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httpsserene · 7 months

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𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝟑: 𝐨𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: your boyfriend has to make an appearance at some sponsor event. he's gone ahead and bought you an alluring outfit, but he failed to mention how seductive he looks in the new fitted suit his team got him. you two won't be staying long, but you increase the pace by riling him up, mostly unintentionally. so it's your fault that he makes you ruin his loaned mclaren. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. squirting. car sex. semi-public sex. ooc (out-of-character) oscar. overstimulation. mild possessive behavior. mild jealousy. vaginal fingering. vaginal sex. condom usage. the audacity of men. lando norris’ savior complex /jk. author’s overuse of italics and run-on sentences. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 5k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: oscar piastri x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: water • tyla

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: what can i say, y'all. back at it with the unhinged thirst. every time i do one of these, they've been getting shorter and shorter. don't be afraid, for #4 (dr/mv) i'll be back on my game, they deserve it. yes gremlin lando appearance. also, i cannot imagine oscar ever acting this way, that's why i put the ooc tag? it's definitely a fun read tho (i think), along with the smut! thank you, loves, for the support on this event!

want to be added to my general taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me an ask!

thank you to my betas! @biancathecool for helping with my grammer and @barnestatic for her wonderful spoiled brat idea :))))

cross-posted on my ao3, httpsss

if you want to look at what i'm planning for ktober, or catch up on previous uploads here's my f1 kinktober masterlist and my general masterlist for all of my works!

oscar is known for his unfazed, composed and collected demeanor. he’s aware that some people say he has no personality–but, he’s just an introvert at the end of the day. oscar’s a man of few words: that’s what people who aren’t well acquainted with him would say. if you’ve had the pleasure of sticking around oscar long enough for him to become comfortable with you, you’ll learn that oscar has an incredibly complex personality. he’s overly sarcastic, has a niche sense of humor, and can ramble endlessly at you. but, he’s still a fairly calm and quiet individual. which is why the way oscar is about to scream at the top of his lungs in the middle of this mclaren event, would be considered uncharacteristic of him.

he originally invited you to join him tonight thinking that having you by his side would eliminate the social exhaustion he experiences at these types of sponsor events. however, the aussie failed to realize that you may introduce a…different problem, to tonight’s business party. when oscar asked you to join him two weeks ago, he was prepared for all of your objections–you’re both chronic homebodies, and you both hate partaking in small talk with balding, later-aged, cologne-drenched, white men who don’t know when to let a conversation die. he chose the perfect time to ask you (after you emerged from the bathroom post-self-care bath), and addressed all of your grievances.

oh, you don’t have anything to wear? he already bought you an outfit, had it altered to perfectly fit your measurements, and bought you a pair of heels and a purse to match. oh, you won’t be able to get your hair done in time? he already scheduled an appointment with your usual hairstylist the day before the event, paid all of her fees, and tipped her very nicely. oh, your nails aren’t done? he booked you a spot at your preferred nail salon for a premium mani-pedi, and has a few nail inspiration photos picked out if you can’t decide. if you need your lashes done or need to get waxed, he can make the call right now; he has them on standby to fit you in.

knowing the amount of phone calls oscar had to partake in to arrange all of this causes you to fold and agree to join him. there’s nothing more the two of you hate than making phone calls–well, besides the pr events.

oscar had chosen an alluring burnt-orange mesh corset and matching ruched ankle-length skirt that looks beautiful against your warm, soft and shining brown skin. your hair is silk-pressed, length reaching your mid-back and your edges are laid in a minimal manner, matching the simplicity of your makeup look. simple gold rings are spread across a few fingers, ears accessorized with a pair of small good hoops oscar gifted you, and his initials rest in the dip between your clavicles attached to a thin gold chain. objectively, you're considerably modestly dressed, the only skin you're showing is on your arms, shoulders, a smidge of your decolletage, and the tops of your feet in the low-heeled strappy sandals.

this is the start of what oscar failed to account for. he didn’t expect the outfit to hug your curves like plastic wrap. the whole night he’s had to forcefully deny himself the opportunity to stare at your ass, but that doesn’t mean the other men at the event have the same courtesy. he’s taken to burning holes with his eyes into anybody who lets their gaze linger over your form for a second too long. on a regular day, oscar is generally unaffected by anyone who appreciates your body (they can look, but the second they try to touch–you let them know exactly how they had you fucked up), but if he catches one more mclaren engineer undressing you with their eyes–he will make zac fire all of them; he’ll plan his own race strategy and do his goddamn pitstop by himself.

oscar also didn’t account for how your timid and sweet attitude would have everyone enamored with you; at first, watching everyone eagerly attune to your shy words was amusing to him, but it quickly became a nuisance. he was originally leading you around the room, doing his rounds at any important figures’ tables, and everything was fine. and then, oscar had made the obvious mistake of making you laugh–a pleasant stream of giggles spilling from your lips, dimples deepening, and smile widening at whatever small joke he made. he’s always thrilled to see how you throw your head back in amusement, how your hands clap together gleefully, and how your eyes squint in from the force of your laughter. as he shakes himself out of your dazzling trance, he attempts to rejoin the conversation–but every single person at the table remains entranced and wide-eyed at you.

this would be completely fine, of course, if it was a one-off occasion; but it’s not.

suddenly, every person oscar tries to thank for supporting mclaren, starts ignoring him and paying more attention to you. he’s literally the pilot of the car that these people are spending an absurd amount of money on, but they can’t even bother to try and pretend to listen to him. men and women alike are finding any excuse to prolong conversations with you, and even lean within your personal space with the excuse that ‘they can’t hear you very well because you’re so soft spoken.’ nobody can invade your personal space, but oscar. he has no choice but to do the very thing he hates–pda. you continue to circle around the room, his hand constantly resting on the small of your back or the dip of your waist. when you’re in the middle of listening to some completely unnecessary story a man is telling you, oscar constantly adjusts your hair, plays with your rings, and smooths down your skirt if he feels like they’re trying too hard. you banish oscar to getting you a glass of water when he begins to interject in conversations in a passive-aggressive manner.

his third strike off the night, might actually be an overall win in his books. when you saw oscar in his new fitted suit, you stared him dead in the eye and told him to ‘get naked and rail you’. it’s this beautiful deep cream color that pairs perfectly with the dark orange tone of your outfit, but the vest underneath the suit jacket highlights his tiny waist so clearly that it makes you want to scream. in between socializing, you overwhelm oscar with compliments, unable to stop telling him how handsome he looks. you surgically attach yourself to his side and hug his arm; taking an occasional squeeze of his bicep, playing with his cufflinks, and tracing the veins on the back of his hand. oscar practically runs to get you a refill of water because he’d be unable to stop himself from getting fully hard if you touched him any longer–the trousers hide nothing.

he can feel your burning gaze from across the room, and turns back to watch you after asking a waiter for water, and catches your eyes roaming the length of his body. in high-definition, he sees your tongue wetting your lips before you bite at your bottom lip–and then, your attention is stolen away from some random man who’s introducing himself to you and the group of ladies you found yourself accosted by as soon as oscar left your side.

and, that’s it for oscar. he thinks he may have heard his last-fucking-button being pressed inside his head, and seethes. he goes to push off from his leaned stance against the counter and makes to start his warpath, but a hand grasps at his shoulder. oscar turns around snappily, biting out an irritated and sarcastic, “can i help you?”

“woah! calm down now, mate. thought you were going to bite my head off for a second,” it’s lando, “if i were anybody else i’m sure there would be an unfortunate tabloid of ‘how oscar piastri is the most rude f1 driver on the grid’” lando jokes teasingly, yet a hint of seriousness leaks into his tone.

oscar nods, understanding the underlying warning within the brit’s teasing. he apologizes softly to lando, before glancing back over at you, and can infer that you charmingly informed the man that you have a boyfriend—based on the way you point in his direction. oscar watches the polite smile fade from your face as the man continues to bother you, and the murderous look rises to his face again.

“OKAY”, lando claps abruptly, startling not only oscar, but everyone in a 10 foot radius. lando waves everyone else’s eyes away, smiling like he didn’t do anything, and speaks underneath his breath, “go. i’ll cover for you.”

oscar’s mouth drops open, baffled, “what?”

“leave—get your girlfriend and go,” lando says matter-of-factly, his smile becoming genuine, “zac probably won’t like to hear that you looked particularly murderous, and he definitely won’t like hearing that you slaughtered our sponsors, and that i let it happen.”

oscar snorts before he thanks lando sincerely, and the brit dismisses him, “i’m just looking out for my rookie teammate as the senior driver for our team. i can’t let your horny teenage mindset become common knowledge to our esteemed guests.”

“first of all,” oscar says dryly, his grateful mood dissipating at the mocking, “i didn’t even know you knew the word ‘esteemed' existed,” lando scoffs, “and secondly, you are literally only two years older than me.”

lando looks at oscar with a blank stare and deadpans, “do you want to leave or not?”

oscar daps up his teammate in farewell, and makes his way over to you as quickly as he can without seeming desperate, your glass of water left behind on the counter. your back is facing him as he approaches and you're still unwillingly participating in conversation with the man who can’t take no for an answer. as he gets closer, he can piece together the conversation; the dude doesn’t believe you have a boyfriend and you must be lying to him, and you’re adamant that your boyfriend is very real.

“look, bro. even if i was lying about having a boyfriend, why would i give you my number now? like, i’m just supposed to forget how you’ve been harassing me—“

oscar rests his hand on your side, and when you turn your head to see who’s touching you, he leans down and kisses you. it’s a kiss deep enough to let everyone know who you’re leaving with tonight, but not deep enough to be salacious (he can hear lando’s cackle from the other side of the room).

you melt into his kiss before he pulls away, leaving you dazed and disoriented, stumbling into him. oscar drapes his left arm around your shoulder, guiding you to tuck into his side, while he offers his right hand to the offending man for a handshake. “it seems i haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet. i’m oscar, i drive for mclaren,” he introduces himself, sounding overly pleased.

the man angers, ignoring oscar’s extended hand and cockily states, “you should already know who i am. my family nicely lent you the mclaren you drove here tonight!”

“ah,” oscar smiles viciously, “if ‘your family’ kindly lent me the car, that would explain why i only remember your father’s name–and not his arrogant, disrespectful, and narcissistic trust-fund son’s name.”

the man stomps his foot in rage, like a spoiled brat, and questions, “who do you think you’re talking too?!”

oscar smirks, “nobody important, apparently,” (one of the ladies listening whispers a quiet ‘damn, that’s crazy’), oscar continues, “don’t worry, mate–i’ll make sure your father’s car returns home to him safely. should i bill you for any cleaning, in case i make a mess of it?”

the guy stumbles over a response before he scoffs and stomps away. oscar shrugs uncaring, before addressing the group of ladies who were cliqued to the side watching the whole interaction, “well. if you all don’t mind, i’m just going to steal her away from you ladies, if that’s okay?” (like there’s an option). the ladies fawn over oscar’s protectiveness before they let the two of you go, and then he starts herding you towards the exit.

it’s torture. in every five steps the two of you take, you're interrupted by various guests trying to catch you one last time. oscar feels like they’re all intentionally aggravating him; patting you on the arm, commenting on how eye-catching you look, and using the fact that the two of you are leaving to press a kiss to your hand in goodbye. you two burst out of the main doors and sigh in relief, for different reasons–for you, it’s because oscar didn’t give one of his sponsors brain damage, and for oscar, it’s because he’s one step closer to getting you in his bed.

you grasp at oscar’s hand, and he starts to lead you down the steps towards the valet, and as you fall into step at his side, you speak softly under your breath, “i can understand why you kissed me like that inside because the dude was being an asshole–even though you were marking your territory like some kind of dog–but, please; don’t tear this poor man’s throat out for helping me into the car.”

the australian remains quiet, properly chastised and works on releasing the pent up effect of the annoyances from inside the venue. everything is going well; the valet asks oscar for his parking ticket, and he goes to grab the keys, but stops just before he makes to start heading to the car, and turns back to you two and says, “i don’t know if i told you when you walked in but–you look incredibly beautiful tonight, miss. you could be a model, seriously. like, you should feel so lucky to have a woman like her–”

all attempts of oscar finding his peace are thrown out of the window. he interrupts the dude’s rambling, and bites out, “hey man, y’know what. i can just take the keys to the car. we can walk to it.”

the valet stutters, confused, “a-are you sure, i mean it’s like pretty far in the back. i can run and get it no pro–”

“it’s FINE! i mean, it’s cool, we can use the extra steps, y’know. enjoy the breeze and everything,” oscar says, slightly maniacal. there’s no breeze, it’s warm. the valet’s and your eyes meet for a second and a shared thought of “he’s trippin” is passed telepathically.

the valet concedes, not wanting to upset the f1 driver any farther and tosses him the keys. as the two of you are passing by, oscar hands the man a bill that’s probably too big based on the man’s astonished gasp. you call out to the man, continuing to walk further in the lot, “sorry about him! he just gets a little touchy about strangers driving his car, y’know?” oscar grumbles lowly next to you, and you smack him on the arm, “what did you want me to say? ‘oh sorry, my boyfriend just wants to fuck me really badly to soothe his needless jealousy?’”

“as long as he knows who’s the one who gets to take you home and fuck you.”

“oscar!” you squeak, “we both know we’d die of embarrassment if you said that. i can’t even imagine those words coming out of your mouth, in that order.”

you guys eventually puzzle out where the car is after several remote beeps of the car’s horn, and find that it’s literally tucked away in the last row, far corner with no surrounding cars for two rows.

oscar doesn’t open your door like he usually does, and leads you around to the driver's side. he opens the door, pushes the seat back as far as it goes, and sits down. without saying anything, he loosens his tie and goes to unbuckle his belt before you reach down and grab at his hand, bewildered, “oscar jack! what the fuck are you doing?”

he blinks, “i’m fucking you, right now. it’s too long of a drive back—i’m going to crash the car if you keep sitting next to me in that goddamn outfit. i was going to take you to the bathroom inside, but i figured you’d at least prefer the car. you can be a little louder here.”

your mouth dries, “you said they loaned you an incredibly rare, vintage mclaren, babe. i’m not gonna-“

oscar wrestles his way out of his suit jacket, spreads it underneath him on the leather seat, and pats his lap. “problem solved.��

shifting your weight, you glance around nervously. oscar is right, you would prefer the car over the bathroom. all those people inside who could overhear, gossip, and spread the news of how rookie mclaren, f1 driver, oscar piastri, had you yelling his name in the middle of an event. you’d pass.

“oh, c’mon now, babe. you didn’t think i saw the way you were eating me alive with your eyes inside,” your boyfriend teases, “i know you‘ve at least gotten a little wet for me already, haven’t you?”

that’s all it takes; the australian acting possessive and feening to get inside you is more than enough to have you straddling his lap and pulling the car door shut with a slam.

oscar tugs you into dirty make out, and you get lost in his pink lips, tugging teeth, and explorative tongue. the last of your breath tapers out in a reedy moan, and you break the kiss to pant against his lips, and oscar laughs. his laughter spreads through your chest, and it has your hips rolling against the bulge you feel underneath you. his amusement is cut off, and his hands fly to grip at your hips. he starts tugging you against him in a filthy grind, and choked off moans from the two of you start to fill the car.

you press kisses to oscar’s jaw line, paving a path down to his wide strong neck with your tongue. you suck on small patches of skin, not using enough suction to leave a mark, but enough for oscar to become aware of the fantasization that you could. the aussie gasps at every random suckle of your lips as he scrambles to pull the skirt up your legs. you shift your hips up to make it easier for him, as your hands feel down his torso to his belt. it unbuckles fairly easily, and you shove it out of the way, to unzip the slacks and pull his cock out.

oscar moans, throwing his head back at the feel of your hand on his length, and you get entranced in the trap that his pale thick neck is, again. you hum against his neck, introducing teeth alongside the ache of the suction of your mouth, and bully the collar of his shirt out of the way to find a space to leave a few marks. oscar’s breath freezes at the first hickey he feels you leave, but the rapid inhale he takes next clears his mind enough to have his right hand pull your panties to the side, and move to caress your heat.

you shudder on top of him, your breathy sigh amplified within the car. oscar sinks two fingers inside of you, and a much louder moan is tugged out. your hands fly up to grasp onto his shoulder, and your head tilts backward away from his neck in pleasure. his fingers thrust into you gently for a few beats slowly working to open you up for him and once he feels your cunt starting to relax, his thumb reaches to press at your clit. whines fill the air, as you lean all the way back, resting your back on the steering wheel allowing oscar all the space he needs to stretch you out. his fingers start curling as they drag out of you, and you can feel the pads of his fingers rubbing over a soft spot on the front of your walls.

oscar’s eyes were stuck marveling over the overwhelmed expression on your face, but once he starts feeling wetness dripping down his arm he glances down, and curses out a rough, “fuck, baby—you’re dripping all over me.” your cheeks burn hot, and you can’t tell if that’s out of humiliation or the effect of his awe-filled voice. your right hand releases his shoulder, and bats at his arm, before tugging at his wrist to pull his fingers out, “that’s enough, mmm, just get in me already.”

oscar eagerly draws away; he uses his clean hand to tug his wallet out of his back pocket, and tugs a condom out with a smidge of struggle before handing it to you. you snatch it out of his hand, biting it open and rolling it over his cock, and once it’s on, you tease, “jeez, osc. you really were planning on jumping me in the middle of the event tonight—grabbing a condom and everything; you think i’m that easy?”

he chuckles, satisfied, his hand drenched in your wetness rubbing over his cock to get him slick, and teases back, “you’re about to ride my cock in the parking lot of said event, pretending to be worried about ruining the seats of this vintage car. i’m not calling you easy, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, does it?”

your cheeks are definitely burning from humiliation this time around, but you huff, ignoring him checking you. you tug his hand away, raising your hips, and guide him to your entrance with your own hand, before slowly sinking down.

twin sets of moans fill the air as he bottoms out; one of his hands reaches to palm at your ass (it’s sticky, so it must be the one he fingered you with), and the other grips at your waist tightly. you squirm on top of him, knees barely managing to find enough room to prop on the seat to give you a stable base. once you feel stable in your cramped position, you give a testing grind of your hips, and from there, it’s lights out.

oscar lets you set the pace for a few thrusts, suffering in the languid rock of your hips; you’re torturously tight around him, and he can only groan at the feeling of you wrapped around him. his chest heaves, before he brings both hands to halt your hips, and starts fucking up into you rough and quick. a scream jostles out of your throat at the unexpected change of speed, but you just take it with no complaints, allowing yourself to go limp against the wheel of the car to hold your body upright. he moves your body for you, pulling you downwards to meet his upward thrusts; and you feel him constantly applying pressure against that one tender spot right under your navel.

your boyfriend revels in the sound of the moans he’s punching out of your throat, admiring the way your head is thrown back—mouth open wide, eyes scrunched tight, lips bruised and bitten to hell. it’s a lewd picture, painted by himself. the car rocks along to his frantic rhythm, windows fogging, and sweat begins to form on both of your skin. the aussie’s core tightens; he won’t last much longer, you’ve had him half-hard the whole night.

a frustrated grunt escapes oscar, and you hum questionably about to ask what’s wrong–but his right hand leaves your waist to furiously start circling your clit, and an ear piercing shriek leaves you. “c’mon now, babe. ah-be good and come f’me yeah? im so close, baby–please,” he babbles, the last shred of sanity leaving him. his hips don’t falter once–to you it feels like they’re moving quicker, every sensitive spot receiving attention from the sharp snaps of them.

you cry out, it’s all too much; your hand reaches down to press against his navel in a feeble attempt to stop him from stroking so deep and roughly, and incoherent pleads try and tumble out of your mouth, “mm! osc–no! ah–too much, baby! it’s too much–hngh–feels weird–s-slow down!” it’s like his ears are filled with cotton; he can hear you begging down at him but can’t make out what your saying over the blood rushing in his ears. he’s trapped staring at your pretty cunt, watching the obscene amount of wetness coming out of you–the suit jacket underneath him is completely ruined, and he off-handedly thinks it won’t be saving the leather upholstery.

your legs start quivering and trembling–it damn near looks like you're freezing to death, even though the car has become as humid as a sauna. your own orgasm shocks you, and your eyes roll back erotically–unable to give oscar any warning. and in your last moment of awareness, you realize that something feels different, but it’s too late.

you choke on your scream of, “oscar, fuck!” as fluid gushes out of your cunt, and the first wave is enough to completely drench oscar’s pants, and oscar finally returns to the moment in amazement. he eagerly brushes his hand against your clit, and shortens his strokes to quick little jabs to force more of your juices out, and you can only ride along. you try to slam your legs shut, to jostle oscar’s hand away, but it’s futile with his torso propping you open for him. you’re sobbing messily, as he forces more liquid to spray from your cunt–and he moans out his own orgasm, ripped from him in surprise. the australian halts his stimulation this time around when you frantically tug his wrist away when the pleasure melds to pain, and allows himself to get a few more jerks of his hips in.

you fall forward, collapsing into his chest–the squelch of your thighs meeting his pant-covered ones has him humming and grinding his hips into you as gently as he can. the two of you shake against each other, hearts rabbiting as you catch your breath. oscar’s hands rise to rub at your back, bringing you down from the aftershocks still trembling over your body.

“i-i’ve never squirted before,” you whisper into his neck.

your boyfriend hums softly, “did you like it?”

he feels you nod against him shyly.

“then, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he comforts, knowing if he seems approving of it, you’ll be quicker to accept it as something good, “how i’m going to explain the ruined suit and car seat to mclaren on the other hand…”

a shaky laugh from you causes oscar to smile, “i told you you shouldn’t fuck me in the car.”

“how was i supposed to know that tonight would be the night i’d made you gush all over me?! i was hoping that when the time came we’d at least be on a couch,” he whines.

“shut the fuck up,” you joke, “i want a live play by play when you explain the cleaning bill to zac.”

the aussie pauses, faking thoughtfulness, “maybe i should send the bill to the trust-fund baby. zac would back me up–he’s american, he’d probably find it hilarious.”

oscar gently shifts you over to the passenger seat, and you tug your skirt all the way down, and he fights his way out of his slacks that stuck to his thighs with your wetness. he manages to wrangle them off and kicks them to the side of the car floor along with the soiled suit jacket, after fishing the keys out of them, sitting out in his boxers, and glances over to see you adjusting your appearance as best as you possibly can.

“you want a mcflurry?” the aussie offers.

“as long as we can get a fry with it,” you smile at the random shift in conversation, allowing him to hide his embarrassment.

oscar turns the keys in the ignition, and the engine rolls into life with a deep, vibrating hum. he catches your legs pressing together tightly, and you squirm at the purr of the engine under your seat.

“well,” oscar starts nonchalantly as he reverses out of the spot, “you have the time that it takes to get from the drive-through to the flat to finish eating–because as soon as we get home, i’m taking you to bed and learning how to make you squirt, consistently. i don’t care how long it takes, or how many orgasms you have–i’ll keep going ‘til you come dry, babe.”

taglist: @lorarri @soph1644 @jaydensluv @fanboyluvr @nissaimmortal @redgonerogue @hollie911 @saintwrld @buendiabebeta @butterfly-lover @lana-d3l-rey @dylan1721 @spicybagel14 @dhhdhsiavdhajj @miahgonzalez16 @jjaekin @dkbj14 @f1lover55 @f1lov3r @mindless-rock @biancathecool @barnestatic @sweetpiccolo-blog @my-ylenia @zaynzierulez @reblog-princess

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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year

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HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO | PART 2

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in this part.

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF NONCON, COERCION, AND SEXUAL VIOLENCE.

⊹ wc ; 18.4k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART ONE.

⊹ a/n ; here's part two!! miss ame has read it so im all good to post. i will upload to ao3 as soon as im awake i promise lol. hope you enjoy the fic and please heed the tags. likes and rbs always appreciated. also the last part is, relatively tame. the crazy gets amped up to ten so be careful.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

"You must learn, once you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not—a fugitive is also a kind of dog." - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART TWO : SOMETHING TAKEN IS BORROWED. SOMETHING RUINED IS YOURS.

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white.

Gojo Satoru sits on his hands and watches the blizzard outside from his window. His apartment is dark and there’s frost on his window. He can hear the wind from inside, and can feel the cold chill of glass as he stands close to it.

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white. Spring feels like an innocent century ago.

Nothing’s changed, but everything is different. It’s starting to feel comedic. It’s so cyclical. He has two states of being. Being with you, and not. It dictates his internal world. He functions the same as usual. Repetition. Working, coming home, and waiting.

Gojo feels like he’s waiting. Perpetually waiting for time to set again so he can see you. There’s something in him only you can fulfill - an itch only you can scratch. Gojo is drawn to irreplaceable people, so perhaps it’s no surprise that he’s latched onto you this way.

There’s nothing to call it other than greed. Sometimes love, but mostly greed. A habit he can’t break free from. Gojo wants to see you. He doesn’t know why either. There’s not any particular reason. Or if there is, he hasn’t examined it too deeply. Gojo has always known in some innate way that he’s lonely. That his loneliness makes him untouchable - but not in the same way it might make a God.

The thought of doing anything without you makes paranoia creep up in his throat like bile. Gojo is that sort of lonely. Is it too much to ask to be next to someone, who never goes anywhere he can’t see? Monopolizing your time and all the ways to do it best take up most of his energy.

When was the last time anyone made him feel warm, in the cold white of winter? He thinks maybe he realized it too late, that he cares about you this much.

The reality is that Jujutsu Sorcerers are better off learning how to cut their losses. You love people and they die. You like people and they die. Gojo doesn’t think he can accept that from you so easily. He doesn’t think he should have too.

Does he need a good reason to want to keep you?

Gojo doesn’t want to make you hate him. He just wants to make sure you’re alive even if it means you might hate him. You might never understand either. Because you are still foolish, naive and human. Is that really asking for so much?

It makes him hesitate from the call to action. That instinct in his bones. He sees having met you as a blessing from the Heavens who’ve banished him. Gojo Satoru is not god. He understands God, but he’s not God.

No matter how much Gojo reaches for omnipotence, his long fingers can’t stretch towards it. Godliness is uninhabitable, an abandoned house. If Gojo casts his eyes on you for more than one second, he can do nothing but long. How can God long? Perhaps if he were more godlike, he could treat your inevitable death like a sacrifice. A martyrdom, or proof of your undying love for him.

Despite that, he understands how God's love can reach. Inciting violence to bring you closer to him is merciful. It’s only then you’ll come to understand it to the highest extent. That Gojo loves you after all, more than anything mortal in his world. He can hold all of you in his hands, keep you safe for the rest of your life. It’s what he wants so badly. If you just give him the chance to protect you - he could do it so easily.

Religion can be so much like a dog and its master. Maybe, you could understand Gojo’s feelings if you saw it as an animal instinct to protect you. Even if it’s a falsity, a fictitious tale, detached from what's true.

He doesn’t want you to hate him. He’s your watch dog, your keeper, your divine love. He needs you all to himself and he needs you to understand that you’re his reprieve. That in a universe decided by fate, the two of you are also red strings knotted together perversely.

He needs you. He needs you. He needs you.

Snow is falling.

Come Saturday, Gojo receives a knock on his door.

He’s usually sleeping in on the weekends, so he’s startled by it. School doesn’t start till later and if it was an emergency relating to sorcery - Yagi would’ve dialed him personally. He answers the door with sleep still in his, rubbing his eyelids as he yawns. He’s dressed in his P.J.’s with his hair messy and mind jumbled.

He’s not unhappy though, when he opens the door up to see you. You’ve got something in your arms, a bag it looks like and a look on your face that Gojo can’t decipher.

“Oh,” He says after registering who he’s talking to you “What’re you doing here so early?”

You sigh, deeply, rubbing your arm. That anxious little habit again, your eyes darting every which way.

“A pipe broke in my apartment. Like, flooded the whole thing. Spent the whole morning scrounging my stuff together a-and I called maintenance but they won’t be here for a while and.” You stutter as you explain yourself and Gojo stares at you in confusion “I need a place to stay but going back to my parents right now is gonna be so hard and plus there’s work,”

Gojo soothes you silently, putting a hand up.

“Hey, calm down,” He says first, smiling up at you. He reaches out to pat your head “I’m here. It’s okay. Slow down and tell me what's wrong?”

You sigh, closing your eyes and bracing yourself.

“Would it be alright if I stayed with you? Just for a few days, until I figure this all out?”

If God exists, maybe this is his way of giving Gojo grace. Gojo takes a minute to pretend, leans against his door frame and watches you fidget anxiously. He blinks at you, the way your teeth are pressing into your lip. You fold underneath the pressure of his gaze easily. He hums and haws.

“Hm,” He says, leaving you uncertain for as long as he can before you try to react. He’s memorized all your tells by heart “Well, there’s no reason not to, right? You’ll have to sleep in my bed though.”

He half-jokes, but not really. He waits on your reaction.

“Oh, uhm, then,”

He interrupts just then, raising his voice. You jump back.

“Just kidding! Of course you can stay with me. I’ll take the couch for a few days so don’t worry your pretty little head about it, okay? Stay as long as you like.”

You look relieved. It makes Gojo smile a bit watching you take a deep breath, leaning on the door frame as he stares.

“What?” You ask when you notice. He shakes his head.

“It’s cute when you get nervous,” He says, inhibitions lowered. You pout at him and Gojo has to stop himself from reaching forward to grab your face in his hands.

“You’re so mean,” You say with a sigh, arms crossed over your chest “I was really freaking out just now,”

“I know, I know - but it’s kinda fun watching you fuss. Dunno. Maybe it’s cause I’m sleepy,”

“You're wide awake right now!” You point out. He snorts.

“Noo, what? I’m half-asleep right now,”

“Gojo,” You whine, and he has to stop the blood rushing through his body “Let me in? Please?”

“Try Satoru. Sa-to-ru,” He says. You frown at him, sighing as you rub your face.

“Satoru,” You say, hardly getting the syllables out “L-let me in,”

He pats your head one more time as your frown deepens.

“Good girl,” He purrs, before switching his tone to a more lax one as he welcomes you “Come on in!”

Another sigh of relief. Gojo finds it fascinating that you can find relief in his presence. It speaks to how well he’s been doing to make sure he’s acting in accordance to expectations. Despite how easy the opportunity has fallen into him, he doesn’t think it’s time yet. You’re still skittish.

Still, he should get something out of your stay here. And he will, but he should let you settle in first. He gives you a hum as you shuffle inside, standing awkwardly in his living room. He shuts the door behind you and locks it up.

“Don’t be so stiff,” He says, waving a hand in the air before yawning “My home is your home. Be comfortable. Is there anything you need or wanna do?”

“Could I borrow your shower?”

Gojo feels something pressing into his ribs at the idea of you using his things - sharp and sinful.

“I was gonna shower this morning but, y’know.” You gesture vaguely. He’s quick to agree of course, nodding his head as he points in the general direction of the bathroom.

“Pretty sure our places are built the same so you should know where it is. The towels on the rack are all clean. Feel free to use anything in there and uhhh,” He scratches his head unsure of what else he needs to add. Though he’s certain he’s missing something “Oh, and I’ll give you some clothes,”

You flush at the sentiment. So maybe you do know what this seems like, at least on the surface. Gojo peers at you as you turn his words over, interjecting before you have a chance to refuse.

“Don’t say no,” He says, voice sing-songy. watching your expression morph into something nervous again. Maybe you caught it, because you certainly jump in your skin, but he switches into himself with ease. Over and over and over - startling you never gets less fun “Let me play out my domestic fantasies a bit as compensation,”

“That’s a bad joke,” You say, throat thick.

You want to trust him don’t you? He wants to praise you for that.

“Aw, c’mon. It’s lonely. Let me indulge a little,” He begs with enough lightheartedness that you don’t run away.

“Geez. I thought you were popular with the ladies,” You try and joke back, though it’s stilted and awkward. He can tell you’re getting prepared to squeeze to the bathroom before the conversation is too much.

“Old ladies do love me,” He says contemplative. You elbow him lightly.

“Stupid.”

He gives you a soft smile as you pass by him.

“Is there anything else that you need while you’re in there?”

“I don’t think so,” You reply back. Gojo watches you disappear into the hall, trailing after you silently. He waits, listening carefully for the sound of the shower to turn on.

When the water rushes, he follows you.

He almost has a conscious standing in front of the closed door. The water pressure in his apartment is a little higher than it’s supposed to be. The closed walls keep all the noise inside them, making it almost impossible to hear what’s going on outside. Even with heightened senses like him.

For someone like you, it’s probably impossible.

It’s knowing that he follows behind you, lying in wait. He counts up to 5 minutes as he waits, letting you settle into it before he puts his hand on the door knob. He finds it unlocked. He’s pleased with that.

You trust him, or you try too.

When he feels certain you’re relaxed, he opens the door. He could teleport in but it’s noisy. Steam plumes outward as the door opens. He looks around the bathroom. Your clothes are folded neatly, with your pants hanging on the rack next to you.

He stares at the fabric for a long time, contemplating what he has time for.

Ultimately, he suppresses whatever urges come up to do what he came for. Too many to count and even more that are risky to act on. Instead, he checks the tags of each piece, committing it to memory. After, he stares at the shower curtain until he’s sure he overstayed his welcome.

He leaves right after though, shutting the door just as quietly as he opened it.

The less you know the better. Gojo makes his way back into the living room.

He sits on his couch when he’s back. The sun hasn’t come up yet and he’s only turned on a single lamp for light. It’s hard for him to describe how he’s feeling. Things have been different for weeks now, but proceeding normally hasn’t caused him too many issues. Strangely the sense of routine has been grounding.

He’s been dealing with it better than he expected. For all of that restraint to unravel so quickly is funny.

But, Gojo thinks, that everything leading up to now must’ve been a sign. There are so many instances that befall him that feel aligned with fate. He’s naive in thinking you're different. He’s the only heir of the Gojo clan, the only one with the Six Eyes for nearly 400 years. He hears the water rush faintly through the walls of his apartment, picturing you trapped in those four walls. He thinks of how you met. Your proximity to each other.

It’s only now and in such circumstances does he think that you’re the due that the universe is paying back to him. Robbed of everything, of every joy he’s ever had - it’s both righteous and fair to take you. Gojo doesn’t want you to hate him. Not necessarily.

But they always say in sickness and in health. Through the best of times and the worst. If you were made for him like he suspects (like he knows, believes deep down) then he thinks it’ll be fine. As long as it's you. As long as it’s yours. Even if you cry or scream, what matters to Gojo is that it’s yours. That he’s yours.

Holding back is starting to be too much. Gojo’s never been the type to sit on his hands and wait. Being scared is so much like starving. Deprivation like that always threatens to turn Gojo to ruin.

But like anything he does though, he can’t take the easy way out. There’s a method to the madness. An order even among his most disorderly actions, there’s things that need to be done the right way for the best possible outcome. On less of a whim than it seems, Gojo decides that he’ll do his best to make that reality happen.

The thought settles in his body and suddenly he’s present again. He feels a pang of hunger in his stomach, causing him to stand to his feet. He feels lighter as he waltzes into the kitchen, whistling to himself on what he should make. Maybe crepes? He’s not a skilled cook but he’s pretty good at making those.

At the very least, he thinks you’ll like them too. He proceeds into a normal-ish routine. He follows the motions of making breakfast as he hums to himself silently. Grabs a bowl from the cupboard, eggs and milk from the fridge, and flour from the pantry.

He thinks to himself, immersing himself in the practical ritual. His comment from earlier about domestic fantasies was a half-joke at best. Gojo really does want to do this kind of thing with you, and he doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to play the part either. Even if it’s temporary. He’s giddy at the thought of doing this with you everyday, a warm fluttery feeling spreading through his body.

He grabs a whisk off of the wall as he dumps everything into an empty bowl, turning the heat of a non-stick low. He whistles a song he can’t remember the name of, cracking an egg on the metal edge.

Despite living in a nicer part of Tokyo, Gojo has yet to have an induction stove top. It’s not uncommon to have gas for smaller, cheaper apartments. Most of the stovetops in the Jujutsu Tech dorms are gas and Gojo has no issue using them. He doesn’t cook for himself often in the first place, so he’s never thought to complain about it or get it changed.

Maybe he should. Once you live here, it might get inconvenient. The thing about gas stoves is that they never heat evenly. It’s not impossible to work with, and the heat is easier to control - but induction lets every inch of the pan get hot the same way.

( He often thinks of the analogy for boiling a frog. If you put anything living in heat too directly, it’ll jump to save itself. But if you keep the heat tepid, gently raising the heat till it boils - it’ll let itself stay in the treacherous waters until the very end. It’s best to keep the heat even. It’s best to fix it sometime soon. )

The whisk makes a pleasant sound as it hits the bowl, metallic scratch softened by the presence of batter. He picks the whisk up and watches the yellow liquid drip off the edge, a hand over the pan. Still too cool to the touch, he clicks his teeth.

He waits, idly. The shower turns off, he hears, and feels his breath hitch. He has to steel himself, curb his enthusiasm.

Too much heat, and you’ll jump to save yourself.

Once the pan is hot enough, Gojo busies himself with cooking. It helps him distract himself, the monotony of pouring and flipping and waiting. He gets through almost 6 before he hears your feet pad gently across his hardwood floor, slipping into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your neck.

You’re wearing what seems like the only clothes you managed to bring. Gojo wonders how long it’ll last you. Despite it, he notices the way you smell. How you smell like all of his fancy bath products and soaps. There’s a twitch in his sweats that he barely gets under control. He lowers the heat and turns to you.

“Morning,” He says. You giggle a little.

“Morning. Are you making breakfast?”

“Yes ma'am. The only thing I know how to make but,” He puffs his chest up “Pretty good, I’m told.”

You roll your eyes at him, but smile anyway

“Guess I’ll be the judge of that,”

“The audacity,” He says, full of theatrics “I’ll knock your socks off,”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” You say, flippant and giggly. Gojo decides then, maybe, in its entirety. That he’ll have all of you and soon “Can I help with anything?”

“Get started on some coffee maybe,”

You nod your head and yawn.

“Sounds good to me,”

You decide to stay for a week.

More precisely, Gojo convinces you to stay for a week. That’s how long it will take for your apartment to get fixed completely. Concerned about inconveniencing him, you initially suggested 3 days - insisted you could find somewhere else or pay for a hotel for the rest of the time.

But Gojo insisted too. A week is more than fine (even longer would be better) and there’s no reason for you to go out of your way. Hotels are expensive, your parents live out in the countryside, and it’s not like you can’t board with a friend for a few days right?

But won’t that trouble you? Of course not. Gojo doesn’t mind at all. It’s like having a week-long sleep-over.

I don’t have the stuff I need. That’s fine. Gojo can take care of it. He already bought some clothes for you, an act of kindness. He can get the rest too. You can consider it a favor, if you really want to be sure.

