminating the marble flooring.
a mellow excitement simmers in your bones.
you head down to the training grounds with a pep in your step, and your loyal knight follows suit. just behind, always, wearing a smile you can’t see.
”suguru!”
the man that greets you with cheerful fervour, seated cross-legged under a peach tree, isn’t quite what you expected him to be.
when you heard knight, you imagined someone a bit more… intimidating. but this guy is far from imposing. a little shorter than suguru, brown locks stopping right around his ears, exposing his sunkissed skin. freckles scattered across his nose and cheekbones, a happy little grin curled right around his lips.
he’s cute. a bit like a puppy. not very knightly, though.
”haibara,” suguru greets, a mellow warmth to his voice. the man in question shoots up from the ground, stumbling towards you both, excitement in his hazel eyes. suguru gestures towards you. ”this is the royal heir. the one who doesn’t like having their hand kissed.”
your head whips towards him, an angered flush to your cheeks — you’re almost sure that he’s smirking, giving you a teasing glance, but haibara’s exclamation prevents you from voicing any protests.
”hi!” he beams, bowing deeply, so sudden that you jolt a bit. his head whips up instantly, brown locks stirred by the breeze, voice warm and smooth. like honeysuckle nectar. ”thank you so much for letting us spar, your highness! i’ve heard so much about you!”
”… um.” your gaze falls down to a pebble on the ground. unsure of how to act, murmuring under your breath. ”you — it’s… no need to thank me. i wanted to get some air, anyway.”
he continues to look at you, eyes shining with a pure kind of cheer. glittering, honeyed and sweet, too bright to look at directly. you hear suguru exhale amusedly to your left. he’s looking right at you when you glance towards him.
his hand inches closer to his scabbard, fingertips trailing down the leather. ”should we get started?”
haibara brightens even further, if possible. ”oh, right!” he exclaims. ”you wanted to try swinging a sword, your highness? that’s so exciting! is this your first time?”
a blink. you aren’t really sure how to handle this guy; he’s a bit too sunny to be snarky to. like a fuzzy ball of sunshine given human form, bouncing on the balls of his feet, tail practically wagging behind him. all you can muster is a weak cough. ”uh, yeah.”
”well, you’re here to learn.” suguru speaks up. guiding you both towards the center of the field, hand still at the sword on his hip. ”let me show you.”
in one smooth motion, he’s pulling it out of its sheath, a stripe of silver absorbing the rays of the sun. glimmering, slicing the blue sky in half.
you’re a little awestruck.
and then he’s facing you. leaning forward, with a familiar tilt of his head, offering the blade with a smile. ”do you want to try swinging it around a bit?”
barely containing your excitement, you nod. making grabby hands at it.
that makes him chuckle. he makes no move to stop you when your fingers curl around the hilt, only parting his lips for a quick warning, a split second too late. you take it into your arms. ”careful, it’s a bit —”
— the sword clatters to the ground with a thud.
silence.
haibara breaks out into laughter, sudden, fond and warm, but enough to have your cheeks burning. fresh with embarrassment, humiliation, before you even hear the breathy chuckle that slips from your knight’s lips.
”… i was gonna say it’s a bit heavy,” he hums, closed knuckle in front of his lips and obscuring his smile. ”i’m sorry, my lord. do you —”
”whatever.” a hiss escapes your throat, and suguru winces. he knows where this is going; knows a bundle of thorns just erupted from the stalk of your spine, knows you're about to get defensive. ”like i’d ever want to touch your dusty sword. get — get real.”
he tries again. patient, patient. the familiar tick-tock of his never-ending kindness. ”hey, we aren’t making fun of you,” he soothes, hoping it’ll make your edges soften. like scratching a feral dog behind its ear. ”it’s understandable. you weren’t expecting it. i’ll let you try again, hm?”
a tiny pause.
(you’re being childish, again.)
brows furrowed, hanging your head, you kick at a pebble on the ground. having collected yourself a bit. ”… maybe next time,” you finally speak, still grumbling. after you’ve spent some time lifting weights in your room.
suguru tilts his head. speaking softly. ”you sure?”
”yeah.” taking a step back, you raise your head to meet his gaze. ”i’ll just watch you. it’s fine.”
”… okay,” he exhales. leaning forward to pick up his sword from the ground. ”i can spar with you next time, if you want. you’ll be a pro in no time.”
he gives you another sweet smile, bangs fluttering with the breeze; painted in cerulean sunshine. he’s so gorgeous it makes you angry.
a sharp huff. ”don’t patronize me,” is all you can mutter, meeting the eyes of the knight by his side. standing up straighter. ”haibara,” you call. ”knock him around a bit for me, okay?”
from the corner of your eye, suguru pouts.
but the puppy-knight only grins, as bright as the sun in the sky. ”you got it, your highness!” he salutes, cheeks flushing with giddy excitement.
as you sit on the benches a little farther away, dragonflies buzz in the air. fleeting glimmers of chartreuse and cerulean, chirping happily, keeping you company as you watch the knights spar. the clangs of their blades, the elegance in the way suguru moves. a violent little waltz. he’s sweating, just a bit, but you can see it, droplets glittering in the sun. he looks like he’s having fun.
he looks like himself. like he isn’t holding back, isn’t acting obedient or well-mannered for the sake of pleasing his superiors. like this, here and now, he looks wild, free, a dog that turns into a wolf under the glow of the sun.
for a second, your eyes meet — just as he narrowly avoids a slash.
and he smirks, ever so slightly, suddenly gaining a little more momentum. flashing a brief grin, sunlight reflecting off his white teeth. you huff. heat crawling up your neck.
show off.
”excuse me, your highness?”
the sudden voice snaps you out of your stupor. mesmerized, by the spectacle before you, the glimmer of their blades and the sight of your knight’s smile. it’s an unfamiliar voice, close, close enough that your head turns to meet the stranger’s ugly grin — inching closer still.
(uh oh.)
— just up ahead, lost in their own worlds, are two knights; huffing and smirking and narrowly dodging each other’s strikes. suguru takes the lead, as always, guiding haibara into improving his swordsmanship. but they both learn from it. and it’s fun, lighthearted, a respite from their more gruesome duties.
it’s helped suguru more times than he can count; those tiny flickers of normalcy, in a wholly unpredictable profession. a life of bowing and bowing and killing what needs to be killed.
slash, slash, and then two steps back. the same old dance. haibara’s starting to lose momentum, he notices, adam’s apple bobbing with his heavy breaths.
so suguru stills. ”alright, that’s enough for now,” he calls, stretching idly. craning his head, looking around him absently. he wonders if you’re still watching. ”i think i see what the problem is.”
haibara perks up, obeying without a word, wiping the sweat off his forehead and walking towards his friend with a sunny smile. ”okay, great!”
but suguru isn’t looking at him, anymore.
he’s looking towards the benches, where his little lord is seated, speaking to an unfamiliar man. one who currently has his hand on their forearm, caressing it. you look guarded, irritated, a little like you’re about to bare your teeth. trying to pull away, but he doesn’t let you. and suguru recognizes that look — the one that means you’re about to start biting and hissing, inching your claws into whatever’s within reach.
(not to injure, but to ground yourself, he’s learned. like how you clutch onto the fabric of your clothing when you’re nervous, sink your nails into your palm. not to injure, but to feel safe.)
in the blink of an eye, he’s making his way towards you. beckoned by his duty, his natural instinct, a protective itch that curls around his ribcage and crawls up his throat. large strides, much swifter than usual. he moves without thinking, and he’s there before he has the time to form a coherent thought.
with as much gentleness as he can possibly muster, he grabs hold of the stranger’s arm. smiling, tight-lipped, cold. ”excuse me, sir,” he greets, ”i need to borrow them for a moment.”
the man meets his gaze with a sour look. bitter, ugly, oddly possessive — like he thinks he owns the arm he’s holding. it makes suguru want to teach him a lesson, show off his sword, but he resists the temptation in a way you never could. his expression is a warning, though, enough to scare most rowdy drunkards and snobby royals away.
and it works. the stranger looks to you, briefly, before finally letting go of your poor arm. something rigid in suguru’s jaw finally relaxes. ”who are you?” comes a question, as the man turns to face him with a look full of contempt. ”their knight?”
before suguru can say anything, you’ve hopped off the bench. clinging to him, with a firm nod; your arms around his bicep. ”yeah. he is.”
(suguru fails to stifle a smug smile.)
with a string of bitter mumbles and a silent frustration, the man scurries away. hesitant, only after being met with another warning glance from the knight in front of him. intimidating, far less subtle, towering above him like a predator over their prey.
as soon as he’s out of sight, your knight turns to you, scanning your face for signs of discomfort. loyal, attentive. ”are you okay?” he asks, a silent shame in his voice. if only he had noticed sooner. ”did he do anything to you?”
you shake your head. ”it’s fine. probably one of the king’s friends — stops by every now and then.” a sigh, a little fatigued, following your explanation. ”they’re mostly harmless. just creepy and touchy.”
”that doesn’t sound very harmless…” suguru lets you pull away, quick to hide the disappointment that flashes in his eyes as you do, waving haibara off with a silent gesture of give us a minute. ”don’t worry. i’ll keep an eye out, from now on.”
still a little guarded, you nod. letting suguru guide you by the small of your back, taking a seat on the solid bench once more. together, this time.
”there are a lot of those types around the town square,” he exhales, weary, stretching out his limbs before leaning forward. elbows resting on his bended knees. ”they’re a pain to deal with. i’m sorry you have to.”
”are there?” you ask, tone laced with curiosity. ”in the town?”
”well, i’m sure you’ve heard. that place is a bit of a mess, these days…” a click of his tongue. ”more work for the knights.”
a dragonfly settles on the bridge of his nose. suguru blinks, smiling gently, until it flutters away with a raspy squeak. fading away, melting into the blue paint of the sky. you bite down on your lip.
”… i haven’t.”
he turns to look at you. raising a brow.
”i haven’t heard about it at all. the king told you, right?” you meet his eye with a rueful smile, before leaning back, nose turned up towards the sky. for a second, you think the air smells a bit of rain. ”i’m not allowed to go out into town.”
your knight falls silent.
so you continue. grinning, with no humour to it. maybe a bit eager to overshare, to break the silent rules you’ve been given. the secret tastes like honey on your tongue. ”i’m a bastard child. he probably told you that, too.” you wouldn’t be surprised. ”thinks it's optimal for everyone involved if i just stay cooped up in the castle.”
closing your eyes, your voice drips with something close to longing. barely above a whisper. ”i haven't been to the town in a couple of years, now.”
…
he only hums. ”i see.”
(there’s sympathy, in his amber eyes, but you don’t turn around to see it. you don’t turn to look at him until he’s finished sparring, and haibara’s about to leave.
you wonder if he’ll meet your gaze the same way as before.)
— that evening, suguru knocks at your door right as you're about to fall asleep. three rapid knocks, the same as always, knuckle against wood. rousing you from your rest.
when you open it, he’s holding something out towards you.
”here,” he says, voice set to a mellow tilt. upon closer inspection, he’s holding a bottle. transparent, see-through, stuffed to the brim with sea glass. smooth little colourful pebbles, green and blue and pink and orange, like frozen little camellias. ”for you, my lord.”
blinking sluggishly, you take it into your arms; holding it up in front of your eyes. when the light of the moon flitting in through the curtains hits it just right, it blossoms with colour, sparkling with every shade you’ve ever seen. shining like a heap of jewels, in your hands, like something out of a picture-book. magical.
it’s mesmerizing.
”i asked haibara to get it from the town,” he explains, drinking in your expression of awe. ”this one lady — she collects them herself. i see her by the beach nearly every time i go there.”
when you look up, his smile is serene. peaceful, if just a little bit tired. but he looks pleased, lips curling around silky syllables. ”i thought of you.”
it’s odd, you think. you aren’t a stranger to gifts; you get most of what you desire if you just say the word, an easy way for the king to keep you compliant. as if to make up for the plethora of experiences you’ve missed out on since your birth. and you’ve had more than a couple suitors, men and women, eager to gain your favour.
but this — this particular gift…
…
”it’s pretty,” you murmur, finally, unable to voice even a sliver of the emotions clogging up your chest. shying away from his gaze, feeling your heart pulse against your ribcage. ”… i guess.”
suguru just smiles. always, always, always. no matter what you do. ”i’ll get you something else next time,” he promises, ready to go back to standing guard outside the castle. ”get some sleep, okay? be good.”
and you can’t bring yourself to protest. not even a tiny huff of don’t tell me what to do. you can’t bring yourself to do anything but nod, soft and pliant, still gazing at the bottle of sea glass in your hands. like you might turn into one of those transparent pebbles, if you wish for it enough.
that night, you dream of waves crashing against sand, the taste of seafoam on your tongue. every colour in the world. a newfound, reawakened wish — a wish to see more of it.
”are you trying to sneak out again?”
owlishly, all you can do is blink. propped up on the windowsill, immersed in the process of tying pillowcases and bedsheets together to form a rope. caught in the act — by none other than suguru, standing by the threshold, hand on his hip, watching you with silent disapproval. you didn’t think he’d come check on you this late.
a gulp. ”… no?”
and he sighs. walking towards you, brows furrowed, running a hand through his raven locks. you can tell he’s trying to be a little more sympathetic, this time, but it only makes the bitter taste on your tongue thicken.
”look — i know it’s not fair to you, but the king and queen specifically ordered me —”
”i get it,” you cut him off, with a hiss, a little harsher than you meant to. you soften your voice before continuing. "i know. okay? i know.”
resigned, but frustrated, you clench the silken material of the bedsheets. glaring at them like it’s somehow their fault that the queen couldn’t bear an heir, that your father has a knack for sleeping around. like it’s their fault that he’s so ashamed of your existence that he doesn’t want you integrating into society on anything other than his own terms, until he’s dead and gone and doesn’t have to take accountability anymore.
like it’s their fault that it’ll always be like this, forever, that it’s better not to hope for more.
(why can’t you just accept that?)
the knight before you exhales. troubled, watching your nails dig into the fabric, watching the way you bite down on your lip and rapidly blink. all signs of your frustration, your sadness, that you always try so hard to hide.
”hey. how about this?” he tries to get your attention, voice soothing enough to coax you into raising your gaze. ”i’ll tell you a story instead.”
he stifles a chuckle, at the dubious look you send his way, teetering on the edge of a glare. slithering towards you. ”i’ve seen a lot of places. i can tell you about them, if you’d like.” he takes a seat right next to you, on the windowsill, a slice of the moon in bare view. ”what do you want to know?”
you’re silent, for a second. gnawing at your bottom lip, in contemplation, the tiniest bit of nervosity. like you aren’t quite sure if you’re allowed to speak your wishes aloud.
”… the woods.”
suguru blinks. a little caught off guard.
his silence makes you want to bare your fangs, a bit. misinterpreting it as judgement. your voice comes out cold. ”what?”
but he’s quick to smooth over his features with a smile, as always, cocking his head amusedly. ”sorry — i was expecting you to say the sea, or something,” he stifles a chuckle. “it's the woods that you're so curious about?”
you pout. ”… you can see them from here.”
his head turns towards the window’s glass, squinting his eyes to see the sea of dark green in the distance, a cluster of thick trees. he hums. ”yeah, you can. well… that particular spot isn’t too bad. not many bandits or beasts.” your gaze stays glued onto his lips, every word that spills from them. ”there are wolves, though. this side of the kingdom is crawling with them.”
”they sell their fur,” you state.
(that’s one thing you do know. you spent more of your childhood around wolf pelts than your own parents. they might as well be your legal guardians.)
suguru nods. ”they do. it's a big portion of the kingdom’s exports… general market, as well.”
a frown tugs at your lips. you think of your fluffy childhood guardians, unable to howl or even make a sound; hunters turned decorations.
”isn’t that… kinda fucked up?”
he smiles, revealing no emotion. ”do you think it is?”
you only shrug. ”i’m not surprised that they eat us.” you think of all the stories you’ve heard, the fairy tales you grew up with. ”… if i was a wolf, i’d hate humans too.”
”would you, now?” familiar amusement, seeping from his tongue, soft crows’ feet by his cedar eyes. ”good thing you aren’t a wolf, then. we’re lucky.”
”mhm. you’d be my first target.”
that makes him chuckle, a little deeper this time, and you drink in the glimpse you get of his teeth, the fondness that dances across his face when he looks at you.
a sudden urge overtakes you.
”… i wanna know about something else.”
”oh?” he tilts his head, soft locks framing his kind eyes. ”and what would that be, my dear?”
”you.”
…
for a moment, the mask falls. a silent, subtle kind of surprise, something in the way the tips of his fingers twitch that tells you he’s caught off guard. it coaxes you into continuing, following through with your question. swallowing the embarrassment. ”i wanna know more about you. how you became a knight, and… stuff.”
suguru looks at you with a strange glint in his eyes. undecipherable, unspoken, just watching as moonrays glide across your soft skin. ruffling your hair.
a hum buzzes in his throat. he scratches at the back of his neck, resisting the urge to dodge your question. clicking his tongue. ”… well.”
anticipation blooms in your eyes, and you cross your legs, waiting patiently to hear him speak. he can’t deny you, when you look at him like that — so suguru simply exhales. a breath of indulgence.
”it’s not a very interesting story,” he leads, closing his eyes in remembrance. ”they scouted me when i was pretty young…. a bit of a troublemaker, honestly, but i got lucky." memories flash behind his eyelids, fresh bruises, sliced fruit. bittersweet. ”ended up around some powerful people. they liked me. knighthood felt like the right choice.”
he meets your entranced gaze, speaking with sincerity, devotion dipped in honey and holy water. sinking deeper still. ”it’s my purpose in life,” he breathes, a flurry of whispers on his tongue. heavier than either of you know. ”truly.”
you cock your head. ”being a knight?”
”protecting the weak,” he says. recites. like he’s said it a million times before, in the face of beasts, in the reflection of broken mirrors, a mantra to live and die by. ”protecting those who can’t protect themselves.”
the look in his eyes frightens you. deeper than the deepest lake, dark and murky, dragging him down. a devotion that smells of iron, tastes like steel. mania disguised as loyalty.
(knights love duty. almost as much as they love dying for it. that’s what your father always says.)
”but, honestly — this kind of thing isn’t bad,” he breaks you out of your trance, grinning sheepishly, almost boyishly. ”it’s been a while since i had so much fun on the job… thank you for that.”
he’s looking at you, right at you, into your eyes, an expression reserved for you and you alone. terribly earnest, grateful, a sincerity he wouldn’t show anyone else. ”honestly.”
you can do nothing but avert your gaze. swiftly, meekly, feeling heat crawl up your neck, blooming across your cheeks like the branches of a plum tree. suguru grins, gulping down the slightest coo — but he can’t resist the urge to poke fun at you a bit.
”… you’re a shy one, aren’t you?” he searches for your gaze, chuckling when he doesn’t find it. when you don’t let him. ”can’t even look people in the eye if they’re being nice to you… how precious.”
”oh, shut up,” you groan, glaring out into the night sky. blinking slowly, drowsily, biting back a yawn that your attentive knight still manages to notice.
(he looks a little enamored.)
”ah… is my sweet little lord getting sleepy?”
”no,” you scoff, far too quick. ”i’m… tired.”
”of course.” he reaches out, carefully, to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. ”tired — not sleepy. that would be outrageous, wouldn’t it?”
a yawn. ”it would.”
low laughter bubbles up at the base of his throat, like seafoam, melting roses. deep and summery. ”alright. that’s enough stories for tonight, i think.” and with that, he gets up. ”let’s get you to bed, hm?”
rubbing your eyes, absently kicking your legs, you give him a slow nod of your head. making grabby hands at him that you’re sure you’ll be embarrassed about in the morning — but it feels easy, to be greedy, to know that your wants won’t be ignored when you’re with him. ”carry me, suguru.”
an indulgent smile. he doesn’t say anything, only curling his arms under your thighs, lifting you up and cradling you to his chest. you can feel his firm muscles, like this, trace them with your fingertips, hear the beating of his heart. tick-tock, tick-tock. a lullaby. a sense of safety, when you can’t tell where your heartbeat ends and his begins.
lost in that fuzzy, sleepy feeling, a blink away from falling into dreamland, fatigue washes over you — but you cling to his sleeve, even as he tucks you in, dragging the blanket up to cover you properly.
”suguru,” you murmur, so quiet you doubt he hears it. ”will you tell me more stories tomorrow?”
”of course.” right before sleep coaxes you into its cradle, you feel the weight of his palm on your head; ruffling your hair. ”as many as you want, your highness.”
he smiles, as your eyes flutter shut, at the soft little breaths that flow from your lips. before he slips out, he blows out the candle on the nightstand, a silent prayer that your dreams will be kinder to you than his.
— one week of nagging later, suguru’s resolve finally crumbles. it’s progress, at last, a tiny crack in his clockwork heart.
but for once, it works in your favour.
”do you really want to see the outside world that badly?”
he’s got an arm locked around your waist, stopping you from one of your numerous escape attempts. you’ve gotten bolder, sneaking away the moment he takes his eyes off you, but suguru isn’t easy to fool — catching up to you just as you stepped outside the castle, now stuck in place under the portico. it’s to be expected, with that sixth sense of his, the one that seems to alert him as soon as you think the thought to get him in trouble.
but you still can’t help but pout, huff and puff, pushing at his chest in a helpless attempt to break free. he’s sweet about it, gentle, but entirely unmoving. like a big, annoyingly handsome rock.
”what do you think?” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him. ”no, of course not. this whole time, i’ve just been trying to escape for fun. like, as a bit. how could you tell?”
he rolls his eyes, and you break out into a grin. ”mind the sarcasm, please.” he barely resists the urge to pinch your side; letting you loose, instead, trusting you not to scurry away. he’d catch up to you instantly, anyhow. "i’m just saying, it might not be as interesting as you think —“
”what are you, stupid?”
”what did we say about letting people finish their sentences?” he raises a brow, and you try not to cower. rolling your eyes, instead. suguru just sighs. ”i understand why you want to leave. but you have a good life, here. better than most.”
”… i know that,” you grumble, biting down on your lip. a resignation in your eyes that your knight can't protect you from. ”i just —”
you sigh.
”it’s just so suffocating.”
suguru falls into a contemplative silence. weighing his options, studying the flicker of emotions in your eyes, the tapping of your idle fingers. hands eager to fidget with something.
moments pass, one at a time, a familiar lullaby of pitter patter ricocheting off the ground just outside your vision. the air smells of marigolds, burning wood, wet concrete. the beginnings of summer.
finally, he makes up his mind.
”okay, okay.”
when you look up from the ground, what awaits you is an outstretched hand. a familiar palm, and a familiar knight, with a familiar smile on his face. ”but don’t get used to it, alright?”
…
you part your lips, but no sound comes out. gaping like a fish out of water, hunting for the right words. suguru waits. patient.
”w — hold on,” you stutter, eyes blooming with hesitant hope, studying him intently for any signs of trickery. ”you mean — seriously? like, for real?”
he shrugs. ”it’s my duty to keep you happy.” devotion clings to his tongue, sweet indulgence. ”figure i can make an exception this once.”
another moment passes.
(there isn’t a hint of deceit in his features.)
a grin breaks out across your lips, like a joyous bolt of lighting, and you lunge into his chest — throwing your arms over his broad shoulders, jumping up and down, planting a wet kiss against his cheek. bubbly, giddy, heart racing with disbelief. you don’t even have it in you to be bratty. ”thank you, thank you, thank you!”
suguru makes a choked out noise, a little comical, breath hitching in the back of his throat. stabilizing you with a palm on the small of your back, patting it softly, once or twice, before retracting his arm and pulling away. clearing his throat. ”… you’re welcome.”
(his ears burn a cherry red.)
”but this is our little secret,” he reminds you, firmly, collecting himself. or trying to. ”got it?”
”yep.”
”if anyone asks, you —”
”yep, yep, understood.” you brush him off, still grinning brightly. ”don’t worry! i won’t tell a soul, i promise. swear on my mother’s grave!”
your knight exhales. worried, maybe, a little exasperated — mostly just trying to mask how infectious your joy is. how addicted he is to it, now that he’s seen it up close. he’s only caught glimpses in the midst of your painting sessions; to see it directed at him instead of the wolf on your canvas is a treasure he won’t soon forget.
sneakily, stealthily, like a pair of bad dogs, the two of you begin your journey to the woods on the horizon. wearing cloaks, sticking together, until the sun begins to set and the sky drains of colour.
and before you know it, it’s right there in front of you. a narrow path into the woods, a cluster of trees, a world you’ve always dreamed of. dark and gritty, beautiful, brimming with bugs and sights yet to be seen. creatures you could only ever see in picture books. a dreamlike world that takes shape before you, like paint splattered on a canvas, as you follow suguru’s lead — right behind him, clinging to the fabric of his cloak, excitement flooding your veins. heart thumping erratically in your chest.
when you’ve made it to a tiny clearing, you stop in your tracks. suguru’s holding a lantern, a flicker of orange in the dark green world before you, attracting fuzzy moths. proud trees stand tall all around you, keeping guard, mushrooms and forget me nots scattered across the dewy patches of grass. keeping them company.
everything smells of life, earth, oak wood and thinly veiled secrets. you want to live here forever.
suguru turns to look at you, noticing the way you’ve stilled. completely mesmerized, bewitched, eyes gleaming with childlike happiness. he tuts, doing a bad job at hiding how pleased he is. the sound makes you meet his eye.
”careful,” he croons, inching closer. fingertips ghosting over your wrist, right above your pulsepoint. ”could be wolves around. stay close.”
you tilt your head, feigning confusion. ”i’ve already got one right next to me, though?”
the comment earns you a flat expression, unimpressed, and it pulls a giggle from out your throat. the corners of suguru’s lips curl up, unwillingly, as he shakes his head; exhaling a tired breath. exasperated.
then he hums. ”well, at least you're aware.”
suddenly, he’s walking forward, slipping away, cold air replacing the buzzing warmth of his skin on yours. hot blood, ever flowing, hidden within his veins — pumped out from his heavy heart. it’s there and then it’s gone. tick, tock, one step after the other, until he’s turning around to face you again. unfurling his outstretched hand, waiting for you to grab hold of it.
his long hair sways with the breeze, smooth and unburdened, black like the night sky above you. a starry glint in his eyes. his voice comes out deep, a raspy lilt, like the scraping of metal against concrete.
when he smiles, you think you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth.
”will you trust this wolf to keep you safe?”
under the web of shadows cast by the trees, barely illuminated by the shivering moon, all you can do is watch him. his gleaming eyes, the curl of a toothy grin on his lips. a knight, a wolf, a friend.
your protector.
finally, finally, you grasp onto his offered hand. his fingers intertwine with your own, a puzzle finally solved, and his palm feels a little calloused. skin littered with tiny scars, years of training and killing, but it’s still somehow so soft. nice and smooth.
he’s warm. and now he’s smiling at you, like you put all the gold of the world into his palm.
”yeah,” you grin, a little cheeky. stepping closer, clinging to him without restraint, knowing he’ll indulge you. ”keep me safe, wolfie.”
his laughter rings out into the air like a cicada song, sweet and nostalgic. or a howl, maybe. it makes you want to gnaw at his bones; memorize his taste, so you’ll never quite be without him. it’s not your fault he looks so chewable when he’s smiling like that.
”i will,” he promises, vows, pledges, hand on his heavy heart. knights and their rituals. ”you don’t have to worry about a thing. not while i’m here.”
and you don’t. you know you don’t. because suguru is the greatest knight, the coolest wolf, and his clockwork heart never ceases to tick. it won’t break under pressure, no matter how much you push — so you don’t bother holding back. wrapping both arms around his bicep, cozying up to him, tugging at his cloak with a pep in your step.
”c’mon, c’mon!" you beckon him forward. "i wanna see how everything looks up close.”
and he just lets you manhandle him, for a bit. following your lead. ”of course,” he croons. ”your wish is my command, your highness.”
the night stretches on, seemingly never-ending, like the branches of the oak tree you find in the heart of the woods. broken, beautiful, stretching out in all directions — as if wishing to engulf the world. a garden of forking paths, covered in jagged bark, but still somehow so warm to the touch. you’re sure there’s a heartbeat in there, somewhere. maybe a couple of swords too.
all good things must come to an end. but you refuse to leave the comfort of your mossy haven until suguru promises to bring you back, someday, maybe, if you play nice. it’s a deal that you’re willing to take.
only then do you begin your journey back towards the castle. having gotten your fill, for now, left to wallow in the newfound sights etched into your memory. still clinging to your knight like a child with their favorite doll, babbling into his ear about something or another. about how you’re almost sure you saw a wolf in the bushes, about how pretty the cicadas’ songs were. how you’re gonna convince him to take you there every single day.
the sun is yawning, stretching its endless limbs out, getting ready to rise and envelop the world. the sky is a calm blue, soon to be painted orange and pink, but you aren’t tired at all. you must sound a little incoherent, but suguru nods along to your every word. listening attentively.
so kind. so patient. sure, he’s a tease, and more than a little patronizing — but you don’t think you’ve ever liked anyone this much before. it’s weird. it’s fun.
(you wonder if he feels the same.)
”hey, suguru?”
he keeps his eyes locked on the road ahead, but still spares you a brief glance, just to let you know you have his full attention. a second of hesitance is all your sleepy brain allows you, curiosity enveloping most of your functioning thoughts.
”would you… i mean. if i was, like… a different person —” you pause. suguru quirks a brow, and you suddenly feel a little flustered. ”um, what i mean is! like, if the king ordered you to be someone else’s knight… would you protect them like you do with me?”
he blinks. once, then twice, meeting your hopeful gaze. stifling a yawn, and parting his lips.
”obviously.”
…
your face falls. lips dropping down into a soft pout, rich with disappointment, paired with a barely audible huff. suguru furrows his brows, playfully, smiling in the way he always does when he’s about to tease you.
”ah, my bad,” he croons. ”were you expecting something else? a… forbidden romance, perhaps?”
before you can begin to protest, warmth rushing to your cheeks, he stops walking. dropping down on one knee, dramatically, with a flutter of his cloak. theatrical.
gently, he grabs hold of your hand, bringing it to his lips as his eyes flutter shut. you bite back a squeak. his voice comes out low, sultry, honeyed — so heavy with emotion that it’s obvious he’s faking it. ”the only person i yearn to protect is you, my liege,” his breath feels hot against your skin. ”i could never love another. i exist for you, and you alone.”
suddenly, he’s smirking. you feel it against the knots of your knuckle, right before he cracks a single eye open. glimmering with deep amusement. ”… is that better?”
and you huff. sharply, doing all that you can to avoid getting flustered, his heavy gaze burning right into your own. it really, really doesn’t work. ”you’re so mean.”
