#even less sure about spoilers on this one than last one

[dancingbirdie]

Behold my labor of love: Astarion SMUT.

This idea came to me after writing my last fic Something Imagined / Something Real. I wanted to backtrack and reimagine Astarion and Tav's first night together after the tiefling party.

If smut is not your thing, no worries! You can scroll down to the first set of asterisks (***) to avoid reading those parts. You don't miss much at all plot-wise.

This is my first time ever writing smut. Please be kind. And I hope you enjoy!

EDIT: This is a flashback fic! Part 2 is Something Imagined / Something Real. And subsequent vignettes to come!

I Want It To Be You

Rating: Mature/NSFW

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: Detailed description of consensual sex, Tav's first time having sex, descriptions and references to Astarion's trauma/trauma responses, description of panic attack/anxiety, minor Act 1 and Act 2 spoilers, FLUFF, angst

“Are you absolutely certain about this? About… me?” 

If she weren’t already lying naked in his arms, she would have shed her clothes for him for that response alone. He wasn’t treating her like some oddity. And he was honoring her decision. It was more than anything Tav had dared hope for. 

Her eyes welled with tears that threatened to fall. She laughed, suddenly elated, before nodding her head vigorously. 

“I’m sure, Astarion,” she confirmed. “I want this to be with you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TWO WEEKS AGO

THE NIGHT OF THE TIEFLING PARTY

Let’s wait until things quiet down. Once the others are asleep, we’ll find each other. 

Astarion’s parting words replayed over and over again in her head as she padded quietly through the woods, away from the campsite. From the comfort and familiarity of the party. They hadn’t agreed on a meeting place, but Tav assumed his heightened senses would locate her soon enough. She was grateful for the extra moments to herself. Her stomach was knotted from nerves and anticipation for what the night might bring. 

She hadn’t told him that she was a virgin. He probably deserved to know, she realized that, but she hadn’t wanted him to change his mind just because he’d be taking something no one else had before. It was her choice, her body to give, she reasoned to herself. Whether for the first time or the hundredth time, it shouldn’t matter. Right?

Her past experiences certainly influenced her reticence. Divulging that particular information about herself had resulted in people immediately halting romantic pursuits with her, or leering at her like she was some sort of top-shelf prize they were about to take home. She didn’t want to know if, or where, Astarion might land on that spectrum. Didn’t think her heart could take either reaction from him. Besides, she’d read enough of those dirty romance tomes and scrolls throughout her life (for educational purposes, of course, she justified to herself) to have a general understanding of what happens during sex. Surely she could bluff her way through this. Right?

She wanted to please him. Wanted him to want her as much as she wanted him. It was no secret that Astarion had quickly become her favorite companion in this unlikely band of heroes she was traveling with. He was absolutely gorgeous, of course, but the longer she lingered around him, the less that seemed to matter. He was funny, in a devilish sort of way. Intelligent and cunning. Perceptive. And, while it was obvious that it unsettled the rest of the group, she genuinely appreciated how he prioritized his own self before bending over backwards to help someone else. Secretly, she wished she could emulate that a bit more in her own life, but years and years of people pleasing to win what scraps of affection she could was a hard habit to break. 

Clearly she was no closer to doing so, as there she stood. In the middle of a forest. Preparing for a midnight tryst with a person she had just met but grown to genuinely care for. And she wasn’t even sure that he would, or wanted to, return her sentiments. 

“There you are. I’ve been waiting.”

Astarion’s voice broke the mundane quiet of the forest that had lulled her into such ruminations. She turned toward the direction she had heard him speak and marveled at the sight of him slipping gracefully between the trees, moving ever slowly toward her. 

He had removed his shirt and was clad only in his leather breeches and boots. His alabaster skin practically glowed in the silvery light of the moon. He was the most beautiful person Tav thought she had ever laid eyes on, and it wasn’t only because she could now see the taut, sinewy muscles of his abdomen. He was perfectly fit in an elegant sort of way. Not like Halsin, with large bulging biceps, thick torso and sturdy legs. No, Astarion was like a leopard. Lithe, agile, regal even. And his face. Gods, the poets and painters could opine for centuries on his beautiful face without ever growing weary. 

“Is that so?” Tav called out in reply, walking to close the distance between them. By her estimate, she sounded much braver than she felt. Good. 

Astarion nodded, raising one hand to cup her cheek. “Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you,” he finished, the pad of his thumb grazing sensually across her lower lip. 

“You don’t have me yet,” she whispered teasingly, although both of them were clearly aware of how she had shivered when he touched her. How her head bowed into his touch, like a lovesick little thing. 

“Don’t I?” he smirked. “You’re here. And I don’t think you want to talk.” He stepped closer, completely absolving them both of any personal space. His free hand came to rest along the curve of her waist. 

“I think you want to be known. To be tasted.” He purred, lowering his head so that his lips ghosted the shell of her ear while he spoke.

Tav was thankful for the steadiness of his hands on her. His insinuations alone were quickly rendering her a quaking mess. But she didn’t want to be a selfish lover, and so she collected herself enough to pose a question in return.

“What do you want, Astarion?” she asked, bringing a hand to rest softly against his chest, over his heart.

She noted the way his brows drew down briefly, seeming almost confused by her question. But as quick as it came, the expression vanished, replaced by something much more confident. More assertive.

“What do any of us want?” he breathed. “Pleasure. Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy.”

Gently, so very gently, he began to trail hot, open-mouth kisses down the column of her neck. Tav’s breath caught audibly in her throat, and Astarion hummed in approval at her response.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?,” he murmured into the crook of her neck. “To lose yourself in me?”

It was fast becoming difficult for her to string two thoughts together. Astarion touching her like this sent shockwaves throughout her body. That curious heat she’d only known from touching herself began to kindle low in her belly. She clenched her thighs together subconsciously, trying to sate that feeling the fire was stirring up inside her. Astarion noticed her squirming, to his immense satisfaction.

“Well?” he coaxed in between kisses across her collarbone. His prompting reminded Tav that she had yet to answer his question, so lost was she in the feeling of his cool lips against her rapidly warming skin.

“I want to be with you. Share this night with you,” she answered honestly, unable to spare enough brain capacity to consider whether or not it was a good idea to be so forthcoming. 

“Such a charitable little thing,” he chuckled. “How could I deny you?”

And then his mouth captured hers. It was a searing, passionate kiss. A kiss that promised so much more pleasure to come. One that Tav had never known before, despite having partaken in her fair share of kisses over the years. But this kiss? This was the kiss of time-fated lovers. And Tav was desperate to match Astarion’s pace, desperate to feel more, more, more.

She moaned as he ran his tongue lightly against the seam of her lips, granting him entry to fully sweep in and plunder her mouth proper. Her fingers carded through his silvery blonde curls, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. He groaned in response, the sound vibrating in her mouth. 

She finally was forced to break their kiss after a few moments, hungrily gulping in air to alleviate her starving lungs. Astarion moved to ravage her neck once more, licking and sucking the soft delicate skin there. He gripped her ass possessively as he did so, walking her backwards until he was pressing her into the nearest tree.  

He lifted a knee to knock her legs apart before raising it higher to press into the juncture of her thighs. He delighted at how Tav immediately parted her legs for him, how she moaned from the pressure, how she subconsciously began grinding against him. 

“Look at you, you naughty thing” he crooned in her ear. “Riding my leg for some relief?”

Primal behavior called out, a scarlet blush immediately bloomed on Tav’s neck and cheeks. It only goaded Astarion further. 

“Go on then, darling. Rut against me. But I’m getting these lovely tits free first,” he whispered.  

He began undoing the laces on the front of her corset. Tav watched his progress, entranced by the gracefulness of his long, slender fingers. She was nearly trembling with anticipation. Once finished, she helped him extract her from the offending garment and allowed him to lift her chemise up, over her head, so that she was fully bare from the waist up. The cool night air turned her skin to gooseflesh, her nipples hardening.  

The sensation roused her lust-addled brain enough to realize just how vulnerable she was, standing there half-naked before him. She’d never been so exposed to another person before. Her fingers fluttered as she fought the sudden bout of nerves that insisted she cover her breasts from view. 

“Don’t you dare,” Astarion growled, plainly reading the self-conscious expression on her face. “I’ve been dying to see these for days now,” he continued, cupping one full breast and flicking her nipple lightly with his thumb. 

It sent a pulse thrumming directly to her core, and Tav moaned openly at the sensation. She could feel her simple linen breeches were completely drenched, was certain she was also dampening Astarion’s leg as she continued to grind against him.

Astarion chuckled, clearly pleased by her reaction. 

“So responsive,” he whispered before lowering his mouth to latch onto her breast. He sucked lightly, while his hand continued its assault on the other. She fisted his hair in one hand, kissing the top of his head lovingly while he worked her into a frenzy.

Tav felt like she was quickly losing any ability to maintain balance. Her body was aching, whining, for more. She wanted to be laid out on the ground, wanted him to press her into the soft earth, taking everything. 

“Astarion, please,” she panted, pulling at his curls. He groaned in response, releasing her nipple from his mouth. 

“Please what, pet?” he teased, kissing and licking up her sternum. 

“I need… more,” she whined, bucking against his leg. 

He huffed a laugh before sweeping her up in one smooth motion and lowering her to the soft grass beneath their feet. 

He began to loosen the fastenings of her breeches with a practiced ease. Tav watched, breathless, as he slid the fabric down her thighs, his mouth following with indolent, open-mouthed kisses. Each touch of his lips on her heated skin left her skin tingling, her hips canting slightly into the open air.

Finally bare before him, she watched as Astarion surveyed her from where she lay beneath him. In nearly all respects, he looked primed and ready to ravage her. His nostrils flared, detecting the heady scent of her arousal. His chest rose and fell with shallow, ragged breaths. For the first time, she took note of the considerable erection straining against the leathers he still wore. 

After a moment, he came down to lie beside her, pulling her onto her side so that her chest was pressed flush against his. He trailed a hand down her side, over the rise and fall of her curves, until he reached her thigh. He hiked her leg onto his hip.

But something was off. Amid her clouded thoughts, Tav thought she could sense it, even if she couldn’t precisely put a finger on it. Perhaps it was the look in his eyes? Or the perfect nature of his behavior? He seemed almost too practiced, too formulaic. Like an actor who’s rehearsed their lines to the point that the words have lost their meaning. He was there with her, but somehow he wasn’t, at the same time. 

“Are you all right?” Tav asked in a hushed voice, lifting a hand to cup his neck. She rubbed soothing circles with her thumb across his jawline.

“I’m more than all right, darling,” he replied with a smirk, squeezing her ass lightly.

 “You seem like… you’re not wholly present,” she explained.

“It’s difficult to decide what I’d like to do to you first,” he reasoned, sidestepping her unspoken question. “I’m torn between tasting you with my tongue, or fucking you with my fingers,” he smirked. 

Before she could respond, his fingers took an experimental swipe between her folds. She gasped at the feeling, her hips bucking against him. She watched, speechless, as he lifted that hand to suck the wetness from his fingers. Her wetness. In his mouth. 

He groaned in approval. “Mmm. You’re pure sweetness, darling.” 

All thoughts eddied from her mind. A singular, primal focus took over, and she suddenly clutched at Astarion’s neck with newfound ferocity. 

He seemed to know exactly how his behavior had affected her, if his impish grin was anything to go by. He lowered his hand to swipe against her once again, his fingers stopping to circle that sensitive bud at the apex of her thighs. Tav jerked in response, but Astarion had been prepared for it. He used his other arm to brace against her back, locking her in place against him. 

As she writhed against his hand, he repositioned himself to insert a finger inside her. She was deliciously warm and soaking wet. Soft, like velvet. His thumb continued to circle her clit, eliciting a long, low moan from Tav. Embarrassed, she attempted to muffle her voice by ducking her face into his chest. 

He chuckled again. “That’s it, sweet one. Let me hear you,” he goaded her. Her moans pitched higher in response. 

After a few moments of pistoning in and out of her, he inserted a second finger. But despite how drenched she was, he met considerable resistance, to his surprise. He stilled his fingers in response, uncertain. 

It took a moment for Tav to register that Astarion had stopped moving inside her. Caught somewhere between discomfort and satisfaction, the increased sense of fullness his two fingers brought was strange but not altogether unwelcome. She exhaled, but it came out as more of a hiss than a sigh. After a moment of stillness, she raised her head to look at him.

“What is it?” she questioned..

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” Astarion murmured. 

Tav flushed. He’d realized, despite her best efforts to cover up that truth. Absently, she wondered what had given her away. 

She said nothing at first, just studied him. He didn’t seem angry. But then again, she had quickly learned that Astarion was very skilled at masking his true feelings. 

“No. I haven’t,” she admitted.  

At her reply, he gently removed his fingers from inside her. He moved his hand to clutch her hip instead. 

She sighed, rolling onto her back, gazing up at the stars. “Is that going to be a problem for you?” 

Silence. It felt deafening in her ears. But then –  

“I’m a bad choice, darling,” he replied, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over her hip bone. She failed to see the sad smile that graced his mouth. “A terrible choice, really. For your first time.”

“It’s my decision,” she retorted, lolling her head to the side so she could look him straight in the eyes. “I want it to be you, Astarion. But if this is going to be a… problem for you, or become some ordeal where you feel guilty or weirdly triumphant, then we can just–” 

“It’s not a problem for me. It’s your decision,” he affirmed softly, interrupting the beginning of her tirade. Some unknown emotion flitted across his features. He schooled his expression before she could really identify it.

“But I have to ask,” he continued, studying her seriously. “Are you absolutely certain about this? About… me?” 

If she weren’t already lying naked in his arms, she would have shed her clothes for him for that response alone. He wasn’t treating her like some oddity. And he was honoring her decision. It was more than anything Tav had dared hope for. 

Her eyes welled with tears that threatened to fall. She laughed, suddenly elated, before nodding her head vigorously. 

“I’m sure, Astarion,” she confirmed. “I want this to be with you.”

His eyes softened, obviously touched by her response. It was the first time tonight, she realized, that he had appeared vulnerable to her. He was staring at her as though he were seeing her for the first time. Like he couldn’t believe that the woman between his arms was real. 

Without another word, he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss. His tongue swept in her mouth at the same time he inserted his fingers again, tasting her gasp of pleasure. His thumb began circling her clit once more, and Tav was powerless to silence her moans.

“Good. So good, sweet girl,” he whispered in her ear after a few moments. “You’re so close.”

She let loose a whine, squeezing her eyes shut as she chased that ever-nearing precipice inside her. Astarion’s voice in her ear only pushed her that much closer.

“That’s it. Come for me,” he urged, and she felt her orgasm rip through her at his words. Stars collided behind her eyes as she tumbled from that cliff of pleasure, Astarion holding her and whispering soft praises as she floated back down to earth. 

Eventually her eyes fluttered open to see Astarion smiling openly at her. She felt her lips stretch up to return his grin.  

“That was… incredible,” she breathed. 

He huffed a soft laugh. “I’m not nearly finished with you. Unless you’d like to sto–”

“No,” Tav blurted, a little too loudly, interrupting him. “No. I want more. Please. Show me.”

“Of course, darling” Astarion promised, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. He gently released her and stood, beginning to remove his own clothing. Tav watched him brazenly, drinking in the sight of him. 

She moaned softly as he removed his breeches, his impressive length springing free. He remained still, allowing her to take in the sight of him fully naked before her. Curious, she sat up and lifted a hand to wrap around him. She marveled at the way he felt. Like velvet-wrapped steel. She gave a tentative stroke, thrilling as he groaned in response. She stroked him again, harder, intent on learning how to give him as much pleasure as he’d already given her. 

But he stayed her wrist with a gentle touch of his hand. She paused, looking up at him, confused. 

“As exquisite as teaching you how to stroke me would be,” he explained in a sultry voice, “I’m much more interested in teaching you something else tonight.”

Tav nodded mutely, lying back once more. She opened her legs for him to return to her. Astarion smiled, lowering himself on top of her. He braced his forearms on either side of her head, one hand absently combing through her hair. His hips fit perfectly in the cradle of her thighs, and she moaned as she felt him gently nudge against her entrance. 

“This is going to hurt at first,” he explained in a hushed whisper. She nodded, her breathing a bit uneven in anticipation of what would come next. 

“But then it will stop. You’ll stretch around me. And then it will feel good,” he continued. 

She nodded again, trying to remain focused on his words. But the primal part of her mind was warring against her. And it was winning. She subconsciously bucked her hips into him, marveling as she felt him slip between her folds just slightly. He hissed at the sensation, clenching his jaw.  

“Greedy little thing,” he chastised teasingly. “All right, enough talking. But you will tell me if you need to stop, yes?” 

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, I promise.”

“Good girl,” he purred.

And then slowly, gently, he sheathed himself fully inside her with a groan. 

Tav gasped in response. It was unlike any feeling she had ever felt before. Astarion had been right; it was painful at first. A pinching sensation. A mind-bending feeling of fullness. But then, but then, the feeling was phenomenal. She felt her walls stretch to accommodate him, felt herself clench around him, accepting him in his entirety. 

Astarion’s head dropped to the crook of her neck. His whole body trembled, as if it was taking all his restraint to remain still so she could grow accustomed to him. 

She canted her hips into him a bit, testing the waters. He groaned again in response, and she released a breathy chuckle. 

He raised his head at the sound, peering down at her. “You little minx,” he breathed. “You have no idea what you’ve started.”

She thrilled at his words, crying out in ecstasy as he began to thrust in and out of her. The pace he set was addicting; the rhythm had her pushing her hips up to meet him, her legs locked around his back to pull him closer.

“You’re taking me so, so well, darling,” Astarion grunted, ratcheting up his pace. “You’re so tight. So. Perfectly. Fucking. Tight.” 

His words were a fuel to her flame. She cried out his name again and again as he continued to rut into her, reveling in the feeling of him claiming her completely and totally. She was lost to the sensations, adrift in the fullness of Astarion inside her. 

Finally, or perhaps all too soon, she felt his pace begin to grow more erratic. His hips lost their rhythmic pumping. His groans grew louder. Sensing his release was close, Tav clutched him tighter, digging her heels in his back to pull him closer, clenching around his length inside her. 

“Yes, yes, FUCK,” he barked all at once, and her eyes rolled back into her head as he slammed himself to the hilt inside of her one final time. She could feel his release spilling inside her. 

Lost for words, she simply held Astarion as he half-collapsed on top of her, one arm still braced on the ground beside her head. Listless, euphoric, and utterly at peace, Tav raised one arm to gently caress his back, listening to his erratic breaths slow. Distantly, she noted the raised, rough sensation of scars on his upper back, but she was too consumed by their mutual pleasure to give it a further thought. 

Eventually, Astarion slipped out of her. He lowered himself to lie down beside her, curling one arm around her waist. 

Tav closed her eyes and curled into his side, suddenly overcome with drowsiness. “Thank you, Astarion” she whispered faintly. 

“For what, my darling?” he crooned, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. 

“For making my first time so wonderful,” she replied. 

She was asleep before he could think of a sufficient response. 

***

The panic was a monstrous thing. Clawing at his chest, its vice-like grip squeezing his lungs until inhaling felt like breathing through a reed. He could barely think. Barely move. Barely registered the lovely woman still sleeping peacefully beside him. 

The part of his brain that wasn’t frozen in fear chastised himself for behaving this way. He had taken plenty of virgins before. In fact, he had sought them out specifically. They were a much easier prey. They became attached to him so quickly, attributed so much more meaning to their first bout of lovemaking than perhaps more… seasoned individuals. 

He should have been elated. She was obviously besotted with him. His plan to ensure her loyalty was moving forward without a hitch. So then why was he feeling so horrible?

He turned to observe Tav. So close to him and yet so far away. Swept into that blissful sleep that continued to elude him. He watched her chest rise and fall with deep, steady breaths. Watched her eyelids twitch as her mind made its way through some dream. She was so very vulnerable in this position. And so very trusting. Of him, of all people. 

Astarion didn’t like many people. But he had developed a fondness for Tav, despite the short period of time they had known one another. She treated him like a person, not a monster. Not like the others in their party. She seemed to accept him for who he was, cynicism and vanity and all. He couldn’t remember ever knowing someone as kind to him as she was. She was… incredible.

And then it struck him. He was developing… something… for her. Feelings? Affection? The sentiments were so foreign to him, he didn’t even know what to call it. 

But the realization caused panic to clutch him even tighter. No. He couldn’t feel this way. He wouldn’t. 

This thing with Tav was purely transactional. It had to be. There was no other viable option. She had needed to feel something with someone. He had needed to secure an ally. That was all.

That is all this is, he thought, quashing the weak sentimental part of his mind. 

And come morning, he resolved he would make certain that that was all this was for her as well.  

***

Tav woke to the sound of birds chirping, high in the trees above her. The early morning sunlight filtered in through the forest, dappling her skin and warming her in the places that it touched. Opening her eyes, she spied Astarion, already dressed and standing a few paces in front of her. 

His back was facing her, his face lifted toward the sun. She noted how he held his arms outstretched by his sides, palms facing up as though he were trying to collect all the sunlight pouring into their little grove. Despite his preternatural sense of hearing, he didn’t seem to be aware that she’d awoken, so lost was he in his enjoyment of the sun’s rays. 

Tav’s heart nearly swelled to bursting as she watched him. Before all of this, he hadn’t felt the sunlight on his skin in over 200 years. Now, he was reveling in it. His joy was such an innocent, pure thing. 

How many times had Tav taken the sun warming her skin for granted? Probably all of her life, she supposed. To see someone so appreciative of something so utterly mundane to her… well, it was a sobering reminder to acknowledge those little pleasures in life, especially the ones that seemed so constant to her. 

She also took the time to study the strange pattern of scars on his back. She had felt some of the rough ridges last night, as she clutched him closer while he spilled himself inside her. But she hadn’t realized just how intricate and intentional the markings were. The sight of them sparked a rage inside her. Whoever the monster was who’d done this to him, they deserved to pay a price worse than death. 

Someday soon, she swore she would ask him about those markings. But not today. Not right now. Not in the aftermath of spending such a wonderful night together. No, the only thing she wanted for them both today was to revel in post-coital bliss. 

Not wishing to startle him, Tav intentionally laid back to stretch out her blissfully sore muscles, rustling the grass and fallen leaves around her. She threw in a halfhearted yawn for good measure. Secretly, she hoped he would return to her, take her again in this quiet forest, beneath the warmth of the sun.

“You sleep light,” Astarion chuckled, half-turning to speak to her but not meeting her gaze. “I thought you’d be exhausted after last night.” 

Tav hesitated at his tone. It wasn’t cold per se, but he sounded much more guarded than he had been last night. Perhaps she was just being extra sensitive in light of what they had shared, she reasoned.

“Did you enjoy it?” she asked hesitantly. She watched his back, waiting for a reply. “It felt like… you weren’t truly there…” she added, after a beat of silence. 

“I was… holding back a little, it’s true,” he finally responded. “I didn’t want to lose control. Delicious as you were… I didn’t want to go too far.”

“Oh, I see,” Tav replied, a bit dismayed. “I’m sorry you felt that way.”

Astarion turned and gave her a trademark smirk. “Think nothing of it, darling. Now,” he intoned, clapping his hands together. “Shall we get on? We’ve wasted enough time already.”

The words were like a lance to her heart. 

“I… I didn’t consider it a waste,” she murmured, trying with some difficulty to hide her hurt. 

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Astarion huffed. “I just meant I’d like to break camp and get out of here before those tieflings drag us into another one of their messes.”

“Sure, of course,” Tav nodded, smiling up at him, though it came across as more of a grimace. Then she broke eye contact, bending over under the guise of collecting her discarded clothing. Really, she didn’t think she could look at him a moment longer without crying. 

“I still need to dress,” she said, attempting a casual sort of air. “You go ahead without me.”

She sensed rather than saw Astarion hesitate at her suggestion. 

“Are you sure? We’re a fair walk from camp. I can spare a few moments and wait.”

“Positive,” she replied with false cheer. “Go on ahead. The last thing either of us need is the party jeering at us if we’d return together.” 

“Fair point,” Astarion conceded. “All right. Then… I’ll see you, back at camp.” Then he was walking away, back toward the direction of their fellow party members.

Tav waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps before she let loose a quiet sob. She wasn’t exactly sure why she was crying. Maybe it was just the stress of everything that had finally overwhelmed her. Maybe it was how abysmally this morning had gone. She didn’t know how she’d expected the morning after a sexual tryst to go, but she certainly hadn’t imagined what had just taken place. She hadn’t expected Astarion to slip that aloof mask he wore so well immediately back on, not when it was still just the two of them here. 

Then again, she reasoned, perhaps there was a perfectly justifiable reason for his actions. They barely knew one another, after all. He didn’t owe her anything beyond general respect. They hadn’t made any promises or ties to one another. They had simply agreed on a night of pleasure. That night had passed on. She should move on as well. Right?

But she had hoped. Oh, she had hoped. That maybe last night could have been the start of something new for her. For both of them. She knew she was a dreamer at heart. But still, part of her couldn’t help but hope that some silver lining would come out of all of this mess. 

In any case, she knew she needed to pull herself together before reentering the camp. She would not let anyone see her cry, especially Astarion. So she remained standing in the grove for a few moments longer, collecting herself. 

She forced her mind to focus on anything, anything else. She counted the birds she saw flitting amongst the tree limbs. She watched leaves swirling in their light, airy dance toward the ground. And she said a silent prayer to whatever gods were out there and possibly listening. She prayed that everything would work out the way it was meant to be.

#astarion x tav #astarion x mc #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x f!reader #bg3 astarion fic #tav x astarion #baldurs gate astarion #astarion baldurs gate #bg3 fanfiction #dancingbirdiewrites

[pray4byron]

Can I please request a Lucifer, Vox and Adam x GN! Reader where Lucifer, Vox, Adam becomes a nervous wreck trying to propose to Reader and even at there wedding day as they get themselves ready to step out of there dressing room and do there bows and all :3

what the flip this actually had me getting giddy reading this OFC I WILL WRITE THIS FOR YOU !!

a/n: i’m just doing proposal and wedding hcs so i hope that’s okay!! but they will contain bits of them getting all nervous so dw :)

a/n #2: THIS WAS ACTUALLY SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE TYSM FOR REQUESTING THIS!!!

Warnings: Swearing, potential S1 spoilers(?), mentions of sex (no smut)

Adam Proposal + Wedding Headcanons

Adam didn’t understand why he was so nervous to propose, he’s ADAM, he’s the fucking man, he’s the OG DICK. Who could say no to him?

Uh.. actually… you could, technically. And he is — believe it or not — sorta scared out of his fucking mind for that outcome, considering he spent all his time with you, he wasn’t sure what his life would turn to if it didn’t go smoothly, but bitch is a risk taker, so ya boi fuckin’ went for it

Adam, with little-no ideas, went super basic, it was the only way he really knew how, he took you out to a fancy restaurant with fancy ass clothes, as a ‘business meeting’

After waiting over and over for the right moment, he realized he was almost out of time, so he popped down onto one knee

“Look, I don’t really understand this whole… proposal bullshit.” Adam started, fidgeting with the ring box in his hand nervously — whilst trying to maintain his cool,

“But I’m gonna do it, cause I’m the fucking man!” He said as he began to regain his confidence, “So, babe, would you make me the happiest man in Heaven and become the fucking one?” He said, pushing out the ring box, with a nervous but genuine toothy grin.

You said yes! Pffft, he called it! He called it.. heh..

He’s actually a lot more invested in wedding planning then you might think!

Just the reception though, the ceremony is ‘boring as fuck’

He will get slightly emotional during the ceremony, not tears or anything, but for one of the first (and realistically last) times, he has a gentle but proud smile on his face as you walk down the isle and you two do your vows.

THEN, that completely changed at the reception, bro goes batshit crazy. He definitely planned to have some bomb ass music and he is either chugging a shot or dancing his fucking heart out to the music.

Whenever talking to people at the reception, he will sit there and shove his wedding band in their fucking face as if they didn’t just watch you get married.

And then you guys go to your honeymoon basically immediately, and once you two get your ass into your hotel, you’re fucking.