Are you sure? Of course he’s sure. More than sure. You’re doing him a big favor, he assures with nothing but affection. Being alone at home is pretty boring, anyways. What’s sleeping in the same room when we’re neighbors?

Even with your unease, you agree to stay the whole week. You’re weak to being convinced, and hard-pressed on not fighting about things Gojo is adamant on.

(He’d be stupid not to notice how your earnesty makes you easy to exploit. It’s a good thing it’s only Gojo who knows.)

The first day passes quietly. You and Gojo go to your respective jobs and greet each other when you get home. At home, things are simple. Domestic. There’s no other way to view it. You graded papers and looked over lesson plans in the living room while Gojo got in his daily sets - TV playing in the background with neither of you particularly tuned in. Gojo sleeps on the couch.

(He doesn’t make it a day without touching himself. The proximity is too much, too stimulating, and even with all of the restraint in the universe - it’s hard for him to stave it off. What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Alone under the moon, he thinks of what you look like when you’re embarrassed and spills into his hand.

Eventually, he’ll graduate to watching over you. You leave the door unlocked because you’re naive and Gojo stands with his cock in his fist, watching intently. You squirm in your sleep but you sleep deeply - because despite all the noise, you don’t stir one even once. He stops it from touching you, so close to your mouth, to your skin. )

On the second day of living together, the clothes Gojo bought you come to his door. You’re not home when it arrives, so he waits until you are home to open it with you. You come home a little later than usual (parent-teacher conferences, apparently).

(“I have a surprise for you!” Gojo says, as finally comes back into the living room. You’ve returned from your shower, on your last pair of PJ’s. You blink at him softly, tilting your head to one side as he hands you a package.

“For me?” You ask. Gojo nods, grinning.

“For you,” He confirms. He walks with you as you set the box onto the coffee table. You stare at it for a minute, glancing up at Gojo. Your eyes search for your keys. Once you find them, you take the sharpest key and rip through the tape on the top of its sides. An unceremonious krrk sounds through the room, echoing in the dimly lit living room.

The clothes are wrapped in white, plastic packaging. You pick them individually, examining them closely. You look at Gojo again, more uncertain than before.

But Gojo shakes his head, nudging you towards opening the packages themselves. A promise to explain afterwards, silent in the air. You nod, confused, but do as he suggests. You rip the top open, dropping the thin plastic onto the table. More bags, this time clear. You repeat the action until the material flounces in your hands. You undo the careful folding for a minute, then stare at it.

“...Clothes?” You repeat.

“Surprise!” He says with his usual silly cadence “For you, free of charge.”

A lot of things pass over your expression. Gojo watches each of them carefully, amused. He wonders what you’ll do. What you’re thinking, it’s a shame Gojo can’t read your mind.

“How’d you know my size?” You say first, inquisitive but not accusatory. Gojo shrugs.

“Guessed. We’ve spent enough time together,” He says noncommittally. Your face changes, like you don’t quite believe him. But there’s not enough there for you to question him either. He can almost hear you narrate it in your head. The heart you wear on your sleeve, tender red and bleeding, thumps anxiously as you try to get a read on him. It’s not a sound he dislikes.

He’s been good to you. He’s just being nice. You shake your head, regretful of your own doubt for a minute. You force a smile, and Gojo doesn’t hate it even though he knows where it comes from.

The power of love, he thinks almost whimsically.

“This is a big box. How much stuff did you even get?” You repeat, noticing the contents are up to the top. He feigns indifference. Pretends not to know that he spent countless hours looking over it.

“Mm, dunno. Just whatever I thought you’d need.”

“I’m only here for a week, Gojo.” You mutter, hands grazing over the cardboard edge.

“So? Maybe you need a lot of stuff. I don’t know what women go through.” He says with a pout, lips together. Joking with you to lighten the mood, which makes you huff through your nose.

“You’re so dumb. It’s too much stuff,”

“I already bought it and I don’t feel like returning it,” He tells you, making it clear he’s not going to negotiate “Just think of it as a gift from Santa Claus.”

You snort.

“You even have the hair,” You reply. Trying to make yourself feel better in the process, Gojo gives you a half smile “Still. I feel like I’m really indebted to you, lately.”

“Yeah? You can count this week as one big favor, if that makes it easier.”

“I don’t remember Santa doing favors for people,” You quip. Gojo laughs.

“Change in management,”

You laugh a real laugh at that, and Gojo watches you turn the situation over again and again.

“Well. Thank you. Might as well look through the rest of it, huh?”

“Take your time,” Gojo says, before checking the digital clock on his wall “I need to go get something from the store. Just leave the empty stuff next to the trash and I’ll take it out tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll start on dinner. See you, Gojo.”

“Yeah. See you” )

If you notice all the clothes come in shades of blue, you’re smart enough not to say anything.

The third day passes in a blur. Nothing notable, but he’s content. You wear the clothes Gojo bought you and he’s careful not to stare while you know. He takes it upon himself only to do it when he knows you’re asleep, his nightly routine staring over the bare inches of your body in a dark room being a reprieve of his other desires.

On the fourth day, he doesn’t have the restraint not to touch you. Too many days in the same room and he wants access to everything already. He hates being patient more than he thought, but there’s a method to this - he has to remind himself.

Like taking out his aggression, he decides he needs more relief. Something to scratch the itch. With his infinity, you can’t feel his fingers ghosting over your legs. He checks if you’re wearing the other stuff he bought, settled at the bottom of the box. Not lingerie, but panties. Plain and cottony - white over your cunt as you sleep with your leg hiked up. Gojo knows you can’t feel him now, but part of him wants you too. He wants to know why you’re wearing them despite yourself. Gojo realizes too late that he’s interested in your misery just as much as he is everything else, and so far - that discovery has made everything all the more difficult.

On the fifth day, things proceed the same. There’s a routine you’ve settled into together despite the time limit on it. That night over dinner, you and Gojo spend time together. There’s not really much to do - it’s a Friday. It’s the first time neither of you are completely occupied with any one task.

You get to talking like that. On the fifth day, Gojo gets as close to opening up as he’s ever gotten in his life. Part of him isn’t sure why he does it. He thinks he’s seeking confirmation for something, but what that could be is lost on him.

(“So, you’re the only person left in your clan?” You ask, half-way through a glass of tea he’s sure has gone cold by now. The T.V. is on but muted. Gojo looks at you in the low lights, fighting his own sleep.

“Mhm. Technically, I’m the sole heir.” He replies.

“...Is it okay to ask what happened?”

Gojo laughs at you. You really can’t help your curiosity, but he still finds it amusing.

“It’s not a pretty story,” Gojo says honestly.

“That’s okay,” You say, voice filled with an air of innocence that Gojo has a hard time wrapping his head around.

“Most of them were wiped out. We had a lot of enemies, me included. A lot of them are dead, the remaining are somewhere far-away and have no combat abilities.”

“You included?” You pick up on, naturally. Gojo nods and smiles a little.

“Once I inherited my technique it was pretty commonplace. I went through a lot of assassination attempts,” He yawns in between, because this is an old, boring story “It took a lot of time for me to get strong enough to where I am now. But I got there eventually.”

“You say that so easily,”

Gojo peers at the frown on your face and laughs quietly to himself.

“It was a long time ago, now. I never really had a lot to mourn, except for when I was a teenager. I’m used to it.”

For a long time, you remain completely silent. Gojo almost thinks you’re going to cry. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. It’s proof of something. Of his ambivalence towards the idea of sympathy. Sure, it’s meaningless now for someone to feel bad for him. It’s a pointless endeavor, because Gojo is a selfish dick and the strongest - and he knows both of those things intimately. He accepts them as part of himself in the same way, he doesn’t know what he’s like without being frivolous. Without being the strongest. The line between misery and character is paper thin and Gojo hasn’t known it since he was born.

It’s especially pointless for you to feel bad for him, because he’s going to ruin that very innocence you hold in your heart before the week is over. He’s going to do it with purpose and conviction. He won’t feel remorseful about it at all.

There’s an irony to it. A dramatic irony that brings him closer to Godliness than he’s ever really been. Because Gojo knows that this conversation is confirmation that he needs you, just as much as he knows he’ll do anything to have you even if it means you can no longer look at him like this.

He wonders how long you’ll hold sympathy for him. He decides for now, there’s no reason to not lean into it. It makes him happy that you care enough to feel sad. Even if it’s pointless. He doesn’t remember the last time someone did.

Maybe when he was 17.

“You look like you’re gonna cry.” He says lightheartedly. Sincere in a way he hasn’t been in very well over 10 years. You sniffle.

“How are you not crying?”

“I never cry.” Gojo says smoothly, not blinking “I’m a heartless bastard.”

“That’s not true.” You say, almost exclaim, turning yourself to look at him so seriously. It’s cute, he must admit, that you’re so sure on his character “You’re not heartless,”

“But I am a bastard,” He clarifies, mischievous. And you pout, less eager to correct him on that

“...You’re not heartless. Clearly.” You say again. Gojo laughs, a real laugh. He can feel it preemptively, how much he’ll cherish every minute of this conversation. He hums.

“Oho, you almost sound like you’re defending me.”

“From yourself, I guess. I know you’re not heartless,” You say, with some kind of clarity that you have him figured out. Maybe you do. It’s a little shocking. It’s not usually how this goes “You’re…weird. But you care”

“That’s true,” Because it is, and Gojo has no reason to lie to you right now. “More than that, I’m hung up on the idea of the future.”

“Isn’t it usually being hung-up on the past?”

“Right? Usually, that’d be the case,” Gojo says, unsure of what to express “But the past is the past. I can’t go back to it. My technique is infinity. It means I can see infinite realities.”

You sound like the winds been knocked out of you “That’s terrifying,”

“It is. But you know, even in those realities, the past is the past. There are places where the past hasn’t happened. But it can’t be changed. It becomes part of infinity, when events occur. The only thing that can be changed is the future,” Gojo explains, though he leaves out so many intricacies “There’s a future I want to see. I’d like if my students could see it too,”

“Because of your friend, right?”

Gojo smiles.

“Because of my friend. And for less selfless reasons.”

“Like?” You ask, curious.

“I like being able to do whatever I want, without consequences. Being strong lets me do that. For now it’s up to me, but eventually, I can raise strong comrades.”

You’re silent for a while, again.

“Seems lonely,” You say, simply. Easily. It’s true, and he knows that. It’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you’ve said it with little regard for anything. Almost mindlessly, a natural response to such a sad story.

Gojo feels it again. Those stifling, pesky emotions that linger in the cavity of his ribs. He can’t bring himself to be honest, because when does he ever? But he does smile again, a little more melancholy than usual. You notice, certainly, but you have the courtesy not to say a word.

“You think so?” Gojo says, passive and wilfully ignorant “Does it make you wanna hug and console me?”

He offers it sarcastically, but you don’t tear your eyes away from him. It’s almost enough to shake him. Almost.

“...A little? You feel like a sad dog in the rain.” You say, too honestly.

“Jeez. Maybe you just miss Pokupan. Thinking about another man right in front of me. I can’t believe I’m the other woman,” He says, with a faux pout.

You laugh, though it’s laced with sympathy. Gojo can tell you want to fuss. That you want to admonish him for being the way he is, and he’s almost willing to let you. That’s just the thing.

You see Gojo as human, still.

Gojo Satoru isn’t God. But he isn’t human either. If you want to know how God lives, asking Gojo is always viable. But you shouldn’t mistake false omnipotence for forgiveness, like you are now. You see Gojo for all of his humanity, but you're blind to his divinely violent tendencies. You will be until it’s too late.

So, Gojo doesn’t think you need to comfort him how you’re thinking you should. Gojo wants you to depend on him. Because coveting you is an affair distinctly inhuman and crueler than even the heavens could be and he believes that you’re owed to him.

Gojo wants to protect this version of you, even at the sake of corrupting it. He doesn’t want to let you go ever, for any reason. And he wont.

He turns the heat up gently. You’re none-the-wiser. The night swallows you both, but Gojo will remain untouched. He’ll hold you when it inevitably spits you back out. When reality washes into you, you should’ve trusted your gut after all.

For now, he smiles at you.

“If it’s any consolation, I’d be very sad if you disappeared.” Which Gojo hopes you can interpret without his interference. It seems like you do, because you smile to yourself.

“Me too,” You reply. Gojo knows he’s going to ruin you. “I’d be really sad if you disappeared, Gojo. So, don’t, okay?”

And if Gojo were an honest person, or a good one - he’d tell you you’re the last person who should worry about missing him. That you’ll be seeing him for a long time.

But he’s neither, just like he’s not god or man. He lightens his tone and holds out his pinky, which you link with his.

“Scouts honor,”

When he’s ready to look away, you pull a bare thread from Gojo’s clothes. Frowning at him, as you dust away the fabric with your hand. He stares at you.

“What was that?”

“You had a thread loose,” You say simply, unconcerned with anything “I just pulled it off.”

Gojo stares.

“Yeah. Thanks.”)

The sixth day passes quickly. Gojo doesn’t think there’s anything worthy of saying. By then the routine is so practiced and so constant. The sixth day passes like a shadow in the night, disappearing through the woods before morning comes. A stepping stone.

Today is the 7th day.

On the 7th day, things are different. The same but different as they so often are. You don’t have work today, so you do what you’ve been doing. You and Gojo work in proximity to each other, share meals, and idly watch T.V.

Night falls on the 7th day.

Gojo wants to take part in the act of creation, as the sun dips below the horizon. He’d set this in motion when the week started and now that it’s here - the anticipation is too much to bear. When Gojo Satoru sets himself out to be conqueror, the universe trembles at the sight of him. There’s no sound at all. The night reeks of death, in Gojo’s presence it trembles. Too fearsome to speak.

Night falls today. Gojo starts his usual routine with less caution than he’s had the previous six. Where he usually bides his time and enters the room carefully - today he merely enters. He places his hand on the silver handle and pushes it open. A breath rushes from his lungs, adrenaline entering his system as he steps inside. His room has felt so unfamiliar to him lately, but like this - a sense of serenity washes over him.

He stares at you. With his Six Eyes, with vision clear as ever, Gojo looks onto you as you are now. You can never reconstruct a flower crushed under steel boots. You’re not mud or earth, not adaptable like the sea. From the moment he’s met you - Gojo has known you to be so much like a flower. Gojo has never wanted to take the petals off of something so much in his life.

And Gojo is in this instance, a natural disaster ready to pluck the root of you up from the ground. He’ll pick you up in a storm but return you to his feet. There’s a method to this. Gojo stares at your silhouette wrapped and tangled in his sheets, body so loosely dressed. Your visible figure rests easy.

The night is glorious and silent. Gojo watches on in some cross of indifference and utter starvation. He blinks, leans on the wall.

Like a call from fate, you start to stir awake.

Gojo moves towards you. He decides it might be easier just to join you in bed, so he gently works himself into the sheets.. He creeps towards you slowly, and re-familiarizes himself with the feeling of his bed. It’d be lost on him for a week, but your presence in it makes it feel especially brand new. The bed dips under his weight, creaking. You shift lethargically, turning your head to look at Gojo.

You look startled once you realize. For the first time in your entire relationship, it seems to dawn on you that something is wrong. Just a minute too late. He gives you a second to wake up. Your breath hitches, a stifled gasp as you greet Gojo’s expression.

The hunger in his stomach is gnawing. Gojo feels like he’s starving. He thinks doing this will only half-way relieve the urge. This part of Gojo is inhuman as the rest of him.

Gojo’s presence suffocates you so much in the moment, you can only barely open your lips to say your next words.

“What are you doing here?” You sound still innocent. Gojo smiles briefly, under the glow of the moon. He can see your expression clearly. Sleep in your vision. A sheerness to your skin that comes with rest. Your bags are packed, and your things are cleared from his bathroom. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought.

He knows he shouldn’t think it, but some part of him is vindicated. You’re leaving him today and Gojo finds abandonment to be the highest betrayal of them all. So, he’s vindicated. He licks his teeth, usual mirth coming back to him.

Then he talks, his voice tender.

“Getting my debts repaid,” And he means it, more than he’s ever meant anything he’s said “You owe me one, remember?”

It dawns on you. Realization flickers in your eyes before it twists into fear. Gojo wants to encourage it. A curse starts to form, like tendrils around you. You’ll leave it here when you’re gone in the morning and Gojo will have a piece of you left with him.

“W-what are you…? What do you mean?”

He’s shrill, almost, leaning close to you. His sudden proximity makes you freeze. You know better, know so clearly it stops you from running. Gojo is tempted to see if you’ll do it. If you’ll run or if you’ll thrash or if you’ll fight. He’s not particularly sadistic, but he likes you - and he’s curious to know what your reaction will be to something like this.

He eases you into it, He brushes his knuckles over your cheek as your heart sky-rockets like you’re being hunted. Gojo thinks he ought to be gentle with you. Regardless of how this is happening, it’s your first time together. Your fingers tremble as you reach up to grab his wrist. It seems like you’re trying hard to pull him off, and wiggle away from his grip. You ready yourself to give him push back and Gojo times it so that it seems like you’ll be able to break free.

But Gojo is strong. Stronger than you by a lot, and you know that by now. When he finds that you’re trying to escape him, he’s quick to grab your wrists with his hands. They both fit perfectly in his palms. He pulls them up over your head and your eyes widen as you feel his grip - near bruising (though he is trying so hard to be gentle) on your body. He stares down at you.

You look so frightened.

“Wh-what are you..?”

“You owe me one for letting you stay here, right?” He asks enthusiastically, licking his teeth. Your eyes widen “I’ll take this as compensation, okay? It’s a good deal for us both I think,”

“I don’t,” You squirm underneath him “I don’t—I,”

“Shh,” He quiets you, humming softly “Don’t overcomplicate it. Just wanna see you,”

Gojo watches you turn it over in your head. He was wondering about this. What’d you do in these circumstances. If you’d act like you always do, pleasant and pliable trying to do what's best. Damage control for what's coming.

Gojo pulls his hands away to undress you and yours fly to his shoulder blades. You heave as you push, mumbling something about how he doesn’t need to do this. Your expression is grief-stricken. Gojo soothes you.

“You can bite, scratch, kick, scream - whatever works,” Gojo says, communicating his affection as best he can. He drives his hands under your shirt, laying his palm flat over the skin of your stomach. He runs his thumbs over your sides, committing every inch of you to memory. Without his infinity, Gojo feels every part of you “It’s not gonna hurt me,”

You look like you’re at a loss for words. He gives you a warm grin.

“Maybe we’re going about this all wrong,” Gojo says after some thought “Is this your first time?”

You whimper, nodding meekly. Gojo groans against your skin. You flinch.

“Fuck, course it is. Shoulda known. Such a sheltered girl like you,” He adds the last part with a hint of condescension, watching your face curl up into a frown.

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing you know,” Gojo is careful as he pulls your shirt higher and higher. Your breath is being held, afraid of what’ll happen if you let g.o “We’re tied together like this. Isn’t that nice?”

“Gojo,” You say, swallowing something. Words that threaten to bubble up that you can’t find the strength to say. You’re not wearing anything underneath and Gojo feels a chill in his spine “Please,”

“Not wearing a thing even though you’ve been sleeping at a man's house all week,” He reprimands. He lets the material sit over the swell of your chest, just under your neck where it stays. He can see the outline of your tits clearly now, just enough light from the open window to illuminate your skin. Your nipples are hard, heaving. Gojo can hear your little heartbeat thump against your ribs “I’m not telling you off you know? I’m glad you trust me. Great job, on that really. But you really should be more careful.”

“Gojo,” You plead again, throaty. The sound goes through his system, sends blood rushing to his cock.

“Satoru,” He insists on, knowing it will take more than that to convince him “I’ll try and listen to your requests if you say Satoru,”

He doesn’t promise to stop, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to follow up on it. Still, with the level of desperation you show - Gojo thinks it’s worth it to gain something out of. You follow up his request almost instantly, lips wrapping around the syllables with a weak breath.

“S-Satoru,”

He gestures to take your shirt off. You’ve become more pliable, if only a little, letting Gojo see all of you completely bare as he tosses his clothes somewhere onto the floor. Shameless in viewing you, your instincts kick in to cover your chest. He clicks his teeth, pushing your wrists together again over your head.

“That won’t do,” He coos at you softly “I wanna see you. All of you,”

You hiccup, sobbing, Gojo reaches his palms towards your breasts, cupping them gently. Your nipples rub against his palms and he groans feeling how soft you are.

“So pretty,” He admires you. Means it. Gojo lets his gaze catch on the edges and curves of you with enthusiasm. Your chest is sensitive to his touch, thumb and forefinger tweaking and teasing your nipples as you remain underneath him obediently. Your eyes look so watery, soft like lilies in freshwater “So cute,”

“Satoru, please, I don’t—don’t want—”

“So ungrateful,” He tsks. He smacks your chest lightly, enough to make you squeal “That’s the only request I can’t listen to,”

You hiccup, looking away. Gojo hums as he hovers over you, seated over your figure. He pulls his mask off from his eyes, material falling into his fingers. Grabbing your wrists with his palms, he wraps the material around them - tight enough to keep you but with enough room so it doesn’t hurt. He places your hands over your head gently, kissing your covered wrists.

“Don’t squirm too much, ‘kay? Stay like that. I’ll make you feel good.”

“I don’t,”

“Hey,” This time he’s stern, and you slink back into yourself. It’s the first time he’s had to use this tone on you and hopefully the last “What’d I say? You owe me this much, don’t you think? After everything I’ve done for you, the least you can do is not turn me away. It’s not like I wanna do anything bad with you, y’know”

A pang of guilt passes through you. You stop squirming. Gojo keens, baring his teeth as he smiles.

“Good girl.” He dips his head to kiss the place under your ear, where your neck meets your jaw. He scrapes his teeth on the skin so you can feel his teeth over your pulse “You learn quick.”

You keep your arms over your head like he’s asked, hesitant and stiff. Gojo can work with that at least. He leans towards you, tipping your jaw so you’re forced to look at him. Tear-eyed and whimpering, a shudder passes through him.

“So pretty,” He mumbles. He leans forward, presses his lips to yours - hand resting on the base of your neck. You make a noise of indignance but Gojo keeps you there. He eases you into obedience, forcing his tongue in your mouth, grazing the inside of your mouth.

He swallows every sound you make. Distress and frustration and reluctance lend themselves to giving in easily. Your body is sensitive to touch, a trail of goosebumps where his hands touch you. On your waist, trying to ease you into it.

He pulls away from you, a string of saliva connecting you.

“First kiss?” He asks. You shy away, clamping your mouth shut. Gojo chuckles, teeth nipping at you “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You remain silent, so Gojo fills the space.

“Mm,” Gojo presses kisses down the curve of your jaw, all the way down your neck where he stops and bites - hard enough for something to be there tomorrow. He undresses the rest of you. You try to resist this time too, but Gojo doesn’t bother putting up a show. It’s easy to overpower you. He tugs your shorts off with your panties and tosses them somewhere. Unceremonious and uncharacteristically impatient.

He takes his time now that you’re all naked. It’s thrilling to watch distress fill your lungs, a ballooned breath and muffled protest. Gojo sucks hickies into your bare skin. It’s only fair to give you something to look at while you’re departed. Your blood rushes, capillaries breaking under the hardness of his incisors - ridges pushed against your delicate skin. He licks the bruises afterwards, kisses them tenderly.

“Gonna be a little sore for a while,” He says warmly. You’ve hit the stage of grief where you’re angry and resilient again but one look from Gojo is enough to make you slink back “Might as well enjoy yourself.”

Despair flashes in your expression.

“I mean it, you know.” He offers, stating it like he’s trying to appease you “You should relax a little, let it roll off your shoulders.”

It seems like you register that Gojo is teasing you. He does mean it, about thinking you should enjoy it. Everything else is deliberate and you know as much. It’s good you’re starting to understand him a little better.

“Why are you doing this to me?” You ask hoarsely. Gojo is surprised by your question.

“Ah, it’s a secret, so you can’t tell,” He starts. He squeezes the fat of your chest in his palms, silver tongued and playful “I like things that I can keep.”

A flash of true horror washes over you and you almost go ragged in realization. Weakened in your resolve once glimmering so brightly, Gojo takes the opportunity to please. He kisses down your sternum, runs his hands across the sides of your chest. He presses this thumb against your hardened nipples, rubbing lightly. Gojo takes them into his mouth. He bites then licks like he licks a wound

It pleases him immensely when you respond. When you gasp in a helpless sort of way and go to cover your mouth in shame. A sense of delight washes over his body and he does it again and again. He teases, changes from sucking harshly to lapping oh-so gently on the skin. Over and over until your voice can longer be contained no matter how hard you try - sharp gasps and cries of desire filling the air.

When he thinks you’re worked up enough, he slots himself against you and nudges your legs apart. He can feel the heat from your bare skin against his body, clothed. How you tremble underneath him. He eases his hand down gently, fingers trailing down to your pussy.

You hiccup. A sob of defiance stifled with obvious arousal, forced from you so easily. Gojo laughs.

“You don’t wanna?” He pricks, intentionally. Gojo lets his middle finger ease along your slit, dragging his digits up and through - catching on your achy clit “Are you sure?”

It’s torture for you. Of course it is. A pretty, sheltered little thing. It’s your first time with something like this and he’s sure all this is too much for you. Even if you tell yourself you don’t want it, your body can’t refuse him. You can’t either, try as you might. That’s why your legs are spread and why you’re practically dripping for him. Gojo thinks of it as admission. Your clit is hard underneath the pad of his middle finger, as he rubs too light and too gently.

You cry out, pitchy and broken. Gojo laughs.

“You need it here,” He punctuates, adding enough pressure that you gasp “Need me to touch you here, hm?”

You shake your head at first. Gojo tucks himself against your chest, sucking the skin gently.

“Be more honest.” He encourages a mockery as he so barely presses his finger inside of you - threatening to touch but never doing it “What do you want?”

“Don’t, I don’t.” You say, or you try.

“Liar,” He snips playfully against your clavicle “Your pretty little pussy is dripping wet and you want me to believe that?”

Gojo smacks your cunt softly. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure as you cry.

“C’mon,” He encourages meanly “Tell me what you really want.”

It’s a sick little mind game that Gojo is having too much fun playing with you.

“P-please,” You stutter, so unbelievably broken with so little done to you at all. Gojo will take all of you at a later time. When you’re thoroughly pliable and broken and so beautiful all for him “Please.”

So dependent like Gojo always thinks you should be.

“Please what, hm? What are you asking for?”

You swallow thickly. All your dread and doubt and disbelief gone as a sense of real and true need ignites within you. Of course this is too much for you. Gojo overwhelmed you like this on purpose. The resentment of wanting despite it all, despite how miserable you are makes for something so tragically Gojo’s. Whatever you have in your heart will always be for him. Good or bad, ugly or beautiful - like this you are all his and so perfectly too. It’s titillating, the sensation of control that wisps around him. It strikes him like a hammer on hot iron.

Gojo wants you to say it. Wants your selfless little heart to beg for his mercy this once. You’ll understand some time later, that this is how Gojo loves. Selfish and twisted. Cruel. Intimate beyond mortal comprehension. All of him just for you, just like this.

Strangely, it's perfect. Gojo teases you some more. Toys with your clit and feels a pool of arousal rush and drip from your sore cunt. He hits it with the palm of his hands as you try to form the words. You tremble in his arms, a vestige of your will to resist.

You want to resist so badly, he can tell. But it hurts now to leave it alone and you want it despite yourself. It makes you so frustrated you cry. Limp, crystal tears down your face that Gojo licks up nearly immediately. Salty and bitter. Gojo kisses the apples of your cheek, nose nudging your skin.

“So cute when you give up.” Gojo praises sincerely. You sob somewhere deep inside of your “Be good and be honest. I’ll reward you, hm? How’s that?”

Gojo can feel the moment you give in completely. When acceptance settles over your hazy and contorted mind. You let the tides take you, curling into yourself. A sound like you’re in pain even though you’re not hurt.

“Please touch me.” You whisper, hoarse and defeated. Gojo laughs airy, peppering your face with kisses. You wince.

“Good girl.” He coos, dipping his fingers down lower and lower. Heel of his palms pressed into your swollen, needy clit “That’s all you had to do. Easy, right?”

You scowl at him (you try too).

“Open your legs, baby,”

You listen this time, opening your legs wide enough for him to touch. Your pussy is so wet for him. Sticky and soft like you’ll fall apart, Gojo thinks it feels divine, wants to squeeze and grope and touch until you’re disintegrated. He likes feeling you like this. Vocal chords strung tight, all the noises throaty and gone. You throb against him like you’re begging. Gojo doesn’t stand to let you acclimate, flipping between three fingers in a gentle rub to a soft and well-practiced spank.

Only when your words start to come out t0gether, like you’re spitting them out because they fill your mouth too quick - does Gojo bless you with any mercy. He lets his hands sink lower, deeper - until his middle finger brushes your twitching hole. Your breath hitches, and the hands once stuck to your side, reach for Gojo’s hard to hold.

He licks his teeth, some unspoken feeling sending an bullet through him as he feels your body resist. Needy thing you are and so untouched that even the point of your middle finger makes your breath slower. You’re wet enough he doesn’t need anything else to aid him. He pushes in slow, slow, slow - painstakingly carefully as your wetness envelops you.

Because he intends to cherish you in his own way, he resists the urge he feels to flip you right over and take you. He’s being kind, and you’ll realize it later - when you’ve adjusted to him a bit more and know when to pick your fights. If he didn’t think it’d ruin the set-up, he’d have flipped you on your back just feeling. Fucked you without any consideration, just to feel your pussy around him in a vice grip.

It’s all he can picture, but he shows restraint. He’ll fuck himself off on you when you’re sleeping maybe, just to scratch the urge. You might pass out before then.

He comes back to you like that, a promise to himself to give the relief he needs with the body he finds oh-so tempting. He pushes his perversion aside to touch you. You let out a little sound every time he fucks himself deeper, gets his middle finger down to the first bend the all the way to the knuckle.

When he thinks you’re adjusted - ready for more, he gives it to you without making you plead. He uses his ring finger this time - his longest ones and feels you stretch around. He groans, deep and appreciative, as he feels how tight you are. You preen, squeeze your thighs together and call his name

“Oh, Satoru, its.”

He shushes you before busying himself with tasting your skin. Closes his mouth around one of your tits as he repeats the process. In, in, in until he’s all the way to his knuckles. Fucks you till it’s easy, till you’re wanting more.

If he were more merciful, a good man or a better one - he’d stop here. He doesn’t though. A third finger has your eyes widening. You gasp. Gojo kisses your face again and again.

“Easy, easy,” He coos, voice coarse but encouraging “It’s a good exercise for the future.”

You don’t register the words and Gojo doesn’t expect you to. Even still, he thinks giving you the heads up is quite nice.

Three fingers proves to be more than enough. It pushes you to an edge he has seen before. He fucks you with three. Your mouth falls open, slack jawed. Gojo curls his fingers. He rubs up like he’s motioning for you to come here, deep enough until he feels it. That spongy spot inside of you, apparent through the sounds you start to make as he touches it.

He hits something of a stride like that, finger fucking you with pressure on your clit and his mouth on your skin. Gojo takes to watching you once he knows he’s getting you to that edge. Your body stiffens underneath him, breathing going noticeably shallow. Mouth wobbly, lower lip trembling. He can tell you’re feeling it, just as much as you’re resisting it. Gojo coaxes you by whispering against your skin.

“C’mon,” He hums, nudging his nose to your neck “You wanna cum don’t you? I can tell you. You too scared? Need me to help you.”

You whimper “Aah, aah,” Gojo can feel you pulse. Can feel your insides tighten. He’s doing it on purpose, tipping you just over the edge. He wants to hear you beg. Wants to know what it sounds like when you beg for him. He fucks into you slowly, until you’re no longer able to put on a show of being composed.

“S-sato—oh, please, oh—please m-make me,”

“Want me to making you cum? Say it. Say, ‘Satoru, please make me cum,’ can you do that?”

A bitter sob leaves your lips and Gojo can’t think straight. It strains you.

“S-satoru, pleasemakemecum—please.”

Gojo grins. “Of course I can,” He quickens his pace enough to make you feel it. Your eyes shoot open before screwing closed again “All you had to do was ask me.”

He watches you intently. How you fall apart under his fingers, delirious whimpers of no, no, no - even though you begged so sweetly a minute ago. He hums as he feels the walls of your pussy start to tremble, a soft squelching sound hastened now. You say something he can’t decipher, words too jumbled for him to make sense. Gojo stares hard. Lets the infinity bleed away so he can feel you just like this, feel you cum on his fingers despite everything.

He feels giddy to the point he’s sick with it, moaning as your hands grip at the roots of his hair. He kisses your breast tenderly, just over the latest lovemark.

“Don’t hate me too much, kay,” Gojo says, whispering, means it so you carry it with you because he can feel the resentment nudged so deep into your heart by now “Come on. Cum for me, sweet girl. Want you to feel so good.”

And so you do. You cry, scream - but the noise amounts to nothing. A cosmic thing, like you’ve been struck by a comet. Gojo fingers you through it, absolutely delighted at the hot rush of liquid that comes pouring out of you. Your first orgasm from him and you’re squirting all over his fucking wrists, soaking his sheets and his arms and his PJ’s with your back curved in a beautiful arch. You break apart in an almost violent way, like the pleasure’s vicious. It tears into you and you succumb with a whimper.

Gojo shushes you as you break down finally into a teeny, tiny sob. You must be exhausted because you don’t pull away when he comforts you, despite the little angry why, why, why that you whisper. You hit his chest softly. He kisses your forehead and listens as your breathing goes still and you fall asleep in a heart-beart, still curled up into his bed and too tired to run away or go anywhere.

He stays with you like that, relishing in the warmth of your body until you’re deep asleep. He flips you onto the side of the bed that isn’t wet, and presses a kiss to your forehead before moving out of the sheets. .

When he stands to his feet, it’s to collect the curse that’s gathered itself on the foot of the bed. It manifests as a white snake with blue-eyes. Gojo finds himself amused. Of course the curse you’ve made is pretty. Gojo grabs it by the neck, watching it as it pries its mouth open and bares his fangs at him. He grins, pricking himself on the teeth to see if it makes him bleed.

It hisses loudly before wrapping itself around Gojo’s arm. It doesn’t take any effort to subjugate it, sensing his power it stills with some effort. Gojo tilts his head as he walks out of the room, glancing at you before turning his head back at the snake.

“Better warm up to me,” He whispers in the dark, a contentment to his words “You won’t be seeing your mama for a while,”

—

Communication stills.

Radio silence, more like - a busy bunch of messages deftly still. Suddenly, a raging storm of grief and anger disappears. The morning after Gojo assaults you, he wakes up to see you off like nothings happened.

He mostly does this because he wants to see what you’ll do.

You spend the morning perplexed and confused. You eat breakfast with him. You sit at the table, contemplative and silent and Gojo chats away at you idly. About the news and the weather and the classes he has today. You chew your food but don’t taste. You listen but your replies are short and stilted - out of touch.

Gojo learns that when something bad happens to you, you respond to it by detaching yourself. Though yesterday you were hot and fiery, the day after you seem to be mourning. Your grieving process starts early, and Gojo thinks rather amused—that you remind him a lot of himself.

He thinks you’re a little closer now that you understand the apathy of losing something that can never come back. And once this whole thing is over, once you find yourself back here - he’ll tell you all about it. You get it now right? It’s painful to feel like you can never be the same.

They say that mankind was fashioned from their Lord. Gojo supposes he’s made you in his image. You look a little empty, and though you’re both so different - you can become close by having the same wound. You can understand him a little more this way, all while retaining your sense of resilience.

What is mankind not known for if not perseverance? Of course he knows, once you recover from your grief, you’ll return to your usual spitfire. He’s counting on it, counting on you to fight and run. Escape from him and never come back.

But that cat and mouse game is more than okay. Gojo isn’t looking for your obedience, really. You’re too defiant of a character. Gojo thinks it’d be pointless if you’d just stayed the same.

You need to have hope to stay the way you are. Thus, Gojo doesn’t plan to rob you of it. He figures it’s best to give you breathing room. After all, he has full confidence in his ability to find you. He could hear the rhythm of your heart a continent away and chase it down without thinking twice. But it’s better if you’re able to show him some resistance. He thinks of it like a compromise. That sort of thing is typical for married folks, he thinks. He gives and you take.

Eventually, you might realize that the endeavor of running away is fruitless. Maybe you’ll be clever enough to recognize that it’s not that you’re succeeding, but that Gojo is letting you. You’re definitely smart enough to do so early, but just stubborn enough to believe that there’s hope in spite of that. If you try hard enough, persevere a little more, etc.

Gojo likes this part of you. Always will. You always put your best in everything and this is his own way of nurturing it.

It’d be a shame to take that from you. Gojo has remained out of your sight for the time being to try and reinstate it. While he raises the curse up in his apartment, he watches you through windows and flitters into your bedroom to peer at you before disappearing again. He makes sure that you can’t sense him or that he’s gone before you can. The more ease you feel, the easier everything else will go.

Feeding the curse you’ve left behind in his house has been taking most of its time. It’s obedient to him since he’s strong, and it’s big now. Longer and wider and more sinister looking (he feels a weird affection for it, maybe just because it’s from you), more hostile. He’s been careful to maintain it. Too much feeding will make it overgrown.

It’s currently on Gojo’s floor, on a dog bed like a disobedient pet - all in a single coil. He has to be careful not to endanger you by making it too strong or giving it too much range. It’s just meant to be a showpiece - a prop at best and a scraped knee at worst.

He’s been building it up for a long time. Then, though, it wasn’t such a clear desire. He figured sewing seeds of fear in you would benefit you in a different way. But that’s fine. The means don’t matter as much as the ends and in doing so - he’s made this all sort of seamless.

It’s not a complicated plan, ultimately. He’ll tell the curse to let loose, freak you out a little, and eventually - you’ll call the only person you know who knows how to handle it. Gojo will save you, and when you’re finally caught in his arms, you’ll have a little reunion amongst yourselves. He’ll reprimand you (but only lightly) and you’ll thrash (but only for a little while) and then he’ll keep you by his side again.

Except this time he won’t be so quick to let go. He’s sure you’ll protest (and be all gung-ho about it). He’ll feign cruelty and push you to the edge. Whatever response you do have, he’s thought of a way to reply.

A way to tend to it.

Like any relationship, things take time. He’s not expecting this to settle right away - but he’s confident eventually it’ll work out how he wants too. Gojo can make that happen as long as you’re within view.

He watches you through the window as you come in from your classes. You’re dressed up today despite the chilly weather - a blouse and nice pants with bangles on your wrist. He wonders what the occasion is given the time of year. Your bag is hanging loosely off of your shoulder - having only just returned.

A sense of warmth spreads through him as he peers at you, a smile on his face. He really does like looking at you quite a bit.