”not mean,” he chuckles, rising to his feet. dusting off his cloak. ”i’m just… managing your expectations, my lord. they’d have my head on the chopping block if i so much as touched you without their consent — you know that.”
another little huff. ”i never said i wanted you to…”
(you do, though.)
suguru hums. ”i’m your knight,” he reminds you, as always, until you get tired of hearing it. steadfast, irrefutable. ”that’s all. remember?”
something bitter settles on your tongue.
but you nod. ”that’s right,” you hum. ”mine.”
a teasing mirth flickers through his eyes, like the first setting sunrays reflecting off cathedral glass. reverent, dyeing the world in all the colour it asks for. and he chuckles, raspy, amused. ”possessive little thing…”
that’s right, you remind yourself. he’s your knight. your lying, teasing, playwright of a knight. always wearing a mask, hiding behind a suit of armor, playing one role or another. only baring himself under the light of the sun, when no one is around to see. he’s infuriatingly patient, endlessly loyal, the greatest bootlicker you’ve encountered in your life. but he’s kind, too. maybe a little too kind.
and he always, always kneels.
such a large man, all toned muscle and tall stature, broad shoulders and a firm chest — kneeling at your feet. like a loyal dog. with a rustle of armor, a flutter of fabric, a sigh and a smile. as soon as you ask for it.
”c’mon. let’s hurry back,” you hear him say, biting back another yawn. ”before anyone finds out i kidnapped you. don’t want me to get in trouble, do you?”
”i kinda do.”
a silent look. unimpressed. it’s the most sincere expression he knows how to make, and also the most comical. ”careful,” he looks ahead, hiding his amused smile. ”wolves eat bratty heirs, you know? better stay on my good side, your highness.”
a bout of sleepy giggles. you curl an arm around his bicep, putting your weight onto him, but he doesn’t stumble. ”sorry, mr wolf! please, by all means, eat my dear father instead.”
”don’t be disrespectful.”
”sorry,” you quip, entirely unapologetic. ”i forgot you had a crush on him. that’s my ba — ow!”
suguru brushes by you, walking forward, hiding his growing grin. leaving you with an ache in your hip and two wide eyes.
”hurry up, my lord. we don’t have all day.”
”wha — you pinched me!” you stumble after him, barely containing your quiet delight. ”they’ll have your head for this, you know!”
silent laughter. you don’t need to hear it to know that it’s there, just ahead of you, tucked into crows’ feet and a curl of his lips.
suguru always kneels.
but, sometimes, he talks to you as if you’re equals. sometimes he takes the lead, pinches your hip, tells you off a little. teasing, patient, but there’s an edge to him that he doesn’t always hide. sometimes, he lets you see it, and you figure that must make you at least a little bit special.
sometimes, he feels like your best friend.
careless, careless, careless.
how could he ever be so careless?
everything blurs into a puddle of red. murky, sticky, everywhere all at once. all he sees is red, all he feels is burning. his heartbeat pulses at the base of his throat, bottom lip bruised and aching from hours of sinking his teeth into the flesh, over and over — every single nerve of his body running on adrenaline and nothing else.
(adrenaline and fear, maybe, but they’ve always been synonymous. never one without the other.)
the slaughter is mindless. suguru knows that’s how they like it, anyhow — knights aren’t supposed to think. they don’t need to.
suguru certainly isn’t. cutting his way through the bandit’s den, practically growling, sword painted such a dark shade of red that he doubts he’ll ever be able to wipe it clean. harsh slashes, pure instinct, wildfire inside his veins, iron on his tongue.
suguru isn’t thinking, he’s hunting. sniffing like a bloodhound. eyes scanning the area before him like a hungry beast.
suguru is hunting — for you.
and when he sees you, at last, tied up and barely conscious, he’s almost certain he’s going to grow claws, fangs, matted fur. that he’s going to turn into a beast beneath the fading moonlight.
but he falls to his knees, instead, like a wounded dog. throwing his burganet off, with a clatter, crawling closer. heaving breaths, untying you with shaky hands, greedy fingertips hunting for a pulsepoint —
and only when he finds it does he allow himself the luxury of breathing again.
when you come to, veins dragged down by a fuzzy sensation, your vision is blurred. foggy, dull colours on the canvas of your mind, gradually washed away as you struggle for control. you stir, and finally see the figure above you.
what you see is a knight, a wolf, a beast beneath the moonlight. a kind, kind man.
suguru.
bloodied armor. sweaty, messy hair, sticking to his forehead. pure panic in his bloodshot eyes. he cradles your face, cold metal on your cheek, dirty and smelling of iron. he moves his mouth; you delude yourself into thinking that his bottom lip is trembling. forming around familiar vowels.
he’s saying your name.
there must be something wrong with you, you belatedly realize. the last one to do so. because you’re hurt, scared, but you still feel a skip of your heartbeat.
(he finally said it.)
you muster all the strength at your disposal, eyelids fluttering. and you try to answer, you do, reaching for that thread between your brain and your tongue — but it comes out as a garbled little thing, more air than noise.
it’s enough. the tense crease between his brows melts away, and he sighs.
”oh, thank the heavens.”
another sensation. he’s touching your hand, now, cold metal on warm skin, bringing it up to his lips; a shaky little exhale brushing against the knots of your knuckle. his lips are chapped.
then he’s scooping you up, cradling you close, as close as metaphysically possible, as if willing to cut his stomach open to fit you inside. a firm grip, comforting, stable. desperate, a mother wolf carrying her cub to safety, by the skin of her teeth. his hair tickles your skin, but you don’t mind.
only when he brings you back to the castle does everything fall into place. he explains everything, as you sit in bed, still recovering. a sudden attack, from within the castle, a kidnapping. some enemies of the king, a scandal to do with you and your blood. something, something, something. you’ve grown used to not understanding why you keep getting hurt. and you’re too distracted by the sullen face of the knight in front of you to pay attention.
suguru wasn’t there to stop it — wasn’t there to save you, be your knight in dashing armor. the king had invited him to a game of chess, and you had been adamant in your refusal to join them.
so you don’t understand why he’s apologizing.
he’s smiling, but it’s weak, as flimsy as a piece of paper. his lying smile, tight-lipped, betrayed by the redness of his eyes, the puffy skin beneath them. dark crescents. he sits by your bedside and looks a little like he wants to curl into a ball.
”i’m sorry.”
and ah, you think; there it is. guilt. always, always clinging to him, a ghost haunting him wherever he goes. it’s been there since the beginning, in the scar reaching for his shoulder, the nature of his never-fading smile. guilt, guilt, guilt. you wonder if he's ever gone without it. you wonder if knights begin to crumble when they stop feeling ashamed.
he looks sad.
with a breathless inhale, you part your lips. you want to tell him that he has nothing to apologize for, that you’re fine now — that you could never be mad at him. not really, never truly, never at him. you want to tell him that he’s your favorite person, not just your favorite knight, that he’s allowed to make mistakes without demanding that he suffer for them.
you want to tell him that it’s okay, really. seriously.
but all that leaves your lips is a meek little sniffle. as the shock of it all finally settles, sinking deep into your bones, the fear of being captured, the dull ache of your skull meeting the ground. you can’t tell him any of the things you want to, and you feel so awful —
because suguru’s face falls. like you just thrust a knife into his sternum and twisted it. he looks like he could cry, too.
”i’m sorry,” his voice cracks, right down the middle. like a broken vase. ”i’m so sorry.” it’s not at all what you want to hear, but you can’t tell him that either. he’s bundling you up before you know it, dragging you into the comfort of his chest, one large palm on the back of your head; tugging you closer still. he smells of soap and oak wood and peach blossoms. ”it was scary, wasn’t it?”
and you nod. into his neck, wet tears brushing against his skin. not stable enough to act tough. you don’t think he is, either.
suguru exhales, shaky, clutching you like he could lose you if he lets go. lose himself. he knows you’re scared, but you let him soothe you. it means something, he thinks. it means something that you let him come so close, closer than anyone’s ever been. so he swallows the guilt until it’s no longer clogging up the back of his throat, if only so his voice can flow out through the gap, give you the comfort you need. just rubbing your back until you calm down, apologizing silently — over and over again. manic, like the tick-tock of a clock.
until your voice breaks him out of it.
”it’s not your fault.”
he stiffens. still holding you, feeling your heartbeat settle down, hearing your voice break out of your throat. it comes out as a weak croak, with just the slightest hint of disapproval.
he gulps.
”don’t worry about me, right now,” he hushes you. a silent plea. ”i’m not the one who’s injured.”
”suguru —” you sigh, almost a hiss. ”i hit my head. once. that’s all.” you wipe away the wetness of your cheeks, biting back a sniffle. ”… you’re acting like i’m fucking dying. cut it out.”
(for once, he’s relieved to hear that sharp edge of your voice. it means you’re feeling better.)
a weak inhale. ”… they kidnapped you. it must’ve been terrifying. please, just…” and a tired exhale. ”please just don’t strain yourself.”
”it wasn’t your fault.”
…
”your highne —”
”i’m serious.” you’re pulling away, suddenly, clasping onto his cheeks with your tearstained palms. squishing his face together. ”it wasn’t your fault. it was mine.”
he shakes his head, eager to protest, so you squish his cheeks with more force, and shake his head for him. like a misbehaving dog. ”nope. if you even think about apologizing, i’ll start crying again.”
he lets out a huff. frowning, sadly, a downcast pair of eyes.
”don’t pout. i’ll bite you.”
it’s slight, barely even there at all — but you think the corner of his mouth twitches upwards, just by a hair, exhaling through his nose with just the slightest hint of amusement.
he places his palm over yours.
a moment passes, slow and steady, both of you catching your breaths. calming down, letting the fear of it all seep out of your aching bones. you hope the warmth of your skin against his soothes him as much as it soothes you.
”… you know, your highness,” he murmurs, softly. meeting your puffy eyes with his tired pools of amber gold. ”there’s something i never told you.”
you blink. he continues.
”just the night before the king reached out to me… i had a dream.” he musters a weak, exhausted little smile. ”dreams… i don’t have them very often. and when i do, they’re nothing good. but this dream…”
his eyes flutter shut. a curtain closing, a raven taking flight, the tick-tock of a heartbeat. you can’t look away. ”it stuck out to me.”
silence.
your voice comes out soft, like the bedsheets beneath you, the man before you. a tiny breath of a question. ”… what was it about?”
he smiles. smoothing a thumb over your knuckle, reverent, as if memorizing every ridge and dip.
”a fox.”
…
”it had…” his hand slips from the small of your back, reaching for your cheek, pinching it gently. ”a cheeky smile.”
your skin heats up, beneath his touch. and you blink, not saying a word, because there isn’t any need to. all the words you could ever want have already been painted out.
(well, maybe not quite all.)
”suguru.” you lean close, just a little, drinking him in. and he listens, as always, so you don’t bother beating around the bush. swallowing any embarrassment your tired mind can still feel. because your knight is right in front of you, eyes still red from crying, and you want him to be happy. “i think you’re my favorite person.”
he stills.
then he’s burning up.
”wha — where did that come from?” he stammers, a strawberry hue to his ears, his neck, the tips of his fingers. enveloping him like a blanket of warmth.
you only shrug. ”you told me the truth. figured i should return the favour, for once.” a giddy, exhausted smile. “we’re both awful liars, huh?”
suguru opens his mouth. then he closes it, again, desperate to collect himself. you think he must be a little too exhausted to, and you wish you could say you felt bad. ”you… you can’t just —”
he squeezes his eyes shut. sighing. giving up, the gears of his mind grinding to a halt. your grin blooms wider.
”hehe.” you poke at his flushed cheek, and he cracks a single eye open. ”you’re blushing.”
he huffs, leaning away from your touch, and you find yourself enjoying the reversal of your usual roles. very much so. he tries to smile, tries to get one up on you, but he only blushes a deeper shade of red once your words reach his ears.
so he settles for using cheap tricks.
”you’re hallucinating,” he scoffs, shoving your head into the fluffy pillows all around you. ever so gently, listening to your muffled giggles. trying to stifle his own joy. ”go back to sleep.”
”my blushy knight,” you coo, and he drags the blanket over your head. biting down on his lip to stop himself from joining your bubbly laughter, blushing more than ever.
(the word knight sounds very pretty, when it’s falling from your lips.)
”i swear,” he exhales, heavy and exasperated, but you can hear the smile in his voice. ”just what am i to do with you?”
it’s fond. delicate, even in his bouts of teasing, the light instances of manhandling. and you’re happy, because he’s not apologizing anymore, and he’s happy because you aren’t crying anymore. give and take. there’s a rhythm to it, a point where everything else becomes background noise, whether it’s memories of a kidnapping or a decade-old guilt.
he stays with you all night, even after you’ve fallen asleep. just watching you, safeguarding you, checking your pulse every now and then. content to watch as your chest rises and falls, with the tender ticking of your heartbeat.
that night, you dream of a kind, kind wolf, and a painting yet to be finished.
before you lies a field of stars.
you’re seated on a blanket, with a pretty knight to your left, up on top of a grassy hill. daffodils bloom around you, sweet nectar hanging in the air, a field of sunflowers waving at you from below. dragonflies greet you with a scratchy song.
everything is perfect. a midnight rendezvous, a picnic under the stars — suguru’s own idea. to celebrate the time that you’ve spent together.
(well, that part was your idea. but you’re sure he appreciates it, too.)
the basket next to you is filled with fruit and berries, marmalade and jam, bottles of herbal tea. suguru’s delicious sandwiches. you bite into one of them, humming happily, and he’s quick to brush the occasional crumb from the corner of your lip, ghosting over your skin with a smile.
there’s another basket, too, just in front of you, that you brought on your own. hiding a secret; one you're just about to unveil.
you clear your throat to get his attention.
like clockwork, he’s looking at you. listening, when you tell him to close his eyes, only giving you a questioning raise of his brow and an amused exhale.
you’re quick to lean forward, uncovering the basket, revealing the secret you’ve hidden so well. suguru is still waiting, indulgent, patient. you feel a little hesitant, but still part your lips.
“… okay. you can open them, now.”
he does. instantly, two ravens taking flight, and the sight that awaits them is that of a painting; a painting of a wolf, in the middle of the woods, empty armors and wilted sunflowers all around it. dragonflies and dragonflies, a knight just out of view.
he stares, silently, and you do your best to hide your growing nervosity. even as he takes it into his lap, and your gaze falls to the blanket below you. ”it’s… not my best work, but —” his eyes stay glued onto the painting, as you stumble blindly for the right words to say. wringing your hands together, clutching at the fabric of your sleeves. ”i’d… like you to have it. i mean, unless you —”
”thank you.”
you raise your head.
suguru is gazing at the canvas with the softest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen. melting amber, crinkled at the edges, accompanied by a sweet grin.
”i’ll treasure it,” he vows, meeting your eyes, voice dripping with warmth. hand on his heart, and you can’t even poke fun at it. ”always.”
his earnest acceptance is enough to fluster you, enough to make you feel as it your heart is about to collapse, but he continues to look at the painting with enough awe to fill an empty lake with water, and it makes you terribly shy.
until his smile drops.
”uh, actually — i…”
now it’s your turn to stare, silently, as he fumbles with something in the basket at his feet. gentle, as he takes out glass jars and wrapped sandwiches. out comes a sheet of paper.
then he’s clearing his throat. handing it to you, pointedly avoiding your gaze. ”i’m not an artist, so you know. i just…” he coughs, a little out of his element. “well. here.”
with delicate hands, you accept it, bringing it down to your lap. big, curious eyes taking it in.
it’s a sketch — made with coal, a little smudged, but awfully charming. pretty, delicate.
it’s a sketch of a fox.
wide-eyed, all you can do is stare. gaze flitting up to meet his own, his nervous expression, before falling back to the little canine. ”you — this…” back and forth, over and over again. ”for — ?”
you point to yourself.
suguru only chuckles. ”yes, it’s for you. who else?” he taps the pads of his fingers against the handle of the basket, watching you silently admire the mischievous fox. not saying anything; so he continues.
”like i said; i’m not an artist. you can always throw it away, if you’d —”
”i’m gonna frame it.”
…
”i'm gonna frame it,” you repeat, eyes shining with sincerity. a little manic. ”i’ll hang it on the wall of the castle hallway so everyone can see it. it’ll be there for centuries to come, passed down —”
”please don't —”
”d’you think a gold frame would fuck up the vibe? maybe a modest silver is best.” you turn to face him, ignoring his blatant embarrassment. ”oooh, hang on! father knows this guy who makes them with real minerals. i’ll just —”
”your highness,” the knight cuts you off, almost with a squeak. ”please. it’s just a dumb drawing. i just… wanted to give it to you. that’s all.”
a pause. you look into his eyes, flickering with hesitance, an earnest desire for your approval only. so you hum, albeit a little hesitant.
”… alright. if you say so. i’ll hang it in my room, then.”
he sighs; relieved. ”that’s better. really, you —”
”thank you.” you whisper, blinking away the wetness at your lash-line. staring at the sketch with a dreamy, dreamy smile. ”i love it.”
you grin, happily, practically beaming. suguru wants to keep it there, always, on those pretty lips; he wants to lay his life on the line to protect it. but something tells him that would just make it fall.
finally, everything clicks into place. the air fills with the scent of herbal tea, fresh strawberries, acrylic paint and hushed whispers. your own ritual, repeated over and over, like a loving waltz.
as always, it’s suguru who breaks the silence. shatters it with the tip of his tongue.
”hey,” he calls, softly. “my lord.”
mouth full of bread, you simply look at him. chewing silently, attention piqued. swallowing with a gulp. he places his folded hands on his lap, exhaling a little breath. ”… i’ve been thinking.”
”uh oh.”
silently, he gives you one of those flat, unimpressed looks of his, and you quiet down with a grin and another mouthful of bread. he quirks a brow, exhaling amusedly, then shakes his head and continues.
”i retract my earlier statement.”
when you glance up again, he’s smiling. showing more teeth than usual, a little wider, a little wolfish. a little more himself. you want to paint it, keep it hidden away somewhere only you can see.
”if it was someone else — anyone else…” he trails off, tasting the words on his tongue. “i doubt i’d feel this way. i doubt i’d want to protect them as fervently.” his voice flows out like a river of gold, just a little scratchy. it always is, when it sounds this sincere.
he meets your eyes, and everything falls into place.
”you’ve become precious to me,” he admits. ”i can't remember what it felt like to not be yours.”
his tongue curls around a familiar set of syllables, and your name seeps from his lips like a prayer, a vow, a trickle of honey and wine. devotion sticks to his tongue, to the vowels, a heavy fondness — something devout. something you've only ever heard from the mouths of priests.
and then he’s smiling.
”i think i’ll be your knight until the day i die,” he breathes, and deep down you know it’s a vow. “even if the king discards me of that title.”
silence. except for an increasingly loud mantra of tick-tocks, from the depths of your own chest, echoing in your ears. your knight is in front of you, and he’s yours, and he’s smiling like he loves you. like he always will.
”… suguru.”
he hums, eyes lidded, blinking slowly. serenely. he lets you cling to him, pull him close, practically dragging him into your lap.
”stay with me,” you plead, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. too desperate to feel embarrassed. ”forever. promise me.”
an exhale, right by your ear. it sounds so fond you could cry.
“i promise,” he whispers, fingers intertwining with your own. a perfect puzzle piece, a functional clockwork. lifting your hand, bringing his glossy lips to your knuckle; where they belong. ”until death tears me away from you.”
”it won’t,” you deadpan, partly to distract him from the growing heat of your fingertips. mostly because it’s true. ”you won't let it.”
he smiles against your knuckle, breathing out an airy laugh. ”clever little thing…” his free hand goes to rest on your spine, as always, and you lean back to see him properly. knowing he’ll catch you if you fall.
“.. but yeah," he sighs. "i won’t.”
before you know it, you’re leaning back in. because his eyes are the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen, and his hair is just a little tousled, and he looks so kissable it aches.
his jaw trembles, a little, when you press your lips against the curve of it. his whole body seems to still, for a moment, and you pull back just to see if he’s blushing. he is.
but he must have anticipated your teasing, because he’s tucking you under his chin before you can see it through. pressing you close. and he tuts, a click of his silver tongue, a touch of restraint. ”… you little tease,” comes a whisper. ”how am i supposed to hold back now?”
”don’t hold back, dummy,” you grin, muffled against the column of his throat. you just barely resist the urge to sink your teeth into the skin. ”you’re a bad actor, anyway. the worst.”
and he is. he’s been looking at your lips this whole time — he couldn’t be more obvious if he tried.
suguru laughs, breathy, overflowing with fondness. chest rumbling with the noise, blending together with the rhythmic thumping of his clockwork heart. ”okay,” comes a soft lull of his tongue. ”i won’t, then.”
a drowsy feeling overtakes you, just as you feel his lips meet the crown of your head. it’s not much, but it’s a start. and it’s tender, tender enough to get you choked up, to get you to close your eyes to stop any tears from forming. because one person in this kingdom understands you, and he tells you that he’ll never leave. and you think you can actually find it in you to believe him.
one person’s clockwork heart never breaks for you, and maybe that’s enough to convince you to stop trying to push it there.
”you can sleep, if you’d like,” is whispered against your hair. soft, soothing, his palm on your spine. ”i’ve got you. always.”
(one person in this world can make you feel safe, with just four little words. and isn’t that something?)
so you doze off, on the shoulder of your very own knight. your favorite knight, always and forever, a sword at his hip that was forged to protect you. or so he’ll tell you, years from now, when he’s got you in his lap, when there isn’t any need for him to act anymore.
and you dream a perfect dream. a dream of a wolf, and a fox, and a garden of stars.
#geto x reader#geto x you#geto x y/n#geto suguru x reader#geto fluff#jjk fluff#jjk x reader#jjk x you#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x y/n#knight!sugu literally means the world to me… this specific version is a lil mischievous <33 and so so protective <333#most of all he’s very veryyyy wolfy…… this fic is BRIMMING w canine symbolism like i put SO much thought into it 😭😭#knight!sugu is a wolf pretending to be a dog and royalty!reader is a fox forced to behave as a lamb <33 that’s their dynamic!#and yk…. dogs herd sheep…….. sugu guards reader………. (from wolves & foxes…. dramatic irony…….)#but in reality they both feel most at ease when they’re running around in the woods and baring their fangs :33#i LOVE this reader btw i really hope they come off as endearing despite their brattiness LOL i think they’re soooo cute 🥺🥺#sugu and his brat taming tendencies… his ability to seek out the most guarded people and make them feel safe in his presence…….#he means the galaxy to me. king wherever u may be… i hope u are getting the love u deserve
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sugu w/ his cum bunny
જ⁀➴ more sugu n’ chubby r thots bc im stuck on him.. just like toru <3
,, suguru x chubby fem!reader , lots n’ lots of smut
divider: @/benkeibear
honestly, i think suguru loves his chubby girlfriend’s thighs. but not just her thighs, he really loves the sweet fat cunny between her legs.
it’s always so soaked for him, juices coating your folds as he pries your legs open with just one hand and arm, not minding your small complaints of being embarrassed or that he might feel some kind of way.. you never seemed to understand that he didn’t care, like nothing could put him off unless it was disturbing, plus, pussy was pussy, and he loves yours the most. always.
he loves fingering you, a lot. while he’s working in his office, he’ll have you sit on his lap, two thick fingers stuffing your cunt while he writes his papers. two fingers you can never get bored of. the first few times he started doing that, you tried to ignore the aching in your pussy, thinking he just needed something to do with his hand.
but instead, your phone found itself on the floor, your head laying dumbly in his neck as his curled his fingers in you, sometimes switching to one finger when your pussy clenches too tight around him. he’d ignore your small whines of not getting to orgasm. only to have you begging for him to stop just minutes later.
yet, he never completely acknowledges you, only giving small kisses by your ear or whispering for you to quiet down a bit. making you all sad n’ teary only to fuck you on his desk the second his alarm goes off for his break.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
“suguuu p-please, mngh, please let me c— fuuck~” suguru kisses your neck, pressing that sweet spot inside of you and making your legs shake. “c’mon, you can say it darling. almost there.” he chuckles, finally putting down the pen in his other hand, dragging it along your large thigh, adoring the rolls of your plump thighs as his fingers curled inside you.
“b-but y’r makin’ me.. i-i can’t sugu..” humiliating. your brain wasn’t cooperating with you, your words stumbling as you clutched his wrist tightly. you hear him make a small ‘tsk’ before clearing his desk, ignoring the clattering of objects falling and sitting you on it, spreading your legs before you can even react.
“so it’s my fault? suuure pretty girl. how about you give me a detailed reason while i eat this cunt. and i better hear every word clearly..heh..”
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
sometimes, he fingers you to sleep. or he keeps you awake by fingering you. it’s just so cute, he hasn’t even fucked you yet, and you’re already in a cute haze? he even jokes about it, loving the way your eyes widen as you try to get away, only for him to wrap a hand around your thigh and pull you back with ease.
then he makes you feel bad, he’s been getting your cunny ready for him for hours, and now you’re gonna leave his cock leaky and red like that? so mean. but don’t worry, all of that flies out the window when he’s finally deep in your cunt. so tight even though he had three fingers pulling four orgasms out of you.
suguru always fucks you in doggy style when he knows he’s worked you up for the longest time. it’s so adorable how you pathetically try to pull away when he doesn’t stop after the first two rounds. he doesn’t even have to try to stop you, your pussy does it for him, clinging onto his cock so cutely as you hold onto the sheets.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
“fuck d’you think you’re goin’?” suguru scoffs, one hand gripping your plushy hips as you slump to the bed with a sob trying to get away from him. from his dick. “c-can’t take it anymore sugu..” you whine weakly, a scream nearly ripping from you as he slaps your ass, watching it ripple.
“so you runnin’ now? y’know how to speak sweet girl.” he smiles, rolling his hips and making your body shudder. “guess i gotta make you learn how to use that mouth..” you choke, crying out as he pulls you back, your eyes already starting to roll back the second he’s at the hilt, pushing you down with his chest into a prone bone position. “n-no need, m’sorry sugu! so sorrrry~” suguru kisses your forehead in response, a dark chuckle beside your ear,
“jus’ keep screamin’ for me pretty, look at you, already doing a good job..”
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
suguru’s a pervert for sure. a hand always reaching down to palm your cunt as you two stand in the dressing room. he loves taking you to the mall, asking you to try on clothing he thinks would look good on you. especially those skirts. those damn skirts. it’s actually concerning how the skirt he picks out are the reasons why you get in trouble.
because it was so short, giving him glimpses of your pretty panties when you bend down to pick something you dropped. or because your beautiful thighs just stuck out to well, so fucking appetizing, the skirt digging into your skin comfortably and making the plump skin look so delicious.
yea, you definitely have weeks where you can’t wear anything short because there’s just so many hickies around your thighs, a nice decoration suguru thinks. waking up in the morning to see the sun peeking through the window, making your skin glow and the purplish marks look like ‘christmas lights.’ yes, he was drunk when he said that. he still stands by it.
━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━
“pink looks good on you.” suguru smiles at sight of you walking into his office, a cute white button up with a pink miniskirt that did little to hide the blemishes around your thighs. you huff, obviously embarrassed by the concerned looks you got as you walked through the building. “suguru. our neighbor thought a damn animal did this.” you shake your head, placing his coffee and bag of lunch on the table.
“she’s not far off.” suguru chuckles, pulling you down for a small kiss and pulling you closer to the wood desk, his hands gripping your plushy thighs. “i mean.. last night we kinda were fucking like—“ “we’re at your job!” you cut him off with a gasp, matching his grin and slapping his shoulder. suguru rolls his eyes, looking at your thighs and licking his lips.
“i own this building. i can say what i want and do what i want. sooo.. give me a small snack, please baby?”
#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jujustu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen suguru#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu geto#getou suguru x y/n#getou suguru smut#suguru x reader#jjk suguru#getou suguru x you#suguru x chubby reader#geto x chubby reader#x chubby reader#chubby#suguru geto#geto x female reader#geto smut#suguru smut#jjk x y/n#jjk x fem!reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk smut#geto suguru#jjk geto#geto suguru x you#geto x reader#jujustsu kaisen x reader
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choso x reader | punk rock au [18+]
in another life ch.1 cupid's arrow
ᰔ pairing. punk rock au - bass player! choso x reader (f)
ᰔ summary. you and choso were lovers in college when him and his rock band were just nobodies with nothing but a dream, but when his band strikes a deal with an up-and-coming record label in tokyo, you make the tough decision to break up with him since you couldn’t go with him to the city. flash forward seven years, his band is the biggest rock band in the world, n you move from the countryside to tokyo with your fiancé nanami to start your new life together. but in the heart of the city, home to many, there’s one person there that still has the power to turn your whole life upside down. and when you run into him again after all those years, feelings you didn’t know were still haunting you come crashing back all at once, and you’re not sure what it is you want from your life anymore.
ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, punk rock au, partying, drinking/alcohol, weed usage, cigarette usage, romance, slow burn, friends to lovers, second chance romance, time skips, love triangle, bad boy choso, slight age gap (five yrs), longterm pining, jealousy, messy decisions, you know the drill
ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 6)
ᰔ words. 10.2k
a/n. hellooooo aaa welcome to my new choso fic :'') i'm so excited for this one! i'm just laughing at how i cannot just stick to a oneshot idea and somehow end up planning out a fullblown series instead hahah. but anyways, i hope you enjoy! thank you to everyone that wanted to be on the taglist, i'm really looking forward to diving into this story. see you at the bottom!!
alsooo my m00tie @sykosugu and i decided to post for our fics at the same time hehe she has a really spicy suguru x reader fic called 'on the run' that i highly recommend so go check that out as well if you're interestedd <33
nav. ch1 :: ch2 (pending)
“and there was something about you that now, i can’t remember. it’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender.”
present day. summer.
“We’re gonna miss you so, so, so much, love,” Mai groans, pulling you in towards her for a hug and you reciprocate with fondness.
Another pair of arms wraps around you, grip much tighter and you protest through a difficult breath. “Do you really have to go?” Nobara asks.
You tap on the skin of her arm, urging her to ease her hold in this group hug, and she finally relents and the three of you pull apart from one another. There’s a slight gasp from your lips as you breathe in fresh summer air. “I do, Nobie, I’m sorry. Nanami said it’s the final decision.”
You’re standing on hot concrete in front of a little countryside cottage that you’ve called home for years, but will soon just be a memory. You know which light switches illuminate corners of the rooms, and which creaking wood panels on the floor to avoid when looking for a midnight snack. It’s where you spent years studying for finals, arguing with your mom, learning how to care for Ms. Roxie, and it’s where you fell in love. More than once.
