#from face the sun until now

[prod-svt]

genuinely loving these two recent seventeen titles track names; god of music & maestro.

those are distinct titles given to influential and important people in the music world. god of music is self-explanatory. maestro is a distinguished musician, especially a conductor of classical music or someone who is skilled enough to be considered an artistic genius.

while us, carats, use it or sometimes interpret it as titles for seventeen themselves (which, deserve), the overall message of the two song is more than that.

god of music, as per woozi's commentary live, at its core is an appreciation song towards the proverbial god of music because music is what connects carats and seventeen, music is seventeen's life, as cringy as it sounds, but its true. without music, how can carats know seventeen. without music, how can seventeen convey their feelings and emotions in a creative way.

in maestro, it questions "who is the real maestro?" in an era where everything can be created to easily bc of machines. in here, its in the realm of music but it can also be applied to every branch of arts and creatives. in writing, in illustration, in animation, in digital arts, in communication arts. however, in the end, the human touch would prevail bc of its result's personality and the humanity stored in each piece made. because how can a machine work to produce ""art"" without the works of humans, where can they steal to distort if not from the humans, what can they run through their machines if not the works of human.

#personally after listening to woozi's commentary live #it just became obvious that something shifted in the themes of their albums #from face the sun until now #or maybe after face the sun #there's just some hints of commentary in their title tracks specifically #but still has their unique seventeen touch #seventeen #seventeen kpop #woozi #lee jihoon #seventeen lyrics #era: 17 is right here #seventeen maestro #svt lyrics analysis

[dutybcrne]

Thinking abt Taru fresh out of the Abyss, out with his siblings and spotting a rabbit or small animal. Instincts & habit kicking in ( those seldom lasted long in the Abyss, get it while he can, bring it to share with Master- ), him immediately setting to hunt and kill the creature then proudly bringing it back to his family, all smiles and blood-spattered, and being utterly thrown by the fact that he was not met with mildly disinterested praise, but sheer horror instead-

#hc; tartaglia #blood mention tw #animal death mention tw #//Happens only ONCE #//Bc ONCE was enough to really make him realize he can't HAVE what he had in the Abyss anymore #//In some ways; it's a good thing; he supposes. He now won't have to worry about what & when he'll eat next #//Won't have to worry abt being stalked and ambushed by creatures that would give most anyone nightmares (he sure as hell has them) #//But now; he's just been so Altered from how he used to be #//He's restless; body honed to attack and defend from the monstrous threats he's dealt with all that time #//He's got a battlelust no one could ever hope to match; bc those harrowing experiences truly got to the point of THRILLING him #//He MISSES the way his Master looked after him; being treated so softly is just TOO much now #//Prolly had moments where he just had a total disconnect from his family; just couldn't really bond with them again until after he enliste #//Though I like to think maybe he was able to with his younger sibs; bc they were too young to Get the rammifications of what happened #//Lil Teucer always smiling so bright like the sun; when the others look at him with hopelessness or despair; always asking for stories #//Anthon; always trying to get in his arms; whenever he starts dissociating or makes a face bc the elder family members upset him some way #//Tonia; helping fix him up when he comes home after a brawl; her scolding the only he really listens to; him pledging to be her knight #//Him damn near resigning himself that they might be the only ones who love him after everything (he doesn't realize that's not true) #until he gets enlisted & becomes a Harbinger. His more 'behaved' self in their eyes being palatble enough for things to slowly return to #'normal'; even if they can all tell (save maybe the youngest ones) that something is still Off about him. But it's FINE; all FINE; now #//'Better than before'; they would say #//Which is why he would place SUCH value and favor on a partner that GETS that part of him. Who would ENABLE him rather than restrict #//He wouldn't ask for them too; but he will NOT let them go; EVER; once he realizes

[afieldinengland]

.

#thinking about how it felt last winter to sob before the impassive. it’s easier than sobbing before the empathetic— good god!! isn’t it #i think i need someone to be very very violently angry at me. i think there’s a deep part of me that can’t understand why nobody’s been #cruel to me for so long— and more than that why no one’s ever beaten me within an inch of my life like i probably deserve #angry gods are so simple in their own way. really really primitive. you know where you stand #He sits there and smokes i cry and shake and starve and throw up vodka and occasionally he grinds my face into the ground with his heel. #right? and now i’ve come away from that. obviously. and pan’s rage is never aimed at me— the sun’s displeasure is never taken out on my body #but some desperate part of me— well that’s all he understands. why? #i didn’t live on a diet of that rage for more than a winter. did i? #but yes. to be actually brutally treated— yelled at until i wept by a complete impassive— the terror of the concept feels so way-off #it’d be terrible and despicable and horrible obviously. but i think some part of me feels like i’m getting away with something now there’s #no god who wants me to cane my back open— and a tender lover who’d patch those same wounds up #‘a burnt child loves the fire’ i suppose. you want the tenderness and not the initial torture that must precede the bandage. i don’t know #i want to be taken care of. i want to apologise over and over to someone i’ve angered whilst crying. who doesn’t?

[sukunasteeth]

Sukuna has never said no to you.

It didn’t matter what the request was, simple or complicated, easy to fix or a days-long job, Sukuna was always at your side, completing the task as fast as he needed to to keep you satisfied. He would love to deny it, you’re sure, but evidence proves time and time again that he puts your needs and wants at the top of his priority list. 

And you were curious how far you could go with it.

The two of you are sitting in your underwear at the breakfast nook, warming yourselves in the bay window while the morning sun starts on the leftover night time chill. It wasn't quite time for breakfast, still too early for the both of you. In the meantime, you sip on your morning brews, preserving the comfortable silence. Sukuna is flipping through the day's newspaper, his eyes are groggy with sleep and he hasn't said more than a handful of words to you yet. He wasn't a morning person.

You were starting to change that.

"Kuna," You call to him, nudging him with your foot from your corner of the window bench.

"Hmm?" He doesn't look up from the paper, but his hand reaches down and grabs your foot, pulling it into his lap. His thumbs start to subconsciously knead at your muscles.

"I want these." You hold up your phone, which you had previously been scrolling through in an attempt to find something ridiculous for this exact moment. You were sure you had found it, something even Sukuna would find unnecessary. 

And yet, he merely glances at your screen, takes in the sight for all of two seconds, and then returns his attention to whatever news article he was in the middle of.

"My wallet's on the counter." He clears the sleep from his throat not sparing a second look. 

You blink at him in surprise.

"D-Did you even see what it is?" You flip your phone around to make sure you were displaying the correct thing. 

Sukuna is frowning before he looks up again, curious at your persistence. He gently cups your hand, bringing it only a minuscule amount closer to examine your screen a second time. 

You were on one of the most luxurious brand’s websites, showing him an incredibly regular pair of panties, no straps, no details, all black- with one of the most outrageous price tags you had ever seen for something so ordinary. 

Sukuna cocks a brow at you over your phone, "Can't imagine you need more panties when you're constantly stealing my boxers. But whatever, hand it over. I know my card number-"

"Kuna," You interrupt him with a surprised laugh, holding fast to your phone when he tries to pluck it out of your hands, "they're a thousand dollars."

He glances back, his eyes focusing lower on the screen where you know the price tag to be. The newspaper in his hands drops down, momentarily forgotten by what he sees. For a moment, you think you've found his limit.

"Wait, are those red one's assless?" He points just below the price, where the recommended products are depicted. "Get those too."

You drop the phone down so that he meets your eyes, which are wide with shock.

Sukuna always took care of you. Always insisted on being the provider of any single thing that you may need; a warm meal, a soft bed, anything your eyes twinkled at that was available for purchase- even if you would never think of buying or owning it. Granted, you never wanted much in terms of material possessions, so you didn't realize the true extent of Sukuna's leniency until now.

It was slightly intimidating, and part of it felt wrong. Sukuna had money, plenty of it, but that didn’t mean he should feel the need to spend copious amounts of it on you just because you could ask him to. He was giving you too much power, it felt like.

You huff through your nose, frowning at him, which only has him tilting his head further to the side in question.

You ignore it, setting your phone onto the window seat and crawling your way closer to him, until you can gather up his face in your hands and lock his gaze into yours.

He glares at you past smushed cheeks, but doesn't make a move to break free of your hold, humoring you. "The hell are you doing-"

"You know you don't always have to say yes to me?"

Now that has him taken aback. His mouth automatically opens for a witty response, but your question seems to have effectively taken the words from his mouth. You can see the cogs in his head turning, and what you wouldn't give to peer inside his mind and hear his thoughts.

It takes him a moment, but eventually that familiar confident smile stretches across his sleepy face. His hands seem to instinctively slide their way up your bare legs until his fingers grip your hip bones, pressing into you. 

He hums, "When have you ever said no to me?"

You scoff, ready to give him a prime example, but end up coming up short. The two of you loved to tease each other with disobedience, but in the end you were eager to give Sukuna anything his heart desired. You loved to please him, it was one of your favorite things to do, in fact.

"You never ask anything ridiculous of me." You remind him, smiling as one of his warm hands slides back down your waist and dips into the pair of his boxers you were sporting that day. 

"You know what's ridiculous?” His voice wraps around your throat, and suddenly has you swallowing past the delicious grip. You're folding into him before you even realize it, at the mercy of his calloused hands. "The implication that I wouldn't do just about anything for you."

You can't help but sigh hopelessly, although it comes out as a desperate noise that pleads him for more. You really were all his, just like he loved to tell you.

"Now hand me your phone." It's a whisper, coaxing you. "I wanna see you in red."

You can’t say no. 

At least it was mutual.

#jjk #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #kuna is a feral dog in the eyes of anyone that isn't you #you bring out the puppy love in this psycho #careful #he bites #this was a short and sweet #fluff

[tonycries]

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy - G.S.

Synopsis. He knows that you would be one of his favorite stories from his travels. And you know that you want nothing more than to stay by his side. After meeting an alluring cowboy at Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon, both of you are sure of one thing - this must be fate.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, wild west! AU, cowboy! Satoru, mayor’s daughter! Reader, Satoru is SO DOWN BAD, angst, kinda slowburn, friends-to-lovers, bartender! Nanami, cunnilingus, oral sex (female + male receiving), unprotected sex, gun violence, pet names (m’lady, my love, + others), tumbleweed bandits, reader and Satoru are both going through stuff, Gege cameo, swearing, author’s daddy issues come out.

Word count. 12.1k (I’m scared)

A/N. You know how hard it was to make this all cowboy-y. Anyway that’s off the bucket list.

Art by @_3aem on X.

“So, you itchin’ for a beating from me or yer’ wife?”

Glowering down at the drunk old pervert as he waddled away in fear, you sigh as you dust down your heavy skirts. Typical. The sun beats down on your face as you look up at that familiar faded banner.

Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon

The only bar in your little town of Rustcliffe, and by default the only one around for miles. You hated this place - not the saloon, no, the handsome bartender there was always a sweetheart. But at some point, the comfort of your quaint old town had become too comfortable.

But that’s a story for another time. Right now, you were here to drag your father back home - per usual. 

Rolling your eyes at the cacophony of drunken voices carrying from inside, you step through the dust-bitten swinging doors. 

What hits you first is the stench of cheap alcohol, and then the inebriated camaraderie of the men around you. In the dim lighting of the saloon, you squeeze through the crowded tables and make your way to the bar. 

Not a hair out of place, as usual, Nanami lights up when he spots you. “Well, it’s been a while. Here for the mayor again?” he speaks over the boisterous laughs around you. 

You flash him a smile, “Yeah, you know my father. Fraternizin’ with the voters and all that.” you wave off your father’s excuse to come down here. 

“Certainly takes his job very seriously.” Nanami chuckles, “You’ll find him over by the window, in the back.” he points. 

Tipping your head in thanks, you walk the treacherous track to take your animated father home. When you come in view of his table, you find that he wasn’t alone. Damn, it was always harder to convince him to go when with other people.

You know your father has spotted you by his lively laugh and gleeful shouts, “Ah, my daughter! My beautiful daughter! Whatcha doin’ here? Come come! There’s someone I wan’ introduce you to.” 

A smile slips out unintentionally at his almost-endearing pride. You mentally prepare yourself to say some awkward hellos to some of your father’s old drinking buddies before dragging him home. 

Upon reaching your father, he immediately pulls you into a drunken embrace, wrapping his slightly rocky arm around your shoulders. “This is the daughter I was telling ya about! Prettiest girl in town! Hell, maybe even the country, knowin’ ma girl.” he prattles. 

In his jovial state, he abruptly turns to face whoever he was drinking with, unsteady on his two feet. Probably another old geezer, you assume not taking your eyes off your father until you could make sure he won’t collapse on the bar floor for the third time this month.

Finally, you look up. 

Your eyes meet blue. 

Blue, blue summer skies. 

To Satoru, you were the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen. As soon as he caught a glimpse of you menacingly threatening that creep outside through the window, every word the mayor said went in one ear and he couldn’t even remember if it went out the other. Too entranced. 

And when he introduced you as his daughter? Shit, it might just be fate.

“C’mon now boy! Cat got yer’ tongue? What happened to that sharp mouth of yours?”

The booming voice of your father snaps Satoru out of his captivation. Damn, he must’ve been staring for too long. 

Mentally praying you weren’t spooked by his speechlessness, he finally speaks, voice slightly shaky at your presence, “Ah- Good day m’lady. Apologies for my impoliteness, the name’s Satoru Gojo.” he tips his crisp white hat. Gently grasping your hand in his, he places a delicate kiss, looking up at you as he awaits your response.

You gaze, slightly awe-struck, at his ethereally beautiful white locks and the impish grin from where he held your hand. His lips were so soft.

“Oh!” you startle at the clap of your father’s hand on your shoulder. Shit, you were definitely staring too long.  Rushing to introduce yourself, you quickly interject a “Nice to meet you, Satoru” before your father starts leading the conversation once more.

“Satoru here is a traveler, arrived jus’ today! Told him people like us could never, I mean imagine, right?” he slurs. 

Your ears perk up at this piece of information, “Oh? Are you really a traveler, Satoru? How admirable.” you gush, previous bashfulness forgotten. Was that…a blush spreading across his face? Couldn’t be - your town's whiskey was known to give people rosy cheeks on occasion.

“Thank you, m’lady. It’s nothing special really, jus’ staying here a while.” he barely gets the words out before you father bellows a tangent - “Don’ be shy, boy! How wondrous traveling is, kids these days could use some toughening up!”

Both of you rush to catch your father as he sways with a passion seen only during election rallies. It takes the two of you to steady the man. As he continues babbling half-lucidly, you cock your head sweetly at Satoru, “Help me take him outside?” 

Satoru thinks his knees might give out then and there.

The air is chilly by the time the three of you step outside, sun making its way below the horizon. Despite your father’s protests that he can ride home on his own, he knocks out as soon as Satoru gracefully mounts him on his horse. Carefully saddling behind him, you try to make sure your father doesn’t fall off of Satoru’s beautiful white Quarter horse.

“You really don’t have to escort us home, Satoru. My ol’ man wouldn’t even feel it if he fell, I swear.” you insist as Satoru holds onto the reins from the ground, feeling bad for bothering him.

“It’s no trouble. After all, Gege seems to like him very much, hm?” Satoru remarks as he turns to his stallion, who attempts to bite him in response, “Can’t say the same for myself.”

“Hmm, how can I be sure yer’ not a serial killer?” you tease, reveling in the sharp laugh it draws from him.

“You’ll jus’ have to take a chance on me, m’lady.” he hums, eyes sparkling with mirth. There’s a lull in the conversation as Satoru pulls on the reins to start walking you down the road, the rhythmic clip-clop! of the horse filling the still air.

“So you travel?”

“This is a nice town.”

Both of you speak at once, anxious to fill the silence, only to sputter self-consciously.

“You can-”

“No no, it’s only customary for a lady to go first.” he hums, looking up at you. 

“Tell me stories of your travels.” you breathe out, eager for any crumb of escape from your little town. 

As you made your way home to the sprawling family ranch, the night adorned itself with twinkling stars that matched the mischievous glint in Satoru’s eyes as he told you bizarre tales from his life on the road. 

“IN MY DEFENSE, it was dark an’ that tumbleweed was shaped suspiciously like a lowly bandit. Hey- don’t laugh- it was a very heated standoff!” Satoru exclaims animatedly as you cackle. 

“Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that, cowboy. Even bandits woulda run away from your clownery.” delighted at the way the moonlight illuminates the blush that tinges his ears. 

Making a fool of himself, Satoru’s stories have you laughing until your cheeks hurt, wishing you could experience them too. You almost forget about your father’s deafening snores and the bite of the wind. 

But Satoru does not. Brows furrowing as he catches your slight shiver, he mentally berates himself for forgetting his manners. How dare he let a lady suffer the cold while he still had his fuckin’ coat! What a sorry excuse for a cowboy, this is worse than that time he accidentally lassoed a rattlesnake.

Hastily shrugging his coat off, he passes it to you with a sheepish smile on his face. 

Face heating up against the cold draft, you breathe in the smell of pine, amber, and something so Satoru. Clearly not as affected as you are, Satoru launches back into his stories.

If Satoru thought his knees were going to give out before then he knows they’re about to now. He aims to keep his eyes steadfast on the road as he recalls his endeavors, because he’s aware that even one glance at you all wrapped up in his coat wouldn’t be too good for him.

Making out the warm lights in the distance, his heart falls as he realizes his time with you is drawing to an end. You seem to share similar sentiments, as you sigh silently.

Once again, a silence falls upon you two (well, three if your slumbering father counted) - but this time, it was serene. You could almost drift to sleep if it wasn’t for your mother’s frantic calls for you from the front porch. 

“Oh, darlin’, I was so worried! I didn’t think it would be so late out!” she frets as Satoru helps you get down from his horse. Hands on your waist searing into your skin. 

Clearly awoken due to the commotion, your dad stumbles his way down and towards your red brick villa. 

“Ah, honey! I’m home…somehow…you know, I met the most interesting fella Something-toru. A wanderer, real interesting.” turning comically to Satoru, he exclaims in delight “Something-toru! How didya get ‘ere?” 

Stifling his laughs, Satoru backs away, claiming he had to leave before your father roped him into more rounds of drinks. Which clearly didn’t work because your mother approaches him, “Stay, Satoru, stay! Can’t have you sleepin’ underneath some tree when you escorted our darling daughter all the way out here.”

Any refusals are immediately blocked out by your very inebriated father yelling out in agreement, claiming he wanted to listen to more of Satoru’s “funny lil’ stories”. Your parents head inside - well, more like your mother heads inside with your father in tow - having taken his speechlessness for agreement.

As you follow, you turn to Satoru, a strange part of you gleeful at the fact you won’t have to part with him for now. “We’ve got an extra room, and it’s got yer’ name on it. The stablehand will stall Gege, c’mon, it’ll be a lot better than the ground.” you grin.

“Hey! The ground can be very comfortable.” Satoru declares defensively, yet follows you inside anyway.

It’s only rushed goodbyes and promises to talk tomorrow morning as the housemaids fuss around Satoru. “Goodnight m’lady.” he’d winked as your head housekeeper clutched her pearls at his dirty boots on her recently polished hardwood floors.

That night, as you lay in your childhood bed, you realize that you still have Satoru’s coat on. Whether from his coat or something else entirely that you did not want to explore, you felt so warm inside.

---

Morning dawns with the symphony of the Western meadowlark that nudges you gently awake - usually. Today, it’s abruptly shattered as the door bursts open and someone barges into your room. Judging by the thud of hefty boots, you knew very well who it was. 

“Rise n’ shine, m’lady!” Satoru’s voice - way too cheerful for six in the morning - chirps out. 

It’s been a few days since Satoru has been staying with you. Now more a friend than a guest, you expect he’s come to wake you up for a morning ride with Gege, watching the sun rise as you exchange silly banter. But it’s so early…

“What do you want, Something-toru.” you grumble out from in-between your comfy covers. You secretly delight at his whines of “How dare you not remember my name, I even told you about the rattlesnake lasso!” 

The warmth of your bed and the melody of Satoru’s voice has you sluggishly falling back asleep - that’s before he promptly sits on your bed. The force of it bouncing you both, making you sit up with a laugh.

Satoru was on your bed.

Satoru was on your bed. Shit, after what your father told him this morning, he wouldn’t blame you if you kicked him out with a punch to his pretty nose right this second. Mentally slapping himself a million times over, he hurriedly gets out the reason he was sent in to wake you up in the first place, “Ah- Um, the mayor is meeting with…someone important, wanted you to come down and meet him. Well, if tha’s all then I’ll be going, Gege won’t brush himself, sadly.”

And before you could get another word out, he’s swiftly out the door. 

Satoru was on your bed. Your cheeks slightly heat up as you realize you didn’t mind?

His words ring in your ears as you get ready for the day - if it was someone important, then you might as well dress to impress. Impress someone else too. Shaking off these strange thoughts from your mind, you make your way downstairs, nose wrinkling at the smell of tobacco that greets you.

You’ve always hated the stench of the overpriced tobacco your father brings out to impress guests. “There she is! My daughter!” your father smiles, beckoning you over. “There’s someone who’s here to see you.” 

Grimacing at the cloud of smoke, you take a seat on the plush sofa beside your father. He gestures at the man seated in front of him, “This here is Naoya.”

Despite his sharply handsome features, you shift uncomfortably at the way he watches you like a predator appraising his prey, eyes following your every movement. Apparently approving of what he saw, his lips curl into a smirk, “Your future husband.” he says saccharinely sweet.

What the fuck?

“Father?” you panickedly turn to him for answers, voice strained at your attempt to keep it even. But your father merely guffaws out a laugh, “Well well, nothing confirmed just yet. But you know with the way things are going with the re-election, might as well get to know a suitor and...” his voice trails off as he takes another puff of his cigar. 

“My apologies sir, I refuse.” you drone out, looking straight at Naoya. You don’t miss the way his smirk grows leeringly as he mutters “You don’t have too much of a say in this matter, sweetcheeks.”  The audacity.

Apparently your father doesn’t hear, a more grave expression taking over his face, “Now I’ve talked with Naoya, you’re of marriageable age. And as young as I feel, I won’t be around forever. You need someone to take care of you, dear. We’ve talked about this.” 

Tears prick at your eyes as you abruptly stand up, disturbing the smoke around you. “I can take care of myself.” you spit out venomously, storming your way to the heavy front door in an attempt to run away from this situation.

In the dim sunlight filtering through the curtains, Naoya watches in amusement as you stomp out of the room. Hilarious, the feisty ones were always the best. 

Over the mayor’s ramble of apologies, he grins “No don’t worry about that. She’ll be mine either way.”

The heavy wooden door creaks in protest as you slam it shut, echoing your frustration. The brisk air is a temporary relief from the suffocating atmosphere inside.

“Talked about this” your ass. Every conversation - if you can even call them that - was a heated warning about being married off before you end up a spinster. You couldn’t care less about ending up alone if it didn’t mean living life with a man that talked to you like that.

Your thoughts block out the crunch of the gravel beneath your boots as your feet subconsciously lead you to the stables, where you used to play hide-and-seek as a kid. More recently, though, it has become an escape from conversations like these. 

Approaching its familiar wooden doors, you catch a glimpse of Satoru, back turned and meticulously grooming Gege.

Sensing your presence, he turns with an easy smile that quickly fades as he notices the deep furrow of your brows. “Hey there, m’lady. Everything alrigh’?” cerulean eyes flit across your face worriedly.

“Oh yeah, everything’s great. Just got introduced to my absolute asshat of a future husband.” as if Satoru’s concerned expression makes something in you snap, the words tumble out along with your tears.

“I don’t even- The way he looked at me- Can you even believe?”

Satoru was about to rip apart whoever this load of horse manure was that made tears streak down your pretty face. Throwing his brush down - which Gege didn’t quite appreciate - he quickly envelopes you in his arms, letting you muffle your sobs.

“Hey hey. It’ll be alright, we’ll work something out. I promise, m’lady.” he consoles. 

Eventually, as your cries die down, you look up to see the rising sun casting a soft glow on Satoru’s features, illuminating the sincerity in his gaze.

The determined glint in his eyes emboldens you, “Yer’ right, I will not be forced into a marriage, especially with someone like Naoya. I’m not anyone’s property.”

A subtle warmth is present in Satoru’s gaze as he utters, “Tha’s my girl.” before reeling back and backtracking immediately, “Ah! I mean- good for you m’lady. Naoya ain’t the one. Anyway, tell me about this ‘asshat’.”

You raise a brow teasingly at his rapid change of demeanor, before plopping down on the hay, launching into your first impression of Naoya and why the rumors downtown of him making babies cry were probably true. 

The sun shines high in the sky as you lay there in peaceful silence, only to be broken by the doubt weighing heavy on your mind. “I’m scared.” you admit.

Satoru turns from his place beside you from the hay, “It’s alright, you got Gege and myself beside you. If Naoya ain’t the one then he ain’t the one.” 

Your eyes meet his twinkling gaze, “Yeah, he’s not the one.”

The air grows charged with something unspoken as the silence stretches out. Satoru can feel the tips of his ears burning at your words - stop it Satoru, she didn’t mean anything by it. As always, he retreats into humor to break the crackling silence. 

“I’d help you hide the body, y’know. Then you can have a shotgun wedding with whoever you want to share your days with.”

