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iloveboysinred · 1 day

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WEST DISTRICT [Saturo Gojo]rewrite

18+ mdni | Gojo x fem reader smut, sequel to you've been missed

synopsis; The days following you and Gojo's encounter, nothing much had really changed. You didn't know how he always found his way into your life. One night, he decides to take you out, his heart on his sleeve as he tries to win you back.

cw; sappy Gojo, three seconds of possessive Gojo, shower sex, p in v sex, oral (fem receiving, Saturo is a munch, change my mind..) "stop running" kind of activities, porn with feelings, minimal use of y/n (I don't think I used it at all), smutty smut smut MDNI!!!!!!!!1 lmk if I missed anything, minimally proofread, written by an amateur :')

5.4k words

decided to rewrite this because I didn't like the first version at all, hope you enjoy sweet cookie bear readers :3 listened to this song while I wrote

masterlist

You had to admit slowly cutting Gojo out of your life was something you never thought possible to begin with.

All the time you had spent chasing after him and pining for his attention, you tried to now invest in yourself; improving your cursed technique, spending more time with your co-sorcerers, even indulging in new hobbies to keep yourself occupied.

But it was hard to ignore him. He was everywhere all the time.

Besides the few times where you would accidentally lock eyes, catching him glancing over at you on more than one occasion, you would hear chatter about him at Jujutsu Tech. Or irritatingly enough, your friends would ask questions about him, wondering why you never seemed to bring him up anymore. It seemed like no matter where you went, Gojo would follow.

It was frustrating, trying to pretend he didn’t exist when he constantly made his presence in your world known, even if it wasn’t on purpose.

What made it worse was the fact that things hadn’t changed much from that night. Gojo still couldn’t find time in his schedule to text you, let alone call you. It stung, sure, but you weren’t the slightest bit surprised. The only thing you could say is that his gaze lingered on you longer than it used to, and he made somewhat more of an effort to try and communicate with you in person. It was nice, but you still felt like he wasn’t treating you as a priority.

“I just need you to be patient, okay?”

His words from that night still buzzed around in your head, making you feel even more bitterness at the fact that since then he still hadn’t really made time for you. You thought maybe you were just overreacting, it had only been three days since the last time you had sex with him, and everyone knew he was a busy man. Knowing this you tried to be patient, but you just don’t know how much longer you could keep waiting.

So, here you were, laying in bed cozied up and watching your favorite tv show. It was hard to pay attention, your mind elsewhere, the tv empty background noise to the thoughts coursing through your mind. It was late and you thought you’d probably be heading to bed soon, but you couldn’t sleep, distracted by anxiously glancing at your phone once in a while, just to end up disappointed when the screen remained blank.

Your mind wandered over to Gojo, shamefully feeling giddy at the thought of him, his hair, his eyes, his body– down to the way he knew how to pleasure you so well. It was times like these that you wished he was there.

The warmth in your chest almost made you feel pitiful, reminding yourself that he had to earn the right to have access to you.

You gave your phone one last solemn glance before just deciding to pick it up, the stupidly cliché thought of “what's the worst that can happen?” convincing you to send Gojo a text.

“Saturday 7:30 A.M” “Good morning, pretty ❤️” “Good morning, toru” was the last exchange between the two of you before there had been radio silence on both ends. You stared at the texts for a second, pondering on what to send him. Should you ask what he was doing? No, it’s 8:00, what else could he be doing besides sitting at home? Maybe you should ask if he wanted to go out somewhere tomorrow– but then it would defeat the entire point of making him put in the effort. Your internal debate ended when your eyes caught the text bubble popping up on your screen. He was typing. You sat up a little in anticipation, turning your read receipts off just so he wouldn’t know you were stalking his messages.

“Heyyy pretty girl 🥰 whatcha doingggg?”

You turned your phone off, setting it aside and trying to focus on the tv. Stopping yourself from responding too quickly. You ignored your phone when it pinged again, swallowing down your anxious excitement. You felt like a highschool girl fawning over your crush. It was almost embarrassing how hard you had to force down the urge to respond.

But then it just kept going. Ping after ping until you caved in and checked your phone.

“Toru <333 (26 new messages) “

Swiping up you gaped at the barrage of messages, the text bubble reappearing right as you opened the chat.

“What is it, Gojo ? 26 messages is crazy.”

“Read receipts off, baby? I knew you were ignoring me 😣”

“You’re one to complain. Sorry I'm not waiting hand and foot for you anymore.”

You felt as if you were being unnecessarily cold, almost wanting to send a cheeky remark to soothe the sting of your response. But you didn’t, waiting patiently to see what he would say next. Afterall you were still on the fence about him, deciding a few rude words didn’t seem like a big deal compared to the way he has been acting for months now.

“Ouch, pretty girl. You’re so mean to little ol’ me… anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to go out to eat with me tonight?”

You looked down at yourself for a second, considering his offer. Your bed was comfortable and you didn’t really plan on going anywhere, your pajamas and tousled hair evidence of that. But then again, you were always cooped up in your apartment, and this kind of energy was exactly what you’d been asking him for. You texted him your agreement and he told you to be ready by 9. You’d taken your time getting ready, pampering yourself and making sure you looked nothing short of ravishing. You opted for a sleek navy cocktail dress and some black heels, your hair pinned and framing your face perfectly, your simple outfit paired with some light perfume, the elegant scent sure to attract some compliments on your night out.