The curse hisses at the sense of your presence and Gojo waves a hand at it to keep it quiet.

“Calm down or I’ll exercise you right away,” Gojo says coldly. It retracts itself. “I’m getting impatient, too, you know? It’s been a long time.” He says wistfully.

He keeps looking until you’ve effectively disappeared from his sight. He listens for you outside of his door. The sound of the building buzzer, soft footsteps, and the slight jiggle and turn of keys before you’ve gone in - sound by a dull thump.

He leans against the wall near his door where he was listening, eyes up at the ceiling as he turns over his options. He should wait it out a little longer. Giving everything enough room to mellow out before it picks up again is an important part of the process.

But he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. Plus, keeping this curse around is starting to be troublesome. He’d much prefer you back in his arms, in his bed - all back to that kind domestic fantasy that he’d been thinking about again for weeks.

He supposes there’s no right decision, in this case. Just what he wants to do, versus what he should do, and some kind of middle ground he’s been spending too long looking for.

He stands to his feet, no longer leaning on the wall before glancing at the curse from the corner of his eyes.

“Today seems like it’s too soon yet too far,” Gojo pauses between sentences, scratching his head woefully “But it should be okay, right?”

At 7pm, the curse slips underneath the door of his apartment into the hallway. Gojo sits comfortably in his living room, one leg crossed over the other with his phone in hand, a warm mug of tea cooling on his coffee table.

The news is playing. A general and loose sense of anticipation fills him as he pays attention to the newscaster. Another storm is going to hit and the temperatures are dropping to an impossible low. Officials recommend buying bottled water and keeping warm as it continues to blow out.

There’s a soft hiss as the muscled curse squeezes itself underneath the tight crack of his door. It’s unfortunate he can’t monitor it directly. Though the instructions ( and subsequently the consequences of disobedience) were made clear - curses are greedy as they are stupid. This one in particular seems to be self-aware enough not to try to go against Gojo’s word.

So, when the time comes he sits patiently and waits. Watches the news. His ears itch and his skin pricks as he listens for the first whisper of your voice. He wonders if you’ll scream. You didn’t when he thought you should’ve but maybe there's a reason for you to do so now.

The clock ticks away. It’s unceremonious. Gojo thinks to himself that maybe this entire thing is esoteric. Capturing you is a tragedy that he writes to himself and he’ll re-tell it to you all the time in different ways.

The clock ticks. Again and again, the monotony is starting to settle in. Time moves slower than you could imagine. Like trying to pipe honey into straw, thick and impossible.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

At 7:02, a dog barks outside. It sounds cagey, and it’s not Pokupan because Gojo knows what that mutt sounds like. Nor is it cosmic. It does sound desperate, though - like asking someone to be let in. And if Gojo didn’t have such a pressing matter to attend to, he’d go outside and do it himself. After all the wind is frosty and the air is unforgiving and winter devours things so slowly it's painful.

Gojo can’t abandon his task. It’s too important for him to stick his neck out for a being he doesn’t even know. He hopes briefly that it survives. That someone lets it in before it gets anymore violent (or desperate or willing)

At 7:03, he reaches for the tea on his coffee table to drink it. It’s still piping hot, but Gojo can swallow it with his infinity. He does for a reason he can’t name. It’s just a compulsion, inspired by the fact it will probably be too cold when he comes back for it. He thinks, instinctively, that he should cherish the warmth in the glass despite the barrier that prevents him from feeling it. Ultimately it’s still milk tea. It will still fill his stomach and taste vaguely sweet where he permits. He ought to drink it when it’s warm even if it’s just an illusion.

The clock ticks again, this time to 7:04 and Gojo regains a sense of bravado that’s riveting. There’s a commercial airing now for a new type of kitchen gadget, an airfryer with more settings than any one person knows what to do with. The advertiser is enthusiastic and loud. He wonders what happens when it switches to the next one. Do actors on set feel awkward when the cameras turn off? He knows a thing or two about performing, which is why he finds himself so curious.

At 7:05, the first whisper of your pleading filters through the hallways. Though Gojo figures he’s not meant to be able to hear it - because however vague it is, the sense of shame that it holds is hard to ignore. Despite his urge to run to you, Gojo is reminded of the fact he is teaching you a lesson and this is all a show for you and in a way for him too. There’s timings and cues and calls, so Gojo lets your first prayer get passed through the winter winds. He’s sure it gets dropped off somewhere in the snow.

The dog outside bares its teeth and barks louder than before.

At 7:06, the feelings of fear and negativity start to weasel their way into his apartment. Through cracks in the floorboards and the aeration in the spackle - he can feel it come through his door and penetrate his being like waves of wind. With no barrier and no filter, your fear is a familiar presence in his life. It comes to a crescendo as he leans his head back on the couch and blinks up at the ceiling. He’s pleased with it so far. It’s proving to be just right. All the months of delicate orchestration have culminated into such a lovely overture. A symphony of sobs. It enchants him like a bird song, or maybe the whistle of a blizzard.

He waits for it to die down. He waits for it to start back up again. He waits for the sniffling to become sobs and for the sobs to become demands and for the demands to go back to sniffles. He waits for the dog outside to be let in because he can hear the buzz of the gates all the way from his apartment.

When Gojo has had enough of waiting, it’s 7:15 sharp.

He stands to his feet and walks through his door with not so much as a look back. The T.V. is still playing where he fazes out and he leaves it because this will be quick and easy.

You’re right across the hall. The walk is short. The building moans like it’s dead.

He stands in front of your door and presses his ears to it and there’s some semblance of an altercation. Mostly the sounds of shattered glass.

If you were any more familiar with this world, you’d know the thing is stalling. It has harmful intent but Gojo’s presence is too risky. If you knew anything about anything, then you’d know you were never in any real danger and even calling Gojo’s name when you hate it so much now would be pointless.

But Gojo has done his due diligence in keeping you in the fateful dark.

So this part is easy. He reaches for the door but it’s locked, so he teleports.

When he enters, your apartment is in terrible shape. The curse itself notices his presence but does not stop to act. He stops to take a look around. He figures you’re cornered and holed up in your bedroom. A trembling figure in the corner praying for God to save you.

Your house is effectively thrashed like there’s been a robbery. He’ll have to make up something in the report. Officials will come, but they won’t question his word. All the glass is broken and scattered and everything is torn up. Papers ripped and fabric shredded.

(The stuff Gojo demanded not to be touched has remained that way. Even he’s not so much of a monster to ruin your students' keepsakes. He’s sure you’ll look relieved when he returns them to you later. How kind he is.)

He prepares himself like an actor might for a role. He thinks of the lines he’s practiced and the way things will play out. This simple, choreographed tragedy. A manifestation of your fears. Gojo thinks that he is probably good at becoming the thing people love yet resent.

He’s sure you and Suguru would have a lot to talk about in another life.

He checks the time on your digital clock, left unscatched in all the destruction.

At 7:18, Gojo phases himself into your bedroom like he’s only just arrived. He hears you gasp in a sharp fear that quickly breaks into a sob of relief. He glances at you where he stands. He’s never been in your room. Kind of a waste it’s happening like this.

The first thing he does is check if the door is locked. When he finds that it is, he laughs to himself but covers his face before he turns to you. You are exactly how he predicts. Something curled tightly into your fists, fearful and backed into a corner. He coos internally. At what he's done to you. How this has played out.

It wasn’t enough to break you a little. This part is necessary.

Like he starts most interrogations off, he asks you question.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, Satoru.” Your voice sounds shattered in such a way he finds it almost hard to stomach “Oh, it’s—Oh it’s you.”

“Happy to see me, huh?” He says, tilting his head. You close your eyes instead of replying.

“H-how’d you…?”

“I can feel cursed energy,” He says, and it’s not untrue “I felt something very strange in your apartment. It’s been a while.”

You still can’t find it in yourself to say anything. Maybe desperate, maybe afraid, maybe exhausted by your own paranoia - you relent.

“Yeah.” You say. Gojo can feel the curse grow impatient. It lets out a loud hiss and you gasp in fear.

“Hey, you didn’t answer. Are you okay?”

You stare at Gojo for a long time.

“I’m not hurt but,” You swallow thickly. Upon looking at you closely, you look exhausted. He feels a little sorry for you. He’ll let you rest for a while when you’re home “I’m s-scared.”

“You’re right to be scared,” Gojo says, and he means it a little. Not about the curse, but in general “It’s a pretty powerful class. A special grade, probably. You share cursed energy.”

You look agape as he relays this to you.

“Share…?”

Gojo gives you a look. He can feel the creature coming towards you door down, slinking across the wood slowly. A coy, soft smile appears on his expression as he reaches down for you. You flinch from his hands but Gojo doesn’t falter. He strokes his thumb across your cheeks, peering at your eyes and how they reflect light from the outside.

“It was made with your cursed energy,” Gojo explains very gently to you. You look at him in disbelief “Curses are negative emotions. So something like this isn’t uncommon. No idea how it got so strong, though. But that’s all your.”

He watches you closely as a wave of horror settles over you. A nauseous feeling that has you cupping your hand over your mouth like you’re ready to throw-up. He masks a smile, but he doesn’t condescend you. Not openly, at least. Not to the extent he would like too. He reprimands you like a teacher - a sensei and his beloved mentee.

“I told you didn’t I,” Gojo says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as you quell your own disgust at the thought “You have to be careful. And you can’t fight all by yourself, so you’re kind of helpless. What were you gonna do if I wasn’t around?”

You look like you’re going to cry. Gojo keeps going.

“You can’t call the police, you know. They can’t help you at all. Good for nothing bunch, really.” Gojo states, gesturing vaguely. He tugs his masks off of his eyes so you can get a better look at him “But you can rely on me if you need to. I’ll always protect you. Next time just give me a call, okay?”

It must dawn on you, just then, what exactly Gojo is doing. Or some extent of this is hitting you for the very first time. The look on your face is picture perfect. It’s exactly what he wanted. An understanding he’d be hoping for for so long it’s unbelievable.

“I’m the only one who can keep you safe, understand?” But he’s not really asking. You know that too “Can you nod your head and agree?” He pricks. You don’t hold back your tears but you don’t cry them either. You break down silently nd you nod.

Gojo reaches down and wipes them off for you.

“Don’t be so sad,” He says to you, and he means it because what a shame it would be to wallow too much on such a nice day. Winter is for warming up next to your loved ones, isn’t it? “I’ll protect you now.”

Left with no choice, you nod again slowly and clutch your pillow. Gojo kisses the crown of your head and leaves you to untangle your feelings.

Then, almost on cue, the curse itself bursts through the door. The wood breaks off with the hinges.

It’s really a weak thing. If Gojo was trying to keep his powers contained, he might’ve put up more of a fight as it lunges at him in your bedroom. It knocks over your things left and right but he’s mostly busy trying to muffle the noises so he doesn’t disturb the neighbors.

It’s as fast as a gust of wind as he strikes out, neck elongated and jaw as unhinged as far as it can go. This time, Gojo can feel the weight of its desire to kill. A rampant sense of bloodlust in it’s every action, Gojo dodges each attempt and swipe at him. He leaves a barrier over you temporarily so that it can do you no harm.

It doesn’t go for you either. He figures maybe it has some understanding of its own predicament. Desperate animals can be clever too. Perhaps those things have always been linked together.

But he figures a fair-ish fight is as much as Gojo can do to stave the thing off before he sends it off officially. Plus, he can feel you watching his back - like you’re trying to measure how strong he is. It’s a smart thing to do. You’re learning. It’s probably better to show you now, since there’s not much left to hide.

So this time, when the snake comes flying towards him - Gojo reaches his hands out. He uses his infinity to stop it in its place. A noise of anger leaves its mouth, a low hiss as it hits the wall in front of him. Wide blue eyes stare at Gojo, a predator with its fangs bared.

Gojo stares back, a predator with its fangs bared.

He uses a reversal of his Limitless, the infinite blue. The creature is pulled into him closely, crashing first into the space he’s created before disappearing into nothing but smoke and ash. It’s gone just as quickly as it happened. A curse so inferior, it can’t have been more than ten minutes to fight even with all the purposeful delays Gojo set in place to finish it off.

It’s gone now, the product of you and him. A weird part of him is sad. But now he has you, so he cuts his losses. Now there is only you and Gojo, and a ruined bedroom and broken apartment.

Gojo, who has no intention of enlightening you, turns his back to look at you.

“Don’t know how long it’ll be gone but,” He shrugs, rolling his shoulder and cracking his spine “But it’s gone for now. Some officials will be here in the morning but with the way this place is, you might wanna come back to stay with me for a while.”

This is all a formality. He’s sure you know too, but instead of turning away - you’re shivering figure wavers in the dark. You’re terrified enough to reach for his hand and hold it. You know what’s coming, but that knowing does nothing to save you. You were a victim to fate from the moment you met. Yet, you still look to him for comfort in safety because even knowing better, there isn’t anything you can do.

And it’s just like you, to want to trust and forgive him. To reach your hand out hesitantly and try. Everything is tangled up and you are terrified and Gojo Satoru loves you.

“Come on,” He says, encouraging you to get closer. He reaches over your bed to scoop you into his arms and you don’t do so much as protest “Let’s go home.”

Gojo brings you home quietly.

When he enters, the T.V. is still on. You are curled up in his arms. He has no idea how long you’ve been crying and about what in particular - but that’s okay. Tonight, to him, is something like an anniversary. Like any time before, he has no intentions to treat you roughly.

It’s a good night, he thinks. Even in the state you’re in, Gojo can only think of making it even more memorable. You’re an injured thing in his arms. A delicate bird with clipped wings, or a butterfly with a missing antenna. Without Gojo there to pick you up in all your broken pieces, you might’ve really fallen apart.

It’s reasonable enough. For someone like you, he’s sure tonight has been so scary. It makes him feel a little sorry for you. It makes him want to make it all worse before he makes it all better.

He can’t describe it, but there is something so right about seeing you like this.

All angry and resentful and volatile. All lonely and scared and saddened and somber. All Gojo’s forever, permanently through everything. He’s made you so completely in his image, something he’s always wanted to do. Maybe you’re a trial run, in its own right, of all the things Gojo will be able to do in the future. What he’s capable of creating with enough effort.

Gojo is gentle to you. Tender, as he carries you into the apartment. You help him turn off the T.V. and put the mug into the sink. He carries you too afterwards, rewarding you with a kiss to your temple, before pulling through the threshold of his bedroom.

Just like that, you find yourself again in Gojo’s bedroom like you were so many weeks prior. You’re weakened and exhausted, so willing that he is endeared. Like this, he hovers over you. Looks at your tearstained face and smiles so lovingly.

Regardless of everything that’s transpired, above all - this is a reunion of two lovers to Gojo Satoru. So in the midst of it, he wipes your tears and kisses your cheek and you don’t pull away. Now you’re so ruined you relish his comfort if only a little, and this time it’s perfect. It’s everything he’s always imagined.

He’ll give you hope and freedom and let you be. Eventually, you’ll come to realize you’ll always need him a little. And it doesn’t matter, does it? That he’s made it that way on his own. Because it’s true. It’s righteous and religious and godly. Gojo Satoru is not god, but he does understand the urge to make something that listens.

He kisses your soft cheeks and hums at you, nose nudging your skin.

“Still feel like crying?” He asks you. You blink up at him like you’re only just now realizing where you are. Some emotion overwhelms you, but ultimately you shake your head no. Gojo grins impishly.

“That’s good,” He says tenderly. He kisses your lips this time, and you kiss back. It catches him off guard but he doesn’t dislike it “You didn’t get hurt did you? And now we’re together again.”

This does seem to incite waterworks in you but you don’t look like you have the energy to cry. He doesn’t push you too much. Though it is fun seeing you like this, Gojo is grateful he has some time to cherish you.

“Scary world out there, y’know?” Gojo says between kisses. He adjusts you, your arms around his shoulders loosely “Hold onto me okay? I’ll make it all better.”

You whimper under your voice but don’t go to thrash. There’s something about you that feels limp. A spirit softened and dampened, like wet soil. Gojo is okay with anything as long as it’s you, and there is some part of this he likes too. How pliant you become under the weight of your fear, so tantalizing to Gojo he can’t help himself but kiss you. Riper than the fruit of Eden. Just as sweet.

He kisses you for longer than necessary. It’s intimate and hopeful. All tangled hands and pulling different parts of you up to his lips.The occasional press of his teeth in your skin, with his senses so high he can practically feel the blood rush through them. Your mouth is soft and warm, the breadth of mint on your tongue. He pushes his tongue past your lips but this time around, you don’t do anything to refuse it.

So accepting like this. Gojo thinks life with you will prove to be exciting.

He rests his hands on your waist and you don’t pull away from him. Such soft skin covered in a sheer layer of sweat. It’s making him dizzy to have you like this, to kiss you in his bed. Again, again, again. You belong here with him and nothing has ever been so true. The euphoria of everything is overwhelming. He can’t get enough of you. Even if in the moment he carved a spot into you forever and buried himself there, he cannot help but want to be spoiled by your lenience and affection. He can’t help himself but to possess all of you so even time cannot spoil iit.

Despite yourself, you touch Gojo back gently. Knowing you, it is a way to deal with the pain. You want to forgive him as much as you want him to save you. You hate him as much as you love him.

From the beginning, everything has been exactly like this. This was the end of all ends.

This is a lesson in divine truth.

You’ve made Gojo this way as much as he’s made you. If Gojo Satoru is to play as God, then he supposes you are much like an owner. Some part of you has made him love you unconditionally. A dog and his master. An animal with a love so violent it shakes windows. Gojo Satoru makes you love him through violent means, and like a dog left abandoned in the snow - your own empathy for his unconditional but broken love makes you protect him. It’s cyclical. It can never change because the universe has ordained it. Because everything Gojo touches is a divination from the heavens.

Where Suguru proves to be a lesson, you are the dues he is owed.

This is a lesson in divine truth.

More simply, Gojo Satoru loves you in his own way. Any loyal dog will chase its owner no matter how far they run. He lives for you, after all. He’s made you in his image. The difference between god and dog is nothing more than a matter of positioning.

You love him back in your own way. Because his character and his tragedy makes it so difficult to abandon him and your disposition will never allow you. You’ll hate and resent him. You’ll grieve and you’ll cry. You will want to turn your back but he will always come to save you. And who can love you so loyally as a dog undisciplined? Who can keep your sheltered being protected like a wild hound?

Spring was an innocent century ago. Winter is here. Gojo loves you.

“My birthday passed recently,” He tells you. You blink at him.

“Oh?”

“Can you guess what I want?”

You don’t do much more than nod. It’s not permissive. You just know better by now, and that too is not something Gojo finds himself pleased with.

“You don’t have to do any work,” He offers you as a reprieve, busying himself once again with undressing you. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought you all those weeks ago “Just don’t run away from me.”

If you notice how heavy the words are, you’re smart enough not to do anything. Even still, Gojo can’t tell if there's a purpose behind it. Perhaps you just know it instinctively not to.

He takes you apart carefully. Careful, thick fingers unbuttoning the front of your shirt. You’re wearing nothing underneath, and the sight of your bare skin is almost too much for him. The hickies have yet to heal, though now they’re yellow and softened by time. Gojo will have to leave more to bring back all the color to you.

He starts at your jaw this time, teeth against your earlobe. Heart in your hands, he knows your body a little better now.

And he takes his time with it this time too. Even slower than before. Even more consuming, even more adoring.

He laps his tongue against your soft skin and eats. Your skin is salty and sweet and Gojo can’t contain himself. He gropes you lightly, planing his palms over your shoulders and squeezing your breasts tight. He’s missed touching you more than he knows what to do with.

Even in being gentle, there’s little he can stop himself from trying to devour. You lay about him squirming as he undoes each and every part of you. He can’t pick which place to go and what thing to do first because he wants so wholly. It’s making his head spin to listen to your sweet and short whimpers. You spread yourself as you lay under him, hands pinned to your sides - demure and needy.

How different it is but the same. Something about how you’re clinging to him so desperately is making him feel sick with lust.

Instead of going any further, he pulls away from you momentarily. He puts his arms on your sides and flips you over till you’re on top of him

The sudden change in position leaves you gasping for air. Gojo gives you an amused grin as you fall forward - as he props himself up on pillows while you try and steady himself. He holds you close to him once you’re all set, face to face like this.

“Don’t run away from me,” He says, more seriously. You swallow. Gojo lets you up until you’re half-way over him. You’re so much weaker than him, moved and manhandled so easily. There’s a target on your back so often and Gojo loves being an arrow.

He kisses the side of your body as you stand on your knees beside him. His fingers hook into your shorts and panties, sliding them off of your body all in a fell swoop. He squeezes your ass slightly, spreading you apart.

“Look at you all bent over for me,” He coos, hands reaching underneath you to toy with your pussy. You whine, shuddering, clinging to his shoulders. “So pretty, baby. Prettiest girl.”

A hiccup bobs in your throat. Gojo moves his fingers lower and lower, familiar now with the feel of you. Your cunt is just as welcoming as he remembers. The idea of making love sends a shiver through his whole body. Blood rushes to his cock like a bolt of lightning in his veins. He pushes his middle finger into your twitching, needy hole.

Another sound, cut off by a garbled word of surprise, falls out of your mouth. You’re soaking. Ripe for taking. Gojo wants to fuck you more than anything.

He takes a deep breath, whispering to your skin.

“Fuck,” He laughs, giggling at the thought of it “I’m gonna break you, huh? Gotta be—shit, need to be extra careful with you, right my love?”

“Please be gentle.” You say at his request.

“Of course, of course but—” He squeezes your hip as he feels his middle finger go into you down to the knuckle. You roll your hips against him involuntarily “You just—you’d look so good so full of my cock, y’know? Been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”

And he has, means every word. You shudder at the confession. He quirks his lips as he fucks into you, relishing in those pretty little sounds that fall out of your lips.

“You like that?” He grunts, another finger to stretch you out a little more for him “You like when I tell you about all the dirty things you make me think about?”

Shame fills you, like Gojo’s lit a match under you. He can feel your heartbeat pick up. Is it the being so wanted or is it the crassness and humiliation? Maybe both. Sometime later he’ll pick it apart more closely. He lets himself talk you through it, so close to your skin as he whispers all the filth to you that he can. Confesses it to you.

“Weeks and weeks, baby. Couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect and wet you would feel when I finally took you like this. Gonna make it so good for you, you won’t have to think about anything else again.”

The promise sends you limp. When Gojo finally feels both of his fingers slide in and out of you with no resistance at all, he sighs lightly and pulls away. The loss of contact makes you whine, but he brings you back to his lap now, sitting with your legs on either side of his.

His cock, clothed and restrained in his sweats, swells against your wet cunt. He watches your eyes widen as you stare at it, lucid enough this time to realize what it looks like. He looks up at you, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“C’mon. You can look.”

He guides you to the waistband of his sweatpants. You pull his pants down slowly, looking up for permission (which Gojo gives in a loving nod) before taking his boxers off too. His cock is so hard it’s almost painful. The tip is a flush red, white hairs trimmed neat at the base and feeling so fucking heavy Gojo can’t stand it. He hisses as your hands reach for him instinctively, and you try to pull away before he stops you.

“Touch it, sweetheart” He encourages, wrapping your hand around it for you “Feel it? That’s all you.”

A flush graces your features. For a minute, it’s all love and nothing more. Nothing less. Too briefly for it to mean anything, but enough for Gojo to know it. You wrap your hands around his shaft and stroke tentatively and Gojo groans shamelessly into you, rutting his hips into the round part of your palms.

“Fuck that’s it,”

He looks at your expression, examining the concentration before chuckling. Your lip is poked out, eyes dazed. He pulls away from you, securing you close to him.

With the new proximity, he holds his cock close to you. Measure it up against your skin, against your tummy. He feels you against him, Around him, folds nudging apart for him, The skin on skin alone has him so breathless. A dizzy sort of feeling as he presses the tip of his cock hard against your clit. You feel like silk around him.

Looking at you like this, all helpless and needy, he can’t help but think about how easily he can overpower you. He’s stronger and bigger. His cock would be enough to split you in half. How he’s gonna make himself fit inside of you spins in his mind over and over. Maybe like always, your pretty little pussy will yield just for him. You’ll open and endure and take him so deep.

He can’t help appreciating it. Can’t keep his thoughts quiet from telling you.

“See that? How deep I’m gonna go?” He measures up to you. A hand on the bottom of your stomach, stroking his thumb “Gonna feel me right in here. You ready?”

You close your eyes and look away. Gojo grabs your chin and tuts at you.

“Nuh-uh. Want you to see. Don’t close your eyes.”

It’s not a question or a request.

So, you watch. Gojo lifts you up just enough to line up with your entrance and sinks you down so, so slowly on his cock. It’s agonizing how slow. It’s incredible how fucking good you feel. How perfect one sensation could possibly fucking be - Gojo could die here in complete bliss. He can feel the stretch of your pussy trying to accommodate. That sensation of resistance that sends him reeling, spine tingling and skin prickling with a heat so intense he feels like he’s going to pass out just sitting there.

And then there’s looking at you, which proves to be an entirely new animal. You have this pinched expression, a shocked little gasp as Gojo pushes through. A whimper leaves your lips. Gojo rubs his thumb on your lower lip as he eases you down.

“Hurt too much?”

“N-no. Just… feels weird.”

He laughs a little at your honesty, before fucking himself into you even deeper. Another inch and he really starts to feel you. Your walls feel like they’re sucking him and Gojo wouldn’t leave if it killed him. He groans, deep in his chest as you shake. Your grip on his shoulders gets tighter and tighter.

With one more smooth thrust, Gojo sits you down on his cock completely. He feels so complete like this. Everything in him is at ease feeling your insides spasm and melt around him. He sighs contentedly.

“Still okay?”

You nod weakly.

“Can I move?”

Your reply is nothing more than a whimper.

So he does, but he does so slowly. Just to get into the rhythm. He thrusts up slowly.

‘O-oh. Oh, oh it’s,”

He chuckles against the crook of your neck, hugging you close to him. He loves the way you feel against his body, the way your frame fits so perfectly into him. He rolls his hips up into you so there’s no effort on you to move. You whine that time, and he does again and again until your voice is a mess.

“Starting to feel good?”

“S-satoru.”

He swears.

“Fuck, stop that,” He swears “Gonna—shit, gonna cum right away. Moving so hold onto me tight, baby.”

You take his words for it. Gojo feels your soft tits pressed into his chest as he pulls your hips up and starts fucking up into you. Each time he does, he feels like he can feel all the way to the back of you. None of his fantasies could compare to the feeling of being this deep inside, cock nudging against that sweet spot that keeps making you fucking mewl into his ear. He can hardly take it as it is now, focusing hard on not cumming until you do.

Making it good for you is his priority. Always has been, but you make it hard for him like you do most things.

“Touch yourself for me, okay?”

You look at him surprised but listen to his request regardless. Gojo takes to fucking you steadily. He builds an even rhythm as he keeps you up, hands firm on your hips as he pistons you from underneath. The pleasure comes in waves, undulates as blood continues to rush to his cock. He’s so hard he can’t think straight but he keeps each of his thrusts consistent, lines them with the pace you play with your clit so he can encourage you to cum for him.

He can tell you’re starting to feel good when your mouth falls agape. He drags on your walls with each punctuated movement and your thighs shake and tense. Everything comes together so slowly but the pleasure comes at once. It’s a force that’s nearly earth shattering. All the planets aligned, everything in the same plane. Everything for him and for you. For the togetherness he’s created and chased after so long.

Now this part of you is all his too.

“Sa—Satoru,” You warn, your hands trembling and fingers cramped up with need. He grunts as he stares up at you through thrusts “G-gonna…”

“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my cock? Go on. Know you can do it, baby. So good for me. Perfect for me.”

It’s all babbling for him now, the sensation hitting him in waves. Your mouth falls agape and you cum so hard Gojo can feel every fucking pulse. Squeezing his cock hard enough he wants to grit his teeth. He presses his mouth to yours instead as you moan out, unable to hold it in. He swallows every noise like he’s trying to embed them into himself.

You cum hard and fast and Gojo is so quick to follow you. Only seconds after you fall limp into his arms does he feel it - no longer able to stave off the urge to cum so deep in you it stays forever. To mark you deeply you never think of anything. It’s almost animalistic for him. Every nerve on his body is on fire as he shoots his cum deep into you, sitting you on his dick with nowhere for you to go.

Panting, he pulls back to gaze on you. He’s still hard as he’s twitching. He can’t hold off tonight, he doesn’t think. But he’ll give you a minute to collect yourself. He presses a kiss to your hairline.

He whispers softly as the night comes to a quiet, quiet still.

“I’m yours and you’re mine baby. Forever and always.”

You shake. And Gojo knows you well enough to know that it’s the resentment coming back in waves. But that’s okay, because Gojo loves you.

And with this, he’s taken everything.

EPILOGUE / OVERTURE :

Your senses are accustomed to Gojo by now.

You never thought such a day would come. You spent the first year of this relationship (if you can call it that, to begin with) in trenches so deep you couldn’t really tell left from right. So many things persisted as normal, but nothing was ever the same.

In that, though, Gojo stayed by your side till the bitter end. He nursed you back into health and sometimes treated you so kindly that you could almost forget who you were dealing with. Sometimes the weight of everything became too heavy. You think you love Gojo almost as much as you hate him.

But it doesn’t particularly matter what your feelings are. Has it ever, in any of this? You always knew that something was strange but you didn’t think you were so clueless. Blindly following wherever his voice took you.

The first time you try to escape Gojo feels like so long ago. That time, he let you go quite far. You made it out of the house and even went out of the country during summer. But you were sloppy and inexperienced. When he found you and brought you back home, you figured it had been a fluke. You’d learn from it. You’d do it again and that time you would succeed.

That’s what you told yourself anyway. It’s how this all started. Where you would run, and Gojo would let you before he started to miss you. He’d come and he’d discipline but it was never too cruel.

(You wished it were. You wished it were sickly and sadistic and tortuous. You think it’s so much worse to beg for mercy when you are sobbing from pleasure. For Gojo to coddle and sedate you and never yield. You think you’d prefer if he were just out of it. Just cruel instead of what he is. Which is knowing but certain. Justified.)

This has been the farthest you’ve ever gotten. You don’t think you’ve ever been this far away from home. A cabin in the woods where you lived peacefully for days. You don’t know how Gojo found you.

You had been so sure. This was it. It had to be it.

Your heart shatters as you hear him. Feel him in your bones so much it frightens you. The world is covered in a sheet of white, and your ankles are bruised and bleeding from where you’ve fallen. You’re cold and your heart is beating so loud - but no matter how much you run you can’t find any heartbeat to motivate you.

Gojo pulls through the thickets with a frown on his face. Blue eyes and black coat, his feet crunch the snow as he comes towards you. You crawl away. You try too, anyways.

Gojo leans down to your level, looking at you closely. He reaches out to brush snow away from your skin.

“My birthdays soon, you know?” He hums, not angry today. Not even wanting to discipline you “It’s not a bad place, y’know? The cabin. We can spend some time there before we go home. Might be nice. But we should get going so we can check on your foot.”

He reaches his hand out to you this time. Too injured to run, you take it and he smiles before offering to carry you on his back. You hop on, arms around his neck and don’t even cry. A numbness settles.

It is not the cold.

“Oh, look,” Gojo says, reaching his hands out “Snow’s falling.”

You suppose it is. Another Winter will pass just like this.

A dog howls somewhere far off in the distance.

#writing tag #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #noncon cw #yandere cw #manipulation cw #coercion cw

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Text

by the grit of sandpaper {chapter 5}

Pairing: Jackson! Joel Miller x Patrol Partner! Reader

Chapter Summary: Another overnight patrol, an asked favor, a miscommunication, a fleeting moment of pleasure and it all comes crumbling down. Even worse than you had anticipated, the allure of being a part of something bigger than yourself blinding you into believing it was finally within reach.

Word Count: 10.3k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, illusions to past death, illusions to past trauma, blood, mild injuries, hurtful language, town gossip, rumors, negative feelings, pining, heart of gold joel, carpenter joel, woodworking joel, artisan joel, patrol partnership, lots of feelings, angst, hurt and comfort, joel miller's hands need their own warning, intentional flirting, unintentional flirting, casual intimacy, urges to kiss joel miller get their own warning, adult content, teasing, yearning, protective joel, fluff, this is so unbelievably soft, size kink unlocked in reader, (girl, i feel you), reader is described as smaller than joel (bc c'mon), reader has a commonly used nickname but no assigned name, joel and reader pov

A/N: holy shit, i am so sorry for the mix up with the original content. i'm so emotionally drained from today that i didn't realize it wasn't the final version of the chapter that i uploaded. but it's fixed, all scenes are complete and as they should be.

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

It was your fault, you realized. As you set about searching for something you remembered seeing in the house when you had first been assigned to it and moved in with Aiden. It had been one of those things that you stared at in disbelief, startling manic, nearly hysterical laughter that had turned into tears and uneven breaths. So ridiculous to have come across it over a decade after the end of the world.

A pack of index cards.

Index cards. Who needed index cards at the end of the world, when language was all people had. Skills like writing, reading, all faded away and dormant reflexes that could be called upon if and when needed.

It hadn’t mattered if you could write, had the ability to write or read when you were running for your life from Infected and humans, crashing through the remains of what was once a town or city, crashing through snapping and unforgiving forests, crashing through unforgiving open land in the hopes that you weren’t spotted a mile away by someone trying to protect what was theirs or looking for targets.

It was your fault he had pulled away to the point of beginning his…thing with Marsha. The way you had run from him, run from what you had both shared. But it didn’t mean anything, he was...Joel was…an important part of the settlement. Integrated far better than you ever had the chance to and you would just ruin it for him. He had to understand that because he too, hadn’t tried to bring it up.

Gathering them and a few of the cookbooks you had, you settled at the kitchen table. Taking the time to flip through the recipes to find simple ones that could be adapted to the more limited means the settlement could produce. Eager to find ones that Joel wouldn’t find too challenging and would like the end result of.

Just as your pen hit the paper, a knock sounded on your door. Sighing, you set it down and made your way across the front of your home to find Tommy with a crying bundle in his hands.

“Maria left me with ‘im for the day to handle some council business and he won’t stop cryin’.” He looked like he was about to burst into tears himself, but you didn’t say as much. Knowing firsthand how draining it was to look after a newborn.

“Well, good morning to you too.” You said as the man shouldered his way past you and took up half of the couch, an old backpack swinging from his elbow.

“You said to come to you for anything we needed, and I need your help.”

“How do you know I’m not bad with babies, huh? Maybe they hate me and I’m one of those women who don’t like them?”

“But you’re not. Right?” His curls were a frizzled mess, his eyes telling of his sleepless night as they widened and regarded you almost desperately. Rocking the bundle in his arms gently, holding it close, But his arms looked angled weird, totally not in a natural hold. “Joel always said I was too anxious around Sarah when she was super little and that’s why she cried for him for hours until she tired herself out. But he’s busy workin’ on finishing up that new roof before the snow really starts to come down.”

You did know who Sarah was. It had been a rather slow and somber conversation between you and Joel one day in the middle of summer. You had only been going out on patrols with him for a few months at that point. Him and Tommy focusing on getting as much done around the town upon his return, taking longer than usual to add a newcomer to the roster.

He had asked after you, if you lived alone. You had answered yes, saying you lost everyone in the initial chaos of the outbreak. Your city too densely packed for a chance to return home, the only chance at survival had been to immediately flee. He had told you something similar, that he had lost everything but his brother in the wake of the virus. You hadn’t asked after who, but he had told you of his daughter. His biological daughter with a wet chuckle at how she was too kind for this world anyway. You had looked away from his tears, knowing even back then that he needed to speak otherwise it would eat him from the inside out. To think of her constantly and not be able to talk about her must’ve hurt just as much as losing her. Mentions of her sprinkled future conversations and you were glad he trusted you with that part of himself.

But you weren’t sure if Tommy knew you did beyond her name as chalk on a blackboard memorial in his living room.

“I’m good with babies,” You assured the man beside you. Slipping a full bottle from the side of the pack and asked him to dap it to your wrist. You licked up the milky liquid, immediately pinpointing the issue.

“It’s too bland, a little sugar mixed in won’t do any harm. But I prefer maple since it’s got the same qualities of honey but less of the local pollen. Both will help build immunity to the blooms come spring time.” Standing up, you carefully moved the baby to rest along your front, head on your shoulder and moved into the kitchen. The cap had been unscrewed by a watching Tommy and you stirred in a bit of maple syrup that had been collected outside the gates.

The bundle in your arms was still crying, though not as high a volume as when Tommy had first entered the house. Softly hushing and cooing to try and calm him. The second you touched the bottle of sweetened milk to his little lips, he quieted down and began to sip.

“Oh, thank god.” Tommy’s head was in his hands, elbows atop his knees. You settled beside him once again, smiling over at the older man. “Olive, if this is too much, I promise-“

“It’s okay, really.” You let him rest a wide palm on your knee, his fingers caressing the bare skin there as your dress skirt allowed for them to show. His eyes wide and beseeching, making sure you were really okay before he sunk into the cushions. “I’ve made peace with it a long time ago…”

It was his fault. The thought consumed him as he inspected the planks of olive wood, having brought them into the house after the first heavy coat of frost that covered the whole town after a particularly chilly night. He recalled having woken up, shivering as he yanked on a pair of thick socks and searched through the closets in the house for a spare blanket to throw over his bed. How he wondered if you were warm enough in your own bed as he donned his boots unlaced and jacket unzipped to drape another blanket he had taken from the closet over a passed out Ellie in her little studio.

And then he had wondered what type of clothing you wore to bed. When you had answered the door in your robe, it hadn’t looked like you had anything on underneath it aside from maybe underwear and a tank top. Not enough to keep your skin from the chill that tended to seep in through the panes of the windows all around Jackson, despite the blessing of functioning heaters.

He hadn’t gone after you, his attention being called away. You had run off, too startled by being interrupted and most likely embarrassed at being caught in such an intimate moment. But…it had been such a good moment until it had been shattered.

You had shown up at his door in a long dress, the skirt flowing down to your knees, thick fabric around your legs to combat the ever-present chill in the air. There was a whicker basket, handle draped over your forearm. That paired with your worn boots and wide brimmed had had been such a lovely image to open his front door to.

It had been hard not to stare at you and you talked and guided Ellie through dinner, faint music drifting into the kitchen from the living room as he set about cleaning up after each step and setting the table. It was all so domestic and he wanted for more nights like it. Just you and him and Ellie.

Sighing, you made sure to lock the front door behind you. Apron bundled up beneath your armpit and thrown in the general direction of the laundry room door on the other side of the kitchen. Filling and setting a kettle over the stove, you stood and looked out your kitchen window for a moment, taking in the fluffy snow that had attempted to stick as the dark, moody sky brought it over the town. It was still early, the sunrise more than likely about to occur, but it hidden in the overcast.