That aside though, Lute was Adam’s best man, no questions asked. 😛

Lucifer Proposal + Wedding

Headcanons

Lucifer hasn’t had to do this since Lilith, which has its pros and cons.

He’s a little more experienced than the other two, due to the fact that he’s obviously proposed before.

He’s less nervous because of this, but that doesn’t mean he just doesn’t care, cause he really wants this to be special for you, he just doesn’t want you to regret it — whatever your response may be.

He bought a ring for you way before he actually proposed, and he always kept it with him, because he never knew when the right moment would strike

And it came when he least expected it…

It was around 3am, and there was hardly anyone out on the streets, surprisingly, you two were taking a nightly stroll, and you had laughed at something he said, and you just looked so beautiful in the Hellish night sky, he knew, right then and there, you were the one.

You continued to stroll down the street in the bloody red, before realizing Lucifer’s absence from your side, you turn around to see the blonde angel on one knee, with a soft smile and tears pricking in his eyes.

“Y’know, I wasn’t too sure about love after what happened with Lilith..” He started, letting out a small sigh to contain himself before continuing, “And, somehow, someway, you came into my life at the best possible time.” He said, taking a pause, trying to regulate his emotions.

“You found me at my worst, and turned me into my best, and my God, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.” Lucifer said, combing over some of his blonde locks to the side, as tears continued to well up in his eyes.

“Sweetie, you make me so happy, and you love me, silliness and flaws and all, so my love, would you please do me the honor and allow me to be your husband?”

Yes, he got you duck themed wedding rings. Because why would he not?

He’s very insistent on helping with the wedding planning, you’ve done so much for him, so he wants you to be able to sit back and relax and just be able to enjoy the wedding.

And then he crashes and burns, as he realizes, he doesn’t fucking know how to plan a wedding… So you guys split it half-and-half.

He really wants a winter wedding. On Valentine’s Day. With Valentines colors. Please let him have it. He’s so baby, he really wants it.

During the ceremony, he definitely cries. Not too hard core though, a couple tears and sniffles with a proud, dopey smile across his face.

The reception is a more lowkey version of Adam’s, there’s music and shit, but it’s not like a madhouse in contrast lmao.

Luci does make a point to talk to almost every guest, especially if their your family, cause he wants to get to know them.

Also, if there are kids at your wedding, especially if their your relatives, he loves them. He will let them climb all over him, he’ll fly them around a bit, he’ll play with them. I love the idea of Luci playing with kids.

You guys don’t have a honeymoon, though, he’d rather stay at home and make ducks.

Oh yeah, next topic to tackle is… how does he tell you he wants kids…? And when…?

Vox Proposal + Wedding

Headcanons

As much as Vox may say, it’s for business, it’s not. He loves you so much.

Vox wants a lowkey proposal, not a lot of people around, just done and out of the way.

He does it while at a VoxTech event, so the two of you are already dressed up incase some paparazzi come and sneak pictures.

Once he has a bit of spare time, he pulls you out into a private hallway or a balcony, and does his thing. And yes, he glitches

Halfway through your conversation with Velvette, you feel a jerk on your arm and as your being dragged off Velvette gives you two big thumbs up with a toothy grin, while mouthing ‘Goodluck!’ like bitch, the fuck? Good luck for what??

You’re pulled out into the hallway, and shoved into the outside balcony area, you turn after you get your focus back, which is immediately taken away after you see Vox on one knee.

“Dear, zzh— we’ve been through a lot together, ssz— and szzz!- Honestly, it’s not like I even care, szzzz- but, maybe, you’d consider, szz- marrying me?” Vox makes an attempt to proudly hold the ring box to you as he just embarrassed himself, he gives a nervous, toothy, talk show host grin.

Yeah.. Just for business. mhm.

A lot of people are invited to your wedding, it’s fucking Vox, he knows people.

Neither of you plan the wedding, per say, Vox just gets an employee to do all the tedious stuff for you guys and you two give your input when needed.

During the ceremony, Vox doesn’t get emotional, there’s people here who has business deals with, therefore, the show must go on!

But during the reception, when you both have your first dance as spouses, the world for him… goes quiet.

THAT’S when he gets slightly emotional, he leans into your touch and cannot stop whispering to you about how much he fucking loves you.

The reception is a bit more formal, you both go around and talk to guests as Vox does his little host shit, and makes a few business deals.

You guys have a honeymoon, and it’s expensive as FUCK, that was a little surprise for you, he takes you out to the biggest places in all of Hell, only the best for his newly-wedded spouse~

#reqs open #x reader #mio’s writing ! ☆ #fanfiction #x y/n #x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel x you #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer x y/n #lucifer x you #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin adam #vox x reader #vox hazbin #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox

[thebirdsandthebats]

Okay @s-p-r-i-n-g-t-i-m-e I’m sure you know plenty BUT I’m going to use your wonderful and hilarious comment on this as an excuse to talk about Bernard, bc I realized recently that there are plenty of ppl who haven’t read most of the comics he’s been in. So get ready for my long overdue:

UNPACKING BERNARD DOWD + HIS TRAUMA (for those who cannot keep up with comics but want to get to know him)

So to start, Tim met Bernard years ago ofc, when they were in high school. It’s established pretty quick that Bernard is an extremely Unserious guy LMAO, the first thing he does is literally circle Tim and try to feel him out socially, see what kind of guy he is. He’s the kind of guy who gets himself in trouble with his big mouth, and seems to enjoy poking at Tim and testing his patience. By the time we meet Bernard again in the recent years, he’s grown a lot, but at his core he’s still the light-hearted, fun, goofy guy with very strong opinions. Just less stand-offish, maybe

Throughout the time Tim spends at this school though, Bernard does experience some wild shit. He lost Darla (somebody he really cared about), he experienced a shooting at his school, and then Darla came back from the dead, kind of scared the hell out of him, and used him to contact Tim again. It was kind of played for laughs, but like. That’s gotta fuck you up. (Robin #140)

Obviously this is the kind of thing that maybeee has a lasting effect on you. And BECAUSE Tim Drake: Robin got cut so short and the writer had to rush to wrap up the series, we’re left to fill in a lot of gaps and draw conclusions about the years we didn’t see Bernard ourselves. But we absolutely get some insight as to his life after Tim left that school and we stopped seeing him in the comics. Spoiler alert: it was hard.

In TDR, Bernard discusses the the cult that he’d been in that Tim saved him from in Urban Legends. He says that “he’d accepted himself”, but others hadn’t. Obviously there’s the natural reading that he means his queerness (which has me chewing through drywall), but I think that he’s speaking very broadly too. Bernard is a very odd example of a civilian, because he’s always getting dragged into things much bigger than him. And even before that, he had his big ideas, his conspiracies, his loud personality. He tended to rub people the wrong way in high school. Then in issue #7 of TDR (the Bernard pov issue my most beloved, weird pacing aside) Bernard refers to this “oozy, sticky feeling” that he ALWAYS feels when Tim isn’t around. He says when he’s alone it’s harder to put one foot in front of the other. To keep GOING. To wake up every day.

I think that Bernard has always felt like an outcast. (Robin #121, he doesn’t fit into any clique). He wasn’t as okay with it as he acted. And I think he wasn’t getting any attention from his parents. (Batman: Urban Legends #5, Bernard’s parents nonchalance to the days leading up to his kidnapping)

So just like Bernard explained to Tim, that feeling got bad. and he wanted to let go. The chaos monsters, the cult, all of it was a means to an end. But then Tim agreed to see him again, and I think that sparked something in him. Because he started learning to fight. When he was tied down to that alter and Tim was saving him, I think it fully sank in to Bernard that he didn’t want to die. Reconnecting with Tim gave him hope and made him really feel something good for the first time in ages.

So now that they’re dating after the cult fiasco, we get to know this current Bernard. A less goading, maybe calmer Bernard. But he’s still himself, of course, rambling about his ideas and making bad jokes and sticking to his guns (he has NEVER been a pushover, no idea where people get that idea?). I think a lot of people complained that Bernard mellowed out too much in terms of attitude, but I think if he seems “nicer” it’s because 1) he’s grown now. It’s been a while since we last saw him, and he’s clearly changed a lot. And 2) because he’s dating Tim now. He likes him a lot, and he’s an affectionate partner. He wants to lift Tim up.

But the fact that he was pulled into a cult still remains. And as lighthearted as Bernard tries to be, that traumatic experience still happened. It said in Urban Legends #5 while Tim was searching for him that Bernard had welts on his arms and legs and had been acting different, so it’s not like he was just snatched up on a whim. He’d spent significant time there. For those who haven’t read much abt the ways cult trauma specifically can fuck you up, I recommend doing a search if you’re in a good headspace for that and want to understand him more. because it’s pretty bad.

And then! yeah. you guessed it. Bernard gets kidnapped again. Chained up next to a BOMB that’s counting down. RIGHT WHEN HE’S WORKING ON HEALING FROM ALMOST BEING SACRIFICED BY A CULT.

And surely this can’t get crazier. He’s almost died twice in the past 6 months. except, remember his parents? In TD:R #7, we really see a little more of his relationship with his parents. He doesn’t live up to their standards, and his dad specifically seems to just want to argue with him. The restaurant they’re at is attacked, and everything goes to shit, and. you know, I think these panels really speak for themselves.

And for the record, when it’s revealed that everyone is seeing their worst fears, Bernard’s parents fears are not about him.

So now Bernard has to deal with that. And we start to see that Bernard is really not as okay as he’s tried to be. He keeps a baseball bat by his door because he’s been kidnapped twice now. And just when he’d likely thought things couldn’t get worse, he heard the Chaos Monsters were back. I can’t imagine he feels safe. He lashes out for the first time since all this has happened and yells at Kate and Tim, because while they’re doing what they feel is necessary to save more people (AND I DONT BLAME THEM AT ALL), Bernard can’t talk about it.

And I will forever be sad and insist that TD:R got cancelled too soon, just before we could get into the really juicy stuff, because things had to be wrapped up pretty quick and this was the only comic Bernard was consistently appearing in. But when Tim is giving himself up to the chaos monsters, Bernard goes out and rallies anyone he knows can help. Things were rushed because there was no more time to flesh out the story the way it could have been, but I’m including these panels just because I love Bernard Audacity Dowd using a fucking flashlight and shadow puppet to call Batman. geeking out for a minute. And then leading the battalion to save Tim with a SLEDGEHAMMER. gay people rule.

So yeah! While I see the vision of how a lot of Bernard’s trauma was meant to be semi-resolved and let him come to peace after saving Tim back, we just didn’t have the time for him to heal properly. I’d give anything to get inside his brain again. UHH IF YOU READ THIS I HOPE YOU LOVE BERNARD NOW and don’t come at me if I left something out, some of my comics aren’t with me rn. Bonus TimBer for the road:

#WHEW IT TOOK A WHILE TO ORGANIZE THESE PANELS #Hes NOT BORING he is SO FASCINATING TO ME #i think his character is just not being utilized the way it could be #I didnt source every panel so just ask if you want to know where something is from! #bernard dowd #batfamily #dc comics #tim drake #timber #timbern

[allbark-no-bite]

Don’t Say Love || Rafe Cameron x reader

summary: you notice Rafe is different in the mornings, softer in someways. Definitely not in others

word count: 2.1k

warnings: 18+ smut, wouldn’t consider anything in here a OBX3 spoiler

author’s note: this one’s pretty short and sweet. enjoy :)

Propped up only by my own elbow and a tangle of his limbs, I caress his timelessly drawn face. There's a half smile underneath my fingers, and I pass my index finger over his mouth. My finger ventures past his lips, pushing them aside to reveal glossy white teeth. Rafe reels his head back slightly as to ward off my ridiculous ministrations.

"What are you doing?" His tone verges on the rhetorical side, obviously possessing little interest in entertaining whatever I'm up to but willing to amuse me for now. It's the least he could do after being inside me just a few hours ago.

Nevertheless, I am relentless, as with all things in life and when he returns to my reach, rather than answering him, I pursue my venture again. This time he allows it, his lip curling upwards to indulge me further. My finger runs along the slick gloss of his pearly teeth — teeth that have both scraped along the tender skin of my throat and aligned on occasion to remind me of just what made him so attractive. I rather adored his pristinely bleached smile and it's viscous canines.

"I love you," I whisper to him. It means no more than the obscenities that I moaned into his mouth last night as he ground his hips into me. It's not a dramatic proclamation of my affection for him, nor a confession in the slightest. I just—I like him. I like him differently than I have ever liked anyone else.

He breaks into a smile and scoffs, almost laughing as he falls backs onto the mattress. "Don't say that," he admonishes gently.

I bite the bottom of my lip to keep from laughing myself. This whole thing was ridiculous. Turning to catch his gaze again, we smile at each other, lips pressed together to convey what we won't say out loud. Something inside me knows he won't be this way tomorrow. He won't share this same look with me, won't be this gentle or placid again.

The thing is, I would go all in if he let me. Would place all my cards on the table if he said he wanted me to. He needs a four? Sure, I've got a four. What else? I would willingly give him everything.

Laying in his bed together the morning after a party is an occurrence that has become more and more common over the past month. Admittedly a welcome one. We're not a item, probably never will be, but it's nice to think that he's mine for now.

With Rafe, things between us are so utterly simple. I don't think I've ever had so much fun with one person. And it's not even that he's so entirely special or even the love of my life. He's cocky and charming and a bit of a jerk at times, but I like that about him.

Sometimes, while we're laying in the darkness together, he tells me that if he had grown up differently he would be less of a nervous wreck and more honest. I tell him that I grew up mostly alone, in a small little house with my alcohol obsessed father, who was still growing up himself when he became a dad. That nothing was ever enough, but how was I supposed to know the difference? I tell him that his family is alright because at least he has siblings and a father who loves him, even if that love is questionable.

He smiles softly and pulls my hand away from his mouth, kissing the palm of it tenderly. His lips grace the inside of my wrist and warmth spreads through my naked body. I slip my leg over his waist, pulling myself on top of him. The white sheets that have been doing very little to cover our bareness slip further down my waist — I am sure much to his enjoyment. His broad chest expands as he breathes in, and I watch the steady rise and fall of it.

"Quit doing that."

"Doing what?" he asks, his voice still gruff with sleep, wondering what I could possibly be on about this time.

"That panty-dropping smile. It's ridiculous."

Twinkling, his blue eyes gaze up at me, as if storing the image of me to his memory. His billowy white shirt is barley enough to cover the top of my thighs from where I'm straddled over him, pining his hips to the plush mattress. The light coming in from the early morning sun seeps in through the curtains, slowly swallowing everything in his bedroom whole and washing us in gold.

"It worked, didn't it?" he chuffs, lazily sliding a warm palm up my bare thigh. Timidly, he hooks a finger on the edge of the sheet bunched around my waist and tugs it back slightly. Without an ounce of shame, his eyes dip down to indulge in my bareness. "God, you're so fucking sexy," he groans, his head falling back onto the pillow for dramatic effect.

Laughing, I lean down to kiss his puffy lips, and he graciously meets me part of the way. I pull away to press my lips to his chin, and then his jaw, and then his collar bone, spending no more time on the next than the first until I reach his shoulder. This time, I kiss the firm muscle there, lingering to drag my nose along his skin. His scent engulfs me – manly, with the lingering traces of expensive cologne and the musk of sex.

With all the tenderness that I can muster, I attach my lips to the hollow of his throat, close my eyes and breathe him in. I want to remember him. All of him. My tongue smooths across his salty skin, working to soothe the already bruising flesh. Beside my ear, the swallow of his throat echos clearly, but he doesn't budge beneath me. His skin tastes salty and raw, unsullied by the usual cleanly redolence of woody soap and washing detergent. I continue to suck until his taste is tinged coppery, and only then do I release him. The imprint remains after I pull away, the impression red and tender on his throat.

There, in the bruising flesh of his skin, is my only claim to him.

In a way, it is impressive — his charisma. He is so good at giving me nothing at all and making me feel as though I have everything. He breathes my name and it sounds like his religion. I'm an atheist, truthfully, but I have come to believe that religion is mostly subjective anyhow. I'm certain the golden cross around Rafe's neck means very little to him.

His jaw cracks open in a yawn, revealing pink gums and pearly teeth again as he reaches his arms over his head and flexes his legs beneath me. I reach out to graze my knuckles along his jaw, reveling in the barely there bristles and the way the sun catches on them, turning blonde to gold. In the morning light, his eyes shine wet with a combination of bleary affection and sleep.

After stretching his body into wakefulness, Rafe grabs my face in his large hands and draws me towards him, kissing my forehead, then my nose, and then the corners of my mouth. His thumbs caress my cheekbones, petting aside lose strands of hair.

"I've got some things to take care of today," he informs me vaguely while gently removing me from the entanglement of his body. Suddenly he's not underneath me anymore, and I'm left on his pristine mattress alone.

It's my turn to stare as he shuffles around the room. Smiling smugly to myself, I watch as he tugs on a fresh pair of boxers from the floor, the material fitting snuggly around him.

"Yeah?" I hum, trying not to sound too disappointed. "What kinds of things?" I really don't care, just want to ask him to stay a while longer, but I'm not sure I should push my luck.

"Family stuff," he answers mindlessly, effectively putting a stop the the conversation as he turns away. His retreating back gives me a perfect display of his sinewy body as he walks into the connecting bathroom. I wait, listening to the sound of water splash into the sink and Rafe brushing his teeth before I muster up the will to get out of his warm bed.

The title is cold against my bare feet, and I whine at the unpleasantness of the sensation. Immediately seeking the comfort of Rafe's warmth again, I curl around him from behind, my face pressed into his neck. He hums from around his toothbrush, one palm leant against the counter as he scrubs with the other.

Presented with the opportunity in which both of his hands are occupied, my own hand that is splayed across his stomach slides downwards. His blue eyes flicker up to mine in the reflection of the mirror. Teasingly, I cup my hand to palm his crotch.

He's already hard, straining against the thin fabric of his boxers. His nostrils flare, toothbrush still in his mouth as my hand slides back up, fingers slipping under the waistband of his boxers, warming to his skin.

Rafe dips down to the sink to spit and rinse his mouth before straightening, both palms gripping the counter. His chest heaves, muscles sliding over his ribs when I take him in my hand. He's heavy and throbbing. There is nothing deceiving about what's being concealed within the confines of his pants.

"You gotta go?" I ask softly, kissing between his tensed shoulder blades as my thumb swipes over his weeping tip. His hips stutter into my hand at the motion.

Rafe swallows heavy, head dipped down as he shakes it. "No, no," he dismisses, his voice thick. He clears his throat. "If you stop now I'll never get that thing tucked into my pants."

I nearly laugh against his back, pressing my lips against his impossibly warm skin again. His blue eyes narrow at me jadedly through the mirror. Not funny, is what that look means.

I pump him lazily a few times, twisting my wrist as my hand slides up and down his shaft. He's already slick with precum and likely very close to coming. There's an a large portion of it already leaking through the front of his navy blue boxers.

"Fuuuuck, baby," he moans, tucking his nose into his shoulder to get a grip on himself. "Jesus—fuck me."

With a whimper that's a dignified as he can muster, his body jerks when I rub my thumb over the swollen pink head. He's breathing hard at this point, trying to breathe and restrain himself at the same time. He won't let go until I say so.

"Good boy," I murmur softly, my lips attached to his shoulder, the top of his spine — the spine that I'm noticing is becoming less and less ridged with each passing week. With his dad off in Guadeloupe, his posture has lost the intensity that it usually carries. His brow has softened too, and he smiles a bit more often.

“You're a good boy, Rafe," I repeat. He is. He's good to me. He can be a good guy when he wants to be. I think people are so focused on this preconceived idea of him that he just goes with it rather than fighting it.

He whines, with his eyes closed, jaw slack, and head hanging down. I change the pace, alternating between pumping him until he's clinging to the sink and going so slow that his hips buck up into my fist, chasing what I won't give him.

"Please, (y/n)," he finally asks, his voice strained as he pants.

I hum, my body lounging nonchalantly against his back, admiring his ability to keep his composure for so long. He's beautiful like this, golden skin flushed red, chest heaving. So much to be trusted with in my hands.

The moment I give him the okay, he's spilling into my hand, his hot release dripping down my fingers and I'm sure the front of his boxers. He sags against the sink, body limp and boneless as the high of his orgasm fades away.

Smiling privately to myself at his sudden lethargy, I draw my hand away as he gathers himself. There's a crumpled towel on the floor that I use to wipe my hand. I’m not entirely sure it was clean in the first place.

Rafe nabs it from me when I’m done and uses it to clean himself up as well. Then, as if he was not doubled over, receiving a handjob against the sink moments before, he splashes cold water on his face and slips out of the bathroom. Through the doorway, I can see him opening and closing drawers as he searches for clothes.

"Very dignified," I hum watching him tug his pants on out of the corner of my eye. "Coming in your boxers."

"Shut up."

#rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe fic #rafe smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #obx x reader #obx smut

[thot-of-khonshu]

Say You Love Me (Joel Miller x f! reader)

1K Celebration | Masterlist

Part 2 - Coming Soon

Pairing: Joel Miller x f! Reader (pre and post outbreak)

Rating: M (18+, explicit smut)

Word Count: 6.2K

Summary: Red wine. Rage. Regret. Reunions. When pride separates you from the man that got away in 2003, you thought you’d never see him again. But when going to tie loose ends for Bill and Frank, you see him and a young companion.

Content: TLOU spoilers, slight changes to the story, age gap (~10-15 years), multiple sex scenes, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, cowgirl, creampie, oral (f), rough sex, alcohol consumption, grief, violence, mentions of death, the musical stylings of Fleetwood Mac

A/N: Happy TLOU day! This initially started out as a creation for my 1K celebration to "Maroon" by Taylor Swift, but as you can see it completely manifested into its own short story. Thanks to everyone for being patient for my writing. I hope y'all enjoy!

Every time you have a dream about everything before, you try to document it down in your ratty journal with your pen running on empty. Everything seems to run on empty.

You dream of your former life less and less as the years go by. It’s a hazy memory and you can’t remember how we were able to live on such luxuries and be comfortable and be happy. 

You dream of the man with his large hands and warm smile on your living room floor, warm with wine. 

Red lips. Red cheeks. Red wine. 

The bitter taste of cheap red blends on his tongue. 

Sticky Austin nights where you’d start outside in the thick humidity but end it in ice cold a/c. It never mattered anyway, Joel always ran hot like a furnace so you’d have to settle yourself in between thin sheets. 

You met through Megan who was dating his younger brother Tommy, a Gulf War vet that was more serious about holding his liquor than he ever was fighting in the war. One night when he’d had too much to drink, Joel, the responsible one, picked him up. A sleeping baby girl in the backseat. 

He barged through your front door. “Tommy, what the hell are you doin’ bothering these–” 

He stopped as soon as he looked at you. From that moment it was like the two of you had this instant communication. He didn’t have to say anything, all you needed to do was look into his eyes. 

“HI there.” He smile at you, that warm smile with that dimple on the side of his cheek. “I–uh–hope you’re not the girl my little brother’s been botherin’ “

“That would be my roommate.” You smile back at him. His smile grows even wider and you can’t remember the last time you had such electric eye contact with someone. 

Tommy bursts through the door, coming out of the bathroom with Megan hoisting his large frame.

“Please get him in bed and away from vodka.” She hoists Tommy onto Joel. 

“Tell me a bedtime story.” He slurs. Joel looks at you apologetically as he turns to bring him to the car. You and Megan exchanged a silent look as she could pick up on what was going on and she nudged you to go after him. 

“Hey wait!” You call out, you try not to focus on his broad back muscles. “I think it’s clear Tommy needs some chaperoning whenever he comes over here.”

He furrows his brow in confusion at first. “Y’know, his big brother to come over and make sure he’s doing right?” ‘You smile. 

“Just say when and I’ll tag along.” Joel winks at you. 

He was always a man of his word. 

The next weekend, Megan invited Tommy over and suggested he bring Joel along as well. Tommy came barreling in like a freight train and Joel laid back to greet you at the door. He held up a six pack of beer. 

“I didn’t wanna come over empty handed. It’s all we had in the fridge.” Joel said. 

“Yeah, Joel wanted to come right over after workin’ tonight. Even let Sarah stay at a friends house, ain’t that sweet?”

“Alright, Tommy. I still clearly gotta babysit you.” Joel rolls his eyes. 

“We’ll, thank you for the beer, Joel but we’re more wine drinkers here. Do you like red blend?”

“I’ll drink whatever you give me.”

————————

A few hours later, Megan and Tommy have gone off on their own adventure. You and Joel split the bottle of wine between the two of you and despite him stating he could handle his liquor, his large body was sprawled out across your living room floor with his empty glass tipped over. 

“Miller, I thought you said you could handle your liquor.” You grin at him from the couch. 

“I usually can. I don’t know what was in your roommate’s cheapass screwtop–” 

“Hey–don’t blame the alcohol for why you’re currently on our living room floor right now. And while she can’t defend herself.” 

“You saying I’m a sloppy drunk?” He leans closer towards you and you observe the patches in his beard. 

“I’m saying I don’t wanna hold your hair back above the toilet.” You grin at him. He looks at you, hard. You feel your heart rate rising and the moment is almost too much to handle. You need to ground yourself with something, anything. You turn to your vinyls. 

“You like records?” You ask him, moving towards the shelf. 

“Didn’t know people your age still listened to them.” He called out. You scoffed. 

“I’m not that much younger than you. Besides, this is timeless. CDs might come and go like 8 track players, but these? These are gonna last through everything.” You hold up a record and he nods in approval, Fleetwood Mac’s self titled album. You flip to side two and the sounds of “Say You Love Me” flood the living room. 

You join him on the living room rug and close your eyes, listening to Christine McVie’s voice. 

Have mercy, baby, on a poor girl like me

You know I'm falling, falling, falling at your feet

I'm tingling right from my head to my toes

So help me, help me, help me make the feeling go

“God, her voice is just so ageless. I know everyone always looks at Rumours as their best but this one is just cla–” Your breath hitches when you feel his hand brush your cheek. You feel the warmth of his face coming closer and closer as you finally open your eyes to see Joel ready to kiss you. 

But he forgot his wine glass in his hand as it spilled onto you with the remainder of his alcohol. 

“Shit, shit.” Joel stumbles up and looks around. “I am so sorry, I can clean that up.” 

You get up to him walking around your kitchen, looking for paper towels. When he turns around, you put your hand at his chest and look up at his beautiful brown eyes. 

“Why don’t you help me find a new shirt?” You ask him in a low voice. His jaw is slacked as he slowly nods. 

“Yes ma’am.” He follows behind you, taking your hand as you lead him into your bedroom. 

One thing about Joel Miller? He takes his time. He takes his time giving you soft, syrupy kisses and drawing the anticipation by pulling at your lip. 

He builds you up by meticulously touching every part of your body while peeling off your clothes, grabbing at the swell of your ass, the dips of your hips and pulling at the back of your neck. He wants to make you feel amazing.

Once you’re naked, he lays you on top of your bed and peers up at you as he pulls your knees apart. 

He drags the tip of his tongue over your clit, savoring your taste as he moans in relief. You tremble against him, dragging your hand through his dark curls as he begins to put his full mouth into you, his tongue entering you as his nose brushes your clit. You can’t help but squirm on top of him, rocking onto him as he moans below you. 

“You taste so fucking good.” Joel gets up for air briefly and dives back in. Kissing at your inner thighs, he takes one of his thick fingers and pushes one into you, your body instantly tightening around it. 

“So wet for me too.” Joel moans. He moves in earnest, putting his mouth back onto your clit and the pleasure is all you can concentrate on. He adds another finger, getting up to watch you squirm at his fingers as your wetness fills the room from his methodical thrusts. 

You feel yourself tense, your muscles tightening around him as your pleasure intensifies and your breaths go shallow. When he curves his fingers and moves his mouth back to your clit, you short circuit completely. 

You writhe on top of him as you cum, moaning louder than you’d expected and hoping Tommy and Megan don’t hear anything. Your shallow breaths fill the room and your eyes are shut. Pleasure still pulsates through your body as Joel is now on top of you, kissing at your throat as you feel his heavy, still clothed cock on top of you. 