It was 9:10 when you heard a series of knocks on your door, signifying that Gojo had arrived. Glancing yourself over one last time, you opened the door to let him in. It seemed as though he had opted to keep it simple as well, wearing a plain white button up and some slacks, his blindfold gone in exchange for a simple pair of sunglasses. He greeted you, pulling a singular rose from behind his back and handing it over, a bright smile on his face. “You look amazing, y/n” he looked you over a couple of times, drinking you in. You gave him a small smile, setting the rose down on your countertop. The gesture made you want to melt, but you reminded yourself once again that this was just half a step towards him making everything up to you.

“Well, let's go. Are you just gonna stand there, Gojo?” you quipped, impatient to get going. “Sorry, just wanted to check you out a bit, baby” He smirked when you rolled your eyes, grabbing your hand in his and leading you outside.

The ride was getting to about 30 minutes from your place, you and Gojo driving through the city in comfortable silence. You would occasionally catch him throwing fleeting glances at you, his grip on the steering wheel tight. You could tell he was nervous about something, but you couldn’t figure out what it was. He wouldn’t tell you where you were going, or what he had planned. It was almost making your nerves act up as well, briefly wondering if he was planning to murder you or something.

You pushed those thoughts away though, when you pulled up in front of a beautiful restaurant. It was cozy, warm lighting filtering through the blinds and jazz music faintly humming from the inside. White curtains flowing freely from the windows on the second floor balcony overlooking the city underneath. It was probably the nicest restaurant you’d ever been to. Making you confused when you noticed that nobody was inside, only a handful of waiters and waitresses standing behind the counter.

“Come on, pretty. I reserved the whole place for us.” You looked at him in mild shock, Gojo looking away from you to fumble with the car keys, turning the ignition off and stepping out, coming around to open your door and help you out of the passenger seat. The place looked so much prettier now that you were standing in front of it. “Wow Gojo this is…a lot.” an anxious look briefly came over him, glancing between you and the building. “Is it too much?” you shook your head, offering him a shy smile. “It’s perfect, Gojo.. thank you.”

Walking in you were cheerily greeted by a waitress, bringing you up to the second floor to a balcony seat, placing down the two menus on the table. You barely caught the exchange of looks she and Gojo exchanged, the view in front of you capturing your attention almost immediately. You weren’t that high up, but you could still see the glittering lights from the buildings and skyscrapers in the distance. The breeze carried with it faint scents of food and the sounds of the city, blowing your hair out of your face, the flames from the candles dancing in the direction the wind was going.

You could feel Gojo’s stare, and you turned to meet it. Locking eyes for a second before he hurriedly picked up the menu.

“Gojo..” your voice was so sweet, warming his chest and encouraging him to peek at you from over the laminated piece of paper. You looked so beautiful, it took his breath away. So many questions and regrets swirling in his mind. How could he deny himself of you for so long? Why did he push you away when you were always right in front of him, waiting for him to be the person you deserved? He sighed, dropping the menu back down on the table, reaching over to grab your hand in his. “ I want to really apologize,” he knew he was starting in the right direction, but he just couldn’t get the words out, his anxiety of what you might say choking him up.

“I should’ve never said those words to you that night– I should’ve been treating you better from the beginning, honestly. I want to ask for your forgiveness. You’re so much more to me than a booty call. I care for you. I really do. I don't care what the higher ups or anybody has to say. I want you to be mine, and I want to be yours.” His eyes bore into yours, heart dropping to his stomach when you pulled your hands away, looking at him with hesitation. He couldn’t blame you, though. The last thing he deserved from you was forgiveness. It was only fair that you broke his heart a fraction of how he had broken yours multiple times.

“Honestly, Saturo.. I think it’ll take a little more than a few nice words and a pretty restaurant for you to erase everything you put me through. I need more effort from you. This is our first date ever and I've known you for years. I deserve better than a text here and there and a once in the blue moon call. I want you to change, okay? “ You stared at him imploringly, sitting up to wrap your arms around yourself. “ I’ve had feelings for you since I met you, but we never went anywhere. I’m just afraid you’re gonna keep wasting my time.. “ His chest tightened, bringing his hands back over, grabbing yours from their secure place in your arms. “Baby, I swear to you– on everything I love that I won’t. I’ll be the man you deserve. I’ll change and I'll be somebody that makes you happy, okay? Just give me one last chance.”

Your face softened at his groveling, the expression of pure sincerity and pleading in his eyes making your heart clench with affection. It was so unlike him, to be so soft like this, and it felt good knowing he was doing it for you. “Okay..” he smiled at you, sweetly bringing your hand up to press a warm kiss to your knuckles. “Okay, baby.”