You shifted your gaze over the counters, logging the ingredients you had on hand for a possible breakfast even if you weren’t terribly hungry at the moment. When they landed on the broken mixing spoon that had decided to crack and splinter last night under your soapy hands as you cleaned up over dinner, you moved to rummage in the hall closet. The scrape of untreated wood along the floor sent a chill up your spine as your fingers closed around what you were searching for.

The thick slab of wood is covered with an old flat sheet. It had been from a tree last year, one that had lost a main branch in the same winds that had taken a whole one from your collection.

It was beautiful. Rich in color, the grain so detailed and curling in beautiful swirls. Burl added layers and looking pretty as it was set just so in the cut. You had kept it, unable to burn it for the soil. The thought of asking Joel to make you a set of cooking utensils had been in the back of your mind for nearly the entire time he had been here. But now with the crop of cutting boards artfully crafted, you were tempted to ask him to make of those from the hefty source in your hands.

But he hadn’t offered you one, hadn’t so much as mentioned that he had begun to make more and more ever since that first one he had been ‘trying out the idea’ in Tommy’s kitchen. You were hesitant to bring it up, but with the holidays only a couple weeks away…you were curious to see his reaction to the request.

You didn’t ask anything of anyone. Not even when you first got here, had taken the time to acclimate to the way life was led here within the settlement. Community, social circles, job detail, patrol. All of it had been taken in stride, and you worked for everything in your possession. Joel did too. You admired him for it.

A few moments later, you were rapping your knuckles against the man’s front door.

Ellie comes around the side, hearing it from her separate garage. She had looked frustrated, then curious, then excited.

“Hey, Olive,” She walks up to you, noticing the wood in your hands. “The old man’s not home, he went to help out with the lil guy.”

“O-oh, okay. I’ll just come back, I guess.” But when you began to inch closer to the porch steps, she ascended them with a small smile.

“Nah, come hang with me until he gets back.” She brushed past you with a soft touch to your arm. A key slid into the lock and then you were hesitantly following her into the house. “Feel free to make some of that god awful coffee you two enjoy so much, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

You saw her dip off down the hall, the sound of her rustling through something behind an open door allowing you the privacy to make up your mind on the offer of coffee as you stood on the threshold to the kitchen. With a determined push, you set about to search for the coffee grounds and mugs. He had only two, one with a detailed owl and another more simple one. It was a plain white one that was hefty and looked like it belonged in the full hands of diner waitress.

It transported you back to late nights and early mornings surrounded by ruckus laughter and inside jokes, the scent of pancakes and bacon cooking on a flattop and the jingle of a bell to signal overflowing plates were ready to be dug into.

“What’s that in the cloth?” Ellie’s curiosity piqued by the bundle you had set down atop the kitchen table, her long thin fingers slowly unwrapping it. With a nod from you, she did so completely. Her eyebrows shot up, thoughts swirling behind her keen eyes. They flicked to the back room just on the other side of the kitchen wall. Her bottom lip was taken between her teeth and she looked like she was trying not to laugh.

“I know it’s silly, but…” You couldn’t help but feel nervous admitting it out loud, that you wanted to ask Joel to take some of his sparse free time for a personal project. You poured yourself a steaming cup of the finished coffee, searching for the sugar cannister. “This has been drying for nearly a year and I was gonna ask Joel-“

“Gonna ask Joel what?” His voice sounded from the doorway into the kitchen, startling you both. You rushed to put yourself between him and the table, a poor attempt to hide the plank of wood from his curious eyes. He looked tired, no doubt having been up more than resting all last night if he had been over at Tommy and Maria’s.

Taking that as her queue to leave, Ellie bolted out the back door with a hollered goodbye.

“Oh, um. Hi,” You waved slightly at him, unsure of how he would take to coming home to his house and finding you in his kitchen. Even if Ellie had said it would be okay. You were nervous, knowing that asking for something was a tricky thing. Even if he was so willing to give to others; his time, his attention, his skills. “I ha-have this.”

Moving out of the way as he crept closer on heavy feet, you allowed him to see the olive wood you had hauled over here.

“I-I was wondering i-if you’d be able to make a set of cooking utensils out of this? But I understand if you’re too busy, or don’t want to work with the dense wood, or don’t have the time-“

"Of course, sweetheart. I’ll try my best for you." And just like that he melted all your worries away and a smile pulled at your lips.

He easily moved the chunk of wood from the kitchen to his workspace. The muscles of his arms bulging beneath his flannel, the muscles of his shoulders straining at the fabric over his broad shoulders. All for your viewing pleasure as you followed behind him. The room was smaller than you expected, on his ground floor, just down the hall from the kitchen. But it was such a reflection on who he was.

The main desk had a comfortable looking chair, thick cushion on the seat. Atop it was an open book, propped up on a few stacked behind it and open to a stunning photograph of a deer. In the center was a partially carved figurine of the deer in the photo, shavings around it and tools lined up in a half circle around the back of it.

“How many pieces did you want?” He carefully bent his knees and lowered the wood to the ground, atop a tarp that several long pieces of lumber were set on and leaning against the wall. Blocks of wood beside them and lined up against the wall almost like bricks.

“Oh, um, just however many you can manage.” The crack of his knees as he straightened worried you, but it happened to you more and more so you understood it wasn’t really painful so much as uncomfortable most of the time.

"The cutting boards all around town...” Trailing off as a familiar scent caught your attention through the general smell of lumber, you moved toward the pile of wooden planks lined up along the wall like books atop a work table. There were many shades and types of wood, all different steps of being sanded down or stained, shavings nestled in a waste bucket beneath. Tools scattered over the surface and small cannisters of sealant and paint stacked neatly beside them. Two of the planks of wood were light, ashy and your attention honed in on them as you moved toward the table. “It was kinda my idea and I was wondering if-"

"Sweetheart, I can't make you one." You startled at the boom of his voice so close, blocking your view from the stack of them as he moved to stand in front of you. The hand that had been reaching out with the intention of caressing them fell back to your side.

"Oh, um, okay." You cast your eyes down, taking in the worn leather of his boots. Of yours. There were so many of them, easily two handfuls and yet he wasn’t willing to share one with you. But everyone else around town seemed to be worthy and you couldn’t help but wonder why you weren’t. You were friends, he had said it himself. But then…but then you had kissed him and fled.

No question as to why flowed from you. You were used to not being included, but you had to admit that it stung coming from him. In an attempt to mask it you tried to smile but you weren’t sure if it actually showed. Your chest ached, body feeling like it wasn’t yours. Like you were looking down on it as it stood in that workspace with the man who sought solace within it. Like you had intruded, and shame bubbled up for having made yourself comfortable where you shouldn’t have.

"Can't find a sealant that would hold up to those knives we found. You'd just cause damage to it."

"Okay, but-“ You tried to backtrack, to apologize for being so curious.

"No, Olive. I don't have one for you, so please quit askin'."

You didn’t say anything, your voice stuck in your throat. Turning and walking away from him without looking up, afraid to see his expression. You faintly heard his voice calling after you, but you ignored it, it was far away. It was as if you were down in a tunnel, like you had tipped over and fell down into one the second Joel had turned you down.

You wanted to move past it, to gloss over it, to stay and enjoy in the time he had been willing to give you on his one day free from responsibilities. But you couldn’t, your chest felt like it had caved in, like you were hollow, like you would never be able to break into the social graces of the settlement. Marked with the death of someone who had, someone who kept messing up and making it easy for people to turn you away.

He thinks about how hurt you looked when he tried to ward you off from the stack of cutting boards he had practiced designs on and different shapes. berating himself for being so harsh when he had been scared you would see the wood he had taken from you without your knowledge. You had been reaching for the planks made from it, drawn to them as if they were magnetized.

The way in which you had shut down, his soothing words after denying you falling on deaf ears as you turned and simply walked away from him. He had been under the impression you wanted to spend the day with him. You had been an unexpected guest but not an unwelcome one. It had been nice to return to his home to find you there, comfortable enough to have put on a pot of coffee and the errant scent of that woodsy, floral perfume that seemed to be a part of your skin from tending to the trees in your yard.

But you had just turned and walked away.

He watched you go, not liking the way you had shrunk into yourself at his denial. He had tried to be soft with it, you couldn’t know that you had been asking after the one thing he wanted to keep a secret from you. That you had given him the idea and he was practicing and making so many different prototypes all to ensure that when it came time to craft yours, that he would be able to do so easily.

He scrubbed a hand roughly over his face, sighing out as he dressed for patrol. His alarm had gone off an hour ago but he had already been awake, sleep evading him as the moment from the other day played in his mind’s eye over and over again.

Settling on the musty cushions beside you, the memory of the last time he had done so puffed up along with a cloud of dust. It had been a long day. Clearing the village and finding a place to hole up in for the night.

“I’ll take the first watch, try ‘n get some rest.” He murmured low, taking in the way you were already curling your legs up underneath your body on the other end of the couch. The scarf around your neck pulled up for you to bury your face into it, hands in their gloves and secure in the pockets of your coat.

You didn’t think you even responded, the cold of the day draining you and making sleep too alluring a respite even with the broad man beside you and all alone for the first time in a while.

Bird calls woke you up hours later, signaling the start of a new day. The warmth of sleeping was a lull to the chill you knew awaited outside, but you pressed into the bed further, burrowing even more into the lump of blankets you tended to scrunch up beside you.

But the lump shifted and your eyes flew open to find a different setting than you dark bedroom. You weren’t asleep in your bed, you were sunk into a decrepit couch and pressed into Joel’s right side, having sought out his warmth in the cold house. He was asleep too, his eyes closed despite his body still seated up with his feet resting on the ground.

You couldn’t help but rest your cheek on his shoulder, taking comfort in how close and warm he was, even if it had been an instinctual move to begin with.

He was so handsome. Beautiful. From the scar across the bridge of his nose, the one at his temple, to the freckles that littered his tan skin. Wrinkles relaxed as he slept, his plush lips parted slightly. His body sunk into the fabric where he had settled last night, long and lean. His mass so large you had shifted in your sleep to press up against him, partially on him to share the small couch and steal his warmth. His neck bent back a little as his head lulled onto the back cushions.

Your eyes roved down the strong column of his neck, catching on the way his adam’s apple jutted out and you resisted the urge to lean in and nip at it.

His hands, dear god, his hands. They were slack in his lap, his entire body completely lax as he slept slumped beside you. Veins and freckles decorated the skin, mind running with the idea of them tight around different parts of your body. How they would feel wrapped around your hips, your breasts, your neck…

You couldn’t help but reach out and lay a hand atop one of his, your palm over the back of his. Your stomach fluttered, the heat settling low. Your own hand looked so small, atop his. The difference so startling.

“Mm, good mornin’,” Joel’s gravelly rumble made you jump, realizing you had gripped two of his fingers in your hand. He jostled the hand in your grip and you felt heat flood your cheeks at being caught touching him. When you moved to take it back, he curled his fingers, catching your hand and pulling it up to his lips where he pressed his lips to the back of it. “Don’t act all shy now, sweetheart.”

You throb.

The gusset of your underwear suddenly dampens as you clench around nothing.

“I-I don’t know what came over me, you were sleeping and I shouldn’t ha-have-“ Trying to tamp down your less than friendly thoughts, the allure you felt wash over you at his sleepy timbre, to backtrack away from what could end up being another thing to have him avoiding you around the settlement.

But he surprised you, emboldened by the hazy thoughts displayed in the parting of your own lips, the heat he could feel rolling off of you, the pressure you tried to relieve between your legs with a clench of your thighs together. And then his thick, sleep coated words turned sultry, pitched low and velvet.

“Thinkin’ about my hands on ya, huh? Sweet little thing, what was it?” He guided your hand to cup his cheek and then rest against his neck. “Thinkin’ about my hands here?”

When he squeezed your hand around it, you felt faint for the way your blood was rushing and thundering loud in your ears.

“N- no.” You swallowed, voice breathy and pitched low as you struggled to find words.

“No? What about…” He moved your hand to his chest, right in the middle of his ribcage. His heart was thundering beneath the flannel, mirroring your own. “Here?”

Your breath hitched as he moved it further, not giving you the chance to answer this time. Down ,down, down past the hem of his shirt beneath his jacket to the denim of his jeans. Pressing your palm down atop the zipper, you could feel the long line of him, hot and semi-hard. It twitched at the pressure, and you couldn’t help the whimper that fell from your lips. Eyes having been dragged down along with your clasped hands.

“What about here?” His lips grazed the shell of your ear as his question was pressed close, nose brushing sensitive skin just behind it. Mustache and beard lightly scraping against you, causing you to shiver and press down your hand more firmly. He groaned out, the sound burrowing deep into you. He twitched again beneath your palm and all the air in your lungs whooshed out.

And then he was dipping his head to capture your lips in a hard kiss. His tongue trailed over the seam of your lips, and you let him in without a thought. Pleasure flared from the heat that had taken hold of your entire body, the air crackling with the need for him to be closer, to be pressed to you completely, pressed inside of you completely. Body buzzing, needing more more more from him you shift to cup his cheek with your other hand.

When he speaks next, his voice is all soft. Southern twang breathy and so close as his lips graze yours, his forehead pressed to your own. The press of hot skin only a prelude to what you hoped was more…

“Sweetheart, I-“

The sudden creak of the back door opening cut the tension of the room and your stomach filled with dread. Joel’s hands became almost painful on you as both your heads whipped around to stare at the kitchen threshold, waiting with bated breath for the intruding source to walk through it.

He was up off the couch in a second, his handgun in his palm and he stalked silently toward the kitchen, leaving you on the couch to reach for your own. But your attention was pulled to the front door of the house just as he disappeared through the threshold.

Two shadows crept into the house and your ducked down to avoid being seen immediately.

There were sounds of a scuffle in the kitchen and you took the opportunity to sneak around the couch in a crouch and stand with the gun trained on the larger figure of the two just on the other side of it.

“Drop your gun or I shoot.” You kicked his legs apart, hand patting him down as he listened to your command. He didn’t have any other weapons on him and the woman a few feet away didn’t visibly have any, her clothing tight around her middle, large jacket draping over her to keep her swollen middle warm.

You took your eyes off of her for one second to kick the gun away and behind you when she lunged. A shiny piece of something glinted in her hand and you shouted out as it cut across your own middle.

Grunting, you elbowed the man in the ribs, winding him and sending him to crumple to the ground in pain. You kicked out and wrapped your foot around one of the woman’s legs and tugged her close, ignoring the sensation of that same piece of whatever it was in her grip as it tore into your jacket sleeve.

You smacked her hand against the wall behind her, being mindful of her stomach and was about to wrap your hands around her neck when the man wheezed out a pleading cry.

“Don’t hurt her, please!” He tired to catch is breath, but you didn’t break your focus away from the woman you had pinned down. A wave of nausea rose over you, the only indication before you collapsed, blood soaking the front of your shirt in a dark, wet patch.

“Shit, I think you cut her too deep.” The man crawled over to you, his hands pressing down to try and staunch the flow. The woman fell to her knees beside him, her hands reaching out to grip one of your arms. The clatter of the weapon she had used was loud and you looked over to it. It was a piece of dirty glass.

“I-I didn’t me-mean to hurt you so badly! I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck, okay, go to my pack.” They shared a confused look, but the fact that they hadn’t run off with yours and Joel’s supplies to their remorse at hurting you told you they were good people. “Go! There’s a spare shirt, we need it to put over the wound.”

Just as she bent to dig into the pack by the couch, Joel’s quiet steps and low threat called as he entered the room.

“Get your hands off of her and step back.”

“Wait! They aren’t Infected!” You panted, voice sharp despite the effort it was taking to breath as your middle burned, knowing the man’s instincts had taken over completely. His steps measured. His gun raised. His reasoning marred by the sight of you bleeding on the floor.

“They hurt you.” His honeyed drawl gone, replaced with an air of authority that demanded attention, all dark, rich molasses sticking everyone in place.

“It was an accident, Joel, please. They…they have a baby on the way. We have to take them back.”

“That true?” He kept the shot gun aimed at the man hovering over you, the blood shining on his hands making his nerves twitch. But his eyes landed on the woman who had been rummaging through your bag for first aid supplies. She slowly stood from her crouch, revealing her swollen belly.

He ordered them both to take a seat on the couch, telling them he would deal with them once he tended to you, letting them know that he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if they tried something. He then kneeled down on the ground beside you, one of his large hands going over yours holding the wad of fabric to your middle, the other going to cup your cheek.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” His eyes bore into you, stern edge to them. You were visibly shaking, skin looking sallow and sweat beading at your temple. He carefully moved your hands aside, eyes flicking from your pained expression to the injury as he slowly lifted the fabric you had pressed to it. And then the hem of your sweater and tank top underneath.

Lips a grim line and eyes dark as he took in the still bleeding injury. His brow furrowed deeper as a thick rivulet ran down your side to spill onto the floor and Joel cursed under his breath. The gash was a few inches long across your stomach, to the left of your belly button, rimmed and irritated red. Angry and no doubt already infected if the shard of dirtied glass abandoned beside you was any indication. Your blood stained it, the woman’s fingertips pressed into it in smeared, red marks.

“Shit, it’s already starting to get infected.”

You managed a weak nod, both in response to his question and muttered worries fighting off the tears as he pressed around the wound, trying to get a gauge of how deep it was. You held back a whimper at the prodding, bottom lip firmly between your teeth.

“Joel, there’s gau-gauze in my pack.”

“Find it and toss it to me, quick.” He raised a threatening look to the pair on the couch, their heads turned and watching everything play out. Worried that if you were to bleed out, the man wouldn’t hesitate to retaliate or leave them here to their own devices.

The woman rushed to dig into your pack once more, fingers finding the crinkling plastic wrapped around the sterile gauze. She tossed it to Joel, the hand that had moved down from your cheek to rest over your heart on your chest reached out to snag it from the air. He ripped it open with his teeth and urged your hands to hold it down atop the wound.

You could only watch through hazy eyes as he shucked off his jacket and then his flannel. With a smooth motion he removed his t-shirt, his most base layer. With his chest on full display, the dark hair over his chest and trailing down from his belly button you startled at the sound of ripping fabric. The knife he kept holstered on the back of his waist out of is sheath as he used it to cut a thick strip from the hem of his shirt. He gently urged you to lift up from the ground for him to wind it around your back and tie it securely over the wound.

Slipping two fingers below it to ensure it was tight enough to keep pressure but not overly so as to cause more problems. It felt a thousand times better already, your nausea waning as the blood stopped flowing from your body. But you would definitely need stitches and antibiotics once back inside the gates. Once he was sure the wound was okay for the moment, he took both your hands in his, a slight tremor to them. His thumbs rubbing soothingly across the backs of them.

“Okay, you’re okay,” He murmured. He leaned down to press his forehead to yours. Breathing in deep and your lashes fluttered as he sighed out. His eyes were clenched shut and he took a moment to ground himself before he pulled back and peppered chaste kisses over your face. Your forehead, each of your cheeks, the tip of your nose. The edges of your mouth.

“I’m okay,” You promised, unable to ignore how shaky his breathing was so close. A nervous giggle sounded from you, unable to tamp it down as your head swam. “But maybe you should put your clothes back on before you freeze.”

“Can’t lose you, sweetheart.” The whispered sentiment washed over you, leaving you warm and light in the chest for a completely different reason. Only when you nodded in understanding, did he reach over for his flannel and shrug it back over his broad shoulders. The buttons closed up with deft fingers as he watched you take a mental stock of your body and how it felt. You said up just as his jacket was pulled back into place over the flannel.

“Good thing ‘m not goin’ anywhere then, huh?” His wet chuckle was the only response you got before he helped you to stand. He guided you over the couch with an arm around your shoulders, silently demanding that the pair move from the cushions to make room for you. Making sure you were comfortable with both packs beside you before he turned his attention to the people who had injured you.

A nurse took you in quickly, insisting someone else would do a thorough check on the brother and sister you and Joel had brought to them once leaving the horses at the stables. The backup shirt you had taken along with you in your pack tied to your abdomen with a scrap of fabric from the bottom of Joel’s undershirt. It was better than nothing, better than bleeding out.

You had insisted that the woman, Callie carefully got up on Lowry for the trip back. Joel had been worried about them sharing a horse together, the very real possibility of them taking off on it at the forefront of his mind. But you had assured him that they could be trusted. That they could’ve taken both your packs and left you to bleed out on the floor.

That was how you had found yourself once again sharing a horse with Joel for an entire day. The feel of his body pressed close to your back so different from when he had tried to keep his distance. His hands secure around your waist and resting atop the saddle horn. You tried not to let it distract you, carrying on casual conversation with them to get a feel for who they were. Every so often, when you grunted at particularly hard hoofbeats or a rough jostle, his right hand would press against your roughly patched wound.

Stitches, the nurse had said. At least four of them.

Joel was outside the hall, waiting for you to be released. He looked up from the notepad in his hands when you exited the room, brown eyes tired. You couldn’t read his thoughts, though you were too tired to begin to think what that could mean.

“Hey, what’d they say?” He surged up, the notebook going back into his pocket, the worn fabric snug around it. He retrieved the coat and sweater he had kept for you when the nurse had asked you to remove all outer layers.

You lifted the torn tank top, allowing him to see the clean, bright white bandage that had been taped over the injury. The fait outline of stitches could be seen through it. Two of his fingers brushed against it, almost tenderly.

“No painkillers, those are only for serious cases.” You let him help you put the sweater back on, his hands holding the head opening side for you to slid it on, gently tugging the fabric into place around your sore arms. “They gave me a shot of antibiotics and a pack of fresh gauze. Gotta come in next week to get the stitches looked at.”

“I’m so sorry.” He murmured as he held the coat up for your to slip your arms into. When you turned around to face him again, he pulled you to him in a loose embrace. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“Joel, it’s okay. We’re okay. I promise.” You leaned up, mindful of the new pull on your middle, and pressed your lips to his cheek. Sighing at the soft pressure, he walked alongside you out of the building.

Since there wasn’t anything they could give you for the pain, you just wanted to lay in bed and rest. But you also wanted to try and find a reason to get out of the house later. Swallowing down your fear of rejection, knowing he was the one person who wouldn’t do that to you, you asked him for a drink later in the evening.

But he didn’t look up from the paper in his hands as he walked out the front door with you, scribbling something down on a page that only had two previous lines of script. The chill of the wind breezing past you both as you repeated your question in slightly louder volume, sure he just hadn’t heard you. You knew he was hard of hearing in his right ear and that was the side you were on. But what you didn’t expect was his haphazard response. So at odds with the tenderness and care he had shown you throughout the day.

"Huh? Oh uh, I can't tonight. Sorry, I'll see ya, Olive." And then he's off without so much as a glance your way, leaving you standing outside the infirmary. It left you more than a little concerned, whiplash at the sudden shift from intimate, to protective, to nothing so much as a glance all from the same man.

It’s early, the sun not even showing signs of rising. Snow drifted down, a perfect morning. You were humming to yourself, mentally planning out the meals you could make. A breakfast casserole that would allow for the use of root vegetables, eggs, some of the goat cheese that had been made perhaps. You were minding your own business, enjoying the walk to the mess hall and the kitchen that would allow you to work and forget the hollow feeling that hadn’t left you all last night. It was easier feeling nothing other than the faint pull of stitches on your abdomen.

You catch a figure walking out of a front door further down the street. The figure broad but their steps light as they descended the porch to Marsha’s house.

Oh.

It was Joel.

He didn’t have a utility belt, he didn’t have a toolbox, he didn’t have anything that indicated he had been there to repair something.

It was Joel Miller, leaving Marsha’s house. Far too early to mean anything other than the fact that he had spent the night inside, with her. Guess that's why he had turned down your offer for an evening with you. He already had someone to share drinks with, someone to spend his time with.

Turning, you tried not to follow his figure as he began to walk down the street, facing away from you.

You could only think that it was because of the way you had run the other night. Because of the way you two kept giving into yearning touches only for the moment to be yanked away. Three times now, far too much trouble for someone as busy as him. Someone with a life like he led as he cared for his family and the repairs that were needed around the settlement. You were desperate, for company, for attention, for him. It must’ve not settled well with him to realize how much you wanted him and that it never seemed to work out in his favor, only friend or not.

Deep down, you knew that wasn’t the reason. He was such an understanding man, and he wouldn’t put the blame on you. But the fact of the matter was that he was willingly spending his time with Marsha.

He wasn’t sure where you had disappeared to, your house dark safe for the light over the stoop light up in a warm tone. He had a box in his hands, something he had rifled through his, Ellie’s, and Tommy’s homes for to fit the finished set of wooden utensils you had asked him to make.

He had taken his time, sneaking glances at the ones in your kitchen when he dropped you off after patrol one morning and you offered him a light lunch. You had made grilled sandwiches, pairing them with some steamed vegetables that were beginning to wilt in the cold air of the house. You ran the heat on a good middle range, to ensure it didn’t get too stuffy and begin to take a toll on the record collection in the living room or the books you kept on every surface and crammed lovingly into the many bookshelves you had.

You seemed to favor spoons, though he did catch sight of a few rather flat spatulas. He had inspected the wood thoroughly before he even thought of measuring it. Admiring the way the dried wood looked and taking notes down on the pad of paper he kept on him at all times. Compared it to the two planks he had, noting the different feel and heft of them versus the completely dry specimen you had brought to him.

He let his thoughts wander as he took a seat on the cold concrete steps of your stoop. Opting to wait for your return for a few moments, hoping that you would return soon as evening had fallen, the set having set a few hours ago. He didn’t recall you mentioned evening shifts at the mess hall, opting for the mornings that you enjoyed. Something about the quiet of the town, less lonely than the nights, had been a quiet admittance. He had been too shocked to respond, you must’ve taken his silence as the end of the conversation. You had turned quiet alongside him, the only sound for the rest of the route back to the gates had been the hooves along the ground.

It struck him now, that you had been admitting even early on how lonely you were. How the town choosing to not interact with you had hurt, had been hurting you. A warning even then, that you were sensitive to the dynamic and went along with it even if you didn’t agree with it. You were such a lovely person. Kind hearted, giving, caring, and he loathed that people like Marsha perpetuated the agenda against you.

She was relentless in her attention on him and he was getting a little annoyed with it. But he was being cordial, the exact word you had used to describe the woman. He had finished the last of her shelving the other day. He had worked overnight to get it fitted and fastened to the wall. Securing it with bolts and weight holding supports, wanting to be done with the project that had been more of a coercion of his skills. She was a manipulator and he had played into her hands just like she had wanted.

He felt like a fool, knowing he had agreed to do it for your sake and out of a need to protect you.

Then he realized there were two people who allowed you into their lives. That spoke fondly of you, invited you to dinner, allowed you shares of what they could get the last of in down on main street.

Standing, he hoped to find you among his family. Making his way his way to Tommy’s, Maria was the one to answer the door. A finger to her lips to signal him to keep quiet as she slipped out the door to join him on the porch.

“They’re both sleeping, it took an hour to get him down and then of course Tommy slumped over.” She didn’t seem upset, but the news allowed for Joel to realize you weren’t here either. Clocking his silence and the box in his hand, she cocked her head up a little to examine his features. “Everything okay, Joel? Olive didn’t pull her stitches already, did she?”

“Yeah, everythin’ is okay. I’m actually looking for her. Have you seen her today?” He shuffled on his feet, aware of how they ached as the cold settled in to stay for the season.

“She’s at the bar, came by with dinner for us on her way out.” Maria explained, watching his closely. Able to pick up on his agitation. It was odd when she compared it to the almost forces nonchalance you had exhibited earlier.

“Can you hold onto this for me, I’ll be back to get it tomorrow.” He thrusted the box into the woman’s hands and was making off down the street before she could even respond.

The bar is a cacophony of sounds, of laughter, of conversation, the clink of glasses being lifted and then placed back on tables. The gurgle of more drinks being poured, of ice tinkling in glasses, all of it was so nice to just sit in and enjoy. Even if you were alone on your stool.

"Another round?" You disguised the clenching of your hand around your empty glass, the voice right behind you. His voice, the charming drawl pitched low and so so close.

“I don’t think we should be drinking with each other.” You shifted away from him, not wanting him to think you were open to spending time with him after his rejection, after his secret of seeing Marsha was exposed to you in the form of his leaving her house far too early for any reason than having stayed the night, for the way you had wanted to say yes to spending time with him but it hurt too much. For the way that it was getting harder and harder to resist the urge to lean up and kiss him, to run your hand down his arm or back in a soothing caress. “I’m waiting for someone.”

His brow furrowed as he regarded you, lifting his drink to his lips and taking a deep pull from the amber liquid inside. He sat down atop the stool beside you despite your words. His glass settled on the bar top, now empty. Your eyes were focused on the melting ice, not able to look at the man who was giving you his attention.

“What’s that?” He huffed, almost chuckled as he believed you were just joking, teasing him like you tended to do sometimes while out on patrol. But you weren’t, both of you seated at the long bar of the Tipsy Bison on the main street in town. When you still didn’t raise your eyes to him, he realized you weren’t, that you were turning him down and away.

“Tell me the real reason,” He leaned close, pivoting the seat of the stool so you faced him. Your insides whooshed with the movement. With the way he demanded your attention, with the entirety of his focus on you almost breaking your resolve to remain professional. Aware of all the eyes constantly watching you, judging you; all the eyes on him constantly watching for entirely different reasons, fawning over him.

“Because I like you.” You admitted, unable to deny him the truth. You could only lift your eyes as high as his lips, which was a mistake as you recalled the feel of them. They were so soft, so plush and you never had the chance to gently nip at his bottom one…

“Well, I like you too, Olive.” His nose brushed your cheek, moving impossibly close, his thumbs digging into your thighs as he held to the stool.

“No, I like you, Joel. And this isn’t a good idea.” You pulled back, aware that you were both in a very public place. That the looks focused on you both, your intimacy, combined with soft murmurs of voices that could be saying anything. Making notions in their minds that he was associated with you, that he spent time with you enough to feel comfortable engaging in this type of behavior. And that was bad, it was so bad for people to associate him with you. It would cause people to question him after everything he did for the town. It would begin to erase all the good he had provided. “Joel, people are looking.”

“Don’t worry about them, just focus on me.” Your eyes snapped to his, taking in the way the brown of them was alight from the sconces around the bar. There was no hesitancy in them, no remorse. Only adoration and your stomach swooped, your heart fluttered. But you tried your best to resist.

“That’s not a good idea either.” You whispered.

“You thinkin’ of doin’ somthin’ to me?”

“M-maybe.” The admittance rolls off your tongue, his lips close enough that he can taste it.

“Sweetheart, I’d let ya if that’s what you wanted.”

“N-no.” It took everything in you to deny him, to deny the tension that pulled your muscles tight in every part of your body.

“No?” He leaned back, taking your words and heeding them, sensing that you meant them, even if it was a stuttered, breathy response.

“I don’t want to, I mean I do, but- this” You motioned between the two of you, how little space there was between your bodies. His body pivoted toward you and his hands still partially around the denim of your thighs. “Isn’t a good idea.”

His eyes roamed over you, seeing the nerves and truth of your demeanor. You did like him, and it was becoming a problem. He didn’t need a younger woman fawning over him, the friendly rapport riddled with holes. Of temptations that were tamped down by his unwillingness to share his craft with you, the time he had been spending with Marsha, the pull of his attention in so many directions, especially with the holiday hurtling toward the town tomorrow.

“We’re hardly friends, Miller. You barely started acknowledging me outside of patrol.” You reached for your drink so you’d be less likely to cup his face in your hands and throw caution to the wind.

“What makes you think I haven’t been tryin’ to keep my hands to myself, bein’ around you?” His voice tipped low, to avoid being overheard despite the closeness he had initiated. Closing your eyes at the visual, you shook you head as your throat bobbed with the sip you had taken from your drink.

“Because you don’t like me that way.” You scoffed, beginning to lean away from him. “You didn’t even get me anything for the holiday…You’re with Marsha.”

“Didn’t get your name in swap.”

“Oh.” And all the fight you had in you crumbled at his simple words. The reassurance in his voice that drowned out the hum of the environment all around you.

“But I thought - Ellie was asking so many questions I figured she was doin’ the work for you.”

“Maybe she got you?” He tapped the lip of his glass as the bartender wandered close, signaling for another when the man got the chance. His hand going back to your leg in a second.

“N-no. She got Jesse. Whoever got me most likely tossed the scrap of paper and picked another.”

“Marsha and I are just friendly, it’s nothing beyond that. Olive, I swear to –“

Someone cleared their throat unnervingly close. You both turned away from each other to face the person who had decided to break the currents flowing between your bodies, tension thick in the air with their approach.

Marsha. With a wrapped gift in her hand and a yearning look for Joel. Her attention solely on him.

“So much for just being friendly, huh, Miller?” You set your drink down, glass nearly empty and pushed off from your stool. The drag of his large hands over the tops of your thighs not registering as you quickly took off. Leaving him to the woman who seemed to be a constant companion as of late. Better company for him, you though begrudgingly as you made your way through the snow-covered streets and back to the safety of your home.

Sighing, you picked up the wrapped bundle of recipe cards. Joel’s gift.

The one you had spent hours pouring over, making sure your writing was neat and legible, the cursive loops delicately over the lines on the thick cardstock. You had debated whether or not he would be able to read the script, knowing how he squinted at certain things. No doubt needing glasses in his older age, an item you always kept a keen eye out for should it end up being a perfect match for him.

Your heart panged, the fleeting image of him tucked in bed beside you with a book or manual in his hands and a pair of reading glasses perched on his aquiline nose. His scruff catching the light of a soft bedside lamp and the silver sparkling. His curls damp from an evening shower, the scent of him so clean and pure beside you as you lay tucked in the other side. It hurt. It hurt to think you would never get to experience that, experience him in every simple, mundane way.

With a long-suffering huff, you reached for some of the dried leaves you kept from the trees when you last preened them. Fastening it to the top of the bundle with a piece of twine. You don’t write Joel’s nor yours. He would know it was from you from the writing inside, from the olive twig. A parting gift, you guessed.

This would be the last thing you would offer him before drawing back to your solemn life. He had brought color and life and laughter into it, but the hurt wasn’t worth it. Your heart and body aching for a man who had too much to lose.

You faintly heard soft voices trailing along the dark streets, the light fixtures doing their best to illuminate the way for any one who was out at the late hour. The sky dark with the added overcast that hadn’t waned during the day. Making everything feel pressed down and low, condensing the world to make it feel almost suffocating. Snow soft as it descended. Maybe it was just you, sensitive to the weather and things around you in your anxiety as you turned down the street Joel’s house was nestled on. Just as you turned the corner, feet scuffing on the weathered gravel packed down to create solid paths in the broken asphalt you collided with something hard and lost your balance. The built up snow making it hard to catch yourself.

The scrunch of paper you had wrapped the gift in was loud, ripping at the drag of thick fabric that made up someone’s coat. The index cards fly up into the air as you landed heavily on your side. Through the sounds of the fluttering paper, there was a gasp pitched high that gave way to delirious giggles and a grunt pitched low. Your own indignant noise floating amidst it all, the pull of your stitches uncomfortable.

“My apologies, didn’t see you the- Olive?”

You had run into Joel’s broad back, his front now facing you as the cards rained down to scatter all over the corner. Snow dampening them instantly upon contact, blurring the ink you had taken the time to put down to them.

Behind him was a bright-eyed Marsha, her hands holding tight to one of his. She looked flushed, no doubt from the drinks she had indulged in, leaning heavily into him. And Joel…he looked shocked as he stared down at your fallen form. Either unaware or uncaring of how the woman he was with tried to burrow into his side.

They had been the ones whose voices you heard. But what had they been doing just standing still in the middle of the street….and then it hit you. They had probably been kissing or sharing in casual touches as they walked back from the bar to one of their homes for the evening and your stomach lurched, dropping out from under you.

Joel detached from her, intending to reach down and help you back up. But you didn’t want him touching you with the same hands that had been soft just an hour ago, the same hands that had been touching her with the same intent.

“Don’t!”

“Just tryin’ to help you up,” He backed off immediately, his eyes alert, not used to you raising your voice nor the heat behind your tone. Especially toward him, the hurt making you unable to tamp it down to a polite tone. Tears burned behind your own eyes, in your throat. The perfect match to your insides feeling like they have just been set in a mixer.

“Don’t need your help,” You pushed up from the ground, legs tingling as you fought the urge to run from the awkward and tense scene. And then you realized you could. You did.

Leaving the two alone in the middle of the street, surrounded by white spots of paper all around, the wrapping that had been around them crumpled on the ground. The dried olive leaves that had been fastened to it with twine lay abandoned at their feet.

You ran all the way back to your house, the front door slamming behind you and the lock loud in the silence that followed. Your back thumped against the wood of it, sliding down until your bottom hit the floor.

And you let yourself break down, crying into your hands. Hating how you had begun to believe that your life was going to change, that Joel was going to be something good in your life. And deep down, underneath all the hurt and anger, you still believed he was. Even if he wasn’t meant to be anything other than a patrol partner.

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lokischocolatefountain · 9 months

Text

Comfort || Taken Care of

Based on this request

Series Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: 18+. Like extremely 18+. I’d make it 20+ if that was a thing. Serious filth.

Warnings: Chonky age gap (Joel: early 50s and Reader: early 20s), extremely naïve reader, praise kink, innocence kink, non con, face-fucking, oral sex (make receiving), name calling, daddy kink, slapping, mentions of past abuse, mentions of FEDRA school abuse, dacryphilia, moneyshot, dbf!Joel (as friendly as that grump can be). Joel is a lying liar and the creepiest creep. Proceed with extreme caution.

Word count: 1.8k words

Summary: You are as sheltered as can be in a world that has fallen apart. Realizing the errors of his ways, your father has his friend Joel take you outside the QZ to teach you how to survive in the real world. Unfortunately for you, Joel is interested in teaching you more than basic survival skills.

A/N: I finally understand all the AO3 writers who are like ‘sorry for the late upload. My husband died, I gave birth, I was called upon by the US army to stop an alien invasion, my roommate stole all my things and I’m homeless. But here’s chapter 43 of my fic’ cause I am really really going through it rn. I submitted my thesis, I am defending it in a couple hours, I have to move my things to a new place immediately, I have to go to work and yet I wrote this. Who knew writing the absolute filthiest porn could make a girl feel slightly better while being in a dumpster fire…

“It’s okay, it’s okay…” he comforts you, his large hand cupping your face as he uses his thumb to wipe your tears. Shame he had to wipe them ‘cause they made you look so much prettier, got his cock so much harder.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he cooed as he unzipped his jeans. Life on the road was hard, especially for a sheltered girl like you. Your dad did everything he could to give you the best he could within the tall walls of the QZ. You knew no pain, no suffering, and definitely knew nothing of the outside world. So here he was, on your dad’s request, taking you out into the real world. The QZ could collapse anytime as QZs often did. So when it eventually did, your dad wanted to prepare you for a harder life.