When you release it, it springs from his boxers, thick and dripping at the top with precum. You rub the tip of his head as he lets out a hiss of air at your throat. You bring the liquid to your mouth and savor the taste. 

“I hope this ain’t too forward,” His hands cup and knead at your breasts. “But I’m desperate to feel you.” 

“Please” You beg. “I have condoms but I’m also on the pill. Whatever you need, just please don’t stop.” 

Joel lines himself up against you, rubbing his thick cock against your soaked walls. His eyes don’t leave yours as he gently enters you. It’s soft at first, him trying to fit in every single inch while also not cumming immediately while he was inside of you. You gripped him, wet and tight. 

During the pause when he’s finally deep inside of you, you both are riddled with heavy breathing. Your kisses are slow but hungry. You start to move below him and that’s what drives him wild. 

He begins to pump faster inside of you, rubbing himself against your swollen clit. You don’t think you’ve ever had something so intimate before. You’d had sex, but this just felt like something out of another dimension. Joel was entirely focused on your pleasure, hungrily pawing at your body as he rocked on top of you. 

When circled his fingers on your clit, you knew you were going to cum a second time. You grabbed at the bedsheets, another climax of pleasure making you arch. 

After you came twice, Joel was needier. He raised your leg so he could get into a deeper position and you had felt so incredibly full. He fucks you at a rapid speed and feeling you convulse around him for another orgasm wasn’t helping and the room filled with the noise of his balls slapping onto your skin. 

You loved that his broad body surrounded you, that all you could feel was him and all you could hear were his grunts into your ear. His hips began to stutter as he filled himself into you, emptying himself as much as he could into your tight walls. 

You don’t realize how badly you were gripping him until you rub his back, his head on your chest and you feel the claw marks. His breathing is labored, still feeling the impact of your sex as you bury your fingers into his curls. 

“This should go without being said,” Joel looked up at you. “But I would really like to take you out sometime.” 

You weren’t going to say no to that. 

—---------------------------------

You wake up, the motion of the car rattling you. 

“Morning, sunshine.” Megan smiles behind the steering wheel. Before everything, Megan was terrified of driving and now you’d catch her dead before she’d stop and pick someone up, choosing to run them over instead because they were likely a hunter. 

And wouldn’t you rather kill than be killed? 

It all happened so fast but so painfully, hauntingly slow at the same time. In one night, civilization as you knew it had ceased to exist. Megan came home, shaking, covered in blood telling you you had to leave tonight. 

You drove until you ran out of gas. You walked until you were able to rob some idiots that tried to give you a ride and take advantage of you. And that’s how you ended up at the Philadelphia quarantine zone. Somewhere far away from Texas and the sticky heat and long carefree nights.

There were a lot of men like that in this world, who thought they could take things from vulnerable women. Little did they realize, the vulnerable women didn’t make it. Not all of them were like that, though. Bill and Frank weren’t. 

You’d met Frank over the radio, talking over some music his partner BIll was playing as some sort of signal. Frank was incredibly kind, warm and worldly in a world with almost nothing left. He’d offered to trade things between you and Megan’s QZ and the Lincoln town he lived in with Bill. 

And Bill? He was…Bill. He wasn’t exactly kind and open to strangers, but he knew the both of you and trusted you after all of these years. Whoever Frank loved, he loved. So when you’d heard the 80’s distress signal coming from the radio, you’d decided to risk the trip and make sure everything was okay. 

When you had gotten to the gate, usually coded, it was wide open and the two of you exchanged looks in surprise. Without having to say a word, you grabbed your handgun out of the glove compartment. Megan pulled up to Bill and Frank’s, seeing their door open. 

The two of you had tried to get out of the car as quietly as possible. Crouching behind the car as you heard the crunch of footsteps. 

“It could be Bill and Frank.” Megan whispered. 

“When is it like Bill to ever keep the gate open?” You asked her. You heard the crunches coming closer. 

The two of you signal to step out at the same time, adrenaline pumping through your veins. After all of this time, it never gets easier doing this. 

Before you could pull the trigger, you hear a HYAH and see a small figure jump out towards you. 

Jesus, it’s a child. Before she could try to stab either of you, Megan pins her down to the ground, knocking the knife out of the way and the kid squirms under her. 

You see another figure jump into frame to defend the kid. A man with grey hair, a broad frame and a handgun. The two of you are in a standoff but something feels off. You know you’ve been to Lincoln so many times before but something about this feels entirely too familiar. 

“Do not hurt the kid.” The man drawls, looking down at her and then back at you. “She didn’t—“

And then his eyes meet yours. Still as piercing as you remember. And you realize that you’re standing in front of Joel Miller for the first time in twenty years. 

“…Joel?” Megan says something first. 

“Hi Megan.” He looks at her briefly to acknowledge her, but he looks back at you. The gun still in his hand, gripped tightly. 

“We’re not looking for any trouble.” Joel says. “We’re here to check on our friends.”

“Bill and Frank.” You finally say to him. “Our friends.” The look of confusion on his face is apparent. 

“You two knew Bill and Frank?” He asks. 

“How about ‘it’s good to see you two alive after all this time’, Joel?” You ask him, exasperated. You were tired of holding this gun, your hands were getting clammy and you had no intentions of shooting him. Even after all this time, you knew he wouldn’t shoot both of you either. 

Megan lets the girl up and she runs to Joel. She puts her gun down and you motion for him to follow suit. He looks at you for a long hard moment, his eyes scanning your body as you feel yourself redden with embarrassment, feeling fully exposed in front of him and looking like apocalyptic shit. He sets his gun down as you follow suit. 

“I think y’all should come inside, then.” Joel said. “Some things you need to see.” 

You follow Joel and the young girl-you find out her name is Ellie- into Bill and Frank’s house. You go to the same place that Bill and Frank would keep supplies, notes or any clothing that Frank had to spare - the second cabinet to the right. That’s where you see their note. 

Frank’s condition had worsened over the past few years. A degenerative disease you weren’t sure exactly what it was, but when he asked for a wheelchair from the Philadelphia QZ you were both more than happy to bring it to them. You knew it was only a matter of time before he went. When Bill decided to go with him, you weren’t surprised. Despite his exterior, everything Bill did was for Frank, the man he loved. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt that kind of devotion to someone until today. 

The four of you sit at the table. An awkward silence between the four of you, the only sound being Ellie rocking her chair. One of the legs must’ve been broken and Bill hadn’t gotten to it ye–

Oh. Right. 

“I didn’t know Bill and Frank knew anyone else besides us.” Megan said. 

“Likewise. I guess that makes sense.” Joel said, his eyes still on you.

You agreed. “Frank, I’m sure, would’ve loved the extra company. More people to host garden parties and socialize for but if Bill had anything to do with it–” 

“He would’ve threatened to kill us.” You say in unison. 

“Trust me, he made sure to make us aware if we tried anything he had his gun right on the table the first time we met.” You said. 

“His reputation precedes himself.” Joel said. 

The two of you are silent for a moment. Megan and Ellie looking between the both of you. 

“Am I missing something?” Ellie asked, pointing at the two of you back and forth. 

“And I think that’s my queue to look around for some food. Maybe we can have some dinner, figure out what the fuck we’re doing and then call it a night before we go our separate ways, huh?” Megan quickly said. 

You sit at the table with Joel and Ellie, completely silent as Joel is now looking away from you and Ellie keeps looking at the both of you. 

“You can cut the tension with a knife, huh?” Ellie whistles. 

“Ellie, go take a shower. They’ve got hot water.” Joel says. She quickly gets up and runs down the hall. 

“You don’t have to tell me twice. But after I take one, you’re going in because man. And if we’re gonna be around company…” 

“Ellie.” He raises his voice into a stern inflection you haven’t heard since…

Where the hell is Sarah? 

—-------------------------------------------------

Later that night, you’ve hunkered down with Megan, Joel and Ellie. The four of you have rabbit along with some vegetables and rice from Frank’s garden. The tension has subsided as you’ve gotten into the wine cabinet. That’s when the memories flow back. The three of you share stories from Texas, your old lives that seem so long ago. Reminiscing on how things used to be as Ellie interjects with a question about the old world every now and then while reading a comic she snagged from Bill’s basement. 

Megan eventually stretches her arms up. “Well, I’ve been drivin’ all day and I’m exhausted. I’m about to hit the hay.” 

“Well I am gonna finish reading this in peace and quiet so I can read about this alien’s guts spilling out without interruptions. Goodnight! You kids have fun!” Ellie grins. 

Megan gives you a look etched in worry before she heads to the stairs. You roll your eyes at her because you can take care of your goddamn self. You have been for ages. 

You hear the footsteps go upstairs as you and Joel sit across from each other at the table. It’s like a lockbox with feelings you hadn’t had in years starts rattling in your chest, a monster of them waiting to come out and erupt.  

You look over at him, his hair slicked back from his shower, grays prominent in his hair and his beard. The swell of his lips was still prominent and had the ability to drive you crazy. 

“Bill and Frank.” You say to him, hoping to silence the voices in your own head.  

“Bill and Frank.” He repeats, his hands fidgeting on the table. 

“So, uh, I guess while we’re here–I’m gonna raid the liquor cabinet.” You head to the liquor cabinet to see if there’s anything strong enough to hold the awkward air between the two of you. You see a dusty bottle in the back of the cabinet, a red blend that looked entirely too familiar to pass up. 

You bring it to the table, setting it down in front of Joel. He looks up at you and shakes his head in disbelief, a small smile etched across his face. 

“After all this time, you still drink the same shitty red blend.” Joel says. 

“Can you handle your liquor any better, Miller?” You slide it towards him, he catches the bottle with one large hand. 

“I guess we’ll have to see.” He grumbles, slicing the wine bottle open with his knife. 

It didn’t take long for you to feel the heaviness of the wine, sloshing in your stomach as you and Joel took turns taking long drinks from the bottle. 

He tells you of Tess, his smuggling partner that had recently gotten infected while smuggling Ellie out of the city. While you admired her bravery and her sacrifice, you can’t help but feel a sting of jealousy. You’d had your partners every now and then, but none of them ever stuck around long enough. None of them ever mattered like he did. 

“She was like family.”  He stated. 

You knew you couldn’t just say sorry. “I’m sorry for your loss” almost seems insulting these days with teh weight of how much it happens. 

“Did–uh–you have any smuggling partners?” Joel asks, sipping on the bottle and looking away as if to play nonchalant. Twenty years and you can still tell when it’s all bullshit. 

“I did. None of them were exactly like family but they were enough to help Megan and I get by. I never trusted them enough to introduce them to Bill and Frank.” You said. 

“Oh.” Was all he could say. 

“I–I couldn’t. I just couldn’t let myself get too far with anyone after–” You can’t even bare to say it. But he looks at you as if you have, like you’ve just cut part of his soul open. 

“What the fuck happened?” You muttered, swigging from the bottle.

“You want the version they’re teaching kids in FEDRA school or the version we remember?” Joel asked. 

“Joel…” You give him a long look. He looks at you, briefly, breaking eye contact to look anywhere else and scowl. He chooses to grab the bottle from you, taking a large gulp. 

“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” He says. 

“Maybe it doesn’t.” You say. “But I still wanna know. I just…we could’ve had this life.” 

His brow arches. 

“You and me. Tommy and Megan. Bill and Frank. We could’ve been a team. It would’ve been something.” 

“Tommy decided to fuck off and join the Fireflies. Pretend like he was makin’ a difference. And then when that fell through last I heard he was in Wyoming. Megan was better off.” He stated. 

“You were…” He silently mutters. 

“We don’t have to talk about any of it. I’ve done some shit I regret but I did it to survive. Because that’s what we have to do in this new world. I get it. But those first few years…I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

He takes a large drink of wine. “Or Tommy.” 

“Or Sarah.” 

“Well, there’s no damn use in thinkin’, is there?” Joel snaps back. You know you’ve clearly hit a nerve talking about Sarah. With whatever happened to her. Was she with the Fireflies? Was she with her Uncle Tommy? You’d hate to think it could be any worse. That brilliant, beautiful girl in any sort of trouble or not existing in this world. 

By the pain in Joel’s eyes, the exterior he’d tried to mask by furrowed brows and a hardened expression, you knew. Suddenly the air felt thick. 

“I’m sorry…I’m gonna step outside.” You rush to the porch as you feel the tears flood through your eyes. Sarah’s gone. You didn’t know that after all of the pain, after all of the violence, after everything this world has taken from you, that you could still feel this searing pain of loss. 

You suddenly hated yourself for not being there. For not calling. For running away from things when they had gotten too serious, as if some bullshit relationship problems would matter in a week’s time in that moment. You had no idea what was about to happen. 

If you’d known you would’ve lost everything and everyone in your life you had loved, you would’ve tried to hold on to the man you loved and his family for as long as you could. 

But then again…maybe it was better this way that you weren’t there. You didn’t hold him back, you didn’t hold him back either. This world isn’t for the weak. Love makes you fucking weak. Joel makes you so fucking weak, 20 years later. It’s infuriating, intoxicating and confusing. 

You hear the door open and footsteps come through. You wipe your tears away as you see Joel sit next to you on the bench. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, solemnly. “You didn’t know. It was that night of the…” 

“I know it’s so god damn insignificant now…but I’m so sorry I didn’t call.” You choke. Joel remains silent, his lips wavering. 

“You didn’t know.” He repeats himself. 

“So what happens now?” You ask him. 

“We do what we came here to do. Get our supplies, celebrate Bill and Frank and we drink.”  

“We drink.” You nod. 

And drink you did. 

You drank and remembered the good times, the times when he’d come over every Friday night that Sarah had a sleepover and you’d talk and touch each other until the sun came up. You drank and remember how even though Megan and Tommy had fizzled out, he had still come over to be with you. You drank and remembered the bad times, when you couldn’t handle the intimacy, you both couldn’t decide what this was. 

You can’t bear the way he looks at you. You need an escape. You head to Frank’s record collection. 

You dust off the record collection and see the familiar cover of Fleetwood Mac’s self titled album. You look up at Joel and his cheeks look like they sting with glee. He lets out a small giggle. 

“What was it I used to tell you?” You try to remember. 

“Records are timeless.” Joel says as you flip the vinyl to side B. “You were always right.” 

The room floods with the faint sounds of “Say You Love Me”. It had been years since you’d heard this song but you still remembered every word. Joel extended his hand out to you and you took it, fingers stroking his palm. 

You pressed yourself lightly against him, turning and looping over the hardwood floor as the music continued. Somehow, someway, you could still smell his subtle sandalwood scent. 

'Cause when the lovin' starts and the lights go down

And there's not another living soul around

You woo me until the sun comes up

And you say that you love me

The two of you giggled like children as you looped around Bill and Frank’s living room. The light of the moon shone on Joel’s face and the hardened exterior of the older man was gone for a moment, and you were taken back to 2003 where that gorgeous carpenter was leaning against your doorway for the first time. 

Your hand crept up his neck, feeling his peppered curls as he shivered. In response, he pressed his body closer to yours until you were cheek to cheek. 

He turns to face you. His eyebrows scrunched in worry and confusion of the feelings that were rising. He never thought he would see you again, and these damn emotions kept flooding through his body. 

“I showed up to your house that morning.” He whispered. “Right after we dropped Sarah off at school. My birthday.” 

“So do you still think it doesn’t matter?” You asked him. 

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“But it would’ve given us one more good day. Before it all went to shit. And if that’s all we had, then I’m okay with that. Better than the alternative.” 

You pressed your lips onto his, slow and calculated at first. You gave him one small peck to test his willingness to kiss you. You looked back at Joel and his eyes were shut tightly. 

“I’m sorry–I shouldn’t have–” You try to break away but he tightens his grip around you. 

“I’m just trying to savor this moment.” Joel whispers. You meet his lips again, hungrier, needier. Both of your hands exploring each other as if to make sure this was real and you weren’t dreaming it. 

“Joel.” You break away as he strokes your cheek. “Let’s go to bed.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He says. 

It’s no shock that after all this time, you and Joel still fit together like a glove. Your body melts into his with a comfort that you haven’t felt in years. You didn’t know your body could ever feel that good again. 

You didn’t think your hair, greasy and damaged when you looked at it in the mirror, could be stroked like that again. As if Joel had gotten a spool of gold and he didn’t want to ruin it, Joel petted you with delicacy as he undressed you. 

Your stomach, somehow softened throughout the years with age even though you hadn’t had proper nourishment in years, being planted with soft kisses as Joel moved south, desperate to taste your pussy again. 

You climb onto his lap and grip him with one hand, still as thick and as long as ever. You take a moment to look at him through the moonlight, after all these years he’s still incredibly handsome but this world took the sparkle in his eye away. 

“Please, sweetheart.” Joel begs. “Let me feel you again. I’m desperate.” 

That word is what makes you sink down onto him, inch by inch until he’s all the way inside. It was probably a bad idea to attempt to do this without any prep work but you didn’t care, you needed him and it filled a part of you that hadn’t been taken care of in years. 

“Fuck. Fuck.” Joel rasps. “You’re still so goddamn tight.” You can feel your inner muscles clenching at his thickness and the desperate groan that he releases makes you weak. 

You start to move, slowly, as his fingers dig into your hips. The pressure between the two of you is unbearable, you feel him and his full length but you’re desperate for more release. Joel’s ragged breaths concern you, though. 

“Are you gonna be okay if I go faster?” You ask him. 

“I ain’t that old, sweetheart.” Joel rasps under you, that damn smile back in action. 

And with that, you lifted yourself up and slammed yourself into him, grinding your clit against his cock at a fast and desperate pace. 

He moves forward, putting a mouthful of your breast into his mouth as his other hand rests on your lower back. You can feel the intense pleasure so blindly that you don’t know how long it’ll be until it boils over. When you contract around him and cum, Joel lets out an animalistic groan. 

“Fuck, that’s it.” He moans. “Milk my cock, baby.” 

You ride out your orgasm and just when you think you have time to recover, Joel begins to thrust upward deep and hard. His hips snapping up and bouncing you on top of him. He tangles his fingers into your hair, pulling you down to thrust his tongue into your mouth. 

You suck his tongue and desperately cling to him, unsure how much longer you’ll be able to go without cumming again. 

“I can feel it, sweetheart.” Joel groans. “Cum around my cock one more time, just give me one more. Please.” 

He breaks free from your tight embrace to rub your swollen clit as you grind on top of him again, trying to remain as silent as possible so you don’t wake anyone else in the house. 

You convulse and cum around him again, dizzy with pleasure as he takes one leg for leverage and begins to fuck into you harder than before. At this point, you can’t control the sounds coming out of you as he hits a spot inside of you that feels so good. His hips begin to stutter and Joel fills himself into you. He cums so hard that you feel it leaking out of you while he’s still inside. 

The two of you stayed just like that for a few moments, clung to each other as you heard his heartbeat hammering inside of his chest. You peppered soft kisses onto his body as you got from on top of him. The contrast of being full and then leaving him made you wince. 

Joel got up from the bed and you hesitated for a moment. Did he regret this decision? Was he going to sleep in his own bed? When he came back, he had a warm washcloth and he used it to wipe between your legs. Hot water will never be taken for granted in this world. 

The two of you then snuggled up together, the situation being better left unsaid. You knew that you both had to start preparing for the morning, so instead of talking, you just shut your eyes and tried to enjoy his strong arms around you. 

—-----------------

You heard a faint knock at the door and almost forgot where you were for a moment. When you felt Joel’s arms around you, his lips pressing against your cheek, you woke up with the biggest smile you’d had in a very long time. 

“Good morning, you two.” Ellie shouts throughout the door. “Knock knock. Megan’s making breakfast, wake your asses up, lovebirds!” 

“Don’t–don’t come in here Ellie.” Joel tries to exclaim, sleep in his voice. 

“I’m fucking good, man. I’m gonna help Megan with breakfast.” You hear her footsteps as she leaves the hallway and you turn to him. 

He was still there. And suddenly you were reminded of each and every time he’d stayed over, Megan making everyone breakfast as you’d talk and laugh through the previous night. 

This morning was no different. It felt oddly comfortable, the four of you enjoying each other’s company even though you knew it had to end. You’d spent the rest of the morning gathering supplies but then it was time to grab your backpack out of the bedroom. 

Joel was sitting on the edge of the bed. It reminded you of how things were the previous day, where he couldn’t look you in the eye. He was riddled with discomfort. In this world, you’re so used to not even having to say goodbye. That’s honestly not as painful as having to do it. 

You walk up to him, giving him a long hug. 

“Joel, if it’s true what you told me – if she’s immune – this is huge. It might give the world another chance. It might give us another chance.” You say to him. 

“You still have so much hope for the world. That's why I will always love you.” Joel whispers. You feel your heart crack. You feel the toolbox in your chest start to rattle. 

You know you shouldn’t say it. You know you’d be an idiot to say something so vulnerable and stupid in this world. But if you don’t say it, what else do you have? 

“I love you too, Joel. Take care of yourself, okay? Take care of Ellie. If you ever find yourself at the Philadelphia QZ you know where to find me.” You say to him. 

He presses his lips against you softly. As if to savor every moment, every feeling. Every curve and swell of your lip. He grabs at the back of your neck and you mimic him, grabbing the back of his. As if pushing further into the kiss could bring you back to those hot Austin nights. 

Because you knew this was the last time you’d get a good taste of home. 

You walk him out towards the car, Ellie already next to the passenger seat bouncing up and down because she had never ridden in a car before. You and Megan send them both off, his reflection in the rearview mirror never leaving your sight until the truck becomes a small blur. 

“You gonna be okay?” Megan asks you, with that same look of worry she had given you the night before. 

You’re not sure if you will be, but you have to forge ahead as you always do. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” You state. And the two of you get ready to go, heading into the car back to the QZ. 

“Talk about a blast from the fuckin’ past.” Megan says, starting the car. “It’s funny…I had actually heard about Nick – y'know the one that was in the Fireflies– talking about somewhere in Jackson. Small fuckin’ world.” 

You lean your head up against the car window. Your thoughts immediately go back to last night. 

Small fuckin’ world indeed. 

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #the last of us hbo #the last of us smut #the last of us #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #tlou hbo #TLOU #TLOU smut #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #hbo tlou #hbo the last of us #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

[chrollohearttags]

AU where y/n and producer eren were very much high school sweet hearts, then years later deciding to take their relationship to the next level as in losing their virginity 🙃

ANONNN, why’d you do me like thissss?? This is genius 😫 not even to spoil but this was literally the alternate plot line to reverb LSLFKFJ. Ugh this is just too damn cute so ofc imma talk about it.

content + themes: both reader and eren are virgins, reverb spoilers, lots of sweet stuff, bc I can’t handle angst rn, gentle sex/smut, accidental cream pie, this is SUPERRRRR long bc y’all know I love detail and got 20,000 pages of lore for these two!! Smut is at the end so if ya’ll can’t wait, I’m sorry.

eren left home at what would be considered incredibly young by most standards. At fifteen years old, he found himself frequenting the mall and playing basketball down at the local park in the suburbia of Montclair, New Jersey to being thrust into the fast paced lifestyle of Miami, Florida. The harsh, crime ridden town known as Opa Locka to be exact. A complete contrast by a long shot. Even so, with spite and determination on his heart; fueled only by his desire to win this illustrious battle called the rap game, he toughed it out and persevered. Not only that, to rid himself of the toxic past that had scarred him and a family who betrayed him. Make no mistake, his ‘privileged’ upbringing was nothing more than a mere experience and not a part of his identity. He never tried to pretend that he was ‘hard’ or tough, no need for a facade, he was simply Eren and that was all it took. He also never viewed anyone as different or beneath him because of how he grew up. Most of his friends back home came from very humble beginnings and had less than savory lifestyles. It wasn’t something he did for shock value or to piss of his parents. He just always had a knack for befriending others who may have been cast aside or forgotten about because he knew the feeling quite well. So it came as no surprise when he enrolled in the local high school to finish out his last couple years, he was a rarity in these parts…looking and acting completely different from everyone else. But it didn’t take long for the green eyed brunette with the buttery smooth voice and oblivious charm to assimilate.

“Wassup, EJ?” “Hey, EJ!”

from the classroom to the hallways, he was greeted by his fellow student body, who at first, saw him as an easy target. Alluding to the fact that he must’ve been some rich boy stuck in the middle of the hood to be “taught a lesson” or something of the sort. That it wouldn’t be two weeks because he was tucking tail and getting his ass back on the first bus to Jersey. Little did they know, he was the last person to back down and damn sure the last one to run from anyone! During gym class, there was a scrimmage basketball game, nothing too serious or exerting, just a little fun competition. It was then that not only did Eren catch the eye of the boy’s team head coach and that of (y/n) (l/n). Who had been discreetly seated against the wall after running two miles. You had been quietly observing the game and having grown up around tremendous players; spending afternoons down at the Boys and Girls Club..you recognized talent from a mile away. That also could’ve been attributed to the fact that you were the current co-captain of the majorette team, where you danced during games. Even so, you always stayed to yourself. Never really clinging to one group or another, truthfully only talking to your best friend. Your head in a book and studying was your only focus. That much was apparent by your four point two grade point average. Nonetheless, this new boy couldn’t help but to grab your attention. It was unfortunately for that reason, that his opponents once the game ended, would use that to his advantage.

not exactly keen on the idea of having somebody like him strutting around..besting them in a sport they’d always exceeded at and intriguing the girls who never even so much as paid them attention, they were pissed! So as anyone with stunted emotional maturity would, they decided to try and ambush the new student in the locker room. Granted, he was a little smaller and had just hit six foot one inches. He was fairly tall but still lanky and skinny. So he’d have his work cut out for him. Unsuspecting of the attack, he chopped it up with classmates and laughed on his way back. But not without flashing you a glance first. That ultimately made your heart flutter a little..you didn’t pay attention to boys often and had many speculating that you were possibly gay but no one had ever roused your fancy. In a way, you envied him. As someone from the proverbial ‘other side of the tracks’, who was different from you all in any facet was fitting in just fine! Quickly becoming the talk of the school. Meanwhile, you were a lifelong resident of this city and yet, you never drew any attention on yourself. Outside of your impeccable dancing. Hell, everyone always referred to you as ‘the quiet girl’. A moniker that you were proudly..the less you spoke, the less trouble you could find yourself in.

however, that peaceful life would come to an end when you’d walk towards the girls locker room and find yourself stopped by the gaggle of guys who were planning their ambush for after school whilst he was walking home. They figured he’d be an easy lick but they couldn’t be too relaxed. He mystified them all..acting completely oblivious to his environment, never behaving differently; talking exactly the same and all or even seeming afraid. He was the same person regardless of where he went. So that’s when they’d try to enlist your help. “Aye, (y/n). Lemme talk to you right quick..” waving you over and although you were about to ignore him, you accepted anyway. A tall dread head with a bottom row of golds gleaming from his mouth. Something he wasn’t supposed to have but did anyways. “I seen you looking at jit earlier, you like white boy, don’t you?” Immediately feigning any sort of confirmation. Acting uninterested as always. “That’s what you called me over here for? I gotta go change—“ but before you could coldly turn on your heel, he’d grab your shoulder and request a ‘simple’ favor:

“Help us set his ass up. He ain’t been here a whole month and already actin’ like he run this shit. We’ll even give you a cut.” but again, you didn’t care! Him or any of their petty jealousy was none of your concern. That boy hadn’t said the first word to you or even bothered you in the slightest. The hell did you look like conspiring with these dumbasses to not only bully him but to tarnish your hard work? Smacking your lips, you’d merely brush his hand away and continue to walk by. “As my granny says, you can’t get blood from a turnip. If you wanna risk jail for some stupid shit, do it by yourself. I’m not interested.” truthfully, Eren was no more wealthy than anybody here. Working odd jobs after school and rooming at a boys home on the southside. Hell, he could barely even afford lunch sometimes!

but alas, this only seemed to enrage your peers. See, the ring leader was the current basketball team captain and a shoe-in for first draft to a top college once he graduated. However, there was another side of him..a hothead with a bit of a past. Selling drugs and hanging with bad crowds..a mere product of the environment. But basketball was his ticket out. Hence was, considering that he stayed in trouble, grades were a wreck and he had a bad reputation. It was his exceptional skill that was keeping him in his spot and that alone. The coach overlooked a lot of his antics just to have a star player. Nothing new. However, with Eren on the scene, his position was threatened. Contrary to his belief, it had less to do with his skin and the fact that he was a better player with less of a headache! He had better grades, better manners and a lot more skill. Teachers constantly complained to the coach to kick him off the team so he could focus on his academic studies. Several calls were made home with no answer from parents..it was a crazy situation. Even so, it was no excuse for his behavior. Almost everyone here came from hard circumstances, he just loved acting this way!..especially when it came to preying on the weaker..