“Oh yeah? What if he turns out just like that asshat?” you challenge. 

“Well, if it doesn’t work out, you can always run away with me. Fightin’ tumbleweeds together.” Satoru makes light of the situation, in an attempt to etch that beautiful smile on your face once more. It works, as you throw your head back and laugh.

“Yeah, I’d love that.” you get out in-between giggles. 

If someone looked at you like Satoru did, you probably wouldn’t mind marrying them. A voice whispers in the back of your mind, sending your brows furrowing once again.

Meanwhile, Satoru finally had a name for your future not-husband - Naoya.

Urgently getting up and removing the hay stuck to your clothes once you hear your housemaids calling for you, you leave Satoru with a grateful smile that had him swooning out loud immediately after the stable door shut - to the very visible judgment of Gege.

It felt like a knife in his chest when the mayor tittered secretly to him about your future husband this morning, thoughts of you getting married plaguing his mind all morning. Well, if you were happy then it’s fine, isn’t it? 

He was halfway through imagining you in a beautiful dress of white when you’d arrived with a cloudy expression covering your gorgeous features. If Satoru had thought hearing about your fiancé was like being stabbed, then the despair on your face made him feel like he was completely cleaved in half. 

You deserve someone that deserves you. Probably not him. Certainly not Naoya.

Walking back to the house to fetch his riding gloves, he’s lost in the thoughts of standing off against a faceless man calling himself your husband when he bumps into somebody.

“My apolog- Asshat?” Satoru blurts out at the man testily raising a brow at him.

“Excuse you, barn boy?” he fumes, at the nickname that slips by. Ah, he’s done it now. Lips tweaking into a forced smile, Satoru grits out, “Ah, apologies, sir. Cowboy tendencies.”

The air is tense as Naoya mutters, “Keep those to yourself.” He moves to walk past Satoru, before stopping close enough to utter words meant for only him to hear, “And stay away from my future bride. I saw the hay on her skirt, yer’ insane to think you’d have a chance, barn boy. Go back to wanderin’ around.”

Satoru stands rooted to the spot as Naoya walks off, too many emotions he can’t name whirling inside him. That morning, he stalks off for his longest ride since arriving at Rustcliffe - not coming back with Gege until well after midnight. 

---

To Satoru, long rides always mean interesting dreams. Right now he was in a tap-dancing competition against a one-eyed alligator who looked suspiciously like your father. It’s a shame - he was winning too - that the competition is suddenly crashed by an angel calling for him. 

“Satoru…Satoru!” 

An angel that sounded like…you?

“Satoru if you don’t wake up I’m feedin’ your boots to Gege.”

His eyes shoot open, yet his sleep-addled brain still struggles to process you standing over his bed, soft hands shaking his bare shoulders lightly. “Angel?” he rasps out. 

You huff out a laugh, “No, I’m here to drag you to hell - or close enough at least.”

Face burning at already making a fool of himself before noon, he sits up in bed, blanket sliding off to reveal his toned upper-half.

Shit, it should be illegal to casually have a body like that. 

Trying your best to avert your eyes from the dips and curves of his sculpted body, you continue, “My father’s holdin’ Rustcliffe’s annual Harvest Hoedown in a few weeks, the whole town’s gonna be there. You made it just in time for some dancing lessons.”

“What makes you think I need dancing lessons?” Satoru raises a brow playfully. You take a brief moment to admire the way his sleep-tousled hair curtains his alluring eyes, before replying in an ominous tone, “I need dancing lessons.”

Wow, you really did need dancing lessons, Satoru notes as he stifles a laugh when you step on the poor instructor’s foot for the fifth time this afternoon. 

Locked in the stuffy studio, he recalls the way your father demanded that you not step one foot outside until you mastered the upbeat waltz for the hoedown - putting Satoru in charge of making sure you don’t slip away. “It’s stupid really, he’s never had a problem with me sitting out before. All because that asshat will be there…” you’d muttered hotly on the way.

Ah yes, that asshat. Sleep weighs heavily on Satoru’s eyes from riding all night long, yet his words still ring painfully in his ears. Who did he even think he was to have a chance with you? 

Well, it’s alright, Satoru will be out of this town in a few months, and you’ll marry some man of your choice that could give you everything you could ever want.

The only thing that snaps Satoru out of his overthinking tirade is the abrupt pause of the music and the heavy sigh the dance instructor lets out - clearly having taken a break for his own sake rather than yours. You shuffle sheepishly across the polished floor to where Satoru stands, “Was it worse than you thought?” you grimace.

“Well, you always do find a way to surprise me, m’lady” he teases, chuckling at your dramatic groan. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot the instructor rushing outside for a smoke. Hopefully not because of your dancing…

You scoff in defense as Satoru’s cackles grow louder - having thought the same thing. “Well, I’m sure the great Something-toru is much better on his feet.”

Instead of retorting, he steps one heavy boot onto the waxy dance floor, holding out a hand expectantly. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

“But, there’s no music?” you raise a brow, yet you place your hand in his much larger ones. Soft, his hands were surprisingly soft. And so warm.

“Did I mention I was a great singer too?” he grins, a small dimple at the corner of his mouth as he pulls you closer. 

Shit, it was way too hot to be cooped up in a dance studio. Or maybe it was just Satoru’s hand around your waist, making your skin burn through your heavy skirts. They flow around you as he glides you gently across the floor. 

You train your eyes steadily on your feet - partly out of necessity, and partly out of fear of meeting Satoru’s intense gaze.

The only sounds filling the small studio were the squeaks of your boots and Satoru’s soft humming of a nonexistent tune. It was beautiful, his voice. It reminded you of calm summer days. 

“Ah- sorry!” you panic as you step on his toe, only for him to pause his melody and huff out a laugh.

“Step on them as much as you want, m’boots are thick.”

You’re sure he meant this only to bate your embarrassment, but something about his words and the warm endearment in his gaze have your cheeks heating up. You focus on your steps in silence as he guides you patiently, tenderly.

Pride grows in your chest as you start stepping on his boots every six steps instead of two. Satoru seems to have noticed too, “Hey! You’ve improved, m’lady.” he whispers, as if afraid to break the stillness in that humid room as you two continue your silent dance. 

Loud clapping from the doorway makes you two jump apart, shattering the serene bubble you’ve found refuge in. “Brilliant! I thought I’d come across my first hopeless case, yet you’ve worked absolute wonders Mr. Satoru!”

Your escape is quick, you urgently drag Satoru out the door before he can be forcibly recruited as a dance teacher. 

You heave out a sigh of relief at your freedom from the treacherous clutches of the dance studio. Merciless sunlight stinging your face, you begin to make your way through the dusty hustle and bustle of Rustcliffe in the afternoon. 

Now, all you had to do was avoid bumping into your father for the rest of the day and you should be fine!

Speed-walking by Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon, you’re confused when you’re faced with a few more drunken stares than usual. Surely your new skirt can’t be that flattering?

With a jolt, you realize you’re still grasping Satoru’s warm hand in his. Dropping it as if it burned, your cheeks heat up at the mirth on his features. “Not that I’m complainin,” he grins, “but warn a guy next time you manhandle him. S’not good for the heart, m’lady.”

Rolling your eyes at his joke, you begin pointing out the things to see as you walk the familiar old roads of Rustcliffe, detailing the town gossip.

It really was not good for his heart, Satoru was sure he’ll drop dead very soon one of these days because of you. 

He couldn’t rip his eyes off of you as you animatedly talked about granny Wei wrestling Mrs. Davidson for her secret brownie recipe. 

Shit, he was really getting in too deep.

Night falls fast, a deep shade of blue. 

Saying your goodbyes to Nanami at Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon - at a time you knew your father wouldn’t be around - your heart swells as Satoru excitedly rambles about “Good ol’ Nanamin! What a chip off the old block, we became fast friends y’know?”

You didn’t expect your mission to avoid your father to turn into an impromptu Rustcliffe tour. But watching Satoru’s face light up as you told him silly little stories of your childhood, you wouldn’t have changed it one bit. 

Sent off with a cheery “Come back soon deary!”, you’re exhausted by the time you say all your goodbyes to the people of the town.

“You’re loved, y’know?” Satoru speaks up out of nowhere as you steady yourself behind him on the saddle. 

“Hm?” you ask, fatigued from spending the day walking around town. A large hand caresses your cheek to rest your head against his back, tightening your arms around his waist.

Lightly snapping the reins, he repeats, “You’re loved.” 

You drift on his words gently to sleep, the clip-clop! of the horse matching the deafening beat of your heart against your ribcage. If only you could be like this forever.

SLAM! 

You wake up with a start, only to find yourself…hovering? Surely there must be a valid explanation - you really didn’t feel like doing an exorcism right now.

It takes a while of your nonsense to realize you’re being carried by strong arms supporting your back and legs. 

“S-Satoru?” you ask blearily. 

“Shhh, forgive me, m’lady. Didn’t think that damn door would be so loud.” he responds, bed creaking under his weight as he softly sets you down. 

Smiling down at your incoherent mumbles, he whispers softly “It’s alrigh’, you can rest now. Goodnight m’lady.”

Struggling to rip his gaze from your gracefully sleep-addled one, it’s only the thought of someone in the house catching him in this position that makes him stand up. 

A hand - uncharacteristically swift - grasps his wrist, stopping his tip-toeing to the door. “Satoru…” your groggy call of his name sends shivers down his spine. Hesitatingly following the gentle pull of your hand, he kneels beside your bed.

“Yes, m’lady?” he breathes.

You surge forward, sleep hazing the practical side of your mind. Acting on pure instinct, your soft lips meet his. 

Satoru freezes in surprise as a beat passes. One. Two.

He stays in the same position when you flop back onto your pillow, soft snores filling the otherwise pin-drop silence. His lips burn as he brings up a hand to touch them in disbelief, stifling an euphoric laugh.

You startle awake in the middle of the night, after some questionable dream about Satoru carrying you to the bed and you kissing him.  

Imagine. Ha! 

Settling back into where you were carefully tucked into bed, you snuggle the warm coat at your side. 

Wait. Shit.

---

If either of you remembered what happened that night, neither of you mentioned it. 

Oftentimes, you questioned whether it was a dream. The only thing keeping you from fully believing so being the intensity in Satoru’s stare whenever his eyes briefly flickered to your lips and the hasty retreats whenever it seemed like you would bring up the topic. 

But why wasn’t he saying anything? And why did he not want you to?

In fear of messing up the comfortable camaraderie you two had, you continued this magnetic dance of normalcy. But honestly could you really consider it “normal” if each gaze was charged with something neither of you could describe?

But why wasn’t he saying anything? And why did he not want you to?

You could only imagine the worst.

Satoru thinks he’s died and gone to heaven.  Well, probably a bit below heaven, because - ideally - there you’d be his wife and Gege would actually like him. 

It’s alright, even if just for a sleep-hazed second, he was yours. And he didn’t want to hear you apologize for it.

Still riding the euphoria of that brief kiss, he goes about life as usual, sure that you would be one of his favorite stories from his travels.

---

“WELCOME ALL TO RUSTCLIFFE ANNUAL HARVEST HOEDOWN! WE GOT HARVEST, WE GOT HORSES, WE GOT SOME HOE- Oh- what? yes, dear that was on my script…” your father’s voice bellows across town from the loudspeaker. 

You breathe in the warm, candy-scented air, fairy lights illuminating the colorful stalls selling everything from candied apples to binoculars (“Spy On Your Neighbors Without Worry!”). 

Place ringing with the bustle and chatter of the town, you think it feels like something out of a picture book.

A warm smile finds its way onto your face, you’ve loved the Harvest Hoedown since you were a kid. Here, you can forget the longing for something more, the rows at home about your looming engagement, and most of all - you can almost forget Satoru.

Ever since that kiss, you’ve found it hard to face him. Sure, the banter and half-joking schemes to murder Naoya are the same. But your heart clenches every time he looks at you with a tender melancholy, losing the words to apologize for taking advantage of his kindness.

“Come come! It’s startin’!” you hear gleefully from your left. Before you can register what’s happening, you’re pulled into a circle of bodies dancing to an upbeat tune. 

Laughter bubbling out of you as you lose yourself in the song, you turn to your right and see…your dance instructor, who is very visibly (and audibly) praying for his feet. Dramatic. You’ve learned a lot recently with Satoru’s help.

Oh, there he is again. For someone that leaves place so swiftly, he sure is set on living permanently in your mind.

Hidden amongst the audience, Satoru cackles at the distress on Mr. Dance Instructor’s face. Little did he know, with a bit of Satoru’s magic you’ve improved - stepping on his toes only once every fifteen steps! 

He was so proud of his girl.

Ah, except you’re not. You’re so much more. And he’s reminded of that every time you averted your eyes from his during dance lessons, the proximity of your bodies doing nothing for how out of reach you felt to him. 

He rips his gaze from you, walking away from the growing crowd. Where was that damn drinks table again?

It’s past twelve as the townsfolk start pairing up for the hoedown couples dancing. You’ve usually sat this one out, not one for the complicated steps nor the intimacy.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spy your parents waltzing in their own world. How nice it must be. Your supposed asshat of a dance partner was over by the drinks talking with some men, barely looking your way.

Guess the dance lessons were for nothing. Frustrated and slightly tipsy, you move to make your way off the dance floor. 

Suddenly, a large hand blocks your view of the exit. Who the- 

Satoru.

Ears tinged a pretty red, and eyes slightly dazed, he hiccups over the rich music “Would you- dance with me, m’lady?”

Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the way his face flushed your favorite delicate pink - but you slide your hand into his warm one, “I’d be honored to, Satoru.” 

A strong arm pulling you flush against his body, faces only inches apart. His hot breath fans you as Satoru murmurs, “Looked s’beautiful tonight. Best dancer in town I’d say.”

“Only cuz’ of you, Satoru.” you chuckle at his genuine tone as he steers you across the dance floor. Feet in perfect sync, the waltz fades into the background as you look into his tired eyes. 

“Nah, tha’s all you, m’lady. I’m nothing much.” he grins morosely. 

Your brows furrow at his words, clearly something was wrong. And this wasn’t the place to talk about it. “Come with me.” you utter, pulling him along with you to a place you knew he’d love. 

Little ol’ Rustcliffe wasn’t called that for nothing. 

The air is tense, the chatter of crickets fill the silence between you two as you guide him to your haven, hand still tightly in his. It’s a steep walk uphill from the outskirts of town, a place you’d stumbled upon during one dashing attempt to escape from this town as a tween.

“Finally here.” you exhale as you reach your destination, fireflies lighting the way. 

“Hah- If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were tryin’ to murder-” Satoru’s voice dies in his throat as he drinks in the view before him. 

The twinkling lights of the entire town of Rustcliffe reflect in his eyes like constellations. Townsfolk barely discernible from this distance, yet the soft jovial music carried over. It was beautiful. 

Satoru looks at you in awe as you lay down on the ground and point upwards, “Tha’s not all, cowboy.”

Quickly getting on the ground beside you - albeit at a safe distance - his mouth gapes wider at the perfect carpet of stars above him. A celestial version of what he saw below. He turns his head to see you bathed in the moonlight. This place was beautiful.

“Satoru, are we okay?‘ you voice out in concern. He’s taken aback by the sudden turn in conversation. You cut off his scramble to make a joke, “I’m serious. Please talk to me.”

He can never win against you.

Heaving out a sigh, “Maybe. Who knows. But whatever it is, please don’t apologize for that kiss, let me have it.”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised, “Let you have it? Satoru, why wouldn’t you have it?” 

“M’lady, I don’t know if you’re aware, but you’re like fireworks. Captivating and fierce. That kiss was a mistake, and soon enough you’ll find a rich, handsome-”

“I only want you.”

“I’m leaving soon.” he retorts. 

“I only want you.” you repeat, stubbornly.

“I’m leaving m’lady.” he argues.

“No- Satoru-”

“And I’m childish. I’m insecure. I’ll never be able to provide for you the way you deserve.” he plows on, emotion cracking his voice.

“Satoru, I love you.” you breathe out. 

Satoru’s breath catches in his throat, the silence was deafening. “What was that?” he turns, voice quiet with disbelief.

“Well, I don’t know if you’re aware, cowboy, but you’re like blue summer skies. And I just so happen to love blue summer skies.” you huff out, finally understanding the reason for his behavior these past few weeks. 

“I don’t expect a huge mansion, or some enormous ranch, or even a cowboy that knows the difference between a lasso and a rattlesnake. I just don’t want anyone else, Satoru.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

“And…you’re sure? Really sure?”

“Yes.”

Silence punctures your conversation once more, broken only by a loud cackle. You turn in disbelief at his change in demeanor, “All cheered up now, Satoru?”

“Why would you have feelings for me? Was it the tumbleweed story that did it for you?” he gets out through laughs. It was contagious, and soon enough you yourself joined him, clutching your stomach.

In the thoughtful silence that follows, you find yourself inching closer to him until your faces are mere centimeters apart. “Blue summer skies and fireworks don’t go too well together.” he breathes. 

“We’ll make something work out, remember?” you hum. 

Your first kiss with Satoru was a sleep-addled mistake. 

The second was when his lips capture yours as if they were the source of life itself. 

Rolling on top of you, he’s careful to not rest his full weight as his lips don’t leave you, tongue caressing yours. Satoru tastes sweet - like hard candy and your father’s bottle of Baileys. Pulling away a hair's breadth, he whispers against your lips, “Let me be yours?”

“You probably say this to all the girls, hm?” you tease him, as revenge for making you wait so long. He softly bites your lips in retaliation, relishing in your drawn-out whine. “Yes, fine. If only you’ll let me be yours.”

Clearly approving of your answer, he continues his dance with your lips. Barely parting to breathe, as if it hurt to leave you.

And it did. A low groan sounds from the back of his throat as Satoru kisses you with the desperation from these past few weeks. His hands stayed firmly cupping your face, as if scared to move elsewhere. Yours, however, was wandering the expanse of his back, and it was driving him insane. 

“M’lady…” he breathes out at the feeling of your legs wrapping around his hips, a warning. 

You knew where this was going and you don’t know if you’ve wanted anything so bad. “Satoru, I need you.” you mutter, words punctuated by pecks to his swollen lips. 

Maybe that’s the trigger that sets him off. It’s not long before Satoru is kissing you again. Pinning down your arms with one hand, he rolls his hips into yours. You gasp as you feel the outline of his hard cock straining against his trousers. 

He was so big.

Your pussy drips with anticipation and fear of what was about to come. 

Satoru thinks he might be getting whiplash, how was it that an hour ago he was moping in his loneliness and now he’s got you underneath him? Silently thanking whoever was up there, he wanders a hand down your body. Fingers trailing teasingly above where you wanted him the most.

“Tell me what you want, m’lady.” he rasps. Now Satoru is sure he’s getting whiplash when you grind your hips up into his hand, whining “Need you- on me.”

Skirts hastily pushed up, Satoru shuffles so his face is right hovering right above your pulsing core. In the cool moonlight, he can see the way you get wetter at each hot breath on your cunt. “Please Satoru.” 

You were not good for his heart. Surging forward so he’s nose-deep in your pussy, Satoru’s tongue flattens against your swollen folds. His eyes roll to the back of his at your taste. You tasted better than the candy at the hoedown.

Your desperate whines for more send blood rushing to his cock, twitching achingly against his trousers. Leisurely dipping between your folds, he watches with blown-out eyes as you grind your hips deeper into his face, keeping a firm grip on his soft locks. Using him.

Shit, if this was your reaction to him teasing you…

Your whimpers of pleasure and lewd squelches of your cunt  fill the night air as he plunges his tongue inside your clenching hole, fucking you at a merciless rhythm. His brows furrow as his tongue dips in and out relentlessly. He sinfully loves the burn of his scalp as you pull his hair to angle him just right. 

Thumb harshly circling your clit, Satoru thinks he loses a bit of his sanity at every moan of his name that leaves your pretty mouth. “You taste s’good. So perfect for me, m’lady.” his voice sends vibrations to your pussy that have you feeling your heartbeat banging in two places.

“Hngh- Satoru, don’ stop!” you mewl as his nose catches on your clit, clamping down on his tongue. He continues his movements, breathing you in so sinfully. Air was overrated - Satoru Gojo, famously daring traveler and devilishly handsome, dies here between your legs. He wouldn’t even mind.

“Cum in my mouth, m’lady. Please.” he begs, voice muffled by your dripping cunt. He locks eyes with your fucked out ones as he pulls you by the thighs impossibly closer to him. He never wanted to part.

The stimulation of his voice in addition to his fingers and tongue becomes too much. “Satoru! Hah-  M’ gonna cum-”

Tears spring to your eyes as you cum all around Satoru’s tongue. He doesn’t let up his harsh abuse of your pulsing pussy, groaning as he laps up your juices - your slick pooling at the corner of his mouth. 

He was so greedy for you. Shit, this is so much better than he’s imagined every night he’s fucked his fist in that lonely room.

As both of you attempt to catch your breaths, the chattering song of crickets and distant music from the Harvest Hoedown fill the air once more. Satoru looks at you with a devious glint in his eyes that has your cunt twitching once more. 

You’d felt his rock-hard length. And you wanted it now.

“Satoru. let me feel you in my mouth, please.” you murmur. Kneeling before him, you look up at him with eager eyes. At his slow nod, you give an experimental squeeze to the large imprint of his cock, thighs rubbing together at Satoru’s drawn-out hiss. 

“Oh, m’lady. You drive me insane.” he groans. 

Cursing the heavy trousers that cowboys wear, you fumble it down his legs. Muscles, creamy thighs come into your view, making your mouth water. 

In the dim lighting, you see the precum drip down Satoru’s flushed cock. The prominent vein down his side glistens prominently. Shit, he’d never fit in your mouth let alone your cunt. But you wanted it so bad.

Satoru’s heavy breaths sound in the still air as your bruised lips inch closer to his throbbing cock. A deep breath, and you spit on his blushing head, saliva dripping down the side of his length and to where you gently grasped his base. 

It was filthy, it was debauched. You absolutely loved it.

Satoru lets out a strangled moan as you flatten your tongue and take his tip into your mouth, sucking gently. He bucks his hips into your mouth as you run your tongue along his sensitive slit “Shit- Sorry, m’lady. You’re just hah- too good.”

Popping off his aching cock, you press kisses to the side of his length. He groans lowly at the vibrations as you speak about something that has been on your mind for a while now, “Satoru, don’t you think we’re past formalities now?”

“Well, I could call you my goddess?” he smiles. “Or my angel? Or-” Satoru chokes on his words as you take him fully into your mouth - partly because you needed him to shut up, and partly because you cunt ached with need.

“Sh-shit. Jus’ like that.” he rasps as you suck him at a dizzying pace. Precum drips down the side of your mouth as you take him in deeper - nose meeting the snowy white hair on his pelvis.

Your mouth burns at the stretch, his hips grinding lightly into your mouth to meet each bob of your head. Your pussy drips once more at how desperate Satoru was.

His mouth drops open in a silent gasp as you move to take his tight balls into your mouth. You admire the dazed look in his darkened eyes. “Oh god- I’m gonna cum. Please, let me cum in your mouth, m’lady.” he murmurs, eyes rolling to the back of his head as you continue your ruthless pace.

As soon as your lips are around his cock once more, Satoru comes fast and hard with a gravelly moan. Hot spurts of his seed dribble down the corner of your mouth as you take it all in. 

Ah, this wasn’t what you had planned when you brought him here - but you sure weren’t complaining.

Satoru just about passes out when you stick out your tongue to show you’ve swallowed every drop of cum he gave, cock twitching once more. He needed you in a way that would make a hooker blush. 

Finding his voice, “As much as I’d love to ravish you right here, m’lady, I think you deserve somethin’ a bit more comfortable.” He swats at a mosquito attacking him as you grin devilishly.

---

Gege has never flown across the dry ground of Rustcliffe faster. 

Wind in your hair and Satoru’s arms warmly around your middle, you feel the thundering of his heartbeat against your back - matching your own. You admire his moonlit profile, the light casting an otherworldly glow over his cloud-like hair. You could probably go anywhere if it was by his side. 

You’ve never been happier to see that familiar ol’ ranch.

Navigating your sprawling villa, you find, is close to impossible with a relentless Satoru pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck. 

“Satoru…we gotta make it to the bed.” you giggle, drunk off of him rather than the liquor from before. He sighs impatiently, before promptly lifting you off of your feet. His hat and hip holster falling to god-know-where as he runs up the stairs to your bedroom with you in his arms.

The thud of heavy boot echoes throughout the empty house - your parents still at the Harvest Hoedown. It reminds you of the night you first kissed him. As he slams your door shut and pushes you against it, however, you never in your wildest dreams would have thought that it’ll lead to this.

Tongue tangling with Satoru’s, feet still not reaching the ground. You don’t think you’ll make it out of this alive. Nor will Satoru.

Satoru is definitely not making it out alive.

He’s barely stepped a foot into your bedroom before he’s got his hands all over you - groping and teasing every inch of your body he can find. Your legs wrapped around him, he holds you in the air, hands roughly squeezing your ass.

His lips don’t leave yours, tasting himself on your tongue - even as he bunches your skirts around your hips. Exhaling in relief as his hands meet your bare lips, he holds a finger to your pulsing core.

You whimper at the feeling, still sensitive from before. He drinks in your mewls of pain and pleasure, lips curling into a smug smile. “Still sensitive, m’lady? You poor thing. How will you take my cock if yer’ like this?” 