Your parents gave the house to you and Nanami once the two of you became engaged, but that blessing was soon to be given away, as Nanami received news six months ago that he was being promoted and relocated to Tokyo. Now, you have two bags in your hands, your purse slung around your shoulder, and a suitcase filled to the brim with the life you’ve tried to stuff in it. Your taxi driver has the other suitcase, because there were some things you couldn’t leave behind after all, and he’s putting it in the trunk right now.
“Nanami is so rude to take you from us,” Mai sighs, “but at least you’ll be one of those cool city girls now. So scary. I heard trends change faster there than the leaves on Rowan tree during spring.”
Nobara lets out a gasp that’s only half exaggerated. “No way! It can’t be!”
The taxi driver calls after you with a quick question, to which you answer back with a shout from where you stood. A quick glance at your watch tells you it’s time to get moving, as you’ll be taking a connecting train once you reach Tokyo that you need to be on time for. And then he’ll be there. Nanami will be waiting for you there, to lead you into the life that he’s started to make for the two of you.
“I’ll call so very often,” you promise the two of them, “and I will miss you two so very often as well.” Tears prickle in your eyes, and it seems to be contagious as they shimmer in Nobara and Mai’s eyes as well. Another group hug takes place between the three of you, harsh sun beating down with birds chirping in the distance as you try to take in the last few moments you’ve been granted of this place. “Take care of Roxie for us,” you say through a sniffle, “to you, it may seem like you’re only the bearer of food for her, but I promise that little kitty will love you two like no other.”
They both nod at you as you pull away, and you swipe at a tear that rolls down your cheek as you roll your suitcase down the pebbled walkway of your now past home.
The taxi driver helps hoist your suitcase into the trunk and places your other two bags into the back seat. You take a seat at the front with him, clicking the passenger seatbelt, and you roll down the window to wave bye with blown kisses as the taxi driver pulls away from the rocky mud road with crunching under the wheels. You watch Mai and Nobara and your home in the side view mirror until they’re no longer visible, but their voices of farewell linger in the air for a moment more.
“Alright, ma’am, bound for Tokyo!” your taxi driver chirps, his rough-looking hands opening and closing a few times to stretch out the joints of his fingers before tightly gripping onto the steering wheel again.
“Yes, Tokyo,” you murmur softly, gaze set out the window of the familiar street shops and stretches of patchy trees you know you’ll miss once you’re in the city.
“What’s your name?” the man asks, a thick country accent rolling off his tongue, with a sweetness like honey.
You turn your head to look at him more closely. The hair of his eyebrows is bushy, somewhat unkempt, and he has thick lines across his cheeks and forehead that can only mean that he’s lived a lot of life.
You tell him your name and he nods slowly as the two of you stop at a through road, a few school children hurrying past before he turns right onto the main road. “That’s a nice name. Which one of your parents gave it to ya?”
“Um. Both of them?”
He lets out a noise of acknowledgement, and doesn’t ask a further question. You smooth out the fabric of your long skirt with a hand, then toy with the band of your simple watch. Just when you think a comfortable silence has fallen between the two of you, and you think you have the luxury of losing yourself in your thoughts with sights beyond the polished glass window, the man speaks up again.
“Alright then, miss, tell me a story.”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “Pardon?”
“We’re gonna be spendin’ three hours in this car together, darlin’. It’s either I talk your ear off or you talk mine off,” he says, broad shoulders rolling backwards once as he gets comfortable in his driving position.
“Uh…do we need to talk at all?”
He glances over at you for a moment. The car wheels grind over rocks on gravel road near an agricultural field, and his fingers flex once again on the wheel. “You younger generations are so stuck in your own worlds. Entertain some conversation with the poor old taxi driver, will ya?”
You sigh, folding your hands in your nap neatly. “Alright. I don’t really have many stories to tell, though.”
“A young lady like you, packin’ up her whole life to move to a big city? I beg to differ,” he counters.
His words have you tucking your bottom lip under your teeth, a few blinks of your eyelids to process his observation of you. Your mind searches for stories to tell. Maybe that moment last week when you watched a momma duck waddle across a bridge with all seven of her baby ducklings. Or maybe you could tell him about that time you drove your car into a ditch the night of the comet festival and you swear you saw a UFO in the sky. The story you’ve been telling a lot lately, though, was the one of how Nanami proposed.
But then there’s a different story that comes to mind. With hazy images of blinding stage lights in dim venues, cigarette smoke wafting through the air, sounds of bass and drums and cheers. Smell of dry grass, the feeling of your back against a blanket, heart beating fast underneath the stars in front of a twinkling lake. And forever in your memory, the patterns of his inked skin.
“You got a boyfriend?” the man asks, suddenly.
“Are…are you hitting on me?” you ask awkwardly.
“Oh, no, ma’am,” he shakes his head, lifting his left hand up from the steering wheel and turning the back of it to face you. A silver ring adorning his fourth finger shimmers from the reflected sunlight through the window. “Happily married. Been with my missus for 22 years.”
A small smile makes its way onto your face as you relax into your seat a little, feeling calmer. “Oh, I see. I’m sorry for assuming. And I have a fiancé, actually.”
“Oh?” he chirps, stealing a quick glance at your left hand that was still folded neatly underneath your right one in your lap. “How come I’m not seein’ a ring?”
You tug at the small chain around your neck, a chill felt as diamond stone and cold metal drags against the skin of your sternum before you pull out your own promise of marriage, dangling it in front of your chest for him to steal another glance at. “I wear it around my neck. I’m a pottery teacher, so I usually take it off when showing my students any demos. I figured if I kept taking it off like that, I might lose it, so I just wear it around my neck now.”
“That’s interesting,” he comments, “It’s a real nice ring, that’s for sure! Tell me about this man you’re marryin.”
Your heart aches at the thought of Nanami. It’s been six months since you’ve seen him, since he relocated to Tokyo first, and you’ve missed him every day since. You were in the middle of the academic year at the elementary school you taught at, so they asked you to stay back, but Nanami had already accepted the promotion, thus the two of you made the decision that he would move to Tokyo first to get situated and you’d soon follow in the summer. It was a lot of stress to handle as just one person; searching for apartments on top of managing the heightened expectations from his boss from his new role, but he did it all without a complaint. Because he loves you, and that’s who Nanami was. Someone who would move mountains for you. He’s worked hard to make a place for you in Tokyo, one to call home.
“He really loves me,” you say to the man, softly.
“And you love him?”
“So much.”
“Was he your first love?”
Your breath catches in your throat from his question, a small chill running down your spine. The silence that settles could’ve lasted two seconds or two centuries, and you never would’ve known.
You lick your lips before answering. “No, he wasn’t.”
“Hmm…” the man hums. Bumpy roads are now smooth as he turns onto properly laid roads, the exit from your town onto intercity roads. “I can tell.”
“You can tell?” you ask, skeptic in your tone as you tilt your head at him.
“I can tell from your voice that there was someone else before. Someone who meant a whole lot to you, but he went away for some reason,” he says.
You’re not sure why there’s a lump in your throat from his words, a heavy thing with so much substance that it threatens to weigh your heart as well. Your eyes study the side of his face. “You’re getting all of that from my voice?”
The man’s expression is blank as if it were tabula rasa, something so different from the way you’ve felt for so long now, like your heart has been torn in two. There was something so tempting about it; the luxury of a clean slate. Of a new beginning. A fresh start. And it’s hard not to imagine how you would’ve painted things differently.
“Tell me about him,” the man says, the story he was looking for having been found. “Your first love.”
“He…” you start, shocked that you’re actually answering, but it’s like an invitation you can’t resist, “he was my first boyfriend…my first serious boyfriend. I met him the summer after high school. During a summer like this one.”
.
.
.
seven years ago. summer.
chapter 1. cupid’s arrow.
“C’mon, faster!” Mai exclaims, her hand wrapped around your wrist to tug you across the dim streets of downtown.
“Just— wait— Mai, please, slow down,” you’re stumbling after her, feet failing to keep up, and you almost crash right into her when she comes to a sudden halt on the sidewalk.
“This is it,” she says, staring up at the sporadically blinking neon lights of what appears to be a small venue, black marquee letters that spell out Backseat Serenade Tonight @ 10pm stand out to you in a way that feels haunting. “We’re so late, let’s head inside.”
Mai drags you inside, and the security guy is less than thrilled by the commotion as he stands in front of closed double doors. You can feel the bass of music vibrating the walls, accompanied by loud shrill screams and chants coming from inside, and the red velvet flooring underneath your feet fuel you with static as you two approach the man dressed in full black.
Mai fumbles with her purse to pull out her phone, and the man scans the barcoded tickets on her screen before giving the two of you wristbands to wear and then he opens the door for the two of you.
The inside of the venue is small but packed, minimal lighting save for moving lights that illuminate the band on stage, but it’s even harder to see anything over the heads of people with their hands up in the air. Mai’s grip on your forearm is tight as she roughly weaves the two of you through the crowd, determined in her gait but you feel the need to apologize to the people she’s shoving in the process. You’re surprised at how fast the two of you make it to the front barricades, thanks to Mai’s nimbleness alone, and your eyes raise to the scene onstage through wafting smoke through the air.
“Alright, alright, alright,” one of the band members chimes right as the final instrumentals of the song begin to fade. His hair is a pale silver under dusty lighting, pushed up from out of his face by a black headband snapped to his forehead, and his eyes are distinctly blue. He has an electric guitar hanging from his neck by a thick black strap. He raises both of his hands up into the air, waving them down a few times to calm down the crowd, and there are scattered hushes surrounding you and Mai. “This is our last song, and we just want to thank you all so much for coming out tonight! This crowd’s the best we’ve ever had!”
The people cheer in response as a light and relaxed melody begins to tune together from the instrumentals on stage. You hear Mai groan beside you. “What the fuck?! We missed the entire set?!”
Your hands curl around the cold metal of the barricade dividers and your eyes sweep across the stage. There’s a man in the far back with short black hair, bouncing his leg up and down as he’s seated behind a drum set, fidgeting with wooden sticks in his hands, and you’re puzzled by the fact that he’s wearing a very poorly fitted suit onstage. Off to the right, a man with pink hair is messing with the headphones snapped to his ears in front of an electric keyboard, spread fingers pressing down on chords, and you can vaguely see the black nail polish at the tips of his fingers. A woman with mid length blonde hair and pink highlights stands at the front, her hand wrapped around the mic resting on top of the stand. She’s laughing, tipping her head back at something else the electric guitar player says over the mic, but you’ve drowned out the words because your eyes finally land on what’s directly in front of you.
With an almost bored expression on his face, a man stands with a matte black bass guitar hung from his neck as he has one foot up on the top of a subwoofer located flush to the edge of the stage. His hair is raven black, longer at the nape of his neck with shorter layers scattered, and tendrils fall over his face. There’s a glint to his polished black shoes off of where you’re standing, and he’s wearing tight black jeans that cling to the thick and lean muscles of his calves and thighs, with a leather belt fastened around the circumference of his hips. The shirt that’s tucked into his jeans is just as tight to his skin, and a small gasp leaves your lips when you take in the sight of his arms covered in intricate patterns of ink. His right arm is practically covered from the wrist all the way up to the cut of his short sleeve, likely beyond, and his left arm has ink traveling up to his forearm only, like he’s still working on mapping it all out. You watch the way his biceps flex as he bends his arms, bringing his hands up to his face to push his hair back, and your heart is keeping fast rhythm with the music.
“Cho!” the woman at the front speaks into the mic, turning her head to look at this man who you’re sure is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. “You’ve hardly said a single word tonight, baby. Not that that’s unusual though. Why don’t you say a few words before we kick off the last song?”
A bunch of whoos!! and ahhhs!!! and yesss!!! scatter throughout the crowd in the form of cheers and you watch the man furrow his brows together, a scowl forming on his face. There’s a band of black underneath his eyes that runs across the bridge of his nose, with perpendicular lines resembling arrows running down his cheeks. Dark purple eyes that match the dark shadows around them glint under flickering stage lighting as he takes his foot off the speaker and walks a few steps backwards to position himself at his stationed mic.
“Fine,” he says, and you’re watching the way his lips barely brush against the mic as he speaks, “This is our last song. It’s called Lost Cause. Enjoy. Or don’t. It’s up to you. Who the fuck am I to tell you what to do.”
There’s only a slight beat of silence from the crowd before they’re cheering again, while his band members just stare at him stunned. The white-haired electric guitarist yells into his mic something like “THAT’S IT?!” before the drum player cuts him off with three taps of his sticks in the air, and then the song commences from them on practiced reflex.
The energy from the crowd is loud in the last few minutes of the show, smoke rising in the air from the machines spread across the raised stage, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the bass player. You rest your forearms on the cold metal in front of you, the sight of Mai jumping up and down in your periphery as she headbangs and shakes her hair.
The bass player’s eyes start to scan the venue within what seems to be the final chorus of the song, chin tipping up and fingers continuing to strum as he assesses the back of the crowd first, then gaze darting throughout the center, before he begins to study the front barricade. You watch his every movement, mapping the trail of his sight, and your heart skips a beat when those dark eyes finally fall on yours.
His eyes briefly flicker to your left, to continue his study of the crowd, but it’s as if his brain just registered something with a delay, and he quickly moves his gaze back to you in a double take. His eyes widen, bored expression quickly turned into one of surprise with a glint to his pupils, and you swear you’ve been struck by an arrow to your heart.
“Yaaaay! Thank you everyone!” the woman at the front exclaims, pulling her mic from the stand to walk around to make work of the crowd. The white-haired man approaches the edge of the stage with a pleased grin on his face, high-fiving all of the outstretched arms, and the man at the keyboard simply waves a few times before incessantly tuning buttons on his headphones. Drum boy hasn’t stopped playing some sort of loud rhythm as an encore. Your sight is set back onto the bass player, and he’s looking off somewhere else now. Somewhere backstage.
“Hey!” the white-haired man exclaims once he’s made it in front of the two of you. “Mai! You made it!”
She reaches out to grab his forearm, tugging down harshly so he’s stumbling and dropping one knee to the stage floor, kneeling. “Of course I was gonna make it! Thanks for the tickets,” she’s yelling over loud ambient cheers and music, “this is my friend y/n, by the way. Oh, and this is Gojo, he’s the guy I was telling you about.”
You nod at him, and try to accept his outstretched hand when someone bumps you from behind and your hand is in favor of stabilizing yourself over the divider instead.
You can barely hear the laugh from Gojo’s position on the raised stage. “Just meet us backstage! We can chat for a bit with proper introductions and all.”
As the crowd begins to dissipate with people moving through the sets of double doors out back, Gojo hops off stage to take you and Mai through a side door that leads into a hallway that lines the back of the stage. You look up into the high ceilings with metal structural poles banding between the walls, and the dim yellow lighting in small bulbs bolted to the walls like a runway remind you of movie theater exit routes.
“So, what’d you guys think of the show?” Gojo asks, his arms raised up and hands interlocked behind his neck in a casual-not-so-casual way as he sends the two of you a lazy look over his shoulder.
“Well, we only made it for one song since miss barista over here was running late from her shift,” she sighs, whacking your arm once with the back of her hand. You glance down and realize you didn’t even have the time to take your frilled and wrinkled apron off. “But, from what we did get to hear, AMAZING! AWESOME! SPECTACULAR!”
Gojo is grinning wide as he turns around to face the two of you, continuing to walk but backwards as he slaps the raised hand that Mai had in the air for him. “I’m so glad, I felt the pressure to please was high since I’ve been hyping up our shows to you for so long.”
“We’ve only known each other for like two weeks.”
“I know. But PSYCH 210 lecture at the ass crack of dawn really brings two people together, y’know.”
Mai and Gojo continue to laugh and talk about random things college-related, and there’s a stirring feeling in your chest that you’re surrounded by people older and much more well-lived than you. You’ve just graduated high school, barely a few months ago, but Mai was a few years older than you, so any time she tries to introduce you to her college friends, you feel the need to perform or be someone that you’re not so they’ll like you, despite the fact that you’re aware of the fallacy in that. And tonight, that responsibility feels much more daunting for some reason.
There are voices heard further down the hall, and as you approach, you notice the drum guy, keyboard guy, and devilishly handsome bass guy are all loitering around in that area, along with a few other people they seemed to have invited backstage.
Gojo walks up to them, grabbing onto the bass man’s hand firmly before patting him on the back, then slings his arms around the other two. “This is Higurama,” he says, rubbing the top of the black-haired guy’s head with the knuckles of his fist, “he does drums for us. And this is Sukuna,” he says, about to repeat the same gesture to the top of his head but his wrist is grabbed and twisted, “ow, fuck, fuck, fuck– sorry.” Sukuna lets go of his wrist, scowl dissipating into sadistic amusement, and Gojo’s holding his wrist, now slightly red from the burn, with a pout on his face. “He does the keyboard. And all the techno sounds. And some other stuff I’ve frankly no fucking clue about.”
The two of them acknowledge you and Mai, along with the few other people who Gojo seems to know as well, and then Gojo’s approaching the bass player again before resting his elbow up on his shoulder, leaning his weight onto him and the man just crosses his arms across his chest, sending Gojo a side-eye. “Mai, I think you two have met before, but this is Choso. Choso Kamo, our bass player. Best bass player I’ve ever known to be honest. Be careful though, he might bite you.”
Choso scowls, rolling his shoulder back once to get rid of Gojo’s resting elbow. His eyes are on yours, boring into you deep, and when he darts his tongue out briefly to wet his bottom lip, you finally notice the silver lip ring near the corner of his mouth. “Hi. Nice to meet you,” he says, hand outstretched and you shake it with a mention of your name to him. The skin on his fingers feel rough from play, a small sacrifice to pay for the talent he’s harnessed over the years from plucking at strings. His eyes sweep down you once. “Why are you dressed like Strawberry Shortcake?”
“I–” you start, glancing down at your attire and feeling the heat pool in your cheeks, “I just got off a work shift. I work at a cafe.”
“Oh,” he responds, and you notice his hand is still holding onto yours, Your eyes trail the patterns on his skin, visible in more detail up close, and you find yourself lost in every line and swirl and scale and skull and cross, the only thing breaking you out of your trance being Mai’s jab of her elbow to your ribcage.
You gasp, snatching your hand away from Choso, and when you look up at his face, there’s a hint of amusement on it.
“Babes, he was asking you a question,” Mai says, looking between you and the man in front of you.
“Huh?” you ask, suddenly flustered and you swipe your palm down your work apron to wipe the sweat that begins to perspire at your palm from the lingering heat of his hand.
“I was asking if you liked the show,” Choso says, tilting his head to the side and now he’s allowing his eyes to travel all across you in any way he wants.
“I loved it,” you respond, almost breathlessly, “it was great. I mean– we only saw, like, one song. But still, really amazing.”
“Only one song?” Choso asks, his eyebrow raising, “that’s a shame. You’ve gotta come to more shows then.”
Before you can respond, there’s a feminine voice heard down the hallway, sounding an awful lot like the one echoing off the speakers inside the concert venue, and then the blond woman who was the lead singer of the band skips right up to the group formulating in this hallway before wrapping her arms around Choso’s neck and pulling him down towards her in a kiss.
You’re standing there stunned, eyes immediately averting from the scene of the two of them in front of you, but in the corner of your eye you can see his arm wrap around her waist briefly before he pulls her away from him, and the release of her lips from his makes a sound that for some reason creates a pit in your stomach.
“Cho, baby, I just had an insane conversation,” she says, still practically hanging from his neck as she stands on tiptoes, “with this record label guy. He’s apparently hot shit in Tokyo, and he wants to offer us this city gig ‘cause he thinks we’re a potential sign-on, and–”
Choso’s hand reaches to the back of his neck, gripping around her wrist to pull it apart from her other one, and then her arms fall to her sides and her heels flatten to the ground as she blinks up at him. “That’s cool, Sana, but can we talk about that later?”
Gojo’s arms cross his chest as he leans forward, glaring at the woman. “Yeah. And as a band, not just with your lover.”
Sana rolls her eyes and scoffs, placing curled hands low on her hips. “He’s not my lover, bitch. Unless he’s my lover like you’re lovers with a blunt on a sunday– sucked off in a car ‘cause you’ve got nothing better to do.”
“That’s offensive to both of us,” Gojo grumbles but Choso just sighs, unbothered, as he rubs at the back of his neck. He makes eye contact with you again, and his expression sobers as though he forgot for a second that you were still standing there.
Sana turns to you and Mai. “Hi, I’m Sana, nice to meet you guys. Sorry, I thought you two were some of our other friends, otherwise I wouldn’t have kissed Cho in front of you. I hate PDA, trust me.”
Mai lets out an awkward laugh as she shakes her hand, and you almost don’t want to shake her hand, but you do just to be polite.
“You didn’t hate PDA that one time I was about to bag the girl I’d been talking to for weeks and you decided to grind your sorry excuse of an ass right up against me in front of her,” Gojo grumbles.
She waves a dismissive hand in the air. “Whatever, she thought you were gay anyways. Would’ve done yourself a favor if you actually grabbed my ass.”
She ignores the insulted gesture Gojo makes, cutting off whatever words he was about to spew with words of her own. “What are you girls doing after this? We’re having a post-show party, you two should come.” She glances at you. “Uh, love, I’d ditch the apron though. Unless it’s, like, some sort of fetish for you.”
You’re defeated as your arms cross your torso to grip the hem of your apron and pull it up over your head, shaking your head a bit to allow your hair to fall back into place, and then you fold the frilly article of clothing neatly before hanging it over your arm. “It’s not,” you sigh, too exhausted to be subject to the title of your occupation anymore. A small flicker of your eyes to Choso tells you he’s staring at you.
Sana shrugs. “So you pretty ladies wanna come?”
Mai shakes her head. “No, sorry, my baby here,” she says, wrapping her arm around yours tightly, “just graduated high school recently, so she’s too young for a party. I’ve got a responsibility to look after her. And throwing her into a room full of sleazy drunk punk college dudes is the opposite of looking after her.”
Sukuna comes around, leaning his arm against the wall, smirk on his face, as he eyes you like you’re something to steal. “Just graduated high school? So you just turned eighteen, sweetheart?”
Mai glares daggers at him. “Get the fuck away from her, Super Senior. You’re icky. Also, case in point proven.”
Sana whacks the back of Sukuna’s head, and he all but growls at her. “Stop being creepy,” she reprimands him before turning to Mai again. “No, I swear, it’s not like that. It’s chill, minimal alcohol. No drugs. Just a small get-together with a few of our fellow friends, and friends of fellow friends, from the music scene.” She leans against Choso’s arm, wide eyes looking up at him, but he doesn’t lean into her. “Right, Cho? No scary guys for her to worry about?”
His eyes narrow at you, raking down your figure again, and his chest moves a little faster with his breath. “I’m against it. It’s no place for an eighteen-year-old. You’re a fucking idiot for trying to invite a girl who just recently graduated from highschool to a house party. She’s practically a kid.”
Your heart sinks from his words, and you feel juvenile standing in front of him, in a way that makes you angry and embarrassed at the same time, and you can’t bite back the words in time, “Whatever, at least I haven’t been on crack since the day I was born like you probably were.”
Almost all heads in this small hallway snap to you, if they weren’t already there before, wide eyes blinking before Gojo bursts out into a laugh, which dominoes into Mai’s laughter, and you barely register the way Sana looks you up and down once before forcing a smile. Choso’s surprised expression turns into a disgruntled one as he crosses his arms across his chest, and you can’t help but watch the stretch of his inked skin over his muscles as they flex.
“I’ve never done crack, shortcake, and your lame insult only proves my point on your immaturity,” he scowls, leaning his upper body forward towards you, and his gaze briefly drops to your lips.
Sana comes in between the two of you, pressing herself up against him to get him away, and he takes an involuntary step back and now he’s scowling at her too. She turns around to face you, and there’s that forced smile again. “Uh, y’know what, sweets? Cho is sooo totally right, no place at all for a—I’m sorry, how old did you say you were?”
“Eighteen,” you say with a slight grit to your teeth.
“Oh! Yeah, no place for you, sorry,” she says, with a small jut of her bottom lip to signal a pout.
You roll your eyes at her, then glance past her at Choso who’s looking at you like he’s still got a few retaliating words for you on his tongue, but then he’s dropping his gaze to the neckline of your shirt, eyeing the shape of your breasts, even dipping further down your legs and you let out a scoff.
“You sure enjoy checking me out for someone you think is practically a kid,” you spit back.
He’s not angry this time, the corner of his mouth simply tipping up slightly into a smirk. “I meant you’re too young to drink, but you’re old enough to fuck, so spare me the attitude.”
Your cheeks flush at his comment, nonetheless made in front of a group of people who were practically strangers to you, and you’re about to give him a piece of your mind when Mai grabs your forearm and Gojo places himself between you and jerkface.
“Woah! Look at the time,” Gojo chirps, glancing at his wrist that was absent of any time-telling device but he rolls with it anyway, “should probably head out now, since the venue’s closing soon. Y’know, grab our stuff.”
Mai nods her head at you in response to his words, sending a single glare Choso’s way before exchanging some pleasantries with Gojo and then dragging you down the hallway with her towards the exit.
“Hey–” you begin to complain, her grip on you starting to hurt, and you eventually yank your arm away from her before she opens the backdoor exit. “Let’s go to that party.”
Mai sighs, leaning her back against the door and crosses her arms. “No way. Your mom wanted me to get you home before midnight,” she says as she glances at the time on her phone, “and it’s close to midnight.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m an adult now, I don’t have to adhere to a midnight curfew, like I’m fucking Cindarella.”
Mai raises an eyebrow at you from the profanity, recognizing the fact that it’s something you just forced into your vocabulary in a way that doesn’t suit you. “I already said no.”
“Take me or else I’m going to tell your mom about the nipple piercings you got last week.”
Mai hisses a sharp breath through her teeth. “You’re a bitch.”
“Take me,” you deadpan.
She tilts her head back so that it hits the metal of the door, and then she’s pushing her back against it to open it, the rush of cold wind from outside brushing past the two of you as she steps into the night and you follow her. “Oh my god, fine. But only for a little bit, and let’s get the lie straight right now–you had explosive diarrhea at the concert so I couldn’t take you home right away since you were incapacitated in the restrooms.”
“What? Why do I have to be the one with explosive diarrhea?” you ask, frown on your face but there’s a skip to your step as you follow her down the street to where she very poorly parallel parked and you open the passenger side door. She doesn’t bother answering you as she settles into the driver’s seat and her car roars to life with a few struggling turns of the key in ignition.
“No drinking,” Mai says, voice strict with eyes locked on yours, and it’s the last thing she says before she starts driving.
The house is just a few miles from the venue location, and Mai seems to have been there before since she turns the navigation off once she turns onto a street that has her driving switch to from perusal to more casual.
Gojo is the one to greet you two at the door with wide eyes and a drink in his hand. You notice he’s changed out of his stage attire into something more casual, and likely in a rush too since his hair is disheveled, and you figured that you and Mai barely got here after they did. The surprised look on his face is quick to turn into a pleased one at the sight of the two of you. “Oh sweet you two actually came,” he comments, waving a hand for you two to come inside, “figured Kamo would’ve scared you off.”
You roll your eyes, “where is that jerk? I still have a few choice words for him.”
“Babes, let it go,” Mai sighs, “Not worth your time.”
“I concur,” Gojo says, “but, if you really want, he’s upstairs putting some of my stuff he borrowed for tonight’s show back into my room. You can…” he glances down at you once, “uh. Cuss him to death? Or whatever you can manage, I guess. But just don’t fuck on my bed, please. That’s my only rule.”
“Why do you sound like that’s a rule you’ve had to make often?” Mai scoffs, amused, while your cheeks feel hot.
Gojo slumps his shoulders in some type of comical defeat. “I don’t wanna talk about it…” he mumbles, voice trailing off and turning on his heel to walk away while Mai follows him off with more follow-up questions he doesn’t seem receptive to answering.
Your eyes glance over to the staircase, studying for a moment as loud party music fills your ears before making your way over and up the steps. As you head down the hallway leading into bedrooms, the floorboards creak until your sneakers even over soft carpet, and you hear soft sounds of clattering off to the left. There’s a door that’s half ajar leading into a warmly lit room, and you deftly peek your head through the opening.
Choso stands near the foot of the bed inside a messy room, black boxes and cases and wires surrounding him as he fumbles with unplugging some sort of audio station pad from another piece of hardware. His hand grips tightly around the thick black rubber coating of the wire, and you watch the flex of his knuckles that tense the veins running up his arm, sleeve of the shirt he’s worn all night stretching to accommodate the roll of muscle at his upper arm. With a solid yank, the chord releases itself before the wire whacks him straight in the face and he grumbles a fuck under his breath and he rubs the skin of his cheek, to which you can’t help but let out a small laugh at the sight of.
His furrowed and frustrated expression turns into surprise as his eyes flicker to the entrance of the room. He stands up straight, and then there’s that bored expression again. “Oh. Shortcake. I thought I said you’ve got no business being here.”
“Yeah, about that, I’m waiting for you to apologize to me,” you say, leaning sideways against the doorframe as you cross your arms over your chest.
He sighs, eyes moving away from yours to busy himself with the jungle of equipment he’s practically drowning in, as if he couldn’t be bothered by your presence right now. “Apologize for what?”
You make your way inside the room, foot pushing aside anything sprawled on the floor that’s in your way so you can continue to approach him, and you stop just when you’re just a step away. His gaze is still set to the ground as he’s crouched over slightly, but it shifts from the speaker he was toying with to the shape of your shoes instead.
“Apologize to me for being so crass,” you say, “after we had just met.”
He slowly straightens his spine, and you’re a little shocked to find the height that he has on you. His expression is curious, eyes narrowing slightly like he has you all figured out already, and it pisses you off. “Crass is such a prissy word to use, princess. Try ‘apologize to me for being a massive dick’ or something, and I’ll start to take you more seriously.”
“Why are you so rude?” you ask, anger building up inside of you all of a sudden. “I’ve barely met you, I don’t see how I could’ve upset you in any way. Yet you’ve already insulted me in multiple ways tonight, and it’s not a cool look for you. Trust me.”
“You’re the one that basically called me a crackhead,” he counters, but there’s no real offense behind it.
“Yeah, because you called me a kid,” you say, face tightening even further with anger, “even though I’m an adult.”