“Oh I see, you gon’ take his side but not mine? You green as hell, (y/n). Some ol’ weird ass shit, bruh. You really not tryna’ help me?…” even getting closer, despite your pushback. “Darius, imma tell you one more time. Leave me alone. Ion want no parts of this. It’s not my business.” But before you could do anything else, he’d grab your wrist and pull you back. A cliche if you had ever seen or experienced one. But just as the old time tale went, your knight and shining armor would swoop in to defend your honor.

“I think she said leave her alone.”

a familiar voice, one you hadn’t heard often but enough to recognize. The reason behind this whole ordeal..

“Wasn’t nobody talking to you. Mind your business.” “This is my business. Putting your hands on a girl..I see your sorry ass jump shot ain’t the only thing that’s weak.”

which only pissed him off even further. Long story short, he’d attempt to pick a fight with the ever so sly Eren but to no avail. He wasn’t taking the bait. Not out of fear but because he wasn’t worth the energy. Eren was a bit of a hothead, even admitting so himself. However, he couldn’t afford to screw up right now. Getting into unnecessary fights would only put him in an even worse situation..especially for the people caring for him. He had done that once and wasn’t about to let it happen again. “(Y/N), right? That’s your name?..” answering him with a nod. “Don’t worry about him. You go ahead, beautiful. He won’t do anything..I can promise you that.” Standing toe to toe with the taller bully. His cheeks puffed up and fuming in rage. Meanwhile, Eren wore nothing but a smirk. He could fume all he wanted but as long as he didn’t put his hands on him. If he took it there, then he’d be glad to show him why trying him wasn’t wise..

luckily, the coach noticed the bubbling scuffle and told them to break it up. Fast forward a few days, give or take and you’d see Eren around campus. Always carrying a pair of headphones and a notebook. Two things he’d never be caught without. One thing was for sure, he was an intriguing dude for sure..you’d eventually find yourselves paired up for a project and needless to say, you were incredibly nervous. Mainly because neither of you had spoken since that day in the gym. It wasn’t for a lack of you being thankful, you just didn’t know what to say. That was until you were in the library doing research together and you’d blurt out your gratitude, along with your apology. Which made him laugh! “What are you thanking me for? He only did that because of me. If anything I should apologize to you.” He was so respectful and bashful, qualities you truly admired. Although he remained shrouded in mystery, he was fascinating and you wanted to know more about him and turns out, you’d learn a pretty interesting tidbit of information! “You have a point. I mean, are you really planning to take his spot as captain though—“ which only further fueled his hysterics. He’d double over laughing and all you could do was give him a look of confusion. “Why are you laughing? I ain’t that funny.” “I’m sorry. I just..listen, I don’t know what you were told but I don’t want his spot. Basketball’s fun, it’s sum’ to do but I already know what I want.” And his answer would shock you, truly. See, Eren had always had an affinity for music. Singing, playing all sorts of instruments since he was a little kid and recently, he’d taken to writing his own songs. That infamous notebook he carried? Filled with poems and songs about everything from basic lines to his deepest emotions. Spilling his heart onto the page as he talked about his family, his anger towards his father and even the loss of someone he held dear to him. Sometimes, they weren’t about him at all..they were just vivid portrayals of elusive tales. He obviously had quite the story to tell but he couldn’t do it or even have the time shooting balls into a hoop. He told the coach he’d consider but his true goal?

“You wanna be the drum major?!” “Yeah, why not? I mean, I know it’s prolly lame but it’s one of my favorite instruments. It was the first one I learned..to me, the drum line is the highlight of the game. They make it entertaining.”

but little did he know, he had piqued your interest for sure! You were so flustered you tried to feign it off but he was too freaking cute! Here you were expecting this athletic, cocky playboy who only cared about girls and being popular but he was so much more than you expected! A nerd just like you. And you knew so for the fact that you’d never held a conversation with a man longer than to give them the answer to a question or let them borrow a textbook. He was so captivating. But perhaps, getting to do incredible solos at halftime wasn’t his only motivation to join the school music program. He had other reasons as well..

“Besides..I would actually get to see you perform. I call it a win.” Causing you to scoff, dismissing his seemingly perverted comments.. “Oh, so you just like everybody else.” but the tension was misplaced. He admired your craft and respected it. Seeing you doing your moves while walking past the gym on his way home, how hard you worked and just overall how graceful you looked. Not to mention, you were drop dead gorgeous! The prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on.. “..I seen you practicing the other day and you’re really good, (y/n). You’re completely different when you’re dancing. You seem really happy..I mean, you make the dance team from my school back home look like stiff ass robots.” Earning his first giggle out of you. From that day forward, a beautiful friendship blossomed..studying together, eating lunch in the library, walking home with you as his group home wasn’t far away, sneaking into the chorus room so you could hear him playing the piano and singing. A privilege reserved strictly for you. Making you sob when you heard his rendition of Stevie Wonder’s ‘Ribbon In The Sky.’ He was so kind, sweet and it didn’t take long before rumors of you guys dating began to permeate through the school. Hallway whispers of you ‘going with that new boy’. It was all the rave. It didn’t help matters any when at the mention of each other’s names, you’d both freeze up like popsicles! It was adorable, really. A budding crush that would soon bloom into something far more than just a platonic bond. After about six months into his arrival at your school, Eren had undoubtedly made a name for himself for not only his basketball skills but his musical ones as well. He had made good on his promise to join the band and make his first step toward becoming drum major. Because the band and majorette team often performed together, you’d be together at practice also and eventually, became inseparable. Flashing you smiles and watching intently while you performed your solos. Him joining proved to be a great addition to an already powerful band because he was so talented and kept up quite nice. In no time flat, he mastered the quads and studied underneath the current drum major, playing at games. Even when he decided to cave and accept the offer to join the basketball team, he had the pleasure of seeing you dance during intermission and even greeting him after the game with a giant hug. You in your shimmering leotard and him in his drenched basketball uniform.. number nineteen printed on the back.

“You looked good out there, princess.” A name he affectionately called you because your team’s competitive name were the Crowned Royalty as your school mascot were knights. And because you often times outshined the reigning captain, you were dubbed “The Princess.” Besides, it sounded so much better coming from him. “Nah, that was all you, Mr. Star Player.” It didn’t take long before he’d do the one thing everyone had been waiting on and ask you to be his girlfriend! With encouragement from his teammates and homeboys, Connie Springer and Onyakopon. They too treated you like a little sister, always teasing you and making sure you were good in Eren’s absence. “You one of us so we gotta make sure you good.” They all worked together at a local shoe store and stayed only three houses down from one another so they spent a lot of time together. In addition to their shared passion and talent with music. Granted, neither of you had experience with dating or having many friendships for that matter but it felt so natural when you were around each other. His cheeks flushed with red the entire time he held your hand on the way to class. Your entire body trembling when he kissed your forehead because you were too scared to kiss on the lips at the time. Even sitting next to him and his friends at lunch was an experience. Listening to them freestyle and make beats. Your best friend Niesha, right beside you, teasing you about how cute your man was and how you’d gotten lucky. And all you could do was shake your head. Eventually, all five of you became thick as thieves. Hanging out after school, going roller skating on weekends when practice permitted and just stayed in your own little bubble. You loved it so much. It was the first time you’d ever had a friends’ group, a true support system.

your grandmother and sole caretaker since you were a kid was absolutely thrilled to see it. Although you called her your best friend, she was happy to see you coming home excited to tell her about something besides a book or your report card. As proud as she was of her baby, she wanted you to experience life. Often times, she’d invite all of them over and cook you all large meals that were nothing short of heaven! Repayment for the boys coming by to mow the grass or help with repairs. They were more than thrilled to do it. “My future grandson in law is a nice young man, ain’t he?” A statement you’d brush off with a smack of your lips. “Cut it out, granny. Ain’t even like that.” She adored Eren and when she learned that he could sing, knowing a few gospel songs as well..she all but claimed him now! He was family and you were so glad that he was in your life. A likewise feeling because for once, he felt as if he belonged. One night, while meeting at your usual spot in the park, high on top of a jungle gym where you’d gaze under the stars, you’d ask him one thing:

“You ever thought about what you want to do with your life?”

and to him, that answer was simple. “..I wanna change the world.”

a dream he’d held onto for as long as he could remember. He loved music more than anything and he wanted his to transcend any genre, any one archetype. He wanted what he created to someone’s reason for living, someone’s inspiration to keep going even when things got dark. He wanted it to put smiles on the faces of people who listened..he didn’t care about awards or being some mega celebrity, he just wanted to pour his heart into what he made and hoped somebody heard his passion.

“And I want you right beside me…(y/n). I don’t wanna do any of this without you.” Clutching your hand atop the structure. He had never been this vulnerable or open with anyone in his life but now was a good of time as any to start.. “..I know everybody prolly thinks I’m some spoiled rich kid who left home just to piss off my folks. Honestly, their opinions stopped meaning anything to me a long time ago..my mom, I love her so much and I really do miss her. I hope one day I can step to her as a man and apologize for putting her through so much. Making her worry about me…” as he spoke, you could feel the tension in his hand as he squeezed yours. This was the first time he’d spoke in detail as to why he was alone down here in such a dangerous city when he by all accounts lived lavishly back home. “I just couldn’t stay..not when my own old man is a fucking coward. I know it’s a long shot but at least I can stand on it. Him? He’ll sell his soul for a dollar. I could never be under the same roof as someone like that. I will do this and I’ll prove him wrong. I’ll make a way for myself so I never have to depend on anybody ever again.” You couldn’t help but to feel that you were missing part of the story but maybe it was something far too traumatizing to hash out in detail right now so as you’d always done, you’d support him. Cradling your arms around him with a giant hug before kissing his cheek. “I’ll always be here for you, Eren. I promise. I know you’ll make it and I wanna be right there by your side. I love you.” “I love you too, (y/n).” Words that sounded insane from a teenager but you meant it. Meant it more so than anything you’d ever said! Some people would say you were too young to know what you wanted but you both knew that no matter what path you took, as long as you walked it together, you were unstoppable!

soon, graduation was right around the corner. You two attended prom together, even made homecoming king and queen and by all accounts, had an amazing senior year! You guys turned eighteen only a couple months apart and thus, were thrusted into adulthood. Working here and there to provide for yourselves all while chasing your dreams. You’d gotten accepted into the University of Miami on a dance scholarship and even though it was a huge opportunity..your heart was misplaced. You felt like another cog in the wheel and a moving piece on a machine. You’d love to dance your entire life but you wanted something more than this. Stiff eight counts and bland rehearsals. Something refreshing..that’s when you’d begin taking pole classes outside of school! An idea you came up with after seeing a popular dancer on Instagram and she looked so graceful..surrounded by plants with her beautiful afro as she swung around the pole. She looked so free!…you wanted to experience that joy too. It took no time at all for you to master the craft and just like that, your spark was reinvigorated. By this time, Eren was all but halfway to his own goal after going viral for singing in the store he worked at and still very much an important fixture in your life. He managed to catch the eye of one of the industry’s top executives and legendary musician herself, Vivian James. She was one of your grandmother’s favorites, despite being younger than her. This woman had a powerhouse of a voice and needless to say, Eren’s had her intrigued.

“You did it, ‘ren. I’m so proud of you, baby!”

although he hadn’t quite made it yet it was one hell of a start. It wouldn’t be easy but he was willing to put in every bit of the work it took to succeed. Having you there to encourage him would be all the strength he needed to keep going. But he wanted to support your dreams as well! He never wanted this relationship to be one sided. “What about you, princess? Do you really like dancing for the school? Are you happy?” If anyone could see through the facade, it was your boyfriend of almost three years. He saw how amazing you were when you did pole. It didn’t matter which avenue of dance you took, you excelled but he’d never seen you more happy than when you were twirling midair and doing all these crazy stunts. He wanted you to be safe, of course, but he wanted to find joy in something the way he did. “I just..I don’t want to do what everyone else is doing or what they expect of me. I loved majorette but pole is just so different. I have so much fun.” There it was, a glimmer in your eye that couldn’t be sated when you spoke about it. The rush you felt setter coming down from a death drop. Eventually, you’d go on to quit the dance team, forfeiting your scholarship but your grades alone afforded you many other grants and things so you’d do online classes while working for your uncle’s shop and practicing under his wing. Eventually you found the courage to upload yourself online and it wasn’t long before you reached your own bit of notoriety. Captivating thousands with not only your skills but your stunning looks. Eren always called you princess but honestly, you were like a divine being. A goddess and sometimes, not even he could believe you were real.

before either of you knew it, you were nearing twenty and your dreams were falling into place. It seemed as if the hard times and rainy days both of you had gone through were over. You were so ecstatic when he got his own place, after securing and successfully completing an audition with AMG. The biggest talent agency in the country. Along side his two best friends nonetheless and eventually asked you to move in with him. But it wasn’t the only proposal he had. No, there was something else he needed to ask you..so with trembling hands, tearful eyes and in the same empty park where you’d spend countless nights talking about your futures; surrounded by faux candlelight and roses, he’d ask the one thing you never thought you’d hear:

“Will you marry me, (y/n) (l/n)? Will you do this forever with me?”

and it was no question! The answer was yes, a million times over! That night, the two of you exchanged intense, heavy kisses and warm, inviting touches underneath the moonlight of your very first place. A one bedroom apartment but it didn’t matter. It felt like a castle; an unreal fantasy when you had him. You’d let him caress and run his hands along your body. Kissing and licking your neck on the frameless mattress as your nude bodies entangled in the white sheet covering them. Neither of you had ever done anything like this before and although you were nervous as all hell, you were ready. Ready to take this next step. When you were in school, so many other kids were already going the extra mile and some had even fallen pregnant by the time you graduated. But your love was so pure and innocent, sex seemed like a foreign concept. It was the furthest thing from your minds. You enjoyed being around each other. The feeling you derived just from when he grabbed you and pulled you into his chest with a kiss to your forehead. You never felt pressured to lose your virginity because you knew that a moment like this would make it all the more special and that he’d be the only one you’d share it with. So in that moment, Eren moved his tongue down your body, kissing and marking your neck with a trail of sloppy pecks. Your hands trailed up his back that had now been stamped with his first tattoo. His hair..that once tapered brown haired cut was dangling in front of your face as half of it remained tied into a bun. He had often dreamed about what this moment would consist of..how it would feel to be given the flower of his beloved. To ‘pop’ your cherry and have the honor of being your first and vice versa. Would he hurt you? Would he fuck it up? His only true goal was to know that you were feeling good. He didn’t want to sound like a weird degenerate but his only experience was through videos and his hand. And yours? He was scared! So terrified that you had to grab his shoulders and tell him to breathe as he was trembling when he began to touch your sensitive center.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s just us here…take your time. You’re doing so good..”

only backed up when he slowly circulated his fingers around on your clit and watched you writhe in pleasure. Whimpering and crying out his name. It was so slippery and juicy but he assumed that was a good thing from the way you rutted your hips and pushed down on the single digit that he put inside of you. “Oh my God…Eren that feels so good!..” “It does? I’m so glad, baby.. can I keep keep going, like that?” Watching you break into a smile as your eyes squeezed shut was as close to nirvana as he could get. He loved seeing you happy. Breathing heavier and begging for more when you added another and stimulated you even more. You were so incredibly tight that he was sweating bullets, wondering how he’d be able to fit inside of you. How could he top this moment?…carefully examining your body; that gorgeous skin, those perfectly round breasts that had grown exponentially since he’d first met you, dark nipples erect and drenched in his saliva as he kissed them softly and those curves that had only filled out in all the right places. He wanted to adore this beautiful body forever..make love to you until he perfected it. Until he could know every bump, line and curve that made up your frame. So much so that even in absence, you’d crave one another and no one else could ever fill that void. He wanted to love you with his eyes closed. To know every tick, every like, dislike and point that made you explode with pleasure. He wanted to be yours in flesh, mind and spirit until you both left this earth.

eventually, you’d find yourself squirming around in the sheets and with his fingers alone, you’d reach your very first orgasm! The feeling was so indescribable, you couldn’t even speak. Only curse and flail around, which he thought was so cute. Chuckling as he pulled you to his chest with a cooing tone. “Aw, baby. It’s okay. There you go, just let it out.” Embarrassed by the fact that you let out a gentle stream of liquid, thinking you had actually urinated but it was the furthest thing from. “Trust me, that’s not what happened. It’s okay, beautiful.” Neither of you even gave a damn. All you wanted was to experience him in his entirety. You’d look down and see that his cock was stiff. Swollen, thick and glowing red at the tip. You’d never seen one in real life but by comparison, it was huge and you were so scared, your knees pushed together and began to buckle as you swallowed a large gulp, wondering how you were supposed to take all of that inside of you… “..we can go slow. We don’t have to fit it all at once. You just let me know how much you can handle, okay baby?” Seemingly trying to console you when he was all but losing his mind. Slowly but surely, his tip would make place atop your overly sensitive slit. Splitting open your folds with that puffy mushroom tip. Bright red and dripping with cum..he was so ready to make you his. “Eren…” hearing the nervous yet needy quiver in your voice made him twitch on his own but he’d merely chuckle, reaching down to stroke your face. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care you, okay princess? Here, hold my hands.” without hesitation, completing devoting yourself to him, you’d intertwine your fingers with his own as he integrated from the top to the inside of your warm center. Both of you broke into a high pitched gasp, never experimenting such a sensation before. It was truly like magic..

“Oh fuck..” the words escaping each of your lips as the same time, so much so, it made you and him break into a giggle. The realization of the moment setting on you both. “We’re actually doing this, huh?” “..yeah, but I wouldn’t want it with anyone else..” with that, he’d lean down and brush the side of your face as he began to buck his hips. “I’m gonna start moving, okay? You just let me know if I need to stop..” acknowledging his question with a nod, he’d persist forth and keep pushing. One slow stroke turned into two and before he knew it, he had established a rhythm. Being as gentle and doting as possible. That tight flesh sucking him in with each thrust but still not giving way..you’d squirm and whimper but all from pleasure. You’d claw at his sides and although your eyes were shut tight, you’d let him know that you were alright. Eventually, that room filled with soft cries and the two of you uttering each others names, along with lewd moans. “It’s..so good! Fuck…” “..please, keep moving..don’t stop, Eren.” Begging for more, despite the fact that his shaft had become coated in a very thin sheath of blood and a few tears trailed down your cheek. Signifying that he had finally unwrapped the gift that you’d waited so long for him to claim. The mattress began to jolt around and the floor underneath creaking from the sounds of your lovemaking. That red liquid soon replaced by a clear mucus and his dick nestled inside of you to the halfway mark. What felt like an eternity was in reality..only five minutes and already, he was about to tap out. Panting and breathing heavily as that pace sped up. His pattern was off kilter but he still had you clawing for the sheets, screaming his name. “Yes, baby! Right there, I can feel it again. I’m gonna—“ but before you could announce your own climatic peak, he’d beat you to the punch and without thinking or warning, he’d let out a loud cry, sobbing even and spouting expletives the entire time as a warm load filled your newly defiled cunt. He was in such shock, it didn’t even dawn on him until he’d look down and see it spilling out of you.

“I—shit. I wasn’t supposed to do that. I’m so sorry, (y/n)!” But it was fine. You trusted him so dearly, the two of you forgot any protection. Luckily, you had long been on birth control for reasons unrelated to sex so you weren’t scared. Besides, in that moment, all you knew was that you wanted more. You didn’t want this moment to cease for anything. “It’s okay, baby..I’m fine. Come here..” beckoning him towards you so you could get another one of those divine kisses. It was the best part. With you both having experienced that high for the first time, you didn’t want to come down so for the entire duration of that night, the two of you made love. Exploring and enjoying each other’s bodies. Laughing, kissing, touching and making blunders..the joy that could only come from true lovers. A long time coming certainly, but a moment nonetheless that was worth the wait. By the time you finished, you were both an emotional wreck. Crying but only out of pure rejoice. Having given yourself to the one man that you’d love for the rest of eternity.

“I love you, Eren..”

“I love you more, (y/n)..”

and this time, there was no question, hesitation or doubt when those words were uttered. You were older now and for a flame that everyone was certain would die out, it was now burning brighter than ever.

#cherry’s asks 🍒 #nonnies 🍒🌹 #nonnie you are a genius and I very much love you for this #big forehead smooches to you <3 #i got carried away #sorry LMAOO #aot x black reader #black fem reader #eren x black fem!reader #musician x influencer au #aot au #high school au #high school sweethearts #black reader #black reader smut #eren x black reader #eren x black y/n #eren jaeger smut #eren headcanons #eren jaeger x black reader #eren jaeger #eren jaeger x reader #black fanfiction #attack on titan #attack on titan au #aot smut #eren smut #aot fluff #cw smut #loss of virginity

[sophiamarieispinkbunny-chan]

Forger Fam and WISE Budget😅

Sylvia’s current concern according to Endo: Balancing WISE Budget

I mean how couldn’t she be concerned when maintaining Strix is so financially consuming.

I mean look at all the expenses the Forger family has made in less than a year:

1.Anya’s tuition that costs about $35,000 to $40,000, and that doesn’t include the uniform and school supplies.

2.Anya’s clothes and she seemed to have new clothes regularly and Endo said these are mostly bought by Loid/Twilight.

3.That castle rent that costs more than $77 000 and added the other check, I'm guessing for the furniture they used, that costs $17 600. (Yes, it costs more than Anya's tuition fee, I mean it's a castle 😂)

4.Loid could also not just be purchasing clothes for Anya. It looks like he also pays for Yor’s wardrobe and Yor mentioned that he got so many clothes for her in the boutique before the Eden Interview.

5.Loid is also the one who pays for their dates, seems like, and his dates with Yor doesn’t seem cheap at all, they seem to dine at fancy restaurants that require reservation.

6.The big heap of cash he pays Franky every time he babysits Anya and Bond.

And here it looks like the check his giving Franky costs 20,000 dalcs that is equivalent to $44,000 (one dalc is quivalent to $2.20). It's even more expensive than Anya's tuition, what?! 😂😂 (Twilight is literally willing to spend a lot money just to be sure that Anya won't be home alone ever again, he's not taking a chance on her being kidnapped again when he left her alone on ep1)

7.Loid didn’t seem to also hold back in spending a good amount of money for their apartments furniture and for Anya’s bedroom and even bought her a lot of toys and picture books.

8.And of course their out of town/out of the country family trips featured in the Code White movie. Those must’ve cost a lot considering they have to book a hotel and all. And according to a movie spoiler from tiktok, that wasn’t the last time they went on a family out of town trip.

Loid Forger does have a high paying profession. However, according to Endo, his earnings as a psychiatrist were only about $140,000 per year, not per month, PER YEAR. How could he cover that much expenses? Of course WISE covers the rest if it was crucial to the mission, or when Twilight insists it to be. I mean he always says that everything he does is for his mission so the one who has to pay was the one who gave him that mission.

(Most of these expenses didn't even contribute to the progress of Operation Strix. It just funds Twilight into sinking deeper into his fake fam and keeps the family even more attached to each other😂)

Endo said WISE is not really generous when it comes to paying their agents but they seem to be lenient on spending their money on the Forgers. I mean they have to invest for their Top Spy's family and World Peace do depend on them.

So Twilight, pile the bills and let Sylvia handle the rest😂

#spy x family #spy x family manga #spy x family anime #sxf anime #sxf manga #loid forger #twilight #yor forger #anya forger #sxf analysis #spy x family analysis #forger family #the forgers #WISE got money to burn #Endo did say that that Westalis is richer than Ostania #Poor Sylvia #I wonder how is she auditing all these expenses to the higher ups #It's for the mission so it's fine #sxf commentary #spy x family commentary

[tojjist]

“At Least” S. Gojo

☆ genre: angst to fluff (kinda)

☆ pairings: Gojo Satoru x f! reader

☆ summary: After Geto left, nothing has been the same. Especially not your relationship with Gojo Satoru. Once you decide to move to Kyoto for good, Gojo is less than pleased. But fate does not seem to want to let you go.

☆ cw: mentions of sex, depressed gojo, not spoiler free, hopping between timelines but like i added non-canon events, smoking, drinking, getting drunk, high school Gojo being a high school boy, cussing, mentions of drunk sex but it doesn’t happen, mentions character death (from the anime), gojo satoru (yes that's a trigger warning).

☆ wc : 5.6k

☆ a/n: this has been in the doing for so long? I've been waiting to have the chance to upload it for maybe a year now smh. Also was originally written for an irl of mine lmao

“Oh my god,” you emphasize each word, pushing the wooden chair away with your knee. “Satoru, is it yours?”

His black pupils, lined with iris the color of morning skies, study your figure from behind the shaded glasses, pink lips quirking slightly upwards in approval of your attention.

“Nah, it's only staying with me for a week,” he stated, watching nervously as you strode over to him. “His owner is away for some business.”

Your attention remained fixed on the pet in Satoru's long, long arms. Your face lit up when a bark escaped the infant animal. “Can I hold it?”

Satoru watched over you carefully, pleading eyes coming in line with his blues. You make it hard to say anything other than an immediate yes, but he tries to stretch out the conversation to his best ability.

“It's 400 yen for 10 minutes,” he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his words. He earned a look of amusement from you; a small victory. He then braced himself for the next part. Satoru bent down, meeting you eye-to-eye, and noticed your breath catching in anticipation. “Or... you can shorten your skirt.”

Your face took no time to grow hot, not giving any verbal answer besides the blank expression you stare at him with. For a second, Gojo let himself think he's the victor of this little challenge he started in his head. But he soon came to realize how grave of a mistake he's made.

You're not flustered, you're angry.

“You're such a fucking pervert,” you fume, eyes glaring daggers. He dares not move, noticing the way your eyes flutter over his face.

“You're truly unbelievable,” the shorter male chuckled, making sure he didn't bump into Satoru's now-bruised arm. “What were you even thinking?”

“I thought it was funny, y'know?” He huffed in response. Gojo's fingers ran through his own bright locks as he took a seat on the wood hung up by metal chains. "Besides, has she always been this strong? Physically, I mean."

Geto stared into the reddish sky of dusk, placing himself into a swing in turn and kicking the air so the swing would start moving. "I don't know. Girls are really full of surprises.”

He never thought, not in a million years, things would come to this. Ever since Gojo's last encounter with Geto after he, well, changed... Gojo became unable to face anyone quite the same way he did before.

How did he get here? How did things escalate to this? Thinking about it, Geto had shown signs of a change in his heart and mind. It was Satoru's fault, was it not? He should have done better. He should have noticed. How could he not have? wasn't he the strongest? Wasn't that his job? How could he be so bad at everything?

How could he fail everyone like this?

“Gojo-San?”

Your feminine voice cut his train of thought. He almost forgot the situation he is now stuck in. He's been doing that a lot: losing himself in thought, mind almost immune to the outer world until he temporarily lost his sense of self. Nothing felt quite the same any more. It was like the world had lost its color.

“Sorry- What's up?” He turned to you. Gojo-san, you called him. When did you stop using his given name? What's with the '-san'? Gojo hadn't realized that losing one person was the first step, and now he found himself deep in the road of losing everyone.

And now he's stuck in the elevator with the girl he had liked for so long. He couldn't find it in himself to say anything to you, to push your buttons like he always did or joke around. When did the world become so heavy? He does not know.

“Are you okay? You seemed off.”