Thankfully, Joel was a kind man. He held you at night when you were feeling cold, taught you how to hunt and carried your pack for you when you were feeling tired. He also comforted you when you felt lonely.

“Daddy…” you whined, too embarrassed to ask. Calling him Daddy always did the job too. You used to call him Joel, but it changed from when he started comforting you. He told you to call him Daddy, said it was more respectful, so you obeyed.

He never made you feel ashamed for wanting comfort, but something about it made you shy.

“Yes, pretty girl. What do you need?”

You put your hand on his lap and stroked him through his jeans though he was already unzipped and ready to give you the comfort you craved.

It started just a couple kilometers from the QZ. He found you sniffling in the corner of the abandoned building you’d both found shelter in for the night. He was so sweet about it too, asking you multiple times if it was okay for him to comfort you this way. He said your dad wouldn’t like it and that was true— your dad had coddled you too much and now he’d begun overcompensating for it. He yelled at you for crying, made you take up the worst shifts in the QZ and sent you off with his friend Joel— a man feared by all of the QZ— to go out and learn the world.

So you begged him to not tell your dad and put your mouth around his cock. From then, it was the only way you could find comfort.

“I need you to say it, darlin’… What do you want?”

“Please take care of me, daddy.”

“I’m taking care of ya already, aren’t I? Make you food, give you blankets, make sure the infected don’t get to ya… What do you want now?”

“Your cock. Please.”

He nodded and took himself out for you. He sat back on the rickety chair and placed a hand on your head, guiding you down to his cock. You took his tip first and sucked on it. He hissed, so maybe it hurt. But let you keep going. You opened your mouth wider and took him in, inch by inch. It hurt sometimes, but he reassured you that you will get better. You wanted to get better.

The taste was also strange. It needed getting used to. But now that you’d had his cock a few times, you were beginning to like it, to get used to it. It was salty from his sweat and it also tasted just like the skin on your arm. But there was something distinctly Joel about it.

“Just like that, darlin’. Good girl, aren’t you? Look so damn pretty like this,” he said, pushing you gently to take more of him. You gagged a little, but went on anyway. You looked up at him, wanting to smile at his compliment but too full of him to do so. More tears rolled down your cheeks at the compliment. He hummed at the sight and twitched inside you.

“Don’t forget to use your tongue,” he reminded and you felt embarrassed for forgetting already. You wanted to be good, wanted to learn everything he taught you quickly so you didn’t trouble him with the same thing twice. But here you were, having forgotten one of the important lessons already.

You did as you were told and moved your tongue along his cock, feeling his veins and ridges. He was hard, so hard but he was also smooth. He moaned as you did, making you shiver. It felt good to hear him moan, made you feel you were doing something right even though none of this was for his own benefit.

He did it just so he could make you feel better, feel less lonely. Sometimes you weren’t even crying when you got a craving for comfort again. You asked him on random nights to fall asleep with his cock in your mouth. It was becoming a kind of an addiction, like how your dad bought those pills from Joel to keep his nightmares out and now he couldn’t go without them.

You weren’t any help with other things either, even though you’d become a better shot and were more alert when it was your turn to keep watch. Suddenly, you were reminded of the time you missed a shot at a deer and made it run off, leaving both you and Joel hungry for days. You sobbed at the reminder, feeling the sharp sting on your cheek when he slapped you.

“Useless fucking whore!” He’d called you right after slapping you. You’d cried then and you cried again at the reminder, forcing yourself to take in the last of his length to prove to yourself that you would do better. He groaned and tightened his grip on your hair before pushing himself inside your mouth forcefully.

“Look so pretty like this, darlin’. Ain’t seen a prettier sight than my whore crying on my cock.” He said, pulling back before pushing into your mouth again. He hit the back of your throat and it hurt, god it hurt so bad. But he kept a firm grip on you, kept you in your place so you didn’t make mistakes again.

“Sorry, darlin’. Daddy’s gotta do this. ‘s too much,” he said, before grabbing your head in both hands. He hammered into you repeatedly, handling your face like it was something he hated. You didn’t know why, but that didn’t make you feel bad. It did the opposite.

You felt good. Like you weren’t a ‘useless fucking whore’ like he had said you were a few times. You were learning like he expected you to. The first time he did this, you forced him to stop and crouched over a bush and threw up the little food you’d eaten. It still hurt to be this way, but you were getting better. You didn’t have to throw up anymore.

He grunted and groaned, let out a few expletives that would’ve made you embarrassed if you were still back in the QZ. They were words you weren’t allowed to use back there. You’d come back from FEDRA school one day, using a bad word and it set him off. He slapped you, much like Joel would slap you later for missing the shot. When you did it again a couple of months later, he slapped you more times.

It was Joel then who came to your rescue. Promising your dad that you would behave better from now, he carried you off to his apartment and tended to your wounds.

“Ohh, of fuck. F-fuuuck… Mmm, such a pretty hole. Such a good hole for me,” he praised before pulling out of you. You inched closer to him, but he pulled you back by your hair, putting you back in place. You gasped softly when something warm hit your face. You tried to move away from it, away from him. It was wrong. How ungrateful did you have to be to jerk away from him like that when he was taking care of you.

“Fuckin’— fuck. Fuckin’ take it, bitch. Take my cum,” he struggled between pants as he continued doing— doing that. The warm sticky thing came out of his cock. You didn’t know what it was, didn’t know if he was okay. It had never happened before. You panicked and held on to his legs, afraid you did something wrong to cause this.

His jaw was clenched and his eyes were screwed shut. He grunted and moaned like he was in pain.

“Daddy…” you called for him gently. When he didn’t respond, you touched his thigh and began caressing it. Slowly, gently like he sometimes did to comfort you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, afraid of what you’d done to him. He leaned back on his chair, his hand still in your hair. His breathing slowed down and his fingers massaged your scalp, making you feel good.

“Why’re you apologizing, pretty girl?” He asked, making you sigh in relief.

“I— I don’t— this,” you said, pointing to your face that held the white thing that came out of him. “And you looked like you were in pain.”

He chuckled and looked down at you, before cupping the cheek that didn’t have any of the white thing on it. “You really are so dumb.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” you blurted out, not even knowing what you’d done this time.

“I wasn’t in pain. I was feeling good.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm… I know your dad did a lot for ya; you’re his whole world. So it only matters to you when you feel good. But sometimes I need to feel good, too.”

“What makes you feel good?” You asked, desperate to learn, desperate to do for him what he did for you.

“It really helps to have a pretty girl. And you’re a pretty girl, ain’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good, good. ‘s long as ya know. Pretty girls like you, you have three holes. It’ll make a man feel good. Just like when I put my cock in your face hole to make you feel good.”

“M-my mouth?” You asked, looking up at him with curiosity. You’ve never heard of it being called that… It felt strange, but you weren’t going to protest. He knew best. Just as your dad told you before sending you out. Joel knows best. Do what he says, no objections.

“Yeah. This pretty mouth,” he said, brushing his thumb over your lips. “When I make you feel good with my cock, I feel good too. But only if you’re a good girl. Only if you do as I say. You did good today, darlin’. You thought of me too instead of being the selfish bitch you always are.”

You surged at the praise, happy that you’d finally learned. Finally did something good for him instead of taking and taking and taking like a selfish bitch.

“And I know you wanna learn. So keep being good like this, okay?”

You nodded.

“Keep being good and I’ll teach you about your other holes.”

“Thank you, Daddy…”

445 notes · View notes

lincolndjarin · 10 months

Text

Best Kept Secret

chapter two : silent treatment (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 7.4k

summary : you decide to give your bodyguard the silent treatment after a disagreement

warnings, etc. : language, sexual fantasy

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

Something is wrong. You bolt up from the pile of blankets that you call a bed and your eyes dart around the closet as you furrow your brow trying to discern why you feel so much different. As you stand and exit the closet, tugging on a rope that you know alerts Elaine and Lysa you realize what it is.

You’re excited.

Everyday has been a slog since your arrival, just another day of aimlessly walking around and sitting mindlessly in the library but today you actually had an agenda. Even if you were to be accompanied by the abhorrent Mandalorian. You had only ever read about gardens, you obviously couldn't have one back on Hoth but you had always wanted to see one, if not have your own. But this was your home now, which made that your garden. You had a garden and today you were going to get to see it. And so, for the first time you summon Elaine and Lysa, instead of allowing them to arrive naturally as they always did. You stand at the mirror, eager to get dressed as the girls rush in, you can tell by the way that they stare at you that they don’t fully understand what's happening as they try to keep the surprise off their faces. Elaine speaks first as Lysa rushes off to the closet to find something for you to wear today.

“Good morning ma’am… you’re up rather early?” The way her voice pitches up makes it come off as a question but you just nod as you begin to undress, watching in the mirror as Lysa brings out a blue gown and you quickly turn around.

“No.” Both girls stare at you with wide eyes and then look at each other as you speak. “I want to wear something else, I’m sick of blue.” Lysa nervously rushes back into the closet but you can see a smile forming on Elaine's face.

“Seems like someone has finally found their voice.” As Elaine speaks she dresses you in your undergarments.

“One can only wear blue so many days in a row.” You brush a strand of hair behind your ear as you can see Elaine walking out holding a pale yellow dress in the reflection of the mirror, holding it up for approval. “That will do nicely.” That seems to relax her a bit as they begin to slip it on to you, lacing the back of it up tightly before sitting you down to do your hair and makeup but you gently wave their hands away.

“Ma’am? Is everything okay?” Elaine says as she holds her hands up, waiting to see what will happen next but Lysa takes a step back as she drops her hands as if she’s been burned and you quickly turn to reassure her.

“Everything is perfect, I didn’t mean to startle you, I just… I want to do it myself today. You two can have the rest of the morning off… thank you.” You turn back to stare at yourself in the mirror, the reflection actually looks familiar with your hair down like this, the lurid makeup they usually do you up in absent.

“Ma’am this is rather unorthodox…” Elaine says but she can’t seem to shake the smile from her face. “But if you insist.”

“I do. Insist.” Your lips are also curling into a grin that you’re desperately fighting off as you look at Elaine in the reflection of the mirror, meeting her gaze. “Take the rest of the morning off, I’ll see you in the evening.” Both girls nod as they take their leave, Lysa finds green slippers and puts them on you before darting out of the room. You start to run a brush through your hair and you shout one last thing over to them before the door closes. “Oh! And please inform Leo that I’ll be skipping breakfast, I have other matters to attend to.” Elaine turns to cock an eyebrow at you but nods as she closes the door.

You don’t bother holding back the grin now as you comb your hair, wanting to leave it down but you’re not sure if that’s proper for royalty so you decide against it, pinning it up loosely and donning a thin band of a tiara to hold it all in place. Now comes an issue you had not accounted for. Do you put on makeup? The girls always put makeup on you, especially on nights where you have dinner with the prince but now that it’s a choice you wonder if it would be weird. It’s not like you’d be dolling yourself up for the Mandalorian, but he really is the only person you see all day, other than Leo, who you only saw when you needed something.

Well this was starting to ruin your good mood. Would it be weird if you didn’t wear makeup? It might be since up until today every time he’s seen you you’ve been wearing a mountain of it. Maker, what if he doesn’t even recognize you. No, that's stupid of course he’ll recognize you, he spends everyday with you. You can put on makeup, it isn’t weird. You’d just be putting it on for yourself, not him, it isn’t weird to want to look nice for yourself. But he’s a prick. An observant prick. What if he says something about it? That’s stupid why would he say something, you always wear makeup, it would be odd if you didn’t wear it. What if he’s already out there? What if he saw Elaine and Lysa leave? Would he assume you did your makeup yourself? Shit, why hadn’t you asked if he was waiting? Since when do you care what he thinks? When did this fucker get in your head like this? They’ve done your makeup rather garishly every day you’ve spent with the Mandalorian, so you decide to do it, just something simple, not the typical caked on look they give you, just something around your eyes to make them pop. You settle on green, subtle green eyeliner.

You look ridiculous. He’s going to laugh at you.

You don’t care what he thinks, yet you find yourself reaching into the vanity to find a cloth to wipe the makeup from your face, maybe you should just tell him you don’t feel well and you want to stay in your room today. Gods when did he get in your head like this, one stupid little conversation and suddenly you couldn’t escape him, that stupid, arrogant, cocky, pompous, conceited, ill-mannered, son of a-

“Why are you taking so long?” You drop the cloth before you can clean your face as you catch a glint of silver in the mirror.

“What is wrong with you!?” You clutch your chest as you turn around to scowl at the Mandalorian. “If you don’t stop scaring me I’m going to put bells on you.” He leans back against your bedpost and crosses his arms.

“Your ladies-in-waiting. They left half an hour ago and you didn’t come out, I thought you might be in danger.” He shrugs as if that justifies him sneaking into your room. Had you really been sitting here that long?

“Why didn’t you knock? For Makers sake, I could have been changing.” You squint at him angrily as you stand, facing him as you match his stance. Something tells you that the way you do it is less intimidating.

“If I knocked I would have alerted any potential intruders.”

“You’ve been outside the door this entire time and we’re on the fourth floor.” He shrugs again.

“I couldn’t take that chance. Now are you ready or not?” He stands up straighter and gestures towards the door.

“Yes. These gardens better be worth it, I have high expectations.” You frowned as you made a beeline for the door, you could feel him following close on your heels. Once in the hall he once again stood beside you, not behind you, you bit back a smile. He takes a slight lead and you follow him through the maze of halls.

You want to talk. Now that you’ve had a taste of any sort of companionship you’re ravenous for it. Even if it is with someone as impolite as him, so you keep it light.

“So… where are the gardens located?”

“If I tell you, are you going to try and run off without me?”

“If I tried you would be right behind me anyways so what would be the point?” You grin in earnest as you hear him exhale sharply through his nose.

“You know about the forest that surrounds the castle?”

“Yes I know that the castle that I live in is surrounded by trees.” You know he doesn’t see it but you roll your eyes anyway.

“Forgive me, princess.” Your heart skips a beat, he actually sounds sort of sweet… “You got lost trying to find the fresher three days ago, so forgive me if I assume you know nothing about the grounds.” And there it is.

“Do you spend all your free time coming up with snarky remarks? Is that what you do when you aren’t actively stalking me?” That gets a scoff from him.

“It isn’t stalking if it’s my job.I swore to keep you from harm and my word is very dear to me.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Have you considered that I’m just smarter than you? That I just have a quicker wit?” Gods, you want to rip out the stupid modulator that he speaks through. It has to be altering his voice, no one's voice is always that low and steady. You feel as if the baritone of it soaks through your skin into your bones.

“Impossible. The only explanation is that you must be dedicating several hours a day to forming new creative insults for me.” You let your fingertips trace the stone bricks as the two of you descend a staircase. He shakes his head no.

“I don’t have the kind of free time for that. You’re a full time job, sarad'ika.”

Dead stop.

“What the hell did you just call me?”

He doesn’t respond, actually it looks like he’s freezing up. He better not be laughing under that tin can with his modulator silenced again.

“You can’t just start slandering me in other languages, Mando.” You can’t keep the smile off your face as you reach forward to gently brush your hand against the Beskar pauldron closest to you. You mean it as nothing more than a comforting gesture but he instantaneously recoils from it, you’re surprised he even felt it through the steel and fabric but he takes a sudden step back and doesn’t mute his modulator fast enough for you to miss the beginning of a sharp inhale. There’s a beat of silence where you can feel your heart racing, why did it always get so hot in this stupid castle at the most inconvenient times.

“My apologies, princess.” He straightens up and starts descending the stairs again, much more rigid than before.

“Oh come on you can’t just do that.” You have to hike up your skirt to keep up with him now.

“Do what?” His stride doesn’t waver. You have to take two steps at a time to match his pace.

“Say something and not tell me what it means!”

“Drop it, princess.” Gods, you hate the way he says it. He makes it so easy to forget that it’s a label, not an endearment. You can’t stop the words that fall from your lips on instinct.

“Don’t call me that.”

He turns sharply, doing a swift 180, and you slam into his chest plate but manage to keep your footing. You’re higher on the stairs then him, making you face to face now. Well, face to helmet.

“You are a princess, princess. I will refer to you as your title, nothing else. There is nothing else that I should be calling you.”

He called you sarad'ika.

You scowl at him and you’re sure he’s scowling back at you. You’re not sure how long you stand like that, two statues on the staircase until finally you make the first move, brushing past him as you continue down the stairs until you reach a door, you wish you had paid more attention to where he was taking you because you’re caught off guard by the immediate exit from the stone walls of the keep. You hadn’t stepped foot outside the castle walls since you had first entered them.

It took you a second to adjust to the light as you held your hand up to shield your eyes. Once you've finally settled you take another step before you have to cover your eyes again. “Maker!” You take a step back as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. You can feel him grab your shoulder gently.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Genuine concern. You’re taken aback by it, he’s never sounded anything but sarcastic and stoic up until just now. You open your eyes to stare into the thin black line in the Beskar. His hand jostles you slightly and you suddenly remember to breathe. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?” You can physically feel the worry coming off of him, both of his hands gripping your shoulders now.

“I just- I’m okay… it’s just- the- the reflection…” You say it softly and feel his hand drop and he lets out a sigh. “The sun on your armor just caught me off guard…” He turns around and starts walking again and you can’t stop the laugh that bursts out of you, making him stop dead in his tracks.

“It’s not funny.” His tone has returned to its cold stoic nature but you can’t stop laughing.

“Oh come on…” You make your way over to him, still trembling with laughter. “You’re so sparkly, it caught me off guard.”

“I was seriously worried about you. You do understand that my entire job is to keep you safe right?” He takes long strides and once again you can barely keep up as you follow him to a trail at the edge of the forest that surrounds the keep. You take deep breaths, trying desperately to stop the laughter as you grab his arm. He tenses the moment you make contact with him but at least he doesn’t draw back this time. He won’t look at you, his helmet turned slightly to the right.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” You mean it but you can’t fight the smile on your face as you hold the fabric between his pauldron and his bracer. “It’s kind of nice, you know, to know you are capable of human emotions.” You don’t realize that your thumb is rubbing small comforting circles into his sleeve, your gaze softening. “I was starting to think you were just a very sarcastic droid.” That makes him look at you.

“I am not a droid.”

Yikes. Tough crowd.

He says it with such sternness that you don’t follow it up with a joke, you drop your hand from his arm and just stare into the visor.

You bring your hand up to comfort him again.

“Hey I’m sor-”

“Don’t” There’s that word again, only this time he’s so harsh with it. You take a step back.

“Well I hardly think this is fair.”

“Excuse me?” He tilts the helmet slightly at you, the annoyance in his voice is still palpable.

“We have had two conversations since the day I met you and you spent most of those conversations making fun of me and suddenly you get all stiff and upset just because I made one joke at your expense, a joke that might I add wasn’t even all that mean, and you get all short with me? That’s not fair.” He doesn’t speak, you can feel the sharpness of his gaze even through the visor.

But he doesn’t have a retort, he just scoffs.

Kriff.

You had to say something, because now you’re both just standing here on this trail in utter silence. Come on, think, you can’t let one awkward moment ruin this. You can’t have things be weird between you and the only person who will talk to you in this entire fucking castle. Gods, you can’t stand him but he’s company. So, you say the first thing that comes to mind, like an idiot.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What?” His voice is still tinged with the remains of his anger.

Well now he’s just being unkind for no reason, you apologized, or at least tried to before he so rudely interrupted you. Or maybe you should have chosen a less stupid question but it was too late to be thinking thoughts like that.

“You know what, nevermind. Go back to the castle, I’ll find the garden myself.” You shove past him, marching down the trail through the trees. Where was this coming from? Why has he suddenly out of nowhere gotten so cold? Whatever, he can go sulk somewhere else. You just wanted to see the gardens and you’re not going to let him ruin your entire day before it’s even started. You can hear him groan as he starts to follow. Of course he isn’t going to listen to you, you turn on your heel to face him. “Stop it.”

“You know I can’t.” Of course he doesn’t sound apologetic, but at least he doesn't sound angry anymore.

“I am ordering you to stop.”

“You don’t have the auth-”

“I don’t care. I don’t care if I do not have the authority to tell you to stop, you will stop, go back to the castle. Now, Mando.” You know he won’t but you’re getting desperate, you don’t care because at this point if you have to feel alone, you want to actually be alone.

“No.”

There it is. You knew that you weren’t friends, afterall how could you be, you don’t know each other in the slightest. But a small part of you thought that maybe he respected you, at least respected you enough to not treat you like everyone else does. Like they’re afraid of you, or like you are nothing more than an extension of your husband. Yet here he is acting on your husband's authority, with no one around, just the two of you. In your loneliness you had briefly let yourself get sucked into a reality where the Mandalorian was someone who you could talk to, even if it was only to argue, arguing was so much better then the nothingness that was consuming your bland life, the little feud that the two of you had built up through what short conversations you had managed was all you had. But of course he had to go and ruin it, you hadn’t wanted a friend, you had just wanted someone to talk to.

You hate him. For getting your hopes up. You hate your husband. For marrying you in the first place. You just want to go home, real home, Hoth, not this unfamiliar stupidly hot planet. It’s all starting to crash down on you. You haven’t cried since the day you found out you were arranged to be married but out of nowhere it was starting to hit you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes shot daggers at the Mandalorian. You wanted to scream at him, you wanted to stomp your foot and throw a tantrum because in an instant he had ruined what had the potential to be your first good day in weeks, and he had done it within the first 30 minutes of being in your presence. But why give him the satisfaction? Especially if he was only doing all this to be cruel. You had done nothing wrong after all, he was the one who had gotten all uppity out of nowhere and for seemingly no reason.

“Fine.” At least your voice doesn’t crack.

“Fine?” He sounds truly surprised by the lack of explosion after your minutes of brooding. Maybe he was doing this all because he was bored, afterall he was probably just as alone as you were. But you had thought that maybe you were starting to be alone, together.

“Fine. You are right. I do not have the authority to dismiss you, I would like to return to my chambers.” He takes a step forward. You can’t look at him anymore.

“Oh come on, you can’t be ser-”

“Don’t.” You hope it hurts.

Having the word thrown back in his face with as much venom as you can muster, as you once again shove past him and follow the trail until you are out of the forest and making your way back to the castle. He doesn’t try to stop you, he doesn’t even speak. He just returns to the way he’s always been, deadly quiet, and always just out of sight. Just out of reach. Neither of you speaks as you make your way up the several flights of stairs, in your rage you didn’t realize you were lost until it was too late.

Stupid enormous castle. Stupid maze of halls. Stupid husband who made this stupid place your home. Stupid Mandalorian.

You know he knows that you’re lost but he doesn’t speak. Finally you just sit against a wall, the Mandalorian a few steps back, watching you.

“Leodall!” You say it loudly in the noiseless hall, your voice bouncing off the walls.

“Is that really necessary? If you’re lost I can take you back to your room.” His voice is dripping with annoyance at this point and all you do is glare at him until you see a familiar orange figure approaching.

“Yes princess, is everything well?” His brows furrowed as he sees you sitting on the floor, he goes to help you up but you wave him off, standing on your own.

“It appears I need your help finding my chambers Leo.” You don’t acknowledge the Mandalorian, keeping your eyes trained on Leo. He on the other hand does toss a look at Mando, the confusion on his face is evident but he senses the tension and decides not to ask, leading you to your room.

Maker, you hadn’t even been on the right floor.

“Is there anything else I can do for you ma’am?” Leo asks as he steps into your room after you.

“No Leo, that will be all, thank you.” He nods as he shuts the door, you see the glint of silver as he does.

You collapse onto the bed, the real bed, not the one that you found so much more comfort in, kicking your shoes off you curl up into yourself and just lay there. The urge to cry has passed, now you just want solitude.

You try not to wonder if he’s still out there.

You don’t know how much time passes but eventually Elaine brings you dinner, Lysa is not with her. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen them separated.

“They said you didn’t go to lunch ma’am, I thought you might be feeling ill.”

“No. Just tired I guess.”

She doesn’t press further as she sets down the tray. This is why she’s your favorite. As she goes to leave, you sit up.

“Is he still out there?” You whisper it, you already know the answer. And you also know he’s probably listening.

“Yes, ma’am.”

That’s all you needed to know, you nod and she dismisses herself.

✩

You hate him.

You have nothing better to do now that you refuse to talk to him. So you hate him, that’s your new hobby. You’re on day three of your strike. You let Elaine and Lysa doll you up in blue gowns again and do you up with over the top makeup and you go back to the library. But you don’t pretend to read books anymore. Instead you sit in a reading nook you stumbled upon, it might be your new favorite spot in the entire castle. Even if you spend all of your time there brooding. You sit with your back to the window and you glare at the Mandalorian, all day.

He just stands there.

Sometimes the visor faces you, sometimes it doesn’t, sometimes if you stay long enough he’ll even pull up a chair. You just watch him. And think.

The first day was spent plotting, mostly. You don’t have a good enough grasp on his abilities to attack him head on. You know that his helmet can do a lot but you honestly have no idea anything past the fact that he can silence himself, it gives him advanced hearing capabilities, and you have to assume night vision because of that night where he found you in the library. And of course there was the lingering issue of him being an ex-bounty hunter.

So no. No attacking head on.

All this scheming made you realize how embarrassingly little you actually know about him.

You seriously doubt you could sneak up on him. His neck wasn’t armored but it was covered in layers of fabric. It would be embarrassing if you tried to stab him and got tangled up in his cape. And obviously you didn’t want to kill him. You just… well you don’t really know what the goal is now. Honestly you feel a bit silly over this whole thing. You might have overreacted but he had been impolite to say the least, and you had nothing better to do so why not just be mad.

Maybe you could ask Kodo to dismiss him. You never asked him for anything during your weekly dinners but you were his bride after all, maybe he would do that for you. Unless the Mandalorian was working directly with Kodo… you’d never considered that he might be reporting back to the prince with information about you.

You rule that possibility out. Kodo doesn’t care enough about you to do that. (You also rule out asking for Mando to be dismissed because as much as you despise him, you can’t bring yourself to do that. You desperately wish you could.)

New plan. Get away from him long enough to explore the gardens without him.

How hard could it be to find out where his quarters are located? Maybe you could ask Leo, would he even know? He has to live somewhere in the castle. There’s no way he could live anywhere else, he’s there day and night watching you…

Does he even have quarters? He wore the same thing every day, at least it looked like he did, he certainly didn’t have a bad smell to him that would indicate he doesn’t change, although you had no idea what he smelled like, you suppose you had never thought about it. Why do you want to know what he smells like all of a sudden? Nevermind. He had to sleep, right? He wasn’t waiting outside your room the night you had snuck out to the library. If you could find out where his room was maybe you could lock him in… or you would just make him angry, he was so tall, and broad, and you couldn’t tell with all the layers but he seemed muscular, strong enough to break down a door certainly.

You stare at where he’s sitting, he had pulled up a chair an hour ago and placed it across from your nook, both his legs firmly planted on the floor as you two engage in what might be your tenth staring contest of the day. You bet he could rip a door right off its hinges, he’d probably be outraged if you barricaded his door, he’d hunt you down for doing that. Of course he would know it was you, who else would try and lock him in his own chambers? You wonder what he would do if he caught you. Obviously he would catch you, if he had been a bounty hunter he would catch you with ease, he’d probably just go straight to the garden, knowing that’s where you would hide from him. He would probably be so furious with you that he’d probably throw caution to the wind, disregard the fact that you were royalty, disregard the fact that you were married to the prince, and just take you right there.

Back to the castle.

Back to your chambers. Take you back to your chambers.

Gods it’s hot in this library… you took a book off the shelf just to fan yourself.

Is he sweating under all that metal?

Stop it.

You decided to plan more tomorrow. The heat was clearly having some sort of effect on your ability to think clearly.

But day two of your silent treatment came and you didn’t feel all that palpable rage anymore, you were just confused now. So you dedicated day two to figuring out what had happened. Why had things fallen apart so quickly?

It had all started when you made that droid comment.

Or had it?

Now that you were thinking about it he had actually started to pull back when you’d been on the stair. He had called you that name. Kriff. What had it been? You should have written it down. It must have been pretty bad for it to make him so upset. But why would he be upset about something he said? He had said it so naturally, it clearly had just slipped out. You weren’t even sure what language it had been in. You could look, you were in a library after all, but it would be obvious to him what you were doing and you didn’t want to upset him further.

What else had happened…?

Shit.

You had touched him, it hadn’t been anything more than a brief brush against his armor. Maybe that was considered offensive in his culture though, maybe you had crossed a line. Your stomach dropped but only for a moment as you remembered your first interaction, you had touched his armor quite a bit that night so that couldn’t be it.

You hated riddles, and you were giving yourself a headache.

So you spent most of the second day rubbing your temples with your eyes closed.

And now you’re here. Day three of your strike and you’ve already run out of things to be angry about so now you finally let your mind wander to the one thing you’ve been avoiding since you met him.

What’s under the armor?

Or more importantly, who is under the armor? In your previous brief conversations you hadn’t brought the helmet up, they’d been so short there was no way for it to come up naturally. (And honestly you assumed he was sick of being asked about it. Everybody probably asked about it.) For what little you knew about Mandalorians, you knew they didn’t take their helmets off. But he had to at some point right? He was human. Gods, now that you thought of it you never saw him eat or drink.

You exhaled sharply through your nose as you imagined him drinking through a little straw inside the helmet. He turned in just the slightest towards you but kept his visor trained on a shelf of books that must have been pretty interesting to have been holding his attention for the last several hours.

He was probably scowling, like, all the time. He probably had a permanent crease between his eyebrows. It would probably piss him off if you smoothed it out with your thumb. Of course that would be why you would do it. To piss him off.

He had to be handsome. You despised the fact that he had to be handsome. He acted with an air of confidence that only extremely good looking people had. Of course he would be handsome, the gods could not be kind enough to make him ugly. You bet his features are sharp, just like his tongue. Stop.

Don’t think about his tongue.

You need to talk to Leo about implementing some sort of cooling system in this dreadfully balmy library.

Think about something else. His lips. That was innocent enough. You would wager that they were chapped, spending all that time inside steel, probably made his lips dry. He was probably always licking his lips. His bottom lip was probably always jutted out in a pout, he’s so stupidly moody. His tongue was probably always poking out slightly, wetting his stupidly plush bottom lip.

Stop.

Maker, it’s so warm in here, it’s a good thing you’re wearing such a dark shade of blue because you’re certainly sweating through your gown. Calm down.

Teeth. Think about teeth. There’s nothing about teeth that should make your heart race, they’re just teeth. They’re probably straight and perfect. He acted so superior, the bastard would have perfect teeth. They’re probably just sharp enough to hurt if he were to bite you, why would he be biting you?

Stop.

When you get him all riled up and simmering he probably stands there all stupid with his mouth open just slightly. You can probably see his bottom teeth when he sits there with a dumb look on his face. You could probably get a better look at them if you pulled his bottom lip down with your thumb.

Stop.

Think about his eyes. Get away from his mouth entirely. His stare has to be as intense as his presence. He could probably lay waste to a bounty with one look if he would just take the helmet off. Nope. Actually, don’t think about how his eyes would feel on your face. Be thankful for the helmet. Just stop thinking about him. How dare he. He was probably doing this on purpose, getting in your head like this. Gods, you detest him.

He’s probably brunette. He probably keeps it short because he can’t maintain it with the helmet and all. Why does that kind of bum you out?

Stop.

You don’t care what his hair looks like. He probably had an unkept beard, he doesn’t have time to shave. It probably scratches you as it brushes against your skin.

Nope.

Stop.

You stand up, you need to get out of this horrifically stuffy library. You don’t acknowledge him as you make your way towards the dining hall, you have dinner with Kodo tonight, best not be late to see your doting hubby. Especially if the reason you’re late is because you were off somewhere thinking about another man. You don’t hear him but you know Mando is behind you as you enter the dining room, you take pride in your ability to find it without having to call Leo. (It’s just down the hall from the library but to you it’s still an accomplishment.) Much to your chagrin Kodo is already seated.

“Wife! Come, join me!” Oh he is already hammered, lucky you.

You take your respective seat across from him and the Mandalorian takes his place a few steps behind your chair, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Good evening husband, how has your day been?” You quickly begin to down your wine as he starts to speak, his hair is a mess, you spend nearly an hour getting ready every morning and he can’t even run a comb through his hair. Lovely.

“Wonderful darling.” Why does he always have to look so satisfied with himself?

Dinner is long. And boring. At one point he starts talking about how unattractive he thinks one of his brother's wives is, laughing the entire time at some joke you don’t get regarding her appearance. You lazily take a bite of the unfamiliar vegetable on your plate as you try to tune him out. After your first day here you stopped questioning the food, it was always good so who cares what it is. He slams back another drink, a servant rushes over and fills his glance once more. He’s had so much to drink at this point you wonder how he’s still sitting upright. It’s quiet for a moment and you realize that he’s waiting for a response to something. Maker, you should have been paying attention. His gaze darkens as he lets out a tsk.

“I had quite a pleasant time today out in the city.”

“Oh really? What did you do today my prince?”

“They had opened a new pleasure house in the city, and a few of my brothers and I visited for the grand opening.” He starts laughing, slamming his glass onto the table as he shakes with laughter. Your entire body went rigid. You knew he was probably visiting brothels, of course he was, but the way he threw it into your face with no regard for your feelings rattled you enough to make you just want to leave. You took another sip of wine.

“Did you, my prince? And how was that?” You can feel the tension in the room, every servant is standing a bit straighter, their eyes all forward.

“Just wonderful.” He clicks his tongue as he picks at his food with his hands. You don’t bother hiding the disgust on your face. He leers at you. “What? Are you displeased, wife? ” You suck in a breath through your teeth.

“No, of course not, my prince.” You set your fork down, you’ve lost your appetite.

“No, no, no, if you are unhappy, wife, I would love for you to speak up.” He’s snickering at this point, teetering drunkenly. You want to leave, you don’t like this. He had always been annoying at the worst of times, and dismissive, but now he was just belittling you.

At least you finally had a valid reason to hate him.

“I am fine.” You say it as steadily as you can manage. “Just tired.”

“Really? What have you done today that has left you so tired?”

Gods, you just want to leave.

“I did quite a lot of reading today, my pri-” He bursts into laughter before you can even finish. Your face is starting to heat.

“Is that so? This is why I do not spend more time with you, my nervous mouse.” Gross, you hate that name. “You’re just so… bland.”

Ouch.

“Don’t you agree, mouse?”

You know he wants you to answer, and something tells you that he won’t let you leave unless you do. So you swallow your pride. And you swallow the lump that is forming in your throat.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

Maybe you should put him lower on your list than the Mandalorian.

“Yes. I am bland.”

He leans back in his chair with a predatory smile on his face, like he was the cat, and you were the mouse. The insignificant mouse.

“That is all I wanted to hear, dear wife.” He flashes you a toothy grin, giving you a wave you know means you’re dismissed. And you stand, rushing out into the hall and storming off towards your chambers as briskly as possible. Feeling the tears that you’ve held in for three weeks now starting to prickle at the corners of your eyes. The Mandalorians pace never falters as he trails after you until you finally find your chambers, all on your own. You wish you were in the mood to appreciate such an accomplishment. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand as subtly as possible, your other hand opening the door, you only get the door open a few inches before it slams shut. You turn around in an instant to glare at him, The Mandalorian was looming over you, his hand just above your head, holding the door shut. You can’t do this right now. You know that the moment he starts whatever snarky comments he surely has about that dinner that you won’t be able to hold back the tears anymore. You can’t do anything other than squeeze your eyes shut to hold back the waterworks as you brace yourself for whatever he has to say.

The familiar faint crackle of the modulator fills the air, suffocating you.

“Are you okay?”

Oh.

You open your eyes and he isn’t looming over you anymore, he’s just standing, notably a few steps back now.

You wish you could stop what happened next, but it all finally happened. At long last, you cry. You finally break down, the weight of the world collapsing down on you. He doesn’t move, or speak, he just stares. Honestly you’re pretty sure you’ve caught him off guard.

“No.”

It’s all you can squeak out, you wish you didn’t sound so pathetic as you said it.

“I just… I want to go home. I hate this entire stupid planet. I hate this confusing castle and now I hate my husband” Gods you need to stop talking, you’re starting to babble, but he doesn’t speak and you can’t stand the silence so you just keep going. “I didn’t want this. Any of this. I miss my brothers and sisters, I miss talking to people. I miss being alone.” You stare up at him now with big wet eyes, you detest the way your lip quivers. “Like, actually alone. Because now I feel alone, but I’m surrounded by people constantly… and that is a thousand times worse. And I feel like I’m going crazy, like, all the time. And I can’t even talk to you, you’re always there and I can’t say a word. I don’t want to have some deep and meaningful conversation with you for Makers sake. I just want to insult you because that is the only thing I can do when I am in your infuriating presence, and you are the only person I can insult who doesn’t suddenly start to fear for his livelihood.” You stare into that miserably cold visor. “And I don’t know what I did to deserve any of this.” You sniffle as you wipe your eyes again.

You just stand there. You want him to say something, you don’t even want him to comfort you, you just want to hear the modulator crackle, anything. But he doesn’t. And you can’t take it. So you swing open your chamber doors and slam them shut behind you, make sure to lock them as loudly as possible.

You cry. You spend the rest of the evening crying, once you get out of that terrible dress you lay on your nest of blankets in the closet in your undergarments, clutching a pillow as you fight back sobs. So much for the silent treatment you’d been giving him. Now he probably hates you even more, he probably thinks you are some whiney, spoiled, coddled little girl who can’t handle royal life.

It’s the middle of the night and you’ve nearly wept yourself to sleep when you hear the faintest knock on your bedroom door.

Your heart skips a beat.

It isn’t Elaine, or Lysa, or Leo. None of them ever bother you this late, and you certainly didn’t summon them. There’s only one person it could possibly be and your heart is nearly beating out of your chest.

Why would he come here so late?

You don’t know but a part of you that you are really struggling to rein in while you’re still in this sensitive state has an idea of what you want the reason to be.

No.

You don’t want that. The part of you that is obviously going crazy, that’s who wants it. Not you. You weren’t allowing that part any control, not these last three weeks and certainly not now. Still, you don a robe and rush to the door. You take a moment for a deep breath before you slide the lock back and open the door, slowly, but surely.

But he isn’t there.

Stop feeling disappointed.

You take a careful step out the door, the soft glow from your room illuminating the hall. You look down both passages, searching for that glimmer of silver but you never see it. As you dejectedly go to close the door something catches your eye. A book, on the ground just outside your door. You lean down to pick it up before quickly retreating into your room. You walk over to a lamp to get a clearer view of it. As your eyes scan the title a warmth spreads across your face.

The Smitten Paladin.

So he had gone back for them.