He sighs, closing his eyes in irritation, and tilts his head up to look at the ceiling briefly as his mouth hangs slightly open, all as if he’s running thin of the capacity to deal with this conversation, and then he looks back down at you again. “Shortcake, I didn’t call you a kid ‘cause of your age. I called you a kid ‘cause you’re just so–” he starts, eyes traveling down your body paired with a vague gesture of his hand towards all of you, and you find yourself shifting on your feet to stand a little more poised, “you just seem so innocent and clueless and, uh, forgive me, naive.”
“You’re the clueless one here if you still think negging a girl will get you anywhere with her,” you say, hands clenched in fists at your side now.
There’s a hint of a smirk on his face as he tilts his head at you, some of his dark hair falling over his forehead from the motion and a few strands weave with his eyelashes. “I’m not trying to get anywhere with you here, sweetheart, unless you’re wanting that,” he says, voice almost purred at the end as he steps over a guitar case on the floor to get closer to you.
You’re unable to make eye contact with him when he’s close and you can smell the earthy notes of his cologne, mixed with another scent that seems more distinctly him that makes your head spin. Your gaze takes in the sight of his forearm, the one with scattered tattoos trailing up his arm but not yet fully inked in. You wonder what he’s saving the space for, and what he’s willing to let in.
When your gaze flickers up to his face again, you’re a little surprised to see his expression is softer. He suddenly holds his forearm up in front of you. Your eyes signal confusion to him, but he just keeps his arm up the same.
“You’ve been ogling my tattoos since we met,” he says, voice low, “if you’re curious, then just have a closer look.”
Your breath picks up in speed, and you hesitate for a moment but it’s true. You were curious. Your hands shakily hold onto his forearm to keep it still as you study the ink on his skin. You twist his arm as much as his joint allows, and he lets you handle him in any way you want, and you swear the snake tattooed on his skin moves as if it were alive. A dark blossoming rose with highlights of burgundy red catches your eye near his elbow, and you brush the back of your hand against it. Your fingers accidentally find his pulse at his wrist, and you find his heart is beating fast.
You run a flat palm up his arm, the skin to skin contact feeling intimate, and your fingers stop when they tuck under the fabric of his sleeve. You feel the warmth and curve of his bicep, lightly wrapping your hand around it, and you blush at the sight of how small your hand looks on him.
“What does this one mean?” you ask, not meaning for it to come out as a whisper, but you feel like his answer is meant to be kept a secret. Your thumb swipes over small roman numerals permanently etched into him over muscle.
“It’s my dad’s military tag,” he responds, voice quiet like yours.
You tear your gaze away from his skin to look up at him, and you realize he’s closed enough distance between the two of you to where his face is just inches away. From the moment you looked up, his eyes have been on your lips, and his brow furrows as if he’s fighting some voice in his head that’s testing this harmony between the two of you in this moment.
You swear he’s about to kiss you, since there could be no other explanation for the way he was looking at you, but instead he clears his throat and his face is first to distance from you before he pulls his arm back as well, and then a small step backwards. “Sorry,” he says, and he almost sounds awkward. It startles you, because it’s the first time he doesn’t sound cool or calm or collected.
“That-” you start, “...wait, what are you sorry for?”
His eyes widen, and you see the heaviness under them for a moment, “uhh…I’m actually not too sure.”
Your head feels clear now that he’s not close enough to breathe in, and you blink a few times as your annoyance from earlier resurfaces amidst the lingering energy he just broke between you two. “Start with ‘I’m sorry for calling you a kid, and then also just now calling you naive and clueless,’” you say, foot tapping impatiently, “and then, in front of all your bandmates, mocking the fact I’m not old enough to drink, and shamelessly traveling your eyes over me, and then–” your breath catches slightly as the words fail to leave your tongue, cheeks feeling hot, “and then saying–” you try again, but the thought only falls flat, and he’s taking a step closer to you again.
“And then saying that you’re old enough to fuck?” he asks, finishing your sentence for you, but there’s no remorse in his tone at all.
His hand suddenly finds the small of your back and he pushes gently so you take a stumbled step towards him, like he needed to have you close to him again. His lips brush against the top of your head, and the sensation sends a hot feeling through your chest. “Choso,” you reprimand him.
“Fuck,” he exhales, like in cynical disbelief, “my name sounds so sweet coming from you.”
It makes no sense, but you grip his shirt at his chest just to make contact with him, and you brave yourself to look up at him, wondering if he can see the hint of worry in your eyes, because he already feels like something you can’t resist.
His eyes are dark now, different from the tenderness in them before, and he’s freely studying the features of your face. “I don’t want to fuck you, Shortcake, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’re a little too good for me to do something like that.”
His words say one thing while his eyes say another, his arm wrapping around your waist to keep you close, and you’re astonished at how little he cares about the clear contradiction in his words from the way he holds you. His gaze slowly travels down from your eyes to your lips.
“What about–” you start, heart beating fast in your chest as you see the glimmer of the silver ring pierced through his lip. You bite back the words.
But he reads your mind, because his head dips down towards yours and he captures your lips in his, slow and sweet at first before pressing more firmly, more decisively with both hands flying to hold your waist. A moan muffles in your throat at the sensation of his bare fingers coyly traveling under the hem of your shirt, and you can’t help but slide your arms up over his shoulders, locking them behind his neck to pull him down closer to you, and he sighs in response as he presses your hips flush against him. The chill metal of his lip ring has the plush of your bottom lip tingling cold, and when his tongue swipes across to warm it for you, your mouth opens with ease. You taste spearmint on his tongue, and his lips curve against yours in what feels like an amused smile, large hands now slid so far up your shirt that his fingers reach the band of your bra.
“Hey, Cho, do you know where–”
The trill of a feminine voice in the air cuts through harshly, and he pulls his lips from yours but not without a moment of reluctance. You two turn your head to the door, and you see Sana standing there, eyes wide and blinking as she takes in the sight of the two of you standing in what feels like a guilty proximity from how her eyes silently curse you.
You can only manage an awkward laugh, fist shoving against Choso’s shoulder but his hands are still placed firmly on the curve over your lower back, dangerously close to the plush of your ass, and your hips are practically pinned to him while you do all you can to lean your upper body away. “Oh–sorry, this…is not what it looks like–”
“I…” Sana starts, and you can see the hurt in her expression, but she quickly corrects it, “Oh! Ah, was just lookin’ for Cho here,” she says, making her way into the room, and a harsh shove of your fist against Choso’s chest finally has him relenting to let you go. Your posture immediately stiffens when she approaches Choso’s side, and she playfully pushes his arm but the effort is weak. “Kissing girls in Satoru’s room is seriously not a good idea, Cho. That freak probably has cameras in here to make sure people don’t bump uglies in his room again after that New Year’s party.”
Choso gives her a pointed look, like he wasn’t caught up on that drama, but you’re just standing there with your eyes flicking between the familiarity of the two people standing in front of you. Why wasn’t Sana jealous? She was looking at you ten seconds ago like she was a whole lot of jealous.
“What are you looking for?” Choso asks her, and she holds her red plastic solo cup with her drink in it out for him to hold as she crouches down to the floor to sift through the equipment now surrounding the three of you.
“My lucky mic,” she says, “Gojo said it’d be here.” There’s a hint of something in her voice, something that mirrors betrayal if you’re perceptive enough.
You watch Choso lick his lips once, eyes darting to you, before he’s crouching down too to help her look. “For something that allegedly means a lot to you, you sure do a shit job at looking out for it,” he comments with a sigh before pulling out a black case from under three other ones and handing it to her. “It’s here.”
“I’m–” you say, taking a step back and almost tripping over a guitar case, “I’m, um, going to head downstairs. Mai is probably looking for me.”
Choso raises an eyebrow at you from where he’s still crouched down next to Sana, and he’s about to speak when Sana cuts him off.
“Okay. Bye,” she says, still rummaging through things mindlessly even though she had already been given what she was looking for.
Choso makes a move to stand up, like he wants to see you out the door, but Sana’s hand grabs him by his forearm, eyes still not meeting his, and there’s a beat of confusion in his eyes as he studies the side of her face. But you know what sort of look she probably has in her eyes right now, and you know only because you’re also a girl, and all girls know what it’s like when a guy you love doesn’t want you in the way that you want him. All you can do at this moment is feel sorry for her.
The atmosphere in the room begins to suffocate, and you head out of the door in a rush.
.
.
.
present day. summer.
“He kissed ya the day he met ya? Hmph! That wouldn’t fly with me,” the man seated beside you says, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he shifts slightly in his seat to puff his chest out.
“Hmm,” you hum as you look out the window wistfully, memories that you had locked up for so many years opened like a pandora box that fills your chest with warmth but has your fingers trembling with anxiety because you know how it all ends. “You wouldn’t…let a man kiss you on the first day he met you?”
The driver humors you with a hearty laugh from his chest, at least. “Not talkin’ about it that way, darlin’. I’m talkin’ about my daughters. I’ve got two girls of my own. A man should keep his hands to himself the first time he meets a lady. At least that’s what I’ve taught ‘em.”
There’s a small smile that tugs at your lips at his words, the love he has for his daughters heard clearly through his strict tone. You left out a lot of the details that probably would’ve angered him on your behalf even more, so the fact he still ended up getting worked up about it has you a little amused and reflective at the same time. “How old are your daughters?” you ask, tucking strands of your hair behind your ear, watching the wind-rustled plains of grass that you two have been driving by for a while now.
“They’re a little younger than you,” he comments, his expression now a bit more serious, “one just graduated from college, she’s startin’ more school in the city soon, and the other’s still in highschool. She’s turning sixteen next week.”
“Ah, sixteen,” you muse, “that’s a confusing age.”
“You got that right,” he gruffs, “the other day, she called me on my way home from work to bring some drink called a boba. Fifty-two years of life and I never even knew there was a damn thing called a boba! Why would anyone want swirlin’ stuff in their drink?! Anyways, the shop got her order wrong, and when I brought it home, she refused to drink it, called me the worst dad ever, then stormed upstairs to slam the door on her room. I turn to my wife, and she’s shakin’ her head at me like I’m the one that did something wrong!”
You laugh, then press your lips into a smile. “I’d have to agree with her on that,” you joke, and he lets out another disgruntled noise that has you laughing again.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve lived with my wife and those two girls for over two decades,” he sighs. “I’m used to it by now. All three are equally pains in my ass, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Your smile drops a little as you look at him more contemplatively. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as he speaks, and you realize it’s familiar, but the answer of where you’ve seen it before fails to arrive.
“My youngest,” he starts again, “she’s been listenin’ to really loud music lately.” He presses one of the buttons underneath the AC vents, static noises coming to life before he changes the output to bluetooth. “My wife says it’s some sort of phase, but I’m not likin’ the music. Always sounding tempered and inappropriate.” He plays a song from his phone paired to the car, speakers flowing with music, and a chill runs down your spine the moment the first few notes fill your ears. A song so painfully familiar, so connected to your soul it’s as if your heart still keeps time with it to this day.
“See what I’m talkin’ about?” the man says, “Lots of words about skin and cigarettes.” With a shake of his head, he lowers the volume. “She’s obsessed with this band, it’s probably a band similar to your old lover’s from the sound of it. She’s got posters of ‘em up on the wall, and she took the picture of us on our first fishing trip together out of the picture frame on her desk and replaced it with this man. This silly-lookin’ white-haired man that always looks like he’s just pretending he knows how to play a guitar. Hmph! She keeps saying ‘dad, I wanna go to their concert!’ There’s no way in hell I’m allowing that.”
You stare down at your lap, brow furrowed from the realization flashing through your head, and your thumb nervously passes over the skin of your other hand. In your periphery, you see him glance over at you once, and he sighs before stopping the music and speaking up again.
“It’s fine,” he says, “my youngest got her sister into the same band, and she likes one of the other ones. Plays bass. He’s too rough-lookin’ for my daughter. Arms covered in tattoos, he’s even got some on his face! She keeps dreamin’ about havin’ him for a boyfriend, but if she brought that home, there’s no way I’d approve. I’d scare him off with my rifle.”
Your heart is beating fast in your chest, and you realize what a small world it is. Or, you realize just how big Choso’s world must be now. So much bigger than he or any of the other members of his band could’ve ever imagined. For once in a lifetime, so rare and pure, are dreams that are fully realized.
“Gosh,” you respond when you realize you’ve been lost in your own revelations for too long, “that’s an…extreme response. You sound like my father, though.”
“Hm,” he responds, “I’m sure. Did your father approve of this lover of yours? The one that’s makin’ moves on you so fast and too soon?”
You lean back in your seat with your head hitting the headrest. It’s been years since you’ve felt like you’re being lectured or reprimanded for anything, but the feeling comes back to you at this moment as if no time had passed at all. No matter how old you get, you’ll never forget how humbling the feeling was when you thought you knew everything at eighteen, just to look back and realize you didn’t have a single clue.
You sigh. “No. He didn’t approve. Far from it.”
.
.
.
seven years ago. autumn.
chapter 2. the juvenile & the delinquent.
[to be continued]
a/n. eeeeeppp thank you very much for reading n supporting my new fic!! i hope you enjoyed :') still a lot more to uncover n unpack hahah i'm so nervous to start a new fic but i'm also very excited!!! i love choso sm but i also love nanami so this is gonna be interesting to write. also TYSM to everyone that wanted to be on taglist for this omg your support means the world to meeee. love you all sm.
taglist: @joemama-2 @sweetpo1son @lilluna12 @polarbvnny @4y3sh4 @sedona-the-l0bster @horisdope @ilovenana88 @thexmistress @atsushirolll @flvrrg0d @strawnanamilk @nighttwingg @indieotterxoxo @pirana10 @bakuhoethotski @tvdumarvelhpsimp @lavender-hvze @whereflowerswenttodie @alwaysfreakingout @kaitoluver @3xv5s @wrenabbadon @erwinslut @winsga18 @ynishalee @yungbloode
love u all so much!!
#choso kamo#choso x reader#choso kamo x reader#choso x reader smut#choso x reader angst#choso x reader fluff#nanami kento#nanami x reader#nanami kento x reader#nanami x reader angst#nanami x reader smut#nanami x reader fluff#choso x you#nanami x you#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jjk#jjk fanfiction#rock band au#music au#bad boy#second chance romance#love triangle#smut#fluff#angst#punk rock au#band au
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Can we get some yandere Geto going down on a transmasc reader? Pretty please 🙏
((Hi I hope this is ok! Im not too confident but here goes nothing!))
You were so sensitive, head pressing back against the pillow, thighs shaking against your will as you were put on full display. Sugurus calloused fingers made you feel a fluttering pressure as you closed your eyes and try to process anything this gorgeous psycho was saying.
“You’ve been mine since I laid eyes on you, yet you refuse to let me service you the way you deserve. Tsk tsk tsk” Geto clicks his tongue in disapproval, dragging his fingers up and down your folds as he wears a rather lascivious smile. “My good boy deserves praise, worship, to be given nothing but devotion, yet you starve us of that. You know I can’t let this continue, don’t you?”
His voice dropped an octave, deep and angered “You’re slutty hole is quivering for me already. Aching and wanting. Why? Why deny yourself the pleasure we want to give you? It’s angering to think that you’ve been starved of my touch, -my love- for so long”
He flicks at your sensitive bud, groaning as he listens to you gasp and struggle to make a sentence. A small bubble of pleasure was forming in his stomach as he drags his thumb up and down your dewy folds, your cute dick begging to be sucked and toyed with as he made you who you were meant to be-
His and his alone. His to toy with and take apart and to put back together.
You whimper, barely able to form words as he cruelly begins to flick at your cock again, more wetness dripping from you as Geto presses his face into your wiry hairs and inhales, deep and guttural. Oh how dare you keep this from him? You’ll have to be properly punished once the blood flow is back into his brain and not currently making his cock a precum drooling mess.
“W-wait no! I-I’m sorry!” You managed to garble out, but it wasn’t really any use, was it? You know Geto is a powerful man, he takes what he wants no questions asked. If he wants to toy with you…
Your body goes taught, his tongue dragging up your skin and swirling around your cock before giving it a gentle suck, making your hips raise and your voice strained. Oh holy fuck his mouth is dangerous-
He indulges himself, tongue tracing up and down all of your folds as he watches your cock twitch and beg for attention, sliding his wet muscle inside of you as his fingers stroke you up and down, methodical and precise, as if he knew exactly how you liked it.
Which he should. He’s had his eyes on you for a while. He’s seen you in more ways than you could ever be aware, and he’s been driven nuts by every denial you give to his proposals and offers.
Well, no more. Geto will have you worshiped and praised, even if he has to chain you down and let the people…have a taste themselves. And who could blame him? How you felt on his tongue, your flavor, a godly nectar he couldn’t get enough of, oh he’s going to drink his fill and then some!
You practically howled, feeling Geto hold your thighs down to get his tongue in deeper, face pressed as close as it could get as his fingers continue to stroke you, hungry and starved like he couldn't get enough.
You go to try and bite your sleeve to silence yourself, but a harsh bite to your thigh stops you in your tracks, Getos eyes furious and feral as he catches his breath. “If you hide your heavenly melodies from me, I can assure you, you’re going to regret it. Be louder for me. Let me hear you cry as you fall apart”.
You swallow, eyes watery as Geto continues to lap away at your cock, fingers now curling inside of you and fluttering to hit that specific ridge, causing you to yelp and tense your legs.
You were helpless, riding the man's face and fingers desperately, unable to push away the instinct to cum, to cover his face in your mess and give the man what he wants. Fruitlessly you yank at his hair, his lips coming to suck on your cock as his fingers crook just right, causing your vision to turn white and your knuckles to clench in his hair.
The explosion of pleasure has you panting and gasping, words failing to leave your lips as Geto slurps, sucks, and curls his fingers again and again, brutally like he’s punishing you. And in a way, he was. You have turned down every kind offer He’s given you to join his “group”. To be one of the enlightened. No more. He’ll have you with him, and he’s going to ravish you until you simply can’t leave.
It’s hard to walk when one's legs can’t work, after all. And you’re so sensitive, it should be fun watching you come apart again and again, until you’re crying those pretty tears and can’t push him (or his love) away anymore.
“Fuck fuck FUCK- “ you cry, that cord in your core finally snapping after a few more rough sucks, his fingers not stopping as you rock against his face and go still, shaking and gasping as the pleasure shoots through you and your eyes can’t help but roll back.
Oh what a sight to behold. You, sweat covered and disheveled, panting and hiccuping little pleas as Geto continues to toy with you. You aren’t being fair here you know? Being this precious is dangerous with a man like him.
You wince, a pitiful noise being made as Geto kisses up your stomach, but only moves to hold your legs open again, making sure he left another bite to your other thigh as he feels you quiver and tremble beneath him. “Atta boy. See? That wasn’t so bad now was it?” he asks, his skilled fingers coming to rub up and down your still twitching cock. “Now keep behaving. We have a long night ahead of us, I’d rather it be easy on you”
-Mommabean (I hope you like!)
#transmasc reader#Yandere geto#yandere jjk#yandere dubcon#yandere noncon#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yandere scenarios#yandere imagines#yandere male#yandere smut#yandere lemons#yandere x reader#yandere prompts#Yandere cult#if you squint
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“AS IF THE MEMORIES HAVE A HEART THAT ONLY BEATS AT NIGHT.”
༄ sypnosis. your boyfriend is on a business trip, yet always finds the time to call you at night. though, this time he’s lonely and in need of comfort.
༄ note. inspired by one of mahmoud darwish’s poems plus by my love for this man. sigh he’s so pretty. excuse me if this is too sappy.
༄ tags. satoru x reader. female reader. pet names such as ‘sweet, love, baby, babe, angel”. satoru is clingy. this is just uhh, fluff and sprinkles of angst + reverse comfort. spoilers jjk manga (stuff w/ suguru & toji).
“what are you doing,” “where are you,” and “who’s with you,”
satoru, as always, didn’t give you the chance to greet him properly once you picked up his call. your boyfriend was sent on a mission overseas and has been calling you every night since.
he says it’s to ‘hear your pretty voice’ and because he apparently ‘can’t survive without hearing it at least once a day’.
“satoru— love, calm down.” you chuckle softly, putting the call on speaker before going back to eat your dinner.
you hear the sorcerer let out a small whine over the phone, “my bad, sweet. you know i always look forward to speaking with you.”
you hum lightly in response. satoru has always had the habit to call you whenever he misses you even in the slightest of amounts.
some may find that annoying, however you’re aware that you are the only person satoru can rely on at the end of the day. that’s exactly why you try your best to answer all of his phone calls.
“how’d the mission go?” you ask after swallowing a bite of your food.
“pfft, the usual. dealt with some annoying curses that’ve been plaguing the area.” your boyfriend groans; he wished he didn’t have to take care of his duties so he could be with you all the time.
satoru just wanted to hold you in his arms, cuddle you, shower you with love, take you out on cute dates and spoil you with all kinds of gifts. his responsibilities as a teacher and as the strongest sorcerer constantly got in the way of that simple dream.
“good work, baby. you did well today.” you reply, earning a small ‘i-know-i-did’ huff from your boyfriend.
“thanks,” satoru adds, his voice muffled. it sounded like he had some food in his mouth, which you easily guessed was something sweet, “you know.. i was thinking about us— eh, you in particular.”
a silence falls over the phone afterwards. it was like satoru gave you a moment to process his words before he continues.
“well, when do you not think about me?” you snicker.
you couldn’t see it, but satoru rolled his eyes at your comment before letting a chuckle escape his lips, “hey! was trying to create a sentimental mood there.”
“but, i guess— yeah. true.” your words were the truth; satoru was a hopeless man when it came to you. you’ve invaded his thoughts, his heart and even his soul.
“anyways,” your boyfriend continues, pausing slightly to swallow the snack in his mouth, “i know i say this every day, but i wish you were here with me.”
you stop chewing on your food as soon as you hear the slight change of tone in satoru’s voice. you immediately knew that he needed you at the moment.
“mhm, i know,” you reply quietly. you wanted to let him get it all out before comforting him properly with your words.
satoru took that short answer as a sign to keep talking and opening up about his feelings to you.
“it’s just,” he sighs defeatedly, “actually, i don’t know. i guess being alone during times like these really gets to me.”
satoru stared at the ceiling as he laid on his back. his phone was on the pillow right next to his head, also on speaker.
when he’s with you, it’s easy to forget about all kinds of gloomy thoughts that may enter his mind. all satoru has to do is focus his attention on you and he won’t have any time to dwell on such stuff.
however when he’s alone, he’s left with his own brain and the thoughts that ate away at him ever since the inevitable incident with toji a few years ago.
suguru. amanai.
rustling sounds; satoru’s moving positions on his bed to somehow focus on your voice again.
“i guess it’s also because it’s unknown what the future holds.” satoru pauses. this time the pause was for him to collect his thoughts.
you knew what he meant by that; satoru had went through a few traumatic events over the years. he’s faced betrayal, loss and death ever since he was a teenager.
even if he doesn’t say nor show it, satoru is scared of what the future holds for him. especially with you in the picture now— he doesn’t want you to change or disappear on him. the thought alone makes his heart ache.
“..hey, can you promise me one thing, angel?” satoru eventually speaks up again, his voice a hushed whisper over the phone.
“of course. what is it?” you answer softly.
a third and short silence falls between you again.
“promise me that you’ll stay safe.” satoru sounds like he’s desperately trying to keep his tone neutral, however you could sense some vulnerability in there.
now that you’re thinking about it, you’ve never seen or heard satoru cry out in sadness or distress. though you know for sure that those feelings are building up somewhere inside of him. it’s only a matter of time before they need to be released.
“i promise,” you start in a comforting tone, “i promise i’ll stay safe, satoru.”
you could hear your boyfriend sigh in relief. just a small promise like that was enough to calm him down a little. for now, that is.
“i’ve failed many people before,” satoru continues, still trying to keep the tone of his voice neutral, “however, i will not fail you.”
you nod to yourself. the rest of your dinner was getting cold as you used your chopsticks to absentmindedly poke the rice while listening to satoru over the phone.
“you’re too important for me to lose,” he murmurs, taking a deep breath to steady his voice, “if it ever comes to that.. i don’t know what i’ll do.”
satoru actually doesn’t know how he’ll react or what he’ll do if you—the only person worth fighting for—would leave him; will all the thoughts come crashing down on him and cause him to finally break down?
he doesn’t know. nor does he want to find out. ever.
“don’t you worry, love.” you answer, “i hereby promise you that i won’t leave your side any time soon.”
you sigh, a small smile on your face which satoru couldn’t witness. you figured to cheer him up with your own words— it felt like he needed a mix of distraction and comfort at the moment and that’s what you wanted to give him.
“i’m not going anywhere. you’re completely and utterly stuck with me for now.” you playfully warn him, putting emphasis on the two words, “there’s no backing out of this, ‘toru.”
the sorcerer couldn’t help but laugh slightly at your last remark; you always knew how to make him feel better in an instant. that’s why he loved you to death,
“make that forever and we have a deal.”
“fiiine,” you reply in an over exaggerated tone before giggling, “forever it is. don’t get bored of me any time soon then.”
“oh, don’t you worry, angel.” satoru chuckles, sighing the stress away in one deep breath, “i’ll never get bored of my favourite girl. never in a million years.”
he sits up on his bed before standing up and walking to the window of his hotel room. satoru looked outside while grabbing another snack from a nearby table.
the sky was beautiful; it reminded him of you, though your beauty was no match for the sky. you were prettier than nature itself.
“satoru.” you call out to him over the phone and he immediately snaps back to reality.
“yeah, baby?” he replies, unwrapping his chocolate bar with one hand in the meantime.
“be reaaaal honest with me. like really honest.” a grin forms on your face as you thought of what to say next.
“you know i always speak the truth with you,” satoru mutters with a smile while putting a piece of chocolate in his mouth, “go on.”
“how many of those chocolate bars have you eaten today?”
the question caught satoru off guard and he instantly stops chewing.
satoru turns his head to the left and then to the right, eyes narrowed and body in a defensive stand like somebody was going to attack him any time soon.
“wh— the hell? how did you know? don’t tell me you’ve been secretly watchin’ me the entire time.”
you could already picture the way he’s probably checking his entire hotel room at the moment. your poor boyfriend may be strongest, but not when it comes to such silly ‘scary’ stuff. it’s adorable.
“babe, you never go a day without eating that one specific chocolate bar.” you giggle softly, taking another bite of your own food, “i’ve come to know your eating habits by now.”
“that so?” satoru grins to himself as he puts another piece in his mouth, “what am i thinking at the moment then? if you know me so well.”
you roll your eyes and get up to put your dishes away, taking your phone with you to the sink. “hmm.. well let me think.”
“take all the time you need, baby.”
satoru constantly tells you that you’re always on his mind, so you figured that this time wouldn’t be any different.
you know it’d probably be something sappy that’ll make you both giggle uncontrollably.
“maybe, something like—“ you start in a teasing tone, “i don’t know, uhh— ‘i love you?’”
there it goes; the uncontrollable giggles and laughter that fill both of your ears. it felt like you were two young teenagers in love again.
“damn, i’m really that predictable, huh?” satoru eventually says, trying to catch his breath as his tummy started to hurt from laughing so much.
“nah. i’d say it’s the power of love.”
another fit of laughter follows.
so, the night went on and on; going from discussions about random stupid stuff to deep philosophical conversations and back to the cheesy, lovey dovey remarks.
and of course, the call wouldn’t end without a direct and sleepy ‘i love you’ from your dear boyfriend.
#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#gojo x you#jjk x you#gojo fic#satoru x reader#satoru x you#jjk fic
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Gojo teasing the heck out of you after realizing you get flustered by his eyes
Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader
Word Count: 1,3k
Synopsis: After working with smooth operator Gojo Satoru for years, he slowly but surely began to realize what your true weakness is: his bright blue orbs. And he wouldn't be Satoru Gojo if he wouldn't use that against you...
Warnings: none really, language maybe. Shout out to the anon who requested this! I know I already posted it yesterday, but my Tumblr completely broke down at some point and I had to write support multiple times so this got lost in translation somehow...Hope you still enjoy <3
Tag List: @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @dazaisdick @sanicsmut @arehzhera @mynahx3 (if you wanna get added to my permanent tag list leave a comment to let me know)
Urgh, why does this man have to look so shamelessly good? Your eyes dart towards him when his skilled fingers are about to take his blindfold off. You truly hate Satoru Gojo and the way he carries himself with so much self-consciousness. Yes, Satoru Gojo is one of those men who know exactly how good they look and how to use this power over weak people.
Weak people like yourself.
You aren’t even able to realize how blatantly you stare at him before his eyes meet yours, cheeky grin plastered on his face.
“Enjoying the view, (y/n)?”
Oh, how much he loves the blush that immediately turns your cheeks red, whole face screwed up in pure embarrassment. You’re like an open book, so easy to read that he just can’t help himself. Over the last months of working together with you as teachers at Jujutsu High, he slowly but surely began to realize the power he has over you. How your gaze always wanders towards him, eyeing him up and down. How you seem to automatically walk his direction without even noticing. Yes, it is clear to everyone else that you are attracted to him.
And you are miserable at hiding it.
“Don’t be ridiculous”, you huff, shielding your eyes from his intense orbs.
Fuck, he caught you staring again. You swore to yourself to stop this madness. Yes, you are a grown woman, a truly skilled teacher at Jujutsu High. Seeing a good-looking man shouldn’t leave you all flustered. What about Kento Nanami, Suguru Geto? Why are you able to act professional around all these ridiculous gorgeous men?
Because they don’t have those eyes.
Oh, those striking blue orbs that seem to hold the entire oceans of earth, the eyes that shine like diamonds in sunlight. As soon as you catch a glimpse of him without his blindfold or even better sunglasses you are completely doomed.
And he knows. Satoru Gojo definitely knows. And that’s exactly why he uses every little bit against you whenever possible.
“You’re staring again”, he purrs.
You shake your head vehemently. Stop this madness, you are too old to act like that! With a swift motion you turn on your heels, walking away from him as fast as possible while sweat runs down your forehead. Why the hell did he have to catch you again? How embarrassing, why do you have to act like a horny teenager? Satoru Gojo is nothing more than a beautiful man with way too much charm. What is so special about him?
“You’re walking the wrong way. Your students are waiting over there.”
You stop in your tracks. Please, let the ground break open and swallow you whole.
“Screw you”, you hiss under your breath.
-at training-
“You’re doing quite well today, (y/n). I’m impressed.”
You swing around elegantly, avoiding his attacks under any condition. You narrow your eyes over his dumb comment, gazing at him just long enough to witness how he’s taking his blindfold off.
Oh.
What a gorgeous man. That bright blue orbs that elevate the delicate features of his face so well, how they seem to match the sky above so perfectly. Satoru’s eyes surely have something no men else has. Is it charm, is it the infinite power he holds in those eyes? You can’t put a finger on it.