Your face is devoid of any genuine emotion, seemingly expressionless. But your voice is laced with concern. Gojo could only guess you didn't want him thinking you pity him or anything of such. But if that isn't the case, he wouldn't know. He's too tired to bother thinking about it.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine,” he smiled in assurance, “Just bothered by, well, this-” he threw his hand in the way of the control panel. The elevator doors have been stuck for almost twenty minutes now. How pleasant.

“uh huh,” you sigh, turning back around. How did you turn so cold?

When the silence stretches, you start a conversation, hesitant at first. “By the way, I got accepted as a helper in a nursery in Kyoto,” you mutter, gaze avoiding his own. “they're expecting me to start work right after spring break.”

Spring break?

Holy shit. It hit him like a truck. That’s barely a week and a half from now.

“Spring break? Why so soon?”

“That’s when the students file back in,” you mumble, fiddling with the watch placed around your wrist. You pause to read the time, then turn to meet his eyes. “I’m leaving in four days to get settled.”

“Oh…” His breath caught, “Train?”

What a stupid question. He knows. Satoru has never been unintelligent, especially in conversing. But now his unintelligence shines through as if it’s his only trait. He’s glad you don’t question it.

“Yeah, I have no other form of transport really.”

“Well, uh…” He hates himself. He hates himself for not doing anything. He hates himself for being so weak and  cowardly, for being unable to keep his friends around him, for shutting everyone he holds close out. But now, he especially hates himself for being unable to feel happy for you, or to congratulate you on the opportunity, “come visit us every once in a while, yeah?”

Your mouth remains shut, only staring at the tall man before your eyes. The silence stretches between the two of you once again, and you don’t find it in you to speak of how you feel.

“You.. you know you could have died, right? We all could have b-but you…” You trail off, thoughts splattered like a spilled pot of ink. Although you seemed unfazed, in your mind you were anything but. Haibara, Riko, and all the losses that trailed and every event that followed has been stressful and nerve-wrecking. And even in the quietness and silence of the general atmosphere, it has been nearly impossible to find peace within yourself.

“Well, I didn’t. What happened had passed. Can you change that? I doubt so. No point in ‘if’ and ‘could’ve’.”

Before you could respond,the lights flickered back on. You grow unsure if you’ve struck a nerve, but that wasn’t what you meant. Gojo’s response had nothing to do with what you said, you were sure he knew exactly what your words were meant for. Why is he so scared of confronting it?

You don’t know. You could never hope to know because you and Gojo Satoru live in different worlds, the man who was only Satoru some time ago. You were worlds apart, yet  Satoru loved to play pretend that he lived in the same world as you, even when he stuck out like a sore thumb. But he was no longer. Ever since Geto left… it’s safe to say everyone has been changing slowly, deforming from their previous lives and personalities. But Satoru flipped, like the head and tail of a coin, he got himself a new face. He turned into Gojo Satoru; the strongest. A soul unalive. A broken boy in an ever growing body. A stranger.

Two days later you find yourself still roaming the campus , searching so desperately for something. Anything. A reason to stay, perhaps? You don’t find it anyway. You have no attachment as this place holds nothing but misery. Or that’s what you told yourself over and over as you packed your things.

Your steps were graceful, walking so cautiously as if careful to not wake someone up. Your fingers find rest on the old, dusty door frame, pushing yourself into the room that hadn’t been used for a good month or so. The classroom looked the same as it always did. Except for the shadow that loomed over it; a gray shade that sent chills down your spine. Or maybe it’s just your imagination. 

Then you spot something rather out of place. You’re sure you’ve never seen it before and although you know it’s none of your business, the way it tugs at the strings of your curiosity is undeniable.

It’s red, poking out of what you’re sure is Gojo’s desk. The gloomy classroom was no fit for paper with a color so vibrant. 

Your heart skips a beat when you glimpse the seat next to Satoru’s. You do your best to avoid looking at Geto’s desk any further. You busy yourself with the task at hand, reaching out for the mysterious paper hidden in the wooden desk. Shivers run up your arm at the texture of the scrunched paper.

You attempt to straighten it to your best ability, strained by his hard work of crumbling it with obvious frustration. you can barely make out the letters of your name in the middle of the paper, outlined by a messy circle. How Gojo of him. A few lines stick out of the ‘circle’, one of them has the name of a steakhouse somewhere in Tokyo. Another has a date, reading somewhere along February. It’s near impossible to make out what the small combination of letters say, especially when Satoru’s handwriting is closer to symbols than a comprehensible language.

The thought of it was so funny it didn’t feel like him at all. Satoru never planned anything. Every breath he took was based on pure impulse. Never would it have occurred to you that he thinks through things, let alone brainstorm.

The thought makes you smile. But the realization that he never asked you out because he changed his mind or everything that happened getting in his way makes your stomach churn unpleasantly. 

You decide it’s probably for the best to never bring it up. It would only make matters worse for both of you. Life ran its course; who are you to try and change it?

“I apologize, but my answer remains. I refuse to take part in this,” you spoke in an even tone. “I have a job and a life away from jujutsu. I’ve made it clear sorcery is not a part of my life anymore.”

"That’s completely understandable,” the old man argued, his voice hoarse with age. You’re pretty sure you hear anger further straining his voice, “but your technique is quite strong. That strength could be of great assistance if put to use.”

“Thank you, sir,” you dip your head, maintaining eye contact with the decaying man. “But I truly apologize. The decision is final.”

“If you ever do change your mind, please let us know. We’d be more than happy to hear it.”

You almost let a sigh of relief escape. Finally he gave up. You end up only nodding your head in response gratefully, retreating from the old man. As soon as you're safe and out of sight, you let your posture drop, eyes rolling back in annoyance. These guys are truly as relentless as ever.

You stopped upon a familiar scent catching in your nostrils. Lifting your head up, your eyes roam around, scanning the room for your friend.

“You look troubled,” Shoko approaches you, taking the cigarette out from between her teeth. “What’s with the face?”

“How is that man even alive,” you look at her, “he’s ancient.”

Your comment earns a light chuckle from the brunette. “I’m glad I never have to get caught up in this bullshit.”

“Blissed aren’t you,” you roll your eyes as you speak. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place, I knew they were going to do this.”

“It’s alright, you’re all done now. Here-” Your friend then lifts the cigarette up, putting it near your mouth. When you don’t show any resistance she, being the bad influence she has always been, proceeds to place it between your lips. You waste no time, making quick work of the drag you inhale, bringing the familiar cloud of toxic chemicals and tobacco into your lungs. Your expression relaxes, shifting into one of relief. Shoko scoffs playfully, muttering that you’re dramatic under her breath before she pulls her cigarette from you, taking in a drag.

“Satoru’s here, by the way,” Shoko didn’t need to look at you to guess the way your eyes snap towards her. She bites back a smile. “He’s calmed down. He’d even seem the same as long as you don’t squint too hard.”

“Good for him,” you mutter, trying to seem as unbothered and nonchalant as your accelerating heart rate would allow. You avoid looking at Shoko, trying to seem disinterested. You know she’d pretend you weren’t gawking at her the second she said his name.

“He’s trying, you know. He’s just as nervous as you are.”

“‘M not nervous,” you scoff, “For god’s sake. It’s been ten years already.”

Satoru is stressed. He's nervous, as Shoko put it. He’d spent so long trying to ignore the past, pretend the past wasn’t at all. He couldn’t confront it. He didn’t want to. Satoru knows what he’s done, he's aware that he hurt you the last time you two had interacted. And that was ten years ago. He even let you leave without so much as a goodbye. How could he look you in the eye and pretend nothing has ever happened?

Gojo didn’t want to face the consequences of what he’s done. More so what he hasn’t. So many things were left unsaid in the elevator that day. They’ve been hanging over Satoru ever since, weighing his heart down and wearing it out.

What if he’s met by another woman? Ten years change a lot as is. What if the eyes that meet his aren’t yours? What if he finds himself talking to a stranger that carries around your name and features? Of all the horrors Gojo Satoru had faced in his life, nothing caused dread to pool in the pit of his stomach like this thought does.

Shoko seems to find something beyond you interesting. You don’t bother to turn to see as the brunette has always been a little in her own head. She’s probably just dozed off.

“Hey, think you can hold this for me?” Shoko muttered once Gojo crossed her sight. She stands facing you, averting his gaze. “I’ll be right back, nature’s calling.”

From his distance, Gojo couldn’t make out what the two of you were saying. He watched as your shoulders shook, presumably in laughter. Shoko then made her away from you, barely sparing Satoru a glance.

Every step he took felt heavy, weights landing on his shoulders as he moved towards you. He watched smoke emerge from over your head. He didn’t know you smoked. And even though he’s not completely sure what you do for a living now, he’s not expecting any nursery to accept a smoker in their team.

His long strides finally arrived, opting to remain a step behind you. Close enough to make his presence known.

The aura was unmistakable, almost as if it could be physically sensed. You freeze in place, the cigarette remaining a few inches from your lips. Even after he changed his perfume to one a lot more manly and appealing, and clearly grew taller judging by the shadow he cast over you, his presence still had the same strength as it did before. If not stronger. Anyone else would say it’s intimidating. But you find surprising comfort in it.

“That’s going to kill you,” his hand  reached from over your head, making sure to not cause any unnecessary physical contact. His fingers slip the burning cigarette  from your grip. You find yourself unable to make a single move in response, only watching his actions unfold.

He took a step, moving closer, dimming the light from the roll by rubbing it against the metal bars, then throwing it off the balcony. “You’re too young to kill yourself like that.”

“That bitch Shoko set me up,” You hiss, regaining your composure. “Will you look who showed up. You’re killing the ecosystem by throwing waste like this, Gojo.”

Although you haven’t glanced his way yet, You were every bit sure his mouth was quirked in the same smug smirk he wore so much when you were younger. You could even hear it in his voice as he spoke, “You haven’t grown at all, have you?”

“Oh shut it,” you chuckle. “You’re still as immature as ever. How you could be a manchild at 27 is a wonder to me.”

27… It felt so weird to say it out loud. Weren’t you just 17 a few days ago?

“Oh, how you hurt me,” he says in exaggeration, his voice conveying anything but the hurt he claims to feel. “That isn’t very nice of you.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” You say. He laughs a little, you do too. But the silence that follows is not that of a joke. He knew what you’re referring to. Maybe he underestimated your last encounter’s effect on you.

The silence speaks for itself. It’s louder than any conversation you’ve had before. What now? What have we become? Is it of any use to try anymore? Neither of you had an answer to the question that began to surface with this interaction.

The questions remain hung in the air, dimming the atmosphere around you. Was this fate’s doing? Or his karma? Gojo has always been told he’s a god, but how could he be a higher form of life when he struggled so much to hold a conversation?

He’s about to speak again when you cut him off, muttering “here-” as you push your hand down the coat you wore. Your tongue pokes at the inside of your cheek as you search for the anonymous object.

You pull out a worn out paper, grown from what could have been a bright red to an orangish shade. His eyes study as you shove the paper in his  direction, eyes avoiding his gaze at all costs.

Seeing your bashful expression made him rather curious, the contents of the wrinkled paper piquing his interest. He hesitates before he pulls the paper from your hand, half-expecting you to bite him.

The letters were scribbles, almost like they’re straight out of some cult’s ritual,  that with the wrinkles of the worn out paper making reading it next to impossible. Still, he could make out just enough to realize what this paper is. His eyes widened behind the blindfold. It didn’t take much to remember this paper, trivial as it may be.

“You found this- how did you even…?” he trails off, confused.

“I guess I did,” You confirm. He’s unsure if you’re proud of yourself for your rather… interesting discovery. It’s bold of you to pull this out ten whole years later. But he can’t deny the relief he feels that at least this means you don’t completely hate him. For once, he’s truly at loss for words. 

But he wouldn’t let a perfect opportunity like this slide.

“Oh, so you’re in love with me? You’re so obsessed with me that you kept this for so many years, what a loyal fangirl.”

Before he knew it, a weight so crushing landed on his foot. He turned off his infinity around you as a sign of trust. But he soon came to regret his rather unsmart decision. Your foot stomped and crushed his toes. It makes him groan in pain, bending slightly forward.

“Tomorrow, at Narisawa in Minato city, 5:30. I’m leaving for Kyoto in 3 days. Don’t waste your chance again, Gojo Satoru. You’re not getting another one.”

“I take it you’ve been in love with me ever since?” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “Say, did you fascinate about me?”

“Hmm..” you hum softly at his childish question, “only a little.” You show no signs of interest in his tactics as you sipped the wine in your hand. Undeniably, Gojo is taken aback by your lack of reaction. He hasn’t known you to be so reserved and smart at keeping him on edge. He couldn’t help finding your new behavior enticing.

Is there anything else you’d like to have?” You nodded your head towards the plates sitting on the table, some empty and some half-full. “Or do you wanna do something else before I go back to the hotel?”

“Hmm? Maybe I could join you at the hotel, actually. Surely it’ll be a lot less lonely with me around?”

You’re tempted by his offer, feeling the heat pooling in your stomach. He looked strikingly handsome today. Maybe you were just really lonely and touch starved, or maybe it’s the way his lips quirk as he teases you that makes your brain a little hazy, inappropriate thoughts floating through it and send jolts to your core. Yet, you set your mind on refusing his advances. You haven’t had a decent conversation since high school, for god's sake.

He keeps his eyes set on you, shining before him. You looked glamorous. He’d lie if he said there wasn’t a certain allure to  your matured looks. The years that flew by changed a lot of things about you two, but his breath still catches in his throat when your eyes meet his dreamy blues. The feelings rush back, memories clouding his train of thought. 

He’s sure he’s going to pay. He didn’t mind it at all, what a small price for getting to spend an evening with you. But you surprise him when you bring up that you had already put your card down, courtesy of having been the one to ask him out. Or maybe this was your way of telling him that you are in pretty good condition, living perfectly well without needing sorcery.

“How’s working as a jujutsu teacher?” you quip, smiling softly. “Utahime says you’ve got some interesting kids in your pack? Two special grades, too. You’re sure a favorite attraction for wonders.”

“You’re still in contact with her too?” he dodges talking about his students, not meeting your gaze. “That’s ironic. Weren’t we friends too?”

A hoarse chuckle emerges from him. But nothing about it leads back to amusement, as it was a joyless sound devoid of life. Almost as if he were mocking you. The dark lenses of the shades sitting on the bridge of his nose served as a shield. He curses himself for being so weak. He's almost thirty but somehow you’ve got him acting like he did when he was 17. 

“You didn’t try to contact me either,” you shrug, not willing to take the blame for your lack of contact. 

“You could have visited then. Even Yaga talked about you every once in a while,” he isn’t too happy and it’s showing.

“All good things, I hope-“

“Don’t change the subject,” he frowns, an uneasy edge outlining his words. “He was enough. You didn’t have to go ahead and leave too.”

“I had to move on, Gojo,” the name felt like a jab every time you used it. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it. This is how you drew your boundaries. Calling them by their last names gives you a false sense of satisfaction, convincing yourself that your sorcerer friends are past figures now. Mere acquaintances. 

“-I couldn’t remain hung there forever, I valued my mental health. You grew distant, the atmosphere was growing uneasy every day. I had to cut ties with Jujutsu before I couldn’t recognize myself anymore.”

“Yet you’re here now. Back to square one,” his playful tone was long gone, now replaced by an even, stern one. “Whether you moved away or called us by our last names. It’s a curse you can’t escape. you’ll always end up back in the palms or jujutsu.”

His words held some truth. You know that. But just as he refused to confront this past, you repulsed the idea of your reality. You truly want to believe that you could escape this part of yourself and live a normal life. You couldn’t come to terms with your inability. You held onto your hopes as if your sanity completely depended on it. Another thing that won’t change no matter how much you grew.

“I'll be okay as long as I refuse to interact with this world.”

Once you leave the restaurant, you find yourself wandering through the rich streets of Minato city. It felt as though the night was pulling you further into its welcoming embrace, with nothing rushing you.

“He was only thirteen,” you chuckle, arm linked in his. “It’s unbelievable how bold kids nowadays are.”

“I would’ve done the same thing, honestly,” he smirks, his gaze fixed on the stores around.

“Of course. You’ve got the brains of a thirteen year old.”

Satoru grins at your remark, pulling you into a clothes store. 

“What’s this?” you look around in confusion, noting a woman in a suit welcoming you. The place looked a little too fancy, judging by the display of the items and the lighting of the place.

“It’s a western brand,” Satoru answers. Looking over at him, you can’t help but smile a little. He looks good tonight. His fancy outfit gave the impression that he’s a model to strangers. “Louis Vuitton, I think,” He furrows his brows, trying to remember the name of the brand stores he’s been to with Nobara and Shoko.

“Prada, sir,” The lady in a suit corrected him. “Can I help you?”

“We’re just browsing, thank you.” It’s a phrase he heard from Kugisaki countless times whenever they wandered into a store. His response makes you chuckle, watching as the lady takes a few steps backwards politely.

You’re soon comfortable, searching through the expensive coats and bags. Satoru watched tenderly. Even though the ten years that passed with no contact whatsoever definitely propose a wall between you, he's glad you're able to feel free. You might nit on the same page, but you two can work with what you have.

You stride back to the “S” shaped velvet couch sat in the middle of the checker-carpet store, where Satoru sat. But he was nowhere to be seen.

You walk around in hesitance and confusion, completely aware of the lady walking always a few feet behind you. Surveillance, you guess.

You find him standing in front of the white counter, taking a black bag with the brand’s name printed onto it in golden letters from the man standing behind the counter in a white shirt with the brand's logo on it.

“Gojo,” you call him, confusion fused into your expression.

He extends his arm to you, trying to suppress any sourness at you calling him Gojo. “Let’s go?”

You nod, eyeing him suspiciously before you link your arm in his. You make sure to flash a grateful smile at the woman by the door as you walk past the reflective glass door.

You almost forgot how busy the world outside is. It felt as though the glass building of the store was sound proof. Now you have to adjust to the noise of the full streets again.

Satoru remains silent for the most part. It’s not awkward, rather just neither of you knew what to say. He expected you to ask about what he bought, which you have considered. You decide against it though as you feel it’s none of your business. You’re not too surprised anyway as Gojo has always been a wealthy man. He could buy the entire Prada chain with half of his monthly spending.

“What do you wanna do now?” He asks. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

You think about going to the club to give the night the best closure. But neither of you were dressed for it anyway. You contemplate your choices. Then you grin at him, and Satoru knows it’s best to fear what comes after

You’re well aware that he has a high alcohol tolerance. While you would be wasted a few shots in. Yet you consumed so many drinks recklessly, thinking that maybe you could beat him in a drinking game.

That’s why he’s stuck to your side now, helping your sleeping body out of his car. Satoru is glad your hotel card was so easy to find in your purse, taking it out as he gets into the lobby.

A few people eye the man, glaring at him and at the way he held you in his arms. But he couldn’t bring himself to think too much about it. His mission is to get you to bed now.

“Satoruuu~” You whine, rubbing your face into the pillow once he sat you on the white bedding. “Stay with meeee”

And Satoru is nothing if not human. Despite what everyone else says. It’s proven now that he had come to face a human flaw like this. He is weak, and you are all but practically seducing him.

“Stop crying,” He mutters. He finds himself smiling sheepishly at the unlikely scenario he found himself in. Tucking you in bed, your face hot due to the drinks you had. He really should have stopped you. “I’ll stay the night, so sleep already.”

He convinced himself it’s for the best. He should watch over you for tonight. No funny business. Deep inside he knew he was just finding a reason— any reason to stay around you for a little longer, heart yearning for the lost years. But he ignored the pathetic feeling, convincing himself it’s for your sake instead.

“But I’m uncomfortableee,” you whine again, hands running down your body. “The dress...”

Did you have to make it so hard on him? Satoru is tempted to kiss you, eyebrows knitted in the space between, eyes looking around the room for any sort of aid.

This is probably a form of invading your privacy, but he sees no other choice. He’ll have to hold it together for tonight.

“nngh..”

Your groan came with an impending headache. Your body moves against the rich covers of the bed, sunlight illuminating your physique.

He stopped in his tracks, feet bare against the gray carpet.

Your form is beautiful, one to compete with statues of goddesses. The rays of light complimented every inch of skin in all the right ways. Satoru had to physically shake his head to stop the flowing perverted thoughts in his head.

Your flinch when you catch him standing near the door, heart beating slightly faster. You thought that you’re alone. You don’t think much of it anyway, muttering a “holy shit” under your breath.

“Good morning,” he casually greets, brushing off the mutual shock, albeit for different reasons. “I made coffee, if you wanted some.”

“Oh... thank you,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes as you sit up straight. “Did you eat anything yet?”

“Not yet, no,”  he says, holding his overly sweet coffee in both palms. “Thought I’d wait until you woke up.”

“You’re a real sweetheart, Satoru,” you yawn. His name slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You busy yourself with stretching your arms. “What a doting housewife God has blessed me with”

His response is only a chuckle, rolling his eyes as he sighs on the edge of the bed. “Well, at least I wasn’t begging a man to spend the night with me”

“Huh?”

You couldn’t remember anything of the prior night. Nothing that occurred after you sat at the bar, specifically. But then you begin to realize, eyes widening at the revelation. You feel dreadfulness landing in the pit of your stomach a little too late. 

He’s shirtless, wearing only his suit pants. And even though you wouldn’t mind the sight any other day, the fact that you are in your pajamas isn’t helping at all.

“Did we...” You trail off, expression darkening. Your eyes meet his own, fear implanted in your pupils. You watch as his expression drifts from confusion to an awkward hesitance. Unsure how to break the news to you.

You don’t know what to expect, not realizing you’re holding your breath. 

“I-I’m sorry,” He sighs, gaze faltering as his eyes look away from you. Your eyes widen further, oxygen becoming hard to consume.

What have you done?

“But- don’t worry. You know I’m not some asshole...” if anything, he sounded chivalrous. “I-I’ll be accountable for my mistake. When do you want to hold the wedding?”

You gasp, face feeling hot. “You piece of shit-“ You groan as your foot reaches him, forcefully pushing him off the bed. “As if!”

He breaks into a fit of laughter, the sound full of genuine delight. “I can’t believe you fell for it,” He manages between the laughter.

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you mutter, a smile of relief breaking across your face. “I can’t believe you pulled something so childish.”

“Why are you so down?” He climbed back onto the bed, reclaiming his spot on the edge. “Are you disappointed? You know it’s never too late to just as-“

“Fuck off,” Your heart is pounding as you send him another kick, less forceful this time. “Say one more word about it and I’ll make sure you don’t make it out of this room in one piece.”

He laughs, asking you to pass his coffee. You reach for his coffee from the bedside table. Your fingers lift the glass mug to your lips, sipping at the hot beverage before handing it to him.

Your face scrunches up at the horrible taste. Too much sugar. Too much milk. It’s a lot worse than you might think.

“Your coffee should be criminal,” you push the mug his way, frowning. Satoru hums in response. 

There’s no awkwardness between the two of you, and he can’t help but cherish it. He feels content, enough to sit a little closer, at least.

Enough to lean in towards you, mouth closing over yours in an ever awaited kiss, at least.

#syd.writes #if this doesn't show up on tags I SWEAR TO GOD #jjk #jujtsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jjk angs #jjk smut #mdni #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x reader smut #gojo #gojo fluff #gojo angst #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo x reader angst #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru angst #satoru gojo #satoru gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo satoru x reader fluff

[s4lv4tions]

numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

1.

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands. 

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope. 

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

2.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business! 

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with. 

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone? 

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking. 

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest. 

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying. 

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard. 

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

3.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it. 

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning. 

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.) 

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke. 

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt. 

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

4.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly. 

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

5. 

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off. 

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need? 

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun. 

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

6.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate. 

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead. 

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up. 

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them. 

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

7.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you. 

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick. 

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living. 

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice. 

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

8.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all. 

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later. 

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it. 

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased. 

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness. 

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths? 

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns. 

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

9.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay. 

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will. 

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body. 

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised. 

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him. 

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw. 

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind. 

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of. 

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish. 

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die. 

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact? 

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves. 

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin. 

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata. 

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight. 

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry. 

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities. 

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless. 

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce. 

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release. 

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes. 

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever. 

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness. 

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more. 

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful. 

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far. 

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again. 

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you. 

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others. 

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips— 

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk. 

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

#gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk angst #satosugu angst #satoru smut #geto x reader #geto angst #anime x reader #anime smut #anime angst #gojo fic #jjk fic #jjk x you #gojo x you #reading back over readers technique is suchhhhhh a trip #like blahblahblahblahblah yeah rock on little dude whatever u say #what was i on fr

[alieinthemorning]

Sunflowers [Grim | Casper]

Content: Fluff, POV Second Person, Spoilers

Pronouns: None

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries

Sunflowers are supposed to follow the sun, this is a fact.

However, they were facing you now, despite the fact that there were sun rays directly hitting. You tilted your head at them, reaching a hand forward to brush across the petals.

You swore that the flower moved closer into your palm.

"I wonder if Casper's really right about my soul…"

Not only was your soul like a mirage, a bright light hidden by a misty smog, but it was also capable of healing others—

"By giving a bit of myself…" You sighed, pulling your hand from the flower.

How did you receive this, you assumed it was a blessing, since you weren't accidentally stealing other people's souls to live longer or something. So a blessing, but how and why? You've been like this since you were younger, so you're pretty sure you've had it since birth, but you're also pretty sure no one in your family could use magic. But you also did just recently find out that Grim Reapers were real and not just something out of fiction.

And then you began to think about what that really meant for you. Would you truly just…cease to exist one day? Yeah, your life mainly consisted of going to work and chilling at home (with the occasional side quest of doing something else), but that didn't mean that you were ready to give it all up.

Your gaze found the sunflowers again.

"Sunshine…"

You also weren't ready to give him up yet, either.

You've never felt such an intense pull toward someone in your entire life, and you've only known Casper for less than a week.

Hell, you didn't even know his name was Casper until last night!

But…loving him…feels right. You should love him openly and wholly, and you were sure he'd do the same.

Your love for each other really were like sunflowers.

You smiled as your fingers brushed the yellow petals. "I guess you accidentally choose something with a double meaning, huh, Casper?"

I TOLD Y'ALL THAT THE FAN WAS FICCING

AND HERE WE ARE

Ahem. Anyway.

I love him very much.

Ko-Fi | Commission | Masterlist

#alie ficlets #a date with death x reader #a date with death grim x reader #a date with death casper x reader #grim x reader #casper x reader #a date with death vn

[serverusslaype]

Shameless, pt. 11

Severus Snape x professor!reader fic

Shameless Masterpost

guys im running out of gifs to use ffs

despite that, HELLO!! i am more than 100% certain that you adorable feral little cretins are going to love this chapter holy fk. like i'm actually so excited to see your reactions/comments LOLL

i apologise for the long, long wait, however i wanted to perfect this part, it was really important that i did, otherwise it would be a waste, and kind of cringe. i won't keep you any longer <3

thank you for reading, i hope you enjoy this!! and again, thank you soooo much for all your replies and reblogs and likes they just make me smile all the time, i really cannot believe that people like this, i'm still flabbergasted.

warnings: 18+ further down, minors DNI after the big red *'s. i also put a sign to say where it ends if you're not comfortable reading such things!

if i was any good at coding i'd cover it up, you know how people do on discord, like that spoiler thing. but alas, i am but a technophobe.

(this song is very important during that certain scene so if you will, please listen to it as you read <;3)

onwards and upwards...

Severus stood beside Dumbledore, his hands hanging at his sides, fingers fidgeting thoughtfully at the seams of his his black slacks. Before he was able to speak a reply to the Headmaster, a voice he had hoped he'd never hear again pierced the blanketed silence in the Great Hall. For a moment, both his heart and stomach dropped as he turned his head toward the irritating voice, jaw clenching almost immediately.

"Y/N!" None other than Benjamin Bluewater had called out, his ridiculously well-groomed hair bouncing as he jogged towards you. Severus felt a burning blaze of rage prickle his skin as his eyes observed how Bluewater embraced your rigid form, clearly in shock at his sudden appearance. What the hell was he doing here?