Your groan of impatience turns into a panicked whine as Satoru moves towards the bed, “Maybe we should tuck you in bed for now? Continue this tomorrow?” 

Reading the challenge in his eyes, you immediately free yourself from his hold. His confused gaze soon turns into a surprised one as you push him roughly onto the bed, straddling him after.

“You always do surprise me.” he laughs out between the magnetic kisses you leave on his lips. Buttons fling across the room as you rip his shirt in impatience - fingers too dripping in lust to work through them. You’re sure if the same could be done to your heavy prairie skirt, then it would’ve suffered a similar fate.

You run your hands along his sculpted body greedily, as you’d wanted to since the first time you saw him shirtless. He hisses at the friction and the impatience at wanting to do the same to you, fingers fumbling with your complicated clasps.

After much frustration and curses on whoever invented corsets, you’re finally exposed in front of Satoru.

Shit, he really should call you his goddess. Because in the dim lighting of your bedroom, he thinks he’s in heaven as you sit atop him, bare and needy for him. Fuck Naoya. Fuck any faceless suitable husband. Eyes half-lidded and lips kiss-bitten, you’re like this because of him. 

Grinding his now-bare hips against yours, a low groan rips from his throat at the feeling of your swollen folds spreading against his aching cock. Your dripping slick mixes with his as he continues rutting into you. 

“Ah! Enough teasin’, Satoru- Want you inside me.” you whimper sinfully. 

Your words make Satoru snap. Wordlessly, he sheaths himself inside you with a sigh of relief. Moans leave his throat unrestrained as he bullies his cock deeper and deeper inside your hot cunt. “Fuck. S’tight, your pretty pussy is suckin’ me in so good m’lady.” he hisses out, brows furrowed in pleasure.

Satoru could feel himself losing more and more of his sanity every time your plushy walls clenched down on him as he pulled out to fuck up into with harsh thrusts. It was so animalistic, the way your perfect cunt couldn’t bear to part with him. 

Your slick drips down his length and onto his heavy balls each time he rams into you at a merciless cadence. Soft yelps of his name leave your lips every time his tip kisses your cervix. 

Ah, this time he was actually going to pass out. Your pretty whines, your dripping cunt, the way your tits jiggled so enticingly at each thrust - it was all too much. 

Angling you slightly with his bruising grip on your hips, Satoru smiles with satisfaction at that one spot that makes you convulse on his cock. Abs burning at the pace, he hits it over and over. Your nails dig into the muscle of his shoulder, moans of his name leaving you against your will. 

You were sure to be absolutely covered in marks tomorrow. 

But that was a problem for later you. Right now, all you could focus on was grinding your hips down to meet Satoru’s thrusts, eager for him to hit that spot even harder. Your eyes roll to the back of your head at the painfully good stretch of your snug cunt. So full. 

“K-keep going, Satoru. Don’ stop, please.” Your rickety bed creaks in protest at each relentless thrust, overpowered only by the stinging smacks of his balls against your ass. 

It was so filthy. So debauched. And you absolutely loved it.

As Satoru’s hands sneak down to draw rough circles on your clit, you feel yourself getting closer and closer towards cumming. Leaning down to capture his lips with yours once more, you whisper against his mouth, “Satoru, I’m- Hngh-” 

He connects his sweaty forehead with yours, “Mm. me too. Fuck, gonna fill this pretty pussy up. You want that, m’lady?”

Just the thought of being so full of Satoru sends you over the edge. You cum with a lewd moan of his name, cunt clenching so impossibly tight around his cock. 

“Ah! Shit.” Satoru grits out at the way your walls were fluttering around him so perfectly. Your whimpers as you gush around him sounds like music to his ears. 

Satoru thinks he sees heaven as he cums. A part of his soul parting with him that night. Thick ropes of his seed paint your walls white, strained whispers of your name leaving his mouth as if a prayer. As if you were his goddess. 

A feral part of him keeps bucking his hips into you, letting you ride out your highs together. Fucking his cum deeper and deeper - claiming you as his.

You do the same in your own way - biting down on Satoru’s exposed neck. Hard. His strong arms wrap around you to keep you from moving away, letting you use him as you please. 

Cum drips down your legs, staining your blanket. 

As your highs finally bate, you blink out the haze from your eyes. Looking up at Satoru from where you were snuggled into the crook of his neck, admiring the innocent blush adorning his face and his glossy, bruised lips. Both of you so overstimulated and euphoric.

“Got any travel stories like this?” you chuckle out, half-delirious and exhausted from what just transpired in this room. 

“Not at all.” Satoru breathes out, pulling you closer to him, closing his hazy eyes to the sex-filled air. 

That night, squeezed into your warm single bed, Satoru tells you stories of before his travels. You’re unsure if your parents are home yet, and right now with Satoru in your arms - you don’t care.

You listen as he rambles about growing up in the quaint town of Summer Pass. How he was raised with beautiful parents, a wonderful life. Yet, since the passing of his best friend, he’d taken up what the two had been dreaming of since they were children - wandering the world. 

“I’m afraid, if I stay too long then it always ends up hurtin’.” he whispers into the still night. Caressing his hair, you pull him into your warm embrace. Your heart weighs heavy as the back of your mind pangs with the realization that Satoru will still leave despite this.

Both of you fall asleep reminiscing talks of your childhoods. In your exhausted state, maybe you misheard - but you could’ve sworn by the “I love you, m’lady.” Satoru whispered against your lips right before you closed your eyes. 

Limbs intertwined till you’re unsure where one ends and the other starts, you have the most peaceful sleep in a long time.

You’re unsure when Satoru snuck out of your room. The only evidence of last night being the washcloth on your bedside table that he’d tenderly cleaned you up with, and a singular button from his shirt at the foot of your bed. 

Cheeks heating once you catch sight of it, you make your way down to breakfast in your most well-covered dress. 

What you certainly didn’t expect was to be interrogated by your mother. “So…” she begins. ”When did you come home, darling? We didn’t see you at the hoedown after midnight.”

Ah, suddenly these scrambled eggs just did not want to go down your throat. “Jus’...went to see somethin’ interesting.” you respond, eyes meeting with Satoru’s amused ones across the table as he subtly plays footsies with you underneath.

---

Sneaking around with a secret cowboy boyfriend doesn’t just happen in books, you realize. It’s a lot easier since Naoya is around a lot more often than usual. The only thing he might be good for may be keeping your parents entertained…

Since then, Satoru, you conclude, really does not like L-words: namely, Love and Leaving.

Despite his breathless confession that night, Satoru hasn’t said anything more about his feelings towards you - nor when he’ll be leaving. 

It’s okay, you have time. You console yourself, as you lay in bed with him after he’d snuck into your room as per usual, pulling his warm presence closer to yours. But Satoru’s inevitable departure looms closer and closer like a dark cloud above your head. 

It’s only two months after that night, when you’ve retreated from another engagement conversation you shut down, that Satoru brings it up. Hands intertwined and watching the sunset on top of your father’s barn, he utters in an uncharacteristically grave tone “I planned to leave next week, m’lady.” 

Your heart pricks at his words. You knew this was coming. 

Clenching your fists in self-assurance, your words tumble out.

“Let me come with you.”

“Let me stay with you.”

The nostalgic lullaby of the world around you is deafening as you and Satoru reel back in synchronized surprise. 

“You- stay?”

“Wait- huh?”

Brow raised, you gesture at him to continue. “I just- I thought maybe I could stay here. Build a life with you, if you’d like, m’lady.” 

Your eyes widen in surprise. Satoru - who smiles brightest when talking of his tales of travel - was offering to settle down?

“W-what? Satoru, why would you? You love traveling.” you sputter out in disbelief. His smile grows, as does the warmth in his eyes. “I’ve found something I love a lot more.” he murmurs, with a playful bite to the crook of your neck.

You crack a smile at his sincerity, though you shake your head in disagreement. “You should be out there explorin’ the world, Satoru. And…I want to be right by your side.”

“I thought you loved this place?”

“I do.” you sigh. “But I feel so trapped.”

Resting your head on Satoru’s shoulders, you admit how dear Rustcliffe is to you - although oftentimes you try to deny it - and how you want to leave just as much. 

The stars wink at you two mischievously by the time you’re done, a twinkle that matches the look in Satoru’s eyes as he announces, “So~ We run away together in a blaze of glory. End scene, credits roll, Gege win’s best actor.”

“Exactly. Although I prefer the term unannounced relocation.” you hum, relishing in his bark of laughter. “Now, c’mon, cowboy. We gotta get up early for that damn election rally tomorrow.”

Heading back home as inconspicuous as possible is always tedious. In addition to praying away your swollen lips, you head in innocently at different times. 

Hurriedly greeting your housekeeper, you attempt to make a swift escape to your room. Only to be blocked by…Naoya?

“We meet again, sweetcheeks.” he smiles, stepping closer towards you. Determined to stand your ground, you stare menacingly up at him. “Hello, my apologies for being so unavailable to meet these days. Business, y’know.” your voice steady.

“Ah, yes. I know.” he hums dangerously. Looming closer to your face, you smell the tobacco on his breath as he mutters, “It’s no matter, your father and I have gone through with our conversations. You and I will announce our engagement tomorrow at your father’s rally. That is final.”

“I’ve talked with you about this, I’ve screamed at you about this. I will not marry you no matter what my father nor anyone else says.” you grit out through clenched teeth. 

“Why? Got anyone in mind? Think it’ll be anyone else your father approves of?” he raises a brow, delicately raising the neckline of where your dress had dripped down - where Satoru had nipped before.

He knows.

“Not at all.” you smile sweetly. Not waiting for a response, you run upstairs. Seems like running away in a blaze of glory might have to hurry up.

Twisting and turning the entire night, you don’t get a wink of sleep, mind a whirlwind of how you’d get Satoru and run away before the announcement.

It was terrifying.

---

Parading around town in an itchy engagement dress under the boiling sun on your father’s collection of purebred Italian horses (+ Gege) wasn’t exactly how you wanted to spend an ideal morning. But it wasn’t the worst.

You snuck glances at Satoru riding in front of you, looking devastatingly handsome as ever. 

Naoya had been terrifyingly quiet all morning. You could feel his penetrating stare on you, scrutinizing every movement and every conversation. He rides beside you - your soon-to-be husband.

As the procession ends at your father’s podium, where he proudly takes a stand. As he plows on with an inspirational speech that has the audience in cheers, your mind runs a mile a minute as you slip away from the stage. Even in your gauzy white dress, it’s easy to get lost in the animated crowds of Rustcliffe - which you and Satoru use to your advantage.

This was happening. You were going to finally leave. 

Heart clenching at the sight of your jovial parents onstage, you take a long look before turning away. It’s okay, it’s alright. This is something you’ve been wanting for years. 

Brain whirring at the letters you’d send them on your travels, you miss the harsh gaze following you. 

“Satoru!” you gasp at the blur of white and black that embraces you as soon as you step foot into Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon. The bar, empty for the first time in years since your father’s last rally, was your hastily chosen place of refuge.

Nanami, who wasn’t initially too keen on being involved, had sympathized once he saw the look on your face. “Alright, but if anyone asks - you two were never here. Not too good for business, y’know.” he’d stated, permitting you two to do whatever you please. 

Although, it probably was worth noting that he’d almost taken it back once Satoru tackled him into a hug with a joyful squeal of “Nanamiiiin~!”

“C’mon now. I’ve got our bags saddled on Gege. We’ll leave immediately.” Satoru voices, snapping you out of your reminiscing. Rushing to give Nanami a farewell hug, your heart lurches as he whispers “Goodbye. Promise you’ll write.” 

This was really happening.

Nodding in promise, you finally turn to the open door and step into the dusty sunlight. Satoru leads you to where Gege is impatiently waiting for your quick getaway. You could almost laugh at the sheer exhilaration coursing through your veins. 

You were going to get out.

You grip onto Satoru’s shoulder for support as he circles his arms around you to lift you onto the seat, slightly shaking at the intoxicating adrenaline. 

You were finally going to be free. 

“Leavin’ so soon, sweetcheeks?” a chilling voice slices through the air. One that you know way too well. Your heart stops, as does Satoru’s hands in midair - before he sets you down slowly.

Body moving against your will, you turn to the deceivingly sweet voice behind you. Naoya.

A cold sweat breaks out across Satoru’s forehead. 

He stares down Naoya’s hand hovering over the holster at his hip. “I knew there was something off about you, barn boy. You think I’d be outmatched by someone like you?” he hisses, resentment poisoning every word.

Satoru does what he does arguably the best, “Oh c’mon asshat, don’t be so melodramatic. We’re just going on a little adventure.” he smirks.

“Don’t I know of these adventures.” Naoya spits out. 

Agonizingly slow, Naoya draws his gun. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife as the three of you stand frozen, searing sun casting eerie shadows across the desolate road. 

BANG!

Naoya’s first shot tears through the deafening silence. Narrowly missing the bullet, Gege whinnies in fear before running off to safety. Satoru skillfully maneuvers you two into the shadowy alleyway beside Ol’ Rustcliffe Saloon.

In the blink of an eye, he presses you close to the dust-bitten wall as he pulls out his gun. “Stay here.” he gasps out.  

With lightning speed, Satoru retaliates - firing back-to-back shots at Naoya with a speed and precision that has him scrambling for cover behind a barrel. 

The gunfire echoes throughout the quiet town, these familiar streets becoming a battleground. Despite both parties shooting from their impromptu covers, neither are invincible. 

A stray bullet harshly grazes his arm, blood painting the ground a deep crimson. Fuck, this really burned like a motherfucker. But he was still alive - he still had to protect you. 

The standoff intensifies, stray bullets flying off in every direction. They splinter holes through the rustic shop banners. You could only be thankful that the town was at the rally, confident you’d never forgive yourself if anyone died on this road today.

Satoru fires off shots with uncanny accuracy, years of defending himself on the road coming in handy. Yet, he was losing blood. So much blood. He realizes with a jolt that his vision was slowly blurring. 

Breaths labored and slumping forward against the wall, he aims one last shot at Naoya. Fuck. Shit. Dear lord, if you’re up there, please don’t let my love die here. 

A finger pulls the trigger. The bullet flies through the air as if in slow-motion. 

It hits metal.

Naoya’s gun flies through the air, clattering onto the sun-scorched ground as he is finally disarmed. The beginnings of a grin curl Satoru’s lips before he heaves out a heavy sigh. Eyes closing and body collapsing forward, the last thing ringing in his ears being your harrowed scream.

“No no no no. Satoru please.” sobs wreck your throat as your hands frantically check for Satoru’s pulse. In your panicked state of mind, you barely register the crunch of gravel nearing towards you two. 

“Shit. The fuck is it that you even want?” that dreaded voice sounds ominously in your ears. “To travel? I can fuckin’ take you places.” 

Sagging on the saloon wall for support, Naoya clutches his bleeding side as he observes the two of you. In an instant, you’re in front of Satoru’s body protectively, hand steady on his discarded gun pointed right at Naoya’s head. 

“Leave, before I shoot your brains out..” you threaten, voice deceptively steady.

“I thought I could be the one to break you - the mayor’s wildchild daughter. But why the fuck do you put yourself through this?” he continues, voice strained with anger. 

“Because he is the one I want. I refuse your proposal, and I am not sorry for it. Now leave.” 

You were standing up now, the cool metal of the barrel pressed firmly to his forehead. Finger hovering above the trigger.

“I believe the lady said to leave.” Nanami’s voice startles you both. His normally stoic face was etched with anger. 

Despite his injuries, Naoya manages to glare at Nanami. But, realizing the odds are against him, he backs away, but not before venomously promising “This ain’t over, sweetcheeks.”

He leaves a bloody trail as he limps out of sight.

“Told you this wasn’t good for business.” Nanami sighs at the chaos. With Nanami’s help, you carry Satoru inside - body moving on instinct as your mind races to process everything that happened. 

The empty bar now serves as an improvised hospital. Laying Satoru down on a table that acts as a makeshift bed, propping his feet up in a desperate attempt to recirculate his blood. You desperately tear the intricate of your engagement dress into bandages, hurriedly wrapping it around his injured arm.

The atmosphere is taut, air once thick with the stench of alcohol now reeking of blood and the dusty antiseptic Nanami had brought to you from the very back of his shelves. The methodic ticking of the bar clock sounds like gunshots to your ears.

His reassuring presence is probably what keeps you sane as you stare unmovingly at your hands, stained a dark red from the blood seeping through Satoru’s clothes. 

You must have been sitting there for hours. Maybe even days. Or it might have even been just a few minutes.

All you know is a flash of blue, and you’re surging forward, heart racing. “Satoru?! Satoru! Please say something.” you cry out, tears streaming down your face once more. Nanami quietly makes his exit to the back, leaving the two lovers to their privacy.

“Satoru.” you breathe out, relief flooding your body and a smile forcing its way onto your face as Satoru’s half-lidded eyes meet your worried ones. 

“M’lady.” he whispers weakly. His uninjured arm shakily cups your cheek, and you lean into his warm touch. “I would never have forgiven myself if I left you alone, m’lady.” he rasps, eyes boring into yours. “Couldn’t have fought off the tumbleweeds yourself.”

You let out a watery laugh. There he is, the man you love.

“I love you, Satoru.” you speak in a hushed tone, as if anything louder will throw you back into your nightmare. His smile grows, blue summer eyes flooding with silent tears. 

“I love you, too. So, so much. Wherever you go s’ where I belong, my love.” he utters words meant for you - and only you. 

Your heart swells at the indescribable emotion on his face. “Then, rest well. We have to make our getaway in a blaze of glory, remember?” 

It wasn’t a blaze of glory, more like a teary trail of apologies and thanks as you embrace Nanami farewell - for the second time today. He hugs Satoru too, but only begrudgingly after he bemoans about being on the brink of death any second now. 

You step outside once more, hands shaky at what awaits you. 

In the distance, you hear a frantic call of your name. You turn, only to have your parents barreling emotionally into you. 

Word seems to have spread around town about what had happened, and your parents were first to come to you - your father running off midspeech. 

Through your hurried stream of tears and recollections of what happened, you managed to bawl out “I-I’m so-”

Words which are quickly hushed by your equally emotional parents. “Please don’ apologize.” your mother soothes.

“If anything, I should. I’m so sorry for tryin’ to coop you up here, my dear. I was a scared, insolent man. S’hard to not see you as my little girl, I hope you can forgive me, my darling.” your father sighs shakily. He looks a lot older than you remember him.

Grabbing both your parents into a tight embrace, you whisper out the words “I love you, and I promise to write.” 

With a final hug goodbye from your parents - to both you and Satoru, you take a seat in front of him on the now-calm Gege. 

“Ready m’lady?” you send a teasing glance at Satoru, who positively swoons overdramatically.

“Oh yes, Mr. Brave n’ Handsome cowboy.” he responds in a theatrically high falsetto. “Travelin’ the world won’t be all sunshines and rainbows, y’know? If you want a way out now then jus’ say the word.” he warns in his normal voice.

“Trynna get rid of me already, cowboy?” you raise a brow playfully. He wraps his arms securely around your waist. “Just sayin’, wouldn’t want you to regret a single thing.” he murmurs softly.

“I won’t. As long as we win against those tumbleweeds, right?”

Huffing out a laugh, “Can’t promise ya that, my love. You’ll jus’ have to take a chance on me.”

The snap of reins. A last look at your waving parents, and your little town of Rustcliffe. You ride into the horizon with your white dress billowing behind you - on what you and Satoru would later consider blazing glory. 

---

“Didya hear about the mayor’s daughter? Last I heard, she was kidnapped by a rogue cowboy a couple years back, snatched her straight off her feet on her wedding day!”

“Hogwash! I heard she went quite willingly - the boy was quite a looker, you see. Stabbed her fiancé in his sleep before riding off into the sunset!”

Nanami stifles a laugh at the scandalized gasps echoing around the table as the old drunkards run the gossip mill. 

In a subtle motion, he discreetly tucks away a photograph, its back adorned with enthusiastic handwriting and a…hoofprint? 

Taj Mahal sprawling in the backdrop, two identical heads of white hair grin mischievously in the photo. 

Yet, yours takes center stage.

A/N. Did this in two days, anything is possible kids (I need to lie down). Reblogs are so so so appreciated.

Plagiarism not authorized.

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #jjk #gojo satoru #tonywrites

[lale-txt]

❥ falling asleep besides you for the first time ↳ w/ Toji, Naoya, Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Higuruma, Sukuna & Choso

a/n: this came over me like a fever dream during another episode of insomnia. some of those drabbles are a little sad, i apologize. it's what you get with all those tragics characters. reader is gn!

word count: 1.4k

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 doesn’t even want to fall asleep; it’s not like he had a good night of rest ever since… well. He tells himself he’s just gonna close his eyes for a bit, stretched out on the couch next to you, his weary head in your lap. There’s still blood on his hands and on the side of his face, he’s gonna get cleaned up in just a bit, he mumbles, but the words come out heavy and drowsy, and your fingers are tangled in his hair now and your voice is this sweet whisper, baby, I love you anyway, and Toji–Toji just gives in. For the first time, sleep doesn’t come over him as a heavy veil, as if he’s drowning; for once it’s something peaceful, something quiet. Something he welcomes. Next to you, you with your fingers woven between his, you who loves even the broken parts of him, you with quiet love and reassurance that you’re still gonna be there when he wakes up again.

𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀 hasn’t had another warm body next to him under the covers in a long time. He doesn’t realize how much he missed this until your body melts into his, one leg swung over his thighs, your arm sneaking around his waist and your head finding its spot in the crook of his neck. His cheek falls softly against your forehead when he pulls you closer, breathing in the scent of you that’s the closest to home he ever felt, pressing kisses on the crown of your head. It’s not just lust–oh, he wants to devour you, but there’ll be time in the morning–it’s the absence of loneliness and unspoken confessions. Higuruma can tell when he’s falling in love and in this moment he’s wading deep, deeper through his feelings for you, biting his tongue so they don’t spill out all over the pillows and into you. You already know anyway, and when the sun comes up again, you’ll lick them from the cave of his mouth like a prayer.

𝐍𝐀𝐎𝐘𝐀 can’t fall asleep, not on his wedding night, not when your mouth is whispering all those words he’s demanding from you. His cheek is pressed against your palm while he’s pinning you down, almost nuzzling into it like a touch-starved stray, golden eyes lingering on you. Say you’re mine. Again. Say who you belong to. Mine. Mine. All mine. He isn’t aware how pleading he sounds, how raspy his voice gets the more you obey, every time you sigh his name so softly into his open mouth. Naoya doesn’t care if you’re lying, as long as you wear your wedding band on your ring finger for everyone to see. You’re his to keep now, and if he could have it his way, you would be forbidden to leave this bed forever; he wasn’t aware just how much he had craved the presence of another being by his side at night, one who doesn’t leave once he had his share of pleasure. No, you’re his now, and before sleep eventually finds him, he’ll make sure to sink his teeth into you till his name rolls off your tongue like a lullaby. 

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 doesn’t let go of your hand; he’s afraid it’ll go cold if he allows himself to let his guard down even for one second. This isn’t how he had imagined spending the first night with you. Not under the fluorescent lights of the infirmary, not with your body wrapped in gauze and machinery monitoring your heart rate. It dawns on him as he’s sitting on your bedside–how attached he’s gotten to you, then: How he had almost lost you today. He squeezes your hand tighter and sighs, his weary head sinking down on the mattress. Your fingers twitch and find their way into his hair, combing through it weakly. As if they say, it’s okay, I’m alive, you’re not to blame. So please don’t leave and take all your love with you. And Nanami takes your hand once again and kisses your fingertips, pressing promises against your skin, promises of a future where you and him can just be, one where he can finally put all of these feelings down, down in your open and gentle palms for you to keep.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 is clingy throughout the day, but even more so at night. He doesn’t like the eerie quiet that settles in once the sun has sunken, not when he can listen to your steady breathing next to him instead, so naturally he feels a rush of joy when you push your futons together for the first time. His heart is beating way too fast to find sleep now, his eyes taking in everything about your sleeping figure, from the way your chest rises and falls to how your nose scrunches slightly for a moment. Choso wants to know what you’re dreaming about, what colors your dreams are, and if he’s ever in them. He wants to engrave himself into your being, wants to keep you wrapped in his arms forever. His kisses feel light against your skin, careful not to wake you but enough to fill his desire. Choso loves you with his entire being, and sleep is merely an obstacle, cutting away from your time spent together–though he must admit, his eyes flutter shut quite easily in your embrace.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 realizes that his idea of ‘sweets in bed’ now has a double meaning, seeing you sprawled out in his sheets with candy wrapping paper clenched between your fist and more of it lying on the floor. Cute, he can’t help but murmur as he lays down next to you on his side, mustering you with an amused smile on his lips. When he told you to knock yourself out on the sweet souvenirs he brought, he didn’t assume you would take it that literally. His thumb brushes over the corner of your mouth, collecting some of the powdered sugar that’s still stuck there, and Gojo could swear he never tasted anything sweeter than this when he brings it to his tongue. He gently replaces the trash you hold onto in your sleep with his fingers, woven between yours, and pulls you close to him, his tall figure embracing you; and for the first time in a long time, Gojo feels a wave of calm wash over him, allowing him to exhale and sink into a dream almost as sweet as you.