In fact, you aren’t even able to react when he sweeps you off your feel, back clashing against the hard floor underneath.
Ouch. You groan in annoyance, gazing up at him in distress. This…this was on purpose. That fucking asshole.
“You have some nerve”, you hiss through gritted teeth, face going completely red in the split of a second.
You look so lovely to his feet, whole face screwed up in anger while a wave of embarrassment rolls over you without mercy. Yes, he caught you staring again. Why does it have to be so damn amusing to mess with you? But there’s something else…
Sure, he messes with Utahime and his students all the time just for the fun of it. Something about you is different, though. Yes, it’s not exclusively about laughing his ass off. He likes the way you blush under his gaze, how you react when he looks at you with his bare face. The way you aren’t able to control your emotions at all pulls on his heart strings in a way it shouldn’t.
“Need a hand?” he questions, stretching out his hand in front of you.
“Leave me alone”, you bark at him, smacking his arm away while standing up.
When will this madness finally end? Why can’t you just pull yourself together? You know Satoru Gojo for many years by now, you fought on his side so many times that you lost count. Why? Why on earth are you still not able to contain yourself? Why do you have to get all flustered when this jerk bats his eyelashes at you?
“It’s quite cute to be honest.”
“What?”, you mumble, turning away from his intense stare.
“The way I make your knees go weak just by taking my sunglasses or blindfold off.”
You swirl around, rage running through your veins. Did he really say that out loud? God, please let lighting hit and kill you right on the spot. Why…why did he have to say it like that? Your face feels hot like a thousand fires, it seems like you forgot how to talk.
“What, cat got your tongue (y/n)?”
He sneaks up on you, step by step nearer. Oh god, you feel like fainting. What the hell is happening here? Your heart almost beats out of your chest, eyes completely locked with his intense gaze.
“T-that’s…not true”, you stutter.
Within all the years you knew Satoru Gojo, it was never more than an innocent crush, never more than him teasing the heck out of you. But now he lingers above you, heat of his body so near that it feels like you’re burning alive. No, you never allowed your mind to wander this far, to imagine him this close. But now…
“Are you sure about that? Your body tells me differently. For example, the way your cheeks burn up…”
His fingertips brush against your cheek, gently caressing it.
“Or how your whole body trembles…”
He lets his other hand glide over your shivering arm.
“Oh, and the way your breath got stuck in your throat. What’s wrong, (y/n)? Did you forget how to breathe?”
His face draws closer, only inches away until…
You let out your shaky breath. He suddenly stops, only inches away from the heat of your lips.
“See, I told you I make you weak”, he purrs.
Oh god, lord have mercy. What are you supposed to do now? It seems like your mind went completely numbed, glossy eyes staring at him wide open. He is so close that you can smell him, so close that you can literally feel him. This isn’t about his eyes anymore, it’s about him. Satoru Gojo and the goddamn power he has over you, how you fold just by one glance of him.
“Well, I need to get going now. See ya, (y/n)!”
As fast as this sweet moment approached he is gone in the wind, already on his way back to Jujutsu High. You stay behind, glancing at his back completely bamboozled.
That asshole. He only played with you.
“I fucking hate you Satoru!”, you shout, running after him with your fist flying through the air.
“Nice try”, he comments, catching your hand mid-air.
“But I meant what I said, you really are cute. It’s just that I have a meeting in…oh, 30 minutes ago. Bye (y/n).”
With one last glimpse into his ocean blue eyes he’s gone. That jerk who sweeps you off your feet with his orbs only, the man that makes you feel like a child again.
You sign to yourself. Wow, you really are weak.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#jjk gojo#gojo satoru#jujutsu gojo#gojou satoru x reader#gojo saturo#jjk men#gojo fluff#gojou x reader#jujustu kaisen#gojo jjk#satoru gojo#gojo satoru x reader#satoru x reader#jjk satoru#jujutsu satoru#jujutsu kaisen satoru#gojo#jjk fluff#jjk funny#jjk shibuya arc#shibuya incident#jjk season 2
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PINKY PROMISES✩༶‧˚
GENRE + T/W: sfw, fluff, angst. menstruation comment.
WORD COUNT: 2.3k words.
TAGS: satoru gojo x fem!oc, boyfriend!gojo, child megumi fushiguro x fem guardian!oc, adoptedkiddos!megumi & tsumiki
SYNOPSIS: it's been two weeks since learn to love, and megumi still hasn't opened up to oc gojo girlfriend or satoru yet. so oc gojo girlfriend decides to teach him something about promises.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: i have a soft spot for gojo being megumi's guardian. oc gojo girlfriend is trying so hard, little does she know, megumi actually really loves her already, he's just too shy to show it.
REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions instead, please do!
it was dinner time at the dining hall for all the tokyo jujutsu high school students. while the men were cooking dinner (and by men, that meant all the men were watching nanami cook dinner), you and shoko spoke about the recent gossip that spread like wildfire across campus: you and satoru gojo becoming parents.
“so, gojo brought these kids to your room and basically said that he’s taking them in?” shoko repeated.
“yeah, crazy right? as of two weeks ago, i'm a mother.” you said as you watched megumi and tsumiki in the corner of the kitchen, they were coloring with crayons.
“do you really think that you and gojo can be parental figures in their lives?” she questioned as you were still gazing over at them.
“satoru seems to think so. i didn’t think he’d make me a teen mom.” you joked.
as you watched the two young fushiguros, you wondered if you would be good enough to give them parental advice as they grow up in yours and satoru’s care.
could satoru really raise megumi to be a jujutsu sorcerer? everyone knew that satoru gojo was the strongest, but could he raise a jujutsu sorcerer even if he wasn’t fully trained himself? satoru was still working on perfecting his own techniques like his long distance teleportation and his domain expansion. only you were second to him in laying out your domains.
who would give the birds and the bees talk to megumi? and who would be there for tsumiki when she starts to mature? when she gets her first period? that would be up to you to teach her about puberty and becoming a woman. god, satoru gojo couldn’t even talk about the reproductive system without giggling.
***********************************
“how does (y/n) feel about you taking the kids in?” suguru asked as he and satoru watched nanami flip over gyozas in the frying pan.
“she didn’t take me seriously at first.” satoru replied to him. his mouth watering at the sight of the crispy gyozas. the oil in the pan danced along with the sitting gyozas.
“i mean... have you seen yourself? we can’t even take you seriously.” nanami retorted.
satoru frowned, “thanks nanami...”
“(y/n) is kind. she would do anything to help.” yu haibara put in his two cents. he was a big fan of yours, it was because you were so nice to him and nanami when they joined jujutsu high. you were the one to show them around campus on their first day.
“haibara is right, (y/n) is the best. satoru is lucky to have her. i don’t know how she deals with him.” suguru laughed as he put his arm around satoru's shoulder, teasing him.
“she said she’d help, but that’s after i begged.” satoru grumbled. he hated to admit that he had to beg.
“you? beg?” nanami snorted. he flipped the last of the gyozas and put them on the shared plate. he turned back to the stove and stirred the soup that was boiling away.
“i told her the circumstances, it was up to her ultimately. i could've raised them myself.” satoru folded his arms in defense. he looked over at you and shoko and saw that you were watching the kids too.
***********************************
you and shoko got up to walk over to where megumi and tsumiki were coloring.
“megumi? tsumiki?” you called their names. megumi continued to color and tsumiki looked over at you obediently. her smile could blind a country. she was such a happy child despite her situation.
“kids, this is shoko ieiri. she’s a second year like me and satoru. she’s studying to be a doctor, so if you guys get hurt, you’ll see shoko, okay?”
“hi kids.” shoko waved to the children. she was able to hold a steady conversation with tsumiki, but megumi continued to color and color and color. he didn’t pay anyone any mind.
“dinner’s ready!” haibara called out.
“come on, let’s eat.” shoko grabbed tsumiki’s hand and guided her to the dining table. you were about to leave with them, but saw that megumi didn’t get up from the little table to join everyone.
“megumi, are you hungry?” you crouched down to ask him. he ignored you, like he had been doing for the past two weeks. you folded your arms in discontentment.
how were you going to get through to this kid? his walls were up and you didn’t know how to bring them down. how could you let megumi know that you were there for him?
“megumi! let’s eat dinner!” tsumiki called out to him, but he just brushed her off.
“i'm not hungry.” he said quietly.
“it’s okay, shoko, tsumiki—go ahead.” you shoo’d them away.
you stood back up and let megumi color in peace. you made eye contact with satoru and frowned in defeat. you were worried about megumi. these past two weeks have been hard on you because you tried everything you could to get through to him, to build a relationship with him.
as you sat at the dining table with everyone, you couldn’t work up an appetite. you poked at your gyoza and sipped at your soup.
“you not hungry, babe?” satoru asked, putting his arm around your shoulder as you softly sighed, his free hand rubbing your thigh.
“not really. i'm worried about megumi. something seems to be bothering him.”
satoru squeezed your hand as both of you looked over at megumi. he was still coloring. you saw him look over at the table a couple of times when tsumiki started to laugh while talking to shoko and haibara.
you got up from the dining table as satoru’s arm fell from your shoulder to the back of your now empty chair. he watched you while you grabbed a small bowl of soup and a couple pieces of gyoza. you made your way back to the table where megumi was coloring.
you greeted him, “hi megumi, i brought you some food.”
“i said i wasn't hungry.” megumi repeated himself again, avoiding all eye contact with you.
“well, you haven’t eaten since breakfast, you must be hungry.” you frowned.
“no, i'm not.”
did you just hear some sass in his tone? you squinted at him.
“well, i'm not leaving until you eat your food.” you quipped back at him.
if megumi fushiguro wanted to have a stubborn competition, he was going to have a stubborn competition—and you were the reigning queen of this (satoru would know).
you watched him color. he was drawing two dogs, a white one and a black one. you remembered your older brother, touya, teaching you about the zen’nin clan and the ten shadows technique. the first shikigami a ten shadows technique user could summon were the demon dogs.
was megumi already seeing his shikigami?
“are those your dogs?” you asked him as you pointed at his drawing.
of course, he just ignored you. you dug deeper. “are they the demon dogs?”
megumi stopped coloring and looked up at you, “what do you know about the demon dogs?”
“well, i know that it’s the first shikigami a ten shadows technique user can summon. they are used for many different things like tracking, fighting, or just being there by your side to keep you company.” you told him.
megumi put down his crayons—it seems like you finally piqued his interest.
***********************************
“hmmm, it looks like she got the kid to stop coloring.” satoru announced, looking over at the table as he watched you and megumi.
he felt a weird feeling inside—it was a warm and fuzzy feeling. his heart swelled watching you with megumi.
all the second years and first years looked over at the table to watch you and megumi as well.
***********************************
“can you tell me about the ten shadows?” megumi asked you quietly.
“only if you eat your dinner.” you made him a deal, it was up to him to take it or not.
megumi furrowed his brows as he slowly reached for the pair of chopsticks to pick up a piece of gyoza. you felt that you could continue telling him what you knew now that he started to eat.
“there’s a specific hand sign that you have to do in order to summon any of the shikigami.” you explained.
“do you know the hand signs for the dogs?” megumi asked, chewing his food.
you smiled softly. “i don’t, but i know who does.”
“who?”
“satoru gojo does.”
“oh, the creepy guy with the white hair and sunglasses?” megumi’s comment made you laugh out loud. that was the first time someone called satoru gojo creepy.
“he does give you the creeps, huh? me too.” you joked with him. megumi cracked a smile.
“oh, did i just get a smile from the megumi fushiguro?” you feigned with shock.
megumi started to grin, but he quickly contained himself. he ate some more gyoza and sipped at his soup.
“megumi... i know your father and mother left you and tsumiki—” you started to say, but megumi interrupted you.
“and? it doesn’t matter—everyone always leaves in the end anyways.”
you blinked in shock at how straightforward this 5 year old boy could be. you actually weren’t even sure if he was 5 anymore with that last comment of his.
“well, satoru and i won’t—we’ll always be there for you and tsumiki. i promise—and (y/n) (l/n) never breaks her promises.” you held out your pinky to megumi in hopes that he’ll pinky promise you back.
“what are you doing?” megumi looked at you confused.
“have you ever done a pinky promise before?” you asked him.
megumi shook his head—he hadn’t.
you explained the story of a pinky promise to him, “people make pinky promises so that they don’t break their promise—if you break your promise, you have to chop off your pinky.”
“you’re going to chop off your pinky if you break your promise to me and tsumiki?” megumi asked you with skepticism. he seems like he’s had one too many promises broken in his lifetime.
“yes—and satoru will too.” you answered back.
satoru would understand if you spoke for him. he softly intertwined his pinky with yours and you kissed your thumb to seal the deal. megumi didn't follow you on the kiss back though—it was okay, you'd get him to do it next time.
“do you and that creep pinky promise on stuff too?” megumi wondered.
you smiled at him, “all the time.”
“on what?”
“well, satoru pinky promised me that he will be the strongest jujutsu sorcerer so that he can protect me.” you told megumi.
one day, satoru would have to tell him the story about megumi's own father and how satoru’s near-death fight with toji made him have an epiphany about his own powers. (read ‘the honored one’ here)
you looked over at satoru. he was watching you and megumi. he waved when you made eye contact with him. you winked at him and he blew you a kiss. megumi’s eyes wandered to him as well.
“so he’s the strongest?” he asked with uncertainty.
he couldn't believe that satoru gojo was the strongest. megumi thought he looked like an idiot, especially with the lack of tact he had when he first approached him and tsumiki. why couldn't you have been the one to find them instead?
“yes, he is,” you smiled brightly at your man, “—and he’ll be your sensei when you’re old enough to attend jujutsu high school.”
you thought about the conversation you had with satoru about him becoming a teacher once he finishes his third year. would megumi be okay with satoru being the one to teach him how to channel cursed energy and how to fight?
“are you strong too, (y/n)?” megumi questioned you.
“i'm the second strongest,” you looked at him intently with a promise, “—and i will protect you and tsumiki, just like satoru will.”
“why did he pinky promise that to you?” megumi changed the subject as he started to blush. he wondered why satoru promised to protect you if you were already strong enough to protect yourself.
“well, megumi—satoru is something you call a boyfriend to me. he loves me. and well… you protect the people you love.”
“he was talking about you when he picked us up. he said you were his girlfriend. is that the same thing as a boyfriend?”
“yes it is,” you said laughing. kids were so damn cute with their comments these days, “you might be too young to understand, but when you get bigger, you’ll find a someone you love and maybe you can be a boyfriend too.”
megumi ended up finishing his food. (y/n) 1: megumi 0. you had won the stubborn competition. he took the empty soup bowl and put it in front of you.
“can i have more soup... please?”
EXTRA:
the kids were sleeping in your room as you spent the night in satoru’s dorm room—this was how it had been for the past two weeks.
you climbed into bed as your boyfriend watched you. you sat closely next to him. he was expecting you to tell him the juicy gossip of what happened at dinner with megumi. after giving him a brief run down, he sighed.
“so, megumi is already seeing his demon dogs?” satoru asked. you scratched at the back of his undercut and tilted your head at him.
“yes, baby, and you’re gonna have to teach him how to use them. i told him you know the hand symbols.”
“that’s fine, we can do that. the demon dogs are loyal and loving according to my sources—they would be good to have by his side.” satoru closed his eyes and sighed in bliss, he loved when you scratched his undercut. you stopped scratching as he hugged you close.
“satoru... are you going to tell megumi about his father?” you quietly asked.
“you know—i tried telling him when i found him, but that little shit just cut me off. i told him that if he ever wanted to know about his dad, he can ask me any time.”
“you promise you’ll tell him the whole story?”
satoru intertwined his pinky with yours and kissed you firmly on the lips.
“i pinky promise.”
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#jjk x oc#jjk fluff#jjk angst#gojo x oc#gojo satoru x oc#gojo fluff#gojo angst#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fluff#satoru gojo#satoru gojo x oc#gojo satoru#gojo fanfic#tsumiki fushiguro#megumi fushiguro#megumi fushiguro fluff#megumi fushiguro angst#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#gojo satoru fluff#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x you#gojo satoru x you#jjk x you#gojo imagines#satoru gojo imagines#jjk imagines#gojo satoru imagines
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I Wanna Ruin Our Frienship (Geto x F!Reader)
Summary: You want to try out a tiktok trend with your friend who you maybe have a crush on
Word Count: 1.1k
Content: Fluff :)
masterlist
You’ve been seeing this trend all over tiktok for quite some time, but you never got the time - or courage - to try it out. You had a not so low-key crush on one of your friends, Suguru. His beautiful appearance was easier to resist when you didn’t know him closely, but lately his soft voice, his pretty eyes, and his silky hair have been plaguing your thoughts.
So you finally got the time and the courage to try this trend on him, confessing your attraction to him in disguise. And you could use the trend as a perfect cover-up, in case he didn’t like you back. Easy-peasy!
You’re both sitting in the parking lot in your car, having just done shopping for your essentials, snacks, instant ramen, coffee and period care stuff.
“Suguru, there’s this trend on tiktok…” You start, setting your phone on the dashboard and turn to him with your best puppy eyes. “Will you do that with me, please?” looking straight into his pretty eyes is never easy, but with the plan in your head it’s even difficult.
“You know I can’t say no when you look at me like that.” He whines, but the steady smirk on his beautiful face says otherwise. You love the way his bangs fall on his face, they compliment him well, you think. “What’s the trend?”
“I can’t tell you that yet,” you giggle. “I’m recording it just for us anyways,”
“Okay,” he relents with a sigh. “At least tell me how to act.”
“Oh, just be yourself,” you keep it vague. “I’d prefer your honest reaction,”
“Really?” he draws out, almost purring in your ear. You have to deliberately suppress the shiver that threatens to come down your spine. Sometimes, you think he does stuff like this deliberately just to get a reaction out of you. Instead, you grin at him, and press record on your phone and the audio starts to play.
Jenny darling, you’re my best friend, you lip sync, looking at Suguru’s smiling face in the video. You just pray that he hasn’t come across this trend yet.
But there’s a few things that you don’t know of, the song continues, and Geto turns to you with a confused frown on his brow. He looks you up and down as if trying to decipher you, to see through the lyrics.
Why I borrow your lipstick so often, you lip sync, and Geto wets his tongue, pretty eyes jumping back and forth between the camera and you, extremely confused at the lyric.
I’m using your shirt as a pillowcase, you continue, finally turning to him. You bite your lip as you think of your next move, body heating up in anticipation of his reaction. He’s looking at you now, foxy eyes focused completely on you.
Leaning forward, you put your hands on the collar of his t-shirt and pull him close so that your noses touch as the speaker says, I wanna ruin our friendship. You could swear he looked about as nervous as you felt and when you let him go without kissing him, he too had a pretty pink flush on his face, breathing heavily.
We should be lovers instead. He doesn’t look very happy with that. You’re scared that you’ve pushed too far, but then his big hand gently wraps around your throat and pulls you to him, kissing you properly. His lips fit against yours perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle meant to go together, so soft, so delicious and all-consuming. Geto has the best pair of lips that you’ve ever kissed.
You’re flustered, shocked, delighted and feeling like a dream all at the same time with the intensity of Geto’s kiss. His hand doesn’t leave your neck as the song continues to play, long fingers pressing down on your pulse point, making you shiver. The video stops when the time exceeds, and you finally pull back, nearly panting with the intensity of your emotions.
“If you needed an excuse to kiss me you should’ve said so,” Geto tries to sass you, hiding his pink face behind his hand. He’s playing with his bangs, a habit you’ve noticed he does when he is nervous.
“I think both of us know who actually kissed who, Mister,” you sass him, suddenly feeling very confident. “I can still feel your hand on my neck,”
He clears his throat again, attempting to gather himself. His pretty eyes, usually full of confidence and looking straight into your soul, are averted as he asks, “So… did that song mean anything?”
“Only if this kiss means something to you,” you say, shying away from his words.
“Gods, I’ve wanted to do that for so long now,” he says, the tone of his voice sending shivers down your spine. If it wasn’t for his damned voice, he’d be easier to ignore. “I’m sorry I kissed you so suddenly,”
“We both know you don’t mean that, pretty boy.” You say, narrowing your eyes at him with a smirk. You put your hands on his collar, pulling him close yet again to kiss him. He hits record on your phone once again, putting his hands on the small of your back to pull you as close as he can to the passenger’s side. This kiss is less intense than the first one, but so much more intimate - your lips move in a graceful dance, savouring each other's perfume, taste and the feelings that the kiss surfaced.
“Darling,” Geto purrs against your lips, forehead resting on yours and noses touching. “You should let me take you out to dinner first,”
“You need to ask me to dinner first then,” you whisper, lips brushing against his.
“I’m asking you now,” He says. “Let’s have dinner outside tonight, just the two of us. What do you think?”
“I’d love that,” you whisper before planting another peck on his lips then separating. You pat your thighs, getting ready to drive back to Jujutsu Tech. You can feel the change in the stale air of the car, but it’s a good change. Geto takes your phone to send the tiktoks to himself, grinning like an idiot. You like Suguru just a bit too much, and you hope that he likes you a bit too much too. But there are still things to figure out, and you don’t want to worry about that yet.
The two of you are awfully cheery on the drive back, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by your friends. They don’t question you, yet. You’re getting ready, dressed in a lovely shade of red and applying a lipstick to match when a loud shriek deafens you. Getting out of the bathroom, you see Shoko and Satoru sitting on either beds of the room, a hastily dressed Suguru rushing in, trying to snatch away the phone in Satoru’s hand, veins popping out on his forehead.
“Give me back my phone!” Geto yells, lunging at Satoru.
A/N: Man's so pretty I wanna kiss him stupid
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hello!!! i absolutely loved the work you did on my request! ^___^ i wanted to request again, hahaha, i really like your works!! anyway, i was thinking of an idea where it was reader instead of geto who spiraled down to depression.. thank you very much!!! (ps. it could be satoru or geto btw, i don’t mind!)
when you fall in love (suguru g.) !
featuring: suguru geto
contents: comfort. established relationship. fluff. slight hurt/comfort. mentions of tears. mentions of nightmares. sharing a bed. voicemails. curses. mention of insecurity. mention of eating. i love him. 0.8k words.
notes: anon, i'm sorry this took like 11 days, i was in a writing slump </3
highschool!geto who notices your shift in demeanor almost instantly, he begins to see his own weariness for the world in your eyes. and it scares him, more than any curse.
highschool!geto who speaks to you more softly, welcomes you into his arms after every mission. he cares for you like a frightened animal, gentle and sweet with hesitance.
highschool!geto who is the only one to notice the growing length of each of your blinks, as if your eyes yearned to stay shut. from that moment, he leaves his bed to lay beside you through the night.
highschool!geto who stays by your side in the dark, no matter how many times you have to shake him awake from recurring nightmares, no matter how many times he has to shake you awake to reassure you that you are safe. he doesn’t care how much sleep he loses, as long as he doesn’t lose you.
highschool!geto who begins to prepare your meals for you. it’s not that he doesn’t trust you not to eat, he just wants to soothe his own worries that you are getting the proper nutrients you need.
highschool!geto who is a horrible cook at first, all he could make was simple things. but when he sees the smile that spreads on your face when you see him wearing a stupid apron satoru bought for him in the common room’s kitchen, he finds himself slowly getting better.
highschool!geto who has the warmest hugs, his arms enrapture you in a feeling for pure warmth and care. even in the most self-detrimental moments, no amount of insecurity can delude you from the love in his eyes when he holds you closer than thought to be possible.
highschool!geto who leaves you little voicemails whenever he’s away, or when you’re away. he leaves at least one daily, but he ends up giving you one every time something mildly interesting. one day, while he was away, he left you 27 messages because he had seen so many stupid haircuts on the streets of shinjuku.
highschool!geto who manages to draw a giggle out of you even in your darkest moments, without even knowing how he did it. he’s one of the most genuine people, that you can’t help the amused laugh that spills from you despite your cheeks being wet with tears.
highschool!geto who absorbs curses he thinks you’ll find cute simply so he can show them to you, not even perceiving the taste of their spirit orbs.
highschool!geto who brings you out on missions with him and satoru because he knows that you love to see him happy. just this once, he gets serious with satoru and tells him not to do anything foolish that would put you at risk.
highschool!geto who lets you play with his hair, no matter how tangled you may end up getting it. he loves letting your blow dry his hair, nearly falling asleep every time.
highschool!geto who sends you pictures of him after every mission to put your mind at ease, knowing he was still safe.
highschool!geto who sends you voice messages of him telling you good morning and good night every day, he hasn’t missed a single day in over six months: and he had only missed that one because his phone was out of service for a mission out in the countryside.
highschool!geto who calls shoko and satoru in secret to make sure they always have eyes on you when he’s away, not wanting you to slip while he can’t be there to comfort you. they always tease him for the way he fusses over you, but he just laughs and says: “when you fall in love, you’ll understand.”
highschool!geto who takes you out for moonlit rides on his curses whenever you can’t sleep, flying you high enough to touch the clouds (see: that one scene with hiccup and astrid in how to train your dragon).
highschool!geto who has never loved anyone like you, so much that it even scares him at times. he finds himself unable to stop the smile on his face as he lays in bed when the two of you are separated, a giddy feeling filling his chest and butterflies swirling in his tummy.
highschool!geto who will waste his entire allowance from the school on a capsule machine or a claw machine to get the specific one you want, even if you look at it for just a second. if he runs out of money, he just shakes down satoru for his rich boy money.
okkotsuus 23
#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#suguru geto#suguru geto x reader#suguru getou#suguru getou x reader#suguru#suguru x reader#geto#geto x reader#getou#getou x reader#geto suguru#geto suguru x reader#getou suguru#getou suguru x reader#jjk geto#jujutsu kaisen geto
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if i fell through the floor i would keep falling ; suguru geto
synopsis; geto knocks at your front door one morning ten years after leaving everything he knew behind, fully expecting to be met with a middle finger or a hand to the throat.
when you invite him in, instead, he can’t help but feel somewhat perplexed.
word count; 7.5k
contents; suguru geto/reader (platonic or romantic, up to u!!), gn!reader, geto-typical angst with lots of yearning, open-ended, geto’s pov, reader is a softie, mutual pining kinda, geto is terminally bitter and terminally lonely and also kind of a bitch but we love him
a/n; i’m extremely normal abt suguru geto and the debilitating loneliness he must’ve felt during the ten years after he left <33
”it’s been a while.”
the smile on his face must be sweet, he thinks, illuminated by the blurry light of the morning sun. as charming as it’s always been. coated in a thin layer of lighthearted deceit, a cruelly projected sense of normalcy.
with a hand raised up in cheerful greeting, geto gazes down at you.
— admittedly, he’s a little underwhelmed by your reaction.
astonishment or bafflement was maybe a little too much to ask for. you don’t look very surprised to see him at all; almost as if you were expecting him to show up in front of your apartment at the break of dawn.
and, really, maybe you were. after all, satoru must have told you already. why wouldn’t he let you in on their touching reunion, the promise of war that spilled so easily from his lips?
of course you would have heard of it by now.
still, geto can’t deny that it’s just a little bit disappointing. he would’ve liked to see your wide eyes, would’ve liked to hear you stammer a bit. the expression you’re currently sporting is something else entirely.
you look sad.
there’s a fondness in your eyes, though, unmistakable. a spark of it, entirely impossible to ignore, that catches him off guard. and there’s a softness in the way you raise your head to look up at him, a familiarity that flickers in the depths of your irises.
geto is just a little bit put off by it.
it looks the same as always. you look the same as always. and geto’s heart constricts, where it rests, tucked away deep within the confines of his ribcage.
a moment passes. the sun peeks out from beneath the curtain of the horizon, the violet and indigo of the morning sky melting into that familiar burst of ochre. and geto is content, to silently admire the way that you glow in its light.
he waits, patiently, for your expression to shift. to melt into one of anger, or repulsion, or any other kind of bitter hue.
it never does.
a sigh flows from your parted lips, instead. a soft little breath. in the bitter cold of a morning such as this, it turns into vapour as it drifts through the air. you blink, tiredly, eyelashes fluttering with something akin to exasperation.
”you’re a cruel guy, you know that?”
geto blinks. a fickle moment passes.
then, he smiles.
you’re admonishing him, but you’re doing so almost gently — with an easygoing kind of disapproval. as if you’re still in high school, huffing over the teasing bout of laughter he lets slip when you trip over air.
geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, an action he’s grown awfully used to over the years. smiles are a form of currency, he has come to realize — smiles of deceit, of fondness, of barely contained disgust. all kinds of smiles, whether plastered on or genuine. a means to meet an end.
a single tug of his lips, encompassing an immeasurable number of unspoken words.
the smile that geto graces you with is an amused one. it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s friendly enough. ”so i’ve been told.”
for a minute, you do nothing but observe him. there’s a turmoil behind your eyes that seeps out in the way you look at him, the way you shift from foot to foot and gnaw at your bottom lip anxiously. geto doesn’t interrupt, observing you in turn. waiting for one of you to move the first piece of this little morning game of chess.
in the light, he can almost delude himself into thinking that your eyes change colour, different shades and hues dancing around your dilated pupils. as you gaze over the contours of his face, a certain kind of affection blooms within them, one that geto expected to have faded over the years.
but it’s still there. and it’s the same. a little more blurry, maybe, a little faded at the edges — more matured. but still the same, despite that.
(a memory comes to him. one of you, and him; sharing a bag of chips on the school’s rooftop when neither of you could sleep.
bathed in the light of the moon, your eyes glimmered with that very same affection, like a shooting star breaking out across the night sky.)
one long, careful, tender moment passes by.
the intense contemplation on your features is almost enough to coax a chuckle from the depths of his throat. an urge to tease you creeps up on him, slowly, but before he can open his mouth you seem to come to a kind of conclusion.
and so, you step to the side — allowing him to see inside your apartment, catch a brief glimpse of the interior. you look oddly comfortable, at peace, having made your move; the next piece is his to place.
what a surprising move, though. geto can’t help it if his eyes widen just a smidge, if he blinks in a way that could almost be interpreted as briefly confused. out of all the possible scenarios he’s played out in his mind over the years, this wasn’t the one he expected to merge with reality.
”wanna come in?” you ask, tentative. your voice is inviting. a little clumsy, although he supposes that could just be because of fatigue. it is early, after all.
geto takes a moment to think.
as far as he can tell — and he always can, in one way or another — there is no deceit hidden in your expression. no signs of bloodlust, no spark of violence, no quiet resentment bubbling beneath the surface. earnest. that’s all it is. a little awkward, but candid. pure, in a way.
you aren’t trying to trick him. you’re genuinely, seriously, honest-to-god inviting him inside your apartment.
the next move is his to make.
and geto knows exactly what he should do. he should decline, politely, excuse himself with feigned remorse and a jovial invitation to his own personal hell.