The night went by smoothly, you chatted, ate, danced and laughed. It was getting late now, and when you were readying yourself to leave the same waitress from before scurried up to your table, setting down a plate with a big slice of your favorite kind of cake, the words “Be my girlfriend;)” written in chocolate icing neatly decorating the plate. You looked up at Gojo with a blank look on your face, raising your eyebrows at his smug face. “Really, Saturo?” “If you don’t answer I'll eat it.” You rolled your eyes, picking up your fork and taking a piece into your mouth “We’ll see, okay?” he deflated a little, but still reached over to pick up a fork, taking his share. “You really shouldn’t eat with your mouthfull” “oh shut up, Gojo”

When you got back in the car the atmosphere was lighter, soft music playing from the radio, the two of you sharing little stories and jokes. It was nice, and for the first time you felt content with him, allowing those same feelings you had been trying to forget come rushing back. You watched him as he drove, lazily leaning back, steering with one hand on the wheel. He looked so good and you couldn’t help but squeeze your knees together, filthy memories swirling around in your head. Quickly, you look back outside, trying to distract yourself watching the city pass you by in a blur.

You pulled up in front of Gojo's home, deciding you should head back to his place and leave for Jujutsu Tech together the following morning. It wasn’t as extravagant as you’d think it was, but definitely bigger than the average home. It was a bit of a distance away from the city, sitting in a secluded area surrounded by trees and other plant life. The place was vacant, and quiet, you briefly reminded yourself that Gojo spent most of his time at the school, and Megumi lived in the dorms.

Gojo opened the car door, helping you step out and walk up the cobblestone walkway, mindful of the fact you had on heels. When you walked in he helped steady you as you took them off, dropping them right next to the door, the wooden floors cold under your bare feet. You’d been to his house a few times in the past, so you somewhat knew your way around, walking up to the grand kitchen, always clean from its lack of use. Gojo came up behind you, holding onto your waist and nuzzling his face into your neck. while you poured yourself a glass of water.

“Hey Gojo” “hmm?” “Do you have any soap and towels? I wanna take a shower.” You felt him smile into your neck “can we take one together, pretty girl?” he hummed, rocking you side to side. You paused for a second, thinking it over. Showers with Gojo could never just be showers. He always had his hands on you, pressing up against you so you could feel how hard you had made him. He always got so touchy; threading his fingers through your hair, sucking red marks into the side of your neck.

“Yeah...yeah Let's go” walking to his room he pulled out a pair of fluffy white towels from the closet, handing you one. You set it on the bed, opting to get out of your clothes right there instead of having to carry everything back with you. You stood in front of the mirror, catching a glimpse of Gojo behind you, watching you as you stripped right in front of him. You slipped the dress over your head. He sauntered over to you; pressing himself against your body. “Fuck…no panties, baby?” he rasped, making chills flit up and down your spine. “Mmhm” you teasingly whined your hips back into him, giggling at the low moan he breathed right by your ear. “Can we skip the shower, pretty girl? I think I'll lose my mind if I don't get a taste of you right now..” you reached up, placing your hand on his cheek, Gojo melting into your touch. He was so desperate, grabbing your hips and anchoring them against him, pressing your ass harder against his crotch. “Please..please, baby.” he whined, pressing light kisses against the side of your neck. You almost wanted to give in when you felt his hardening bulge against you.

You pulled away from him, suppressing a laugh at the stricken look that overcame his face, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around yourself, obstructing his view of you. “Don’t be gross, Saturo. We’re sweaty. We’re taking a shower” he rolled his eyes, grabbing his towel and following you into the bathroom.

Steam shrouded the glass of the shower doors, the heated water stinging your skin, your muscles relaxing in satisfaction. Saturo held you in his arms, his woefully resting his cheek against your shoulder. His fine strands of hair tickling your neck.

The warmth of his body made you want to doze off. He lazily rubbed your soapy washcloth up and down your back, playfully rubbing it over the swell of your ass, flicking the soapy cloth against your skin, snickering when your head parted from his collarbone, looking up at him with a bleary glare.

You looked so pretty right there, the steam made the warm color of your lips stand out, the droplets of water collecting in your eyelashes, dribbling down your skin tempting him to kiss you. He pressed his lips to yours, letting his eyes fall shut, blissful of the warmth radiating from your body.

Gojo quietly sighed into the kiss when you followed his lead. Pressing your lips back against his, holding onto his shoulders and deepening the kiss. He could feel his heart beating miles a minute and he swore he would die right there; relishing the feel of your lips on his.

He ran his hands down your sides, squeezing your hips affectionately, chasing your lips when you pulled away. Separating from you was making him dizzy, the steam in the bathroom causing sweat to sheen above his brow, the air you stole from his lungs making him struggle to catch his breath.

“Toru…” you mumbled, pressing your lips so sweetly to the corner of his mouth, his heart clenching at the nickname. “I love when you call me that, baby..” he breathed, his crotch against yours, the beginning of an erection hard pressed against the skin of your navel. “You haven’t called me that in a good long while, pretty girl..” you closed your eyes, leaning your forehead against his collarbone. His body loomed over you, his lips pressing nips and kisses to the side of your neck. “Say it again, baby..” he bit down softly on the junction of your neck and shoulder, his soapy hands coming down to grip the swell of your ass, kneading it firmly, the washcloth long forgotten, discarded somewhere on the floor.