"Ben-" Severus heard you gasp as Bluewater pulled away from you, his hands flying up to cradle your cheeks intimately. Something Severus had done less than an hour ago. The jealousy that was raging inside of Snape was lethal, and he was desperately fighting the urge to rip you from Bluewater's slimy grasp and tuck you within the safe haven of his arms.

Your fearful eyes met Snape's icy ones, setting a kaleidoscope of butterflies free in his stomach. He could tell you were quietly begging him for help, however, he refused to get involved. The last thing he wanted to do was seem suspicious and perhaps trigger an unnecessary reaction from Bluewater. Snape remembered how volatile the boy could be, he served enough detentions with him. In fact, that was one thing that Severus was worried about. He wasn't sure if you knew about his bad temper.

"Are you alright? I came at once when I heard about Black getting into Hogwarts." Bluewater said, his overly-concerned voice dripping with worry. Something didn't sit right with Severus as he watched the two of you. Why didn't Bluewater visit when you had been attacked by a dementor? How does that not warrant a visit but this does? A deep, frustrated sigh left Snape's nose as Ben's thumbs brushed against the apples of your cheeks. Your hands reluctantly rose to sit atop of his forearms, silently soothing his worries.

"Wha-what are you... how...?" You stuttered, cheeks ablaze. You had to take a moment to compose yourself, and it didn't help that Severus's fiery eyes were burning holes into you. Inhaling slowly, you spoke again. "What are you doing here? How did you even get in?"

"Well, it helps when you work at the Ministry of Magic," Bluewater shrugged, a proud, smug smirk teasing his lips. His hands fell from your cheeks and settled on your waist, squeezing you a tad. You tensed up again as you glanced at Severus, your heart going a million miles an hour. Bluewater frowned as he followed your eyes, a flash of surprise crossing his features as he finally noticed the two of you weren't alone. "Erm... Headmaster, Professor... Snape." He greeted awkwardly, offering a nod. Snape wasn't keen on acknowledging him, however, Dumbledore kept it polite, smiling at the boy.

"A lovely surprise, Mr Bluewater." Dumbledore said. It had sounded sarcastic, but that was unintentional.

Severus stared at Bluewater with cold eyes, his gaze slowly falling to where his hands sat comfortably on your waist, taunting him. His mouth twitched bitterly. "How you've grown, Mr Bluewater," Snape commented slyly, his sharp eyes flicking back up to meet Bluewater's. "It feels like only yesterday you were causing chaos here at Hogwarts. More specifically in my classroom." He drawled, eyes narrowing in contempt.

An incredulous huff slipped from Bluewater's nose and a sarcastic grin broke out on his face; his grip on your waist tightening. The jealous fire in Severus exploded. Clearly, there was unresolved conflict between these two.

"I see you've remained the same, Snape." He quipped sharply, tongue like a sword. Severus turned his back to you and Bluewater, his shoulders stiffening as he muttered something to Dumbledore.

There was an awkward silence that fell upon the four of you.

You turned to Ben, keeping your voice low. "Look, I think it's best if you leave." You muttered, an uncomfortable expression slipping onto your face. You nibbled on your bottom lip.

"I'm not leaving until I know where Black is, I need to keep you safe." Ben laughed dryly, his eyes narrowing at you in disbelief. Oh no, no-no-no. He had to leave, there was no way he could stay.

"I'm perfectly safe here," you attempted to reassure him, "I'm surrounded by some of the most talented witches and wizards to ever exist, Ben." An incredulous chuckle fell from your lips as you spoke, a little surprised that he deemed Hogwarts unsafe. How could it be unsafe when Dumbledore was here? Despite that, you couldn't risk him noticing the tension between you and Snape, it wouldn't look good on either of you.

He looked at you with a stiff expression, his gaze flicking to where Snape and Dumbledore stood, eyes hardening as he stared. You glanced away awkwardly.

"I'll stay here until I deem it so, Y/N." Ben said rather sternly, making your brows shoot up in shock. Since when was he like this? This was not the Ben you knew.

"Sorry?" You choked.

"The Ministry gets the final say, irregardless of what you or Hogwarts thinks." Ben tilted his head at you as he stared down at you. "I'm staying." His serious tone of voice made you back down and nod, your lips pursed. There was nothing you could say or do to change his mind.

Shit.

Shit, indeed.

Two knocks sounded at Snape's door, and he audibly sighed, a little vexed that someone had chosen to come and bother him when he'd just settled down - his raging jealousy had finally subdided after two hours of brooding in his office.

"Come in." Snape grunted from his desk, piles of parchment and books surrounding him messily. Usually he was neat, organised - but tonight was rather exasperating. He just about managed to watch another man with his hands all over you.

"Severus," Minerva McGonagall's voice made Snape's head snap up, a startled look adopting his features. He definitely was not expecting the Head of Gryffindor House to be knocking at his door. "I'm sorry to impede, however, I wanted to chat with you. Regarding Y/N." She sighed, her wrinkled lips pouting. His body suddenly felt heavier.

"What about Professor L/N?" Severus asked curtly, looking back down at the pile of assignments in front of him like he had no interest in the subject.

"I wasn't born yesterday, Severus," Minerva said, a stern look taking hold of her face. Snape's jaw ticked, his fingers stiffening in irritation. He sighed and glanced back up at the older witch, waiting for her to continue her lecture. "You need to be careful. She's just a girl." She said softly and stepped forwards a tad, linking her fingers together in front. Why was he getting lectured when he's been the one trying to push you away? Well, he was. Now, all he wanted to do was pull you close to him.

"This is no concern of yours,  Minerva." Severus's brows furrowed harshly, his voice clipped and cold. Minerva's eyes narrowed; his tone rubbing her the wrong way.

"It concerns me when it starts to affect my colleagues." Minerva retorted, her patience wearing thin. She knew this was going to be a hard conversation, especially with someone like Severus. "I just want you to consider things before you cross that line, Severus. This isn't... wise."

It isn't wise? Well, who would've thought that? Not me, apparently, Severus growled in his mind, sighing heavily through his nostrils as he stared at Minerva.

"You think I don't know that?" Severus groaned, shutting his eyes as he reached up to massage his temples. He felt a headache coming on; all this stress wasn't good for him.

There was several seconds of quiet before Minerva spoke again, voice soft. "Do you care for her?"

He kept silent once again.

Minerva felt for Severus, she knew what it was like to care for someone and to have to push them away. In fact, it felt horribly and hauntingly familiar. This was like a walk down memory lane for her. Her head tilted slightly, her eyes softening as she stared at the Potions Master who had his eyes glued to his desk, palms splayed out atop of it as he intensely read through an essay. "I do not want your pity, Minerva," Severus hissed, his head snapping up, a face full of anger, "I have walked down this road before, and I know how it ends. So please, save your sorry for someone else."

Minerva was so used to Snape's flick-of-a-switch emotions that she hardly flinched at his sudden outburst. "Alright." A soft sigh left her as she glanced away from him, her fingers flexing. There was nothing left to say, she knew that Severus knew the risks with you. And you knew the risks with him. For now, she could only let things play out, she wasn't going to play God. If the two of you wanted to do it, who was she to stop it?

"I have a lot of work to complete." Severus grunted, his shoulders hunching up as he sat closer to his desk, burying his nose further into the parchment. Minerva exhaled softly through her nostrils and her lips pouted together again. She blinked, turning around to leave.

As her fingers grasped the rickety door handle, she looked over her shoulder at Snape. "Should you and Y/N choose to take such a risk, Severus," she began, earning another exhausted sigh from him, "don't break her heart. She doesn't deserve to go through that pain. Not at such a young age."

Severus's eyes faltered a tad as he glazed over the messy handwriting laced upon the parchment sat in front of him, as if it were goading him. His breath hitched slightly at her words. Minerva had a point. A very, irritatingly valid point. Severus cared for you - a lot. However, now he found himself questioning whether it was enough - whether he was enough for you. He couldn't pour his whole self into a relationship with you if it wasn't that - his whole self. Were you better off with Bluewater? He could probably treat you better than Severus ever could. Bluewater was young, handsome, somewhat smart... he also had a very good job at the Ministry... Severus was but a teacher, and he was old. Why would you ever settle for someone like him when a boy like Bluewater existed?

The click of his door told him that Minerva had left. Severus buried his face in his hands, his heart twisting and knotting itself as it yearned for you.

Rolling over in your bed, your unwearied eyes skimmed your darkened room, landing on the clock that was hung on the wall. Almost eleven o'clock at night. Ben stirred beside you, the bed creaking and groaning as he shuffled to right, away from you, burying his cheek in the pillow. You glanced at him and sighed, your mind wandering to the thought of Severus. You wondered what he was doing right now. Was he awake or asleep? No, he was definitely awake, that man never slept.

Severus.

Gods, you adored that man. You weren't exactly sure what it was that drew you to him, but perhaps it was just his aura; it was so dark, mysterious. The way the two of you bantered so easily, the conversation flowed like a river and it felt natural, whereas, with Ben... it was... well, it just felt artificial - forced, almost. It wasn't a secret that the chemistry and tension between you and Severus was incredibly palpable - even Minerva had noticed, and suddenly that made you panic - what if Ben notices? Other teachers? The students had even noticed last year when Severus had helped you up the steps when duelling Lockhart. He won't notice, will he? No, he won't be here long enough to.

Hopefully.

You rolled over in your bed again and noticed that Ben had turned back towards you, so the two of you were face to face now. You tucked your hands up and underneath your chin, allowing yourself to stare at his features in the dark. As you laid there, staring, breathing soft and slow, your heart skipped a beat as he shifted slightly; the shadow that was cast against his face suddenly transforming him intosomeone else. Suddenly, he'd grown long, obisidian black hair that framed his face perfectly, his basic nose had become hooked and prominent, his cheekbones turned more defined.

You sucked in a sharp, yet soft breath - careful to keep quiet so you didn't wake Ben - your skin prickling with goosebumps. Was this how hung up you were on Severus? So much so that if you stared too long at someone, they'd turn into him?

Your hand slowly rose to drag itself against your face. Glancing at the clock again, you knew you weren't falling asleep any time soon. You'd been laid there for at least two or so hours, tossing and turning, begging for your brain to shut off so you could perhaps get some sort of shut-eye. So, you chose to get out of bed. Flipping open the duvet, the biting cold of your room enveloped you; a chill shooting down your figure. You shivered slightly as you sat up and twisted yourself on your bum so your legs hung down over the side of the bed. It creaked slightly as you leant forwards to put your slippers on, prompting you to quickly glance behind you to check if it woke Ben - thankfully, it didn't. With a quick exhale of relief, you spun stepped out of bed and padded quietly over to your sofa where your favourite comfy, deep green cardigan was resting over the arm of it.

You picked it up and slipped it on, wrapping the warm, soft and cosy garment around yourself. Headed towards your door, you threw once last look at Ben and clicked open your door, shutting it calmly, making your way down to the one place you only wanted to go at this time of night.

The mossy, damp smell of the dungeons invaded your nostrils angrily, almost making you cough. You forgot how bad the smell could get down here during the autumn and winter months. The cool chill seeped through your wool cardigan, making you pull it tighter against your frame, hurriedly trying to keep every bit of warmth around you before it escaped.

As you neared that certain door, you lingered by it, raising your knuckles hesitantly.

With a stern sigh, you knocked, and awaited his usual grunt of acknowledgement.

"Come in." Came an annoyed tone from the inside just as you expected. You bit the inside of your cheek as you creaked open the door and slipped inside.

"Erm, hi," You squeaked out, closing the door shut behind you and pressing your back against it, staring awkwardly at Severus, who was still sat behind his desk, head down. "What are you doing up so late?" The sound of your voice made him look up, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"I could ask you the same thing, Miss L/N," Severus mused. You couldn't help but smile coyly at him, padding forwards to move closer, your skin tingling with anticipation. "So, what brings you here?" Severus asked, his voice curious, yet there was also a hint of coldness to it. You assumed it was because he was tired - or at least hoped it was that.

"I couldn't sleep." You hummed, folding your arms against your body, the silk skirt of your yellow nightdress shimmering in the low, amber light. Severus found himself glimpsing down at your garment; the sheen of the smooth, rich fabric catching his attention. Your cheeks suddenly simmered from the way his eyes glazed over you.

He looked back up at you. "So, you chose to bother me instead?" Severus quirked a brow.

"Precisely." You smiled bashfully, a quiet laugh slipping from your mouth as you rocked back and forth on your heels, your eyes leaving his to glance nervously around his gloomy classroom.

"How lucky I am." He said sarcastically, leaning back in his chair. Your smile stayed on your face as you rolled your eyes, stomach flipping at his voice.

"It feels weird that almost a year ago, we were in here, brewing that Mandrake potion together." You commented as your eyes fell on the exact desk the two of you had stood at.

Severus's eyes followed yours. "Indeed," he spoke, gazing back at you as you were distracted, taking a moment to admire you. His heart skipped a beat as the corners of your lips quirked upwards into another sheepish smile. Though, he soon felt indifferent to it as the thought of Bluewater slipped into his mind. "That was also the time we spoke about... your friend." Severus added, tutting at the end as if he had to force himself to spit that word out.

"Oh, right, yeah," you said awkwardly, clearing your throat, "you two still seem to absolutely despise each other." You looked at Severus, a rush of butterflies surging through you as you found his inquisitive eyes already glued to you.

Severus only grunted in response, clearly unwilling to talk about Ben. His body stiffened and his eyes had hardened. "Who would have thought that he'd come back to haunt me later on." He huffed, voice soaked in sarcasm. You had to force yourself to keep a straight face, unsure of how he'd react if a smile broke out on your face. You didn't exactly want to get into an argument right now. "I was foolish to think that he'd had enough causing me grief every single period that we shared."

"He was just a boy back then." An amused hum left your lips, though Severus didn't share the same outlook. His face had become stony again, unfeeling.

"He is still a boy now." Severus spat, like the idea of Ben was poison in his mouth. "He's young, barely twenty-three. He has a lot to learn."

"Am I just a girl to you, then?" You tilted your head at Severus, a tiny smile picking at the corner of your lips. You were twenty-two, almost twenty-three - a whole lot younger than Severus.

He stayed silent for a moment, staring at you, studying your gleeful little face. You suddenly felt a little vulnerable and so you averted your eyes to the ground, your face hot and embarrassed.

"Far from it." He sighed, eyes still glued on you. No, you were so much more to him than you could imagine. He couldn't tell you that though. Not when you had a chance at true happiness with someone that suited you better than an old, ugly git such as himself. "You're a grown woman, you've proven that." His reply had you shocked. You were not expecting such a response, in fact, you were actually expecting a dig, or even a petty insult. Your stomach felt a little heavier as you frowned at him, your eyes gently and slowly dissecting his worn features.

"Oh?" Your voice slipped up an octave as you were caught a little off-guard. "What, err, makes you say that?"

"I don't think I need to explain my reasoning. You're an intelligent woman, no need to spoon-feed you." Severus said simply with a slow blink, his glittering black eyes staring into yours, prompting your cheeks to burn even hotter. You forgot how beautifully hypnotising those two pools of inky-black were as you stared into them, almost losing yourself again.

"It feels weird to hear you compliment me." A gentle laugh left your lips. Severus's own lips tugged upwards slightly, the smallest hint of a smile appearing on his usually-cold face. A comfortable, yet partially awkward silence hung in the air for a moment. You stepped forwards once more, shuffling closer to Severus's desk, almost a foot away from him now. You looked down at the piles of assignments in front of him, curious. "May I?" You asked quietly, gesturing to them. He nodded.

You picked one up and began to read.

'Amortentia is the strongest known love potion in the world. Amor is a Latin word meaning ''Love'', it is also the name of the Roman goddess of love. ''Tentia'' is the Latin for ''held''. It makes the drinker become infatuated and obsessed.'

"I remember this," you smiled, eyes still glued to the parchment, "fourth years, correct?" You looked back to Severus, who was currently staring at you with such soft eyes that you almost melted right on the spot. You had to clear your throat to attempt to compose yourself, though it was truly in vain. It hadn't helped.

"Correct." He muttered, still staring at you, inducing a shiver of goosebumps to erupt on your skin. Your breath hitched slightly as you gripped the parchment tighter, never breaking contact with his eyes. A sharp pain suddenly shot through your finger.

"Ouch," You gasped, the essay falling to the ground as you let go of it, rushing to grab your injured finger. Severus's brows furrowed at you.

"Are you alright?" He cast a glimpse at your finger that you were now squeezing tight, a tiny spot of blood beginning to dribble down it.

"Mhm, just a cut, I think I accidentally cut myself on something that was stuck to the paper." You laughed awkwardly, a little embarrassed as you flipped it over to see a shard of glass stuck to it in a sticky substance. You placed the parchment back onto his desk and looked down at your finger. A scarlet liquid was beginning to ooze out, and fast. You exhaled, feeling a little woozy. Blood was never your strong suit - as a matter of fact, you hated it. The sight of it always made you feel so lightheaded.

Severus noticed your unusual behaviour and quickly rose from his seat, rushing to your side. "Let me," He sighed softly, his hands taking ahold of yours, an electric jolt shooting through you. Your breath hitched once more as you glanced up at him, your wide, doe-like eyes meeting his sparkling obsidian ones. Severus felt like he couldn't breathe for a moment. He was trapped in your eyes, the buzz filling his body up like a drug. You drew him in so easily, and it didn't help that you were excruiatingly even more beautiful up close. The moonlight did you no justice in that greenhouse.

Forcing himself to tear his eyes from yours, he reluctantly looked back down to your injured finger, retrieving his wand from his sleeve. The moment he'd taken your hand in his, his mind went insane. There was no other feeling like it. Merlin, he wished he could experience that moment all over again.

"Does it hurt?" He asked, voice quiet, aiming the tip of his wand over the cut. You hadn't looked away from him once.

"No." You whispered. Severus's head shot up, his worried eyes meeting yours instantly. A warmth spread throughout his body, engulfing him. The two of you were so close, sheer milimetres apart. So close that if one of you leaned forwards even the tiniest amount, the tips of your noses could touch. He needed to stop getting himself into these situations with you, he wasn't going to get over you if you kept ending up inches apart.

His hot breath was on familiar territory again, tickling your pink cheeks, caressing your jaw. Like you were pulled forwards, you found yourself gradually leaning toward him with parted lips, testing the water as you brushed the tip of your nose against his larger one; soft eyes flicking between his lips and his two pools of black. You hesitated, waiting for Severus to respond, your heart thundering against your ribs like a starved lion locked within a cage.

His wand-holding hand faltered slightly, the tip tickling your palm as it grazed your skin; your creeping presence sending his own heart racing. A soft gasp left you as it touched your hand. Severus's mind was fighting desperately for him to pull away, to save you and him the heartache. Perhaps months ago, he'd listen. However, having you so close to him, so vulnerable and soft-looking, he couldn't help himself. Against the wishes of his mind, he tipped his head forwards with half-lidded eyes, nudging the side of your nose with his. Every bone in his body was screaming at him to pull away, to push you away to spare his heart. He knew he wouldn't be able to deal with the aftermath if you suddenly decided one day that he wasn't enough for you anymore. However, he decided that you were entirely worth the risk in this current moment.

You swallowed and allowed a hand to slip up onto his chest, your fingers splaying out slightly across the broad area. With a slow, controlled inhale, your eyes fluttered open to look up at his through your lashes. His tongue poked out sheepishly, wetting his lips as the two of you stared at one another, waiting for the other to make the first move.

He shuffled forwards once more, your lids fluttering shut as Severus pressed a soft and slow kiss against your lips. It was gentle, sweet and reserved. Tender, tickling you like butterfly wings. A warmth bloomed in your chest and your body leaned in instinctively towards his, silently begging him for more. As Severus pulled away, your eyes were still shut.

"Kiss me again," you whispered, "please."

The last word was all the encouragement he needed from you.

Severus leaned in once more, pressing another gentle kiss against your lips, another buzz of electrifying warmth sweeping through the two of you. It suddenly felt as if the world had stopped turning, like you'd been shot into another dimension as Severus held you close, his cool skin a great contrast against your burning skin. Your shallow breaths hitched once more as he sheathed his wand back up his sleeve, a hand coming to rest tenderly against your cheek; cradling your face like it was the most precious thing in the world as he kissed you. A part of you was melting at how gentle and soft he was being with you, and the other, wilder part was begging him to deepen the kiss; to just take control of you and show you how much you truly meant to him.

Your cardigan had slipped off of your shoulder as you leaned into his tender touch, exposing your skin to the chilly, damp air of his classroom sending a shivering chill through your body. Your other hand quickly snaked up his strong chest to meet your opposing one. After a moment, they found themselves nestled around his neck, a speck of blood staining his white collar from your finger as you grazed past it. Severus's other hand swiftly made its way to your waist and pulled you close, his body desperate to become drunk in your warmth once more. A soft moan bubbled in your throat as Severus peppered gentle kisses against you, pleading him to go further.

Almost immediately, he caved at the sound of you, his fingers digging into your clothed-flesh, any feeling of guilt fleeing from your body. Gods, you were so wrong, Ben was nothing compared to Severus. Ben never made you feel an ounce of the way that he did - you couldn't remember a time where Ben had touched your body the way he did, nor a time where Ben had kissed your lips as he did.

The two of you had become lost within each other as you made out sloppily in his classroom, his hands gripping you so deeply that the worries of Severus leaving bruises upon your supple skin had vanished from your mind. In fact, deep down, you were hoping he did. The way his hands held your body was heavenly, other-worldly.

You were a little embarrassed at how easily you folded with this man.

Severus's current state of mind was the total opposite of yours. In his head, all he heard was the constant chant of something telling him to stop. He pushed past it, drowning the voices out with harsher kisses, forcefully grabbing you tighter, pulling another moan from your lips. His conversation with Minerva from earlier began to rear its head within his own, torturing him. His stomach twisted awfully, and suddenly there was a bad taste in his mouth.

What the hell was he doing? You were seeing someone.

You were seeing someone.

Is this how pathetic and utterly sad he was? That he immediately latched onto you because he finally felt appreciated, wanted? For once, he didn't feel like a burden to the world. He felt validated, desired, perhaps even loved - everything he had ever wanted when he was younger. Your soft touches sent him spiralling, and he couldn't escape this maze of uncertainty. Did you truly feel something for him or was this some sort of sick, twisted fantasy you had? Were you just taking advantage of him? Was he so easy to be manipulated? He hoped not, he'd worked incredibly hard to get ahold of his emotions; imprisoning them. And you were breaking those thick walls down like dominoes.

"Severus, you're hurting me," Your voice suddenly whined, tearing him from his thoughts as your fingers touched his shaking hand that was gripping your hipbone like a merciless vice. Almost immediately, he released you from his grasp and stepped away, turning his back to you ashamedly. Several seconds of silence passed through the pair of you, your fingers lingering on the sore area, gently rubbing it in an attempt to soothe the ache. "Are you okay?" You kept your voice quiet and soft, careful not to startle him. He clearly wasn't in a good state of mind.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, his head drooping, "I shouldn't have kissed you." Severus slowly turned around, his body parallel to yours, a solemn look upon his features. "It was wrong of me, and I was selfish." Severus added, his lips molding into that familiar, emotionless flat line as he stared at you. You frowned and reached your hand out to him, however, he shied away from it. Your chest tightened as you quickly pulled your hand back, hurt by his rejection. All this emotional warfare was wearing you down.

He's running away again, you thought, a shock of fear bolting through you.

"Why are you sorry?" Your brows furrowed deeply as you wrapped your arms around your body, the chill of the dungeon devouring you once more. You instantly missed his warmth against you.

"You're with Bluewater, are you not?" Severus's eyes hardened as he spoke that wretched name. Suddenly, your throat felt incredibly tight. Shit, Ben- he'd totally slipped your mind the moment Severus had kissed you. You'd undoubtedly made a bad habit of forgetting him when in the presence of Severus...

"Erm, yes." You said quietly. The tone of your voice had him confused. You sounded regretful.

Severus stood straighter as his hands slinked away behind his back. You shrunk underneath his towering height.

The next thing you wanted to say could ruin it all. You had no idea whether Severus felt the same. Did he feel something for you, or was it just lust for him? Perhaps some sort of fantasy of fooling around with a younger professor? Everything you'd built could come crashing down like a burning plane within seconds. Your hands suddenly felt clammy as you fought to find the right words, your mouth quivering.

"I..." you breathed out as your eyes fell to the ground for a moment, staring hard. "He's not you." You glanced back up at Severus, his scrutinising eyes sending your lungs into a breathless spasm. You felt like you couldn't breathe as you waited for his reply.

"Don't be a fool, Y/N." Severus's voice was cold. It made your stomach drop. Was this his way of rejecting your affections?

"I'm serious." You chewed on the inside of your cheek, eyes studying his unwavering stony face.

"You can do far better than me. I will only hurt you, Y/N," he spoke, his voice deep and languid, "I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible, I will make it impossible to live a life without pain and regret. People do not linger around me for certain reasons."

"Yet I'm still here." You huffed quietly, your fingers squeezing your arms out of frustration.

"For now." Severus mused sarcastically, wallowing in his self-hatred. It hurt you to see his true opinion of himself, and it made your mind race with reasons as to why he despised himself so much.

"Why can't you see yourself the way I do?" You sighed softly, almost defeatedly, gazing at the man in front of you. Severus hated how your eyes were laden with sorrow.

"You look at the world with rose-coloured glasses. I do not." He replied. Those deep, black eyes had suddenly lost the flicker in them, and it pained you. He began to move, sweeping back to his desk, taking a seat behind it - still disorderly and untidy.

You were quiet, quite obviously hurt. Severus's jaw clenched, an ache spreading across his chest as a deep sigh fell through his nostrils. 

"Why do you always shut me out, Severus?" A shaky exhale left you as your eyes burned. The emotional rollercoaster that this man was sending you on was truly heartwrenching.

He was silent in response to your question, eyes stuck to his messy desk, an indelicate representation of his current state of mind.

"Severus, answer me," you demanded, attempting to sound as stern as possible, though it was a pathetic failure as your voice broke; breathy sobs fighting to escape your throat. "Why are you so scared of this?"

"I will only hurt you, Y/N." He said, too afraid to look at you. Severus couldn't bear to see you so upset, especially because of him.

"You don't know that." You replied, voice soft.

"And you do?" Severus's head snapped up at you, frustrated, his eyes cold and ruthless; back to their usual appearance. A quiet gasp shot out of your quivering mouth. "Bluewater is better for you." He admitted. How could he say that when he'd said you'd deserved better than him?

"You have no idea what you're talking about!" You cried out, the building frustration within you finally crumbling and spilling out through your tears. Severus looked away from you, physically unable to watch you cry. Gods, he wanted to rush to you and hold you, tell you that everything was going to be alright, but he couldn't. He had no idea if things were going to be okay. And they definitely wouldn't be if he had the honour of callilng you his. "Y/N-" His eyes were still avoiding you, too ashamed to even look at you.

"No, Severus, what gives... what gives you the right to kiss me, to pull me so close to you and then suddenly shove me away like I'm nothing but a piece of dirt on your shoe?" You rambled, your hands flying outwards frantically as hot tears rolled down your cheeks. It was embarrassing how unravelled you'd become, but you couldn't stop yourself. He'd finally broken you. "You can't keep doing this to me, I can't- it's..." Your lungs and throat burned. You'd exhausted yourself. "To kiss you? Did you not initiate it?" He scowled at you. "You were the one pushing your face into mine!"

"Okay, sure, I admit to that- but you didn't have to kiss me! You could have walked away!" You cried, walking up to his desk and pointing a finger at his face. Immediately, his lip curled upwards, his features twisting into a disdainful scowl.

"Is that not what you wanted?! For me to kiss you?!" Severus bellowed, rising from his desk chair, his hands slamming down onto the desk furiously. This time you didn't flinch, too distracted by the flaming hot anger searing through your veins.

"Did you?!" You exclaimed back at him, leaning forwards over his desk. One more time, the two of you were impossibly close - so close that you were sure you could feel the angry heat radiating from each other's bodies.