(surely, you already know. the others have almost certainly told you by now. geto just wanted to personally invite you, himself. face to face.)
right. that’s what he should do. that’s the winning move.
and yet, he finds himself moving.
lips curling up on their own, without his approval, geto moves forward. one step is all it takes for him to cross the threshold of your home; a boundary he didn’t expect you to offer up so callously, truth be told, but who is he to deny the wishes of a dear old friend?
”why, thank you,” he smiles, voice pleasant, smooth like silk.
(for just a little while, he supposes he can indulge himself in the opportunity you’ve so graciously given him. just for a bit.)
geto doesn’t bother taking off his footwear, and he knows you couldn’t care less either way. allowing him to pass you by as he waltzes into your very own space, you close the door behind him. he half-expects to hear the click of the lock, but it never comes.
a particular scent envelops him, as he stands by the coat rack, unmoving — he has no intention of taking off his robes, heavy with his carefully nurtured devotion. a symbol of his choice.
the scent is familiar, but also unlike anything he can recall within the borders of his memory; a soothing blend between fresh laundry, and sunlight, and cat fur, and something rather sweet.
there’s more to it than that, though. a certain scent geto could only ever describe as you.
(his heart aches with longing.)
as he ponders the intricacies of the fragrance, geto is acutely aware of the stare burning into his back. how careless of him, to leave it facing you, unguarded and vulnerable.
what a perfect opportunity he’s presented you with; the great curse user suguru geto, forever exiled and wanted dead, now merely a fly at the mercy of the web you’ve created. trapped in your apartment with his back turned to you, a mere lamb to the slaughter.
how easy it would be, for you to plunge a knife into his flesh. to curve your way along his spine.
you do nothing of the sort, though. and for some reason, the realization that you aren’t going to irks him, even though deep down he knew that would be the case. still, it crawls its way under his skin, along the arteries of his forearm, an itch he yearns to claw away.
how foolish. how very like you.
(what a cruel thing change can be, when no one else seems to succumb to it.)
unable to do anything but accept it, however, geto turns towards you once more. you stiffen, as if burned by his gaze, and a part of him delights in it.
”how have you been?” he asks, bright and courteous. there’s a genuinity to the question that geto can’t deny. something about this situation sends a spark of fondness running through his veins.
at the sound of his voice, your eyes soften again. it’s a subtle shift, but he doesn’t miss it. doesn’t think he ever really could, because even though the light inside your eyes makes him uncomfortable, down to the very marrow of his bones, he can do nothing but bask in it. in your attention, in that heavy gaze.
a single word could never hope to faithfully describe the emotion smouldering inside it — but if forced to, geto would humbly settle on resignation.
it’s almost as if you still haven’t fully accepted it, ten years down the line, that you’re only just beginning to. like even now, you’re convinced that it’s nothing more than one big joke; that he’s about to reveal a hidden camera, and gleefully tell you that it was all a prank to get back at satoru.
naive, naive, naive. but geto can’t deny that it tastes sweet, on his tongue — to imagine that you might still have some faith in him, after all this time.
a sigh leaves your lips. you sound a little bit exhausted. it sends a pang of ache to the very center of his heart, and a part of him yearns to soothe you. another part relishes in the pain he must have brought you over the years.
the rest of him smoothly tucks those stray thoughts away, as he brushes non-existent dust off from his robes.
then, your eyes take on a more tender hue. you ignore his question entirely, and speak in a low voice. raspy and sincere, and maybe just a tad bitter, given everything.
”those robes don’t suit you, suguru.”
— a shiver travels down his spine.
suguru.
(the way your lips form around the syllables is still so lovely.)
you’re full of surprises, as always. at least to a certain extent, he was expecting you to settle on geto, to draw a firm line in the sand between him and you. the ocean and the land, always meant to be separated by that thin line, kept apart in each other’s best interest.
but geto is beginning to accept that you’re going to do this your way — sincerely.
the statement is a veil, obscuring a million unspoken thoughts, double meanings that aren’t particularly hard to discern. a silent rejection, a quiet disapproval. there’s a grief to it that sits heavy on your tongue.
taking a moment to collect himself, geto meets your gaze, and all its weight. his lips curl up into a sad smile, a little fatigued. he wonders if you can hear it, in his voice.
(maybe it was stupid of him, to think he could keep this meeting professional.)
”… is that so?”
you continue to look at him, as if waiting for something else. but geto doesn’t give you what you want, that touch of tender honesty he’s sure you’re hoping for.
”i think they suit me just fine,” he playfully disagrees, instead, tone bordering on something childishly stubborn.
you wait just a single moment more, still clinging to that hope for something sincere, anything.
then you huff. it sounds vaguely amused.
”you look like a con artist,” you deadpan, eyes flitting down to examine the outfit again. geto would be offended by your rudeness if you didn’t also happen to be right.
”how sweet of you,” he purrs, shooting you a smug smile. the words are lighthearted, mildly teasing. “that’s exactly what i’m going for.”
you give him an unimpressed look, that he mirrors with a perfect smile — and then you give in to another amused exhale, paired with a soft shake of your head.
there it is again, geto thinks. that sense of déjà vu. it’s equal parts eerie as it is comforting.
silence lingers in the air around you, as hazy sunlight flits in through the gap between your curtains and cascades across the floorboards. until you clear your throat endearingly, and walk past him.
”well, make yourself at home,” you murmur in passing.
considering the circumstances, the words are spoken fairly naturally, and geto has to resist the urge to laugh at how ridiculous this is. inviting a wanted criminal into your home, a literal mass murderer, and treating him with the same politeness you’d show to any other guest.
what would the elders think, he wonders, if they knew? would they brand you an accomplice, question your motives? put your head on the chopping block right next to his? he wouldn’t put it past them, the pieces of shit.
but despite his amusement, geto doesn’t laugh. he only watches as you make your way to the kitchen counter, a firefly catching his eye in the summer night.
(except you aren’t a firefly, and it’s not summer. it’s winter, and you’re someone geto wishes he didn’t still care for.)
”i was thinking of making tea,” you hum, voice soft but still easy for him to discern from his spot in the living room. ”do you want some?”
geto’s lips quirk up into a tiny smile. his voice is teasing, as it flows out from his lips.
”how generous,” he chirps, still idly watching the way you move around the open space, your hair changing colour in the flickering light of the sun. ”satoru could learn a thing or two from you.”
he expects you to flinch. a suitable reaction, to how casually he brings up his reunion with his best friend, like it’s nothing. like it means nothing. like nothing’s wrong.
geto knows it’s cruel, which is exactly why he does it.
but you don’t flinch. you don’t even stiffen. and he senses no anger in your body language, in the silence that settles in the space between his words and yours. all you do is exhale sharply, a little exasperated.
”you shouldn’t be so cruel to him.” a beat. your voice sounds just a little smaller when you continue. ”he’s missed you, you know.”
the reply is nearly instantaneous, and it’s bare. honest. you sound like you’re scolding him, but it’s more protective than angry. and it’s gentle, like you’re patching him up after a mission, reprimanding him for not being more careful.
at this point, geto can tell you have no intention of playing along. how annoying. he wishes you would — that earnest sadness and regret of yours is almost unbearable, and the gentle bluntness you present him with cuts much deeper than his casual cruelty ever could.
you aren’t going to play along, aren’t going to pretend you don’t care. geto wonders why you won’t, why you’re the only one who still refuses to.
satoru certainly has no issue with it. playing along, putting up a front. attempting to treat him coldly, as an enemy. but geto knows him, knows his soul like the back of his hand, and he could tell it was trembling when their eyes met. from underneath those bandages of his, the thin layer of cowardice that shields those precious eyes from the rest of the world. from geto.
and shoko is just as unbothered as ever. always playing it cool, never caught off guard or shaken to her core. geto can’t even tell if it’s an act or not, anymore. but he knows that she was angry, when they spoke that day, ten years in the past. knows she wanted to tell him off, but chose not to.
both her and satoru are like that. always have been. closed off, accustomed to bearing an unbearable weight, resigned to the ache that it brings them. acting distant in a desperate attempt to mend it.
you, though?
you were always a little too sincere for your own good, a little too true to yourself. it must hurt you, he thinks. it must hurt you even just to look at him. yet you continue to do so, unflinchingly.
that’s simply how you are.
you’ve always enjoyed dipping your toes into the grief of it all, leaning into the pain. always the first to take that step into the abyss. content to tear yourself open for everyone to see, even if no one follows suit.
never averting your eyes. never taking the easy way out.
(unlike him.)
geto hums, smiling a little at the sickening irony of it all.
the gentle clinking of ceramic resounds throughout the kitchen, and geto’s ears perk up. his gaze follows your hands, as they move to grab two cups from the wall cabinet. floral designs, he dully notes. blue bells on one, red camellias on the other. a porcelain teapot rests on the kitchen table, but no flowers adorn it.
without your expressions to keep him entertained, geto decides to wallow in the fleeting peace and quiet. aside from your soft breathing and the occasional clinking of teacups, there are no sounds to be heard.
a moment that seems to exist outside of time and space, where time passes backwards and your shuffling in the kitchen is his only concern.
eager to satiate the mellow boredom in his chest, geto’s eyes begin to flit across the space of your apartment. greedily drinking in every detail he can see, as if he’s trying to memorize it all. maybe he is.
everything he can see is a piece of your existence, in one way or another. every inch of the apartment is littered with your fingerprints, your choices and fickle tastes.
like the rich yellow of the curtains you’ve picked out to frame the glass of the windows, bright and stark and blending smoothly in with the cream colour of the wallpaper surrounding it. or the forgotten cup on the table in front of the tv, a faded green. he vaguely remembers seeing you drink out of it back when things were still good, when you both thought of the school as your home.
a book rests on the duvet pillows of your couch, but he sees no bookmark peeking out from between the pages. geto wonders if you still dog-ear your books, and thinks to himself that a crime of that calibre would warrant your own exile if the world was only fair. alas, it isn’t. war of the foxes, he reads from the cover. ironic.
along the windowsills are potted plants, stacked up next to each other, green and flourishing despite the snowy wonderland of the outside world. their leaves differ in shape and size, some accompanied by blooming flowers. he imagines you watering them, dutifully, nurturing them with gentle hands and sleepy smiles.
there are many things to look at, more and more little fragments sprouting up the longer geto continues to do so. a knitted sweater thrown over the wooden armrest of a chair. colourful candy wrappers littering the table. an old radio tucked away in a corner of the room.
geto drinks it all in — a home you’ve painstakingly created, that you’ve allowed him into. he examines it thoroughly, the way an art dealer judges a painting on display. turning the image over inside his mind, twisting it, burning it into his retinas. soaking in every little detail he manages to find.
your home.
(it’s so like you that it hurts.)
finally, geto thinks he’s had his fill of the living room. so he ventures into the kitchen, only a couple long strides away.
the scent that greets him this time is comforting, homey. the aroma of coffee grounds, a touch of leftover curry, a strong fragrance of blooming hyacinths and dried lavender sitting contentedly by the windowsill. through the translucent glass, geto sees layers upon layers of snow on the rooftops, and the gradual rise of the glittering sun.
the quiet buzzing of the electric kettle is the only sound he hears, along with the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, as his eyes wander along the kitchen.
the shelves are stacked with a variety of different spices, and glass jars of honey and jam. along the counters rest a wide array of kitchen appliances, from blenders to rice cookers to french presses. mugs with silly designs are stuffed into an opened wall cabinet, and geto recognizes some of them, to his silent delight.
there are colourful post-it notes stuck to the fridge, messy scribbles of recipes and reminders. meetings, birthdays, grocery lists. even just little doodles, smiley faces and napping cats that make his lips quirk up. and polaroids — he tries not to let his gaze linger on the picture of satoru sleeping in the most uncomfortable, inhumane position he’s ever witnessed, nor the blurry image of shoko smoking by a balcony railing, sleeves cuffed and expression forlorn. he can’t imagine either of them noticed you snapping the photos.
(no polaroids of him. of course not. why would there be?)
geto tries not to look over at the fridge again, examining the floor and furniture instead. over in the corner stands a bowl of cat food, seemingly untouched. the kitchen table is covered with a checkered cloth, kept down by a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
your kitchen is fairly small, but it’s cozy. rays of fresh sunlight envelop it in a giddy, ruminating glow. like something out of a dream.
when geto enters the space, your eyes flit over to him briefly, and he shoots you a friendly smile. your eyes do that thing, again, where they crumble a little at the corners and get a tad softer. like you’re looking at an old friend.
(he supposes you are.)
you clear your throat before speaking, as he takes in all the sights.
”what kind of tea do you want? i’ve got, uh…”
with gentle movements, you open a wall cabinet, eyes swiftly scanning over the different labels of the many boxes, jars and sachets of tea inside. dutifully, you list off the ones you can see.
”earl grey, chamomile… oolong, rooibos…” you continue, seemingly never running out of options, fingers tapping at the handle. ”ah, this one’s kinda weird. it’s supposed to be, like, cherry flavoured? don’t ask, satoru picked it out — but it tastes more like laundry detergent.”
a pause.
”it’s pretty good, though.”
geto can’t help it. the comment coaxes a chuckle from out his chest, and he’s surprised at how genuine it sounds when it spills from his lips.
you seem to notice it, too, seeing as you perk up where you stand by the counter. out of the corner of his eye, geto thinks he almost catches the fleeting glimmer of a tiny smile on your lips.
and for a moment, everything feels familiar. eerie and comforting, in equal measure. a sense of nostalgia drifts throughout the kitchen, mingling with the scent of tea leaves and sunshine and freshly baked cookies.
this is the opportunity you’ve given him — a slice of normalcy. as close to normalcy as one can come to in a situation such as this. a soft bout of laughter, shared between estranged childhood friends, one of which is a mass murderer. it’s really not normal at all.
normalcy is no more than a fever dream. that much has always been the case, but —
there’s a comfort in it, in this. the familiarity of it all. the way you settle into old roles, share knowing looks and cycle through old memories he knows you’re both haunted by.
it’s soothing.
he’s changed, and you’ve changed, but there’s still a sense of belonging between the two of you. in this moment, this sole flicker of nostalgia. in this kitchen.
and for a moment, geto almost forgets why he’s there. almost forgets the unforgettable, the inevitability of a choice he made long ago. it stings, and he wonders how you can bear it; this thin line between longing and awareness.
”so? what’ll it be?”
your voice rings out across the open space, face angled towards the table to meet his stare.
geto hums, absentmindedly, and takes a step closer.
the narrow distance between you two lies heavy, as he shuffles up right next to you, haphazardly sweeping his eyes over the wide assortment in front of him. he can almost, almost hear your breath hitch when the fabric of his clothing grazes your shoulder.
he wonders if the tea is just an excuse, to be able to come so close. to bask in your warmth.
you don’t move away.
”oolong,” he firmly decides. he doesn’t really need to think about it.
then he swiftly turns on his heel, and takes a seat by the kitchen table. confident and graceful — as if this isn’t your kitchen, but his. unconcerned over table manners, his elbows resting on the wooden board, as his jaw meets the heel of his palm. he bites into one of the chocolate chip cookies, the sweetness crumbling on his tongue.
this time, you finally do stiffen — though geto doesn’t see it. he does, however, feel your lingering stare, and when he tilts his head in your direction he catches a glint of sorrow passing through the depths of your irises.
geto blinks. he tilts his head questioningly, a cue for you to follow.
and finally, finally, you stammer. barely, but it’s there. that nervous shiver of your voice.
”ah — sorry,” you mumble, gaze falling down to the floorboards. you seem almost flustered. ”it’s just…”
there’s something raw in your voice, something that wavers.
”back then, you’d always choose earl grey.”
a long moment of silence passes.
there are a million unspoken words in that sentence, geto knows. words you’ll never say, words you’ve always yearned to say. though he has no intention of digging them out.
the sentiment is more than enough.
a bitter taste settles on his tongue, but he smiles, careful to keep his voice light.
”well,” he hums. ”some things change, i suppose.”
to that, you huff out a breath of amusement, turning around to face the counter once more. but not before eyeing his robes again, expression rich with humour.
”yeah,” you hum, lighthearted. something close to a chuckle. ”i suppose they do.”
geto grins softly, in tandem, from his spot by the table. like you’re still teenagers, sharing a look over an inside joke no one else is privy to.
after that, he simply watches you work, chewing at the treat while he waits for the tea to be done. the light of the electric kettle flickers off, and your hands curl around the handle, bringing it to rest next to the teapot on the tablecloth. he watches, expression mildly bored, as you grab the ceramic cups and the silken sachet bag of dried tea leaves.
a strong scent of oolong tea wafts through the air, when you flick your fingers to pour some of the leaves into the teapot. there’s a certain elegance in the way you pour the boiling water, slowly, in a smooth circular pattern. geto follows the movement, the rise and fall of the leaves as water fills the strainer.
you’re unhurried, methodical. there is care in the motion of your hands, the intense gaze you bear as you perform it. every slight twitch of your knuckles, the soft exhale you emit when the teapot has been filled.
geto can do nothing but watch, in silent admiration.
you put the porcelain lid back on, blocking the steam rising up in a flurry of warmth. while the tea simmers, soaking up the flavour of the leaves, you busy yourself with readying two teaspoons.
”how do you take it, these days?” you ask him, as you languidly pour hot tea into the cups. ”any sweetener? milk?”
”one cube of sugar. no milk.”
at that, your eyes flit up, recognition blooming in them as you hear the familiar sentence. but geto keeps his gaze glued to the hyacinths on the windowsill, never meeting yours.
truthfully, he says it mostly to appease you. he figures he can give you this one thing, at least — this one hope that maybe everything hasn’t changed, after all. that he hasn’t changed, in his entirety, that there’s still some remnant left of who he used to be. even if all that’s left of him is just one single cube of sugar.
it’s kind of funny. but geto doesn’t laugh.
you place a cup in front of him. the one adorned by red camellias. geto racks his brain, flitting through past conversations with florists and paragraphs memorized from non-fiction books on botany. what was it, again?
eternal love. long-lasting devotion.
the petals and the calyx of a camellia always fall together.
geto bites back a laugh. some part of him wonders if you’re making fun of him, if this is how you’re planning to release your pent-up anger — in such a petty, roundabout manner. but deep down he knows it was no more than an absentminded choice, on your part.
(you always hurt him most when it’s not your intention to do so.)
as you take a seat on the opposite side of the table, he gingerly touches the rim of the cup. soft steam rises from the liquid, its colour marigold-esque, and geto breathes it in deeply before bringing the ceramic to his lips.
you watch, in anticipation. intensely enough that he can feel it even when his eyes flutter shut, your gaze prickling his skin as he sips from the cup.
the warmth of the tea is comforting, a distinctly floral taste spreading along his tongue. there’s a slight nuttiness to the taste, a rich sweetness. as it runs down his throat, geto hears himself hum softly. a satisfied smile slips into the curve of his lips. inside the depths of his chest, a light nostalgia swirls, pleasant and tingly.
he remembers moonlit nights, whispered secrets you could only ever tell each other, the glimmer of aluminium and rush of caffeine as you gulped down the too-sweet coffee that the vending machines had to offer.
he remembers sunny mornings, muffled laughter shared in the solitude of the kitchen, basking in the floral scent of chamomile and lavender and everything in between as the world woke up around you.
with a clink, geto sets his cup down on the table, pinkie raised lightly. smile a tad bittersweet.
”this is good tea.”
a moment passes. you break out into a genuine smile, nearly beaming, delighted by his approval.
”isn’t it?” you chirp, fingers curling around your own cup, the little painted flowers adorning it. blue bells. geto recalls that old wives’ tale — how wearing a wreath of blue bells compels one to tell the truth. ”nanami got this one for me, actually.”
he smiles, perking up ever so slightly. a little more animated. ”oh?” he takes another sip. ”he always was a snob, wasn’t he.”
that makes your own smile grow, lips twitching upwards, and an amused exhale flows from your lips. a gentle breath. you always were very fond of your grumpy underclassman. ”yeah.”
there’s something familiar about this, geto can’t help but think. eerily so. an acute sense of déjà vu, the same one that’s been plaguing him all morning.
the way you’re treating him isn’t how one would treat an enemy, nor a stranger — it’s how one would treat an old friend. that, and nothing more.
(geto wishes he could say it didn’t soothe his heart so terribly.)
he allows himself to sink deeper into the rotten sweetness of it all. indulges in this one fleeting moment, before everything crashes and burns.
the world outside your kitchen is a cold one, he knows, blanketed by snow and frost that has yet to be stained red. the pure white is a warning, not a consolation — a reminder that there are still things to be lost.
the world of curses is an empty promise, the promise of suffering being rewarded. the idea that the sun will melt the frost around your legs if you wade through enough snow.
(but geto knows better.)
outside your kitchen, only one path exists for him. it isn’t a kind one, nor is it particularly comforting. but, unlike those empty promises, that path has a truth to it. an end point, that isn’t just wait and see what happens, maybe the sun will rise if you’re lucky.
he isn’t a fool. the world is as cruel as it is beautiful, which is a false simile because cruelty is only ever beautiful when you aren’t a part of it. another one of those empty promises. geto has no idea how they kept him going for so long.
but here, in this moment — the world feels rather kind. kind in the sense of being just enough, the kind of brief solace that used to give him enough hope to get through the day.
for now, this aching gap of yet-to-be-ruined is enough. it’s all that he cares about, all that exists.
— but all good things must eventually come to an end.
geto knows it better than anyone, so he isn’t particularly surprised when he looks up to see your face set into hard lines.
you meet his eyes with a certain flickering determination, a conviction — and geto knows you’re about to cross the comfortable line he was hoping you could both maintain for just a little longer.
”suguru.”
he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. a smile is enough. so his lips curl up, silently.
”can i ask you something?”
every move geto makes is calculated, a performance, as your words sink into his subconscious. dragging the silence out, as if trying to waltz around the inevitable end of this sickeningly sweet game of morning chess.
the slow circling of his spoon, creating a vortex for the oolong tea to follow, as it catches the light falling from the window. the way he leans back, to make himself comfortable, letting his jaw rest on the heel of his palm as he dissects your expression from across the table.
there is something almost taunting in his eyes.
but he smiles. courteous, bright. ”go ahead.”
for just a second, he sees you falter. just a smidge, but the way your nails dig into the skin of your palm is telling, just like the way your eyes choose to linger on the tablecloth a second longer than they need to.
then you meet his eyes once more, and begin to speak. geto hangs on to your words, as if they even matter.
”i’m not expecting you to be honest with me,” you state, bluntly. he’s glad to know you’re on the same page for once. ”but i’d appreciate it if you could. just this one time. i won’t ask for anything else.”
another long and tactful sip of his tea. he wasn’t lying, before — it really is very nice. the flavour is strong and thick on his tongue, sweet and bitter all in one. expensive. the pads of his fingers tap along the ceramic of his cup, right over the red flowers that seem to taunt him so.
here it comes. your lips part, but no sound comes out, and geto knows you’re thinking of how best to phrase your inquiry. it doesn’t take you long to decide, a firmness blossoming in the scope of your iris. a sense of finality.
”are you happy?”
despite everything, his breath hitches in his throat. the movement of his fingers halts.
your question comes out clear, candid, sincere. the look in your eyes makes him feel a little like he’s being devoured. vaguely aware of how his smile wavers, for just a split second, geto can only hope you don’t notice it — but he doubts you do, because you only continue to speak, unperturbed.
”i’m sure you’ve changed a lot, these past ten years. and i’m sure you’ve had more than enough time to convince yourself that you’re happy, even if you aren’t.” you bite your lip. ”i should’ve asked you this a long time ago. but now — i’m asking.”
geto’s eyes never leave your face.
”are you happy? are you genuinely satisfied with your life? are you happy with your choice?”
there’s something desperate in your eyes, now. something geto can’t look away from, despite himself. all he can do is touch the ceramic beneath his fingers, hot enough to burn, and listen to you speak.
”if… if you are, then —”
you take a deep breath, a sharp inhale that geto would mimic if he wasn’t dead set on maintaining his composure.
”— then i won’t get in the way. i’ll let you live your life the way you want to. just as long as that’s true.”
geto looks at you, smile nowhere to be seen. time itself seems to halt, in the space of your kitchen. the current center of the world.
he doesn’t dare to even breathe.
”… but,” your voice trembles. you stare intently at your own cup, surely beginning to grow lukewarm at this point. what a waste of good tea. ”if you aren’t happy, then —”
a pause. no one says a thing.
”then what?” geto spits. his voice comes out sounding just a tad sharp, cold like the frost outside your apartment. more so than he meant it to.
your pupils waver, before you lift your head to look at him. the resolution in your eyes makes his breath hitch. an unflinching kindness, one he can’t remember you ever not having.
”— then i’ll do whatever it takes to change that. no matter what.” a beat. “even if it makes you hate me.”
such immense honesty.
geto wonders why he came here, in the first place.
to declare war. was that his genuine desire, though? or was it just another excuse?
with satoru, he can pretend. with shoko, he can pretend. with himself, he can certainly pretend.
but with you?
his fingers leave the ceramic, eyes burning with a decision mirroring yours.
geto’s burned many bridges, in his life. but this particular bridge is one he’ll miss. the cinders that follow won’t keep him warm, that much he knows.
but in the face of such honesty — such genuine kindness — he couldn’t bear not to give you a serious answer.
(it’s the least he could do for you.)
”i am.”
a moment passes. the center of the world shifts.
”i’m happy with my choice.”
it was the only one worth making.
as they fall from his lips, the words taste heavy, absolute. in the light of a morning still yet to be broken by the passage of time, your eyes shift. for a moment geto wonders if you’ll close them. if you’ll give yourself that one relief.
you don’t.
instead, you bite your lip, eyes stubbornly never leaving his own. now you look a little angry, a little frustrated. he’s glad to see that flicker of fury directed at him, at last.
”but are you happy?” you persist, frustrated in a way that buzzes with kindness and concern. a way that makes him feel rather lost.
geto hears himself speak before he has a chance to think about his answer. the voice that comes out of his throat sounds oddly soft.
”that doesn’t matter.”
”it should.”
your reply is equally instantaneous. and geto feels a tremor run through his heart.
”are you happy, suguru?” you try again, pleading. that hope of yours is back, the hope that he’ll be honest just this once. sincere, even just for a syllable or two.
the clock on the wall ticks, hands moving methodically and cruelly, second by second. another moment of time burned to cinders. geto knows what must be done.
this mindless self-indulgence was nice, for a while. but geto has more bridges to burn. more wars to brew.
one final touch. that’s what he’ll give you, in return for your generosity. one final touch of tender honesty, even if it burns his tongue.
”i will be,” he exhales, breathless. ”once all this is over.”
then he gets up from his chair, the squeaking of wood against the floorboards signaling a parting. your eyes never leave his face, as he dusts off his robes absentmindedly, glancing at the half-finished cup on the table.
then geto smiles at you. there’s a fondness to it, one he’d only ever show you. his eyes crinkle, just barely, and the dark brown of his iris shifts into a mellow amber as sunlight cascades down the contours of his face. a genuine smile.
”thank you for the tea.”
there it is. your eyes soften, again, helplessly.
you aren’t satisfied. geto doubts you ever will be.
but you’ve always been the only one to tear yourself open, the only one to step into the abyss. geto has always admired it, just as much as he’s always found it foolish. not once has he ever followed suit.
things like honesty and tenderness don’t suit him. he doesn’t think they suit any sorcerer, except maybe for you.
at last, that grieving resignation finds its way to your eyes again. it doesn’t hurt him as much this time, perhaps because he was waiting for it.
”… you’re welcome,” you breathe. a sad little breath.
geto allows himself to look at you for just a moment more.
then he turns on his heel.
”well, this was nice,” he hums. ”but i really must be going now.”
pleasant and jovial. a voice unsuited for a situation like this. geto wonders if it hurts you as much as it hurts him.
rubbing salt into wounds is all he seems to do these days, anyhow. so he smiles. ”i’ll see you on the battlefield, i hope —”
”suguru.”
…
deep down, geto knows that there’s no going back from this. that the moment he moves his feet, the moment he leaves your apartment — the moment he steps over the threshold in front of him — he can never return.
your kitchen was never his to walk into, in the first place. he was never meant to set foot into your home. that was your choice. geto can’t help but think that it’s every bit as cruel as the one he made ten years ago.
your voice is the same as always. sad and fond. familiar, in how it twists and tugs at his heart in a way nothing else can anymore.
geto waits. he’ll let you have the final word. the final piece moved into place. checkmate.
he’ll let you be the one to devour that aching gap.
curse me, he whispers to the confines of his mind. resent me. i’ve caused you so much pain.
curse me yourself, so i can hate you properly.
”if you ever want another cup, i’ll be here.”
silence falls upon the kitchen.
geto stands still, feet rooted in the spot by the threshold separating the kitchen from the living room. the ticking of the clock is the only sound he hears.
there isn’t a trace of resentment in your voice.
(he wishes you would play along, even just once.)
a low hum buzzes in his throat. the seconds stretch on; more hands moved, more time burned into nothing. the silence is deafening, thick and heavy. an intense moment of contemplation, as geto tries not to shiver under the warmth of your constant gaze, burning into his back.
the center of the world shifts, once more. the gaze of fate falls upon the two of you, bathed in the rays of the rising sun, in a kitchen where normalcy is a little more than just a fever dream.
it doesn’t mean anything, anything at all.
geto knows it. he knows it better than anyone. but maybe he can allow this mindless self-indulgence to carry on, for just a little longer. if only to give him the excuse he needs to see you again, to stand in your kitchen like this, like the view of the rising sun is something he’s allowed to behold.
how greedy. how callous. hasn’t he always been, though?
just for a little bit longer.
”… you know,”
geto takes a step forward, robes fluttering with the movement, heavy and pious. he crosses the threshold, words just above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear.
(in the space between the words, laced together with the silence, lies the ghost of a smile.)
”it’s been a while since i had earl grey.”
#something something geto being represented by a setting sun vs reader being represented by a rising sun…. u get the vibes.#this was supposed to be completely angsty but i got attached to the final line LOL. so now its just a tiiiiny bit hopeful#i mean hes still probably dying lets be honest but theres some room for interpretation if ur delulu like me#tbh the idea of geto continuing his genocidal agenda while casually having tea parties w/ reader on sundays is just.. INSANELY funny to me#every girlboss needs her selfcare day <3#suguru geto#suguru geto x reader#geto angst#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader
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Poppy red.