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 doesn’t know why he keeps entertaining your antics. Sharing a bed, sleeping together side by side? How utterly foolish, but as to be expected from a mere human; they’ve always been like this, seeking comfort and warmth when they’re the most vulnerable. Of course a predator like Sukuna wouldn’t have to worry about sleeping safe and sound. Yet still; he can’t help but let his gaze linger on you, wrapped up in his embrace, four arms holding you in place on top of him. Everyone else would freeze in fear, but you? You snore quietly without a single worry in the world, knowing you have a king watching over you in your slumber. Sukuna huffs but still brushes a strand of hair out of your face. Maybe he’ll tell Uraume that you’re off the menu, for now. As long as you know your place–in his embrace, wearing his marks with pride, providing a sense of comfort Sukuna had never known before. Fool, he mutters and rests his chin on top of your head, not sure if those words were for him or you. 

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 doesn’t question when you knock on the door of his dorm room, asking for shelter after a particular nightmare. He hasn’t found any sleep yet anyway. When he lifts up the covers for you to slip under, he’s surprised that you don’t even hesitate to do so, wrapping yourself around his body as if it was molded for that only. Geto can tell that you’re trying not to tremble, but the nightmare still lingers. He knows it all too well. His fingers brush through your hair when he pulls you closer to his chest, as if this could prevent you from falling apart–though deep down he’s aware that he might be the one on the verge of breaking. You know it too, don’t you? Geto is tired, oh, so tired. The kind of tired sleep can’t fix, and he can’t help but wonder if this would also be the last time that you’re in his arms, clinging onto someone who is long gone; a version of him that he shed together with his dream of letting himself love you.

#jjk x reader #toji x reader #nanami x reader #gojo x reader #sukuna x reader #naoya x reader #higuruma x reader #geto x reader #choso x reader #nanami kento #toji fushiguro #naoya zenin #gojo satoru #geto suguru #choso kamo #ryomen sukuna #higuruma hiromi #jjk x you #jjk drabbles #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x gender neutral reader

[envy-of-the-apple]

Sun Eats Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 9.1k

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

Synopsis: Your boss takes on Gojo Satoru as his newest client. Much to your relief, he doesn't seem to recognize you.

(Warnings: noncon, dubcon, rough sex, oral sex, bullying, harassment, one mention of choking, penetrative sex, afab!reader, coercion, forced relationships, implied baby trapping attempt, hint of pregnancy kink)

You wanted to quit the second you read the name. 

You should have. It would have been so easy to hand in your two weeks, tell your boss that you just couldn't. Or maybe you could have convinced one of the other paralegals to take your place. 

It's pathetic. Almost a decade had passed and you still felt yourself slink into the girl you once were, rolling under his thumb, utterly helpless. You should be better than that. You worked so hard to reach where you are now. 

You were different now, you told yourself over and over again. You were older, smarter. Besides, it'd been a decade, would he even remember you?

It's Higuruma who notices your restless fingers. You shouldn't have underestimated him, despite how exhausted he looks, nothing goes past your boss. He asks about it when you two are seated in a beige room, waiting for the client. 

"Is everything alright?" 

You're still staring out the window. How high were you? 16 stories, maybe even higher. Resentment, you can feel it rise up your throat, build throughout your body. Of course, he has fancy cars, pretty buildings, and limitless money. Men like him will never know what it's like to have nothing. All men were born equal. What a fucking joke. 

Higuruma shifts, and you jolt out of your thoughts. "Yes," you console, "apologies, I'm just tired." 

The lawyer hums, and you're not sure if he believes you or not. Before he can say anything, the frosted doors open. The rest of the legal team comes in, sitting at the long table you and Higuruma inhabited. 

He comes in last. He'd always had a liking for theatrics. 

Not much had changed within a decade. He was taller, bigger. He'd switched out of his high school uniform, opting for something more business-friendly. He still made heads turn. Became the center of attention. 

It's his smile that throws you. Sincere, real. Lingering on his face like extravagant jewelry. Hard not to notice. 

You react better than you anticipated. You don't shake or tremble or cry when he passes you. You just squeeze your fists, bunching your skirt in your palm. It helps. 

He sits down, right at the end, so everyone can see him. One foot elegantly crossed over the other. When he tilts his head, his soft white hair threatens to shift over brilliant blue eyes. 

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to explain why we're all here." A few chuckles resonate from the small group. "Let's just do our best and hope nothing gets too out of hand."

His eyes slide over to meet yours, and you steel yourself for his eyes to widen. For something wicked and cruel and nasty to sink into his face. 

Nothing. 

Gojo Satoru maintains that same smile. The blaring sun. Painfully innocent. His gaze lasts barely a second before moving to the next face, and the next, and the next. 

"I look forward to working with all of you."                                     

𖤓

If you could describe Gojo Satoru in one word, it would be: celestial. 

He's like a shining star. Brighter than the sun. Everywhere he went, he was bound to attract attention. Much like how the Earth is drawn towards the sun, people are drawn towards Gojo Satoru. It's the natural order. 

But, if an insignificant planet resists the Sun's gravitational force, it'll get crushed. You learned this the hard way. 

Gojo had always been in your class for years. The third year was no different. Despite the commonality, you two never talked to each other. You had no reason to. Until the vending machine gave you two cartons, and you suddenly remembered from an overheard conversation that Gojo liked chocolate milk too. 

"Want it?" You hold it out to him during lunch break. He was in the middle of a boisterous conversation with his friend. They did intimidate you, but you had no reason to be scared. It's not like they were bullies.

Gojo's sunglasses dip down. He eyes what you're holding in your hand, before his gaze drifts back up to you. 

"The machine gave me extra," you supply, "do you want it?" 

"Oh, sure," he says after a moment. Your hands brush. "Thanks." 

You nod, and then you walk back to the cafeteria. It was meaningless. A favor between acquaintances. He was helping you more than you helped him. You didn't want to carry chocolate milk around in your backpack. You forgot about the interaction within a few hours. 

𖤓

The meeting ends hours later. When you stumble home, it's barely evening but you can still feel the stress creeping through your legs and arms. 

You go straight to your laptop. Fumbling through the keyboard, desperate, searching. 

He's famous. Of course, he is. In his mid-twenties, but already a multi-millionaire. The head of an extremely elite family. Your eyes scan picture after picture after picture. Photos of him drinking with models in skimpy bikinis. Fancy cars. Huge houses. Private jets. Gojo Satoru: the man behind Gojo Co., Gojo Satoru and supermodel Menza hinted at relationship, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru. 

You pull away when it starts to burn, when the rage and sorrow become too much. He has everything. Everything he could want. He made you go through hell for months, and yet he never got punished for it. The universe rewards him with lavishness you'd never be able to touch. 

It's not fair. It's not fair. It's not fucking fair. 

Through your blinds, the sun happily shines. 

𖤓

You don't notice it until it becomes painfully unbearing.

Gojo calls you by your name now (until that day you bet he didn't even know you existed). He's like a ghost, constantly appearing out of nowhere to sling an arm around your shoulder, eager to chase off any of your friends to talk to you about things that don't matter.

He constantly offers to walk you home (and then Gojo ignores your refusals and does it anyway). It stays like that for a few days, never bordering beyond friendliness. You think he's harmless. Maybe he just hasn't had someone genuinely do a nice favor for him. Besides, you're flattered by the attention. Even you can be swayed by the pull of Gojo Satoru. It feels nice to be wanted. 

You reason it'll just be for another week. A week later, you two will be nothing but acquaintances, sometimes exchanging quick smiles during class. 

It doesn't truly dawn on you as to what he's doing until he comes out and says it. 

"What?" Because you must have misheard him. 

"We should," he says, not even bothering to repeat himself, "I mean, we're practically dating already. Let's just make it official." 

You stare at him. As always, he's utterly beautiful. The light of the setting sun makes his skin glow gold. Whenever he's walking you home is one of the rare times he removes those sunglasses. His eyes are like jewels, pretty things that you wish were yours. 

You laugh. It's high and panicky because you still think he's joking. He doesn't laugh with you. You stop. 

"Oh-oh, I'm sorry Gojo-I wasn't-I didn't think. I'm just not...interested in dating anyone right now. It's not you! I think-I think you're great, but it's just the wrong time, and school is getting so much busier and-" you keep rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse because you're convinced Gojo would cut you off with an awkward laugh, tell you it's fine. 

He doesn't do either, letting your flounderings get more and more pathetic. His smile had dropped. You can't read his expression anymore. 

Eventually, you grow quiet, standing with him in that silence. When that gets too much, you timidly tell him to have a goodnight and walk home. He doesn't follow, staying rooted to the sidewalk where you left him. You're not running away, you tell yourself over and over again. And yet, you can't help but feel relief as soon as you can't feel his eyes. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

𖤓

It was something minuscule. 

Barely considered legal work. The case would most likely be finished in a couple of weeks. The defendant had nothing on Gojo Satoru, at least from what you and the other paralegals could see. You highly doubted it would even go to court. Higuruma always had a knack for bringing anyone to the table. Gojo would be let off from whatever he did without a hitch. No punishment. Just like always. 

"Word of advice, don't think about what happens in the private sector," Higuruma says, over whiskey. 

The firm was celebrating another victory at a fancy bar. You were still stewing over the face of that young woman's face when the judge ruled in your client's favor. She looked heartbroken. You can still remember the sleazy smile your client had given her. 

"It's a job," he says, "do it. Boost your resume, and get out." 

He takes another dainty sip of his glass. Tonight, the circles underneath his eyes seem even darker. "You're a young kid. Do something else with your life." 

When he offers to buy you a round, you accept. You think about that night sometimes, and you wonder if Higuruma wished someone else would have given him that advice when he was younger. 

Do the job, and get out. Easier said than done. Especially when the job involved Gojo Satoru. 

Associating with him was dangerous, you knew that firsthand, especially when he was interested in something you had. You'd left, but that wouldn't save you. The space of decades would not help. 

Burn Gojo once, he won't forgive you. Burn Gojo twice? You don't think there's anyone alive who did that. 

Over the coming days, you expect something from him. It's a nagging feeling in your stomach. The delayed response to a gunshot. Dread. You expect him to snap. Push. Break. 

He never does. Gojo remains pliant, the same to you as he remains to your boss. There's no additional touching, no disgusting nicknames, no scathing looks. Nothing. 

You don't get the confirmation until a week later, when Gojo stops you near the elevator. 

"Higuruma's...assistant, right? Sorry, never got your name," he says, and you steel yourself because the two of you are alone and here it comes but if you yell loudly enough maybe-

"He asked for some paperwork, and I finally found it for him." Gojo hands you a stack of sheets with a cheery smile. "You won't mind giving that to him, will ya? Thanks!" 

Just as quickly as he arrives, he leaves, shoes clicking down the hall as he goes. You can only stare at his rescinding back, the palpable feeling of relief nearly making your knees buckle. 

The best news you could have possibly received. Gojo Satoru had completely forgotten about you. 

When you got home later that evening, the rain was heavy, and the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

𖤓

You don't have proof it was him. 

It's unjust to accuse people of things they didn't do. You lack any evidence. It could have easily started by itself. You'd always been meek and timid. People were bound to take advantage of that. 

But the timing was just too perfect for it to not be caused by him. 

In the weeks following the incident with Gojo, school went from tolerant to hell. It started small, at first. Tiny. Unoticable. Insignificant. Some people (Gojo's lackeys, you'd later realize), would nudge you as they passed you by the halls. They apologized, mid-laugh, and in the beginning, you truly thought they were sincere. Then, the nudges turned into pushes, then shoves. That's when you knew you had a target on your back. 

At first, you found it kind of hard to believe. Bullying? It sounded so childish. Something reserved for petty middle schoolers. You were in your final year of high school. You were already an adult. You laughed it off, for a bit. Mostly because it was so ridiculous. Only when it starts becoming more severe, more apparent that you were his target, do you start taking things more seriously.

There was no proof, but everyone knew it was Gojo. And being on Gojo's bad side wasn't something people were willing to risk. One by one, your friends started to disappear, reducing their involvement by sending strained smiles during passing period. The more stubborn ones who were more adamant about staying by your side were chased away too. They'd skip school for a few days, before coming back and completely ignoring you.

Teachers and staff were no help either. Why would they? Gojo's family held them in the palm of their hand. The most your homeroom teacher would do was avert his eyes whenever something was thrown at you for the third time in class, and quietly remind students to settle down. 

You fell on the ground with an embarrassing thump. A chorus of laughter, and a mocking 'sorry' is all you hear from the crowd. Other students step over your scattered papers, giving you looks of sympathy but never bothering to help. You'd call them cowards, but you know you'd do the same.

Instead, you focus on collecting your papers. You avoid the lump in your throat. The tears that threaten to break over your waterline. It's humiliating, being stuck on the floor like this. It's only Wednesday, but you already feel like breaking.

Hands, scarred, move past you, collecting the rest of the sheets. His face is carefully blank as Geto Suguru neatly tucks his share all in one piece before handing it to you. You give your thanks. He ignores it. 

“Are you hurt?” Geto asks, his voice barely loud enough to hear.

You think you scrapped your knee during the fall, but other than your pride, you're fine. You shake your head. Geto sighs. It's not out of relief.

“That's good,” he says anyway.

You found it ironic that Gojo's best friend is the only one who bothers to help you these days. It makes sense, in a way. It's not like he'll send his goons to Geto, instead. In this solar system, Geto Suguru is the only person unaffected by Gojo's solar flares. 

You work in relative silence, collecting the mess that fell out of your bag. Geto hands you the last of the supplies, idly watching as you tuck them away.

“Take my advice,” he says just before he leaves, “give in.”

He stands up. Geto Suguru has always been taller than you, but now the difference feels even worse. When he looks down at you, a flicker of pity lingers in his eyes. It's gone before it can mean anything. 

“It'll only get worse from here if you don't.”

Worse, he had said. God, what could be worse? You were already at rock bottom. All you have left is your dignity. Something you intend on gritting your teeth to keep.

You quickly learned something about Geto Suguru: he knew his best friend. 

Friday. The end of the worst week of your life has finally arrived. The week after is break, and then maybe Gojo will move onto some other hyperfixation, and finally leave you alone.

Classes were out. You were done, free to run home and cry the entire week away. And then, you noticed, your locker was open.

Smashed in, was a better term. Completely, irrevocably, destroyed. It looked like someone had taken a wooden bat to repeatedly smash in the metal until it cracked open like an egg. 

You don't want to look, but you have to. The busted door is barely hanging on its hinges when you push it open. 

It's worse than anything you could think of. 

Your books, textbooks, journals, are all torn apart and written on. All the contents of your bag have been thrown around. Your assignments, your notes, your pens and pencils. But it's your laptop that makes your throat stop. Smashed, broken without any hope of being salvageable. Your everything was in there. Why why why would he do this to you? 

This wasn't bullying. 

This was abuse. 

Fuck pride. Fuck dignity.

You were so tired. 

Despite the hell his lackeys put you through. Gojo Satoru himself never bothered you. In fact, you hadn't seen him all week. He doesn't make himself impossible to find. You know where his group hangs out after school. You're barely holding yourself together when you hear his voice. His pretty laugh. You don't care about how you look, close to breaking, your voice high-pitched and shaky. 

"Why?" 

Your voice catches his attention. He falls into silence, just like the rest of the group. Gojo surveys you for a moment. There's a scoff, a hint of amusement before he waves off the rest of the group. 

"Get lost." 

They comply, dispersing in multiple directions. For the first time, in a long while, you and Gojo are left alone. You and Gojo are left, alone. 

"Well?" he tilts his head, completely bored. 

"What do I have to do?" You ask desperately, "What-what do I have to do to make this all stop? Please I'll-I'll do anything, just-just make it-" 

It's all too much. You can't hold your sobs in, bursting into tears as you fumble through your words. He tuts in mock pity. You flinch when you feel his hand against your cheek, but he doesn't let you shy away. 

"Anything?" He asks when your sobs simmer into hushed whimpers, "Really? Anything?" 

You blink, looking up at him with rough teary eyes. He's grinning, wide and manic. Your heart drops when he lowers himself to whisper in your ear. 

"Anything, right?" 

You nod once. He sighs in pure delight. His breath tickles your cheek. 

"Get on your knees." 

You jerk back, but Gojo doesn't let you go far, a hand on your shoulder, keeping you rooted on the spot. At your look of pure panic, he only laughs a little. 

"I-I-Gojo you-" 

"And call me Satoru now. Since we're gonna get to know each other a lot better," he interrupts with a chiding grin, ignoring your wide eyes. "What? I thought you said anything, right?" 

He's asking, but it's clear you don't get a choice anymore. His grip on your shoulder is tight, close to crushing skin and bone. You're trapped. No, you were trapped the moment you talked to Gojo Satoru. 

To think this all started because of two cartons of chocolate milk. 

You relent when his grip gets too painful, sinking down to your knees. The grass is cool, and you know it will leave damp spots on your skirt, letting everyone know what you did for him. 

"Good girl," he coos, and you shudder at his hand petting your hair. Like you're some precious pet. To him, maybe you are. How could anyone think of treating a human like this? You should be grateful he does it for you, instead of demanding you to pull him out. Still, the jiggle of his belt makes you wince. You turn away, not being able to bring yourself to look. Only when the tip of his cock reaches your peripheral, do you look back. It's big. You should have expected it, considering his height. It's already leaking, a bead of precum that makes you shudder. He moves forward and you instinctively grip his thigh. 

"Gojo I-" 

"Nuh-uh. Satoru," he ununciates, "Satoru. You gotta' start listening to me baby, or else we're gonna have problems." 

You look down at the grass. Green, soft. 

"Satoru." 

His eyes flash in satisfaction. 

"Open up, pretty girl." 

The last of your fight disappears, sinks into the soft grass. You swallow, once, before you take him. It's a slow, torturous process. He's too big, your jaw is already starting to ache. Satoru barely notices your discomfort, sighing in contentment when you start to gag on his cock, reaching down to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You make a muffled gurgle and he tilts his head down. His sunglasses fall forward, two pretty eyes stare at you. 

"What? Don't act like this is your first time-" he stops himself, mid-thought. 

"Wait...this can't be your first time, right?" 

If you weren't humiliated enough. You can't even lie, averting your eyes to avoid any further shame. 

"Poor baby," Satoru says, all too delighted, "lemme' walk you through it. Gotta' suck on it, just like a lollipop-that's it-use your tongue," he encourages, still gripping his cock in his hand, like he was feeding it to you. 

You can feel your mouth open wider. Tears stream down your face, not just from your pride, but also from pain. Satoru lets you take him in like this for a few more moments, just enjoying your warm mouth. 

"There we go," he breathes, "take-fuck-take all of me." 

But Satoru isn't known for his patience. You've barely taken all of him in yet before he grabs your hair to fuck your throat properly. You choke, sputtering all over his cock. He barely pays you any mind, his head thrown back as he rams himself down your mouth without a care in the world. 

"Y'know, our first time together could-could have been nicer," he says through gritted teeth, the heat was starting to get to him, "but you just had to go and mess it up, huh?" 

If you were stronger. If you were braver. You would have rejected it. Screamed. Fought. At the very least, you would have denied his delusions. But you weren't strong. You weren't brave. You were weak. Stupid. This was all your fault. Had you just given in the moment he asked, this wouldn't be happening to you. Or maybe, he'd be a bit nicer about it. 

He hisses, gripping the back of your head before something warm and disgusting fills your mouth. Above you, Satoru lets out a shameless groan, a mix of your name as well as a curse. He releases you then, finally letting you sink to the floor. You fall forward, resting on your hands and knees, panting, trying to regain your breath, some semblance of sanity. You can still taste him. It's salty, a sickly tang. You spit as much as you can on the grass. It doesn't help. 

He kneels, getting down to your level. With the way he's silently watching you, you know he's waiting for the right answer this time. 

Don't resist the Sun. It'll crush you. 

So, you drop your gaze down. You take in a deep long stilted breath. 

"Yes, Satoru," you say, voice quiet, pliant, "I'll go out with you." 

His demeanor drops in just a second. He smiles, painfully innocent, like you hadn't spent the last few moments choking on his cock. He cups your face with both hands and you wonder how he could look at you like that, gently, as though you weren't covered in tears and his cum. 

(You still feel it drip down your mouth. Tonight, when he finally lets you go home you'll cry for hours in the shower, hoping the water will wash away all the shame you feel. It won't.)

"Finally!" He exclaims, laughing, light, happy, elated, "I'm so glad you finally came around. I was starting to think I was ugly or something." 

 You stay like that for a while. Underneath him. You let his hands run up and down your body, like he's feeling the space that makes up you. Soon, you'd realize Gojo Satoru liked to touch things that were beneath him. A thought muddles it's way through your numb brain. You bring yourself to look at him. 

"Satoru?" you ask. He sighs in satisfaction, stroking your hair. 

"My laptop...it's broken." 

You didn't know what else to say. It sounded accusatory, even to your ears. Righteous. You wondered if he heard it too, if he'd do something about it. 

Satoru only scoffs.

“that old thing?” You flinch. It was a gift from your aunt, you highly doubted he cared enough about the sentimental. He hugs you closer, almost like a snake, constricting you within its scales before it devours you. 

(You think the worst part is that he didn't even deny it.)

“I'll just get you a new one, baby.”

He walks you home later that evening. When he demands a kiss, you comply, numbly pressing your aching lips to his. 

The sunset is pretty today. 

𖤓

It's not a particularly hard case, but Gojo has a knack for keeping those who work for him busy. Higuruma had asked you to stay behind, once again. The two of you were stuck alone in the office building, a room that Gojo had graciously supplied. 

You were milling through a stack of papers when someone new walked in. You didn't recognize her. She was tall, pretty, sparkling jewelry littered her neck and wrists. Your eyes drifted up and down her outfit, something that definitely wasn't business-appropriate. A part of you wants to ask where she got that lipgloss from. 

"Oh," she tilts her head, surveying the two of you with pretty eyes, "is Sato not here?" 

You inwardly cringe at the nickname, but choose not to show it. Higuruma is the one who saves you, in the end. He speaks on both of your behalf. 

"Mr. Gojo isn't here at the moment," he says, "feel free to wait." 

She does as she's told, plopping down on a seat right next to her. Higuruma goes back to ignoring her, dutiful in everything like he always is. You, on the other hand, don't like the way some of the other associates eye her legs. When you wordlessly hand her your jacket, she gratefully accepts. 

"Thanks. I love your bag, by the way," she cheerily says and a part of you feels bad for her. 

Minutes pass. She crosses her legs and then uncrosses them. When she crosses them again, you have to look up from your paperwork and ask if she's feeling alright. 

"Just nervous," she admits, "I-I haven't seen Sato since our...last meeting." 

Everyone in the vicinity knows this wasn't a casual business meeting, you don't get why she's avoiding the elephant like that. Probably to save face. It's clear from her behavior that she wasn't expecting so many visitors, so perhaps this situation is new for her. You found it strange that a booty call would be called up to an office building, especially when people were clearly watching, but you doubted Mr. Gojo cared about that. He was always shameless in that regard, uncaring about anyone's reputation, even his own. That's why he's in this legal mess in the first place. Besides, you were part of Gojo's Satoru's legal team. Part of your job is to be discreet about his extracurricular affairs. 

Gojo Satoru hadn't changed at all since high school. Why would he? His personality has gotten him this far, after all. The Sun would never change, it's a constant sphere of fire. You wouldn't want him to change. You were banking on his stagnant nature to slip by. You couldn't imagine if he did change, improve himself, and realize how horrible he'd been to you. How would you be able to keep yourself together if he pulled you aside one day and tried to apologize? You'd break. Things are better the way they are now. Let Gojo Satoru indulge himself in all this lavishness, forgetting about the people he's tortured. It's better this way. 

You glance over at the girl. She's young, maybe a couple of years younger than you. You can see the flush on her cheeks. The clear swooning. A part of you wonders what she'd think about that man if you ever told her what he did to you. What a monster he is-

"There you are!" Mr. Gojo strides in, just as silent as always, making himself known when he wants to. 

The girl jumps up, her eyes lighting up in pure excitement as she practically drags herself into Mr. Gojo's arms. He places an arm on the small of her back, scarily close to touching somewhere inappropriate as she chatters away. They disappear off to wherever rich men like him go. 

It's so quick. You must have imagined it because, for a second, you were sure he'd glanced back at you. 

𖤓

By now, everyone knows you're Satoru's. That means, like him, you're untouchable. 

You're not celestial. If Satoru was a star, then you were a stray meteor he'd found hurtling through space, and he couldn't resist forcing it to revolve around him. In exchange for suffering through his solar flares and radiation, he protects you from bigger planets that are all too eager to smash into you. The one relief is that no one seems to bother you anymore. You haven't been shoved around, pushed, or prodded. Sometimes, you receive glares from Satoru's old ex's, but it's more tolerable than burnt homework. 

Satoru has officially chased away all your friends, but he's more than happy to keep you company. You sit next to him in lunch now, quietly listening as he prattles on to the rest of his friends (you recognize some of them, the ones who messed with you, they never seem to hold your gaze for long). You used to study on campus alone, right after school let out. Now, you still do it, but with Satoru watching. It's hard to concentrate with his wandering fingers and wet lips. 