“I never knew you liked it” his had creeped down to the underside of your thigh, picking your leg up and wrapping it around his waist. He backed you into the shower wall, eyes gazing into yours. His pupils were shot, droplets dripping from his hair, and running down the front of his face. The tip of his dick kissed the skin of your pussy, the firm head of his dick bumping against your clit as he rubbed himself against you. “Anything sounds good coming from your lips” he breathed, and you smiled, placing a sweet kiss right to his collarbone.

Looking down, you watched his length slide back and forth between your thighs, the friction making heat slowly rise in your core, warmth swarming in your chest at the blatant display of his need for you. “Toru, stop teasing me, its fucking hot in here” the heat in the room was frustrating, the steam from the shower and the warmth radiating from his body making you hazy. You didn't know how much longer you could let him tease you. He chuckled breathlessly at your impatience, leaning his forehead against yours. “I got you, baby.” You sighed in satisfaction when he hoisted you up, your back against the wall, his arms supporting you against the slippery surface. He reached down, teasingly rubbing the tip of his dick over your folds, tracing it over your clit a few times, making you whine, squeezing him the best you could with your legs around him.

He groaned, sliding into you. Your warm walls wrapped around him snuggly. Sucking him into your velvety walls, your pussy was a tight fit around his dick. He pumped you so full, your walls fluttered around his girth, thick tip slightly curved up from your position, pressing against your g-spot, the texture of your walls stimulating him perfectly. He rolled his hips in tight circles, slow fucking you, dragging his dick along your walls in a steady rythm. It was hard, not letting himself go and beating your walls loose, especially when you looked so good in his arms, sighing his name with every slow drag of his hips, your head falling on his shoulder, nipping at his neck no doubt marking him up. It was nothing short of heavenly, being right here with you now.

You melted into his arms, closing your eyes in bliss, your breathing picking up with his change of pace. All you could do was call out his name. Your hands searched for something to ground yourself with, pressure building at your core. It was overwhelmingly hot now in the bathroom, his warm body working against yours and the steam from the shower blinding you, making it hard to focus on anything besides the man in front of you. He rocked his hips into you, hitting against the spongy wall of your g-spot. His thrusts were consistent and well-aimed, soft grunts falling from his lips, eyebrows furrowing with effort.

You were crumbling beneath him, hushed curses escaping your lips, raking your nails down his back. The squelching sound of your wet pussy sucking him in was spurring him on, not letting up for a second. You felt yourself flutter around him, his thick dick stretching you open, dragging out moan after moan from your lips. It was sweet torture, the way his pelvis smacked against your ass with every thrust, barley even pulling out to roll back into you. The force of his movements makes you slowly slide down the wall, his arms struggling to hold you up against the slick surface.

“Hold on, baby” he pulled out of you, your legs turning to jelly when he set you down. He turned off the shower, sliding the shower door open. The bathroom was foggy, making it hard not to stumble on your way out and into the bedroom.

He eagerly laid you on the bed, crawling down in between your legs. He eased your knees apart, coming face to face with your pussy, your skin still damp. He happily sighed, languidly lapping up at your folds, sticky with the essence of your arousal. You felt your legs tense on his shoulders, Gojo spreading your thighs apart, holding them open as he tongued you down, burying his face into your pussy.

His lips slurped your clit up, softly sucking on the bud, flicking against it with his tongue. He hummed when your hands found his hair, running your fingers through the damp locs, shuddering when he pressed his nose against the skin of your mound, running his tongue over your folds, continuously coming back up to your clit. His eyes were closed, blissfully eating you out. You whined his name, rocking yourself against his tongue. He was taking his time with you, drinking in every last drop of your leaking arousal. The pressure in your core returned, your body tingling with pleasure.

He could feel you tensing into his mouth, now look up at you with half-lidded eyes. You gasped, feeling him latch his lips around your clit and suckling on it hard, humming against your pussy in satisfaction. Your muscles tightened, a low keen escaping you when you came, your legs closing around his head. He continued to suckle on your bud, flicking the tip of his tongue to grant you extra stimulation. It was like he was on auto-pilot, his lips never leaving your clit, your body convulsing under him, helplessly jerking into his mouth. After a few minutes the overstimulation was getting to be too much for you, weakly you pushed at his forehead, shying away from his mouth on your swollen heat.

He dragged his tongue up your slit one final time, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to your navel, your stomach rising and falling with the labor of your breaths. He propped himself up on his elbows, laying his weight on your body and gazing at you, watching you try and catch your breath.

“You alright, baby?” he asked, looking over your face, his eyes softening at you. You threaded your fingers through his hair, tousling it, smiling down at him, appreciating how handsome he looked when he was so disheveled, his eyes were still unfocused, his chin still glistened with the juices of your orgasm. It made you all the more needy, blood recirculating through your body, clit hardening once more, gazing at him through half lidded eyes. His fucked out look making warmth swell inside you. Your weeping pussy clenched around thin air, the room temperature making your clit all the more sensitive after your orgasm.