Choso Kamo x You x Suguru Geto
Explicit Themes (🚫Minors DNI🚫)
Part six of the 'Two + One' story. Click for story masterlist.
Guitarist! Choso Kamo is your boyfriend, and today, after having gone no-contact with his bandmate, Suguru, for a month, you have him over at your house while Choso is visiting his brother. The two of you need to discuss your relationship...and hopefully exhibit much-needed self-control.
Relevant tags: sexual tension, thoughts of infidelity, characters with questionable morals, Suguru is hot, but so is Choso, slow burn, no "y/n" for immersion, 2nd POV, reader has no defining characteristics, explicit smut, missionary, oral sex (fem receiving)
Recommended songs to listen to while reading: HENTAI (Rosalía), Animal I Have Become (Three Days Grace)
A/N: Life has still been busy but I still am so in love with this story so I'll continue to update!! Here's a rather spicy chapter, enjoy :)
Read below cut:
The two of you take either side of the couch in the living room once you’re inside with the groceries all put away.
Suguru had been watching television while you restocked the fridge and pantry, so once you join him, he faces you properly, beginning to speak.
“I want you in my life,” Suguru tells you right off the bat, seeming to want to avoid wasting time, “And before I…tell you how I really feel, I need you to know that I don’t want to take you away from Choso. I understand that you two are happy and I have no ill-feelings towards him.”
You nod, waiting for him to continue.
“That being said,” Suguru looks you deeply in the eyes. “I…what I feel for you isn’t like anything I’ve felt for anyone else. You’re constantly on my mind and I…I just want to be near you all the time. I want to hold you and…kiss you. Since I want to be completely blunt, I…I want more than that, too. I’m physically attracted to you, but also, I…I can picture us together.”
Hearing it out loud is a crazy experience, but Suguru is being open and honest with you. You want to meet him halfway.
“I feel the same way, but I haven’t lost any feelings I have for Choso. It’s very confusing.”
“That’s another thing—I don’t want to hurt Choso. I really like him, and I’d never want to betray his trust.”
You sigh, looking down at your hands, which have begun fiddling with each other in your lap. Then, in one fluid motion, you feel Suguru move closer, his hand covering both of yours.
“I…I don’t know how to move forward from here,” Suguru confesses as your eyes meet, your heart fluttering in your chest. “But I can’t say ‘goodbye’ to you.”
”Look…um, I just think it’s a good idea if we only see each other when he’s around,” you tell him, his palm warm over your skin. Your eyes are fixated on the sight. “We…can’t control ourselves when we’re alone together.’
Suguru sighs heavily beside you, giving your hands a small little pulse, his thumb gently running in small strokes. It makes you nervous, filling you with a pulsating warmth that ebbs and flows in rhythm with his touches.
“See?” You say, “Even this…this is intimacy we shouldn’t be sharing. We wouldn’t do this with Choso around.”
He looks into your eyes, nodding minutely. “That’s true. I know what you’re saying is true. I just…have this urge to not keep my hands off of you. If you were my girlfriend…should you want it…I’d have trouble staying off of you.”
You suck in a slow, deep breath. “When you say things like that…”
“I know,” he shakes his head, “I know, I do. Just…why couldn’t I have found you first?”
“Suguru,” you look away, pulling your hand out of his. “I shouldn’t be entertaining you like this, but I just…there’s something about you that I just…”
“Why haven’t you told him about what we’ve done so far?” He asks suddenly, causing you to look at him again. Your lips part for a second in thought before the honest words come pouring out.
“I don’t want to hurt him,” you say, “He has a tough exterior but he’s incredibly soft and vulnerable on the inside. If I told him…it would…grow. Like a weed. Even if I assured him it was nothing to worry about, it’d be there in the back of his mind. It would make him see you differently too, and it might ruin the band. I can’t do that, Suguru.”
“So, your plan is to never tell him how you feel about me?”
“How can I?” You stand up, gesticulating as you speak, “Suguru, I can’t tell my boyfriend, ‘I think I have feelings for your bandmate even though I’m still every bit as in love with you as I was when we first got together.’ If he did that to me, I would be devastated.”
Suguru frowns. “But the longer this goes on…the worse the lie.”
“I can’t hurt him.”
“So tell him the truth. Tell him how you feel about me, but that you have no plans of ever leaving him.”
“Then what? Then he leaves the band and hates you?” You ask, the idea absurd to you.
“Then I talk to him, too,” Suguru says, “I tell him how I feel, and that I have no plans of taking you away.”
“You tried to kiss me the last time we were alone together.”
“I know,” He says, “but maybe if it’s out in the open…”
“He won’t want me ever near you again,” You protest, “it’s better if this stays a secret.”
“I don’t like secrets,” Suguru shakes his head. “What if I dropped hints? Let him figure out that I have feelings for you? And we’ll see what he does.”
“What good would that do?”
“Then he could control the situation. Would that make you feel better?”
If Choso was the one who picked up on it, he could approach you first, and then you could get a read for how he feels about it based off of the way he broaches the subject with you.
You take a breath before nodding. “Yeah…it would.”
“Okay,” Suguru nods. “Then we’ll do that. It’s going to be okay.”
Your heart throbs painfully in your chest, and suddenly those words of comfort have a lump growing in your throat. Why? Do you like Suguru that much? Is it really having such a great effect on you?
His palm touches your cheek, and you look up at him to see his golden eyes staring into yours. His voice is soft as he says, “tell me how I make you feel.”
There’s a flutter in your chest and you breathe out shakily. “I…I feel a pull. You’re always on my mind, and your music is all I play. When I’m with you, I just…I want to do every bad thing in the book with you. I want to know how you kiss, how it feels, how you…”
Your words trail off as you realize how insane it sounds out loud. Still, he presses on.
“How I taste?” He fills in for you, deep voice low and syrupy, just above a whisper. It robs your own voice from you. You nod your affirmation.
His hand soothes your hair back. “What else?”
You inhale slowly to try and gain miniscule composure. “How you’d hold me…what it would be like if we were together…the sort of things we’d say, how we’d act, if we could just be a couple…”
“You like me bad,” he teases you lightly, and it commands a hot flush to your face.
“Don’t…”
“I’m right there with you,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. “I want to wake up next to you, to see you wearing my clothes, to make meals for you, to go out with you and spoil you…I want to make you happy.”
Your eyes close, and he takes the opportunity to ghost his lips over yours, the metal of his lip rings prompting a hitch in your breath. You begin to pull away, but he chases you, tilting slightly to plant a kiss to your cheek instead. You meet his eyes, and his own hold such an intimate gaze within them that you feel it sear through a layer in your heart. He keeps going; his lips meet the skin of your jaw, hands holding you by your back, and soon he’s trailing a line down your neck, arising goosebumps over the flesh he touches, the soft clicks indicating the cadence of each kiss only heightening your insanity.
Having lost a part of your conscience in his embrace, you return it, holding him close to you and relishing in his affection. You thread your fingers through his hair, pulling it from the tie it had been in, and he breathes out in relief, the warm air brushing over your skin.
His mouth stops at the neckline of your shirt, eyes glancing up at yours.
“I want to keep going,” He states, lowly and softly. You swallow thickly, afraid of the lack of control you might display if you told him what you really wanted to say. Luckily, he doesn’t put you in that position, and he takes a breath, straightening up and putting some distance between you. “I won’t, though.”
Your eyes hold his for a moment, and then you move to speak.
The lock in the front door turns.
Choso.
You hurriedly sit on the couch, an appropriate distance from Suguru, and understanding the situation immediately he follows suit on the other end. The door opens just in time, and your boyfriend walks through the door.
“Chos’,” you greet with a smile, standing and moving to kiss him.
“Hey,” He kisses you back before noticing Suguru on the couch. “Oh, hey. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Oh, yeah,” Suguru puts on his signature disarming smile. “We happened to be out at the same grocery store. I had to get more tea for Larue, and the place I usually go was out so I came over here.”
“Yeah, I ran into him and invited him over,” You corroborate. Nothing we said was a lie. Just not the entire truth.
“Cool,” Choso smiles easily, not phased or suspicious in the slightest. He removes his shoes and drops his keys in the basket near the door.
“How was hanging out with Kechizu?”
“Ah, same old,” Choso shrugs, “just played games and had pizza.”
“That’s good,” You say, moving to sit back down on the couch. “I got us restocked for the week with groceries since I got a little bored.”
“Oh, good. We can just use Sunday for a lazy day then,” Choso states, moving to sit where you were sitting on the couch. That leaves one spot; between him and Suguru.
Seeing the turmoil flash behind your eyes, Suguru stands.
“Well, it’s getting pretty late. I should get going home since it’s a little far from here.”
“Oh, you sure? You don’t want to stay for dinner?” Choso asks, “we can just order in and hang out, you’re not imposing.”
You take a breath, and Suguru shakes his head. “I appreciate it, but I gotta run some more errands before I go back. I’ll take you guys up on that on another day if you’ll have me.”
“Sure,” Choso shrugs, “you’re welcome any time.”
“Thanks,” Suguru smiles, then walks to the door. He passes you, and you get another whiff of his jasmine cologne, your last dose for the night. He starts putting his shoes on. “Thanks for having me over.”
Recognizing he’s talking to you, you smile in a way that you hope is convincing. “Sure, it’s no trouble. We’re friends now too, after all.”
Something gleams in his eyes at that. The denial you’d given him last time has been overwritten. “Yeah? Sweet. Hey, would you mind if I got her phone number, Choso? It’s not weird, right?”
What?
You look at your boyfriend, who shakes his head. “No, it’s not weird,” He chuckles lightly. “Go ahead. It’s probably a good idea in case of emergency anyway.”
“You’re right,” You agree, moving over to Suguru to take his phone and put your number in it. You text yourself so you have his.
“Thanks,” He says, taking his phone back. “Well, I’ll see you Monday, Choso! You guys have a good night.”
“You too.”
Choso raises his hand in a wave, and you close the door behind him once he leaves, locking it.
Once you turn around, you see your boyfriend’s eyes traveling over your figure, and it makes you feel warm.
“Chos’?”
“You look really beautiful like that.”
You take a look at yourself. Your hair’s kind of messy, and all you’re wearing is one of his sweatshirts and shorts.
“Thanks,” you laugh, moving to sit beside him. “I’m not wearing anything special.”
“So?”
That catches you by surprise. He’s usually not this bold. He reaches out and puts a hand on your leg, running it up your thigh.
“I’ve been thinking about us…” Choso says, “and…that time when I got a little flustered after you wanted me to choke you.”
Your mouth dries up. “…oh?”
“Do you want me to be rougher?”
Your next breath is uneven. “W-well, I…”
“I need you to tell me what you want,” He says, voice dropping a bit in volume. “You know I’ll give you anything.”
“A-anything?” Your voice is thin. He nods seriously.
“Anything in the world.”
You find yourself nodding. “I want…I want to try it rough.”
His lips are on yours in the next instant, and everything after that is a blur of bruising touches, the hurried removal of clothes, and an insistence in your boyfriend you've never seen before.
He has you laid out on the couch, both of your clothes strung around the room unimportantly, his mouth trailing kisses down your neck. A reminder that Suguru had been there not even an hour ago has you feeling a whirlwind of emotions; the shame gives way to arousal.
Choso’s teeth near your nipple has you gasping right back to the present, and you look to see him sucking marks into the soft flesh of your chest. His hands are on your thighs, spreading them, and without warning you feel the glide of his length against your mound.
He begins grinding against you as he marks your breast up in hickies, pulling noises from you that you don’t recognize.
His tongue runs over your nipple and you cry out, arching your back as he doubles down and continues to run his tongue over the hardened peak, your sexes rubbing intimately together in a way that makes your heart feel close to bursting.
It’s like he’s a new man tonight…he’s never this into it.
His teeth graze the tip of your nipple and you shudder, wrapping your legs around his waist and beginning to move your hips with his. He groans at that, moving to the next breast and giving it the same attention the first one got.
“Chos’,” you moan out, feeling one of his hands find the apex of your thigh. It’s only a second before two of his fingers find their way inside of you, slipping in with no resistance due to the way he’s masterfully turned you on. He starts pumping his fingers at a pace, the long digits reaching deep within you, making you shiver again.
The combination of his mouth and hand are enough to make your head spin.
He adds a third finger and begins moving down, sliding to his knees off the couch and readjusting you so that he supports your legs with his shoulders.
His lips scatter kisses and marks over the insides of your thighs as he continues to finger you, and not wasting any time, his mouth finds exactly where you need him, lips wrapping around your pearl and sucking as he pushes his fingers in deeper.
“Fuck,” is what leaves your mouth in a hiss, your hand gripping the couch tightly as he starts eating you out with gusto. “C-Chos’…”
He hums, tongue working wonders on you, and you think for a moment that you might actually lose sanity.
It��s not like he hasn’t done this before. It’s just that you didn’t think he could be so bold. Usually he goes slower, he never really leaves marks, and he sure as hell doesn’t curl his fingers inside you as he’s doing now—but you’re falling even deeper in love with him.
“Oh my god,” a moan leaves your mouth, and he licks a fat stripe up your swollen bud before attacking it again with a kiss. “Choso…”
His free hand finds your breast again, and it’s over soon after that—the way his fingers pinch and tease at your nipple combined with everything else he’s doing sweeps you over the edge swifter than you’re prepared for, and your orgasm slams into you with a cry of his name.
Or, rather, your first orgasm of the night.
He doesn’t stop there. He straightens up and climbs back between your legs on the couch, kissing you deeply as he lines up. Instead of asking, he takes, driving himself inside of you and making you take him despite the sensitivity of your walls.
You gasp as he begins moving immediately, nails digging into his shoulders. When you clench around him he groans, right in your ear, and you look up at him to see his face flushed prettily, sweat dripping down his forehead.
Another wave of lust for him takes over and you kiss him hard, nails dragging over his back. He mewls into your mouth and picks his pace up, the lewd, wet slap of your skin tell-tale to anyone who may be walking by the front door of your apartment.
That reminds you…the two of you have never done it on the couch before. He couldn’t wait long enough to get to bed.
Another one of your flutters around him causes his hips to stutter, and he ducks down, dragging his teeth over your ear before leaning up on his hands above you.
Then, one of them finds the base of your neck. Your lips part as he squeezes gently, focusing more power on the slam of his hips into yours. You feel him deep inside of you, the dull, harsh stretch of him forcing you to accommodate, and your eyes roll to the back of your head, voice reaching octaves you didn’t think you were capable of.
“I love you,” he breathes, kissing your open mouth, and you shiver from the contrast of his rough-fucking and the gentle declaration of devotion.
“I love you too,” it comes out of your throat like a wrecked sob, and amidst his panting, he reaches down and starts rubbing you in time with his thrusts, doing exactly what you need in order to finish for the second time.
As soon as you do, you feel him twitch, pressing deep into you to give you his load. Your own body shakes at the feeling, a sense of euphoria washing over you akin to the rush of opium.
When you open your eyes, his own mahogany ones are looking at you, a loose, dopey smile on his lips.
“Fuck,” you rasp intelligently, and he chuckles, burying his face in your neck.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you nod, hugging him close.
No one is on your mind but him. What else happened today? You can’t remember. You can’t think at all.
Right now, Choso is your world.
___
A/N: calm before the storm me thinks. Seriously though, if you're sticking with this and still waiting for the updates, thank you so much, I appreciate you. I still plan to post on AO3, I'm just not sure when I'll have the time. Keep your eyes out for the next update!
Please don't copy or repost, but feel free to reblog and share!
Taglist (comment here or my masterlist if you want to be added): @jaegerstan222 , @cosmicstarlatte , @dabisdolly , @moonriseoverkyoto , @propheticfire , @bontensbabygirl , @crlyhairedwxtch , @alittlebirdahgaselx , @okkovtsu , @notbellasstuff , @uchihabbynic , @polaroidnana , @childofilluvatar , @shadowfoxy , @jordan-network , @dreamtravelersade , @unmatchxd , @lucyrocks86 , @spineyy , @k3lbade , @xxbuckpoppi , @naughtygobbo , @slammynics , @roseambers , @luvingyouwasreallyhard , @hinachaaan , @redladyrae-blog , @spiteless-xo , @slutforaz , @bellaabee082 , @thedorklingqueen , @delayedrage , @poopwons , @pandisastergod , @username23345 , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @forest-haven , @midnaamethyste , @bihanspookies , @mysteriouskiller1 , @liyahthings
#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#choso kamo x reader#choso x reader#suguru geto x reader#choso kamo#jjk imagines#jjk scenarios#geto suguru x reader#choso kamo smut#choso my beloved#jjk choso#choso jjk#choso#kamo choso#suguru geto#geto suguru#jjk suguru#getou suguru x reader#jujutsu kaisen suguru#jjk geto#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#two+one fic
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see you later
(ch78/s2e5)suguru x reader, angst (nah i fucking hate myself for this), so much hurt and absolutely no comfort
suguru asks you, with the soft voice that he’s always had, one that is gentle, warm and loving, “do you think i’m a terrible person?”
he knows he is—at least, he himself believes that he is—but he doesn’t blame himself, not when he just wants to live in a world where he and others just like him don’t have to continue to suffer. isn’t it fair to want to truly live? not to be stuck in a world where the lines between justice and immorality are so blurred people no longer know which is which? a world where maybe, just maybe, he could catch a glimpse of truly being able to be happy from the bottom of his heart?
maybe you don’t understand. he doesn’t expect you to. he’s grown up, not needing everyone to understand him or even be there for him. times have just simply changed and if you tell him he’s stupid, he’s horrible, he doesn’t deserve to say goodbye to you, then so be it.
but, even still, his shoulders relax when you sniffle and shake your head.
“i don’t,” you whisper to him, voice so constrained as you try your hardest not to let it crack or let a sob escape past your lips. you’re scared that once it happens, your last conversation with suguru would just be you sobbing, wishing you got to say everything on your chest. it still seems likely, though, since you can’t even face him or find a way to put things together so that he’d maybe understand why you don’t and won’t ever hate him.
the way suguru let’s out a breathy “really?” is almost comical. he lets out a small chuckle, one that would make anyone wince as it sounded so painful; but suguru’s never been great at trying to make heavy topics into something lighter even when you are. he’s always taken things as they are, seen situations for what they are, and maybe that’s why he’s where he is now.
it’s ironic how this same attitude, simply accepting and seeing the truth and value of the strong having to protect the weak, that because he was gifted with an ability he’s to save those who aren’t, is now applied to needing to build a world where the weak he used to protect no longer exists. how can you blame him when it’s those same people needing to be protected that left him a mess, unsure where his morals are, unsure of his own path. it’s easier said than done not to lose your way, and suguru knows that first hand.
he doesn’t explain anything to you, he’s certain that the others back at the school probably told you already. he’s just here to say goodbye, anyway.
maybe, too, he’s here to hear your voice one last time.
“this is where i’m headed now,” he continues, voice still gentle, warm and loving, “and… all i can do now is give it my all.”
“i know,” you hurriedly tell him, nodding as you wipe away your tears desperately. there’s a part of you that’s you wishing he was saying something else—that he isn’t saying goodbye without actually saying it because the both of you know it’s always been ‘see you later’—but you know better than to wish and hope away things like this in your life. that there is no later, and this is it. you’re left with no options but to cherish this last moment and it just hurts. still, you can’t say anything else but, “i know, suguru… i know.”
he gives you time, patient as ever, and watches you from where he stands. he’s farther than he usually is, no longer keeping your feet between his own, and now needing more than just a whisper to let you hear his words. he stands at an unfamiliar distance, but he doesn’t allow himself to cherish familiarity with you anymore since he convinces himself that it’s better to just say goodbye. it’s cruel, though, that the hug you two shared two weeks ago became the last one without you two knowing.
“y/n,” he finally calls out—he realizes he no longer has all the time in the world with you.
“i know,” you repeat, this time unable to hold back a sob, “i know, suguru! and i’m so sorry! i didn’t— i didn’t—“ you inhale sharply and cover your mouth with both your hands. now is not the time, you tell yourself, you need to say something to make this worth while. “i just wish i was there,” you whisper, looking towards suguru with your brows furrowed upwards and your expression twisted in a way that suguru sees a pain that he never wished to see you in.
he nods to let you know he heard you, though, never looking away as you had finally looked him in the eyes since he got here. “remember to eat and take your vitamins, okay?” he tells you, taking a step back as he clenches his fists in his pockets, “and make sure you set a timer on your fan at night so you don’t wake up all cold in the mornings, okay?”
you nod as he speaks. “okay—“ you sob out, “i will— i’ll— i'll remember.”
he nods again, forcing the smile on his face. “okay. then...” he couldn’t bring himself to do what he came to you for. he lets out a small laugh and turns away, not wanting to ever let you see that this was hurting him as much as it was hurting you. “see you later.”
#jjk imagine#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jjk headcanons#jujutsu kaisen reader insert#jjk reader insert#jujutsu kaisen drabble#jjk drabble#geto suguru#geto suguru x reader#geto x reader#geto suguru x y/n#geto x y/n#geto suguru headcanons#geto suguru reader insert#geto suguru drabble#geto suguru angst#geto angst#jujutsu kaisen angst#jjk angst
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-RING RING!!
Say Hello to our Operator Number two, Exclusively in Demand:
── .˳⁺⁎˚ This caller seems to be into Power Play and the Normalisation of Frat Boys
── .˳⁺⁎˚ Gojo Satoru Starring in ⌞Power Couple!?⌝
Synopsis: the famous rich boy of the campus and the principal’s daughter? Scandalous—especially when they’re both jealous as hell.
— word count: 7.7k
— a/n: sort of like a repost/continuation—the sfw part is basically the entire “Opposites Attract!?” Fic, but since the idea was a part of kinkmas I’d initially decided to split it but then, I didn’t want that anymore soooo here you go, slow burn(?) with smut lmao [scroll like all the way down for just the smut💀] [also for Gojo’s birthday I posted it a day earlier hehe]
— warnings: fem! Reader x Gojo smut!! MDNI!! Oral (m! Receiving); partial exhibitionism(?); undertones of jealousy; porn with plot; slightly subby Gojo to total daddy dom moment💀 power dynamics; cheating dynamics(?); Suguru; lot of build up and pining; idiots in love; Satoru gets drunk (non-canon but shut up); manhandling; oral (m! Receiving)
4.5 g.p.a—a perfect reputation that you held, a decent social life—an amazing father to back you up, you weren’t ever part of the fraction of people who got in through with scholarships, why would you when your father stood as the dean? —but you’d worked for it.
3.7 g.p.a—it could’ve been far better, easily, if he only put himself in—far too loud a social life with a following of 4k+ on his Instagram while he only followed back his best friend and pretty little things (for a day or so)—part of the fraction who got paid in, who never struggled for it.
Sure, you hadn’t really struggled either—but hypocrisy was only allowed to one and you chose to take your chance.
You didn’t…despise him, the man that Gojo Satoru stood out to be, but lords, you hated the concept around it.
The loud cackle at the back of each lecture—the proxies and his fan girls, you hated it all.
More so, you hated just how enamored your dad was—after all, it was Gojo Satoru that had won the trophies and the plaques—Satoru Gojo that was a Power Player.
But the credit wasn’t to be forgotten for you too—dabbling in all that was academic, if the second half of your dad’s office as the dean were filled with Satoru’s achievements, the first half was yours.
Two sides of the same coin.
———
Your eyes never left your dad for a second, “you can’t possibly expect that out of Me dad,” the whine wasn’t subtle, nor the snicker that gojo let out at your words and outlet—earning a hard glare.
And to all the pampering and spoiling your father had to offer, it all failed when it came down to the pride and prestige of the university.
“It’s non-negotiable y/n,” the sleek brown in his room shone that afternoon, polished—every groove, every rounded corner—almost a story to behold.
“Yeah! Tell her Mr.Dean,” another snicker- another glare, your father sighed in his dismay.
“You,” your father glared at him, “need to find a way to shove it in your schedule as well—you’re both the elected representatives.”
To end with all whines and groans.
“I have no idea how but I need you two to find a presence of mind and perform your best in curating an experience at the fest. Dismissed.”
A sharp inhale, yours and the roll of Satoru’s eyes, your dad was aware how interesting an evening and a fest in general he would be witnessing.
———
You’d known Gojo Satoru for 3 years now, spending the last together at the University, standing as the President of Student Council—all against Gojo’s constant “nepotism” comments while he stood as the Captain of the Football Team—against your criticism as well.
A certain peak in the way you two governed your particular fields independently but, together?
Well.
Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t always that you both disliked each other but, you couldn’t exactly deny the certain distaste the day you’d set eyes on him…
-
~First Year~
“Dad, please, make sure that no one knows that you and I are, at all related,” a chuckle your father let out, “of course darling, but don’t get prissy when I don’t let you out with attendance matters and all,”
Another chuckle shared, nothing too serious.
“I’ve heard Gojo Satoru will be joining this year too?”
An innocent question, curious is all you were—anyone would be, one of the best the country had seen in years.
Your father nodded slowly, “just so happens to be true, stay in check though, don’t want messing with people like that,”
It was evident, the wary tone that your father had acquired over the years, dealing with all that was the ego of such students, who stood tall with the heap of money that belonged to their daddies.
A slow nod you passed too—your father smiled, you were a smart girl after all.
But fate was decided and what had to happen would happen for sure.
Because you swore to maintain the secret, you weren’t to be even found to have the slightest relation of blood with the Dean — but then whatever could you do when you step out blindly, bumping right into the guy you wanted not to.
A hiss and a curse—“the fuck? Watch where you’re going,” he mumbled-eyes boring into yours, and then simultaneously, at the car.
Anger that flashed down right—“watch your damn language,” unironically, you muttered—something he’d never let you live down.
“Woah there princess, what are you on? Some patrol duty round here-?” The smirk was infuriating, his disheveled hair all the more—especially when he continued messing it up all the more.
A scoff, yours—“Mind your own business,” a shove passed and an attempt to move away—“Y/n L/n?” He held your campus manual.
The certain way your name rolled off his tongue, it caught your attention—“ya dropped this,”
A smirk adored his face as he handed back to you the campus manual, of course it wasn’t anything you required but to solace your father, there you held it.
A cramped “Whatever,” you let out, snatching the booklet from his hands quick—wanting nothing more to do with the stranger that you’d bumped into.
Just as you walked away though, “L/n huh?” The words, his, that you knew would cause you issues.
-
“He’s Satoru Gojo?” Your surprise lay hidden under the music that boomed all too loud—watching closely the white haired boy you’d bumped into a couple days ago.
“Yeah? You didn’t know?” The grin on your now best friend, and then just-roommates-friend offered little help.
Of course you hadn’t, and now you wish you didn’t still.
It was true you’d spotted him all so much over the past few days, and the people that followed him and the rumors still—unaware to why and how.
But now, with all the pieces in your hand you wanted to hide away—especially when those blue eyes stared right back—with a grin he trampled over.
“Oi! L/n right? We met at the first day?”
You cringed at how loud he spoke—so very sure that absolutely everyone could hear him, all over the booming music.
A subtle nod you passed, trying to get away from the spotlight he’d casually thrown round you.
“Your dad’s the Dean right?”
Silence- literally, just as he said that, the music system paused too—you wanted to curse your luck.
Widened eyes—star-struck stares from all those adored Gojo, amused ones at you from everyone who bothered to think.
You’d have considered lying—unless Satoru Gojo hadn’t chosen to be a dick about it, “You guys have the same last names so I thought- and then, the other when we bumped into each other- remember?” He chuckled as a couple of girls let out audible gasps, envious that you had already touched him so.
Before opportunity even lay still, he continued, “so I thought, because frankly either you’re his daughter or…you know, mistress—but that I doubt,” you wanted to punch away the grin he held, the snicker and the secrets he dropped out like flies.
So while you stood there, waiting for the ostracism—Gojo only giggled, “Don’t worry though, you’re fine, got more of your mom’s genes right?”
Fuming, you stood there—red that masked your vision—“excuse you?” A brow remained cocked, Gojo’s facial expression never once changed—it was about to.
“You’re one to talk about dads huh? Your daddy donated in just about how much into your esteemed football team huh? To get you selected?”
Satoru wasn’t new to comments such, in fact that’s what he’d built his career over but just the way you said it—just the way your angry face stared back at him—he found you annoying, adorably so.
That night, Satoru’s fan following increased by a decent thousand or so, people became aware of you and maybe, you realized, being the Dean’s daughter wouldn’t be that bad a fact.
But all the more, Gojo and you formed a sudden bond still, dislike and nothing less masking the two of you whenever the other was mentioned.
A farce? Maybe—but you were easily, in too deep to stop now.
Often nights you spent, thinking how the two of you could be friends—but huge egos that clashed in, something told you it wouldn’t happen all so easily.
-
The following week and there on were interesting—you joked all week that you’d blocked Gojo, you never did.
Gojo swore he’d have you black-listed for being so audacious—he never did.
When the huge messaging group—meant to be dead in a day—was formed, you both ended up saving each other’s number discreetly, never to approach it again, at least for a while.
And that was just how it went on “he annoys me so much,” and “she annoys me so much,” but little by little, small steps in the dark—you both were each other’s biggest cheerleaders still- applauding each other louder than anybody else.
———
Hands clutching onto your notepad you continued jotting down the points—fingers working fast so as not to let a single bright thought escape you.
The event was huge—the University’s 150th Anniversary—perfect, grand, extravagant—to be organized partially, by you.
There was time, plenty—absolutely 1 months before the panic would settle in, 2 before it would be over.
But seconds were quick—hasty in the way they changed into minutes, hours to come and days passed by, never realized.
A finger raised to push your spects up the bridge of your nose—you sighed, eyes landing on the form in front of you—mouth ajar and his sunglasses fixated in his hair, another piece of candy tossed up high before he caught it in his mouth.
A frustrated sigh you let out—“can you please sit straight and help?”
His eyes bore into yours- cerulean, they were pretty, almost prettier than the whole of him, you hated it.
“Isn’t it your job?” A grin he passed, a clench of your jaw was all you could—“we’re in this together, don’t give me that bullshit,”
Another grin, “talk to me when you need booze,”
“You don’t even drink,” the words fell out your mouth all so quick, hesitant you looked at him—“how do you know?” It was an amused smirk that he held, it annoyed you how the man in front seemingly only talked in three supposed emotions.
A small break, “well, I uh- noticed through the parties,” it was true, you did notice through the parties—it was hard not to, since you didn’t drink—you couldn’t be all so sure about the rest.
“You notice me at parties? You notice me at all?” Urges inside you that had to be controlled, such a perfectly punchable face Satoru Gojo held—“help me work on this damn idea,” you mumbled, ignoring all of what he wanted to discuss.