He takes all of your firsts. You don't give them to him, much less, he demanded it of you. The first time he fully takes you is far less romantic than you'd ever hoped. It was on his bed after he'd practically dragged you over to his house that night. You went home the next day covered in marks that took nearly a week to heal. A little while after that, Geto came to talk to you again. For the second time ever. 

"Here." He offers you a packet. Pills. You're confused for a moment until you realize Satoru didn't wear a condom. 

"Thank-" 

"Don't," he cuts you off, "Don't thank me." 

He says it with so much hate that you think it's directed at you. It isn't until years later that you realize the disgust was towards himself. 

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The sun didn't help. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

When the moon was out, you often stared at it, reveling in its beauty. Now, trapped in between Satoru's arms, you find its skeleton a bit too haunting to look at. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

Graduation is coming up soon. You already had your college picked out, far far away from this backward town. From his conversations, Satoru was planning on going to some high-end college in Tokyo. With the way he kept looking back at you, you had a feeling he was planning on dragging you there too. 

You were intelligent enough to keep your mouth shut about your plans. Satoru never asked, so you guessed he assumed you would let him bully you into whatever he wanted. He was right, so far. It's not like you'd ever argued with him. 

Your parents were the only people who knew about your plan. They were excited, albeit for the wrong reasons. 

"I'm so glad to see you're this interested in higher education," your mother beamed, "why the sudden change?" 

You look at your mother's face. People have told you that you share the same smile. You wonder if she'd keep smiling if you ever told her about what Satoru's been doing to you, the bullying, the harassment. 

You can't. You won't, because you can't bear to see her give you the same pitiful look your classmates give-the one Geto gives. You don't want her to see you as something broken. 

"I'm just starting to think I might go into law," you finally say, "definitely need college for that."

On Thursdays, you have to sit inside the gym during Satoru's basketball practice. You wait on the bleachers, reviewing notes, and listening to the squeaking of sneakers. Satoru's good at the sport. You know last year they won a few tournaments. Whenever he scores a point, he gives a cheer, turning back to see if you saw it too. In those moments, you remember he's just a kid. He's your age. You can feel the envy. There, but too insignificant to do anything. He pleasantly lives his childhood, even after he stole yours. 

Practice ends, always a little later than it's officially supposed to. Coach gives the final whistle and then Satoru is jogging back to you. Your things are already neatly packed into your bag. His breath is barely ragged, you can smell the hint of sweat as he kisses you on the lips. You can feel eyes on you, same as always. It's getting easier to ignore the gawking. After all, you're Satoru's now. 

"Miss me?" he asks when he pulls away. He grabs your stuff before you can, hauling your backpack away. To others, it may look like he's being a sweet boyfriend. To you, it's another leash, tugging you to where he wants to go. You're not sure how Satoru sees the action. 

You clamber out of the bleachers, following him without a word. Usually, Satoru would walk you home. You'd share a kiss with him on the front porch. And for the rest of the day, he'd finally leave you alone. 

He grabs your hand, shooting you a wink when you lightly jostle into his body. Instead of heading out the door, Satoru turns his gaze towards the empty locker rooms. The light's automated. It flickers an unsettling white, casting a sick glow along the tiles. You are barely through the door before Satoru's pinning you against the lockers, kissing you as aggressively as he can. 

Your hands immediately find their way to his shoulders, squeezing. It's not enough to hurt him, but it grabs his attention anyway. He lets up a little, relaxing into your touch. 

"Sorry, baby," he says not sounding apologetic at all, "just be good f'me, okay? Need you." 

He's pent up, you realize and you look at the door. School's out. The campus is nearly empty. But people are still around. And the door he just shoved you through doesn't have a lock- 

Oh, wait. Would it even matter if someone came in and saw you? Everyone knew you were Satoru's. 

Three more weeks. Just three more weeks. 

He's trailing down, dropping to his knees. He flips up your skirt, pushing aside your panties, and attaches his hot mouth to your pussy. He's ravenous, today. Sucking on your clit like he can't bear to do anything else. You gasp, immediately assaulted by the shocks of pleasure running up and down your back.

You press against the wall, arching your back, giving him even more to suck on. He hums in approval, his voice getting lost in your wet folds. You're practically dripping now, and Satoru, with all his debauchery, gladly licks it all up as you writhe and whimper above him. Your thighs grow tighter around him, threatening to crush his skull if both his hands weren't carved into the fat of your thighs, squeezing. 

Your initial panic is washed away, crumbled by his insistent tongue and fingers. You whimper out his name again as his tongue circles your clit and two fingers continue to move in and out of your sopping pussy. You're crying now, tears of pleasure and brokenness floating down your cheeks. Despite how blurry your vision is, you can see Satoru looking up at you. 

"Getting close?" he's breathless, but there's still a hint of playfulness in his voice, "gonna sing, pretty girl?" 

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit and you're gone. You seize, throwing your head back as your legs shake from the force of your orgasm. It's a scream, so loud and shameless. Satoru gives a groaned pant, lapping up your aftertaste, making you jolt from the overstimulation before he finally gets to his feet. You watch as he haphazardly wipes the remnants of you with his sleeve before he's kissing you again. 

"Always so sweet f'me," he purrs, biting at your lips before he fumbles with his belt. His cock is already red and strained. He pants, head shifting to fall at the crook of your neck as he lines himself up and sinks into you with one full thrust. 

You whine a mix of a sob and a hissed moan. He hushes you with a stilted breath, barely keeping himself together as he pumps himself into you. Both of you are sweating now. You can feel the beads draw down your neck. He licks at your clavicle, biting when he starts to get more aggressive. When it's too less, he hikes your thigh over his waist, keeping it there so he can go even deeper. 

"Fuck, I'm crazy for you," he slurs against your skin. You can barely pay attention to his words, barely keeping your own voice in check, "’would do anything for you, pretty girl." 

He raises his head, looking you in the eye. His sunglasses have been tossed on the floor. You can his beautiful eyes, two cosmic galaxies of blue. You could stare at them for hours, discovering each variant of cerulean, naming each one. You bet each day you look, you'll find another shade. They're so pretty.

You wonder how pretty those eyes would look floating in a jar. 

"'Toru-!" you gasp when Satoru rocks himself into again, even faster. The name you accidentally gave him when you're too fucked out to comprehend language makes him laugh in pure delight, his smile uncontrolled, delirious. 

"Right here, baby," he moans into your sweaty skin, hand reaching down to rub your clit, "your ‘Toru's right here. Just where you need him." 

His fingers move under your shirt, squeezing at your tits, exploring, roughly grabbing at your chest. The sensation makes you wince. Your walls draw even tighter, choking his cock. 

"Too-too much, 'Toru, p-please." He growls at your begging, burying his face in your neck again. He nips at your damp skin, you flinch. 

"I gotcha' baby," he breathes, "just-just lemme-" He presses on your clit. It's all you need. 

You come with a sob, your pussy squeezing, milking Satoru for all he's worth. He's not too far behind, hips stuttering before he whines in your ear. Something warm fills your cunt. 

You flounder, sagging against the wall. Satoru's the only thing that keeps you upright as you fight to catch your breath. He isn't in any better shape, panting just as hard as you are. He lifts his head, pressing his damp forehead onto yours. There's a dreamy smile on his lips. A look of absolute adoration. 

"I love you." 

You look at him. There's nowhere else to look.

"I love you," he repeats, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your lips. His lips trail down, caressing your cheek, your jaw, your neck. It would almost feel nice, but you can only stare straight ahead. You can see the dull green lockers in the distance. You can smell the mold in the damp locker room. You can feel Satoru's cum slowly seep out of you, trailing down your thigh. 

Fuck three weeks. 

You needed to get out, now. 

𖤓

The only reason you went is because you were told Gojo Satoru wouldn't be there. 

His assistant had off-handily mentioned that he had a meeting on the other side of town. Very last minute. The building as a whole would be empty, just a skeleton crew and a couple of security guards to keep the place running. It made sense, it was 8 pm- long past any proper business hours. 

Higuruma could have easily gone, but it's clear the sleepless nights have been getting to him, or the stress. His paralegal is more than qualified to act like a middleman between him and Mr.Gojo's associates. It's an easy mission. Just grab a few things, and get out. 

Gojo Satoru wasn't supposed to be there. 

And yet, there he was, leaning against the door, blocking you into the room. 

His assistant had always been a mousey thing. Tonight, however, he'd been extra ansty, looking around the room. Babbling out excuses as to what was taking him so long. Now, when he can barely even look at you, you realize he was just a distraction. 

"You're off the clock, Ijichi," Gojo finally breaks the silence, "take tomorrow off too, okay?" 

His assistant quickly nods, keeping his head down to flit out the door. You can't even bring yourself to be mad at him. Gojo always had a habit of singling out the weakest, crushing them within his fist, unless they bent or broke. 

The door shuts with a click. 

"You know, I didn't even recognize you at first," he starts. He takes a small step forward. 

You take one back. He puts his hands up. 

"Okay, don't be like that," he sighs, exasperated, "It's been what, 10 years? How you've been?" 

He steps around you, barely brushing against your shoulder to get to his desk. He reaches down, grabbing a wine bottle and two glasses from a cabinet, setting both down on mahogany wood. 

"Wanna drink? Technically, it's against company policy to serve alcohol in the building but I won't tell if you don't." He grins. It looks bloody. 

He looks so casual, the man who's haunted your nightmares, leaning against a desk in a building he owns. Your heart's beating in your chest. It's so loud. You wonder if he can hear it too. 

When you don't respond, he rolls his eyes. 

"Figures." He pops the cork. "You were always such a stickler for the rules." 

"What do you want?" You ask, your tone weaker than you'd liked. 

"What? Don't you wanna catch up? I missed you." You flinch at his words, looking away. "A paralegal, huh? Gotta' say, wasn't what I expected, but it fits you." It sounds condescending, but you don't poke the bear, opting to stay silent. 

He seems to take an issue with that, regardless. 

"Are you mad? If anything, I should be the one upset at how you just ran off like that. After all that time we spent together too. I didn't even get a breakup text." 

 His last words, send a chill up your spine. A warning. Staying here any longer would be a mistake. 

You go to move. 

Satoru's faster. 

Your head slams against the wall. Hard. Enough to hurt. You struggle anyway, clawing at the hand that's gripping your throat, the body pinning you down. Above you (he's gotten so much taller now), Gojo tuts in disappointment. 

"I tried to be nice and look where that got me. You tried to run again," he muses, like he's disappointed, "I shouldn't be surprised. You've always needed something with a bit more teeth." At his threat, his hand on your throat tightens. You freeze. 

It's barely choking you, but it's enough of a warning. His other hand is playing with the end of your blouse, feeling the fabric. You can feel the tears start. They're a familiar taste. Only this time, they're twinged with bitterness. 

"Don't do this," you whisper, "Don't-don't-" 

"Yeah, I don't think you're in any position to make demands right now." He's grinning, but when you look into his eyes, you can see the anger. A fire that has burned for a decade. At that moment, you realized Gojo Satoru had changed. Now, he was better at hiding how he truly felt. 

You should have quit the moment Higurama got him as a client. 

Gojo's dragging you over to the desk, haphazardly pushing away the stuff already on it. The computer, the bottle, the wine glasses all fall to the floor with a deafening crash as he shoves you down, splaying you across the table. He follows you down, leaning to meet your lips in a frenzied kiss. It's different than all the other times he'd kissed you. He'd lost all the inexperience, more keen on making you stay put and bleed. When you try to turn your face, pushing at his chest, he only growls. A large hand grabs your chin, keeping you in place for him. 

When he pulls away, there's a hint of blood on his plush lips. It's not his. He licks it up regardless. 

You're full-on sobbing now; barely in sucking air as your body shudders and jolts. You don't expect comfort, least of all from him, but he's cooing, wiping away your tears. 

"Missed this," he purrs, ignoring the way you weakly push at him, "'guess that was my mistake. I was expecting you to be different. Nah, you'll be the same crybaby you always were. That's how you managed to slip under my radar." 

He buries his face into your hair, sighing in contentment as you shiver underneath him. His lips graze the crown of your head, a complete juxtaposition to his words. 

"Scream all you want. No one's here, baby." No one's gonna save you from me.

 Still, you try anyway. Your hands grip his broad shoulders, digging in your nails until he hisses. 

"Fuck maybe you have changed." He rasps, fiddling with his belt. "You're bitchier now." 

"Gojo-Gojo what are you-" He bites on your bare clavicle. You squeal, stilling underneath him again. 

"Satoru," he insists. You slump over the desk as he takes both your hands, wrapping his leather belt around your delicate wrists. You wince when he twists it into a knot. The leather bites into your skin. The fight dissolves just as rapidly as it arrived. He hadn't even lifted a finger against you. You were just that pathetic. 

"Satoru," you breathe, waving your flag of defeat. He hums, licking at the bitemark. You can feel the heat bloom on your skin. They'll be a mark tomorrow, and much like Satoru, it would go away so easily. 

"There's my good girl," he groans, cold hands fiddling with the buttons on your blouse, opening it up until your bra pops out, "I know I should be more mad, but I've always had a soft spot for you. Guess things will never change, hm?" 

His mouth dips down, tracing your collarbone to your breasts. He wiggles down your bra, letting your tits spill out and into his hands. He squeezes one while taking another in his mouth, swirling the bud with his tongue before devouring. His moan is barely muffled by your tits. Yours is clear, high-pitched and breathy. Satoru always had no problem being shameless. And he often dragged it out of you too. 

He's mouthing something against your skin, but you're too distracted by his other hand, slinking down your waist, pushing up your pencil skirt, letting it bunch around your hips. In the moment, you chastised yourself for wearing something so easy to get rid of, but it wasn't like you were expecting for him to be here, to bring you down just like he did when you were in high school. It's not like you were expecting to fall. 

Satoru feels around your pantyhose, running up and down your thigh, searching. He squeezes the sheer fabric, before he rips a hole into it. You gasp, jerking at the action. 

"That's-"

"I'll buy you new ones," he says, voice muffled by your tits. The conversation feels familiar. 

He bypasses your panties immediately, finding your pussy with practiced ease. You're already soaking. At this, he raises to look at you. You can't keep eye contact, timidly looking away. He laughs. It sounds sickenly affectionate. 

"You're so cute." He purrs just as he leaves another mark on your chest. Your tits bounce under his attention as he pushes two fingers into your tight sopping hole. Your back curls, arching off the desk as he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you. Disgust grows within you, not at him, but at yourself, for letting yourself get this low. This desperate. 

It doesn't stay for long. He's cruel like that, moving in a way that makes you forget your humanity. His fingers get even faster, digging into your cunt and curling somewhere deep inside, hitting a spot that makes you gasp. You're reduced to whimpering moans by the time he finally stops, fingers exiting your pussy with a wet noise. He brings them to his mouth, sucking on his fingers, eyes rolling to the back of his head at your taste. 

"Fuckin' sweet," he moans, taking his fingers out with a sickening pop before wiping the drool on your heaving tits. 

Your eyes float to the window. The moon is out, you blearily realize. It's a blood moon, a rusty red. Once every 3 months, it'll lose its heavenly glow. The innocent milky white will get shadowed by the Earth's rusty atmosphere. It'll regain its color eventually. The Sun doesn't like to be overshadowed. 

Something hard and blunt slides between your legs. You're barely given a second to comprehend it before Satoru grabs you by the hips, filling you up with one thrust. You yelp, a semblance of his name on your lips, but it's shrouded by the moan you give out. 

He stays like that for a bit. You should be grateful he is letting you adjust to him. His cock is sickenly familiar to your walls. Satoru's hair brushes your cheek as he leans up to whisper in your ear. 

"How many?" he sounds like he's gritting his teeth, barely in control, "how many guys have you let fuck you since you ran?" 

You blink, wondering if he's seriously asking, but you can hear the seriousness in his tone. Even now, he's concerned with the wrong things. He's always been petty like that. 

"You," you say because there's no point in lying, "it's only ever been you." 

You say it like it's a curse, because to you, Satoru had cursed you. He'd stolen something you'd never be able to enjoy, devouring it, keeping it for himself. A part of you will always hate yourself for letting him do that, just like a part of you will always be his. 

Satoru deflates, as if he's relieved, easing his face into the crook of your neck, placing an almost loving kiss on your shoulder. He starts slow, slowly drawing his cock out, just until his tip is barely still in, before he pushes himself back into your hole. His pace is slow, controlled. It's different than when he was younger, more eager to get himself off more than anything. Now, it's like he's enjoying the intimacy, the feeling of your walls squeezing him. The wet noises. He's barely affected. Unlike you, writhing underneath him, close to falling apart. It's his length that gets you, forcing your pussy to stretch just to fit him. His cock hits everywhere, all at once, an endless torture of pleasure. 

It takes you a while to get your brain back together, to collect the mush, and realize that Gojo isn't wearing a condom. 

"S-Sato-" You try, just when he spreads your thighs apart, pushing them close to your chest so he can get deeper and kiss you at the same time. His hand slips down to your swollen clit, rubbing tight circles and you feel yourself getting even closer. You squeeze your eyes shut at the onslaught. 

"Try again," Satoru huffs, "What's my name? I know you know it, pretty girl." 

"'Toru," you beg because it's all you have left. Your breathless gasps make you sound even more unconvincing but you still manage to stutter out, "I'm-I'm not on anything, so-so please-" 

"That's okay," he mutters, though it's clear he's half-listening, "I'll take care of you and the baby."

"No-I-I-can't-" 

He drops his leisure pace in exchange of shorter, faster thrusts. His cock barely leaves your pussy, grinding in your hole as his breathing starts to get a little less controlled. 

"I'll make sure it takes this time too." 

Your eyes open, and you forget your panic to stare at him. You think back to the pills 18-year-old Geto had handed you. Always discreet. You'd...you'd always thought they were Satoru's idea. 

He hits something inside you, right then. You implode, crashing and burning as you gush around his dick. He's not kind enough to ease you through it, ramming his cock even harder inside your battered pussy until he's hunching over you with a shudder. You can feel his cum settle deep inside your womb. 

You stay like that for a few moments, not saying anything. It feels like hours before Satoru is moving again, drawing his softened cock out of your overstimulated pussy. You can feel the cum drip out of you too, spilling onto the desk, but you don't think Satoru's too mad about that. He flicks your clit a few times, watching your hips jerk and you give an exhausted whine. 

He kisses your breasts. He kisses up your jaw, before finding your lips. Dazed, you find yourself kissing back in reluctant acceptance, your body aching for any semblance of gentleness. 

"I love you." 

You look into his eyes, and you realize he's right. Gojo Satoru loves you, and this is how a man like him loves. He meant it, all those years ago, just like how he does now.

Satoru loves like the Sun. Too bright. With enough heat to burn your soul away. It's why you ran. 

"I love you," he repeats like the phrase doesn't kill you each time he says it, "so you're never leaving me." 

"Not ever again."

There are theories that the Moon once had color. 

It wasn't just white. It was green and blue, and red. 70 million years ago, it could have been much like the Earth. It didn't have a strong atmosphere, however. The gaseous layer was slowly stripped away. The Sun had eaten it. With no atmosphere, the unfiltered solar radiation slowly began to bleach the once colorful celestial body a dull white. Before long, the sun had created the moon to be its image. Now, the only color the moon has to offer is the sun's reflection. 

If Satoru was the Sun, then perhaps, you were the Moon. Stripped of your color. Unable to create light of your own. Reflecting only what you're given. 

How foolish of you to think you could ever escape his radiation. 

#yandere jjk #yandere #yandere gojo satoru #dark content #dark jjk #dark gojo satoru #x reader #gojo satoru #reader insert #afab reader #bullying #harassment #forced relationship #tw: dubcon #tw:noncon

[shaguro]

⤿ synposis: you can't ever leave the house without giving toji a kiss good-bye.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ tags: fluff fluff fluff. (toji x fem!reader, established relationship, pet names used ( girl, baby, doll) toji's just in love idk. i wrote the majority of this at like 1 am nd barely proofread!!) wc ⇀ around 0.7k!

"girl", toji drawls, cerulean orbs trained on your figure by the front door. he’s manspread on your living room sofa, sitcom on the tv screen long forgotten as he turns his body around, all his attention on you and only you. “aren’t you forgettin’ somethin’?”

“hmm? what are you talking about, baby?” you keep your head low while you fumble with your stilettos, a hand on the wall for balance as you finally slip it onto your stocking-clad foot, the last step before you head out for your shift, the sun just peeking over the horizon.

of course, you know exactly what toji’s talking about. it doesn’t matter where you’re going or whether you’ll be back in ten minutes or a few hours, whether he’s in deep sleep or in the middle of an intense workout session — toji expects a kiss good-bye before you leave the apartment you share. he’s real strict about it too, he doesn’t accept any excuses, no if’s, an’s or buts.

does knowing all this stop you from testing the dark-haired man? absolutely not.

“i packed my work-bag last night and i have the car keys right here, looks like i’ve got-“

“now you know that’s not what i’m talkin’ about,” toji deadpans, completely unamused. barely keeping up the act, you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling. “don’t play dumb with me, baby.”

you do just that — tilt your head all cute and innocent as you furrow your brows, crossing your arms against your blouse. “i’m being serious though! i dont know what you’re talking about, i swear.”

“girl, please.” toji scoffs, scarred lip almost turned in a scowl. he’s always so sassy when you start to annoy him. “ya really stress me out, y’know that?” in a quick motion, he stands up, stretching out his long arms before he turns to face you. “you don’t know, huh? c’mere and let me remind you, then.”

toji’s tilts his head down. with low eyes and a coy smirk on his handsome face, he beckons you close with a single finger.

you can’t hide your smile now, it spreads ear to ear as you bounce over to him, the click clacking of your heels resounding on the hardwood floor until you reach the plush carpet where toji stood. he wastes no time, cupping his hands on the globes of your ass and tugs your body flush against his. toji’s so warm — he’s shirtless and all his sculpted muscles are on display, flexing when your cold hands glide across his pecs to snake around his neck.

toji leans down and his plump pink lips meet your glossed ones, the strawberry-flavored gloss sat sweet on his tastebuds but he prefers your taste instead, sliding his tongue through your slightly-parted lips with hopes to satisfy his glutinous craving and he’s not disappointed when your tongues mingle. “mm.” never tired of that saccharine taste, toji grunts into your mouth, taking his time kissing you — oddly soft and gentle.

toji pulls away and your lips part, only separated by a string of sticky saliva before he goes back in, giving you one, two, three quick pecks before he’s had his fill.

soft pants fill the air as toji holds you close, foreheads touching. “that jog your memory?”

toji rolls his eyes when you hum happy ‘mmhm!’ in response, hands rubbing on his broad shoulders, your fingertips ghosting the sharp line of his jaw. “you’re a pain in my ass…” he huffs, and you burst into a fit of giggles at his annoyed expression, unable to contain it anymore. it’s just so adorable — an infectious melody that toji prays he’ll continue to hear, for many years to come.

“lucky y’er so fuckin’ pretty . . next time i won’t go so easy on ya.” as if to seal the promise, he lands a heavy smack! on your ass. “toji!” you squeal out, the force of it propels you forward, temple thumping on his toned chest.

it was his turn to chuckle now, soothing the blow with a gentle rub of his palm prior to kissing the crown of your head. “now that i got my kisses . . s’time for you to head out, doll. don’t wanna be late again, hm?”

i'm finally back after disappearing for like a thousand years yayyy (don't beat me up yall pls)

#toji x reader #toji fluff #toji fushiguro fluff #jjk fluff #shanti's stories⋆˙⟡♡ #toji x you #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x reader fluff

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

From the request HERE

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Only a few more days are left of his short leave and Simon is determined to make every last second count with you. What better way to start the day than buried in between your thighs, helping you wake up by the feeling of his tongue alone and then overstimming you.

Word Count: 4.6 k

Warnings:

The sun has just started to peek itself through the small gap in the blinds covering the window, illuminating the bedroom in enough light that it causes Simon to stir awake with the first signs of life as those brown eyes flutter a few times from the brightness until he comes back into consciousness. Rubbing his bare chest and scratching at the patch of hair on his lower abdomen as he rolls over onto his side to face the other body lying peacefully asleep, his breath hitches at the sight that he’s greeted with. 

Your long eyelashes rest delicately against your cheek, your chest slowly rising and falling with your deep, calm inhales and exhales as you still drift mindlessly through your dreams. The covers that are pulled up to your breasts conceal your naked form lying just underneath and the way they cling to your form allows him to follow the contours of your body through the fabric. You are a fucking picture of peaceful beauty.

Damn, you are so perfect he cannot look away and suddenly there is a tenting forming beneath the covers still wrapped around his lower half. It’s not his fault; how is he supposed to keep himself restrained when this is what he gets to wake up to? An ache situates itself in his chest, a gnawing blooming in his stomach to caress all that flawlessness. It is a hunger that only grows stronger the more he gazes until he is compelled to get up.

There are only so many days left in the short bit of leave he has and he wants to make every single second count. That’s why you both find yourselves naked even as you sleep; he needs his body to memorize the way yours feels against his and he needs to fuck you whenever the moment strikes, so there is no sense in wasting any amount of time with superfluous things when you both are about to go months without seeing one another. And right now that is working to his benefit as he wants to shower you with some extra attention to start the day.