The room was suddenly dead silent, and yet, the only things the two of you could hear were the ragged, desperate breaths that seeping out of your heaving chests.

"Go to hell, Snape." You whispered with a red face. You felt humiliated, angry, upset- actually, you were certain every single emotion was surging through you right now; the way your body was trembling uncontrollably made you sure of it.

Severus's lack of an answer more than enough for you. With a frustrated, teary-eyed huff, you spun around, storming straight for his door.

Jesus, how could you have fallen for such a cruel man? Were you so blind? He had an abysmal reputation for a reason, yet you still selfishly thought that you could change him, that you could fix him and make him a better person. And you were wrong, Gods, were you so. Fucking. Wrong. 

You were only three steps away, when a strong hand suddenly gripped your arm, spinning you around with force. You whirled around, taken by surprise as Severus crashed his lips against yours, his touch-hungry hands rushing carelessly to grasp at your waist, drawing your body into his. He was like a devouring flame, hungry and starving for its fuel of life. You gasped against his lips, your body soon falling victim to his alluring aura, melting shamelessly into him. Your mind clouded with lust and desire as your hands swiftly settled around his neck once again, desperately tugging him as close to you as possible as a few stray tears fell from your closed eyes, wetting both of your cheeks. You were unabashedly needy for his touch - for his lips, for his whole self in general - your body and heart was begging for him, and Severus noticed.

*

Severus pushed you backwards towards the very desk that the two of you had brewed the Mandrake potion a year ago, his hands slipping underneath your thighs to lift you up effortlessly. Your bum grazed against the surface as he placed you down, a rogue piece of wood tearing the hem of your nightdress slightly. You spread your legs, inviting him in, his hips pressed against the edge of the desk as he kissed you hungrily. Severus's hands slipped up from your thighs and felt their way up to your waist again, squeezing you tenderly, shooting a delicious shiver up your spine. He pulled a delicate moan from your lips as he let one of his hands snake up to your neck, his thumb grazing against the side of your breast on its travels. A groan bubbled in his throat at the sultry noise, a thrilling jolt trembling through him as his hand gently grasped the back of your neck, his cold fingers tickling the nape of it.

You mindlessly wrapped your legs around his hips, tugging him closer with each lingering kiss like he could be ripped away from you any second. Severus's hips rutted against yours and you gasped, prompting an animalistic groan from his mouth. 

Your hands fell from his neck, sliding agonisingly slow down his torso and halting themselves at his hips, toying with the buckle and buttons of his trousers. Instantaneously, with his wet and swollen lips still glued to yours, his hand abandoned your waist to help you with his clothing, unbuckling them one-handedly. You were impressed to say the least.

As you fumbled with his zipper, Severus returned his hands to your body. His slender and skilled fingers found your cardigan and slipped it off of your shoulders and arms, discarding it to the ground. You whined slightly at the sudden bitter air, though it was soon silenced as Severus delved his wet tongue wildly into your mouth, licking and caressing it against your own. You moaned as he moved his mouth down to your jaw, nipping at it sweetly, his tongue leaving a hot trail as he made his way down toward your neck; his fingers having a mind of their own as they flew to your shoulders, tugging at the straps of your nightdress. Another breathless moan tumbled freely from your mouth as Severus sucked sweetly on your neck, pushing you backwards onto the surface of the table. You let yourself be guided by him as you laid back on the desk, arching yourself as your hands flew from his hips to the back of his neck, diving your fingers into his thick, mop of black hair, urging him to continue.

Your lids are lazy and heavy as you let him ravage your neck with sinful lips. "Severus," You whispered, breathless, sending a shockwave through him. "Need you-" A lewd whine left you as your body rocked hungrily against his.

"Patience," He whispered back against your hot skin, panting. You whined once more, evidently unhappy with his response. Severus chuckled, pulling away from your slender neck, your hands sliding down from the mess of his hair to his clothed biceps. He leaned down toward your face once more, a pool of warmth flourishing in his torso as he gazed down at you. He lifted a large hand and placed it tenderly against your cheek, his thumb brushing against the pinkened apples of your cheeks. Instinctively, you leaned into his sweet touch, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red, inducing a rare smile upon Severus's lips. You allowed your fingers to shift from his tensed arms to the hem of his cloak on his chest.

"What?" You asked quietly, a coy smile gracing your full, swollen lips as you beckoned him closer with a tug at his cloak that lingered between the pads of your fingers.

"Nothing." He rumbled in his deep voice, still staring at you. You sucked in a cheek and bit down on the inside of it, the overwhelming feeling of vulnerability eating you up. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, sending a shiver throughout your body.

"Then kiss me again, will you?" You laughed softly, slightly embarrassed at the dishevelled state you were currently in. You gave another tug at his cloak again. Severus's lips quirked upwards again at your demand, caving at your sweet voice. He leant down slowly, large nose brushing against yours in an intimate fashion as he pressed a soft, chaste kiss against your reddened lips.

In this tender and soft moment that you shared with Severus, all you wanted to do was remain here forever. Seeing him act so warm and soft with you felt like a fever dream. From the callous way he spoke to you in the first year, you never expected a man like him to have such a gentle and delicate side. It was momentous - he'd finally succumbed to you, allowing you into his world; a side of him you never thought you'd ever see. And you were eternally grateful for it.

You felt yourself becoming lost in his addicting touch again as his hands travelled down your body, gently caressing your flaming hot skin. They reached your thighs, squeezing them, and your back arched into him; the fire from before burning hotter.

Kissing you, Severus trailed the tips of his fingers down your legs, toying with the hem of your nightdress, slowly and teasingly guiding it up towards your thighs. The sensation sent a chill down your spine as the crisp air nipped at your bare legs, excited goosebumps erupting all over you. With a delicious, muffled hum, he hooked a finger underneath the string of your underwear, pulling at it.

"You want this?" He muttered against your lips, his eyes fluttering open for a brief moment.

"Yes," you panted, "please, yes."

At the sound of your pleas, Severus slipped your lacy panties off of you, discarding them on the ground with your cardigan. Instantly, he grazed his hand up the inner side of your calf, and up your thigh, coming to a teasingly close stop at where you needed him most. You whined, rocking your hips into him, begging, pleading him to touch you. A throaty growl rumbled out of him, and he mashed his lips harsher against yours, diving his tongue into your wet mouth, engaging in a heated quarrel with your own. You gasped as his hand finally settled on your burning core, a single cool finger delving itself between your wet folds, circling around your sensitive bud.

A strangled moan left your mouth as he added another finger, tracing the outline of you agonisingly slow, a coil tightening within the confines of your belly. You were panting helplessly now as he teased you, losing all control as Severus slipped his fingers inside of you, extracting a high-pitched whine from your throat. You grit your teeth as he curled them inside of you, clutching at any last bit of strength within you to stop yourself from screaming out. Your body was trembling now, hopelessly, as Severus had you wrapped around his fingers quite literally.

You exhaled, "Severus," with a whiny moan, he pulled away from your mouth and removed his fingers from you and brought them up to your lips. Without hesitation, you parted them, prompting Severus to dip them into your mouth, your tongue curling around them sinfully. A groan bubbled in the back of his throat as you tightened your legs around his hips, begging for him to continue.

A smug smirk picked at the corners of his lips as he stared at you. Your lips were wrapped around his two fingers, saliva dripping messily from them, your eyes blown and dark, hungry for more of him.

"Such a good girl," Severus uttered, tilting his chin upwards. You almost combusted right then and there. "You always were." He hummed. Instantly, your hands flew to his trousers, tugging at them with wild determination. You couldn't wait any longer, you needed him now.

He pulled his fingers out of your pretty mouth and helped you, lowering his trousers; the growing tent in his boxers driving you insane. Your fingers hook at the hem of them as his own did with your panties, pulling them down urgently. A fierce flicker of lust and desire flashed in your eyes as his cock bounced free, your legs tugging him closer to you once more, a whimper leaving your lips in an attempt to persuade him to finally take you.

"Sev, please," The way you shortened his name in your soft, enticing and whiny voice almost sent him tumbling over the edge. He drew a sharp breath as he placed a hand against your cheek, and his other underneath your nightdress upon your waist, his fingers finally touching and squeezing your naked flesh. He groaned as you rutted your hips against him again. Without a delay, he slipped himself inside of you, the pair of you moaning together at the intense flash of pleasure washing over you like a tsunami.

Severus's mind was jaded as he fucked you, his mouth parting and lips quivering as he allowed himself to become lost in the ripples of unwavering bliss that rattled through his body. Your hands snaked up to his face and cradled it sweetly, pulling him back down to meet your lips again. The kisses were short and sweet, nothing like the hungry and harsh ones before.

Your head fell back slightly, your bottom lip caught between his teeth as Severus's full length sheathed itself inside of your warm, hot core; the delicious slapping of yours and his flesh echoing in his classroom. All those years ago, studying in here, never did you think that you'd find yourself right here in this sensual moment.

Severus's hand that was sat on your waist slipped downwards and settled itself on your hip, fingers digging harshly into your skin as he felt himself teetering closer to the edge. His breaths were becoming ragged, laboured and heavy, and so he brought his other hand down to your womanhood, slipping his fingers between your folds once more to thumb your clit. As he circled it skillfully, your body quaked with every rub, strings of moans and gasps falling freely and shamelessly from your busied mouth. The coil within you tightened, and your fingers sunk themselves into his mop of black hair once more, gripping it with force as your body shook uncontrollably.

Severus's thrusts became sloppy and uncalculated as he pulled his face back from you, watching as you came undone beneath him; your face twisting in a dangerously beautiful manner as the coil snapped. He moved his hands from you and placed them beside your hips as your walls clenched frantically around him, and Severus himself was sent tumbling over the edge, a broken and throaty animalistic moan slipping out of his mouth as his body gave out, collapsing over you. Catching himself with his hands, he transferred his weight to his elbows and forearms, leaning up slightly to gaze at you. His black eyes twinkled beautifully in the amber glow of his classroom, a flush of warmth blossoming over your spent, sweaty body. A gentle giggle came from you, and he found himself smiling. Usually, it felt odd for such an expression to take hold of his features, however, with you, it felt natural. Like it was meant to be there.

*

(end of 18+)

He allowed himself a moment to recuperate as your fingers softened their grasp in his hair, gradually glazing to his cup his red cheeks, thumbs brushing sweetly against his burning skin. He pulled himself out of you and pulled up his trousers, buckling them up. He pulled your nightdress back down over your legs, his hand lingering over your thigh.

"Don't you look happy with yourself," you giggled again, and Severus hushed you with a gentle kiss on your lips. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"What do you mean?" He frowned softly, thumb brushing against the silk material that covered your thigh. A warmth pooled in your belly at his touch.

"You're smiling, and it's not forced... or sarcastic." You smiled, biting down on your bottom lip playfully.

"I can't help myself," Severus muttered, his face mere centimetres away from yours, "You just seem to pull them out of me." The warmth within your burned a little hotter.

"Don't stroke my ego, you'll regret it, Sev." You joked, a toothy grin replacing the sweet smile. He chuckled at you.

"I hate to bring this up, however, it's niggling at my mind," Severus suddenly sighed, the tiny flicker of a smile that was on his face disappearing. "What about Bluewater now?"

You scrunched your nose up at the sound of his name, the guilt that once vanished making a very hasty return to your body, sinking into your aching shoulders. "Um," you winced, "I don't know. I can't exactly... end things with him whilst he's staying here, erm, I'm not sure how he'll react." You finished, allowing your fingers to brush through Severus's dishevelled black hair.

"Hm," he hummed, pondering. "what does that mean... for us?"

"We will just have to grin and bear it until he 'deems it safe to leave'." You made a face, mocking Ben's words from that moment in the Great Hall. A faint amused smile spread across Severus's face, your chest tingling at the sight of it. "And I'm not sure I can tell him about us, he might just lose it, you know how he... you know- hates you."

"That would truly be a sight to behold," Severus smirked, the arrogance in him slithering out. You rolled your eyes at him. "However, we must be wise in our decisions, I do not want you getting hurt." His other hand held your cheek, fingers brushing a stray strand of messy hair behind your reddening ears.

"Do you think you can handle acting like you hate me for a few more days?" You asked, a bashful grin gracing your blushing face. Your hand settled atop of his large one as he caressed your cheek. Severus couldn't believe how lucky he was. What on Earth did he do to deserve this? To deserve such a beautiful, kind creature like you?

"I did it for the past year, another few days is nothing." He quipped quickly, a playful tone in his voice. You scoffed at him.

"Wow," you breathed out, grinning, your hands flying to his chest to push him off of you. He obliged and leaned up, stepping out of the trap of your legs. You slipped off of the table and picked up your underwear and cardigan, putting them both back on. An embarrassed red blush fluttered across your cheeks as fresh memories of Severus rolling up your nightdress flooded your mind, almost drowning you.

"Oh, that's too far?" He laughed softly. You head flew to look at him, your heart skipping a beat from the sound of his beautiful laugh. You'd never heard it before, and it was... gorgeous, to say the least.

"That's the first time I've heard you laugh - genuinely." You gasped, an uncontrollable smile spreading across your face like a wildfire. Almost immediately, Severus's face dropped and he rolled his eyes, clearly opposed to your positive reaction. He wasn't exactly fond of being fawned over, it made him feel weak.

"And it'll be the last." He groaned, turning away from you as another sweet laugh bubbled in the back of your throat.

"I should get back, Ben is probably wondering where I am, or... he's still asleep, oblivious to the world." You sighed heavily, padding towards Severus's tall, cloaked form. He slowly turned around, his black eyes sparkling in the orange torchlight.

"Yes," He said softly, fingers coming up to hold your chin. All sense and feeling suddenly drained from your legs. "Though I'm not sure I can promise to stay away from you, let alone keep my hands off of you." Severus muttered, his deep, languid voice sending a shock through your smaller body.

Your breath hitched, "Well, you're going to have to try," you exhaled softly, eyes flicking between his. He brought your chin up, cool fingers grasping it sweetly, and pressed a tender kiss upon your lips. Naturally, your hands flew up to sit against his strong chest, a guttural groan emitting from his throat as he kissed you. You had to swallow the moan that threatened to slip from you, feeling yourself become aroused all over again. "Alright, I really have to go." You whispered against his mouth, though your body was showing the complete opposite of what you said.

You kissed him back, a little harder, tracing your tongue against the surface of his bottom lip. "Go, then." He murmured back, hands slipping from your face and down to your waist, gripping you teasingly slow. You arched into him, breaths becoming shallow and wanting.

"I'm trying," you whimpered, "you're making this very hard."

"Let me make it easy for you then." Before you could protest, Severus tore himself from you, a needy, desperate whine falling from your lips.

"Gods, you're such a tease." You groaned, folding your arms against your chest, a clear show of disappointment. Severus couldn't help but smile at you. You looked so incredibly cute with that unhappy frown on your little face.

"My apologies." Severus mused sarcastically. "Now, go, I will see you tomorrow."

You sighed, "Alright, fine..." eyes looking at his form dangerously, rousing him.

"Stop it, Y/N."

"What?"

"You know exactly what you're doing."

"Do I?" You blinked, an innocent look crossing your features.

"Leave. Now." Severus said sternly, gesturing to the door as he swept behind his desk, seating himself.

"Alright, I'm going." You couldn't help but smile cheekily as you moved towards the door, fingers clicking it open reluctantly. "Same time tomorrow?"

"We'll see. Now, go."

And so you did, slipping out of his classroom sneakily, making sure to shut his door as quietly as possible with the brightest smile on your blushing face.

What the hell just happened?

Part 12!

oh LORDT. i do hope i wrote that scene well, it was tough i won't lie. however, credit to the weeknd, bro really helped me.

let me know your thoughts, i'm always curious to see what you think :)

i love you guys!! thank you again!! make sure to drink enough water, it's getting super hot again ffs! >:(

taglist:

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@livillain00

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#professor severus snape x reader #pro severus snape #severus snape #harry potter #hp fandom #pro snape #pro severus #professor snape #professor!reader #hp #severus snape x professor!reader #severus snape x reader #severus snape x you #severus snape x y/n #severus x y/n #severus x reader #severus x you #severus #snape community #snape #snape fandom #professor severus snape #professor severus snape smut #snape smut #severus snape smut #severus snape imagine #SoundCloud

[inazumatrash]

Some concept art for a discarted comic idea.

But I ended up adapting the script to a fanfic! (It's a little rough and I'm new to writing, so any feedback is welcome) Omori spoilers ahead.

The events of this story happens sometime after Mari's funeral.

///

It's sunset time with blue and soft pink tints all over the urban scenery. Basil is finishing tying up the velcro of his sandals to go out. Grabbing the door knob, he turns his head back to leave one final message before leaving.

"I'll be back soon, grandma!"

There's a chilling breeze outside and the streets are eerily empty. But Basil prefer this way. His head is full of thoughts, he needs the space. Approaching his destination, he stops looking at the sidewalk and lifts his head. He finally spot a living soul a bit ahead of him.

It's Kel. He's in front of Sunny's house. Kel seems to hesitate for a while, but gathers courage and knocks on the door. He vigorously give three consecutive knocks.

"That's a bit too much." Basil observes. Good old Kel.

It doesn't take too long for the door to open, and Sunny's mom appears. She has a dull look in her eyes. She's tired.

"Oh, it's you, Kelsey…" She looks over his shoulder. "and Basil."

Kel also looks back. Basil is suddenly there, a few steps of distance.

"What can I do for you two?"

"Uh." Kel is a little surprised with Basil's presence, but figured out he came for the same reason as him. "Can I- Can we talk to Sunny?"

"Hm…" She looks away before answering. "He's a little more unresponsive than usual..."

Basil feels a pinch of pain in his stomach.

"I wasn't able to talk to him since… the funeral." Kel fidgets a little. "I want to let him know he can count on us!"

Sunny's mom mouth corner's change to a soft, yet warm smile.

"Well, I'm sure he would appreciate to hear from you two, at least."

She steps back, opening the door welcoming the boys in. Kel perks up and calls Basil with a hand gesture. They enter the house.

"He's at their- at his room."

At the living room, the boys can see the glass door that leads to the backyard, highlighted with a menacing reddish orange light of the last sunrays. Kel immediatelly changes his attention to Sunny's mom back, while Basil has a hard time moving away his focus from it. They arrive at the staircase. Kel doesn't think twice and steps halfway through it. Basil freezes.

"Basil?" Kel calls out for him.

Basil tries to hide his anxiety and replies "C-coming!"

They are at front of Sunny's room, Sunny's mother a little further, to give the boys some space. Kel knocks the door, but this time, more gently.

"Sunny? It's Kel and Basil!" No reply.

Basil gives a quick look back at the staircase and Something starts crawling around him.

"Sunny." Kel starts again, leaning his hand on the door. "Sorry for not talking to you until now. But you know that we're here for you, right?" Kel sends a signal to Basil by raising his eyebrows and tilting his head towards the door, asking him to join.

Basil desperately tries to find the words. But the truth is, he wasn't expecting Sunny's mom, much less Kel's presence. It's not that he didn't have anything to say. He couldn't say anything he wanted to.

The creeping silence started to bother Kel, so he continued instead.

"Oh, I know! If you want, we can have a sleepover!" No reply. "Uh, it doesn't need to be anything fancy! We don't need to play games or eat snacks… We don't even need to talk. Just have each other's company, y'know?"

Kel smiled as he placed his other hand and ear to the door, waiting for the answer. He believed his idea was too good to be turned down. No reply.

"Sunny?" More silence.

Sunny's mom sighs, ready to call Kel and Basil back. Kel moves away from the door. He starts playing with his hoodie strings, looking a little less bright than before.

"Don't worry about it, it's okay." He did his best to hold a smile "I totally understand if you just need time alone."

"…like Hero." He completes under his breath, almost a whisper.

Another wave of silence. Is Sunny ignoring them? Is he even listening? Basil's mind go blank as he stares at the door.

"We'll come back tomorrow!" Kel bursts. The "we" took Basil by surprise.

"R-right! We'll be back tomorrow, Sunny." Basil faintly addes to the farewell.

Kel gives one last knock on the door, and starts walking away. Basil follows him.

"Oh, kids…"

"Can we really come back tomorrow?" Basil asks.

"Oh, yes, you may come… I'll let you know if he's available or not." It wasn't very reassuring.

After one last goodbye, the two boys leave the house. A few steps later, they stop in front of Kel's house. Before Basil could say anything, Kel apologizes.

"I'm sorry you couldn't say much. I hogged all the time for myself."

"N-not really. I wasn't sure what to say, anyway…"

"Isn't it strange, though? Sunny… He doesn't like to be alone, why would he…?" Kel stops and shakes his head. "We just have to try again tomorrow!" Kel smiles seems forced, Basil notices.

"W-well… See you tomorrow, then?"

"No, wait- let me walk you home!"

"O-okay." Basil let him be.

In the middle of the walk, Kel turns to Basil.

"I still didn't talk to Aubrey either. Did you?" Basil shakes his head. "I thought about visiting her too, but- I think I'm the last person she would want to see." Basil thought the same of himself, but kept silent about it.

Kel is a open book, he has no reason to hide his emotions and usually can be very blunt with his honesty. But something feels off today. Or since then. That day. Looking better, Basil notices Kel was using a navy colored hoodie at least two sizes larger than it should be. A small letter "H" was embroidered on it. Kel would use passed down clothes from Hero, but this one was clearly borrowed before its time.

He was lonely too.

Soon, Basil's home is right around the corner.

"Hm, actually." Basil starts. "I promised grandma I was going to buy a few things at the convenience store. Do you want to tag along…?" Kel snorts in reply. Was Basil trying to cheer him up?

"Sure, let's go! But let's be quick, mom won't like if I come home too late." He skips ahead.

"Wait! The store is on the opposite direction!"

"Oh!!"

///

It's night. Between the interval of a lightpost to another, Kel can't stand the silence anymore.

"Aah, I should have brought some pocket money!" He comes closer to Basil, using his hand to shield the conversation like he was about to confide a secret. "But I already spent all my allowance."

Basil wasn't expecting chit-chat, but wasn't too surprised either. It kind of gave him a sense of normality.

"…Hero always scolds me for spending it too quickly.

Like everything that happened was just a bad dream…

"But Mari would always treat me instead!"

A shiver passes through Basil's spine.

"Are you cold?" Kel opens his arms as invinting for a hug.

"No, I'm okay!"

Kel stops and rewinds what he just said.

"Sorry."

"N-no, don't be." Basil almost regrets calling Kel over. The uncomfortable silence is back, until Kel broke it again.

"I'll be more careful with my money from now on."

"?"

"So I can be the one who treat everyone out! How is that?"

"Are you sure you'll be able to do that?"

"What? You understimate me!!"

Basil slips a weak smile. Kel smiles back, like he planned it from the beggining. They continue their walk.

///

At the convenience store, Basil goes straight to what he went for. To kill time, Kel explores around until something take his attention at the candy area. Basil approaches too see what was so interesting. Kel only notices his presence after a while.

"Eek!" Kel was startled.

"…Are you going to ask for borrowed money?" Basil teases.

"No!! I was just looking… See, there's everyone's favorite flavor today…"

Basil identifies each flavor and silently pick them up.

They leave the store and Kel lifts his lollipop over his head.

"Basil, you're the best!" The compliment take Basil aback.

"It's just candy…"

"Yeah, it's just candy." Basil didn't expect him to agree so fast.

"It's the thought that counts!"

Basil just nods.

///

They arrive at Basil's house again.

"We're here!" Kel announces the obvious.

"Y-yeah."

Basil moves ahead to the door.

"See you tomorrow!!"

Basil stops.

"S-sure."

///

Basil is welcomed by his grandma with tea and cookies. Putting the groceries aside and with a cup in hands, he stares at the lollipops over the kitchen's table. Strawberry, watermelon and grape. He thinks back when Kel pointed that everyones flavors were available. All six of them. He shrugs the thought away.

Kel is on his way back, already appreciating his orange lollipop, while waving the cola flavored one in the air. He wonders when he'll be able to deliver the little gift. He wonders when he'll be able to talk to Hero again. Or to any of his friends for that matter. He shrugs the thought away.

THE END

#omori #omori spoilers #kel #basil #fanfic

[lovewithmary]

THE ENGINEER | MCU X FORMULA ONE CROSSOVER

summary: where daniel riccicardo is star(k)struck

previous

fc: gabbi garcia

author's note: kind of a filler tbh, I just wanted to practice writing for F1 since this is my first time and it's also the first time I'm creating an SMAU for tumblr.

warnings: iron man 2 spoiler, mentions of violence (I don't describe it, I just lightly cover it)

twitter

real life

"You have to make sure Mick doesn't get on his phone before I surprise him," Viviana said as she navigated through the thick crowd of people, ignoring the stares that were aimed at her.

Ever since the F1 WAGS (whatever that meant) Twitter account leaked that she just arrived in Monaco, she could practically feel people discreetly follow her even if it was to no avail considering her appointed bodyguards (courtesy of the one and only Happy Hogan) were only a couple steps behind her and stopped whoever came closer than what was comfortable.

"How exactly am I going to do that when all of you are practically stuck to your phones all the time?" an irritated voice replied.

"Be careful Toto, your age is showing," the Stark cooed, and she could practically see the man roll his eyes even if she couldn't see him.

"Also, didn't you say that you were going to send someone for me? I don't see anyone who looks like they'd know what they're doing be here," Viviana told Toto.

"Viviana!" She heard a voice in front of her and practically sighed in relief when she saw him.

"Lewis!" She greeted gleefully, hugging the man when she got close enough.

Lewis hugged back, and joked, "Never thought I'd see you outside of Fashion Shows,"

Viviana first met Lewis during the Monaco Grand Prix back when she was only 11 and he was 25. She didn't meet him for long though, as their meeting was cut short when Vanko infiltrated the race and attacked her father. She was quickly escorted away when it happened, in fear that Vanko would attack her next.

It was the first and last time a Stark would drive in a Grand Prix (or will it?)

(possible foreshadowing?)

However, Viviana would see Lewis in other places like the countless Fashion Shows he was a part of and she was attending. He'd always ask if she was ever going to visit the paddock, but he'd always get rejected and he understood considering it brought up bad memories for the girl.

"Trust me, if it wasn't for Mick, I would be out doing something else that isn't bumping elbows with random people," Viviana shuddered, as Lewis looked at the clearly out-of-place girl in amusement.

As they began walking, Lewis and Viviana started catching up, talking about various things. "I didn't know you and Mick were friends, much less best friends," he told her, making her shrug.

"We haven't seen each other in a long time, because I was busy with the company and he's busy with F1, we never had time to hang out in public. We'd only ever hang out at the Tower off-season," she told him.

"I mean, since you're here now, you're probably going to come here more now," he told her.

"Lewis!"

Both Viviana and Lewis turned to see Daniel Ricciardo, who managed to catch up with them. He gave a wide smile to Lewis, but when he realized who the girl next to him was, his eyes turned wide for a second before stuttering. "Uh—hi. Daniel Ricciardo," he said, holding out a hand for her to hold.

Viviana looked at him in amusement at his starstruck expression before shaking his hand and said, "Viviana Stark,"

"Oh, I know," Daniel blurted out, his face turning red at his obvious mistake.

Deciding to save his friend from further embarrassment, Lewis said, "Daniel, I was just escorting Viviana to surprise Mick at Mercedes, do you want to—"

"Yeah! I mean, sure. It'll be nice to see George and... George," Daniel said.

As Viviana turned to start walking again, Daniel turned to Lewis and said "George and George?! I couldn't even come up with another name?"

"You were practically drooling at the mouth, mate," Lewis chuckled.

"It's Viviana Stark! She's an absolute legend and not to mention she's really beautiful!"

"If this is how you react with her, I'm only imagining how the other drivers are going to react,"

#f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 imagine #f1 x oc #f1 oc #f1 ig au

[nocreativityfornames]

Random Obey Me! Headcanons Part 2

During the first year of the exchange program and when MC couldn't fend for themselves yet, the only way they were allowed out of the house "alone" was with Cerberus accompanying them. And when I tell you the hellhound did an amazing job at protecting them… all it took was a slightly off-putting stare at MC for it to send back the most terrifying glare and loud growl at the demon eyeing them. These outings of theirs once resulted in a pretty infamous picture going viral, where MC was mindlessly buying ice cream at a stall while Cerberus was beside them giving off the most ominous aura as all its heads glared at someone off-screen. You can imagine all the memes that came from it.