You need to stop smiling. Obviously he did this because he feels bad for you. Or, if you’re lucky, it’s a peace offering. You return to the closet, bringing the lamp over to your makeshift bed as you open the cover, wanting to read a chapter before bed, but your eyes dart to something scrawled inside. The handwriting is small and neat as you read it.

"It’s green."

You decide that the Mandalorian isn’t your least favorite person here anymore.

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

#lincolndjarin #the mandalorian #best kept secret #bks #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din dijarin x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #RE UPLOAD

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komadoree · 11 months

Photo

This is fanart for A Warlock’s Wish by vividpast on AO3 that forgot to upload here!

I wondered how Merlin would feel if, while in Alternate-Camelot, he had a really nice dream. He was freely practicing magic in front of his Arthur, his father was there to mentor him about being a Dragonlord. His father was proud of him, Arthur looked at him with wonder in his eyes whenever he did magic.

And then to wake up after that and realize you're in a world where your best friend exists but barely knows you, your father doesn't know you're his son, would probably be very upsetting.

#Merlin #bbc merlin #merlin fanart #my art #arthur pendragon #balinor #merlin emrys

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jazzthatonewriterchick · 11 months

Text

Peace & Quiet (poly!SatoSugu x Black!Fem!Reader 18+ One Shot)

“How's this for relaxation, hm?” he teases. “Just what you needed, right?”

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru x Black!Fem!Reader

Synopsis: In which you realize peace and quiet aren’t ideal with your two noisy ass (yet extremely attractive) coworkers renting out the same Airbnb as you while visiting the hot springs on a business trip. But lucky for you, they know another way to help you relax.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Black-coded!Reader (but anyone can still read this); Marijuana Use; Truth or Dare; Skinny Dipping; Coworkers to Lovers; Poly Romance; Exhibitionism; Mutual Oral; Cum Eating; Dirty Talk; Spanking; Spitting; Facefucking; Unprotected PIV Sex; Mild Degradation; Clit Play; Spitroast; Creampie; Throatpie; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: In honor of JJK S2 dropping next week, I decided to give my favorite idiot duo some love. And if I'm not uploading as regularly it's cuz I'm on a cruise lol. Enjoy! -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

********

You audibly sigh as you sink further into the deep depths of the comfortable, heated water.

Nothing but the sound of bubbling water and chirping birds fills the summer air around you. The shaded trees hanging above you allow you shade from the summer sun’s rays peeking through the green leaves, making the warm water feel even better when it isn’t below the bright rays of the sun.

You loop your arms over a nearby rock and lie your head against the wet surface. ‘Paradise,’ you think with a content smile.

You’ll have to thank your company again for picking such a great spot for your Airbnb. It isn’t that close to the new city you’re in, but close enough that the drive there isn’t exhausting. It’s pretty quiet and the trees surrounding the area allow you just enough privacy to tan naked if you wanted to. But you’d die before you’d do something like that.

You still can’t believe you were picked for such an amazing opportunity! You’ve always wanted to go on a business trip for your job ever since they started doing raffles. You’ve been working with your company, one of the largest corporate tech companies in Japan, for five years now, so you hoped that your boss would see your skills and work ethic to allow you the responsibility to travel.

Really, it was mostly because you were desperate to get out of your home for a while, whether it was a local trip or one overseas. You’ve heard of trips in the U.S. and some in the U.K. and only dreamed of traveling there. When your boss announced to you a month ago that you were chosen for the business trip to a local career convention for the next four days, you were ecstatic. You immediately began packing as soon as you got home.

Your boss and his team wanted to ensure that you were absolutely and completely comfortable during your stay for the remainder of your business trip. They paid for everything: the Airbnb you’ll be staying in for the next three days; the train ticket; the food stocked up in the freezer and fridge; and the prepaid Visa card loaded with $550 that will allow you to buy whatever you wish and not have to constantly put your own money down.

So far, you were living. The schedule you currently had consisted of trips to the convention center in the city from 11 PM to 3 PM to talk to potential buyers, clients, and hires about the company. After 3 PM, you were free to do whatever you wanted. Not to mention you’re being paid $35 an hour, even for the hours you weren’t working! You couldn’t have asked for a better trip. You hit the fucking jackpot.

“Yo, Geto!” a familiar voice annoyingly yells from inside the house. “Where’d the fuck you put my shorts? I told you don’t move my shit!”

You heavily sigh, annoyed. Well, you almost hit the jackpot. Take away the two inside that you’re forced to work with this week and you would’ve been perfect. “I told you, I don’t have your fuckin’ shorts, Gojo,” another voice, deeper than the other, growled. “Try lookin’ outside. You might’ve hung ‘em up.”

“Oh, no,” you groan, wishing neither one of them would come outside and ruin your “me time”. You haven’t had much time to yourself since you got here since you’ve been preparing for presentations at the convention fair and sitting in on meetings with your boss wanting to check up on you. Plus, with them constantly wandering throughout the house, you’ve been less comfortable exploring the Airbnb.

Just your luck, both of them come waltzing out of the sliding door that leads to the backyard and the home’s personal hot springs where you currently sit. “I told you they’re not– oh, look, Geto! She finally decided to grace us with her presence.”

Gojo’s teasing pisses you off for some reason, but you refuse to give in and look at him. It isn’t worth it. They aren’t worth it. “C’mon, ‘Toru, leave her alone,” Geto grumbles. “You can clearly see she’s relaxing.”

“And I can hear you,” you sharply reply. “You two aren’t very discreet. Or quiet.” You slowly open your eyes to regard your two coworkers, but you instantly regret it. Though they are both extremely annoying with their loud mouths and disregard for relaxation time, what makes them even more annoying is how fucking fine they are.

First, there’s Gojo Satoru. Cocky, arrogant, and too easy-going for your liking. He is incredibly smart to have gotten the job he does (he’s in a department much higher than yours), but he barely does his work and takes lunch breaks way longer than he’s supposed to, which he also tries to get you to go on. He’s also a huge flirt. It gets annoying watching him flirt with every single girl that walks into your department from your cubicle, his charm coming off dickish to you. The guy is a slut! He knows exactly how to get a woman with his silver hair, Colgate smile, and intense blue eyes.

And then there’s Geto Suguru. He is the complete opposite of Gojo, but he is equally as arrogant and annoying. Though you’ve never seen him flirt in front of you, he comes off as a know-it-all during meetings and like he’s much better than everyone, including the higher-ups. He is just as handsome as Gojo with his long, black locks that he often wears in buns and ponytails, strong jaw, and deep, black eyes.

You’ve had the displeasure of sitting with both Gojo and Geto during meetings and working with them on a few projects throughout the years but with other people. This is the first time you’ve been assigned to work with them one-on-two. Not to mention being in the same space as them for longer than a day.

The first day you came here was manageable since you sat in a different seat than them on the train and most of the day was spent at the convention center. The night it was over, you made a beeline for your bedroom and never came back out. It was good that you did too because those two are so fucking loud. If it wasn’t them arguing, it was them playing music. If it wasn’t music, it was the TV playing too loud.

You know you can’t spend the rest of the trip like that. But them being so damn hot doesn’t make your situation any better. They’re both tall, standing at six foot something, and have their own set of muscles. While Gojo is a bit slimmer and sinewy with muscle, Geto is much thicker in terms of body mass and muscle with broad shoulders and a six-pack you could bake cookies on.

The truth is that you’re very attractive to them. How could you not be? You just adore big men! And everything about them is big to you: big hands, big feet, big everything. You’ve had to force yourself to look away from their crotches many times when you’ve caught them in their tight-ass work slacks. Even at your height in heels, they stand a head taller than you which intensely turns you on.

But you’ll never tell them that or even allude to it. You’ve watched many of your female coworkers flirt with them, give them their cake, and then get shot down later. You don’t need that kind of distraction or drama in your life. You made a vow to yourself to stay away from dating and fucking coworkers. ‘Just stick to your work,’ you’ve told yourself. ‘Just stick to your goals.’

No matter how much Gojo’s laugh makes your heart pound. No matter how badly you want to feel Geto’s big arms wrapped around you. No matter how much you want to feel their hands and lips all over your body. You can’t do it. You have too much to lose fooling around with men like them.

“Sorry to bother you,” Geto says, actually sounding sorry about it, “but Gojo just left his shorts and he won’t shut up about ‘em.” He looks mildly annoyed while Gojo is panicking. “Have you seen ‘em?” he urgently asks. “They’re Calvin Klein? Red?”

“Haven’t seen ‘em,” you deadpan, “but there is a washer machine in the basement. Maybe you left ‘em there.” Gojo whines, running his hands down his face. “They’re the only good ones I bought! The other pair is too tight on me.” You make a noise of disgust, pushing away the thought of Gojo in some tight-ass swim trunks, the outline of his bulge on display. “I didn’t need to know that.”

Geto hides a laugh while Gojo gives you a glare. “Oh, so sorry,” he mockingly says. “What are you doin’ out and about anyway? You were in your room all day before when we weren’t working.”

You glare back at him, not at all liking his tone. And mostly, because he’s right: as soon as you were done at the fair, you hid in your room, unpacked, and chowed down on the complementary snacks and wine stored in your room all afternoon. When the evening finally came, you snuck downstairs into the kitchen while Gojo and Geto played pool in the basement and grabbed yourself a slice of the pizza they ordered earlier that day, and the snacks and water bottles stored in the fridge.

“That’s none of your business,” you curtly say to him, “but I was tired. My bed was too comfortable to leave.” Gojo hums in agreement. “I feel that,” he sighs. “Whoever decided to put that mattress in my room needs either get their dick sucked or their pussy eaten.” You scoff in disgust to yourself, shaking your head at his brazenness. “By you?” Ghetto asks, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

“With the right amount of whiskey is me, sure!” Gojo laughs, wiggling his silver eyebrows at him. Geto shoves him hard, earning another goofy laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” he scoffs before turning back to you still in the heated water. “Look, we’ll leave you alone so you can enjoy yourself. Gojo was supposed to help me cook dinner like he was promised he would last night.” He side-eyes his friend. “That’s why I had to order pizza.”

“I told you I was unpacking!” Gojo argues, but Geto’s fixed stare never fades. You attempt to not laugh by biting your lip, humored by their dynamic. Gojo is like the chaotic younger brother while Geto reminds you of a more dignified and mature older brother.

“Fine,” Gojo groans, craning his neck back, “but you’d better help me find these shorts. And I’m not cuttin’ no vegetables either.”

He purposely bumps Geto’s hip as he walks back into the house, keeping the sliding door open as he does. Geto turns to you, his facial expression unreadable and slightly offputting due to the fact that you can’t identify it. Why does he have to be so goddamn mysterious? “Enjoy yourself,” he says before disappearing back inside the house, shutting the door behind him.

“Thanks,” you quietly say to yourself. You are now finally left alone to your own devices, which is what you wanted all along…right?

When the sound of chirping birds and rustling trees comes back to you, you decide that yes, you do want this. A few minutes after taking a long soak, you grow tired of the water and are in need of some sun. You pull yourself out of the hot springs and swipe your bikini off of the lounge chair sitting by the brink where you have your tote bag.

Making sure the guys aren’t around, you change and lay a towel out on the chair before settling down, lying back, and laying your sunglasses on your eyes. Then you reach for your MacBook Air and balance it on your knees, proceeding to get some work done in time for tomorrow. You also take a few sips of the wine you poured for yourself earlier until the entire glass is empty.

Your productivity doesn’t last for long. The sounds of nature are so peaceful and pretty and the wine is so strong that you find yourself drifting off to sleep. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, your laptop still in your lap. The sun warms your face and the water continues to bubble, serving as some amazing ambiance for you.

It is a short nap, however; one that you’re not too happy about. You are rudely awakened half an hour later by the music blasting from inside the house, the bass jumping and pounding in your ears. Irritation flares within you as you sit up, tearing the sunglasses off your face.

‘These two,’ you think, annoyed and angered. These emotions only increase when you hear Gojo’s shrill laughter over the music. Don’t they have any kind of sense or respect?

“Oh, my Gooood!” you growl, your frustration reaching astronomical heights. You toss your laptop off of you and into the seat as you get up and storm over to the house. You pound on the glass door with your hand before yanking it open, the music nearly destroying your eardrums. “Would you turn that fuckin’ shit down?!” you holler into the living room. “I’m tryin’ to fuckin’ sleep here! Goddamn!”

You’re so angry that you don’t even see Gojo and Geto’s shocked expressions as they crouch near the stereo near the TV, trying in vain to fix the volume. Before they can say anything, you slam the door shut and storm back over to your chair where you dig into your bag for your earbuds. Once you find them, you shove them in your ears, turn up the Jhene Aiko song you had paused from the train ride, and desperately try to get your sleep back.

Surprisingly enough, you do, but only because the music coming from the house is successfully cut off. You don’t realize it though because you’re knocked out. When Gojo finds you, you’re sprawled out on the lounge chair in your white bikini, mouth open and shades on. You don’t realize what he’s doing to you until you feel his hand brush your leg.

You startle awake, finding him standing above you like a handsome eclipse. You flinch at his touch, alarmed and confused. “W-What are you–”

“Relax, princess,” he chuckles. “I was just puttin’ this on you so you weren’t layin’ here in your bikini.” He nods down at the towel he placed on your body. “You never know what kind of animals or creeps are sneakin’ around here.”

He juts his chin towards the trees and brush that stretch for miles, giving way to nothing but wilderness. You realize now that you fell asleep in your bikini, completely exposed to anyone…including your coworkers. “Geto is finished dinner,” Gojo says, ignorant to your utter embarrassment as you clutch the towel to your body. “We got steak, steamed vegetables, and brown rice if you want some.”

He is shrouded in darkness, similar to the trees surrounding you as the sun sets on the summer day. The heat has subsided somewhat but the sticky humidity is still in the air. The sky above is painted with twilight and cotton candy clouds that stretch across the blue canvas. How long have you been asleep?

You are speechless, just staring at Gojo and wondering what the hell is happening. “T-That’s okay,” you softly stammer. “I’m gonna eat a little later.” He shrugs, stretching his muscled arms over his head. “Suit yourself. By the way, sorry about the music.”

You continue to stare up at him blankly. “Huh?” you dumbly ask, your mind still hazy from your nap.

He snickers at you, making you flush even more. “The music from earlier,” he clarifies. “We tried turnin’ it down, but the stereo broke. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound that mad…or be that loud.”

He adverts his eyes from yours as if he’s ashamed to look at you. It confuses you. Does he feel bad or something? While he certainly should because he ruined your relaxation time, you can’t help but feel a strange tug in your stomach at the sight of his eyes–so downtrodden and void of that usual glint in them.

“Anyway!” he exclaims, putting on a smile. “I’ll tell Geto to save you a plate.” He leaves you sitting there before you can say even say anything. Once he’s gone, you sit back in your chair and bring the towel up to your chin.

“Dammit,” you sigh, feeling guilt twist in your gut. Maybe you were a little too harsh earlier. After all, you were drinking and that heavily influences your behavior. You know you’ve been standoffish and cold to both of your coworkers this entire trip, and yet despite that, Gojo still came out to make sure you were okay and Geto still fixed you a plate. Maybe you could give some of that kindness back.

After swallowing your pride, you wrap yourself in the towel to cover your body, gather your things into your bag, and venture into the house to find your coworkers. As soon as you hear Gojo’s big ass mouth, you find them in the beautifully-decorated kitchen with its black granite counters and hardwood floors.

Geto stands at the stove with his back to you, his muscles flexing beneath his black tee, while Gojo sits at the kitchen island chomping down on his steak in his Crocs and white crop top that exposes his hard abs. You do your best to ignore the butterflies swarming in your stomach at the sight of them.

“Hey,” you call from the threshold of the kitchen. They instantly stop what they’re doing to look at you, looking almost shocked that you’re standing in front of them. Nervously, you fiddle with the strap to your bag. “Um…the water is really nice if you two wanna go in. I’m finished and just doin’ work if you want any room.”

Gojo practically drops his fork. “Hot springs just for us?” he excitedly says. “Fuck yes! I’ve been waiting to get a taste of this.” Geto turns and leans against the edge of the counter, revealing the apron he’s wearing. It only makes him sexier to you. “Same here. I was so exhausted after yesterday that I never got a chance to. I was hopin’ to get some time today since the fair was so early this morning.”

“Now I really have to look for these shorts,” Gojo announces before jumping out of his seat and zooming past you for the stairs. You watch him, quietly giggling to yourself. When you turn back to Geto, he’s already staring at you. “So you’re okay with us bein’ out there with you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

The question perplexes you. “Why wouldn’t I be?” you ask, confused. He crosses his big arms over his broad chest, making your throat go dry. “Well, you just act like you don’t wanna be bothered by us. I mean, don’t get it twisted: I like alone time, too, especially in a place like this.” His words make the guilt churning in your stomach even worse. Have you been making them feel like this the entire time you’ve been here?

‘Well, of course, stupid!’ your subconscious screams at you. ‘You barely talk to them or hang out with them, even when they’re in the same room as you! What did you expect?’

You would’ve thought that them taking a hint would make you feel accomplished, but all it does is make you feel weird. And not in a good way. Realizing you’ve been silent for too long, you scramble to answer Geto. “I was gonna go to my room to make a call,” you lie. “And it’s not that I don’t wanna be bothered by you guys, but…”

Your brain does mental gymnastics trying to find a logical explanation for your behavior towards them: ‘Because I’m introverted’? ‘Because I’m shy’? ‘Because I’m sexually attracted to you both and being around you makes me wanna tear off your clothes and shove your dicks in my face?’

Gojo’s hard footsteps coming tumbling down the steps again, so hard that the hardwood steps creak. “I found my shorts!” he happily announces, presenting his red swim trunks to you and Geto. At the sight of you standing in the kitchen, his smile fades. “Uh…am I interrupting somethin’?”

Geto glances at you before looking back at his clueless friend. “Nah,” he immediately replies. “We were just talkin’ about the water. Supposedly, its minerals strip you of all the dirt in your pores.” He walks across the threshold of the kitchen to walk past you, giving you a whiff of his cologne and the spicy scent of cinnamon. It makes you clench your thighs together.

As he walks up to Geto, he gives him a smirk. “You could use a dip,” he chuckles before running out to the hot springs with Gojo right behind him, calling him all kinds of bitches and hoes. Being left alone in the house allows you to breathe and you lean against the kitchen wall, calming your pounding heart. ‘Why do they have to be so goddamn fine?’ you think in anguish.

Once you compose yourself, you take the plate Geto wrapped in foil from the stove and slink into your bedroom to eat. The food is orgasm-worthy, to say the least. The steak is the right amount of juicy and tender to your liking, the vegetables are crisp, and the rice is warm and hearty.

Geto is an incredible cook. And he’s incredibly sweet. What gets you is the fact that he saved a plate for you despite you not sparing him so much as a glance for the past two days you’ve been here. Neither one of your coworkers is half bad, you realize when you finish your dinner. Though they’re loud and chaotic, they’re also very sweet and personable.

It is this fact that gives you the courage to swallow your pride and return to the hot springs when you hear Gojo and Geto chatting and splashing about outside your window. You make sure your towel is wrapped tight around your body before you take a deep breath and venture back downstairs to the backyard.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the sheer sexiness that is currently occupying the hot springs in the set of two. All you see are pecs, abs, and muscles on muscles along with a few scatterings of tattoos on tanned skin dripping with water. Gojo has a few tattoos you can see on his collarbone, neck, and lower hipbone while Geto only has one–a large, red dragon on his back that curls over his shoulder blades.

With the way the steam rises from the water to surround your coworkers, it reminds you of a raunchy romance book cover that you see in airports and grocery stores. You’re already considering this to be a bad idea with how reactive your body is to them–your heartbeat begins to accelerate; your body temperature rises; your pussy jumps excitedly.

But it’s too late to turn around and go inside when Gojo notices you standing there, a glass of wine in his hand. “Oh, and she returns!” he teases, his crystal blue eyes peering up at you from over the steam. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Your Majesty?” Geto, settled on the rocks with his big feet in the water, rolls his eyes. “Ignore him. You want a puff?” You then notice the blunt settled between his thumb and forefinger.

You shake your head as you slowly walk around the pool of water to the other side, as far away from them as possible. “I’m good,” you softly decline. Gojo gives you a smirk as he sips his wine. “Why? Too scared?” Geto splashes water at him with his foot. “‘Tarou,” he criticizes, “don’t be a dick.” You don’t let Geto’s teasing bother you though, simply smirking at him as you settle down on a rock. “I don’t really smoke like that. Plus, isn’t smoking prohibited here?” You slide down to stick your feet in, sighing at the warm water caressing your feet.

Gojo snickers at you, giving you a mischievous wink. “Only in the house, according to the rulebook, but they’ll never know we smoked out here.” With that said, he wanders farther into the water, softly moaning at the feeling. The sound makes your stomach flip. “Ah, shit, that feels good,” he sighs as he leans back against a nearby rock, his eyes fluttering closed. You can’t help but notice how long his lashes are.

Geto does the same, sliding down the rocks and keeping his arm up to spare his blunt. Once the water hits his body, he lets out a deep moan that lights a fire in you too. “Mmm, it sure does,” he sighs. Noticing you from across the way, he smirks at you. “You sure you don’t wanna join us? The pool is big enough for another person if you want another dip.”

The sound of another dip in the warm water sounds heavenly, especially with the ache you feel in your neck. But you shake your head, already coming up with a good excuse that doesn’t involve jumping their bones. “I got my dip already, thanks. If I get in again, I’ll fall asleep and I need to check these emails for–”

Gojo cuts you off with a groan. “That’s all you ever fuckin’ do is work!” he whines, scowling at you from across the way. You scoff, rolling your eyes at the man-child. “Not true,” you argue. “I have a life outside of work, thank you very much.” You turn away to look at the swaying trees, ignoring the flush Gojo’s scoff causes you. “Shit, you could’ve fooled me.”

Geto chuckles to himself, making you gap at him. “You think so too?” you ask, shocked. The long-haired man shrugs, puffing on his blunt. “It’s just weird to see you not behind a desk,” he chortles. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes intense. “Actually, I think this is the first time I’ve actually seen you out of your work fits, now that I think about it.”

You cross your legs in the water, paranoid that he can see up your towel. “It’s a nice change though. You could use some relaxation.” You raise both brows at his gull. “Me?” you parrot incredulously. “I could use it?”

“You think nobody notices how tense you are?” Geto asks, humored. “With the way the boss works you out, I’m shocked you haven’t had a breakdown yet. Everybody talks about how good you are though.” You don’t know if he’s lying but his words make you blush regardless. "Yeah, you know your shit,” Gojo agrees, pouring himself more expensive wine. “It’s a shame you’re so uptight though.”

You gape at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Did he just…?

“I am not uptight,” you scoff, offended. “It’s not my fault I give a shit about my work and my reputation around the office.” You purse your lips at the white-haired man, judging him with your eyes. “You date much?”

You don’t know if it’s the steam creating the illusion but you believe you see Gojo blush. “She’s got you there, man,” Geto chuckles, puffing on his blunt. Gojo gives him the finger before turning back to him. “First of all, I can’t help it if my coworkers find me attractive. And second of all…are you okay?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, why?” Gojo cocks his head to the side, looking worried. “You’ve been rubbing your neck for the past five minutes. What, you thought we didn’t notice?”

You now realize that you’ve been, in fact, rubbing the back of your neck. You didn’t even realize it. Quickly, you snatch your hand away. “It’s just a crick. I’m fine.” You crane your neck back in an attempt to ease the ache but that only makes it worse and you bite back a whimper of pain.

“You’re definitely not fine,” Geto replies, sounding concerned. Seeing both their eyes enveloped in concern for you makes you want to hide away. “You’re the frontman for our company!” Gojo exclaims. “You think I can stand there and talk to people?” You quirk a smile at him, deciding to be witty even when you’re in discomfort. “If you tried.”

Gojo crookedly smiles at you, making your stomach flip-flop. Goddammit. “Get in the water, Y/N,” Geto firmly says, putting his blunt up on an ashtray near the rocks. “C’mon, we don’t bite.” He, too, gives you a crooked smile that has you thinking less than holy things. “Unless you want us to,” Gojo adds, suggestively raising his brows at you.

You know that this is a very bad idea. The fact that you can’t foresee what could happen if you decide to take up their offer and soak with them is one that rubs you the wrong way. How can you be so sure that things won’t take a wrong turn if you do this?

But seeing the way your coworkers are looking at you, so worried despite being semi-naked and wet, is making you want to throw caution to the wind and say ‘fuck it’. Finally, after assessing your options, you decide. “Whatever,” you huff passively, “but only until my neck stops hurting.”

You don’t look at them as you gently climb down the rock so you don’t see the look Gojo and Geto share, calling BS on your comment. When you slide down into the water, your body immediately responds positively to the hot, bubbling water. The ache in your neck is immediately eased as are your tired muscles. “Mmm, wow,” you groan.

“Right?” Gojo chuckles in agreement, taking an empty glass from beside the wine bottle. “It feels much better at this time of day, don’t it? You want a glass?” You know you shouldn’t take the glass from him but the wine just looks too crisp and cold to refuse. And it is crisp and cold, and has hints of fresh fruit, when you take a sip. Then you are taking three, then four, then five.

Before you know it, you are gravitating faaaaar away from your original spot at the end of the hot springs pool until you’re about arm’s length away from both Gojo and Geto. The wine works quickly, making you feel warm and bold. Bold enough to side-eye the blunt that is settled in Gojo’s fingers now as smoke puffs from between his pink lips. “Actually, pass that over here,” you say before you can stop yourself. But you’re here to relax, right? Might as well do it right.

Gojo and Geto share a look of shock. “I thought you said you don’t smoke like that,” Geto says, a humorous smirk on his face as Gojo passes you the blunt.

You carefully take it between your forefinger and thumb. “I don’t, but this is the first business trip I’ve had. Might as well celebrate.” You take a short puff, letting the smoke fill your lungs, before exhaling, the tickle in your throat making you cough.

Gojo laughs as you cough and you flip him off. “Oooh, I like this side of you,” he teases. “Not that your princess-y attitude isn’t a turn-on either though.” You take another puff before passing the blunt back to Gojo.

“So you think I’m stuck up?” you ask, cocking your head to the side. Gojo shares a nervous look with Geto who just shrugs. “Not…entirely,” he carefully replies.

You gap at him, gobsmacked. So it’s true! “We’ve just never seen you really talk to anyone before, including us!” he quickly adds. “You should hear what others say about you.”

Though you don’t want to know, you hate how you care. Especially how much of that has influenced these two and their thoughts of you. “I’m not stuck up just because I don’t date coworkers,” you scoff indignantly. "I just don’t need that type of drama, especially from you two.”

Geto raises an eyebrow, not looking irked but more curious at your jab. “What does that mean?” he asks. You don’t know if it’s the weed or the wine starting to talk, but it’s fucking screaming with every bold word you utter. “It means I’ve heard a bit about you two from the women around the office. You both get around.”

The two look at each other and begin to laugh, making your body flush hot in the water. “Hey, if the opportunity comes to have some fun, I’m gonna take it,” Gojo chuckles, flashing you a white-toothed smile. “And for the record, I’ve dated coworkers that weren’t just hookups but real, genuine relationships.”

Geto nods as he passes his white-haired friend the blunt. “Same here. But you can’t stop two people from findin’ each other attractive or one not deciding to embark on a romantic relationship. Sex is just sex for some.”

You avert your gaze, not sure if you should even respond or allow yourself to partake in this convo. How’d you even get here? Geto takes your silence for a different perspective though. “You don’t agree?” he asks as he sips his wine, his pink lips now wet from the liquid in his glass. You quickly snap your eyes back up to his face. “It’s not that I don’t, but you’d might as well not date coworkers at all if all you’re lookin’ for is casual sex.”

“So you’ve never dated anyone at work before?” Geto asks, sounding shocked, smoke billowing from his lips. “Not even before workin’ for this company?” He passes you the blunt again, but you’re not sure if you should hit again. You’re already feeling light and slightly dazed from it. “No,” you answer truthfully. “That just…isn’t me. I’m way more focused on my work.”

You pass the blunt back to Gojo who passes it to Geto. “Then you need to get unfocused and relax yourself,” he encourages, smiling crookedly at you. “And I know a perfect way that isn’t just with weed. Who’s up for a game of truth or dare?” He gives you reach a mischievous smile, a gleam in his eye.

Geto stares at him in disbelief. “What are we, twelve?” he scoffs. Gojo glares at him, splashing water at him. “If you don’t wanna play, you don’t have to, dickhead,” he scoffs. “Y/N and I will happily play a game and leave you out of it. Won’t we, Y/N?”

You don’t know what it is that makes you give in. Perhaps it is the warmth of the water or the wine or the soft, almost pleading look in Geto and Gojo’s eyes trying to get you to chill. But defeatedly you do. “Fuck it,” you sigh, throwing all caution to the wind. “Let’s play a round.”

Surprisingly, your agreement influences Geto too as he places his blunt up on the ashtray. “Whatever; I guess I’ll play, too.” He leans back against a large rock, tossing one big arm over it, giving you a good look at the water cascading down his broad chest.

Geto claps excitedly. “Now it’s a party!” he excitedly cheers. “We’ll start with me and then go around. So, Geto, truth or dare?” Geto's dark eyes cut over to you through the steam rising from the water, making your heart leap. “Dare.” The white-haired hottie turns to give you a mischievous smirk. “I dare you to do one lap around this pool naked.” You and Geto blink at him dumbly. “You’re kidding,” you both say in unison. But Geto is deadass, staring his friend down and daring him to say no.

“Fuck you,” Geto growls, but gets out of the pool regardless. You watch as he does, unable to keep your eyes off of his big, wet body and muscles that ripple and flex as he moves. When he is finally out of the pool, he stands with his back to you and begins to take off his trunks. When he finally takes them down his waist, it just about causes a nosebleed when you get an eyeful of his tight yet plump and toned ass, slightly paler than the rest of his tanned body. You don’t even want to see what his dick looks like. Luckily, he keeps his hands cupped over his junk as he begins to do a lap around the pool, much to his dislike and Gojo’s amusement.

You’re unable to laugh, still staring at his ass. It’s just so plump and squeezable and– “He’s got a nice ass, right?” Gojo whispers, suddenly beside you. He stares you down with those crystal blue eyes, making your mind go blank. “It’s okay; you can look. I don’t mind sharin’ the view. You should try seein’ it every single night like me.” He gives you a wink that makes you realize what he’s saying. “Wait…are you–”

“Dating?” he finishes, chuckling at your shock. “Don’t tell him I said that. We’re still keepin’ it on the low.” This newfound information only confuses you more. So if they’re dating, are they also dating other people? Do they do so separately or together? And what about the sex? And how come this hasn’t spilled to the work departments? You’re sure there is someone at work that has been with both of them if this is the case. Sex…with both of them. The idea makes you feel strangely hot.

You’re so dissociated that you don’t even realize that Geto has gotten back into the pool…without his trunks. You find them drying on a nearby lounge chair. ‘Oh, God,’ you lament to yourself. ‘Why is this happening to me?’

“Happy now?” Geto gruffly asks his coworker…and boyfriend, apparently. “You just wanted to see my dick, probably.” Gojo just smiles and turns his attention to you. “Your turn, Y/N.” Against your better judgment, you take your glass of wine and take a sip. “Gojo, truth or dare?” you ask.

Geto gives him his signature, lazy smirk. “Dare.” You swish the wine around in your glass, thinking of a good dare that isn’t dirty or won’t make your clit jump at the sight of his body. “I dare you to…drink the hot springs water.” The white-haired hottie laughs, waving a passive hand. “What? Too scared?” you challenge, smirking at him. Gojo’s eyes widen an inch, shocked at your gall. That’s all it takes for him to crumble. After gulping, he bravely dips his head down into the water and takes a sip. Geto gags in disgust while you hysterically laugh. Poor Gojo comes up seconds later and swallows every ounce of the water, looking positively sickly afterward. “How do we taste, ‘Toru?” Geto snickers, earning a splash in the face.

“Your turn, Sugu,” you say and then flush, realizing what you just said. Geto doesn’t seem to realize it though, and if he does, he doesn’t say anything. “Y/N, truth or dare?” He asks, his deep voice like a rumble beneath the surface of your desire. “Truth,” you say, earning a scoff of pure disgust from Gojo.

“How come you don’t like us?” he bluntly asks. You blink at him, wondering if he’s joking, but he’s deadass. His fixed stare tells you so. It’s such a random question that it takes you a moment to process it. “What?”

“How come you don’t like us?” he repeats, fixing you with a very intense stare. Gojo does the same, his eyes locking with yours from across the water. “I wanna know that too, actually.” You’re frozen, unable to think, speak or move. You weren't expecting this. “You’re puttin’ me on the spot?” you scoff, irritated by Geto’s question. “What, was this a setup?” Geto scoffs as he takes a short puff of his blunt, smoke billowing from his soft, plump lips. “You set yourself up for that one, mama. So you gonna answer it or what?”

He cocks his head to the side, his eyes slits that barely move from yours. Gojo continues to stare at you, both silently and patiently waiting for you to answer. It is as if the water got ten times hotter. You don’t want to answer, but you also know that they’ll probably keep pestering you about it and remind you that this is part of the game. “No, I don’t dislike you,” you defeatedly sigh. “What gave you the impression that I don’t?” Geto is happy to enlighten you. “Well, for one, you never really wanna talk to us, you’ve barely said anything to us on this trip–”

“And you’ve been hidin’ away in your bedroom since yesterday,” Gojo adds. “I mean, my social battery can run low too, believe it or not, but we’re startin’ to think you hate our guts.” Though he says it jokingly, you can tell from the saddened look in his eyes that he means it. Guilt twists in your gut and you officially feel like the bitchiest person in the world.

“I don’t,” you say apologetically. “And I’m sorry about earlier when I yelled…and that I’ve been actin’ like a bitch. I just don’t hang with coworkers too much. It’s not my thing, like dating. I find a lot of the people I work with to be…” You trail off, searching for the right words that the alcohol and weed are making especially difficult to do.

“Annoying?” Geto offers.

“Fuckin’ insufferable?” Gojo asks. “Or maybe that’s just our department.”

You giggle softly at their comments. “No, and no. But people don’t really talk to me too much anyway because I’m, as you say, ‘uptight’.” Gojo raises a curious eyebrow at you. “And you’re okay with that?”

You stare down at the water, not wanting either of them to see the downtrodden look in your eyes. While you’d love be more social at work, you also know that this is probably for the best. “If it means I won’t have anyone backstab me and destroy my rep at work, then yeah. It’s not like I don’t have friends though, but I don’t do dating.” It sounds absolutely pathetic, but you just can’t have anyone distracting you from your work or have you get caught up in the realm of workplace drama. If that means missing out on meeting someone nice or possibly catching some dick despite every other woman in your department doing the same thing and being left out of the conversation, then so be it.

Geto hums like that is damn shame. “That’s too bad,” Gojo tuts, “because the motherfucker who manages to scoop you up would be lucky.”

If a record scratch had any place in the conversation, it would be now. As soon as your ears catch Gojo’s words, your eyes widen and your heart skips several beats. ‘Da fuck?’ you think, confused. Where the hell did that come from? And why the fuck was it so damn smooth?

You stare at Gojo who stares at you right back, completely confident and incredibly intense. “You’re lookin’ at me like you can’t believe what I just said,” he comments, cocking his head to the side. "You really don’t see how fuckin’ pretty you are? That’s a damn shame ‘cause you absolutely are.” He sips his wine like he didn’t just say those incredibly flirtatious and random ass words. Like he didn’t just make your heart pound and your stomach jump.

Your eyes flit to Geto and he’s giving you the same look that Gojo is: flirtatious; intense; extremely unfriendly. He looks like he wants to dick you down from where you’re sitting. Right then you feel the tension in the air return, but this time, it’s fueled by sexual energy and feelings unexplored and unacknowledged. Until now, that is. You grip your towel tighter to you, staring down at the water instead of your coworkers’ unyielding gazes. “Y-You’re just sayin’ that,” you laugh incredulously to yourself.

“Oh, are we?” Gojo challenges, causing you to nervously bite your lip. “Geto, truth or dare?” You don’t know why you look up, but you do, finding Geto’s eyes still targeting you. “Dare,” he replies, his voice but a deep growl. You swear your pussy turns into a goddamn heartbeat. Gojo smirks at you from behind his wine glass, a mischievous gleam in his icy blues. “I dare you to kiss Y/N.”

You blink at him dumbly, his challenge slowly processing in your head. “W-What?” you squeak. You look to Geto, hoping he’ll be just as confused and alarmed as you, but instead, he’s still looking at you like he wants every single piece of you. “You don’t have to dare me to do that,” he softly growls.

Suddenly, faster than your mind can process it, he is standing in the water and making his way over to you, his big, muscled body on full display…including what lies down below. You nearly forgot he is completely naked now after completing Gojo’s dare.

Though you can’t see him beneath the dark surface of the water, you can see his dark happy trail and toned stomach leading down the dark patch of curls where his cock is. You picture it being long and thick, just swinging like a pendulum between his thick, three-trunk legs. His long, black hair cascades down his broad shoulders in wet waves like snakes as water droplets drip down every inch of his skin. You find yourself wanting to lick each one off.

You know you should stop this. You should call it off and get out of the water. But something inside of you–that rebellious, raging fire inside of you–stops you from moving, even as Geto is finally in front of him. Though he is close enough that you can smell his scent–like vanilla and cinnamon–and feel the warmth radiating off of him, he gives you enough space to leave if you wish or even push him away. He is still patient and considerate of how you feel.

You’ve never felt so…taken care of. That's the right term, isn’t it? You’re too stoned and tipsy to think about it.

Geto peers down at you with those violet eyes that make you feel like you’re waltzing through a field of lavender. “Are you okay with this, sweetheart?” he whispers, concern in his eyes. “Just tell us to stop if you don’t want this.”

You shouldn't want this. You shouldn't want to have any part in this mess. But you find yourself silently nodding. He then cups one of his big hands against your face, making your eyes flutter closed from the pleasure his touch evokes inside of you.

And then his lips are on yours. His kiss has to be one of the best ones you’ve ever had in your life. It’s a kiss you can only find in Disney movies or storybooks: magical; tender; it sweeps you right off your feet. And yet it is so sensual and seductive, his lips seducing you with every single slow movement against yours.

Gojo takes his other hand to cup the other side of your face, holding you in place as his kiss deepens. At some point, you feel his tongue lick tantalizingly at your bottom lip, silently asking for access. You allow it to him and his tongue swirls with yours, creating sloppy, suckling sounds that make your pussy clench beneath the water. He tastes of Moscato.

Finally, he pulls away, but doesn’t stray too far from your lips. “Truth or dare?” he asks you, his voice low and breathless.