A roll of his eye and yours—“not gonna do it so easily,”
A huff you let out.
Frustration at peak.
“Actually,” your voice was quieter than you expected it to be, “wouldn’t it be better if you were there to advise us? Me? You’ve been organizing parties for so long and,” your face turned towards him—smile never faltering at his disgusted expression—he knew what you were doing, he wasn’t new to sugar coating after all, “I would love learning from the best.”
Jaw clenched, hands sauntered over to the back of your chair—most would consider it an action of endearment, you knew better.
“I would beg to differ Ms. Daddy’s princess,” Your blood boiled at his ignorance—sure, he was Satoru Gojo—but nothing gave him the right to act superior when he stood at his father’s money itself.
Hell, all he was meant to be was just a batchmate, captain of a stupid team that barely mattered—you?
Sure, a well suited empire would never land on your back, nor a fortune as his until you’d worked half your life into it— but you were better, you knew it. Denial onto his privilege to negate the Authorities could’ve never been acceptable by you.
your eyes remained stuck onto the ground —defiant—“well, i suppose it would only be for the best,” stubborn you sat and so did he—stuck in between the thickening tension.
“The best,” his voice exasperated, “would be for someone like you to sit back down and do as you’re told.”
Mouth hanging just in the slightest, you dared not to meet his face—focusing on the little stains and creases you’d administered on your sneakers—eyes sneaking onto his pair, perfect, as expected.
“That’s a little rich, coming from you—”
“—and this is the best they’ve found? You? To help me huh?”
Bigoted. Nose flared, curses at the tip of your tongue and you could do nothing as he further scoffed, “getting a privileged bitch to do my job, now they know my worth huh?”
“Excuse you?” Shaky, you sat—words spilling out before you could stop it—“your worth? Absolutely as nothing, but a spoiled man-baby who cannot deal with things maturely?”
Confusion marked his face—of course he would be, all so blind to the simple generosity that gets offered to him—all so he can kick a ball.
“The event is in 2 months sir,” address regained to the topic, you spoke flatly, “I would well appreciate that you helped us in the organization of said fest—if not, well, it would be a sheer pity that the entire football team would have to suffer,”
And there lay your ultimatum, naked and threatening—and he knew it was all but empty.
“L/n,” Gojo coughed—not quite sure, uneasy evidently, with the tension that hung lose in the atmosphere—“You maybe influential in your own ways on the campus but-”
“-but I’m just a student here, as you are,” you looked directly at Gojo now, “And to adhere to rules is the basic of most authoritative environments. So I suppose, you’ll be all the more pliant in helping us plan the fest and encouraging our juniors to help us out.”
Defiant—squinted eyes of Gojo simply stared blankly—“Alright,” he muttered.
“If help is what you want, that’s what you’ll get.”
And the deal was settled—to your compromise and his.
-
A week had passed since—the discomfort only grew.
“What the fuck? You’re speeding rumours now?” Rough were the words that greeted you first the moment the two of you entered the study you currently sat in—a half shrug you passed him, “I would need help and rather than begging you for it, why not just keep you as my assistant?”
“Excuse you?” His tone, bewildered as he shut the door behind the two of you—“Your assistant?” He barked out a laugh—“They really are making sheer idiots now huh?”
“Says daddy’s little prince who couldn’t use his academics to get in like everyone else,”
A scoff he passed—“How very original, at least my daddy has the power and how is yours, at all better?” he let his words trail off, a smirk on his lips as he pulled a chair to lounge in, and well, all cases be true, his dad probably had more money than you could imagine.
The certain charm of Gojos, after all.
“Don’t gotta flex your daddy’s sex work like that buddy,” you muttered, pulling a chair across him—peculiar you found it that he didn’t do so much as throw a fit in objection to the forced responsibility.
“Just giving inspiration baby,” he drew out—he winked, phone pulled out fast as he typed, you sat by forgotten.
A roll of your eyes—“Help me at least,”
Silence- you sighed.
“You’re supposed to help,” again, the very same cold air met you—“Gojo,”
“Nope.”
A sharp intake of breath and you stared at him, had it not been for the pretty face he had you’d have punched him long ago—a second too long you stared however, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,”
Another eye roll—“Just fucking help me,”
“Ain’t gotta princess,” he finally looked up, “I’m here to advise you right?”
An inhale, exhale—biting down on your teeth you nodded, “Of course,” you muttered—which was what had led you to the current situation, tired, exasperated and annoyed.
An hour and a half, slow—very, spent staring a few times at the blank paper and then the ceiling, often Satoru Gojo and then his phone; a couple ideas popped by here and there, all useless—you knew that.
“You know,” you spoke carefully, “As someone who’s helping you bunk without losing attendance, you should really really be thankful,”
“A bouquet will be present in your dorm tonight doll,” not a single glance spared still—it was frustrating simply to sit such.
A sharp exhale you let out, head hung back—this was a stupid idea.
“You know what?” Chair pushed back, you stood up—“I’ll manage,” fingers clutched hard onto your notepad—it hurt when he didn’t do so much as even shrug as you moved towards the door.
Silence, as you turned the handle of the door to leave—not even a look from him.
You despised him.
———
#6942619412: Yo [11:54 p.m.]
Your eyes narrowed at the sudden text that popped up—ignorance enveloped you still, eyes focused onto the book of applied physics in front of you—regret boring into you as you tried your best to drill the concepts into you, preparing yourself for the soon-to-end semester exams.
#6942619412: busy? [11:56 p.m.]
You ignored still, creeped a little at the protrusion—not enough to let your book down—
#6942619412: idc [11:58 p.mp]
#6942619412: show me your plans [11:58 p.m.]
Face scrunched in annoyance, you stared at your screen—the periodic chimes of notification and the switch from the dull background to immediate light up—Satoru Gojo was somehow a master at infuriating you.
However, as stubborn as lay, you were no better—‘ignorance is bliss’ they said, and you were all too prepared to test it out.
#6942619412: bro wtf. Reply. [12:03 a.m.]
You noted mentally, the time gap between his texts—a sly smile adorning your face. Something in you screamed to not do it—to not go against Satoru Gojo such—the certain something fell to deaf ears as a shit-eating grin you beheld, typing your words in.
You: it’s pathetic of you to message like this [12:03 a.m.]
You: desperate? [12:03 a.m.]
A minute went by, then another—you sighed.
It was perhaps, a bad idea— chime!!
#6942619412: it’s needy of you to message back [12:04 a.m.]
#6942619412: you desperate? [12:04 a.m.]
A smirk—yours, a smirk—his.
You: you realize the first text of your day is to me? [12:04 a.m.]
#6942619412: you realize you’re taking note of how my day goes? [12:05 a.m.]
You: because you decided to bother me in mine—get to whatever you were saying [12:05 a.m.]
#6942619412: there there princess—I demand respect and send me your ideas- or better still I’ll come over to your dorm [12:06 a.m.]
Your eyes remained fixed at the screen; ‘come at your dorm’? Was he stupid?
You: there’s no need to come here gojo. I’ll send you everything right now.
You waited, patiently, however, ever so cruel—time was always slow, especially when waiting onto someone. 5 minutes grudged slow- you were afraid that he would actually show up. Would he?
No, of course not— even for him this was absurd, given the security and the time at night—he was probably asleep—
Knock.
A twist of your window pane’s handle- a thud of your heart and widened set of eyes.
Another knock and you were at your feet, stupidly, opening the window—widening it to welcome Satoru Gojo is your room—scandalous.
A smirk he held, form towering yours by a decent couple inches, “Neat room,” he whistled as he stood awkward, unsure onto whether to place himself until he found your study—making himself comfortable on the spot you just sat.
“Applied physics?” Curiosity laced his voice and a shrug you responded with — “So what?” You muttered, reaching in to close the book—he certainly took note of the tiredness your voice held.
“So you’re an idiot—it’s a tough field.”
Another shrug—“Gets me going and nothing could’ve sucked more than chemistry so,”
A snort he lay bare—only then did you realize how quiet it was, soft breaths, the new morning dancing about the timelines—your gaze on his, and his on yours. How so eccentric—not.
“You couldn’t deal with chemistry? Gotta be dumb or some shit,”
You scoffed—knowing where he was leading it, “do we really need me to redo the whole ‘got in because of your dad’ shit here?”
He grinned wide—and just then you noticed the perfect set of teeth—the ones you’d hoped to punch and break some day, “I think I’d wanna skip it tonight baby,”
“Don’t call me that,”
“Prissy, eh?”
A scrunch of your face, a wink his.
“Why, and dare I ask, how, did you get here?” Brows raised, expression amused as he paced about your room—taking it in, familiarizing himself.
“Don’t worry onto that doll, just show me your ideas,”
Your eye twitched, it was simply alien to you—the feeling of being treated normal by him. By Satoru Gojo- reality set in straight Every Time you realized that something in you, even if small, craved his attention, his validation.
Maybe that was why you were hurt—when he’d ignored you initially, when he’d shove you in the hall without a thought spared—when his gaze was all so disrespectful Everytime you approached Him.
Maybe it was just the social construct of it all.
Maybe it was something else.
So surprise was bound to grip you hard— he wanted your ideas?
“Well?” Fidgety, you noted his actions to be—nervous? You wouldn’t be sure.
“Why?”
A shrug, half hearted, “I heard stuff on you,” and now your interest sat piqued, “They say you’re as good as me when it comes down to getting shit done,” a wink—you gagged internally at his words- his charm?
Not quite so.
“You’ve been snooping around since the past week? Got you that hooked?” A smirk you channeled, unsure still- suspicious more so.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered—his eyes were quicker, quicker that yours, cerulean, I suppose something to do with the color of them—all too pretty to have one care about anything besides themselves.
“I’ve heard of your accomplishments beforehand, you know it—you just weren’t so important and most of the time I was trying to stay off your radar,” his face panned towards the shelf you kept full of books—“but you did interest me,”
A scoff let’s your lips, “Anything with a vagina and boobs will interest you,”
“Hey now-” and for a second he seemed offended, not that you cared, “don’t forget about the ass—and please, I sincerely accept dicks too.” And just at that you chuckled slightly—a small win he deemed it, “man-whore,” you muttered past him- closing your books and grabbing onto the notepad from before.
“Here,” you handed it over— a sudden feeling of embarrassment washing over—after all, as much of a jerk he was, Satoru Gojo sincerely was experienced and amazing at what he did.
Lips pursed, you stared as he read through the stuff- “I know it’s all too-” a hand raised to quieten you, he continued reading—quick at that too.
It took him a minute or so, to go through each of the 4 pages you’d jotted down—“Not bad,” you nodded, “not the best,” you bit your tongue.
“I uh- i know it’s a little extravagant?”
“Yeah,” he chuckled, “or more so, it’s not very realistic? You have steps planned out and …you know, it’s supposed to be done by humans not machines,”
Your eyes raised in understanding, you weren’t too sure, but just enough.
“Put yourself into it—you’re cool you know that?,” eyes squinted, you watched him carefully- not a word let out.
“Just a little…uptight, learn to let go,”
“how do I…?”
He grinned, “have fun figuring that out—the ideas were cool, gotta go now doll,” you blinked once, twice, and without a word he was gone—you let him. However could you even ever stop him?
And you knew well, the rumbling in your room was sure to get your father awake.
A click on the lock—you closed the window behind him—swift was the way he came about, annoying, the way he left. And yet you still stood alone in the room, pacing about with a dorkish smile.
And only five minutes after he’d left, after the daze was gone—you noticed the bouquet of jasmines on your bedside—huh.
Certainly understood the charm now—especially when your eyes focused onto your phone right before closing.
#6942619412: you’re actually cute when you’re not frowning yk? [1:05 a.m.]
You went to sleep.
———
~Three weeks before the Fest~
“I’d say it’s coming along amazing,” another fruit roll up popped into his mouth—the fifth packet in last three hours, you were only surprised how he wasn’t sick of them yet.
A nod you passed—“but they’re slow-”
“-because they’re people, they are bound to be slow,”
Another nod.
There was something that Satoru Gojo did help you with, and there was something you’d helped him with as well—his eyes panned onto the elaborate list of numbers he’d gathered, oh how you’d spun the man, Satoru ‘never gonna help nobody’ Gojo into your actual assistant.
“Tell me though, when will you order the booze?”
“It’s an official thing- how can you expect booze to be there?” A ridiculed laugh met you—“ever heard of sneaking shit in princess?”
Of course you had, given that Satoru Gojo snuck himself into your room almost every night, uninvited—so far as to snickering when you squeaked out lies to your father about talking to your friends.
“Shut up, there will be no beverage,” he chuckled at your formal tone, beverage, “you and I, or anyone can get expelled for that—it happened last year,”
“You’re your daddy’s only princess though,”
“And you’re not,” a deadpan from you shut him up quick—“dad’s gonna be mad if he finds it, I won’t be expelled but you might, especially given your record and everything—and yes that means your captaincy and everything too,”
A month ago, the nervousness on his face would’ve made you chuckle—giddy maybe but now it only troubled you for him—hours spent on the floor of your bedroom had opened up conversations after all.
“But you’ll save me right?”
He stared at you; you stared back, you noted the closeness.
There was no reply to be offered—but it did ruin the small moment to hear the causal, “Satoru~” from the lips of her, Mei Mei, long time family friend of his and an equatable annoyance to Satoru Gojo.
Both of your faces whipped to meet hers, yours scorned while his broke into a grin—“Oi!” He chuckled—arms spreading out to greet her, hug her.
“Y/n,” she greeted you too, a smile you passed back—part of your council members after all—“how’s the planning going?”
“Fantastic,” tight lipped you muttered—“fabulous,” she grinned, “mind if I steal Toru’ for a second?”
You mentally gagged at her—‘steal Toru for a second’—except those seconds never really were seconds, rather hours and to your utter annoyance, Gojo never add moves to counter it.
“Of course!” And just like that, gone, daily.
A sigh you let out, staring at the preparations—“why’d you let them walk over you all the time?” A deep voice met you, “Suguru?”
A short smile, a short breath of cigarettes met you—in the best way, “Good day to you too,” he grinned, patting the seat beside him, eyes stuck on his best friend and his rendezvous partner.
“You as , and what exactly do you suppose I do? Stop them?”
“He’s your assistant, ain’t he?”
“Yes but-”
“Am I seeing you finally turn into a push-over, like all the other girls when it comes to him?” All in good humor he spoke, but mostly because it was true.
You were bending your walls for a certain someone—it didn’t feel right.
“You think I shouldn’t?”
“I think you should only if this lasts after the rest as well,”
“Will it?”
A pause, a shrug, “I don’t know, ask him.”
You stared at him—“why are you two the legitimate same at advices? And equally bad?” A laugh met you—“go on, ask him—because as of now, Mei Mei seems to have done what she wanted,”
“Huh?”
A look at him and then at them, your heart sank—he was kissing her, your heart sank more, why were you so bothered by it?
A nervous chuckle you passed to Suguru, an empathetic one he did, “it’s fine,”
“Yeah.”
———
It wasn’t fine, hell it was far from fine—especially when you saw them together there on, all the time.
3 weeks, dates here and there—she was around you all the time, and him, it was infuriating in all aspects of the word.
“Who’re you going with?” Almost everyday he questioned, and you never had an answer because somehow, just something in you had made you reject every proposal—something in you supposed that you two would go together.
You were the organizers—but then, it was no rule.
And even if it was, Satoru Gojo wasn’t big on rules.
-
“Ready?” Suguru grinned, last minute date that you’d found—all so grateful that you stood.
A small nod with a smile you passed—“how do I look?”
“Gorgeous,” another smile, wider—eyes however, they remained stuck onto Gojo.
“It’s not about him tonight doll,”
“It’s never about him,” you mumbled—melancholy—ironic onto how the entire fest that you’d built was based off of youth and what not.
But it was about him, everything was about him- especially in the way your dress, bought just for the occasion was the same cerulean, your hair was braided just how he once mentioned liking, you were wearing the perfume he bought you for you.
Everything.
And you despised all of this everything while having nothing.
“Yo! Y/n,” you paused, Suguru did too—his smirk widening, as did Mei Mei’s, Satoru walked- sauntered over.
“Don’t you look hot?” The grin was wide, your nose scrunched in disgust, “you’re reeking of alcohol,”
He was—of course he was, right after you’d advised him not to.
“Chill, nobody’s gonna know-”
“-we have to meet my dad in 15 minutes.”
“…oh.”
“Well anyways, I see you came with Suguru? You’ve been getting close?”
Your eye twitched—so he did see it—“yeah he’s cool, and helpful, unlike you,”
A giggle, “I have a life outside of you, remember?” Your blood boiled—“of course you do, enjoy it.”
A sharp turn you made, lips bitten, unsure, uncertain—“Honestly though, if I weren’t with Mei tonight I’d actually fuck ya “
Your jaw clenched at the audacity—the other two, Suguru and Mei Mei long disappeared as you flared daggers into Satoru’s soul.
“Can you take one thing seriously? You- you bloody idiot I can’t even-” you whipped around to face him again—eyes boring into his.
Satoru, even in his drunken state knew it would last long, the lecture, a hand pulled you in very quick, a corner, secluded.
“Stop fucking shouting,” slurred his words, they lay bare.
“What do you want me to do then? You- you- I- ugh.” You paused, hard breaths let out—“you’re so fucking annoying.”
“Annoying? You’re the one screaming woman,” the small smirk that he adored annoyed you all the more so.
“Excuse you? I’m annoying?” And at that moment, you let go, “I’m annoying after you spent three weeks fucking with Mei Mei? I’m annoying after you’re the one acting irresponsible? I’m annoying after you ended up treating me like all your others girls? I’m annoying after- after you just chose to walk all over me- I’m annoy- mmph!”
Words lay interrupted quick, a rough hand reeled you in while the other held your head, the kiss was soft, passionate of one would call it, sloppy in the way his lips attached to yours, hungry.
And amusingly, unlike all things Gojo, this did not feel wrong.
But it wouldn’t help your emotions being all over the place—“what the fuck?” You asked, the moment he pulled away—“was it that bad?” An amused chuckle rolled off his lips.
“No? You can’t do this- we can’t just kiss- I-”
“-okay, then take it back,” and just like that, he pulled you in again, lips attaching once more, hands exploring each other easy, slow gasps of breath as you pushed him away this time.
“N-no you- I don’t- what? You take it back,” and almost as if his alcohol was on your mind too, you pulled him in this time—a small peck, harsh, Satoru loved it all the same.
Frustrated you pulled away, grinning his hand held your wrist—“don’t go,” he mumbled, your face contorted into the expression which screamed your annoyance.
“Don’t go? Fuck you Gojo. Fuck you and your damn ego and the audacity you have,” your breaths were shallow, the two stood so close.
“Don’t kiss me when you’re with someone else—you might be a whore but-”
“It was for you,” another mumble, quieter, “to get you jealous and I think it worked?”
A pause.
“And The alcohol?” You whispered—he loved it though, the way you prioritised the reputation above him—somehow you humanised him, “only I’ve drunk it, no one else—to…get your attention,”
“But you never drink…”
“And I never fucked Mei either, or kissed her…or anyone since you,”
“That’s supposed to make me feel special?” It did, but you were done for the day.
“I think so…?”
You blink, once, twice and instead of the third that Satoru expected a sharp slap landed on his face.
“You’re very fucking dumb,” while one hand clutched the cheek he’d been hit at, the other still held your hand, pulling you closer when he heard your choked words—eyes widening at the wetness in your eyes.
“L/n…” a sigh, “fuck I’m- fuck.” He held you close, unnatural to your relation, you let yourself be held.
————
“Sorry?”
You glared at him, the Music blared behind you loud— the both of you stood outside your father’s office, “we’ll deal with that later.”
A slight nod, Satoru was glad you even agreed to talk to him, Satoru was glad you even looked at him—Satoru was simply glad you were standing beside him.
A knock, two more, you walked inside—Satoru, as advised by you stood outside—your father would know of course, instantly.
The room seemed a breath of freshness as you walked, away from the stench that Satoru held, “where’s Gojo?” You were prepared for the question.
“Do you like the fest?” You father was prepared for the dodge—he hummed, “you both did good together, as I supposed,” you hummed.
“He won’t be coming?”
“He’s busy,” you lied through your teeth, “some kids snuck in alcohol, he’s dealing with it,” you were sure you caught your father’s smirk—“that would be highly…inappropriate,”
You bit the inside of your cheek, “of course, we’ll see to it that they’re punished well,”
Your father hummed again, “having a good time?”
“Wonderful,” your father grinned, “well, you can go then but…maybe not today but I do hope meet your assistant soon after, kind of tired of seeing him sneak in through the windows,”
“Dad?!”
“What? You’re grown up and I’ve seen the potential and I kind of think opposites do attract, and you proved me right so,”
Idiots, all around you.
———
“You think it’s funny?” The music had hours ago died down, your eyes remained stuck on the man between your legs, “m’ sorry,” slurred words.
Drunk he sat there.
Annoyed, you.
“You could’ve been expelled,” your words, they came out hushed—“but you saved me right?” He held the infuriating grin all the same, adorable.
“That’s not fucking- what are you doing?”
And the confusion was right to be so, what was he doing? Dragged and hefty steps, crawled towards you slow, a lanky arm pulled beside your shoulder, finger caressing your jaw.
“Is this not the part we kiss?”
You pause, and you stare—the same blue eyes that you live, the same blue that you adore stare back at you—that you’ve found to be staring at Mei Mei too.
“Go and kiss Mei Mei why don’t’ cha?”
Silence, again—you were you’d be driven crazy if he didn’t catch on now—but he did.
“You’re jealous?” And oh boy, fuck you were—was it not obvious?
“Of you and her? Please,”
A hum, small, his hand lingered on your jaw—“I was pretty jealous,”
“You told me,”
“No I didn’t,” his words were quick, eyes focused on yours, “I said I wanted your attention—I didn’t tell you how jealous I was, why I was jealous and fuck- I never told you anything at all,”
A pause, heavy—“what is there to tell-”
“-that I would break Suguru’s teeth twice if he ever took you on a date, that I would bite off of the flesh of every guy who’s liked you besides me, that I would lose everything for you.”
Defiant, true—your heart raced.
“You’re drunk,”
“What are drunk words if not sober thoughts?”
You stared at him, as did he—you were confused, he wasn’t, “I want to kiss you right now,” a murmur, yours, “it would be against everything I’ve ever-”
“-fuck, angel, I just want to please you, please let me kiss you,”
A lean in, a lean away—both yours, “I- why? What? After everything?”
A hefty silence, “can we not discuss all that later? I just, fuck I wanna taste you so bad,”
And so, you let him.
“Go slow,” you muttered, pulling him in, fingers clutching the collar of his shirt—“why, you inexperienced?” The shit-eating grin was huge, you loved it.
“Do it, or I won’t let ya,”
And so, it was slow—perfect, you waited as he leaned in, sloppy as it was, wet—sweet.
“Fuck you’re so perfect,” you heard him murmur, your hand reaching to pull at his locks, a whimper sounded through the room—ah, he was perfect it seemed.
And so, it was slow—perfect, you waited as he leaned in, sloppy as it was, wet—sweet.
“Fuck you’re so perfect,” you heard him murmur, your hand reaching to pull at his locks, a whimper sounded through the room—ah, he was perfect it seemed.
Gojo Satoru already sat drunk but it was gradual the way he drank in your scent, your sweetness, the whole of you—feather light in the way your nose touched his.
It felt natural in the way his hand travelled upon your form, yours his—his stuck onto your waist while yours rubbed circles on his thigh.
“Wanna touch you,” a small murmur, his—you smiled at him, “what’s the magic word Satoru?”
His eyes widened in the way that was the first time you’d taken his first name—he loved the way it fell off yours lips, “please,” he uttered out, “please please—wanna, fuck, please wanna touch you,”
“Where?”
And almost as if a switch, you watched as Satoru quietened entirely- “everywhere,”
“On your knees for me,” Satoru scrambled to his feet under the command, eager to please, eager to be yours—“kiss me everywhere Satoru.”
And he did, slow, rapid—it felt like nothing, but it did feel like everything in that moment—to be his, to have his touch.
The kisses, feather-light, began at the tip of your toes, trailing upwards slow—lingering past your ankle to your calves, Satoru Gojo wasn’t kissing for your pleasure, but his own.
It was almost devouring.
Slight moans you let out, gasps, at the way his hands grasped you, hungry—as they held you close, his palm massaging the supple flesh of your thighs.
You weren’t sure aure how long you let him be there, how long you’d been there entirely—the moment was perfect, the music outside has died away—you wanted more.
“Get up,” you muttered- to no avail, “Satoru,” again nothing, sloppy kisses remained pressed to your thighs—so close that he was, your breath hitched.
A hand reached down to pull at his hair—a slight hiss as you jolted his face away from yourself, he let himself be moved—“get up,”
Quickly, eagerly, there he was beside you—unsure, he wanted to kiss you right there, he wanted to touch you, explore you, worship you.
“Pull your pants down, need to touch you,”
His lips parted at that, a slow smile, “you’re eager-”
“-did I tell you to talk back?”
And after that, he didn’t. Not once, not for a good time—choosing simply to focus on the way you slipped between his legs, fingers grasping onto his thighs, massaging them, holding them for support—his eyes stared at you hungrily, yours, at the bulge in his boxers.
Satoru hissed at the way you palmed his bulge- he should’ve known, of course, of course you weren’t there to please him, no. You were there to simply remind him that it was you eventually who held the cards, you who could twist him around, you who’s make him cry in pleasure.
You grinned at the little noises he made, shameless in the way you played with him, nudging at his tip, “you’re already leaking Satoru,” you giggled, “kissing gets you so bricked huh?”
And in response satoru could only groan while You simply chose to smirk, squeezing his dick as you felt it slowly hardening between your hands.
You watched as his cock twitched in his pants- begging to be touched & you couldn’t help but slightly drool at the sight, you’d thought of it yourself.
His dick print showed off the girth and the length- and internally you weren’t sure how you’d even manage—it only made you wanna push him more.
It was tempting—to pull his pants down, to see it, you wanted to suck on it already but there was simply a lesson to be taught and Satoru wouldn’t listen any other way.
You looked up at satoru to meet his eyes, eyes threatening to shut, breathing was heavy and his face flushed a light shade of pink.
“Pull them down,” he muttered, “suck already,”
“I don’t think bad boys like you get to order around love,”
You watched the way his eyes drooped, fighting all of himself to listen to you, “bad? I only wanted you- even saved your damn fest- hey!”
You scowled as you landed another slap at his inner thigh, eliciting a similar reaction—“you don’t talk when I do,”
A scoff from him and another sharp slap—“you’ll get my lips when you apologise sincerely,”
“Ain’t no fuckin- ngh!!” It was wonderful just simply Satoru Gojo got worked up, especially when your nails were digging into his thighs and the other hand slyly rubbed his bulge.
“Awh, Toru’” your grin remained undeniable, loving the control that you held, “wouldn’t it be nice if I wrapped my lips round there hm? But only good boys get that so…”
“Stop actin’ like you’re- fuck, like you’re in charge here,” you giggled again as his head lolled, so pretty- “suck it already- please,”
Murmurs, his voice was low and whiny—“you’re a cute beggar Toru’ but mm’fraid that’s no apology,” but all to no avail, you cocked your brows as he rut his hips into the air.
“Oh?” The single monotonous reply sent shiver down Satoru’s spine- “wait I- I’m sor- ah!” You smirked–holding his cock as you wrapped your lips around his clothed tip. Sucking on it so messily and sloppily. Satoru gasped, surprised at you pulling something like this, something so vile, so nasty.
But he liked it anyways.
You were drenching his pants with your saliva, his head thrown back as you stopped sucking on his tip and started licking his whole length from above his pants. You looked so good underneath him, licking & sucking on his fully clothed cock–“who knew the dean’s daughter was a cock slut huh?” he breathed out, you paused your movements to look up at him once again.
“The same ones who knew-” you paused, sucking with a little pressure at his tip, earning the perfect moan from him, “that the football team captain was damn floozy who came from just touching,”
A lazy smirk rested on his lips as you said that—thighs trembling , hips rutting into air to feel more, pathetic as ever, just how you liked it.
“Satoru tch, tch, tch,” you knew your words wouldn’t have an effect and seemingly neither did your actions at the moment- “if you apologise I can simply peel these soiled boxers off you and get to business love—”
—ring!!
—ring!!
Both of yours eyes panned to your phone at the side— caller id: Mei Mei —while Satoru groaned, you smirked, “could be important eh?”
You watched his eyes narrow in confusion as you wasted no time in picking up the phone, “hi babe!” He rolled his eyes at the faux sweetness you kept.
But his eyes openly rolled further as your ministrations with your hands never came to a stop—stroking and teasing him slowly through his drenched boxers.
“Yeah I’m free to talk, what is it?” The slow strokes never stopped, his whimpers did—“free?” He mouthed the words, pouty he sat there, twitching and throbbing.
“Please love, take your time,” you giggled to the phone, causing Satoru to only push your head back as a way to remind you of his needy stature.
In all honesty, a couple minutes would’ve been ok, bearable—but it’s been a while of “mmhmm”s and “ok”s and you still weren’t done—and that, that easily the last straw.
In a flash that it was, he grabbed your phone quick, pressing it by his ear—“talk to her later-”
As he was about to pull away though, you watched him eye roll, your own hands pinned in front of you now—wonderful of how much power he did hold, and how much he let you have.
“Yes this is Toru’ and no you don’t have to know why I’m with her- you can talk later, no- what? Mei shut up- yes at the Christmas dinner ofc, yes in two weeks of course when else—what? Obviously as my girlfriend.”
And with that, the call was off.
His girlfriend?
“What-”
“-worry more about me than her,” a scoff he passed—both hands pulling you in his lap quick—“had your fun down there didn’t ya doll hm?”
A bashful nod was all you had to offer as he grinned too, a kiss pressed to the shell of your ear, “‘my turn.”
Your heart raced anyways, “no- n-no no no no, girlfriend who?”
His hands were rough in the way they groped you, squeezing your tits, fingers rolling the half-hardened nipples through the frisky material of your dress—the other one resting on your hips—“the dean’s daughter of course.”
[tagging @romiyaro @blkkizzat @draecys @akumuprincess ]
All of this work is entirely original and my own— please refrain from copying or reposting.
Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#satoru gojo x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen gojo#gojou x reader#gojo saturo#gojou satoru x reader#satoru gojo#jjk gojo#jujutsu gojo#gojo smut#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#satoru gojo smut#satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen satoru#satoru smut#jjk satoru#jujutsu satoru#gojou satoru x you#satorugojo#gojou satoru x y/n
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