Just a taste won’t hurt, he thinks, knowing full well that once he starts there is no stopping. Just till she wakes up.

He moves out from the warmth at your side as carefully as he can to ensure that his movements don’t wake you, not yet. The blanket slips from his unclothed hips as he shifts up onto his knees and positions himself over you, his hands atop the mattress on either side of your body so that he can push himself down your sleeping form while his lips take advantage of all that uncovered skin. Feathery light kisses trail down across the supple flesh of your breasts and over your soft torso as his hot mouth presses delicately into you in adoration for all this beauty that he gets to have all to himself. 

All these curves, all this smooth, voluptuous skin always ready for him to caress, it is enough to drive him insane.

Muscles ripple through his bare back as he continues down the line of your body, inching slowly so as not to miss any patch of flesh. He is careful not to drag his face too harshly as he goes along so that the stubble on his jaw won’t prick your skin, opting instead to pick his head up off you as he moves only to lower it back down at the next spot ready to receive his attention. Your skin is heated from being snuggled down in the bed and it invites him to nuzzle his nose into it as he goes.

Simon eventually reaches the edge of the covers that have fallen around your waist from him getting up and he has to lift them out of the way to reveal the rest of your gorgeous body to his yearning mouth. Rolling them back at a leisurely pace, he makes sure not to reveal too much so the cooler air outside of the blanket doesn’t have a chance to make you uncomfortable until the warmth from his lips can keep the skin flushed. Over the curve of your waist, your stomach, your hip bones he places his steamy kisses. It is when he gets to your belly button that the anticipation finally hits him that he is getting closer to his favorite spot: that beautiful place in between your thighs.

The mattress creaks under his weight as he arrives at the foot of the bed so that he can remove the covers and push them off your legs. He can feel his cock throb as he pulls them back and finds what he’s always pining for. A heavy exhale falls from his lips and his mouth begins to salivate as he catches that first glimpse of your legs laying splayed open and that sweet little pussy just there waiting for his mouth to embrace.  

Simon can’t ever get his fill of it and God, he needs it so bad now that he sees it again. For a split second he thinks about making his movements more pronounced to wake you up, but a sudden intrusion of an idea makes him stop. You had mentioned recently that you were wanting to try something, to be woken up with his tongue lapping against your clit. What kind of man would he be if he never indulged his sweetheart’s fantasies? Today seems as good a day as any to make your dreams come true, not that he ever needs an excuse to get lost in all that goodness between your legs. 

There are times when he is so ravenous for your cunt that nothing else will even come close to satisfying that beast inside him, but today he doesn’t want it to be about the harsh and rough… well, not yet; this morning is all about making you so delirious and overstimulated off his tongue only that you won’t be able to get out of bed at all and he can keep you all to himself for the entire fucking day.  

Quietly Simon slides himself off the edge of the bed to situate himself kneeling on the carpet so that he can lay his torso on the mattress, giving him a better angle to be able to move in. Your legs are positioned open in such a way that from here he can easily slip his face up in between them and right against you, but he is in no rush. Ever so gently he pins more tender kisses along the soft, supple muscles of your inner thighs, his lips embracing your flesh with silent promises that everything he is fixing to do he is going to do for you only because you deserve it. 

His pretty girl, his sweet thing, so perfectly made as if just for him; fuck, do you make him want to worship the ground you walk on. 

His eyes catch the goosebumps forming under his breath along your body wherever he places his warm mouth and he cannot help but smile at your automatic physical reaction to him. Even in sleep you know his touch and respond to it. 

“My sweet girl,” he whispers in his husky morning voice into your calf as he continues up the length of your leg. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, so goddamn beautiful. I’m one lucky bastard and I ain’t eva’ gonna forget it.” 

He continues on without hesitation as he slides all the way up until he is right at the threshold of those delicate petals that he wants his mouth on. A moist heat meets his lips as he leans in and places kiss after kiss to them; never has something felt so perfect pressed against him. If Simon could live between your legs permanently, they would never fucking find the man again. 

One of those beefy arms he slips under your leg to prop it up and move it even further out of his way so that he has as much space to work as he needs. Restraining himself from going in fast and heavy isn’t easy, but what he wants is to keep his movements relaxed, not crazed and insatiable like on occasions when he’s had a bad day and just needs to smother against you. No, you deserve the full princess treatment from him and that is what you are going to get. Taking the opposite hand not around your thigh, he uses two of those long, thick fingers to delicately spread apart the lips to get at all that lays in waiting inside.

“There she is,” Simon sighs quietly as he immediately spots that sweet little bean that he desperately wants to suck until it’s swollen and throbbing and then even more until you are coming on his face.

He doesn’t go right for the kill first, instead building the anticipation of your body as he kisses that crease between your petals and your thigh, using his balmy breath to stimulate that sensitive area as he switches sides a few times until he feels you twitch and only then does he continue. Gathering up all the spit in his mouth he collects it on his tongue and presses it through your petals to coat the area until your body can take over. As he pushes that thick muscle into you he catches the sound of a quick rush of air escaping through your nose, followed by a sleepy sigh as you stir.

His movements are tender and intimate, circling the nub with the tip of his tongue and slowly using the pad to make love to your clit. You sigh again heavier this time as you begin to squirm in your sleep the more he strokes, your hips rocking faintly over his face as the sound of your fingers clawing at the fitted sheet is caught. Just a little more stimulation and you aren’t going to be able to stay asleep much longer.

Your quiet, breathy moans become more than whispers now and those amber eyes dart back up to your face over the curves of your body, desperate to watch the subtle changes that ripple across your features as he works at bringing you into consciousness by your pleasure alone so he can witness the very moment you wake. 

There is a brightness on the other side of your shut eyelids as you slowly slip back into the realm of consciousness, the sound of your own muted groans filling the quiet around you along with something else you cannot quite distinguish and it feels like you are still dreaming. Then it hits you: there is a familiar glowing, warm sensation in the pit of your stomach that amplifies as you continue waking. Your eyes flutter open as the sensation is so intense that you can’t ignore it anymore and as you look around to gather your bearings you notice that there is a blonde-haired head rocking undisturbed between your thighs.

As you focus you realize that he is staring right back at you and the corners of his eyes crinkle as you feel his lips upturn against your petals; you know he’s pleased with himself at what he is doing. He doesn’t stop or try to speak, he only tightens his grip around your thigh that he has propped on his shoulder and continues to service your clit with his tongue while he presses his face in tighter so that the pressure adds to the stimulation. 

The sensation is damn near overwhelming now and you realize that he must have been at this for a bit as it feels like you are about to come. Your head falls back heavy against the pillow as your eyes close to allow the feeling to wash over you completely, needy moans unable to be kept under control fill what was once the silence in the room. 

That’s when you feel his lips lock around your clit before he sucks down on it and using the very tip of his tongue he twirls around the bud while his fingers come back into play. He finds your entrances and gently shoves his middle finger inside to rub across your G spot and instantly you can feel your calm shatter into pieces. A euphoric spasm shoots through your entire body, making your limbs start to tingle, and you know by the feeling that it is only a few more moments that remain until you are going to spill.

“Simon, shit…gonna come,” you whimper his name as you grind your head into the pillow. To have so much ecstasy hit you all at once overwhelms you with its intensity and leaves you unable to function. You are about to come, that is all your half-asleep brain can process. 

With a few more strokes of that strong muscle and a few more flicks of his finger resting inside you, the pressure building at the base of your spine and the warmth gathering in the pit of your stomach reach their threshold and you spill over the edge with a strong jolt that causes your back to arch up off the bed as you cry out. The force of it makes you buck against Simon’s face, but he is ready and digs his fingers in full force until his hold on you is so secure that he isn’t going anywhere as you ride out wave after wave of your orgasm that crashes over you like a tidal wave. 

Fuck, what a way to start the day.

In your sleepy, mind-numbed state, you forget just how voracious your military man can be and mistakenly believe that at any moment he is going to emerge from your thighs and come lay beside you…except instead of letting you go, he doesn’t stop. Simon keeps at it, only slowing his pace down to almost nothing, but not pulling away from you. Instead he sneaks quick breaths by tilting his head to the side so that it exposes his nose to the air before he buries it right back in against your now dripping slit. 

“Simon, baby,” you call groggily down to him as you try to wriggle free of his grasp; it’s the only thing you can do to persuade him to release you, “you can take it easy. It’s still early, we got all day.”

Just a second, you need to take a break only so long as to catch your breath.

Simon hears your pleas, but it falls on deaf ears as he does not even budge. His plan is already set in motion and you are not nearly exhausted enough for him to even think about stopping yet. This day needs to stay in the forefront of your mind for at least a few weeks after he leaves and be the specific memory that fuels your desperate masterbating while he’s gone and not able to fix the ache.

“Shh…” he hushes mutedly against you. “I only have a few more days with ya and I wanna give ya my full attention. And this mornin’ I wanna take care of ya. I’m gonna take care a ya so fuckin’ good, baby.”

Is there a way to say no to that? If there is, you can’t find it and don’t want to. Even through the overly sensitive nature of your body right now, you don’t want to deny him a thing, not when he says it like that. And to be honest now that he has you at his mercy, his tongue still stroking along the line of your slit before coming back up to circle the nub, you are starting to want it again too.

Tiny beads of sweat like mist cover over your body as the feeling of Simon’s arms slithering up your torso are felt running through the perspiration, greedy hands searching for your chest without being able to see. Grabbing onto as much of your supple breasts as can fit in his large palms he pinches the nipples and rolls them between his thumb and forefinger to make your heated body burn until you whine out loud as they stiffen at his touch.

“Shi-i-it, Simon,” you say, your speech starting to slur together as the mindless haze floods your thoughts from the activity at your chest that radiates in waves of arousal you can feel throb in your clit. Keep sucking, keep playing with my tits, don’t stop, your mind screams.    

Everything outside this is like a distant memory; your body is floating and your mind drunk as you exist only in a world made of pure ecstasy. Your hand reaches down around his arms across your torso to the back of his head where you can press and push him in tighter to your pussy and you hear Simon hum a deep, contented sigh at the feeling of you forcing him to suffocate even more. 

Tha’s it baby, drown me, he thinks to himself as some feral part of his brain gets activated. 

There is movement in the mattress that shakes your body up and down as Simon begins to grind his aching cock against it, trying to use the friction to relieve some of the pressure in the swollen tip. Hearing your beautiful music while being smothered in your pussy is like a religious experience that is akin to having heaven on earth. 

Your glistening thighs are vibrating around Simon's ears and as each flick of his tongue finds its mark you are brought closer to climaxing again as you spiral into sensory overload. Over and over he engages with your core, his mouth filling with your sweet juices, the tip of his tongue playing in such a way it feels like he is signing his name on his favorite part of you. 

His name is falling from your lips in pathetic whines now as the only word you can recall in the fog of euphoria that you are trapped in. Every inch of you is wrapped in a cold sweat that feels like you’re about to burst into flames, the muscles in your belly contract rigid as the pressure in your spine increases with every stroke.  

Right there, it’s right there. You have to come to release the tension.

And that tightness finally snaps just like that and you come again, this time harsher and more intense than the last. Your thighs lock tightly around Simon’s head as you writhe wildly, your body struggling to take all that immense euphoria that fills up every inch of you.

Lengthy seconds pass as you come back down from that high while the sounds of your whimpers act as a gauge to the man crushed in your leg lock how long he will have left to stay suffocating. Once you settle back down again into the pillows and release his head from your hold does he actually emerge fully to sit up for the first time since he went down. 

Twice is enough, right? For anyone else it would be, but for Simon you know the man is still craving more. He wipes away the accumulation of cum and spit glinting in the morning light off the hairs on his chin onto the sheet he has picked up, a contented grin filling his beautifully stark features as he sets the damp fabric aside and stalks back up onto the bed like a lion ready to pounce. Stray kisses embrace your lower abdomen as he sets himself into position kneeling between your legs. 

“Ya ready for more a’ me, baby?” he asks, though not waiting long enough for an answer before he is gripping into your hips to pull your body down over him until your butt rests on top of his thighs. 

You shake your head back and forth. “Too much, t-too much,” you plead, but that isn’t going to do anything and you know it. He is ravenous.

Simon licks his raw, swollen lips. “But you’re takin’ it all so fuckin’ well. Your legs aren’t even shakin’ that bad yet, sweetheart. Said I was gonna take care ‘a ya good and I think that means ya need more.”

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry at the thought of going again. “I can’t…I can’t…” you continue, the back of your head digging into the pillow. His fingers run along your inner thighs to send shockwaves of overwhelming ecstasy shooting up your spine to the top of your head and your mouth struggles to form the rest of the words. “Just give me a minute. Please, Si. I don’t think I can go anymore.” 

“Yes ya can, beautiful; you’re not done,” he grunts with a sharp inhale as he takes your legs in his grip and lifts them up so that he can rest your calves over his shoulders in a way that will strap you to him. Looking down at you through the gap in your legs he flashes a toothy, mischievous grin that has you shivering with anticipation as the heat from his breath rolls over your stomach. “Come on, sweetheart, I know ya ‘ave a little more in ya. You’re gonna take it all for me, yeah? I want ya ta fuckin’ soak me.”

You’re screwed.

Nodding your head in agreement, he immediately leans his face in until his nose can nuzzle against that overstimulated button and your back harshly arches right off the mattress, hands gripping with iron strength into the bundled up sheets you’ve gathered in your fists. Those long, rough fingers holding up your sides drive deeper into your hips so that you can’t slip away from his face while you buck roughly as the movements of his tongue settle back into a steady rhythm again.

So velvety soft, so warm, so moist, it makes his engorged cock throb hard and can feel it prod into your butt. He is overtaken by a desperate, burning need that floods his veins like wildfire; he wants to bury his face even deeper into you as if he is trying to fuse himself with your body. That feeling in him is unleashed in all its fury and he laps at your cunt faster and harder with each passing minute and your already weakened body is overwhelmed. 

“Fuckin’ breathe, sweet thing,” he says in a deep, desperate growl, ripping his face from within you for only long enough to speak the order, as he looks down to see the mixture of pain and pleasure ripple through your brow before he is right back in. 

Hot tears are stinging at the rims of your eyes now as your overly sensitive clit is stimulated again, collecting until they finally break over the edge to stream out from the corners and down over your cheeks. Simon stares at them glinting in crystalline drops as they catch the light from the window before they disappear and gather on the pillow behind your head and goddamn are they so beautiful they nearly stop his heart. 

This is it, this is the one that will do you in and his mission will finally be accomplished. He is pushing your body to its limit of what it can handle and you take it all so gorgeously. To see his sweet thing so out of her goddamn mind is something he hopes will be ingrained in his memory for the rest of his miserable life. 

The heels of your feet dig into the sides of his bare torso until his ribs are stinging under the pinpointed pressure. You don’t know if you have another one in you, but just as the thought burrows into your intoxicated mind you can already feel that gathering warmth in the lower part of your abdomen…except… Something is happening, that feeling of orgasmic pleasure bubbling up in your core is similar, but different. 

“Do ya want me ta stop?” he asks with his mouth full, prompted at the feeling.

You whimper pathetically through the tears spilling from the corners of your eyes; as overwhelming as it is, there is no way in hell you can let him stop now. “No,” you say pitifully as you try to push his head back down tighter against you, “don’t, don’t. Please…oh fuck, fuck!!”

“Good girl,” he growls as he dives right back in like he hasn’t already had you twice now.  

It’s too much, the pressure is overwhelmingly too intense. A deep sense of release more extreme than any orgasm you’ve ever experienced leads to a gushing sensation from between your legs and you throw your head back as you squeal loud as ever as it just keeps coming. Your body shakes and twitches as everything you have is released onto his face for the last time.

“There ya go,” he praises in between breaths as he strokes you through it, stopping once you lay limply in his grip. “Ride it out for me.”

Legs shaking, chest heaving, eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed, Simon lowers you back down from his face and notices that his lap is wet and there is a markedly large wet stain soaking into the sheet under you both now. His face is just as coated and Simon is quick to realize what has happened. 

You can barely move at this point, but still turn your face back towards him to be met with a very happy and content man gazing back at you with those fiery auburn eyes as he wipes at the moisture covering face to clean it.

“Goddamn,” he says with a grin as he emerges from the same sheet he used before, “my pretty girl gettin’ so worked up she fuckin’ squirts on my face. Ya do know how ta fuckin’ treat me right, baby.”

You’ve never experienced anything quite like it before and are surprised that you are even able to do it in the first place, but if anyone could make you do it, it would be him. For a split second you feel a little self-conscious at this new development, but the way that Simon looks at you as if you have just hung the stars makes you giggle from the combination of nerves and adrenaline and settle back down.

He crawls back up the bed and drops down exhausted, but completely satisfied beside you and once he settles he reaches out to pull you into his steamy, heated embrace, skin to skin against his chest. His hand cradles the back of your head as he simply gazes into your eyes until your breathing slows and only then does he finally go in to kiss the last part of you he has left to claim.

His lips meet yours softly, but with the entirety of his passion for you. This is his little slice of paradise that he cannot help but feel lucky to have. Out of all the shit he’s had to deal with in his life, he found you and that means something to him. That’s why things like this he will never mind doing, not for you. Not if it’s to keep you satisfied. 

“Ya know, ya make it so fuckin’ hard for me ta leave,” Simon sighs quietly against your lips as the backs of his coarse fingers caress the delicate skin of your cheek in featherlike strokes. “I gotta make it just as hard for ya. Cause I’m gonna miss ya like hell. Still got two days left; gonna make ‘em count, sweetheart.”

Oh, he will… he definitely will. He always does.

#simon ghost riley #call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #ghost simon riley #simon smut #simon #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut #ghost cod smut #ghost call of duty #cod ghost

[postmortemnivis]

nobody knew simon’s name, his cold glances penetrating souls whenever someone on the force even dared to call him by his first name. he preferred it this way. he wasn’t the kind to blend personal life and work, he didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror without his mask and still see a murderer. his hands were clean, protected by the gloves ghost slipped on each time he reached base. it was soon that the other soldiers almost forgot his name, agreeing that their lieutenant was indeed a ghost.

that was until your worried voice called for him.

you didn’t know of the ghost identity, it had never even crossed your mind that your simon, your sweet and caring boyfriend’s personality would switch into a cold blooded killer as soon as he set foot at base or in the field. of course he never mentioned it with you, he sporadically talked about his job and his missions. you knew he was a strict lieutenant, but you had been kept away from more by the person with the skull mask and balaclava.

“simon?” you asked for the third time the receptionist. she apologetically looked up at you and shrugged. “oh cmon, simon riley. i know for a fact that he’s here. please, i need to see him.”

“i’m very sorry miss but…” the woman shook her head again, “let me call the captain.”

you sighed and sat down by the waiting area until a man walked in and talked to the woman.

“who’re you looking for?”

you stood up. “simon. simon riley.”

“ghost?”

you shook your head, almost clueless. “no, simon riley.”

“yeah, that’s him…” he said, “he’s training the recruits now. shall i deliver a message?”

“no, i need to see him personally. i wouldn’t have come all the way here if it wasn’t important, captain.”

you'd seen price a few times, simon's loyalty to the man was almost like a dog's one, always following orders and rarely complaining. he often talked about him when he was at home, all he shared with you about his threatening job was the friends he made along the way: johnny, kyle, price, gary, nikolai. he'd often go out for a pint—or two—with johnny and kyle, who also occasionally would come to your shared apartment for dinner with their temporary girlfriends.

"follow me." price sighed. you eagerly followed him, as close as his shadow, and the courtyard came into sight. dozens and dozens of soldiers in scarlet training uniforms were running laps of the immense open space under the pale sun, and that's when you spotted a tall and muscular man in black tactical gear. hell, he was hard to miss.

"another lap, smith!" his mancunian accent was stronger than his will to neutralise it. "if my gran was alive she'd be faster than ya."

you'd recognised the voice, of course, even if it was much harsher than usual, but you couldn't recognise him.

you realised, that was ghost. his cold eyes were studying each of the recruit's tired and red faces, his arms behind his back as he barked for five more laps for the ones who didn't look sweaty enough. even his voice was different, but what shocked you was the black balaclava with the white skull drawn on top.

you'd seen the mask once or twice over the years, shoved on the bottom of his duffle bag or drying on a windowsill, but you've never given it much thought, why would you?

"si?" you asked, standing directly behind him as price stood a few feet from you.

his head snapped in your direction at a worryingly fast speed, his eyes immediately becoming soft, then confused.

"what're you doin' here?" his voice spoke, much sweeter.

you kept staring at him, not recognising the man you loved.

he immediately grabbed the crown of the balaclava and yanked it off without a second though. holding the black piece of clothing in his hand, both of them came to cup your elbows, drawing you closer to him.

"love?" he called you.

still at loss of words, you reached to the balaclava and twirled it between your fingers.

"love, talk to me." his voice sounded worried.

"ghost?"

he shook his head. "simon, love."

"we'll talk about that at home." you raised your eyebrows, attempting a smile.

he looked at you impatiently, his fingers brushing up and down your forearms.

you fished in your bag a small plastic bag and gave it to him.

this wasn't like one of the times when he'd forget his lunch at home so you'd drop by and give it to johnny so he'd give it to an always so busy simon ghost; he could see it in your eyes that this was something more.

he unwrapped the plastic bag that you had rolled up on itself. his eyes looked brighter than ever when he took with shaky fingers the finally positive pregnancy test.

#simon ghost riley #simon and ghost are two diff people #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost cod

[yourtamaki]

rip my ribcage open (devour what’s truly yours)

zoro x f!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: tummy-pusher zoro, squirting, oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, prone bone, chokehold, slight breath play, creampie, violent imagery, religious imagery, bit of aftercare.

zoro thinks you might be trying to say his name.

he’s knelt between your legs, sitting back on his haunches and rocking his hips just enough to fuck you with the fat tip of his cock. there’s a rhythm to the unsteady rise and fall of your chest. short inhale, long exhale, the same way you always sigh his name when he’s reduced you to this.

tears dotting your lashes, drool seeping from the corner of your mouth, hips bucking mindlessly trying to get him to slip in deeper.

fuck, you’re hungry for it.

zoro is not a man of many indulgences. he doesn’t allow himself to be. having too many vices can only lead to a weak mind and an even weaker will. he eats but he does not savour, he sleeps but he does not dream.

but he’d be a shit swordsman if he didn’t understand the balance in all things. denying himself all of life’s comforts would make for a rigid spirit, brittle and easily broken. so he’ll sip on some sake and enjoy its fire in his belly, he’ll nap on sunny’s deck so when he wakes, it’s to the sight of his crew set to the backdrop of the setting sun. and when the sun dips below the horizon, there’s nothing to stop him from finding you in the dark and pulling you into a hungry kiss.

that balance is what makes nights like these all the better. knowing that having you like this, spread open and vulnerable, is good for him. that you’re making him a better man, a stronger man, just by letting him take you apart and make a mess out of you. there’s no need to resist the temptation now of bending low to press his lips to your trembling ones in a slow, ravenous kiss.

you taste like need and the sweetest of sins and he licks at the roof of your mouth, knowing he’s damned himself long ago to crave you for as long as he lives.

"if you want something, you have to ask,” he says, pulling back and idly groping at your tits, pinching your nipple when you don’t answer. you throw your head back at the sudden sensation and a wild heat blooms in his chest at the sight, scorching his ribs. how easily you bare your neck for him. how thoughtlessly.

"please, zoro, please. want you deeper, i wanna feel you here,” you take his hands, sliding them down your body until they come to rest on your lower stomach. irritation, sharp and sudden, cuts through his haze.

“don’t fucking beg,” he says, low and even, “you don’t have to beg. ever.”

it’s so far beneath you to plead, he has to swallow down the growl building in the back of his throat. zoro would topple empires for you, would cut the very moon in half if you asked, and you think you have to beg him for anything?

he doesn’t wait for you to nod before he starts pushing in. it doesn’t matter if you understand yet or not, he’ll fuck it into you until you do.

there’s a moment after he’s bottomed out inside you where neither of you move a muscle. he grits his teeth from the effort of holding on to the frayed rope that is his restraint and letting you get used to the wide stretch of him. ages pass before you reach up, slowly as if to not startle the beast above you, and cup his face in your soft palm. you stroke your thumb across his cheek, just on the edge of his scar. your touch is warm and gentle and cracks something inside him wide open.

the rope slip from his fingers. he lets it.

there’s no warning, no build-up before he’s pressing both palms down on your stomach and fucking into you. you reach up to hold on to any part of him, settling around his neck, a balm on his flushed skin even as your nails dig and bite into him.

“you feel that? hmm?” his smile feels jagged and sharp, more demon than man but you only moan at the sight of it, “you feel me in there?”

it’s a strange sensation, feeling himself carve a space inside you, the push and pull. it’s filthy and more intimate than it has any right to be and he fucking loves it.

“fuck, feel you i feel—” a rough thrust cuts you off and when you catch your breath, you’re still rambling, “—so good, you’re so good.”

zoro’s been called many things in his life but good isn’t one of them. it’s never bothered him before. good men don’t claw their way up in the world and leave a trail of slaughter in their wake. good men don’t scream at the heavens and demand to be heard.

zoro is not a good man. but he can be good. to you. for you.