You’re breathing heavy, your mind blank and dizzy from the kiss. You almost ask him to repeat himself. “Dare,” you hear yourself answer.

Gojo presses another long, deep kiss against your lips as if you can't get enough. “I dare you to kiss Gojo,” he says in a low, lustful tone. You nearly get whiplash with how fast you turn to look at Gojo.

He is already moving in close, a hungered look in his eyes. “Shit, I’ve been waitin’ for this for years,” he exhales before his lips cover yours. While his kiss is still just as intoxicating and swoon-worthy as Geto’s, his is also rougher; wetter. He teases and plays with you, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth and swirling his tongue around with yours, even sucking on it slightly.

It feels oh-so good. You find yourself grasping at Gojo’s broad shoulders, running your hands down his biceps. You feel his hands move to hold your waist, never once going under the towel, but your body tenses as if he does. Though you want to melt into this kiss and take whatever Gojo gives you, at the back of your mind, you’re still apprehensive of where this could go. You can’t believe any of this is happening.

Gojo notices this and moans disapprovingly against your lips before pulling away. “You’re so tense, babe,” he coos, concern in his blue eyes. You look down at the rippling water, hoping to gather your thoughts if you look away from him. “Is this too much?” Geto worriedly asks, his deep voice from behind you causing your heart to flutter. “Do you want us to stop?”

The fact that their concern for your comfort makes you wet––and not at all from the water at this point. Despite you currently being sandwiched between two very big and buff men who could certainly make you do whatever they wish, they don’t and you’ve never felt safer.

You also feel quite fearful of that feeling and the desire to let go. How can you be sure it won’t lead somewhere else? What if you indulge in these inhibitive desires now and regret them later? What if your coworkers find out? Then you’d be the talk of all departments.

‘Fuck it.’ The thought comes to your mind like a bat out of hell. At the moment, you don't care about anyone or anything else except for the two men occupying your space. You don’t care about anything except quenching your thirst and easing the throbbing between your legs. You don't care about tomorrow–just now.

You turn to Gojo, boldly staring into his eyes. “Did you really mean that?” you softly ask. “Have you really wanted to kiss me for years?”

Gojo’s eyes widen an inch over the random question, but he doesn’t neglect to answer you. “We both have, princess. We’ve been pining after you for a long time now.” His honesty makes your heart leap.

"We just never said anything ‘cause we figured the damage was done,” Geto explains. “You know how word gets around the workplace about employees’ personal sex lives. It’s like a locker room in that bitch.”

“And just in case you’re wondering, you’re the first coworker we’ve ever been with like…this…with,” Gojo adds. Geto side-eyes him to which Gojo grins guilty at him. “Yes, I alluded to us dating. You won’t tell anyone though, will you, sweetheart?” But you’re silent, too busy trying to understand what Gojo meant. “This?” you inquire, confused.

“What Gojo means is we’ve never shared the same partner from work,” Geto explains. “Usually, when we have sex with a coworker, it’s something we do individually and not together. If we do happen have a threesome or something like that, it’s just a hookup from the club or the bar.” The gears in your head are slowly starting to process. “So you have an open relationship?” you curiously ask.

“It’s just something that always worked for us,” Geto explains. “We agreed that we wanted to keep things lowkey for the time being, so whatever we do with the people at work stays between us and them. However, when we’re alone, it’s us and only us. But being with you has made us want different. Something real and not on the low…if that’s what you want too.”

They both stare you down, silent and patient but their eyes scream desire and tenderness. Two things you’re craving for right now. However, Geto takes your silence for discomfort. “We should stop. I don’t wanna overwhelm her or–”

“Change my mind,” you blurt. The two stare at you confusedly.

“Sorry?” Geto asks, coaxing you to repeat yourself. You’re more than happy to do so, moving closer to him as you do. “You said you never told me how you felt because of how I thought about you two ‘cause of the rumors. If you’re not what our coworkers say you are and if it’s true that you feel this way about me, then change. My. Mind.”

That is all the two need to hear. They’re on you immediately, pressing their bodies against your front and back. You are completely trapped between them, and you couldn’t be more content. Gojo’s lips move hungrily agains your neck while Geto’s mouth sucks on your neck, no doubt leaving hickies that you’ll have to cover with concealer the next morning. “So fuckin’ pretty,” he growls against your skin. “Such a fuckin’ tease. Makin’ us feel this way for so long…” His big hands begin to caress your hips and ass over your towel, causing you to moan into Gojo’s lips.

The white-haired hottie chuckles into your mouth before pulling away with a wet smack. “You’ve gotta pay for that, princess,” he teasingly whispers into your ear. “Startin’ by losin’ this thing.”

He tugs on your towel, nearly ripping it off your chest. You make a small noise of protest, your eyes flitting to the brush surrounding you. “No one’s gonna see us, darlin’,” Gojo coos in your ear. “This place is surrounded by trees. It’s only us here, baby.”

Geto’s hands slide up your hips under your towel, distracting you from your nerves. So you let them disrobe you. The towel comes off, floating away in the water, leaving your bikini to be the only thing separating you from them. Then you slowly untie the strings holding your bikini together.

You let the top fall from your chest, revealing your naked breasts to them, and then your bottoms come off, exposing your naked pussy to the water. Though they can’t see it yet, you know they have the advantage of touching you if they wish. And you wouldn’t stop them. The two men are immediately dumbstruck at the sight of you, their eyes widening.

“Goddamn,” Geto hisses while Gojo whistles at the sight of your naked body. Both reactions make you flush, a newfound confidence flowing through your core. You feel like the sexiest bitch alive.

“This definitely beats those tight-ass pencil skirts you be wearin’ to work,” Gojo chuckles as he runs his long fingertips down your sides. “So many times I’ve thought about bendin’ you over my desk while Geto kisses those pretty lips of yours.” You whimper at his naughty fantasy, wanting the same thing.

“Or while I play with these gorgeous tits,” Geto mumbles, pressing his front to your back. One of his big hands moves to gently fondle one of your breasts, keeping his touch light. His warm palm and fingers touch every sensitive part of your breast, even pinching your hardened nipple.

A moan escapes your lips, unable to be hidden anymore. “And there’s another one for you, ‘Tarou,” the long-haired beauty chuckles, nodding at your other free breast. "Help me relax her a bit more.”

Gojo quickly swoops in and begins suckling at the brown peak of your hard nipple, his wet tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. Geto follows suit, taking your other nipple into his mouth and suckling gently on it. Your mouth falls open into an O of ecstasy, the feeling of their hot, wet mouths and tongues caressing your breasts a euphoric experience.

“Fuck,” you whimper, leaning your head back against a rock. Geto hums approvingly as he continues to lap at your nipple as if he is trying to draw milk from it. “That’s it, baby,” Gojo coos, pausing from sucking your nipple. “Just relax. You deserve this.” His pearly whites begin to nibble gently on your nipple, the slight sharpness of his teeth making you draw a sharp breath.

‘I do,’ you find yourself thinking. ‘I deserve this.’ You deserve every ounce of the pleasure they are trying to give you. Your hands move to caress their hair, gripping the strands every time they lick or tug on a particularly sensitive part of your gorgeous titties.

Your pussy can’t take it! She’s dripping for attention at this point, begging you to put her out of her misery. Gojo must realize this from the way you whine and moan from his and Geto’s lips.“Someone’s excited,” he chortles, smirking cockily up at you. “You want me to touch you?”

You whimper, hesitant. Your pride does not allow you to use your voice despite your desperation. Gojo just laughs, silently making fun of your dilemma. “Use your words, baby, or I can’t help you,” he teasingly whispers against your breast. His hot breath caressing your sensitive bud nearly makes your pussy’s heartbeat accelerate. You’re losing it, wanting something, anything.

Your desperation wins. “Dammit, Gojo, just touch me!” you whine. “I want you to touch my pussy…please.” You stare into the ocean-blue depths of Gojo’s eyes, finding the sheer joy in your begging there. You don’t get to stare into them long because Geto turns your face to his and presses a passionate kiss to your lips. “Good girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’d better give her what she wants before she loses her mind, ‘Tarou.”

And like a good man should, Gojo puts you out of your misery but lighting stroking your clit with his thumb. The little pulses have you seeing stars and your eyes flutter closed to see more. Gojo proceeds to press kisses to your neck, humming approvingly as he does. “That feel good?” he teasingly asks, his hot breath fanning your neck. It does…but you need something else. Something more. “N-need…need more,” you softly moan. “Please taste me.”

A lustful look flashes across Gojo’s face. “Well, since you asked so nicely…” He nods at Geto and the dark-haired man takes hold of you by your hips, scooping you up and chuckling at your squeak. He then places you up on a flat rock, allowing you time to get used to the new environment. “Comfortable, mama?” Geto asks you, stroking your outer thigh. You nod, the summer breeze feeling cool against your wet skin and pussy that has become sensitive to everything.

“Now let’s see what you’ve got for us,” Gojo purrs, moving forward to pry your legs open with one of his big hands. “Shit!” Geto hisses, gaping incredulously at your glistening pussy. Gojo makes a noise between a moan and a hum, filling your core with heat. “Somethin’ tells me all of that ain’t from the water,” he hums, his hooded eyes flicking up at you. “All of that for us, princess? How generous of you. But who gets the first taste?”

He stares at Geto challengingly, but Geto has already moved in front of him to get in between your legs. “Hey!” Gojo shouts, pouting at his spot being taken. Geto pulls away to spare him a glance. “You were takin’ too long,” he deadpans. “I made the decision for you.” His violet eyes flick up to stare into yours, making your heart and clit throb. “Let me know what feels good to you.”

You wish you could tell him everything he does feels good: the slow flicks and swirls of his big tongue against your clit; how carefully yet methodically he slides the muscle in his mouth against your wet slit; the pillowy-softness of his lips cushioning your pussy and rubbing against your clit. Your head rolls back, as do your eyes, unable to keep focus on Geto’s head bobbing between your legs. “Sugu,” you moan. “That…ah, shit…that feels really good.”

Gojo isn't a silent eater either. When he isn’t making the sloppiest, wet sounds with his tongue and mouth in your cunt, he’s talking to you, telling you how good you taste. “So wet,” he moans into your pussy. “So sweet…you taste so fuckin’ good for me.” His deep voice rumbling in your pussy only makes you gush more which he happily laps up like a delighted dog.

You’ve fallen so deep into the pleasure Geto is giving you that you barely hear Gojo getting out of the water to instead settle down next to you. When you suddenly feel a few water droplets splash onto your naked tits, your eyes flutter open to see the white-haired hottie kneeling above you with a teasing smirk toying at his pink lips. “You look so goddamn cute like this, princess,” he sighs dreamily as if imagining his turn licking your cunt.

Geto begins to swirl his tongue in your clit, using the tip of it to caress your clit. His ministrations cause you to whimper pitifully, the pleasure too much for you to take. Your eyes flicker down to Gojo’s groin in your face and you notice the tent he’s pitching in his trunks.

Not even thinking, your hand moves to caress his hardened dick, your puppy-dog eyes staring up at him pleadingly. Surprise flashes in his eyes before it is replaced with full-blown lust. “Oh? You want me?” he questions, smirking down at you. “How can I deny such an adorable request?”

Without another word, he unties his Calvin Klein swim trunks and shoves them down his tanned thighs, revealing his gorgeous, thick, hard cock protruding from a patch of silver pubic hair. Your eyes widen as it pulses and throbs in front of your face, ready for all of you. Gojo raises an expectant eyebrow at you, his hand grabbing the base of his cock.

Knowing what he wants, you slowly open your mouth, covering your teeth with your juicy, kissable lips. He slowly slides his cock inside of your inviting mouth and you clamp your lips around him. A long sigh leaves his lips and his head rolls back, exposing his neck and bobbing Adam’s Apple. You continue to bob your head along his long dick, soon becoming used to his girth.

You take one hand to replace his wrapped around his cock and begin to swirl your tongue along the head, lapping up the precum that dribbles out for you. Gojo stares down at you, his blue eyes dark and face flushed with pleasure. “Ah…fuck!” he softly moans, his eyes squeezing shut as your tongue runs over the most sensitive spots along his cock. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought of this: you with your pretty face stuffed full of my cock. You look even better than in my dreams.”

You slowly take him back into your mouth where you begin to move your head back and forth along his cock, hollowing your cheeks to make your mouth tight. Gojo isn’t quiet either–he moans and swears; whimpers and groans at the feeling of your tight, wet mouth wrapped around him. You try to follow the same pattern as Geto’s slow, teasing strokes, taking your sweet time. The sounds that leave your lips are sloppy and lewd, making your pussy clench tighter in Geto’s mouth.

When you finally feel like you’ve gotten used to him, you begin to try to take Gojo into your throat…God, is that a mistake. Already, your jaw begins to ache and your throat feels full from him, but Gojo doesn’t consider that when he gives you a lustful, deviant stare. “Want me to fuck that face, princess?” he huffs. “Nod for yes.”

Your throat is gonna hate your ass for this later, but you nod, causing Gojo to moan at the vibrations against his dick. “Good girl. Now listen carefully: if any time you need something, if you wanna breathe or want me to stop, just tap my thigh twice, got it?” You nod once again and Geto praises you. “So obedient,” he chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. “C’mon, ‘Toru, don't tease the girl. Give her what she wants.”

Gojo doesn’t need to be told twice. Immediately, he shifts his hips and slides deeper inside your mouth, sliding across your throat. You choke a bit as he does so until you can nearly feel him touch the back of your throat. You instantly open your throat more as if to yawn and breathe slowly through your nose, trying to avoid choking along Gojo’s cock.

He doesn’t go slow either. Immediately, his hand grips your hair and he proceeds to rut into your throat, fucking your face like he is in need of it. “Ah, yes!” he moans, high-pitched and brazened. “Take it, baby. Take all of me down that throat like a good lil’ girl.”

And you do, ignoring the sting of tears in your eyes and the ache of your jaw. Spit pools along your bottom lip and drips down your chin, causing your mouth to make sharp, sucking sounds whenever Gojo thrusts.

His eyes are wild as he stares down at you sucking him off like the best little slut he’s ever had. “I bet you’ve been feenin' for this, haven’t you?” he chuckles deviously. “I bet the thought of havin’ the both of us has made you wet, right?”

You don’t answer, too occupied with his merciless, rough thrusts and heavy balls slapping against your chin. Gojo pulls back a bit to allow you to speak as Geto sharply smacks your pussy, making your clit jump with pleasure as soon as his palm makes contact with it. “Answer him,” he growls.

You nearly cry out in both pleasure and pain, becoming drunk on the strange mixture. “Yes!” you moan around Gojo’s cock, your words muffled and gargled. “I-I’ve wanted this! I’ve wanted you both for so, so long!”

Gojo grins widely, sliding his thick cock out of your mouth. The sight of it being so wet and slick with your spit makes your stomach flip excitedly. “Gooood girl!” he coos, patting your cheek. “You deserve a reward for your honesty. Sugu, switch with me. I’m almost jealous seein’ you get a taste of that pussy for so long.”

Geto is up and out from between your legs immediately, jumping at the chance to get his dick in your mouth. And shit, is it a dick to behold: he is much thicker than Gojo but not quite as long with one long, pulsating vein trailing from the pink, bulbous tip dripping his precum to the base that leads up to a patch of black hair and a smooth, toned, tanned stomach and V-line. You can't take your eyes off of him, even as he and Gojo switch positions.

Geto grabs his dick and holds it in front of you, his eyes dark with lust and need. "Stick your tongue out,” he breathlessly orders you. You do so and he begins to tap his head against your tongue before sliding himself in your mouth. Damn, is he thick! Your mouth and jaw stretch to accommodate his size though not without discomfort.

Gojo groans as he slides deeper and deeper, each inch opening up your throat more. “Deeper, mama,” he grunts. "Take me deeper.”

He gives you no choice but to do so, even though your nostrils burn from inhaling and exhaling too hard to avoid choking on his dick. You can’t help but gag on it though as your throat flexes against his shaft that begins to stroke the wet walls of your throat. He, too, begins to fuck your throat though not as roughly or quickly. His strokes are slow yet deep, touching the back of your throat with every single thrust of his hips.

Gojo watches from the waters below, settled in between your thighs as he begins to caress your pussy. “How’s she feel, Sugu?” he teasingly hums. “Isn’t her throat heaven on earth?”

Geto only answers with a moan, his entire body shuddering at the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him. Gojo’s tongue sliding inside of your pussy nearly distracts you as he begins to work your little, wet hole. You moan along Geto’s cock as your thighs tighten around Gojo’s head. He pulls away a bit to speak, his lips glistening from your wetness. “You’re so tight, princess. All I’m doin’ is just tonguefuckin’ you and you’re clenchin’ around me. Wonder how’d you feel with my dick in you.”

"You might wanna…ah, shit…finger her, just in case,” Geto huffs, still bumping his hips against your mouth. “Get her ready for when she…fuck yes, baby…takes you.”

Gojo hums appreciatively at the lewd idea. “Mmm, I like the way you think, Sugu.” Before you can even prepare, he is replacing his tongue with one of his long piano fingers. You practically scream around Geto’s cock as Gojo fucks you with his finger, slowly but effectively bringing you closer to the brink of madness as he strokes your G-spot.

You can’t help it–you pop off of Geto’s cock to vocalize your pleasure and need to orgasm. “God, ‘Tarou!” you moan. “Please make me cum! I’m so, so close!”

Your toes curl against Gojo’s head and your entire body clenches as he pushes you farther toward that hill. He grins up at you, his finger still curling in your cunt in a ‘come hither’ motion that has you witnessing God. “That’s some good begging if I haven’t heard it before,” he snickers. “Cum for us now, baby. Gush all over my fuckin’ face.”

He ducks his head between your thighs again, his tongue doing the talking now. The constant stimulation against your clit and the wet strokes of Geto stroking his dick in your face cause you to hurdle down that hill into a sea of bliss. When that chord finally snaps inside of you, you practically scream to the skies above as you gush all over Gojo’s face, your entire body tensing as the pleasure flows through your veins.

Gojo appreciatively laps up every ounce of your cum, never wasting a single drop. “So sweet!” he groans. “You gave me so much, princess. You must’ve been so needy for so long.”

Geto pauses his dick-stroking to greedily stare down at your open legs and his boyfriend’s face between them. “Hey, don’t be greedy. Gimme some of that, too.”

He ducks down to press a hand to the back of Gojo’s head and bring him in for a rough, open-mouthed kiss where their tongues swirl and hands thread through their hair. You can’t help it–you begin to touch yourself at the erotic sight of the two attractive men kissing in front of you. Gojo notices and pulls away to laugh, a string of spit trailing from his lip to Geto’s. “Uh-oh,” he coos. “Looks like someone liked seeing that. You naughty slut, gettin’ off to us kissing.”

You whimper, unable to deny it. Geto groans while Gojo looks visibly pained at the sight. “God, you’re just too cute,” he growls, visibly frustrated by your adorableness. “It’s takin’ everything in me to not fuck you silly right now.” You can see it–his cock is throbbing and twitching for you, as is Geto’s.

The two stare down at you as if you’re a dessert place they’re desperate to get a taste of. “What do you want now, princess?” Gojo asks, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

You have no time to be prideful. Your throbbing, aching pussy won’t allow you to. You’re about to tear your hair out if you don’t get either of them inside of you. Your hand continues to stroke your pussy right in their faces, beckoning their cocks forward.

“I want both of you,” you beg. “Please…I can't wait anymore. I’m on the pill too, so please just fuck me right here, right now.” The you that you were before this encounter would’ve given you a look of pure disgust at your babbling and pleading to get fucked by two men you barely know.

The duo side-eye each other, devious plans in their eyes. “You take the front, I take the back?” Gojo snickers. Geto scoffs, not even bothering to give an appropriate answer. “I could give less of a fuck where I end up. Just as long as my cum ends up all over her.”

While your pussy clenches at the vulgarity of his language, Gojo mockingly gasps, delighted at his boyfriend’s words. “So vulgar!” he giggles. “I love that.” He then gives your ass a smack, the sound reaching the very tops of the trees. “On all fours, baby. Don’t keep us waiting.”

You do as they say, slowly getting into position, now facing Geto while Gojo settles behind you. You shiver at the feeling of the white-haired hottie’s hands caressing your ass, giving it sharp spanks every so often. Geto’s violet eyes glimmer down at you as he strokes his cock in your face.

“Open wide, mama,” he coos, and you do so, looking up at him as you obediently widen your jaw to accommodate his size. Speaking of accommodating size, your pussy is busy doing the same thing to Gojo’s cock that has just begun to slide inside of you, slow and careful.

You tense slightly as his cock stretches out your pussy. You can’t remember when you had a dick this well-endowed. Gojo’s hands stroke your sides, easing your nerves. “Just relax, princess. Tell me when you want me to continue.” He keeps his hips still despite Geto’s slow strokes as he gently fucks your mouth. After a few minutes of adjusting, you pull away from Geto’s cock to speak.

“Okay,” you softly say, turning to look behind your shoulder at Gojo. “Go ahead. It’s just a stretch, but I’m not hurting. You can move now.” Gojo nods and begins to roll his hips into you. As soon as he does, you’re both moaning at the feeling of his cock stroking your insides. “Just as I thought,” he grunts. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven.”

You can’t even describe how he feels. His dick stretches out your cunt and strokes every single pleasurable part of your insides that have your legs shaking and body trembling. The more he thrusts, the more he rubs up against your G-spot, almost painfully so. It’s just too much!

But Gojo holds you firmly by your hips, completely bottomed out inside of you and rearranging your guts with every single thrust. “Uh-uh, baby; don’t run for me. You begged me for this shit and now you’re gonna take it.”

He chuckles at your whines of protest and trembling body, making you feel even more like a pathetic slut. You want to escape from the constant stimulation, but the way he continues to beat your pussy into submission and drag you closer to your second orgasm is too delicious. And he’s so, so deep! The more he thrusts, the deeper he gets until he is very nearly kissing your cervix (but not too much for pain).

“‘Tarou, please!” you whine, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Too much…so deep!”

Gojo giggles–fucking giggles–at your struggle, his pearly whites gleaming brighter than the sun. “Yeah?” he chuckles. “Just how a slut like you needs it, hm? Nice…and slow…and deep?”

He begins to rock his hips back and forth into you with every drawn-out word, agonizingly slow and enjoying the way you squirm and whine around Geto’s cock when the long-haired beauty slides it back into your gaping, wet mouth.“Don’t slack now, mama,” he chuckles, finding amusement in your sensitivity. “Don’t be a pillow princess either. You’ve gotta work for this.”

Gojo lets out a shuddering moan, his head tossed back to the evening sky. “Fuck me,” he moans, shuddering at the way you feel wrapped around him. “With the way she’s squeezin’ around me, she’s doin’ a good job so far. We should test her and see if can still handle it.” He gives Geto a wide, evil smile from over your shoulder. “Let’s fuck her at the same time.” Geto shares the same evil smirk and you can already tell you’re in danger.

“W-Wait, guys,” you protest around Geto’s cock, but you can’t finish the rest of your sentence as pleasure explodes in your core when Gojo begins to piston his hips inside of you at the same time as Geto. They each match the same pace and pattern, rutting in and out of your holes until your eyes are wet with tears and your body is aching for release. They fill you to the brim with their cocks, using your body for their own pleasure while also giving you yours.

“Please!” you beg, but you’re not sure what you’re begging for. Do you want them to continue? Do you want them to stop? You don’t know, your mind too fuzzy with pleasure to decide what is too much. Either way, the two devils currently filling your holes decide to do as they please anyway, fucking you like there is no tomorrow.

“Come on now, princess,” Gojo breathlessly coaxes. “Fuck me back. Show me how much you need this shit.” You feel him prop up one leg for a better angle–one that causes your clit to tingle excitedly and be stimulated with every thrust.

You moan around Geto’s cock as you begin to shamelessly whine your hips and toss your ass back into Gojo’s thrusts, meeting him halfway. Geto lets out a loud, panty-dropping moan, his black hair like a wild mane around his face. “Fuck!” he practically bellows. “I don’t know what the fuck you just did, but she just took me deeper!” And you did–you can feel him touching the back of your burning, raw throat from it constantly being fucked.

Gojo smirks at his boyfriend’s blissed-out expression, slightly slowing down his thrusts. “While your pussy feels amazing, sweetie, I’m not gonna lie: cummin’ down your throat and possibly on your pretty face sounds very enticing.” Finally, he pauses from fucking you despite your whine of protest. “Wanna switch, Sugu?”

Geto immediately pulls his dick out of your mouth, his eyes flashing with lust. “I thought you wouldn’t ask.” Warning signs flare in your brain as the duo slowly switches places–Geto in the back, Gojo in the front. Your throat and your pussy are currently throbbing and aching with sensitivity from their cocks. How are you going to handle more?

“Boys…I-I don't think I can…” Gojo shushes you, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Just relax, sweetness. You don’t have to lift a finger. Just let us fuck these pretty holes the way you need us too, okay?” He flashes a white-toothed grin at you.

Before you can agree or protest, both of their cocks are sheathing inside of you once more. “God!” Gojo moans at the same time as Geto wordlessly sighs as he sinks into your pussy.

They waste no time fucking you, both sliding in and out of your body at the same time. Your body bounces from the force of Geto’s thrusts, your tits jiggling and ass slapping in time with his thrusts. You can tell he is close to his orgasm with how forceful his thrusts are.

You’re not too far behind–you can feel your own orgasm quickly rising to the surface, your core beginning to distractedly tighten. Geto notices your shift in body chemistry and loops a hand between your thighs to rub your wet, aching clit. You scream around Gojo’s cock, sobbing at the pleasure.

“You’re close too, aren’t you, mama?” Geto asks. “I can feel that body shaking. I should speed up, shouldn’t I?” He does so, slamming his hips against you so hard that his balls begin to slap your clit.

Gojo speeds up too, filling your nostrils and tongue with the scent and taste of him. “Maybe I should too, so you can take this fat load all the way down your throat.” He presses his hand into your hair, coaxing you to look up at him. “How's this for relaxation, hm?” he teases. “Just what you needed, right?”

‘Yes!’ you scream in your head. This is exactly what you needed to take yourself out of you for a moment–to be fucked and used; to receive pleasure while also giving it. “Tryna act like you didn’t want this or like us,” Geto huffs, “when in reality, you’ve been needin' some dick for the longest. I bet you were burning inside just wantin’ this for yourself.” He continues to circle your clit, his fingers working overtime. “Such a greedy little girl.”

You are a greedy girl because that second orgasm begins to rise within you with every thrust of Geto’s cock and pulse of his fingers against your clit. That chord begins to tighten again, threatening to snap very soon. “Sugu, please!” you whine around Gojo’s hard dick still deep down your throat. Your eyes screw tight and your brows knit together, no doubt giving an ugly expression.

“Go right ahead, baby,” Geto grunts, fucking you faster. “It’s fine. Give it all to me. I know you want to, so don’t you dare hold back.”

Gojo chuckles from above you, gently stroking the back of your head. “You heard the man, princess,” he whispers. "Go ahead and cum for him. Be a good little slut and cum all over that fat fuckin’ cock. Don’t you wanna be a good girl for us?”

Vigorously, you nod, right on the point of losing all sanity. Grunts and moans fill the air as the duo continues to fuck you, chasing their orgasms. “So goddamn pretty,” Geto grunts, giving your ass another sharp smack. “I’m gonna cum deep inside you, gorgeous. I hope you’re ready.”

Gojo is losing it too, his thrusts becoming rougher, causing you to gag around his cock and spit to drip from your bottom lip. “He ain't the only one, princess. I’m gonna nut deep inside this pretty mouth of yours, and you’re gonna love it.”

He dips down to press his lips to your ear, gripping your hair as he does. “You wanna take these loads like a good lil’ cumslut? You wanna make us happy, right?” You whine desperately, wanting nothing more than to just cum and have them cum with you. “Please,” you whimper. “Please cum for me, both of you.” Your soft, sweet voice is all it takes for Gojo and Geto to lose the last bit of their self-restraint.

After a few more rough thrusts that have your body shaking and your soul nearly being stripped from your body, the men finally reach their breaking point. With two long, drawn-out moans that could possibly be heard over the treetops, Gojo and Geto cum deep inside of your holes.

You gasp around Gojo’s cock when you feel his warm cum spurt deep down your throat, filling your tastebuds with the creamy, salty substance.

Geto cums deep inside of your pussy, so much that you can feel it dripping down your thighs. “Take it!” he demands in a dangerous growl that makes your stomach flip. “Take all of us, baby.” And you do. You don’t have a choice.

At the same time, your orgasm hits you like a truck, slamming into you with enough force to have you sobbing. You pop off of Gojo’s cock, ignoring the spit and cum dripping down your chin. “Oh, my God!” you moan to the heavens, head tilted back and eyes squeezed tight as your orgasm washes over you. “I’m cumming!” you babble. “I’m cumming!”

“Yes, baby, we know,” Gojo chuckles, gently stroking your face. He then cackles at your expression. “Look at those pretty eyes rollin’ back. Such a slutty face you’ve got there, babe.”

He squeezes your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks together as your orgasm continues to rock you to your core. You wish you could feel this feeling of euphoria forever. You’re not thinking about work or this business trip or your responsibilities. All you’re thinking about is how good you feel and the men that are making you feel this good.

Finally, after a few slow breaths, you come back down to earth though your head is swimming and your body is exhausted. At this point, the sun has left, plunging you, Gojo, and Geto into a blueish shade that twilight provides.

The crickets chirp and the cicadas buzz, alerting you that it is now nighttime. Your eyes flutter closed, unable to hold themselves up anymore. You feel tired and are in need of rest. Your body aches in the best way, your pussy feeling sensitive and full. A weak moan leaves your lips as Gojo and Geto gently pull out of you.

“Still on earth with us, mama?” Geto softly asks, stroking your backside. “Can you move?”

You weakly shake your head, knowing damn well your legs are mush and your feet have lost their mind. Gojo giggles from in front of you, stroking your scalp. “Looks like we took the life right outta her,” he laughs. “Let’s get her in the house and under some covers.”

Though you can’t see anything because your eyes are closed, you are aware that one of the men has scooped you up into his arms and has begun to carry you back into the house. “M-My towel,” you mumble tiredly. Your head lulls against a broad, wet chest, your ear catching the sound of a heartbeat.

“We’ll go back out to get it,” Geto murmurs to you. “You just relax for now.”

And you do, nearly falling asleep in his arms but not enough to miss snippets of the journey from the hot springs to the house. The boys immediately take you upstairs to their bedroom where they proceed to lay you down on the softest and silkiest of sheets. You sigh when your skin immediately hits the cool sheets and soft mattress, your tired muscles relaxing instantly.

You feel the mattress dip when Gojo and Geto get into bed on either side of you, trapping you between their hard, warm bodies. “Did you enjoy yourself, baby?” Geto asks as he lifts a glass to your lips. “Here, sip some water.”

You do so, grateful for the drink. “Mmm-hmm,” you softly reply, eyes still shut. “It was so nice…you both were so good.” Gojo chuckles from next to you, his long fingers tracing shapes down your arm. “Why, how sweet of you. It was nice for us too.”

Geto hums in agreement, looping his big arm around the back of your head to serve as a pillow. Comfortable silence descends upon you three that only comes from good sex. You feel content in their arms, in this bed with them. You feel like whatever you three are could work, no matter what your workplace has to say behind your back or on the low when they need some juicy gossip.

You want to ask them if you’re dating now or if that is even possible for the three of you, but sleep and the mingling scents of their cologne tell you that it can wait until morning. All you want is this comfort and this good, good feeling to last.

“Y'know you really were amazing for us, babe,” Gojo coos, his lips ghosting over yours. “Just tell me somethin’. Who made you cum the hardest? Was it me or was it–“

“Shut the fuck up, Gojo,” Geto growls, “or you’ll be sleepin’ in that lake."

All you can do is giggle before sleep finally comes and you fall into a beautiful dream of you three, together.

THE END.

#smutty smut #black fanfic writer #my works #my fic shit #my one shots #suguru geto x black!reader #satoru gojo x black!reader #black coded reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #18+ one shot #poly geto x gojo #poly smut

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drivinmeinsane · 6 months

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Shot Through the Heart

※ Colt Seavers x GN!Reader ※

{ masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: You've worked with Colt off and on for years, building an easy rapport with the stuntman. The rest of the crew sends you to check up on him after he's bad off following a stunt that seems to have caused his nearly career-ending injury to act up.

※ Rating: T for suggestive themes.

※ Content/Tags: Fluff, Caretaking, No use of y/n, Mentions of old injury, Budding Love, Pre-Relationship, Solely based on the official trailer uploaded to YouTube by Universal Pictures

※ Word count: 3,052

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

※ Author's Notes: The devil works fast but I work faster. That three and a half minute long trailer sure possessed me. Needless to say, I'm excited for the movie's release in a few months.

The setting sun is blinding you on its long journey below the horizon. You squint against the light at the block of apartments as you pull your vehicle into a stop alongside the curb. You really hope you’re at the right location. You’re not sure if you trust your crewmates to have given you the right address. You honestly did not really want to be here at all. Many of the crew for this particular production had worked with Colt before, so it really was wildly unfair that you had been unanimously volunteered to check up on the man after he was a no-show for the past couple days. Sure, he had called, but no one had actually laid eyes on him to verify his condition.

You put your car into park and open the door to step out into the evening heat. You immediately feel smothered by the warmth, and you reach across your center console to grab the items crowding your passenger seat. You withdraw, burdened, and nudge the door closed with your knee. You manage to hit the lock button on your key fob before you duck into the small parking garage. A flood of relief washes over you when you immediately spot Colt’s obnoxious brown and yellow truck. There are surfboards still resting in the bed of the vehicle. It’s parked haphazardly with no regard for anyone else’s need for the space. You’re in the right place at least. You skirt around it, eyes scanning for apartment numbers. You mutter his unit number under your breath while you look for it. You’re juggling a heating pad, multiple ice packs, and a bag of food. You’re not sure what you’re going to be walking into.

After what feels like an eternity of searching, you finally locate what you hope is his front door. With your hands full, you contemplate figuring out how to knock. You finally decide to just bang on the wood with your elbow. There’s no response or any whispers of movement. You sigh and hit it again, more aggressively. You know he’s home. The lifted monstrosity in the parking garage is proof enough. He avoids going anywhere without it.

You double down and are in the middle of hammering on the door for a third time when you finally hear muffled cursing gradually getting louder as the apartment’s occupant gets closer. To your relief, it’s Colt Seavers himself who yanks the door open hard enough you’re briefly worried he’s going to pull it right off the hinges. You open your mouth, about to launch into a bantering complaint about how he left you to rot on his doorstep when you register what exactly you’re looking at.

The man crowding the doorway is wet, straight from an interrupted shower. His shaggy, blond hair is falling into his eyes. The light from the setting sun reflects an orange glow on the water droplets racing down his body. He looks like he’s on fire. You drag your eyes from his obscenely exposed chest to his face. You try to pretend that you’re not talking to a very damp, very naked man preserving the last dregs of his modesty with only a towel wrapped around his narrow hips. You’ve just agreed with yourself not to acknowledge how large his hand looks clutching the fabric.

“Where’s the fire?” He asks. His annoyance fades away at the realization that you’re the one bothering him out of the blue.

“The guys sent me on a welfare check. We haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“I’m clearly alive so you’re welcome to-” He pantomimes you leaving by walking his fingers in the air “-report back that I haven’t died yet.”

“Welfare, not proof of life. Besides, you look like shit and I brought some supplies.” You argue, raising your arms to show your wares.

He looks like he’s thinking about pushing the issue, but he deflates, exhausted. He purposely lets out a dramatically weary sigh and gives you only the barest amount of space to get past him. You squeeze through the door, grazing against his wet arm. You hear him close and lock the front door behind you while you openly gawk at his apartment.

“You live like this?” You ask, slightly aghast. The place is a mess. There are plants and exercise equipment everywhere. The stuntman hovering behind you clearly has his priorities.

“Sure do. Just going to go finish rinsing off. I’d say make yourself comfortable but you’re already on your way,” he remarks, casting an amused glance at the way you’re wobbling while trying to extract yourself from your shoes with no hands.

You frown at his back as you watch him skirt around you and head in the direction of his bathroom. He’s moving jerkily, almost stumbling. His back is definitely messed up. You really hope it’s something that you will be able to assist with in some capacity. You know first hand how stunt work takes a toll on the human body.

Following the sound of a television, you manage to make your way to the living area. You shove over some electrolyte packets and gardening tools on his coffee table to create room for the bag of food that you made for him. The heating pad and ice packs get dumped on the floor next to one of the legs. As for yourself, you settle in on his couch to wait. You’re not surprised to see that he’s left an Indiana Jones movie playing on the screen. It seems like the kind of thing he would watch.

From the bathroom, you hear some muffled complaining before the shower kicks on. The sound of the rushing water does little to cover the noise of the shower curtain hooks on the rod as he wrestles with the material. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, thankful you didn’t hear Colt fall trying to get over the edge of the tub. The last thing you wanted was to wrestle your naked crewmate while on the phone with emergency services.

Only a few minutes pass before the water cuts off and you hear the door open. You can’t help but notice that you didn’t hear the sound of his bedroom door closing. There’s just the sound of footsteps and rustling fabric. He emerges, wearing a pair of garish pajama pants. He’s still distractingly shirtless, because why wouldn’t he be? It’s not as though he has a guest that is trying very hard to be normal about this entire situation. There’s a towel draped over his bare shoulders in the effort to contain the mess produced by his sopping wet hair. Trails of water are running down his neck and soaking into the cloth.

Colt practically drags himself over to you. He lowers himself onto the cushion at your side, and makes an effort to avoid leaning against the back of the couch. You turn to face the blond man, taking a hard look at him. He looks even worse up close than he did when he greeted you at the door. Exhaustion is deepening the fine lines in his face and his eye bags nearly have their own luggage.

“How are you doing? Really?”

He gives you one of his goofy grimaces and flashes a thumbs up. He can’t hide the wince as movement pulls at his back muscles. The look you give him in return is unimpressed.

“Can you even function?”

“Barely,” he says with a groan as he tries to get a little more comfortable. He still looks painfully stiff.

You suppress the urge to give him a comforting pat on the leg and instead lean over to dig the meal you had brought for him out of the bag. You shove a tupperware container, a wrapped sandwich, and a plastic fork at him until he takes them. He looks bewildered.

“Eat. The dressing is in the small container hanging out in the salad greens.”

“Did you make this yourself?”

“I’ve worked with you enough times to know how you are, so yes.” You admired the man’s discipline, but it had been cause for concern while you desperately scoured your kitchen looking for something to make that wasn’t going to fall under the umbrella of junk food.

“Maybe I should reinjure myself more often then,” he says with a smirk and raises his eyebrows. You don’t dignify him with a response.