“I’m okay, toru.. I just need you right now.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss between the valley of your breasts, one hand coming up to softly knead your flesh, rolling his thumb over your nipple distractedly. “Is that right?” his eyes flitted back to your face, crawling up to be at eye level with you. He leaned forward to brush his lips against yours, hands coming down to spread your legs wider once more. “Yes, toru.. Please..” Your body was still hot from your most recent orgasm, the wetness between your thighs uncomfortably sticky, you could feel his hard length right below you, tip kissing the skin of your mound. “Please? Please what?” His voice was playful, almost teasing, his tone dropping down to a low murmur. You felt hot frustration bubbling up inside you, tired of his relentless teasing and prodding.

“Toru, just fuck me already, please” you pleaded, grabbing the back of his head and slamming his lips onto yours to convey your desperation. Gojo laughed into the kiss, pressing his lips harder against yours, tracing his tongue along your bottom lip. You pulled away, a thin string of saliva connecting you to him, your eyes half lidded, panting with the effort of holding yourself up.

He leaned back, kneeling between your legs for a second, admiring the sight of your sopping cunt in front of him. He almost wanted to lean down and have his fill of you again, to tease you a little longer. But the uncomfortable ache of his dick, that's been hard for much too long, and the look of pure, carnal lust in your eyes persuaded him against it. He hastily grabbed your thighs, dragging you down so that your ass was flush against his thighs, flushed, leaking tip pressed right up against your pussy lips, throbbing with need. He braced himself, pushing into you at an agonizingly slow pace, watching your pussy suck in every last inch he had to offer. Your wet, aching pussy engulfed him, your post orgasm sensitivity making your walls twitch around him. He stayed there for a second, leaning his head back, eyebrows slightly furrowed in bliss.

He allowed a low groan to fall from his lips, moving his hips slowly forward, your walls expanding, fluttering to welcome his girth. He closed his eyes, leaning over your body, folding you in half against his lean build. “I’ve deprived myself of you for so long, baby” he grunted, hips steadily increasing in rhythm, rocking into you, his thrusts well aimed and precise, beating against your g-spot with vigor.

His movements felt so intense, your sensitivity amplifying the sensations he made you feel. There was nothing but static clouding your head, you couldn’t focus on anything but him inside of you, filling you to the brim with dick. It was hard to pay attention to what he was saying, his voice nothing but a murmur to your ears.

“I know i told you to be patient, baby..” you wheezed at a particularly rough thrust, hand coming down to press against his lower stomach “T-toru- ah! Baby, s-slow down” you whimpered, head lolling back when he ground his hips into you, seeing stars in your vision from the white hot pleasure shooting up your spine. “I-i told you to wait for me” he continued, panting, staring at you with half-lidded eyes, working his length into you.

He was slowly losing his mind at the way your body reacted to him. The sounds of your pussy squelching only turning him on. “But i’m tired of waiting, baby.” he slapped your hand away, fucking into you at such a pace you felt like he was gonna split you in two. “You’re mine” he growled, burying himself deep, so deep his pelvis was pressed hard against the hilt of your mound, his fingers coming down to pinch and roll your neglected clit between his fingers, attaching his lips to your neck, biting and sucking his marks into you, solidifying his statement. “Oh my god- Saturo! Fuck, baby, s-s’good” you squealed, shutting your eyes tight, fists gripping the sheets so hard the cover sheet was starting to slip off the mattress. “I know baby, only i get to fuck you like this, you understand?” he grunted, losing himself in the way your walls massaged his length, nothing but pure bliss running through him. The headboard rocked with the force of his thrusts, stroking your walls with a harsh rhythm, the stimulation on your clit sending you into euphoria. “I said.. Do. you. Understand?” he snapped his hips with every word, glaring into your teary eyes. You gasped, nodding your head frantically, too fucked out to even use your words properly. “Y-yes toru-aagh” you spoke in babbles, feeling like you were floating, his fingers on your clit and his thrusts making your soul ascend from your body.

It was all too much at once, your mouth running dry as you came again, body jerking helplessly under Gojo’s weight. Your head is thrown all the way back, tears blurring your vision from the impact of your orgasm. He eased you through it, moaning into your neck as your walls repeatedly constrict and release along his length, a ring of creamy white collecting at his base. His thrusts significantly slowed down, careful not to overwhelm you while chasing his own release.

You felt him spill into you, the warm, running substance of his cum dribbling down your thighs when he pulled out of you. You felt winded, limply laying on the bed– the feeling in your legs long gone, your body exhausted. The bed shifted, Gojo leaving for the bathroom and returning with a small towel, wiping you and himself down, trying to stop the mess between your legs from soiling the sheets.

He flopped down next to you, bringing you into his chest as he always did, bringing the duvet over to cover you. The silence was comfortable, the two of you basking in the afterglow. You spent the rest of the night exchanging soft kisses and sweet words of affection to each other, enjoying your moment of peace together. For once you felt hopeful, no longer afraid to embrace him; and Gojo felt the same, holding you close with care, letting you doze off in his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

In the morning, despite your soreness he took you again, and again. In the kitchen, in the living room- in the shower, again. He was addicted to you, to your body. He couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest seeing you fast asleep in his bed, wearing his white button up, the thick duvet shielding you from his view. Yaga had blown your phones up multiple times, but neither of you really cared, enjoying each other’s company, exploring each other’s bodies.