“breathe, baby,” he says, “don’t forget to breathe.”

he presses down a bit harder and your reaction is instantaneous, legs kicking out, the tears that have been threatening to spill over since he stuffed a pillow under your hips finally sliding down your cheeks. you take him so beautifully and something barbed wraps around his heart and squeezes at the sight, shredding him to bloody pieces.

he knows you’re close before your eyes start to flutter, can feel it building like a storm inside you and chases your pleasure with reckless abandon.

“zoro.”

short inhale, long exhale. his name a sigh on your parted lips as you clench tight around him and cum. he doesn’t stop moving for a second, doesn’t let up the pressure even as he feels you gush all over him, soaking his cock, his thighs, his stomach. his strokes stay sure and steady as he fucks you through your high.

you shudder beneath him before relaxing back into the bed and he slows to a stop to let you catch your breath. it hurts to look at you, all divine and fucked out. it’s a sight too holy for a hellbound man like him to behold but he drinks it in anyway, burns it into his mind. 

what’s one more sin to a demon?

zoro slips out of you with a hiss through gritted teeth, taking a moment to admire the creamy ring around his base, your arousal and cum still dripping off him. you’ve marked him as yours and yours alone without even trying and his cock twitches at the thought.

“no why?” you whine as he pulls back further, “give it back.”

“turn over,” even as he speaks, he’s manhandling you until you’re laid out on your stomach, hips propped up with the pillow he takes care to push under you. zoro kisses down your spine before settling between your spread legs and greeting your cunt with a broad stroke of his tongue, “i ever tell you that you taste good like this?”

“like- mmm fuck,” you say, all breathy as he circles around your swollen clit, “like what?”

“stretched out,” he murmurs, “open.” 

you’re past the point of words as he grabs two handfuls of your ass, spreads your sticky lips open with his thumbs and buries his tongue inside you. he savours the sweet little gasps you let you like the finest sake, groaning into your pussy as you start to rock your hips and grind your clit against him. he can’t catch a full breath, thinks he might be suffocating, and moans a bit louder.

a swarm of words bubble up hot and fast in his lungs, taking up space where breath once lived. half-formed thoughts try and fail to take shape in his mouth, weighing down the tongue that makes you writhe in the sheets. 

he can’t bring himself to speak but if he could, he’d show you. zoro wants to crack his ribs open so you can see the bloody wreckage you’ve caused, let you crawl in and keep you safe next to the heart that’s always, always, been yours. he’d probably burst into flames with so much goodness inside him but that’s alright. at least he’d keep you warm.

the words stay trapped where they are though and all he can do is all he’s ever known how to. he goes to work. zoro is singleminded in his task, fingers digging into the fat of your ass to keep you still while he devours you whole and it doesn’t take long before he’s pushing you off the edge he never let you stray too far away from.

he laps at your folds until you start to squirm away, crawling up the bed and away from him. he lets you put a bit of distance between you, lulls his prey into thinking it’s escaped before he pounces. between one breath and the next, zoro’s on you, draped along your back, licking at the sweat that beads down the nape of your neck. you arch into him, pushing back against the hardness digging into your ass before he rests his weight down on you, forcing you flat on your front.

“where do you want me, baby?” he asks, kissing behind your ear, “tell me where you want me.”

in this moment and in all others, zoro would do anything you told him to. you could make him hump you like an animal until he cums and lick your skin clean or stand across the room and jack off by himself with nothing but the lingering taste of your pussy to help him get off. he’d do it and he’d do it without an ounce of shame.

“want you inside,” you slur, “wanna be full.”

his entire being in the palm of your hands and you choose to be merciful.

“you sure?” he lifts up off you just enough to get a hand around his base and nudge his tip against your clit, “not too sensitive?”

“yeah, pl- i can take it.”

his grin is all teeth when he hears you correct yourself, “that’s my fucking girl. stay still, baby. let me take care of you.”

you’re soft and slick from his spit and two orgasms and when he bottoms out all at once, it’s with a low groan in your ear that echoes behind your breathy moan. sinking back inside you feels like rapture, like something he’s done nothing to deserve but basks in anyway with an endless greed.

he wraps his arms around you, one across your front groping at your chest while the other hooks around to put you in a headlock, keeping you pressed flush to him as he starts to rock into you. zoro is quiet in his worship, purposeful, and you’re nearly as quiet in receiving it, the room filled only by your soaked cunt and ragged breathing. though you don’t say anything, he can hear you loud and clear.

short inhale, long exhale.

a holy call he’s helpless to answer.

zoro fucks you to the rhythm of his name, short, devastating thrusts with his whole weight thrown behind him. he wants to live in this moment, could spend the rest of his days with his cock dragging along your walls slow and sure, relishing the way you tighten like a vice around him every time he flexes and cuts your air off mid-gasp.

but he swore an oath at your altar and zoro has always been a man of his words.

he cums with a sigh of your name, spilling inside you for what feels like ages before he collapses over you boneless and spent, his softening cock keeping you plugged nice and full just like you asked so sweetly for.

“you okay?” he asks, pulling out as gently as he can and helping you roll over when your trembling arms make it clear you can’t do it on your own.

“mhmm,” you pull yourself up until you’re nose to nose with him. zoro holds still as you scatter kisses across his face like stardust. his temple, his scar, the corner of his mouth. there’s no order, no pattern he can discern to the affection you bestow but he accepts it the way all blessings should be received. with silent gratitude.

“nothing hurts?” 

“no. but you’re carrying me to the bath.”

“okay.”

you tuck yourself into his side, reaching up to idly roll his earrings between your fingers, “and washing my hair.”

“okay.”

“and i’m gonna wash your hair.”

“okay.”

“say something else.”

he thinks for a moment, thinks of all he could never put to words and lets them stay as thoughts. instead, he meets your eyes and settles on a simple truth, “you’re beautiful.”

a smile, radiant and bright, breaks across your face. what happens, he wonders, when a demon is the cause of something as divine as your smile? it’s a question he doesn’t mind spending his life searching the answer to. 

dedicated to: mah wife @katslutski and the loml @saotoru

#zoro smut #one piece smut #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro smut #roronoa zoro x reader #god this has been in my drafts for so long

[luminnara]

Protector | Feyd-Rautha x reader

ANON REQUEST: your marriage to Feyd-Rautha is an arranged one, and your only task is to provide an heir. When you finally become pregnant, your new husband suddenly grows obsessed with you—but does he care about you, or is he simply protective of his progeny?

Warnings: pregnancy, labor, and related talk; canon typical violence

MY REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Your marriage was one born out of duty, not love. You couldn’t even call it a marriage of convenience; there was nothing convenient about leaving your homeworld and traveling across an entire galaxy to marry someone you had never even met before. Yes, the Houses had agreed beforehand that you were to marry Feyd-Rautha, the Na-Baron of House Harkonnen, and immediately after the deal had been struck you had seen his face and read his writing, but you hadn’t met him until your wedding day.

You had chastised yourself for thinking it could be like the fairytales of Ancient Earth. You, a princess, your betrothed a handsome prince…in the stories of your childhood, he would have whisked you away, off to a great, shining palace full of magical wonders, and you would have lived happily ever after. Instead, your prince had proved to be disinterested in you, busying himself with his arena and his concubines, ignoring you most of the day. The Harkonnen fortress did not shine, nor did it hold any great wonders, and Giedi Prime felt far from magical, with its harsh black sun and polluted landscape.

After your vows, you had naively thought your wedding night would be full of romance. Perhaps you had been holding onto hope as a means to protect yourself, clinging to optimism to distract yourself from your harsh, sad reality. You had been all too eager to shed your dress and veil in Feyd-Rautha’s living quarters, though had not expected them to be ruined by his blade, and you had not expected him to greedily conquer you as if it were yet another battle in the arena. He had slept next to you that night, but had made it painfully obvious that he had no interest in holding you or even touching you, keeping far to his side of the bed while you remained far to yours. In the morning, you had awoken alone, and had realized that it was the beginning of a long and lonely road on your new planet.

Everyone expected an heir. That was the entire point of this marriage, a legitimate heir for the Harkonnen line. Anyone else could have done it—you were of fine breeding, yes, but any of the other Houses could have offered up a daughter to suffer at Feyd-Rautha’s side. Why it had to be you surely came down to the only things powerful men seemed to care about—money and spice. An allegiance with House Harkonnen protected your family, and your small share of spice harvesters on Arrakis added yet another drop into their vast bucket and one less smuggling operation to worry about. Your parents were happy. Baron Vladimir Harkonnen was happy.

And you were miserable.

Two months after your wedding, your monthly cycle continued as normal, and you were forced to shamefully inform the na-Baron. After an annoyed sound and a grimace, he bent you over the nearest table and took you for a second time, leaving you to clean yourself up and cry at your husband’s callousness. You didn’t know why he couldn’t bring himself to care. You supposed he already had everything he could possibly want; wealth, concubines, a throne to inherit…you brought nothing of real value to him, save for the ability to produce an heir.

Time passed, and it became clear that Feyd-Rautha would have to touch you more than once a month if he was to have any hope of fathering a child. You cursed yourself for your apparent inability to conceive—fertility had been one of your parents’ selling points when negotiating with the Baron, and now, you couldn’t even do the one thing that was expected of you. It brought you to tears every night, the stress of being reduced to this and yet still being unable to perform your task. It was maddening, though you knew you were hardly the first woman to find yourself in such a situation. You did worry, however, that you may have been the weakest.

One evening, as Feyd performed his husbandly duties, he noticed a tear slipping down your cheek and paused. You felt a rough hand cup the side of your face and opened your eyes to find your husband staring at you with dark eyes, his head tilted to suggest he was curious.

“Tears?” He asked in his raspy voice that was still so alien to you.

“My apologies, na-Baron,” you looked away from him.

“You are crying.”

You stifled an annoyed sigh. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Do not worry yourself with me, husband.” You said.

“Tell me.”

This was perhaps the longest conversation you had had since marrying him, and part of you didn’t want it to end. You looked at him once more, finding him still watching you with that unwavering, predatory gaze, and another tear rolled down your cheek and onto his hand.

“I am sorry I have not given you a child.” You whispered.

“Then let me put one into you.”

His tone sent a chill down your spine, frightening and exciting you all at once. That night, Feyd-Rautha did not let you sleep, shocking you with his determination. It was simply because the sooner you conceived, the sooner he could return to his own concerns, you reasoned.

Sure enough, your period did not arrive when expected, nor did the next. A medical test confirmed what you already knew—you were pregnant, with Feyd-Rautha’s child. A Harkonnen child, who would grow up to be just as ruthless and savage as its father, you thought.

Upon receiving the positive result, you immediately set off to tell the na-Baron. He should not be made to wait; you wanted him to know that the entire point of your union was finally achieved, and that you could both go back to ignoring each other as usual. As you walked, you had the worrying thought that he may not even keep you alive after the delivery.

“Na-Baron,” you addressed him upon finding him in his armory.

He looked up from the blade he was sharpening. “Wife.”

“I bring news,” you said, folding your hands in front of yourself.

“Then tell me, before I grow bored of waiting.” He returned to the hunting knife, looking away from you once more.

“I am with child.”

You watched as Feyd-Rautha paused, tilting his head to look at you. “My child?”

“Yes. Who else could it possibly belong to?” You asked, exasperated. “The physicians confirmed it just now. I wanted you to be the first to know.”

He nodded slowly, looking back at the knife in his hand as he thought. “I see.”

Whatever hopes you had once had for him to suddenly flip his entire personality at the news were quickly dashed by his lack of emotion. You left him there, a hand over your mouth as you tried not to cry, returning to your bed to be alone once more.

-0-

In those earlier days of pregnancy, you were often ill, sprinting from bed to the wash basin nearly every day to be sick. Usually, you were alone; Feyd-Rautha rose early, spending his mornings training and sometimes killing his instructors. Whenever that happened, he would come back, wearing blood and a grin on his face as if he had just won some great contest.

Today, however, he was enjoying a rare occasion of sleeping in. He had begun spending his nights in the center of the bed, crowding you as you attempted to stay away from him. One morning you had even woken up to find his arm throne over you, his body closer than ever. Now, he was sleeping, and you would have been content to let him remain there were you not busy launching yourself over him as you ran to the adjoining wash room.

You missed the way your husband sat up, eyes wide and frenzied as he pulled a dagger from beneath the pillows. When he found the room to be empty and free of danger, he grew confused…until he heard your retching in the next room, and slipped out of bed.

“Wife?” He asked from the doorway.

“What?” You groaned, leaning your cheek on the cool basin.

“…are you alright?”

You sighed. “No, na-Baron, I am not. I mean…I am, I just…”

“You are sick,” he pointed out.

It took every bit of willpower you possessed to swallow down the part of you that desperately wanted to throttle him. “Yes. I am. It’s the pregnancy, the pills from the doctors haven’t been working—“

“This has happened before?” He interrupted.

“Most days, yes,” you felt another wave of nausea coming over you and hunched your shoulders, preparing for the worst.

You never expected to feel a cool hand brushing your hair away from your forehead, nor the feeling of your husband’s chest against your back as he held you.

“Harkonnen women don’t have this problem,” he commented as he held your hair.

It was the least helpful statement he possibly could have made as you vomited once more, and yet it was also quite possibly the best.

“If Harkonnen women have no hair, then what do you pull?” You asked wryly, too ill and too exhausted to hold yourself back.

Feyd-Rautha stared you, unblinking, before a smirk found its way onto his lips. “If you are feeling brave, perhaps I will show you one day.”

You let out a laugh as the nausea ebbed, leaning back against him. “Perhaps one day I will finally stop seeing my lunch so many times, and then you can regale me.”

-0-

Your sickness faded as your pregnancy progressed, thankfully, but Feyd-Rautha’s company did not. By the time you were beginning to truly show, he was refusing to leave you alone, demanding your presence wherever he went. As a result, you sat in on many a sparring session, and he made up his mind to abandon the arena until after the baby was born. His sudden change in attitude was shocking; he had never paid so much attention to anything before, and now, his hands were constantly on you.

“I must keep you safe,” he had said when you first asked about it, and had acted as if it were the most obvious thing in the universe.

You assumed he was protective due to the baby, the precious new heir to the Harkonnen throne. As its vessel, you were afforded some luxuries, but you fully expected that to change after the birth. For now, though, you were content to receive any and all attention your husband saw fit to pay you.

“That went well,” you said one day after the doctor examined you.

“He should not have touched you like that.” Feyd-Rautha growled.

“What do you mean? He’s a doctor,” you laughed, somewhat nervously.

“I did not like it.” His voice was tense.

“I could tell.” You grumbled, dropping your happy façade. He had nearly chased the doctor out of the room, hunting knife in hand. “Examinations are unavoidable, I’m afraid.”

“No more.”

“But—“

“No more strangers touching you.”

"Doctors help," you protested. "Don't you want your child to be healthy?"

At that, Feyd paused in thought. "...You may have a Harkonnen midwife."

"Because a Harkonnen doctor is too much?" You asked dryly.

He glared at you briefly before looking away towards the door. "Come."

You audibly groaned, one hand on your lower back. "Na-Baron, I am tired. I wish to retire to bed."

He looked back at you, and you caught an expression of distress on his face. "I need to train."

"You train every day."

"Yes." he said it as if it were obvious, but something in his tone suggested more; he made it sound urgent, as if it were something he had to do daily, and missing a single session would be disastrous. "Come."

You heaved a sigh and followed him.

-0-

In the months that followed, your unborn child grew, as did your body. You found yourself becoming large and bloated, your gait slowing as your flexibility waned. New maternity gowns were brought to you, an interesting mix of styles--the flowing, heavy garments of your homeworld meeting the simple, stark aesthetics of Giedi Prime. You found them strange, but at that point, you really didn't care; you would have walked around naked if no one would have stopped you. You spent your days feeling uncomfortable and awkward, with swollen feet and a sore lumbar region. Harkonnen servants brought whatever you needed, and your husband ensured--no, demanded--that all of your food be tasted by someone else while you watched so that there could be no chance of poison passing between your lips.

You wondered if this was simply some aspect of Harkonnen culture that the other Houses weren't aware of or never cared to talk about. Perhaps on a planet as harsh and toxic as Giedi Prime, infertility and infant mortality were more commonplace than the rest of the known universe. Perhaps this possessiveness was common among Harkonnen men, if conception was more difficult for their people.

Whether your theory was correct or not, Feyd-Rautha had certainly become even more attached to you. Not a morning went by when he wasn’t there next to you in bed, and as of late, he had begun waking you up by reminding you exactly how you had ended up like this in the first place. Before your pregnancy, he had acted as though bedding you were a boorish duty he had no choice but to perform; now that you were heavy with child, however, he was more than interested in you physically, constantly touching you with those rough, murderous hands.

You enjoyed the attention, and you enjoyed the way he squeezed and massaged you with surprising gentleness. He didn’t want to break you, you supposed, not right now; after the child arrived, perhaps, but not now. That was a grim thought, and one you had often—what was to come of your after the birth? Would Feyd-Rautha want more children, in case this one died some horrible, brutal, Harkonnen death? Or would you be disposed of, no longer needed after his legacy was secured?

You tried not to dwell on it.

One morning, you roused on your own, without Feyd’s interference. Wondering if he was even still there, you reached out to the side, feeling for him—and you nearly jumped when you felt bare flesh beneath your hand. When you rolled onto your back with considerable effort and turned your head to the side, you saw that your husband was there, still sleeping, and that what you had felt was his exposed chest.

You took the moment to look at him, really look at him. He seemed so peaceful like this, when he wasn’t fighting and killing. You had seen him take lives so quickly that his victims hadn’t even known they had died, and you had wondered how someone could be so dismissive of those around them. The first time you had watched your husband slit a throat, you had nearly vomited, and he had found your revulsion amusing; the most recent, however, you had simply sighed and looked away. You were desensitized, it seemed, just like he was, and now, you slept just as easily after watching him commit horrendous acts of violence as he did now.

Feyd-Rautha was handsome as far as Harkonnens went. His skin was smooth like marble, free of the scars and bruises one might expect to see on a warrior. His face, usually so harsh during the waking hours, was relaxed now, and you realized he was beautiful. You couldn’t keep yourself from brushing your fingers over his lips and feeling how surprisingly soft they were, though in a way, this felt wrong. Feyd-Rautha didn’t strike you as the kind of person who would allow this sort of touch, but when would you have this opportunity again? He always rose first in the morning and slept last at night. You never caught him with his guard down, and you kept your hands to yourself during the day. This was the only time you could marvel at him like this.

As your fingers ghosted across his cheek, he twitched, and you froze. Then, to your horror, an eye cracked open, and you knew that he had been awake all along.

When you moved to pull away, he caught your wrist, then covered your hand in his. He held your gaze for several long, strange moments, and you realized that he hadn’t simply been awake—he had been allowing you to touch his face, to explore him in a way you had never been brave enough to before. It felt like a gift, in a way. In his way.

“I apologize,” you breathed, unable to look away from him.

“Why?” He asked, voice deep and rough with sleep.

“I should not have touched you without permission.”

“I am your husband,” he said. “And you are carrying my child. You do not need permission to touch me.”

Somehow, you knew his words carried a deeper meaning. You knew you were one of, if not the only, one on all of Giedi Prime whom he had said those words to. And for the first time since marrying him, you felt that Feyd-Rautha was truly your husband.

-0-

He was with you when the labor began.

You had been lounging in your shared chambers, enduring the final week of your pregnancy. It felt bittersweet, in a way; you had no way of knowing then if you would ever be experiencing this again, and a part of you desperately wanted to hold onto it while the rest was fed up with feeling massive and uncomfortable every day.

Feyd-Rautha had been agitated all morning. It was as if he had known something was about to happen, and he had spent his time barely containing himself as he paced and sharpened knives, attempting to keep to himself and leave you alone and doing a piss poor job of it. You had been ready to chase him out of the room—or at least attempt to—when you felt your waters go and the panic set in.

That had been three hours ago.

Now, you were in your bed, and a shockingly-diligent Harkonnen na-Baron had yet to leave your side. He had briefly stepped into the corridor to bellow at the nearest passerby and your midwife had arrived very quickly as a result, but after that, he had sat down next to you and refused to go anywhere else.

“Is it agony?” He asked as you stood.

You shot him a glare. “I would not wish this sensation on even you.”

He was taken aback by your tone, impressed, even, by the venom in it.

“A short walk about the room may help,” the midwife suggested. “I will assist—“

“No.” Feyd-Rautha was up and at your side in an instant, taking your elbow. “I will.”

You didn’t care who did what, you just wanted it to be over and done with. The labor was progressing quickly, the midwife assured after another check once you were back in bed, and soon, you were wailing and grunting, your face was sweaty, and the na-Baron was staring in awe. You were focused on the task set before you, one hand on Feyd’s arm as you pushed with all your might, and so you could not see the way your husband was looking at you.

When your son was born and crying at the top of his tiny lungs, Feyd-Rautha cut the umbilical cord with a hunting knife and then he stared. It seemed that the entire time, he was incapable of looking away, his eyes glued to either you or the new Harkonnen heir. You supposed he had been too enthralled to order the midwife out of the room, and the woman was smart enough not to push her luck—she did the necessary examinations as quickly as she could, then handed the baby off to you, busying herself with cleaning what looked like a murder scene and gathering the afterbirth when it came. Then, satisfied with her work and the health of the child, she left, and you were alone with your husband and son.

You cradled the infant, tucking him against your breast and pulling the edge of your robe over him in an attempt to keep him warm. He was born pale, like his father, but with a soft layer of hair that made you wonder how much he might grow to look like you. The midwife had said it before she slipped out, and you had to agree—he was beautiful, and you smiled down at him.

A thud startled you and you turned to see that Feyd-Rautha had fallen to his knees at your bedside, looking at you with a reverence you had never seen in anyone before.

“Feyd?” You asked.

He looked between you and your son, and you saw then that something had changed within him over those many months. Gone was the dismissive, uncaring husband you had wed; this Feyd-Rautha had grown to become a protector, one who would fight until his muscles tore from his bones, who would bleed himself dry for you.

“You are stronger than I knew,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek much the way you had with him all those nights ago.

You felt a lump in your throat. “Come here. Join us.”

He did.

Feyd-Rautha sat with you there, in your bed, the very bed your first child was born in. He watched as your son woke from his peaceful, short nap, and he was privy to the private, intimate moment of his first feeding. He held the baby, staring at him in wonder and what may have been a touch of fear, supporting the both of you as he helped you to the bathing room when you were well enough to stand.

“A son,” he said, watching the baby sleep that night.

“Yes.” You mumbled, exhausted and nearly asleep as well. “Are you pleased, husband?”

“I would have been just as pleased with a daughter.”

That surprised you, and you glanced over your shoulder to see him propped up on an elbow, watching your son as he slept in his simple Harkonnen manger. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said, never once taking his eyes off the child. “I can teach a daughter to fight just as well.” Finally, he looked down at you. “Are you well?”

“As well as can be expected.” You sighed.

“Are you happy?”

“Yes, I am,” you answered him, sleep already dragging you down.

You barely felt his lips as he pressed a kiss to your temple, and you barely heard his voice as he said,

“I am as well.”

-0-

You had expected Feyd-Rautha to grow cold in the weeks following your son’s birth, but he never had. He was attentive, caring for you in a way that suggested he felt some primal urge to drag back great beasts for dinner every night but modern living prohibited that.

Now, you watched as he stood before one of the massive windows within the Harkonnen palace. It was evening on Giedi Prime, but the black sun casted no shadows over the landscape. Feyd-Rautha held your son, whispering to him, and as you watched, you wished the moment could stretch on forever.

“Husband,” you said, approaching him.

“Wife,” he greeted you, turning.

“On your evening walk together, I see.”

He chuckled. “I am showing him everything he will one day rule over.”

“I am surprised you haven’t taken him into battle with you yet,” you said sarcastically.

“I will strap him to my chest so that he might taste the blood of House Atreides,” he said with a grin.

“The youngest Harkonnen warrior the world has ever seen.” You smiled, leaning in to check on what appeared to be a perfectly happy, albeit possibile bloodthirsty, baby.

“What are you doing walking alone?” Feyd-Rautha asked.

“Looking for you.”

“And now that you have found me, what do you intend to do?”

You leaned into your husband, resting your head on his shoulder. “Drop the baby off with the wet nurse, seduce you, take you to bed and then have my way with you.”

“You have my attention.”

“I thought you might be interested in trying for a girl this time…”

In a blink, he had spun you around and was dragging you down the corridor, and once the baby was safely tucked in with a nursemaid watching over him, you did indeed have your way with your husband. And again. And again. And you realized, as you retired to bed that night, that you were truly glad to have been arranged to marry Feyd-Rautha, heir to the Harkonnen throne and father of your children.