He balances the container of salad on the armrest next to him and sets to work on unwrapping the sandwich. It’s grilled chicken breast with a truly ridiculous amount of lettuce and tomato. You hadn’t dumped condiments on it, not wanting it to get soggy during the car ride.

“I’m here to play nursemaid so can I do something about all of that? '' You gesture to his dripping hair and his hunched over body.

He looks up from the sandwich like he’s holding something precious in his hands. “You made me this. You can do anything you want with me. I’ve only got a few limits.”

You roll your eyes at his suggestive tone before rising up onto your knees. You shuffle closer, knees mere inches away from grazing the outside of his thigh. The towel slips freely from his shoulders and he doesn’t complain when you drape it over his head. You gently work the material over his hair. Colt starts in on the sandwich while you work carefully to dry him without putting unnecessary pressure or movement on him. You take a corner of the towel and wipe away the water that has trailed down his face and his neck. You don’t go any further down than his collarbone not daring to drag the fabric over his chest. You have to cling to some level of professionalism between coworkers. He leans into the touches in the areas you are willing to wipe dry. You pretend not to notice.

He eats like he’s been starving ever since the last day you and the rest of the crew had seen him on set. He probably had been if he was still in this bad of shape days later. You leave him to start in on the salad. On your way to hang the towel over the shower curtain rod to dry, you stumble over a stray weight that had been left in the middle of the floor. You manage to suppress your pained noises despite the tears leaping to your eyes. Why had you been volunteered for this? Your crewmates had been suspiciously giggly and evasive when you had protested. They had just made excuses and jokes about how you were Colt’s favorite person and you being the one to check on him would make his day. What a load of crap.

“What do you usually do for your back?” You ask, coming back into the room and trying to not let on you nearly had your own medical emergency just out of sight.

“Just uh… stick the tens on it and stretch it out.”

“Gotcha. Finish that up and we’ll start on your back,” you tell him. You crouch down next to the coffee table and gather the ice packs. You won’t be using them today. The injury has sat for too long.

“Thanks, nurse,” he responds around a mouthful of greens.

You cross the apartment and pull open the door to the freezer. You cram the ice packs onto an already sizable stack of them sandwiched between the freezer wall and bags of frozen vegetables. The refrigerator itself is covered in receipts, bills, coupons, business cards, brochures… You’re really not sure how Colt is able to find anything. You suppose that it’s all his own brand of organized chaos.

You make your way back to the living room in time to see him clamp the lid back on the tupperware container. You give your head a little shake. The man inhaled an entire sandwich and a salad in under fifteen minutes. Impressive. You hope his stomach handles going from zero to a hundred with more grace than yours would. You don’t feel like holding his hair back while he vomits.

“How do you want to do this? Floor, couch, or bed?”

He twinges his back when he twists to look up at you. You’d laugh if you hadn’t felt a sting of worry at the way he winced. You know Colt’s a tough man. You have seen him take hit after hit over the past few years. He must be hurting badly to be showing this much sincere discomfort. You’ve seen him ham it up as a joke, but this was the real deal.

“I’m glad one of us thinks I’ll be able to get off the floor. How about you take me to bed, beautiful?”

He heaves himself off the couch and you trail after him into his bedroom. The floor is messy like the rest of the house. You’re not sure if he’s always this disorganized or if it was just something that has resulted from him not being able to keep up with it due to his back. Given the state of his fridge, you’re strongly considering that it’s the former and not the latter.

“How do you want me?” The flirtatious tone isn’t quite coming through as intended with him standing like he’s auditioning for the starring role in a live action adaptation of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

“On your stomach, please. Do you have lotion or anything I can use on you?”

He groans as he makes his way onto the bed and lays face down. He’s unable to relax, the muscles in his back are too tight. “I have some vaseline in the bathroom. Right drawer.”

You set the heating pad down on the bed next to him after plugging it in. You make another trek to the bathroom to search for the aforementioned vaseline. It’s not hard to locate and you manage to dodge the weight this time. You’re not about to wreck your foot on it again. Once was enough.

You settle on the bed next Colt, careful not to jostle him. You swipe your fingers though the vaseline to collect a sizable dollop of the substance. You set the container aside and liberally coat your hands with what you had scooped out. Your eyes catch on the long scar running alongside the stuntman’s spine. It’s pink and raised, a fairly old wound but not old enough to fade to silver. You weren’t there when Colt got the injury. You’d been on another set halfway across the world, but the things you’d heard months later from people who had been present when it happened weren’t good. He had nearly died and if he had… you would have just been left with memories spanning the hours spent with this cocky man. You would have likely said a few words at his funeral, if you had even been able to make it, and that would have been the end of Colt Seavers. He would be just another stuntman who died doing what he loved. The thought puts a pit in your stomach. You push it aside, he’s still alive and he’s waiting for you to get on with the program.

The initial touch of your hands against his bare back causes you both to tense up and go deathly quiet. Your pulse is hammering in your years and you swear you can hear the sound of his throat as he swallows. You try to not knee him in the side as you start to massage the expanse between his broad shoulders. It’s not long before he’s melting into the mattress, relaxing under your touch. You work him over, section by section. You gently knead the raised line of scar tissue, helping to discourage the excess building of collagen. A little lower and he’s groaning when you carefully dig your knuckles into the skin above his waistband, forcing the tight muscles to yield. He’s limp and unresistant when you catch him by the hip and pull his pelvis in your direction to better align his spine.

Thankfully, you spot an already dirty shirt nearby. You pick it up and wipe your hands on it with a grimace. Most of the vaseline has either ended up on the man currently face down on his bed or had absorbed into your palms, but you still didn’t want to risk tracing it through the house before you slathered your hands in dish soap to remove any oily residue. As a final token of care, you lay the heating pad across his lower back and turn it on the medium setting. You’ve done all you can do for him.

Colt is so still and quiet that you’re sure he’s fallen asleep. You turn away from him and inch towards the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb him while you begin your exit from his apartment and back to your vehicle. You nearly leap out of your skin when he shifts enough to catch hold of your forearm. His hand is so large that his middle finger and thumb nearly touch.

“Please stay.” He sounds tired, vulnerable. There’s no charisma or bravado to his voice.

You feel your face soften as you take in his words. “All right.”

You scoot back towards him and lay down on your back at his side. The bed is barely big enough for the both of you like this. It’s intimate, too intimate, especially since your arm is still in his grasp. You can’t bring yourself to mind. The line between being coworkers and whatever this is was blurred a long time ago anyway despite your best efforts to tell yourself otherwise. You're starting to realize your crewmates might have been more aware than you were. Those assholes.

When Colt rises up onto one elbow and leans over, taking all the time in the world to project his intentions, you don’t turn from him. You just bring a hand up to brush his still damp hair out of his face. You guide the stuntman the rest of the way in, your hand migrates to cup his bearded cheek. The kiss you share is inevitable and unhurried. It feels as natural as breathing.

#the fall guy (2024)#the fall guy #colt seavers #colt seavers x reader #ryan gosling #ryan gosling character #the fall guy fanfic #colt seavers fanfic #my work #my posts

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vilz · 4 months

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hello obviously there isn't anything i can really do to control this (unfortunately i deleted a bunch of posts BEFORE turning off reblogs on them) but i would prefer that people did not circulate my posts from this blog any more... i appreciate that people are kind to me about my art, but that is just my request i suppose. this blog is unprivated now, and if you'd like to see what is still up you can look at them here. my ask box is also open but i will not be making any art posts here from now on. here is a little preemptive faq:

why did you leave?

i didn't feel comfortable or happy posting on this blog any more!

do you still make art? do you post it somewhere else?

yes. but i've been pulling away from posting very much online, and the things i'm interested in drawing nowadays are generally more private, so i won't be directing anyone there or anything. i don't consider my new blog to be a continuation of this one.

i know your new blog!

that isn't really that surprising since i didn't honestly put great effort into concealing it or anything. we are probably not friends, so i hold no sway over you, but i would still prefer you did not share it or treat me as if i am still "vilz who posts fnaf art". i'm just a whatever blogger who blogs about whatever things. also to be frank i do not think my new blog has anything that interesting for people who followed for the kind of art i used to post here. this is not an invitation to say "it is interesting!".

we are friends!

if we have not been in direct, mutual conversations i highly doubt that. i'm sorry if that hurts anyone's feelings.

why did you delete all your self ship art?

people seem to enjoy my self ship art a lot, which is very flattering, but i don't want people to be looking at them any more. i realize that they are still rebloggable and are still circulating around, which is nobody's fault but my own, but i would prefer they were not shared any more. i can't really do anything about it and i also don't blame anyone for reblogging those posts since it's obviously not something they would know, but yeah.

i saw your art on pinterest!

i did not and do not consent to my works being put on pinterest. the art from "vilz" has not been uploaded by me to any other website besides tumblr. if someone is posting my art from here on a different platform, they are doing so without permission.

i saw you on magma!

i still join magma boards sometimes lol. it's a fun site.

what about your ocs?

they are still my ocs. sometimes i still draw them. currently, i do not have any plans of posting my oc art online ever again. i would prefer that people did not reblog the oc art i have posted to this blog.

what about your fics?

all of my fics are still up on ao3 anonymously. they are: small mercies obscura floriography baying of lambs scrape bitch, bastard, bullshit almost human a dream, recurring countdown i'm very flattered and happy that people have left kind comments on these. thank you very much for reading the words of an amateur and for sharing an experience with me.

are you going to finish your uncompleted fics?

i would really like to say yes, because i care a great deal about aspects of them, but it's looking pretty unlikely. i lost all my files (and my calmlywriter key !!! always save your emails and receipts, everyone!!!) and also it's hard to feel motivated about them now. i guess i will leave this up in the air just to soothe my own feelings but in reality the answer is Probably Not.

are you going to post new fics?

i might, because i've been in a writing mood lately, but please don't expect anything. if i do, they will be anonymous on ao3. i will not post about them here or on any other blog.

i really liked your posts and blog!

thank you. i'm glad that people could feel that way about the things i made and thought about stuff i care about. irregardless, i would prefer that people did not share my old posts from this blog.

i will do it anyway.

i cannot stop you, so there isn't really any point in pleading. i just thought i'd make a little info post for people who are inquiring. after this, there won't be any "posts" from me. if there are relevant questions or messages i might reply to them or just update this post.

thank you for reading and for enjoying my blog. goodbye !!!

#this has been a missive from ur friend valentine #sincere regards #vilz

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httpsserene · 7 months

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𝐡𝐭𝐭𝐩𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝟏 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥

𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝟐 : 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳 𝐣𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞/𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 & 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫/𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: for all people believe that werewolves are dangerous creatures, your wolf is pretty tame, even with some of his...quirks. this halloween you let him be the big bad wolf to your little red riding hood, while you give out candy to trick-or-treaters. what he doesn't know, is that you have your own trick-or treat planned for him after this– you're his treat tonight, but he's going to have to chase you first. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. smut. wolf shifter au. werewolves. no abo dynamics. outdoor sex. scent kink. vaginal sex. fingering. possessive behavior. predator/prey kink. tummy bulge. breeding kink. knotting (but not really). mention of heat/rut cycles. no protection. carlos’ filthy mouth. author may have cooked a little too hard 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 6k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: carlos sainz jr x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: peek-a-boo • red velvet

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: fair warning this is the most foul thing i’ve written ever. like, i thought the first upload was unsettling, but this is terrifying in comparison. i think i’m getting better tho, low key. no, this was not an excuse to write a breeding kink 😒. this was an excuse to spread my personal feeling that i think carlos sainz jr is a massive freak, and i will take no criticism on that 😩. but i do apologize for his foul ass mouth at the end. imma try and get these out quicker because i realized that if i’m releasing one fic every week, i will not be finishing this b4 the end of the month. there unfortunately will be no part two to this, it’s a standalone, i got so many things to write now, im sorry :( i hope you all enjoy it (i did an embarrassing amount of research for this aka twilight wiki), and thank you for all the support !!!

want to be added to my f1 kinktober taglist? or my general taglist? send me an ask!

thank you to my beta readers @saintslewis and @my-ylenia ! i appreciate y'alls quick feedback :)

cross-posted on my ao3, httpsss

have the link to my general masterlist, and my f1 kinktober masterlist ! and send me a private message if you'd like to be added to the beta reader waitlist for this special!

carlos is not a werewolf. carlos is a born wolf; he comes from a long familial line of shifters. while he and his wolf share a brain, carlos is in control one-hundred percent of the time. he can shift into a wolf at will and maintains awareness as the wolf. however, during the full moon, it’s extremely difficult for shifters to resist the call and refrain from transforming. werewolves, on the other hand, are created by a curse or from being bitten. they are forced to change into a beast every full moon, thirsting for blood and carnage. their humanity isn’t present in the half-wolf/half-human form; being a werewolf is like a parasitic disease. carlos’ family has found their calling in bringing a sense of order to the wild, and during full moons, their purpose is to contain and redirect the beastly werewolves from harming humans.

shifters are rare, and carlos prefers it that way (he doesn’t ever want to find out what tension multiple shifters on the grid could cause). his nature doesn’t give him any unfair advantages in an f1 car, sure, his reaction time may be a little quicker, and he heals faster–but, nothing that would classify as “cheating.” if he did have any extreme advantages, maybe he’d end max’s world champion streak, but that is not the case; anything about his nature still couldn’t make up ferrari’s shortcomings.

the only downside to being a shifter is how they’re mistaken for werewolves (even though they are obviously two completely different beings). the world doesn’t know about the shifter population at large, it’s mainly an “if you know you know” society, and werewolves are known to the masses with how many slaughters they’ve been caught doing from the beginning of time. which is massively unfortunate for carlos. if he were to be revealed as a wolf shifter, he’d probably lose everything he knows–formula one, his privacy, his family, you–and he would probably be scheduled for a public execution if those were still in place. he’s only trusted a small circle of people within formula one with the secret of his wolf; lando, charles, fernando, jon and rupert, and vasseur. it’s made his life easier having people that are aware of his true nature, so he can shift comfortably during race weekends if needed, when you are not able to join him.

regardless of how the world views carlos’ supernatural state, you genuinely don’t understand how people could be terrified of him. carlos is ‘the dream man’™, and you’re not accepting any critiques on that matter. he’s a personal-sized space heater, so you don’t have to worry about being cold at night–and he doesn’t even complain when you stick your icicle-like toes and fingers on him. he cleans without being told to, he’s an excellent home chef, he takes you golfing with him and even lets you caddy for him, he’s protective but in a respectful manner, and he even partial shifts around you so you can play with his ears and give him a good little scratch.

the only downside you could point out about carlos, is that he takes his wolf form a little too seriously.

carlos was raised to train his inner wolf into a controlled, unfazed, unshaken, apex-predator being. the wolf has one purpose and it’s to guard his territory, the people he loves, and to prevent any werewolf murder sprees. but, you wish he’d allow himself to relax, and have a little more fun in his wolf form.

you’ve started training him, funnily enough, to allow his wolf to be off the clock sometimes. subconsciously, in the comfort of the spanish villa you two call home, he’s started to allow his ears to pop out whenever he’s relaxed enough. the spaced out and confused faces and noises he makes, with his head and ears flicking and tilting to match, invokes an unhealthy sense of cute-aggression from you. sometimes, you manage to persuade him enough to shift to his full wolf form, and that’s where you find the most difficulty of calming his behavior.

he’ll go around sniffing and rubbing his body along all of the walls and corners of the house to spread his claim, and even refuses to nap or sleep with you while he is shifted. he’d sit in the doorway of the room you were in and remain in an alert state to protect you from whatever dangers that may appear, even though he’s already sure none are present. there was one time you were able to convince him to lay with you under the guise of you being cold; he allowed himself to curl around you and rest his snout on your chest, but the way his ears remained cocked let you know that he was wide awake even though his eyes were shut.

he’s thoroughly unamused whenever you try and get him to play with dog toys. it doesn’t matter if it squeaks, crinkles, or smells–he wants nothing to do with them. he can’t say no to an old-fashioned game of fetch, though. whenever you grab a stick from outside, you hear his thundering paws running towards you before skidding to a rapid stop, his haunches firmly touching the ground while his front paws anxiously tip tap in front of him, and his whole body shakes with anticipation for your throw. and from there you started to get him to appreciate tennis balls and frisbees in fetch games. even though his massive jaw and teeth have you ordering replacements way too often.

and the thought of his massive ears, eyes, hands, and teeth—led you to your halloween costume idea.

little red riding hood.

it makes the most perfect amount of sense. carlos can be the big bad wolf to your red riding hood! except he refused, stating that it would be shameful to use his wolf in such a manner. of course, you're disappointed at his refusal, but you respect his boundaries at the end of the day. so, you were just going to have piñon (your dog) be your big bad wolf. and then, that fell through as well.

piñon was staying over at carlos’ parents house a few days before halloween, and ended up losing a battle to a mouse that he tried to catch through a fence. the fence scratched him a little deeply on his tummy and he ended up getting stitches and a cone of shame. while his stitches are in, he’s staying with reyes and carlos sr.–and, you’re back to square one; you’re ‘big bad wolf’-less-ness.

you don’t attempt to try and convince carlos to join you again, you just decide to keep your original costume and sit out on the porch handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters, missing the other half to your costume. it’s very simple attire, just the red-hooded cloak and a picnic basket full of candy. carlos peeks from the front window’s curtains and watches you smile sweetly at all the children and compliment them on their costumes. he hears you fein terror when kids dressed as werewolves ask for candy, he hears you fawn over the cutest kids and their costumes, and he hears your happiness falter when anyone asks where your ‘big bad wolf’ is.

you’re in the middle of explaining how piñon wasn’t feeling well to a little girl, and you hear a muffled bark. your head perks up in question, thinking you just imagined it, but then you hear scratches on the door. confused, you go to open the door and carlos comes slinking out to join you on the porch.

his wolf is massive, when standing on four paws his head nearly reaches your chest, his coat is a silky coloration of a brown so dark it appears black, but in direct sunlight it radiates warmth. his paws are larger than your face and the claws he’s got on them are big enough to match. the little girl shrieks and hides behind her dad’s legs, and the dad backs them up off the porch frantically.

“no, no, no,” you reassure them, and carlos tries to shrink his body behind your legs, whining lowly, “he’s friendly! i promise he’s a sweetheart, he’s actually pretty shy!” carlos skimpers behind you, quickly managing to shove himself under the outdoor couch, only allowing his head to peek out from underneath. the dad doesn’t quite believe you, and just apologizes and just ushers his daughter to the next house.

you sigh, and plop down a little forcefully on the couch. you hear carlos crawl from underneath the seat, and rise to a sitting position at your side, resting his snout on your lap. you look down and purse your lips at his wide, apologetic brown wolf eyes and raise your hand to give him a few pets. you question softly, “are you going to join me for the whole night?”

carlos blinks at you once. an eager grin spreads across your lips, “yay! aren’t you just such a good boy,” you tease sarcastically. carlos huffs, the force of his exhale swooshing your cloak, before he turns his back to you in dismissal. you laugh at him, and the next group of kids run up yelling for candy, and carlos tries to appear as small as he can so he doesn’t scare these ones away.

after the initial scare carlos caused, everyone seems fascinated at your “wolf-dog,” and how well mannered and amicable he is. carlos lets all the kids who are brave enough pet him, not snapping once even if they accidentally tug at his tail or ears, and sits incredibly still so he has no chance of accidentally crushing them. several dads even pause to give him a sturdy little dad-pat on his side, and inform you of how “that’s a good guard dog you got there, he takes a pat like no problem.” you even impress a few of the moms with how well trained you have him, and how he listens to all of your commands and can do many tricks (so far, the most impressive trick is having him harmonize to your voice with a howl). carlos preens silently next to you whenever little kids can’t help themselves from telling you how pretty you are (his tail thumping on the floor the only giveaway), and seethes when overzealous men and women try and hit on you (growls rumbling out of his chest). you brush off their advances and charmingly tell them, “i don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate me cheating on him…especially in front of his dog,” with a disguised smirk. overall, carlos does so well cosplaying as your big bad wolf, that you decide to give him the present you planned all along.

after the halloween celebrations die down, you and carlos return inside, and you lead the way up to the bedroom as he trots behind you. carlos shifts back into his naked human form, and you giggle and pull him into a hug.

“thank you, my love! everyone loved you tonight–you know you didn’t have to join me outside, right? i didn’t want you to feel pressured to do something you were–” carlos cuts you off with a chaste kiss to the cheek and dismisses your worry, “mi luna, i wouldn’t have gone out there if i did not want to, sí? i am happy i could make the night more fun for you, by playing your “big bad wolf.’”

you pull away with a small ‘aha!’ of remembrance and rush into the en-suite bathroom, closing the door behind you. carlos stares at the space you were just occupying and shrugs, figuring you have to pee really badly–considering you were sitting on the porch the whole night without a break– and that you’re probably changing out of the costume, before turning to the closet and pulling on clothes.

he hears the toilet flush, and then the water runs for a minute too long–almost like you’re covering up any noises carlos may hear with his enhanced hearing, but he doesn’t think that you’d have anything to hide from him, anyways. you fling the door open excitedly, still in your riding hood, and pull carlos away from the closet and start dragging him downstairs.

“ay–” carlos objects, “i don’t have a shirt on yet, mi amor! where are you rushing too?”

you don’t respond verbally, only glancing back at him with a cheeky smirk, and continue to lead him to the backyard. you drop carlos hand once you’ve stepped outside, shutting the sliding glass door behind you two. walking back to him, you stand in front of him–pausing as you stare into the warm depth of his brown eyes, before you take one step backwards. carlos automatically goes to parrot your movement, attempting to take one step towards you to eliminate the space, but you ‘aht-aht’ at him disapprovingly causing him to freeze. you press your hand against his chest near his clavicle and guide him to his original position. patting once with intention, you order, “stay.”

carlos’ eyes widen in shock, but he doesn’t say anything. he allows you to back away from him, twitching towards you when your bare feet slip off the paved patio onto the grass. you come to a stop when you’re halfway into the yard.

carlos calls out to you, confused, “amor? what’s this, i do not want to play fetch right now–”

“we’re not going to play fetch carlos,” you start, “we’re going to play a new game called chase.” carlos does his adorable head tilt at you, continuing to question your actions, “qué? i don’t know the game you are talking about, mi luna–wh-what-qué haces (what are you doing)?”

you unbutton the collar of the cloak, and spread the front open, from where you wrapped it tightly around your body, and reveal a matching set of the scantiest, laciest, and most mouthwatering red bra and panties. carlos is stunned to silence, mouth dropping open as his eyes fall to your exposed body. the way your smooth melanated skin is complimented by the rosso corsa-colored lingerie, the way you’re holding open the cloak to allow him to get his fill of your body, the way your hips seductively rock from one side to the other, the way the smell of your arousal begins to become apparent to his sensitive nose–before you abruptly wrap the cloak shut, tying the waistband tightly and shattering the moment.

“we are going to play a game called ‘chase’, carlito. where i run into the woods behind us, and you…chase me.”

carlos’ entranced state is shaken by his protective instincts, “qué? no, no! absolutely not. the woods are dangerous, mi amor–”

“carlosss,” you whine, “you patrol the woods every other week! you know there’s nothing that could hurt me out here, because you’ve already gotten rid of it. you’re going to give chase and you’re going to like it!”

carlos shifts anxiously, not fully persuaded, so you decide to not give him a choice, “ten minutes, love. after that, come catch me.” you turn and run into the densely packed woods, ignoring carlos’ exclamation for you to stop. he doesn’t suddenly appear and stop your disappearance into the forest, so that’s how you know the game is on.

your chest is already heaving from adrenaline and excitement as you run through the forest, ducking under branches and hopping over rocks and fallen tree limbs. you pant and the nerves start to set in, not out of fear of what’s in the forest, but fear of giving carlos an easy chase. you stop suddenly and take a sharp turn, running for a minute that way before you circle back and run at a slight diagonal in the opposite direction, overlaying your scent to try and give some added time to your pursuit. running deeper into the woods, it begins to get darker, the only light source are the scraps of moonlight that manage to find a pocket to slip through. your eyes adjust to the reduced light level, pupils blown wide not only in necessity but also arousal, and you come to a halt again. you quickly slip off your red panties and hang them on the nearest branch, hoping that the wetness that’s already seeped into them distracts him from your true location.

you start to traverse your way through an uphill part of the forest, exhaustion finally beginning to become apparent after that first rush of adrenaline–but then, a familiar howl cuts through the air; your time is up, and carlos is loose in the forest, hunting after you. reinvigorated, you continue running deeper and deeper into the trees, changing directions multiple times losing track of exactly where you’re going.

the wolf fucking losing it. you–his luna, his mate–are out in the forest he protects—his territory—inciting him into a relieving game of chase, allowing him to be just as uncontrolled as he wants in his pursuit of you. he’s quick to catch on your trail, seeing the way you’re rushed heavy steps in the start leaves an easy path for him to follow. and then, he notices you employed different tactics to delay him. he catches himself running in circles you intentionally plotted, and notices how your scent and foot-trail overlaps multiple times. and then, he can tell you switched from running with the full bottom of your foot and just on your toes for a moment to disrupt your trail. his breaths have started to mirror yours, forceful with the adrenaline from a good chase, and he freezes. he smells you.

he speeds up to a full run, paws thundering against the earth under him, loud and uncaring if you hear him coming or not, before he bursts through the trees where your scent is the strongest. but, you’re not there. the wolf whines disbelievingly, bringing his nose to the floor to analyze your scent trail before a glimpse of red catches his attention from the corner of his eye. he spins around swiftly, expecting it to be the swish of your cloak as you run from, but it’s not you.

it’s the damn red panties you kindly left behind for him.

he rocks up on his hind legs to knock it off the branch to the ground, and presses his muzzle to the barely there fabric, inhaling your arousal deeply. an unhinged growl tumbles his way out of his chest, before it morphs into another full howl, letting you know how much he appreciates your present. carlos won’t be fooled by any more of your tricks again, and he takes off running.

you’ve taken a brief break from running, leaning forward with your hand against your knees as you catch your breath. it’s loud around you; bugs are buzzing and you can hear the hoots of several owls echoing through the forest. suddenly, it goes completely silent, quicker than a drop of a pin. you slam your mouth shut, quieting your inhales, and you slowly shift your stance into a running position, trying to use your hearing to tell what direction the wolf is coming from. you hear the rustle of a tree on your right, and you make to leap away into a run–but it’s too late.

you’re caught, large hands around your waist and a leg sweeps your own out from underneath you and takes you to the ground. a scream of surprise escapes from your chest but is cut off with a heavy hand laying over your mouth.

carlos is looming over you, kneeled in between your legs, bare as the day he was born, chest heaving, and pupils wide from the thrill and pleasure of a successful hunt. “caught you. i could hear your little heart racing in your chest.” he boasts.

carlos removes his hand only to replace it with his lips, and the passion he bathes your lips with fragments your mind. you can only part your lips and let him ruin you as he pleases. his plump lips suckle on yours before his tongue begins an eager exploration of your mouth–a desperate moan falls from his lips into yours. one of his hands comes to grasp at the curls on your head, tilting you for a better angle; and you raise one of yours to grasp at his shoulder for stability, but carlos startles away. an animalistic growl rumbles through his chest in dissent, and he grabs both of your wrists in one of his hands, and pins them above your head.

you’re at a loss for words, unsure if you want to moan or plead to suck his dick, but carlos doesn’t give you a chance to decide.

he allows himself one last soul-sucking kiss, before he presses nips into your cheeks and jaw, leading towards your neck. carlos buries his nose deeply into the spot where your jaw meets your neck, and takes an excessive inhale of your scent. dios mio. the way you smell. delectable and rich soaked with lust and the dregs of fear still clinging in the surroundings. he gets to smell this for the rest of his life. another growl erupts possessively, and you can only moan depravedly at the sound.

carlos continues to lavish kisses on his way down your body, bruising them into your skin before soothing over with a pass of his tongue. the hand in your hair releases, coming down to allow him to grasp at your chest, brushing over your nipples in a quick motion; the lace scrapes against them and the feeling is paralyzing. he tugs the rossi corsa bra underneath your breasts, and they spill out over the top in a manner so obscene it forces another moan out of carlos. he ducks his head again, to tease at your nipples with his tongue, alternating between flicking and sucking at them randomly. he ignores your hips are rolling up, attempting to get some friction, and your hands in his wrists flexing and tugging to escape.

he frees your nipples from the assault of his lips, and starts sucking hickeys into your underboob with a pleased hum. the change in sensation and slight ache, has another scream bursting from your chest, it’s too much.

“c-c-carlos, c’mon! please, please—oh!” cutting yourself off with a gasp, as carlos abruptly pulls away, his large hand releasing your wrists, to scooch down and bully your legs open with a free hand and shoves his broad tanned shoulders between your thighs.

you’re dripping everywhere. the tops of your inner thighs are smeared with stickiness and you’ve created a wet spot on the cloak underneath you. a growl fully spills from carlos’ chest, shaking the air around you and causing the hairs on the back of your neck to rise. he is an apex predator, you should at least be slightly terrified, but all you do is moan in response, more arousal leaking from you, and you start begging.

“carlos!p-please touch me! lobo mió—please, dont you wanna taste me? i want you to eat me,” you sob, “eat me out! you h-h-hunted me, take what you want!”

carlos laughs sharply at your obscenity, “oh? mi luna, you’re so bad, aren’t you? you should be scared of having my teeth so close to your pretty pussy, but here you are: begging, leaking, and your little hole winking and clenching at me, sí?”

you quickly agree, “yesyesyes, for you, for you, always. please carlos,” one of your hands flies down to grip at his hair and try and tug his mouth onto you. carlos snaps his teeth at you, and you quickly pull your hand away from his head, leaving it hovering in the air.

carlos growls, “don’t rush me, mi luna, i always take care of you, no?” you hum in agreement, both of your hands falling to your sides and gripping the grass next to you in anticipation.

carlos dips his head and swipes his tongue gently at your left inner thigh, and groans deeply. it’s your scent liquified; he licks his lips and smacks his mouth, savoring your slick. after that one sample he can’t help himself, he loses himself and makes it his personal mission to clean up every last drop of you that spilled. carlos’ mouth is sloppy, and he’s uncaring of how your thighs begin to shake in oversensitivity from the way his beard is scratching your thighs up, red lines appearing faintly on your brown skin. you start squirming away from his mouth, and carlos huffs, annoyed.

his hands switch to gripping the underside of your thighs, and he pushes them upwards near your chest, and commands, “stop moving, mi amor, or i’ll stop completely.” you moan a soft breathy okay, and your moan pitches into a sharp gasp. carlos runs his nose up your cunt parting the lips, more wetness spreading, before he pauses at your clit; and deeply inhales your scent from where it’s the richest. you cry, half bewildered and half humiliated, at your boyfriend eagerly sniffing at your warmth.

carlos rumbles out, “mierda, mi luna. mmm, so sweet—i cannot wait. i have to get in you, sí?” carlos doesn’t wait for a response and presses two fingers inside you. a cry escapes you at the sudden stretch, but your scent doesn’t sour with pain—carlos continues. he rushes through stretching you; his fingers scissoring you open methodically, consciously avoiding your g-spot. the squelching noises coming from your cunt, has tears gathering in your eyes in embarrassment, even though it’s fairly clear that carlos enjoys it.

his fingers slide out a minute later, and that same hand reaches for his dick to begin spreading your wetness over it. carlos hisses, and with a clenched jaw, he asks, “mi amor—estas lista (are you ready)?” his body is now vibrating with the force he’s holding himself back with, waiting for your approval.

your hands release the earth, blades of grass you ripped out of the ground falling from between your fingers, and motion carlos to come closer and lean over you, dwarfing your body completely, “yeah, lobo mio, fuck me.”

carlos whimpers, head falling to rest in your neck. his hand grasps tighter at the underside of your left thigh—a bruise forming already—and pushes it firmly to your chest, your right leg bends slightly and you press your knee to his hip, urging him forward.

carlos guides the head of his cock with a trembling hand to your cunt, and gently presses in. you sharply inhale, holding your breath, until the head pops in fully, causing both you and carlos to moan in pleasure. carlos continues sinking deeper within you as controlled and slowly as he can, not wanting to cause you any discomfort. however, you’re completely gone already. eyes shut in bliss, mouth open, drool already leaking from the corner of your lips. carlos lifts his head to read your expression, and smirks, you’re so easy for him.

he bottoms out, feeling how your walls squeeze him tightly, and flutter in desperation, like they can’t quite accommodate to his size. carlos waits patiently, chest heaving again from the strain of not taking you, and watches how you squirm underneath him, not knowing if you want to squirm away or closer. you adjust to his presence a handful of seconds later, and grind your hips up to feel the delicious drag of his dick inside of you. carlos’ eyes widen and a shocked groan escapes him before he rolls his own hips down to meet you.

carlos sets a quick pace from the beginning, he can’t be bothered with building up his speed slowly—he has a claim to lay on you; and to any other being in this forest who can smell how alluring you are, you’re his mate.

moans are being punched out of your chest with every one of his thrusts, harmonizing with his matching grunts of effort. your back is sliding against the grassy floor, and your shoved up with every one of his deep thrusts, and you sink your nails into his back in pleasure, and carlos growls into your ear at the feeling.

you manage to find words to praise your wolf, “s-so deep in me, carlos—yeahyeahyeah, deeper, baby, please—ah! faster, carlos, faster—“ and carlos does his best to fulfill your wishes; his mouth rests right next to your ear; his panting breaths, and moans only making you squeeze around him tighter.

he soon tires of your orders; he’s not doing his best if he hasn’t fucked the words out of you. carlos suddenly pulls out of you, and you cry out angrily with a furrowed brow, “no, carlos! don’t stop, what are you—“ and with a rough commanding tone, he interrupts you, “stop whining.” your mouth slams shut, the sound of your teeth clacking together mortifyingly loud, your eyes wide with shock.

carlos softens, patting at your hip gently to reassure you that he’s not angry. he then flips you over (cloak spread on the ground underneath you), up on your elbows and knees, and makes to mount you properly—like the wolf he really is. the air is thick, and with your back turned to him in such a vulnerable manner, adrenaline rushes through you again. carlos laughs down demeaningly at you, as your scent thickens even more with lust and smidge of fear.

rattled at his amusement, you try to push up onto your hands and knees, but carlos automatically pushes you back down, with a heavy, hot and veiny hand scruffing you at the base of your neck. you moan out highly, as carlos forces you back down to your elbows. he releases your neck and smooths his hand down to the small of your back to deepen your arch just the way he wants, and to pull your hips up to match.

all he says is, “now, you stay, just like that—and be a pretty hole for me.”

carlos bullies his dick back inside you, and doesn’t allow you any time to adjust in the this new position. he roughly pounds into you, now only caring about getting his release—he’ll make you cum after he’s thoroughly enjoyed his prize for hunting you down.

carlos’ grunts are animalistic, and his thrusts are too fast for you to try and buck back against him to match his rhythm; all you can do is sit pretty and take what he gives you—just like he said. you can only ramble out four words in between your moans; ‘carlos,’ ‘full,’ and ‘too deep.’ carlos rumbles approvingly at your chanting this time around, and pulls your hips back even closer to dig as deep as he can, uncaring of how you're trying to run from his thrusts.

your start babbling at the constant pressure and drag against your g-spot, he’s so deep, in this position, hitting areas he can only reach and causes your legs to give out. carlos’ hips don’t falter, as he catches you pulling you back up with a hand around your navel. and then his hips stutter in shock with a crude moan. he grabs one of your hands, causing you to fall flat on your face, head turned to the side with your cheek pressed to the cool red cloak—and guides it to your stomach and holds it there.

carlos resumes thrusting, and preens, “mmm, can you feel that, mi amor? i’m fucking you so deep—ah—you can feel it through your skin.” you can feel it, and the pressure from carlos pressing your hand on his own dick from outside of your body, has your eyes rolling back and tears streaming down your face. your legs go limp again, but carlos isn’t fazed; he continues to hold your body up for you. “so good for me,” carlos rambles, “mio luna—my mate.”

abruptly, you feel it. the press of his knot against you, and in a sudden moment of clarity, you start to beg.

“—los! kn-knot, please! ‘arlos, breed—ahahah—breed me deep and full—oh!”

carlos gnashes his teeth, growling savagely, before he leans down and forcefully bites down at the back of your neck—not enough to break skin, but enough to remind you of his teeth for a few days. you shudder, air stolen from your lungs, and you have no choice but to cum.

carlos feels the way your pussy flutters around him, failing to push him out with your release flooding your thighs, and how it continues to drag him deeper within you in a hypnotizing motion to milk him dry. carlos struggles to thrust once, twice, thrice more times with how tightly your cunt is gripping him and shoves his cock as deep in you as possible without allowing his knot to slip in, filling you up nice and good—breeding you just like you wanted.

carlos rocks you two both through the aftershocks, ensuring his cum coats your insides thoroughly, only slowing to a stop when your combined release starts frothing at where the two of you are joined, and your hips start squirming away from him. he guides you back, sitting you on his lap, keeping himself inside you, as he rotates you to face him.

your makeup is ruined. mascara and eyeliner staining your cheeks with the tracks of your tears, red lipstick smudged on your brown skin, eyes wide and still glassy with moisture. carlos swipes his thumb around your lips, fading the smudges as best as he can.

you smile softly, and ask with a light tone, “wasn’t that fun, mi lobo?”

carlos can only laugh softly, and nod, “yes—i did not know that you would enjoy being bred on the forest floor that much.”

your cheeks flush again after they began to cool, and you smack carlos shoulder in embarrassment. your brow furrows, and your mouth drops into a pout, “why didn’t you knot me?”

carlos raises an eyebrow at you teasingly, “ah, sí! you were begging for it like whore—“

“carlos!”

“i’m joking, i’m joking, mi luna! of course you were begging, more like a slut for my knot than a bitch in h—“

“dios mio, carlos! your fucking mouth after you cum—jesus christ!”

he can only laugh harder, extra pleased at how he gets you to fluster so easily, even after he just railed you in the middle of the forest.

“ay, mi amor—i’ll stop, im sorry,” he starts still grinning cockily, “pero, i did not give you the knot you begged for so sweetly, because my rut is in three days, sí? and i can’t afford to bruise your pretty pussy with my hefty knot before then, no?”

you balk. carlos’s semi-annual rut is a force of its own, you're practically out of commission for a week after it, unable to close your legs from how raw it leaves you. his knot bruises your insides every time you take it, so he definitely made the smart decision by not folding to your cries of desperation.

the scent of the two of you's satisfaction permeates the air, intertwining with the smell of sex, and carlos can only lean forward to mouth at your neck to taste how well he took care of you tonight.

“mmm,” carlos hums, “now—do you want me to carry you back to our den so i can finally get my mouth on you and clean you up, or do you want me to make another mess of you right here, mi luna?”

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