It was then he decided, watching you snuggle up into his sheets, neck littered with bites and blooming bruises– that he would do anything, anything in the world to keep you. Even something as small as picking the phone up when you called.

taglist, requested by these lovely people(I hope you don't mind me tagging you again); @sharycatx3 @fatcatsfallingfromthesky @kalulakunundrum @elilovesall @laviefantasie

@sadmonke @toffeebrat @frozenmallows @ilovebattinson

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freelancearsonist · 3 days

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hunger

➔ Lucy MacLean (Fallout) x AFAB!Reader

➔ 0.8k words

➔ You teach your best friend something new.

➔ Rated MA // oral (reader receiving), a little bit of internalized homophobia, reader is afab (female anatomy, no pronouns used), two (2) okie dokies

➔ This happened bc @ozarkthedog challenged me to write some lucy porn with no plot (thank you my love <3) i have this condition where i can't write anything less than 1k so i was shook this came to me so easily hopefully it doesn't suck fjsfjslfjs

“I’ve never…”

“We don’t have to,” you quickly counter. The last thing you want to do is pressure Lucy into new territory.

She looks up at you from her position against the pillows with the biggest, prettiest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. “I want to,” she says with an earnest nod that sends her long hair out around her head like a dark halo. “I really want to.”

“Okay.”

This goes against everything you’ve been taught since the two of you were kids. Sex is for reproduction, not pleasure. It’s nothing more than goal-based. It’s all bullshit, of course, and you’ve never been quiet about your thoughts on that–much to the quiet chagrin of the leadership. You hadn’t realized until recently, though, that your childhood best friend feels the same way.

In a flash she’s got you trapped in her arms so she can roll on top of you, drawing a surprised gasp from your lips at the quick flip. She’s a lot stronger than she looks.

“I’ve never been on this side,” she murmurs, breath warm against your neck. “You’re gonna have to show me what to do.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and at first no words come. How long have you wanted to be in this exact position with this exact girl? How could words even hope to convey all the thoughts rushing through your brain right now? “I can do that.”

“Okie dokie.”

Her lips are so soft. There’s a heady contrast between her firm grip on your hips and the feather-light way she makes her way down the expanse of your stomach. There’s confidence in everything Lucy Maclean does, but she looks up at you now as she kisses your hip and there’s nerves swirling in those chocolate brown irises. Underneath her self-assuredness, there’s always been a fear of failure. It’s something you’ve comforted her through a lot over the years.

“Do I just… go for it?”

You can’t help smiling at that wide-eyed eagerness to learn and to please. “You know what feels good to you?”

She nods, fingers unconsciously massaging your spread thighs. She’s already so good at this without even realizing it.

“Start with that, and we’ll go from there.”

She nods again, and that look crosses her face. It’s one you’ve been familiar with since you were both in velcro shoes–sheer determination, resolution to rise to a challenge. You’ve always admired that look. Lucy “never backs down” MacLean is a badass, and you’re lucky to call her your best friend.

She starts with light little kitten licks to your clit, whining as her hips shift to grind against the mattress from your taste alone. She’s a little light on the pressure but you moan anyway to show her she’s on the right track. “That’s it baby, a little harder…”

“I won’t hurt you?”

Your hand comes down to cup her cheek, silently reassuring. “No, honey, you can be rough with it. Feels so good.”

She’s always taken constructive criticism in stride–she pulls away for just a moment to readjust her grip on your spread thighs, and then she returns with vigor. This time, when she seals her lips around your clit and sucks, your moan isn’t even remotely fabricated.

“Like that?” She asks, a proud smile flickering at the corners of her lips as she lets her tongue trail down to taste you properly.

“Yeah, Lucy, fuck.”

“You taste good,” she murmurs into your cunt, matter-of-fact. You can’t help smiling, even through the whine that escapes you as she returns to your clit.

“You’re doing great,” you praise as your fingers tangle into her hair. So soft, so well cared for. Always prim and proper–you love that you get to be the one to unwind her like this.

She’s a remarkably fast learner–in just a few quick minutes, and she has you whining and bucking your hips on the edge of a precipice.

“Oh god Lucy, I’m gonna–”

But you don’t get to finish your sentence, because she doesn’t relent. Her lips seal around your clit and she doesn’t let up until you’re gushing, simultaneously trying to push her away and pull her closer.

“Wow,” she breathes reverently. “Was that good?”

“Incredible,” you sigh. Your bones feel like liquid–it’s all you can do to pull her up into a messy kiss. The taste of your own arousal on your beautiful best friend’s tongue is nothing short of euphoric.

She keeps her mouth locked to yours for a long moment, then you can feel her lips twist into a broad grin. “I want to do it again.”

“Easy killer,” you say with a breathy little chuckle. “It’s your turn first.”

Her eyes widen for a moment, and then she’s nodding her head rapidly. “Okie dokie.”