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd x reader #TW pregnancy #TW labor and delivery #dune x reader

[lilithland]

imagine you and your partner go to a nude beach together

you take a nap in the sun, hoping to work on your tan

you wake up to your nipples being pinched, you keep your eyes closed enjoying the feeling, until you feel an entirely different set of hands playing with your princess parts

you jolt out of your fuzzy half sleepy state, opening your eyes in a panic, trying to sit up but find you’re being held down

you go to scream when a hand slams down covering your mouth

“shhhh baby, these kind strangers just wanted to play a little” your partner tells you in a soothing voice, it does nothing to help your state of panic

the hand playing with your needy cunt has started to also play with your ass, gr0ping the flesh and proding a curious finger into your tight puckered hole

you start to scream into your partners hand, squirming more and trying to break free, your partner continues to shush you telling you to relax

the cocks of the strangers around you look painfully hard, much bigger than anything you’ve ever had in any of your tight holes

the stranger playing with your tits leans down to start sucking on your nipples, they include painful bites every now and then making you thrash and cry more

the stranger that was gently thumbing your fuck holes slides three fingers into your inferiority hole and two fingers into your ass

the fingers in your ass are painful but the ones in your leaky cunt are sliding in and out with ease

the stranger brings their mouth to your clit to suck at it while they finger fuck you

you’re unwillingly forced to have cummies embarrassingly fast

the mouth abusing your tits is removed, revealing purple hickies all over, your tits are squished together and spit on so the stranger can fuck them

the stranger below removes their mouth from your clit and their fingers from your ass, the fingers in your tight cunt continue to pump in and out of you

you’re relieved that they’re no longer playing with your asshole, until you see them start to line their massive cock up with your barely opened hole

you try to fight again but it’s no use

the cock at your ass takes it’s time impaling you, the pain is unbareable, you sob into your partners hand as they continue to try and sooth you

the fingers in your pussy pull your wetness out of your breeding hole to help lube your ass

once fully sheathed, the hot and throbbing cock ripping your asshole open pulls all the way out and slams all the way back in, setting a punishing pace

your partner uncovers your mouth and as you go to scream the cock fucking your tits fills your whore mouth

they waste no time fucking and shooting their hot sperm down your throat

you gag and choke and the cum spills out around the cock in your mouth, some leaking down onto your tits

the guy in your ass adds a fourth and fifth finger into your unfilled cunt hole

you feel like your pussy and ass are going to be torn open into one hole as your pussy gets fisted and your ass gets stuffed

the cock that was throat fucking you remains in your mouth, enjoying a nice cockwarming from your whore mouth

the guy in your ass pulls his fist out of your abused cunt and his dick out of your destroyed ass, you almost cry from relief

until he shoves his massive cock into your pussy to breed you full of cum

you feel like a disgusting whore and hate that your pussy is getting r4ped after your ass, it makes you feel like an even dirtier slut

the cock in your pussy is removed once you’re filled to the brim with cum, the man sitting on your face remains to hold you in place

your partner takes out their phone to take a picture of your gaping holes, your cunt leaking cum into your ass

your partner sticks their fingers in your pussy collecting the strangers cum

the stranger cockwarming in your mouth finally removes himself, your partner forces their cum covered fingers down your throat

“suck”

you obey the order, too exhausted from the brutal r4pe to try and fight back

“good girl”

they remove their fingers and when you finally think it’s over you notice the line of people waiting for their turn

#r4p3 fantasy #rough cnc #cnc k!nk #cnc free use #cnc somno #dumb slvt #dumb wh0re #use me pls #dumb puppy #corruption kink #nsft concept #r4p3 kink #r4pepl4y #r4p3b4it #r4p3 m3 #c0cksleeve #c0ckslut #c0ckwarming #cvmdump #cvmslut #breeding k1nk #send dirty asks #send me threats #cvmslvt #size k!nk #fuck doll

[eilidh-eternal]

“Single mom x Johnny” this, “single mom x Simon” that.

I want single dad Johnny/Simon and the single reader next door who is helplessly in love with them and their kid.

18+ MDNI

You never wanted kids. You’re convinced you would turn out to be just like your parents. That’s probably why you don’t have a ring on your finger or any sort of boyfriend or partner to speak of.

You never wanted kids.

Until Johnny goddamn MacTavish.

You’re in love with the man who always walks his little girl to school every morning, crooked pigtails flouncing with each too-big step she takes to keep stride with his long legs.

Madly in love with the way he smiles down at the tiny girl, even tinier hand held firmly in his as she dodges cracks in the pavement, and the shriek of her laughter when he lifts her by the arm, swinging her through the air to the next chunk of concrete.

Hopelessly in love with the broad shoulders he hoists her up on, little legs swinging with arms wrapped tightly around his neck and her chin resting on top of his head, blowing stray hairs of an overgrown mohawk out of her face.

Dangerously in love with the way he lets her cling to his front when it rains, like a little koala wrapped around this tree of a man who holds an umbrella in one hand and has a firm hold on her with the other.

Happy. He looks so happy with her. Like she’s the sun he orbits; the star that lights up his world.

You’re just a comet who occasionally passes them by.

——

Johnny never thought he would be doing this alone.

He’s so far out of his depth. Never even had the chance to dip his toe in the water before he was shoved into the churning ocean.

He still remembers every life-altering detail of that day. The phone call after the 16 hour flight back to base. The frantic drive to the hospital. The impossibly tiny, wailing little girl, all alone in the social workers office.

She’s all he has left of her. Of them.

His best friend. His partner in crime, for more years than he can remember. The person who understood better than anyone who he is, saw him through his darkest moments, and loved him with her whole heart.

Gone.

But he smiles for her. Because of her. Isobel is the light in the abysmal darkness that he’s drowning in. The buoy he clings to when he can no longer hold his head above the surface. She’s everything. His past, his present, and his future. And she’s sitting at the table refusing to eat her dinner.

“’s not right.” Her little nose scrunches, turns up at the meal, and she pushes the bright green plastic away, matching miniature fork sent skittering across the table by the force of it

Johnny lowers his own fork and swallows his frustration with a sigh. “‘s yer favorite. Wha’s wrong with it? ”

Her brows knit together as she studies the tray, little creases forming between them and she slumps in her booster seat. “Mommy didn’t make it.”

No. She didn’t.

Johnny was never the cook in the family. That was all her. She’d chased him out of the kitchen after he’d burnt one of her expensive pans and he was thus forth relegated to chopping, and occasionally peeling, duties.

“I know.” His chair scrapes against the floor when he pushes back from the table, moving to crouch down where she sits beside him so that he’s at eye level with her, and he pulls the fork and tray back towards her. “But mommy wouldnae want ye to go to bed hungry, aye?”

“I wan’ somethin’ else.” He watches her little bottom lip jut out, brows still pinched and face twisting into a stubborn pout.

“Wha’d’ye want?”

“Quesadilla.” She drags out the ‘ee’ sound, emphasizing her clumsy command of the foreign language in her already thick Scot’s accent.

He enjoys Mexican food. Loved the tacos Alejandro and Rudy shared with him and his team during his time in Mexico. She’d learned how to make them for his birthday.

Nowhere in Glasgow made anything like it. Not then, and not now.

“I cannae make a quesadilla, leannan.” Her little lip wobbles, eyes turn glassy, tears already welling up in the corners and threatening to spill down chubby cheeks. She sniffles, drags the backs of her hands across her eyes, and Johnny feels what’s left of his heart splinter, another little piece of it withering away to nothing with each fat tear that rolls down and collects at her chin. He unbuckles her from the booster and gathers her into his arms as he stands up, taking her with him to sit in his own chair at the table.

Her little shoulders shake, hiccuping with each muffled sob against his shoulder and tiny fingers fist the material of his shirt. “Miss ‘er,” she warbles, and his arms tighten around her small frame.

“Ah know, leannan.” More hiccups. More tears that seep through his shirt and brand his skin.

You should be here. You’re supposed to be here. With her. With him. With them.

“How ‘bout we go down to the shops? Ye can pick whatever ye want for dinner. Dinnae think they’ll have quesadillas, but I’m sure we can find somethin’ ye like.” She lifts her head from his shoulder, tips it back to peer up at him with bleary eyes and sniffles. Wipes her hand across her eyes again.

“Cheesy noodles?” It’s thin and reedy, poor little throat still tight and full of grief that he knows feels impossible to speak around.

“Aye, we can get cheesy noodles.” He brushes an errant strand of hair away from her face, tucking the unruly curl behind an ear where it probably won’t stay. Just like her mum’s. So much like her mum. She considers him, his offer, and toys with his shirt.

“And sticky pudding?”

“Whatever ye want, leannan.” She really shouldn’t have something so sugary right before bed but he doesn’t have it in him to deny her. Is just glad the tears have stopped. That she’s willing to eat, even if he has to bribe her with junk food and sweets. He sends her to put her shoes on while he cleans up in the kitchen and grabs his own shoes and keys.

——

He’s there.

He’s standing in the pasta aisle with his little girl in the buggy, smiling at the way she makes grabby hands at the dismal selection of boxed macaroni, and he pulls one down from the shelf to hand to her. She inspects it, turning it this way and that way, pointing to something on the packaging and saying something that makes him laugh.

You’re frozen in place, jar of pasta sauce halfway to the basket in your other hand, and you can’t move because the sound of his laughter causes something in your brain to misfire. Causes the electrical signals between neurons and synapses to jumble together and sets your nerves alight. You think you might really be frozen, body unwilling to move an inch away from where you stand now, by your beautiful neighbor in the middle of a goddamned Tesco, until a little voice is addressing you.

“Hi miss neighbor!” Johnny’s head whips around and when his gaze lands on you it feels like your stomach’s turned to lead. “We’re havin’ cheesy noodles f’r dinner!” She holds up the box in her hand and kicks her feet excitedly.

You’re currently kicking yourself for making what you’re sure is an expression closely resembling that of a fish out of water. Mouth agape, brows raised and eyes slightly widened in surprise. When your mouth finally remembers how to move you smile at the little girl waving her box of noodles and powdered cheese in the air. “Hello, Isobel. That sounds like a lovely dinner.”

His brows knit together, one of them quirked at a curious angle. “And how d’ the two of ye know each other?”

Isobel’s foot connects with his thigh and his head jerks back around. “She’s our neighbor. She gave me the tablet,” she whispers a little too loud, cupping a small hand in front of her mouth. He turns back to you with the same jaunty brows and a quirk to his lips.

“So ye’re the one responsible for the wee heathens late night sugar-induced marathon.”

“M-marathon?”

“Aye, she was bouncin’ round the house all night, the little devil.” He ruffles her hair and she swats at his hand.

“I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…” You don’t really know what you’d been thinking when you’d given her the Tupperware full of sugary confections to take home after she’d spent the morning helping you root around in the flowerbeds in front of your home. She’d been watching out the window for hours until she was suddenly right next to you, asking what you were digging for.

“‘s alright. Ye’ll just have to make up f’r it.”

It’s your turn to pinch your brows and tilt your head in confusion. “Make up for it?”

His lips part in a full, genuine smile, like the ones he gives Isobel, and your leaden stomach suddenly feels like it’s lodged in your chest, full of butterflies and other fluttering things you don’t dare to name.

“Oh aye. Reckon ye owe us a dinner since ye’ve skipped right to dessert.”

Next>>>

©️Eilidh-Eternal.2024 ~ The intellectual property of Eilidh-Eternal is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

#john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x you #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x you #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x you #soap x reader #soap x you #cod #call of duty #cod fanfic #cod au #call of duty au #neighbors au #cod mwii #cod mw #cod mwiii #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #call of duty mw19 #call of duty soap #call of duty fanfic #call of duty mwii #can of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: NSFW, implied noncon, yandere, forced/arranged marriage

fem reader

Childhood friend Satoru – who’d whine about cooties but at the same time be the one chasing you around with bugs and slugs on a stick and a bright big sun-swallowing grin across his face.

Childhood friend Satoru – who got somewhat of a nervous breakdown when he suddenly realized he did all that because he has a crush on you.

Childhood friend Satoru – who freaks out when you start wearing those short school-issued skirts – and can't keep his blush to himself when he notices you swap out training bras for pretty lace cups.

Childhood friend Satoru – who looks at you applying lipstick with wide blue eyes – thickly swallowing his own spit at the sight of gloss tinting the brim of your drink – hot and sweaty while imagining the stain on his cock.

Childhood friend Satoru – who has no sense of personal space regarding you – hugs you from behind when you’re talking to other friends, leaning his head atop yours – and slings his arm around your shoulders when walking home together.

Childhood friend Satoru – who invites himself into your plans and is utterly shocked and pouty when you tell him he can’t come because it’s a girl’s night.

Childhood friend Satoru – who doesn’t harbor any resentment toward anyone until he understands that there are people in the world who think he’s willing to share you with them.

Childhood friend Satoru – who decides he’s your boyfriend without even asking you – who watches you laugh at him when he tells you he doesn’t like when you speak to the boys in your class, looking at you with an opposing straight face you’ve never seen on him, before telling you that he doesn’t think it’s very funny.

Childhood friend Satoru – who you’ve known since you were both in diapers but who suddenly feels like a total stranger – who suddenly has this look in his eyes that gives you chills – and it’s not so much that you fear for yourself because you’re still very much certain he’d never hurt you, only you no longer feel confident in saying the same for others.

Childhood friend Satoru – who goes to the chief of your clan and asks for your hand behind your back – who tells you it’s a matter between them, between head clansmen, not silly girls who don't understand their own good.

Childhood friend Satoru – who has this completely blank look of apathy written across his face when you scream at him that he can’t just decide your life without consulting you – who only tells you that you promised yourself to him a long time ago, that you promised him that you’d stay together forever, that you’re not allowed to leave him now.

Childhood friend Satoru – who starts telling you what you can and can’t wear, who doesn’t allow you to go outside without him escorting you, who keeps you in the house and expects you to be happy about it – and pins you up against the wall when you uproar against it – glaring at you with a searing comet-blue stare that makes your heart jump to your throat in fear – gripping your upper arms in such a bruising hold he makes you wince, as he spits out that you’ll do what he tells you to do because you belong to him.

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[forzalando]

Orange Theory

Charles Leclerc x best friend!reader (female reader)

summary: charles and his best friend do countless nice things for each other, but they're just behaving like any good friend would. right? wc: 2.5k author's note: ok guys so this is not the Charles fic i promised (she is still a WIP and i will finish her eventually. probably will have to be a multi-part fic with how long it's getting), but i hope you enjoy this one in the meantime! special thanks to @scuderiahoney for encouragement and inspiration. special thanks to @sof1shticated for reading and assuring me this doesn't suck. if you haven't read their fics, both Lee and Mel have some gems that i adore. HIGHLY recommend checking out their masterlists! warnings: none!

You loved summer break – Charles was home for at least a few weeks, days spent on a yacht, every afternoon and evening spent with friends either at dinner or out at some club until someone got too drunk to carry on.

Today was, in your humble opinion, the perfect day. All of your friends, courtesy of Charles, were sprawled out on the sun deck of a rented boat or splashing around in the water below. You could feel the heat radiating off of Lando as he laid next to you and whispered about how McLaren was making insane upgrades – according to him, they might just have a race-winning car in the second half of the season.

“Are you boring my best friend to tears, Norris?” The brutal sun disappeared behind Charles’ body as he stood above you – as if on instinct, he shifted slightly so that you could look up at him and not be blinded by its rays.

“She’s hanging on my every word, right, Y/N? In fact, she asked me how I’m feeling about Zandvoort and the rest of the season.”

“And?” Charles asked, a small smile on his face.

“Like I would tell you what’s going on with the car! I know Y/N can keep a secret, she would never betray me to a prancing horse. She bleeds papaya.”

You laughed along with Lando – the one point of contention that had always existed in your friendship with Charles. Of course, you became a Ferrari fan because of him, but you’d always been a McLaren and Mercedes loyalist. It was something that Lando, Oscar, and George relished in.

“Alright, alright, no need to rub it in, Norris,” you giggled. “What can I do for you, Charlie?”

“I just came to give you this.”

Within seconds, a perfectly peeled orange dropped in your lap. Lando’s eyes grew wide for a moment but a swift glare from Charles had his face back to normal in no time. You missed the interaction, jumping up from your seat in excitement.

“Aw, Charlie! You are the best friend a girl could ask for,” you chirped as you started separating the wedges of fruit.

“Ah, don’t mention it,” he sighed, waving his citrus-scented hand in the air. “There’s more in the cooler if you want! Freshly peeled!”

“Thank you, mon cher ami.” You quickly kissed his cheek, noticing as you pulled away just how red it was, along with his neck and the tips of his ears. “Charles! How many times do I have to tell you to put on sunscreen? Your face and neck are fried!”

“I don’t think it’s from the sun,” Lando mumbled, his eyes trained on the fruit in your hands. With Charles insisting he was fine, you could barely hear what he had said.

“What did you say, Lan?” You asked, turning your attention away from Charles for a moment.

Once again, Lando was met with a menacing glare and he laughed awkwardly before moving his gaze to the horizon.

“Nothing, nothing, Y/N. Just thinking out loud.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you turned back to Charles and handed him the orange he had just given to you. With your now free hands, you rifled through your beach bag until you found the SPF 50 face cream you had packed that morning with Charles in mind.

“Here, I packed this for you. Please put some on so I don’t have to worry about you getting sun poisoning,” you pleaded with your best puppy dog eyes.

Charles stared without answering for far too long – anything you wanted, all you had to do was ask him and he’d do it. Even without you gazing at him with your wide, siren eyes, he would give you the world if you so desired it.

He shook his head slightly, pulling himself out of the daze caused by your pleading eyes. “Oui, ma fleur, I will put on the sun cream. Je promets.”

You smiled in triumph, taking the orange back from Charles and bidding him a “see you later” before laying back down in your lounger. Popping an orange slice into your mouth, you let out a contented sigh. Somehow, whether Charles was magic or he had some serious connections in the produce world, the fruit he picked out and gave to you always tasted better than anything you bought yourself.

“He peels your oranges for you?”

You hummed and turned to Lando – “what, Lan?”

“Does Charles always peel your oranges for you?”

“Well, no, obviously not always. Why?”

Before Lando could answer, Lily plopped down next to you and stole an orange slice from your hand.

“I swear,” she huffed, “Alex and George are competitive to begin with, but when they get together, it’s unbearable. They’ve been having a “who can hold their breath the longest” contest for the past thirty minutes! Rematch after rematch after rematch, I called in my favor with Oscar to get out of judging their little competition.”

“As if either of them could beat me, they probably didn’t ask me to join because they’re scared,” Lando bragged. “I’ll leave you ladies to chat, go show them how it’s done.”

As Lando walked towards the edge of the boat, you and Lily turned towards one another.

“Men,” you scoffed in unison, following it up with belly laughs and lingering giggles.

As the laughter died down, Lily ate the orange slice she had stolen from you and practically moaned in delight. “Where did you get this orange? It might be the best I’ve ever had!”

“It’s from Charles! I was just thinking about this, I don’t know how he does it but he always has the best fruit. Every time he brings me any I am both ecstatic and pissed off – my fruit is never as good as his and we shop at the same grocery store!”

“Well, does he have any more oranges? I could eat 20 of these.”

“He said he left me more in his cooler, let me grab them.”

A few moments later, you walked back to Lily with a bag of peeled oranges in your right hand and two bottles of water in your left.

“Are you a professional orange peeler? You were only gone for two minutes.”

“Oh no,” you giggled, “Charles peeled them for me. He knows I don’t like peeling them so when he can, he always does it for me.”

“Y/N,” Lily looked at you suspiciously, “do you know what the orange peel theory is?”

You wracked your brain but came up empty. “No, what is it?”

Lily went into a brief explanation – something about how it became a viral tik tok challenge, people asking their partners if they would peel an orange for them and how it was an indicator of true love, soulmates, a healthy relationship, and everything in between. “Well, that’s just silly,” you mumbled through chews, orange juice dribbling down your chin. “I think it just means someone is a good person – Charlie and I aren’t anything more than friends and he peels my oranges, among other things, because he has a good heart.”

“Among other things?” Lily pressed you, her eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place.

“He slices my apples because I have never been able to master the apple corer contraption! And he takes all my grapes off the stems when he’s at my place because I never do – it’s too tedious.”

“What else?”

“Oh, when we go out to breakfast, he always brings me a tea when he picks me up. He’s an early riser and I take forever to get ready. He knows I never have time to make it myself when we have plans before 10am.”

Lily was smirking at you, no, smiling at you. It was a little unnerving, the way she was entirely amused at the information you were giving her. However, the moment was briefly interrupted by the arrival of Alex.

“What are we talking about, ladies?” He spoke cheerfully, a broad smile on his face which meant that he was most likely declared the best breath holder of the 2019 rookies.

“Y/N was just telling me about all the sweet things Charles does for her,” Lily gushed.

“Oh god, when is he not doing things for her? Did you see him buttering her bread for her at dinner last week?”

Lily burst out laughing while you playfully punched Alex’s arm. “I’m indecisive! He butters it for me while I read the menu since it takes me so long to figure out what I want to order. It saves time!”

“He does that on a regular basis?” Alex asked incredulously, looking at Lily with wide eyes. “My god, that man is head over heels.”

“Alex,” you protested, “Charles is not in love with me. We’ve been friends for six years, I think I would know by now.”

“You’re both impossible,” Alex groaned. “Come on, Lily, I just came over to get you so we could play water polo with George and Carmen.”

Lily sighed in defeat, though she had a smile on her face at the thought of spending time with Alex even if it meant another competition. “I’ll see you, later, yeah?” She called over her shoulder, waving goodbye as you teased her by dramatically eating another slice of orange and settling back in your chair. At the front of the boat, Charles was laughing with Pierre and almost as if he felt you looking, he turned around and met your gaze.

Even though you had just wholly denied anything more than friendship between you and him, you couldn’t help but think about your interactions with Lily and Alex.

Sure, Charles sometimes did things that were out of the ordinary for ‘just friends’, but he had the sweetest soul of anyone you’d ever met. He always sacrificed his umbrella or jacket for you, made sure you had fresh tulips in your apartment when he was home in between races, had your favorite meal delivered to you when you were having a rough day while he was away and you missed him.

You did things for him too – cleaned his apartment when you knew he was on his way back to Monaco, left him plenty of sticky notes with words of encouragement if he was coming back from a bad race, stocked his fridge full of his favorite things. Recently, you’d been gifting him annotated books because he mentioned he wanted to read more and always enjoyed listening to you talk about your favorite novels. Since you spent most of the year apart, you decided he could at least read your thoughts.

When you could come to races, unfortunately a rare occurrence due to your graduate classes and work schedule, he made sure Ferrari hospitality had your favorite flavor of sparkling water on hand. Anytime you saw a cute dog video, you would send it to him because they always made him smile.

You’d do anything to make him smile, just as he would for you, which is what a good friend would do. A best friend, it’s what a best friend would do.

But best friends didn’t linger in doorways and stare at each other’s lips when bidding each other goodnight. They didn’t cuddle close and fall asleep in each other’s arms on a couch while watching whatever movie you had chosen because he always let you choose.

They didn’t look at one another the way Charles was looking at you now – his sunglasses pushed up on top of his head and a dopey smile on his face. He waved to you and dramatically blew you a kiss, something he always did when he caught your eye across a room, no matter who was around.

You practically launched yourself to your feet, the last remaining orange slices in your lap falling to the lounger and staining the seat with juice. It was only seconds until you were standing in front of Charles but the walk over felt like an eternity with the way the world around you disappeared and your heart pounded in your chest.

“Est-ce que tu maimes, Charles?”

The question came out in one breath, your chest heaving in anticipation for his response.

“Of course, I love you, ma fleur,” he laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”

“No,” you panted. “Do you love me, Charlie? Est-ce que tu maimes?”

“Of course, I love you,” he answered again, his eyes shining and a small smile on his face that told you everything you needed to know. “Every time I think of you, I love you. Every time I breathe, I love you.”

“Every time you peel my oranges?” You whispered, holding up your orange juice-stained fingertips. He took your right hand in his and held it up to his face to kiss your palm, his eyelashes fluttering against you gently.

“Especially when I peel your oranges. Did you know that I hate doing it too? Like, really hate it. I don’t even peel them for myself.”

You gasped in shock, watching as he threw his head back and laughed jovially.

“I’d do anything for you, ma fleur. Mon soleil. Mon cœur.”

“Would you kiss me?”

“Maybe if Pierre would leave and stop gawking at us.”

This time you threw your head back to laugh, Charles soon joining you as Pierre protested the accusation.

“No, no,” he shouted, “you didn’t even give me a chance to leave. Just started declaring your love before I knew what was happening. Which, by the way, was so obvious it was starting to get annoying. We’ve all tried dropping hints to both of you so I don’t know who got through to you, Y/N, but – ”

“Pierre!” You shouted, eyes wide and arm gesturing him away from the two of you.

“Ah, désolé, I’m leaving,” he grumbled, almost tripping over his own feet to get away as quickly as possible.

You giggled again and Charles gripped your chin softly, pulling your eyes away from Pierre and back to face him.

He leaned in gently, as if he was afraid you would back away and regret taking the leap to go from friends to something so much more.

He tasted like salt water, smelled like sweet fruit and sunscreen – you smiled into the kiss knowing that he had listened to you and put it on, even though you knew he hated the way it felt on his skin.

His fingers gripped your waist and yours trailed up his chest – both of you slightly sticky from the citrus juices and sweat from the sun.

You pulled away and nudged his nose with yours, breathing him in and wishing that this moment would never end. Charles lowered you both to the sun deck, adjusting until you were sitting between his legs and his arms were wrapped firmly around you, the two of you facing the sunset and open sea.

After a few moments, you broke the shared silence. “You know, I would have happily peeled an orange for you if you had ever asked me,” you asserted.

Charles’ hold on you softened at your admission, the thinly veiled meaning not at all lost on him as he pressed his lips to your cheek.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

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