When Satan was a baby he used to have constant nightmares about the war and would always wake up screaming and crying, waking up everyone with him. Because of this Lucifer would have to stay up at ungodly hours of the night trying everything he could to calm him down, having to rock the tiny demon in his arms for hours around the corridors till he eventually went back to sleep. At some point Diavolo suggested that he read for Satan, as it was a less energy-draining method. And although Lucifer didn't really see the point given that Satan was a baby and couldn't even understand words yet, he gave it a shot anyway. It ended up working, to both his relief and surprise.

When Mammon first realized he could both understand and tell crows what to do he thought he was going insane. And the brothers were all sure he was lying when he first told them of his ability, having to see firsthand Mammon order around an army of crows as if it was nothing. They were definitely left speechless that day.

Asmo has a podcast where he mainly talks with other famous influencers from the Devildom and demons in the fashion or music industry. All the brothers participated in an episode at some point, and so did MC, the Purgatory Hall crew, and Diavolo.

If MC has a similar clothing style to Mammon's, he'll let them have the clothes he doesn't use anymore. And there's a TON of them, since he buys so many just out of greed and never bothers wearing them more than two or three times.

A few months into the exchange program Diavolo came up with an idea to have the whole gang ( HoL, Purgatory Hall, and the Demon Lord's Castle ) meet up monthly to hang out, have dinner together, etc. It was another way he found to strengthen the bonds between everyone, and no one was allowed to miss it. In the beginning it was a chore to participate but now everyone gets excited when the end of the month starts coming around and they can meet again.

This one time when the brothers were all drunk playing stupid games together they decided that whoever ended up last would have to get an embarrassing tattoo of whatever the others chose. Belphie lost, and to this day the brothers still crack up whenever they catch a glimpse of the small tattoo on his rib that reads "baby of the family". Belphie always gets pissy about it, making them tease him even more.

( Spoilers for lesson 16 ) I went into more detail about this in another post but I believe MC also carries memories from the Celestial War because of their connection to Lilith. And this is something that brings them closer to Satan, since as mentioned before, he also has memories of that time but from Lucifer's perspective. Aka, trauma bonding ✨

Following the tattoo headcanon, Belphie definitely lied to MC about the rib tattoo at first since they didn't couldn't understand Infernal and didn't know what it said. Man 100% told them it meant something else and made up some deep story behind it to make himself look cool or whatever. But it all came crumbling down when everyone went on a trip to the beach and the brothers brought up his "adorable tattoo". He never felt so embarrassed in his life.

Ever since finding out about pride month, Asmo made it into a thing to visit the human realm every year to celebrate it by going to the biggest parade happening that year. And he always drags the brothers with him, making sure to pick outfits for Belphie, Beel, and Lucifer since none of them know how to "dress properly for pride." He just can't let what happened the first time they went happen again, with everyone at the parade wearing colorful and beautifully elaborate clothing while these 3 looked completely out of place ( Lucifer was wearing a full black suit, just so you have an idea. So yeah, he was sticking out in the crowd like crazy ).

As a joke, every time Father's Day comes up the characters go around giving Lucifer, Barbatos, and Simeon shitty gifts and wishing them "Happy Father's Day". But not Beel, who even though knows everyone's doing it for a bit, still gives them a genuine gift and a sincere smile every time. Because let's be honest, these three deserve some actual acknowledgment for raising their troublesome children-not-children. ( Fun fact: Diavolo gives Barbatos both a gag gift and an actual one, and Luke gives Simeon a gift while trying to make it seem like he's just doing it for the joke, though it's obvious he means it. )

Long ago when anime wasn't a thing yet Levi used to be obsessed with marine life. He had extensive knowledge of it and would be pulling random ocean facts out of nowhere and leaving everyone confused. And he absolutely loved sharks, like, you know those people that'll go into great detail to explain why our perception of sharks is fucked and they're actually sweethearts? Yup, that was Levi. Also, if you said your favorite animals were dolphins? Oh, you'd be seeing the most disgusted look show up on his face. ( He'd too explain that dolphins are evil and why you shouldn't like them at all, completely ruining your view of them )

Since Asmo, Beel, and Levi are represented by cold-blooded animals ( a scorpion, a fly, and a serpent ) I headcanon that they can't generate a lot of body heat and touching their skin when it's cold would feel like coming in contact with freezing ice and definitely not the move if you're looking for warmth. Lucifer, Mammon, Satan, and Belphie though? These 4 become MC's personal heaters when winter comes around, and you better bet they're demanding cuddles from all of them ( cold-blooded gang be jealous as fuck of this ).

Solomon puts weird shit on what he cooks on purpose just to fuck with everyone. His grandpa ass finds it absolutely hilarious how everyone tries to keep him away from the kitchen at all costs while simultaneously doing everything to avoid outright saying his cooking is terrible because they don't want to hurt his feelings. Because come on, how does a man who's lived this long on his own not know how to cook? He can follow strict instructions to make the weirdest potions ever but not a recipe to make a simple dinner? Nah, I don't buy it. He definitely knows how to cook and does a decent job at making food for himself when he wants to.

#obey me shall we date #obey me #omswd #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mamon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me luke #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me mc #thoughts thoughts thoughts! (⁠๑⁠•⁠﹏⁠•⁠) #☙ no creativity for names ✾

[tripleyeeet]

IN UNFAIR HANDS WE'RE DEALT (9)

SUMMARY: With the battle of Moonrise quickly approaching, you and Astarion take a moment to yourselves.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,949

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2 (henceforth there will be spoilers in all chapters here on out), angst, lots of hurt/a little comfort as a treat, descriptions of dissociation, mentions of death, untimely flirting probably.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter killed me so... be kind. :')

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

There’s an impending doom that hits your chest mid-conversation. 

As you sit alongside your peers, discussing with Jaheira the plan of attack on Moonrise, you can feel the depths of your mind begin to drift. Slowly but surely, moving through the air to focus on Astarion’s face engrossed in the details of your infiltration. It makes you narrow your eyes in frustration. Seeing the interest in his own as she explains the designated route, marking down the paths she deems safer than others while he slowly nods his head.

You’re not sure why but seeing him like this —so invested in something you know will probably end in suffering, makes you sick to your stomach. As if, your body’s reacting to some sort of inevitable, internal prophecy that no one else can feel. All at once it takes over, erasing the previous hours of the day you once found enjoyment in. Coating such memories in a shadow of doubt that makes you wonder if this is the last time you’ll feel this. The pleasantries of being alive without consequence. The overwhelming sensation of warmth that blooms throughout your chest each time you look towards the pale-skinned elf. 

As you sit there, half-listening to the exchange that goes around the table, there’s a feeling of selfishness that follows behind such thoughts. A sliver of fear that quickly takes over, forcing you to wonder what would happen if you were to pull Astarion aside and ask him not to go. 

“So, we leave tonight.”

Unsurprisingly, it’s Wyll who furthers your anxieties. Bringing up the inevitable in such a casual way that, as he speaks, you find yourself turning to face him, watching unimpressed as he stares at the map splayed out in front of you, pressing a finger to your destination. On the parchment, it’s circled in red. Symbolically marked in a blood that’ll inevitably be split. 

Swallowing hard, you turn back to Astarion not long after, catching his eye; causing his expression to shift from focused to curious, immediately offering you a direct line to his thoughts if you need it. 

Without protest you take it, forcing back question after question until you settle on a single one, raising your brow in the process. 

Are we sure this is a good idea?

Your tadpole wriggles in response. Ebbing and flowing behind the sclera of your eye as you listen to Astarion’s sigh rattle through your brain. No, but it’s the only idea we’ve got. 

So far. 

His lip twitches. You blink. Both of you refuse to break eye contact even when Lae’zel brings up the fact that you’re all incredibly low on supplies. 

I’m sure our valiant Blade of Frontiers will come up with something.

You have to resist the urge to snort as you look away, allowing yourself to accept Astarion’s reassurance in the form of a badly timed joke and an ever-so-subtle tap to your thigh with his pinky. Both of which make your heart swell through the negativities that take up far too much space. 

“Don’t worry about supplies.” Jaheira clicks her tongue, pulling back your attention with the wave of her hand. “Give us a list and we’ll gather everything up while you rest for your journey.” 

It feels uncharacteristically kind of her to allow you more time to breathe. But it’s also something you don’t take for granted as you all disperse into your own spaces, attempting to ease your minds against the oncoming battle you’re less than certain you’ll return from. 

Letting out a heavy breath after your exchange, you find yourself wandering through the camp, feeling Astarion’s presence trailing behind as you move up the stairs of the Inn, finding refuge in your previously shared room. Once there, you kick off your boots and fall carelessly onto the bed, hands quickly moving to your temples as you stare at the ceiling, feeling the space beside you shift. 

“I’m not really in the mood for…”

Trailing off, you’re not sure what you’re meant to say. Or how you’re supposed to divert Astarion away from your racing thoughts after relying so heavily on him. Because at this rate, it’s been months of constant reassurance. Weeks of support, both reluctant and not. Days and hours and minutes of a growing tenderness that you’re undeniably thankful for, even now as you deny him your thoughts. 

Since the beginning of your journey, he’s been there in some capacity, distracting you from the growing wound inside your head. Forcing back all the terrible aspects of your shared reality so that he can take over the front. 

Somehow in such a short time frame, he’s managed to consume your every waking thought. Whenever you wake he’s the first thing you think of and before you sleep it’s not uncommon to find yourself dreaming of a life after all of this is over. A life where you’re together and happy and free of all the bullshit. 

And it scares you if you’re honest. Terrifies you to the point of obsession, filling you with an endless sense of unease even as you crane your neck to share his gaze, realizing he’s still there, despite it all.  

“For what?” 

You motion between the two of you, frowning. Unsure how to explain the feeling in your gut that roughly creeps through your organs, laying waste. “Being cheered up.” 

Despite your somewhat cryptic response, somehow his face is still as stone. An unwavering set of features that hold no obvious purpose as you stare at one another, unable to express anything other than exhaustion as he huffs at your defiance.

“You’re being rather obtrusive.”

“I know.” 

“Why?”

As if by design, your hand slots perfectly against the plush of his cheek. Gently, you stroke your thumb against the coolness of his skin, forcing yourself to smile despite feeling like you’re falling apart, knowing this may be the last time you find yourself together. 

“I don’t want to go. Not with you.”

Almost immediately he opens his mouth, ready to provide you with some sort of offended quip before he remembers that isn’t what you want. “I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice, my love.” 

“I wish we did.”

You can tell then that he understands what you’re saying. Based on the sombre expression that follows your words and the way he tugs at your waist, maneuvering you further into the bed. Quickly, it becomes apparent that your feelings are shared. That when he looks back at you, taking in your words, he’s not only aware of the implications but feels them himself.

“Another unfair hand dealt, I suppose.”

All you can do is snort in response, allowing your eyes to roll around, remembering the hold he has on you. How regardless of everything you’ve been through he’s managed to attach himself to you like a ship’s anchor; always keeping you steady. Grounding you at every rough turn through the waters of your journey. 

“You know if you die I’m coming with you, right?” 

It’s a rather terrible joke. One that has him immediately laughing before he realizes there’s a hint of truth hidden inside. Then he looks at you as if you’ve just ripped the already cold, dead heart right out of his chest. “You can’t be serious.” 

“What if I am?”

He pauses for a moment, leaning back to get a good look at your face, picking apart each and every feature with narrowed eyes. “Well, firstly I’d question your sanity.” 

“I’m surprised you don’t already.”

“Then I’d tell you it’s not worth it.”

“Says you.”

He doesn’t laugh or smile. Instead, he just continues to stare, stroking the fabric that covers your side in slow, unsteady motions. “Darling, I’m aware that dying alongside a lover after they’ve fallen is typically viewed as a romantic gesture but for the love of Gods if you even think of doing such a thing—”

You go to protest but he cuts you off, squeezing your side. 

“—I’ll haunt you till the end of your days. And not in a sexy way.”

You raise your brow. “There’s a sexy way to haunt someone?”

In response he releases a humoured, heavy breath, shaking his head. “You know for someone who claims they don’t want to be cheered up you suddenly seem rather perky at the thought of me following you beyond the grave.” 

It’s because it’s you, you want to say but instead, you just grin and kiss his cheek, allowing yourself to further indulge in his company. To feel his touch wrapped tightly around your frame as the seconds turn to minutes and the minutes quickly shift into hours that pass by like whitecaps crashing against the shoreline each time you take a breath. 

By the end of it, you’re gasping for air. As time inches closer to your departure, there’s this breathlessness that coats your lungs, forcing you to suck the air Astarion breathes through shared kisses filled with desperation, knowing this is it. The calm before the storm. That final step before you’re at the edge of the cliff, staring down. 

It distracts you enough to make the moments shared feel less real —foreign in a way that has you feeling completely separate from your body, wandering past the Inn, across the expanse of the cursed lands with cautious feet. 

Beneath Astarion’s hands, you may be still as a board but somehow you’re also drifting through the darkness, following Jaheira’s path with tightened fingers that wrap around your blade, prompting Astarion to stop.

All at once his movements freeze, parting gently to showcase knitted brows that glance between you and your roughly placed hand. 

Your hold is tighter than expected, your nails digging between the fabric of his shirt, pushing through to just barely hit his skin. Without hesitation it forces him to carefully reach over and grab them, coaxing them out of his arm to the space between, hushing you through the silence, knowing that your mind is loud. 

“It’s going to be fine,” he tells you. Then his thumb runs along the course of your index finger, applying pressure to each joint as he moves up; becoming that anchor once again as you blink away the surrounding forest.

“You don’t know that, though.”

Fully encapsulating your hand, he digs his thumb into your palm, pressing away the stiffness that collects as you roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “True but that’s never stopped our blinding optimism before, has it?” 

You snort. “You and I both know I’ve never been an optimist. That’s Karlach’s job.”

“Fair. But you’ve also never expressed any doubt before,” he points out.

That’s because the circumstances have changed, you think, feeling the creature behind your eye wriggle in response, igniting within you a sensation of dread. Of a weight carried throughout your stomach that has you swallowing hard and abruptly sitting up, realizing why. 

It’s because you’ve grown used to what you have. To you and Astarion and the rest of your friends who patiently sit, waiting for the hour to strike. After years of abuse and solitude, you’ve managed to find the one thing you’ve never thought possible: a family of sorts to call your own. A party of confidants ready to roll into the gaping mouth of battle.

Standing up from the bed you feel your chest begin to tighten at such a discovery —both at the thought of gaining and losing such loved ones. Ultimately, it’s a bittersweet moment. One that has you fighting for air like before as you palm the sockets of your eyes and laugh. 

“What the hells is wrong with you?”

It’s a question said without malicious intent. The kind that sounds snarky but that’s truly filled with a curiosity that forces Astarion to sit up from the bed, watching as you rub your face. 

“I think I’m freaking out, a bit,” you admit, stifling back chuckles that half-catch in your throat as you turn back to face him. “I don’t want to lose anyone.”

You know then that he wants to lie to you and say that you won’t. That, as previously mentioned, everything’s going to be fine and that you’ll win the war without a scratch. Even though both of you know, that’s not the case. Not this time. Not with the growing size of the Absolute and the thickening plot. 

Because at this point you know very little about the world revolving around you and yet, you’re still rushing into it. Taking the cards you’ve been dealt and slamming them on the table, hoping they’ll work out in your favour. It’s all you’ve ever done this entire journey. Every fight fought, every person met —all of it’s come at the cost of blind luck. Of a dice roll and prayer filled with a hope that you’ll survive the day to come.

Deep down, you know that none of you should’ve survived up to this point. One by one you should’ve died and moved on but somehow the Gods have smiled upon you enough to allow you a moment of peace to persist. To travel across the land, surviving every encounter. To experience a life you never thought possible. 

To be with the man you think you might be in love with. 

“If I don’t make it—“

The words catch in your throat just as Astarion’s jaw begins to shift. Carefully clenching his teeth as he grips the sheet beneath him, making you frown and wander back over. 

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.” 

You move your hand into the space between you, raising your pinky into the air with narrowed eyes, watching him look at you with annoyance. 

“A pinky swear?” Shaking his head, he looks up at you in disbelief, taking in the way you grin through the sadness and wiggle your finger, forcing him to look back down. “Darling, you can’t be serious.” 

“Yes, I can.” 

“You’re telling me you want me to swear on this delicate little thing that I won’t perish in the heat of battle?”

“Yes, was that not clear?”

“No, it was, I’m just—“

“Just swear on the damned pinky!”

He takes it instantly, the shock of your outburst causing his eyes to widen as you let out a breath of relief. 

“Now swear that if either of us die, we don’t do something stupid.”

For a moment there’s a brief pause but then it’s quickly followed by Astarion clearing his throat. “Okay, but what exactly classifies as stupid? Because with such vague terminology the options seem a bit endless.”

Thinking about it for a moment, you ponder the options, allowing yourself time to really explore the results of your oncoming fight. 

Because at this rate, anything could happen. You could all perish under the Absolute’s reign. Be taken into custody and forced into servitude like so many have. Hell, you could even survive this whole thing by the skin of your teeth. Lose a couple of limbs or something —truly anything is possible. 

“Promise me that if I die you won’t.” 

It’s a statement that hangs in the air for ages, collecting dust as both of you nervously stare, shifting and swallowing —forcing yourself to feel just how heavy this moment is. 

Quicker than anticipated, it consumes your every thought, causing the tadpole to slither to your eye’s edge, prodding at the skin behind, knowing it’s Astarion calling to you. Asking for permission to see what’s on your mind as you blink away, focusing on the position of your hands as you allow him access to your thoughts.

It takes no time to offer them over. To show him all your wishes and doubts and ideal outcomes. Letting him explore, you allow yourself to take a breath and close your eyes, strengthening the hold you have on his finger as he wanders through your membrane. 

I promise I won’t off myself in your honour.

Silently, you thank him, smiling to yourself as the thought is pushed towards him. Good, because I plan on haunting you. Sexily. 

You hear him hum in amusement. “You’d make a very alluring phantom.” 

“I would, wouldn’t I.” 

“You’ve got the moan for it.” 

Reaching to punch his chest, you open your eyes, scrunching up your face. “Shut up, you harlot.”

“Fine, but only if you promise to give me a proper burial if I die. One with lots of gifts. And flowers.”

“Flowers?” You raise your brow almost humorously before the image of a grave marked in his name appears. 

It’s the last thing you want to think about. And immediately Astarion feels you start to shift, prompting him to pull you to his lap. “We’re going to be okay, love. You and I we’re, uh, we’re good —we make a good team.”

Team. 

It’s a word that rattles through your head violently, wishing deep down it was something more. Something caring and intimate and perhaps tailored to better represent the feelings that he stirs within you. 

Having experienced as much as you have together it’s obvious that you’re something else entirely. A friend or a partner —something more personal. 

Sure, together you do make a fairly decent team. In battle, you flow alongside each other beautifully, anticipating every need or want without so much as a thought. And everywhere else, you’re just as fitting. So it’s no wonder he views you as such. 

But still, there’s something missing in his words. A sentiment or belief that has you forcing out a smile, hoping that deep down he loves you all the same as your tadpole wriggles for him one last time, and the knock upon the door calls for you to leave. 

-

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#in unfair hands we're dealt #a lover's folly #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

[prettyboykatsuki]

based on this post. i flipped a coin and it landed on dan heng. it was going to be dragon!dh but i thought this was better. top + gn!reader. major spoilers for the hsr main storyline. implicit nsfw 18+

wc ; 1.8k

There is no place for you in the Xianzhou Luofu.

You are a prisoner of war. A long life species. Once, long ago, you'd been taken in by Imbibitor Lunae for your unwavering strength. From a planet long destroyed, with no family nor honor - you'd pressed your forehead to the floor and begged for your life.

Your Master had laughed at the time. Head tilted and smiling, shining and brilliant. You can recall the image so well even now, so many years later.

In the prisons of the Xianzhou, a new lifeform was birthed. The splitting image of your master, but no more than their ghost. The reanimated being Imbibitor Lunae took the punishment of your Master - banished from the Xianzhou. And you, a soul with no ties, took it upon yourself to follow.

For starters, Dan Heng does not like when you call him with any honorifics like he is above you. Dan Heng prefers his name. If you are to speak to him at all, it must be with his name. He likes names, it seems. He gave you yours when you'd followed him far enough and realized you didn't have one.

Next, Dan Heng does not seem to like you very much. You don't think it's personal. As far as ghosts go, you are little more than a poltergeist of his past. The people on the Express regard you fondly, but Dan Heng always looks like he is in pain when his gaze touches you too long.

And last, Dan Heng is beautiful even when he is not in his other forms. Even when he is the Dan Heng of the Astral Express. Dan Heng without name or origin. When he is a little more like you, somehow - you think he is beautiful.

And despite the similarities, Dan Heng is nothing like your master. There are many ghosts in the Xianzhou, but the ghost of Dan Feng does not linger in Dan Heng. Dan Heng is colder. Smoother. At times gentler, too. You know little of reincarnation, but of this much you can be sure. And though your Master saved your life, by now you've spent more time with Dan Heng than you ever did with them.

You do not know much of love. There was someone once. Long, long ago.

And yet, this much you know - you think your heart flutters whenever you think of Dan Heng.

Often, you are forced to reconcile with the differences between your master and Dan Heng. Their tastes, from food to clothing, always stand out to you. It is their taste in adornments that you usually pay most attention to. It's not that Dan Feng was particular.

But Dan Heng often wears jewelry so thin you can hardly see it. It's hard to describe how much it effects you, other than saying that it does. Other than saying you're always the first to notice the changes. He wears the connected tassel and ribbon only when he's leaving the ship. If someone is to gift him jewelry for any reason, he will always wear at least once.

You are forced to recognize the little details of Dan Heng when you notice these adornments. Forced to picture them in your fantasies in which you are able to put him to bed. Often on the floor of the archives, you wonder about the thin swishes of silver.

He wears a necklace underneath the high collar of his shirt. It's a gift from March 7th. A blue moon on a thin silver chain that sits perfectly in the middle of his sternum, trapped against his chest. Sometimes, when he puts on the clothes he has for sleep - you catch a glimpse of it. The starlight pouring through the windows make it shine.

His neck is thin, you think. Something about it is fragile. What would happen to such a material if you were to reach out and touch it.

(What would happen to Dan Heng if your hand tightened around it. Would his skin finally feel flush? Warm to your fingers, contrasting to the cool tones? )

There are bracelets too. Several. Some less formal, more gifts from March. One from Mr. Yang - this time it is gold. Gold, a braided chain - but delicate all the same. This one he takes off often. Only for special events. The curve of his wrist bewitches you. You think the bend of it must be pretty as a picture.

(You think of the indentation it might leave on your spine, had he let you have his way with him, The sound of his voice in your ear, pitchy and high - enough that the pain of being imprinted wouldn't faze you at all.

How good he would feel with his arms around your shoulders and your hands on his hips, bracing for dear life.)

Dan Heng says he doesn't wear rings often.

"They'll tear the pages in the archives if I'm not careful."

But he does own them. He buys them for himself usually, at the market. They're all of the same type. Bands of fine metals that are practical. Silver with aquamarine and amethyst. Gold with quartz and opal. He's not the type to spend so heavily on excess - so there are few. Accumulated after years and years, but untouched by time.

You wonder, if there's any particular reason he keeps them. You aren't sure there is. But he likes them, all the same. Rings are important in your culture. Different ones for different occasion. You think it is too much of a pipedream to hope he thinks of you as he buys them.

(You think of him wearing rings more often than not. It fills you with homesickness. The slender of his fingers with the jewels you've given him. A tradition from your homeland. Something about Dan Heng incites the desire to spoil, adoration bloomed from something much more potent than subservience.

He's beautiful always, but how beautiful would he be underneath you? Black hair and thin features. Delicate and ethereal, otherworldly. His hands covering his expression, painted in pink. Pink cheeks and hot pink mouth, bitten and swollen to hell.

The shine of the things you've given him, all over. You are dying to know lately, if it's possible to make a perfect thing more beautiful)

Last, there is your favorite thing to gift him. Anklets. From the beginning, you're unsure of where the compulsion came from. Even before you ended up in this state - you thought it would suit him. A chain around the ankle, with trinkets. Something more playful than elegant, but suited to Dan Heng all the same.

Recently, Dan Heng parades around the express in his dragon form often enough. The secret is out, so it's pointless in more ways than one to always maintain it. Though he prefers his other form, it is less energy to maintain this one. So he does.

Imbibitor Lunae is seated on the edge of your bed wearing your anklet, and you think the part of you that tries not to get too close might die soon.

You blink once, then again to assure you've not got mad.

"You're wearing it,"

Dan Heng gives you a momentary blank stare before flushing down to his neck.

"You noticed." Comes his reply, curt and deflective. Normally, you'd meet him tit for tat. Match his sarcasm to yours, but the words die as you inch closer to the edge of the bed. He doesn't back away.

"You're...wearing it. Why?"

He doesn't say anything to this. Just flushes and sighs like he's somehow above answering. You think it's endearing. You stand, sit on the edge of the bed and stare. You feel something in you start to crack.

Yes, lately - it is harder and harder to pretend that you do not look at Dan Heng and long.

"Dan Heng," You say, slowly and clearly "I want to touch you."

This makes him look like he'll keel over. There's some words forming in his mouth, something meant to scold you. When your eyes meet the words seem to die. Maybe he can tell you're serious. They're blue and wide and ethereal, stunned into shocked silence.

Your hand rests on his ankle. He doesn't move as you turn to look at it, pressing it against your thumb. You think a single hand around the bend of it, from thumb to ring finger could fit it. A being so powerful not much thicker than grass blades. Pale like milk pouring over honey.

"Since when?" Is his next question. He looks troubled.

"Since as long as we've been aboard the express."

You move towards the end of the bed and Dan Heng makes room for where you sit. You place your hand against clothed calf, planing up until his knee and resting there. He frowns.

"Did you not long for your Master?"

"No," You say firm, getting on your knees and leaning up. Dan Heng stumbles back against the pillows that hold him up. He falls to them as you hover over them and suddenly you're so close. "Only you,"

You take a piece of his hair, long and silky, kissing it as tenderly as you can. From this angle he flushes. Adorned and beautiful, with the same necklace and dainty hooped earrings. The little details that make up all of his idiosyncrasies.

"Only me." He repeats, soft and low and cute. Yes, there is only Dan Heng. You're sure your master could never make a face like this. He looks up at you a little stunned, into quiet silence that doesn't reach you.

"Why did you wear it?" You lean in his. His breath is warm with mint.

"I'm sure you're clever enough to figure that out."

You put your hands on his waist, inching up against the fabric. Your noses touch.

"I want to hear you say it," You reply to him, a little closer - brushing against his lips. He makes a face at you "Or else it will feel too much like a dream."

Your knee presses against the place between his legs but Dan Heng makes no moves to stop you.

"I wore it for you to notice. I didn't think you really would."

You laugh softly.

"I always notice. I'm always looking at you. Just you. It has been that way for a long time now."

He closes his eyes and laughs with you.

"I suppose it has."

You kiss him like this. Slow and tender and gentle, a soft sensation that builds itself to one of lust. You try not to devour Dan Heng, but it grows impossible. How could you turn away from him like this? Ripe like something waiting to be plucked, eaten whole even when taken apart slowly. You dip your tongue into Dan Hengs mouth, licking the fangs but never cutting yourself on their sharp edges.

Something stirs in you, something hard pressed against your stomach. You laugh a little.

"Dan Heng," You say again, teeth scrapping his jaw "I want to look at you a little closer."

He breathes you in. His hand reaches for yours, feeling for your ring finger.

"Nothing is stopping you."

#dan heng x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #writing tag #i dont rlly wanna tag this smut cause nothing Happens #but ill add it anyway #dan heng smut