➔ beta: @ozarkthedog ; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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#lucy maclean #lucy maclean x reader #lucy maclean smut #lucy maclean fanfic #fallout fanfic #fallout #cece writes

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vampzity · 7 hours

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spidey senses | J.YH

"when nothing adds up i’ll be your number, you’re 106 and i’m 94." — 200, mark

pairing: spider-man! yunho x gn! reader

genre: ateez, drabble, spider-man au, fluff, jeong yunho

synopsis: you were always very close with yunho, but you never quite knew who he really was whenever he made excuses to leave or cancel plans with you. as close as you felt with yunho, you didn’t realize you were close with someone else in the process.

wc:

a/n: i love spiderman. i needed a spidey yunho idea to be written so here we are ! mark’s new mv just urged my will to do it. not my favorite piece, but I really wanted to write it and keep it short! *not proofread*

[warnings]: cursing, really no other warnings but that

“Where the heck is he?”

You sat on your bed, annoyed as you continued to check your phone. He should’ve been here by now, but of course, he was late as usual.

You and Yunho were supposed to go out to a new cafe that opened in town. It closed at eight and the plan was to leave at five, but when you had checked the time, it was now pushing 7:30.

It didn’t help that today was the day you were planning to admit your feelings to him, determined to take the weight that’s sat on top of your shoulders for so long. You two have been close for some time, so what could go wrong? There was a chance he had felt the same, no?

You sighed heavily, taking off your shoes and jacket as disappointment filled your heart. This was the 4th time this week he had been late, or even a “no-show,” and you were tired. Just as you were going to lay down, a tall man flew in through your window, wearing red and blue.

“What the fuck?!!” you yelled, throwing your shoe at the figure in your room.

The shoe flew at his head, earning a groan out of him as he grabbed the back in pain. Your eyes widened at his suit, realizing the similar spider webbed pattern layered across it.

Did Spider-man really just fly through your window?!

The man sighed heavily and began to turn to you., rubbing the back of his head softly as he held his mask in his other hand.

“Dude, you know I come into your window all the time.. why would you hit me???”

Your eyes widened as you two stood face to face. Your face in utter shock as he came into view. Did he even realize his mask was off? Surely, right? Maybe he wasn’t the smartest superhero everyone made him out to be.

“Yunho?!” you spoke, your eyes practically popping out of your head as his own did with you.

He quickly looked down, seeing the mask scrunched in his hands. It was at this point that Yunho knew there was no going back, and now he had to come clean. What excuse could he possibly make to you? Especially in such a quick amount of time? It was inevitable.

“Shit.” he brought his free hand up to his face, shaking his head softly as he realized his stupidity. “Well.. uh, let me explain myself.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting to the side in bed as you made room for him to sit down. He took a seat, sighing as he tired to explain the ordeal to you; from how he was bit, to when. How he had gotten used to his powers and ultimately decided to use it for good. It also brought answers to the billions of questions you’d have over his whereabouts, as to why he was always so late to hang out with you or even why he ditched you at times.

You punched him in the arm, crossing your hands as you sat there in disbelief. Yunho looked at you with a shy smile, unsure of how you may take the news.

“You idiot. You should’ve told me.” you mumbled, holding onto his hand.

He shrugged and squeezed your hand softly. “I didn’t want you to worry about me. It’s a big responsibility, you know?”

You nodded, standing up as you pulled him with you. You took the mask from his hand, placing it over his eyes. His face turned red as he felt your hands rest in his, still unable to see where you were.

“I was still worried about your whereabouts, Yunho. I hope you can learn to trust me.”

You both exchanged a smile as you rested your hand against his cheek. Pulling his face to yours, you rested your lips on his softly. Your lips intertwined as his hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. His lips were warm against yours, making your heart beat out of your chest.

You pulled away from him, keeping your eyes low as he pulled his mask up from his own. He smiled at you softly, his hand coming up to your chin. He lifted your head slowly to look at him, kissing you one more time before beginning to speak.

“I don’t think you understand how long I’ve waited to do that.” he chuckled softly, his cheeks as red as blood.

You blushed, feeling your heart rest as he calmed your nerves with his confession. The weight you once felt living on your shoulders, was now gone. He did feel the same, felt the exact same as you. Your bond was too strong, not even a mere superhero confession could break that apart. It only made you stronger, and you were grateful for that.

“Does this mean I’m your sidekick?” you smiled cheekly, a laugh escaping you as he rolled his eyes.

“Hmm… I’m not sure..”

Yunho wrapped his arm around your waist, placing his mask back on and bringing you toward the window. He opened it, bringing you both out onto the fire escape.

“How about we go for a ride and find out, hm?”

You looked up at him, your eyes lighting up. You wrapped your around his chest and neck, holding on tightly as he prepared to take off. He tilted his head at you, signaling to you that he was smiling under his mask.

“Alrighty spidey sidekick, hold on tight.”

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#—♡vampzity #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez atiny #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #atiny #ateez yunho #yunho x reader #jeong yunho #spiderman #ateez drabbles

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yuriisclumsy · 3 days

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What if there was an AU for [Name] being one of the top ranked mages in twisted wonderland?

╰Description: [Name] is one of the top mage in Twisted Wonderland, right after Malleus Draconia.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (You are here)

—May 3, 2024—

Thought… This is a continuation on the What if there was an AU for [Name] being one of the top ranked mages in twisted wonderland?

So far—over a month—the students of NRC have become accustomed with [Name]...kind of.

What do I mean by kind of?

Let’s just say that those who have her are now dying to get out of the class. Too bad for them because their one-week deadline has passed, and now they can’t. At least they want to lose the credit and money.

Turns out, having a pretty girl as your professor doesn’t make up for the torture you’ll endure.

Now, everyone is afraid to even approach [Name]. She doesn’t mind this, in fact, she quite likes it. Peace and silence. The two things she adores the most.

So much as to get the students to participate more. Thank Crowly for this.

In the month [Name] had been teaching, all she’s done is give theory. Heavy for those that have advanced places, and slightly less for those who have normal classes. Though you’ll be damned if you thought that she’ll have it easy on you if you have normal classes with her. Aduece Duo and Grim are probably off complaining to Yuu about how difficult the class is.

The members of the cast that follow rules and usually are studious find this class a bit…too much. But, not enough to make you want to jump off a bridge. The other students get by with deep dive studying. As for those that are lazy–AGHEM–Leona–COUGH–[Name] won’t let them go that easily.

Why don’t we take a look at how well her students did in the first test, shall we?

…

Because of the way [Name] likes to do this, all results are given a week after the test during a time when there are no classes. Which means all of her classes are gathered here in one spot. It’s easier for her to do it this way. If there are any questions, she can just answer them and not have to repeat it to her other classes.

The first test on theory had concluded a week ago, and the students are now in [Name]’s class to get their results. They talk amongst their peers about how they think they did on the test. Some say they did poorly, others think they at least got a passing grease, no one will know for certain until they get those papers back.

The class starts to quiet down as professor [Name] walks in. She walks until she is standing on the podium looking out towards the students with a blank expression—nothing new for the students, as she is like that everyday.

“I have graded all the tests. I will pass them out. But before that, I would like to say that the results of this test met my expectations.” [Name] said nonchalantly.

At this the students became happy and full of hope. Maybe the majority of them pass. Some even began to cheer.

[Name] took the stack of tests and began to make her way down the list of students in alphabetical order, as she had instructed them prior to entering, with the few exceptions of Malleus, Silver, Yuu, and Grim (Silver, Yuu, and Grim being the obvious ones).

The first three rows had gotten their tests back, much to their excitement. But from the noises of disappointment and failure reaching their classmates further up, they began to question if they had passed the test.

“Aww man…and I studied really hard for this!” Kalim sulked in his seat.

“If by studying, you mean cramming last minute, then yes, you studied really hard.” Jamil frowned at his Housewarden, shaking his head in a disapproving manner. “Next time, come to the library to study. I’ll teach you what you don’t know.”

“Really!” Kalim’s round eyes sparkled to the point it made the people around him cover their eyes. “You really are the best Jamil!”

“...Ah…of course I am.” he said, having his eyes closed.

Going further up, [Name] began to speak after hearing more dissatisfied students.

“It seems like my expectations were met. Only 10 percent of you passed this exam.” She said matter-of-factly, still passing out tests.

“What?!”

“But I studied for days for this!”

“She’s lying…right?”

“I want to get out of this class…”

“How is that even possible...?!”

“No way…”

“Can’t believe it…even if I studied for a whole month, I wouldn't have passed this.”

“She has to be joking.”

“Kehehe.” A grimling laugh was heard throughout the chatter of students. It came from a young boy with black and pink strokes. He had pointed ears, a staple for the Valley of thorns citizens.

“Finding this amusing, are you, Lilia?” A considerably tall young man with pale skin and the same pointed ears asked.

“Oh, please, Malleus. You can’t deny the fact that you find this entertaining too.” Lilia retorted with a smile.

“Hehe, I suppose it is. What’s more intriguing is the fact that she was expecting those results.” He turned to Lilia, “don't you have to be up there to get your test back?”

The young lad’s eyes widened, “ah! You’re right!” He said before disappearing into thin air.

There were only two rows left to hand out the test. Going up, [Name] came face to face with Leona.

“Kingsholar.”

“Professor.”

There was a moment of silence as the two stared down at each other (although one was staring down, and the other up). Without more time [Name] gave him his test back and moved in shortly after.

She was already three students down when Leona slammed the desk in front of him. This grabbed everyone's attention: all eyes were on him now.

[Name] turned around, not amused by Leona’s behavior. She predicted he was going to act this way when he got his test back.

“Is there something wrong for you to act in a way, Kingsholar?”

“...you”

“I’m sorry, I am unable to hear you. You’ll have to speak louder.” [Name] was preparing herself for the yelling of the century.

“HOW COULD YOU GIVE ME AN A IF I GOT EVERYTHING WRONG?!” The students around him jumped, getting scared. No one had seen him that mad. Apart from the students that saved him from the blot, this was a new level of anger.

“*sigh* isn’t it obvious why I would bypass the grading system and give you an A?” she asked, looking at Leona with a are-you-stupid face.

“...”

“No? I guess I must spell it out for you then.” [Name] got closer to him. Taking his test into her hands, she looked it over before averting her gaze at him. “Out of all the questions you got everything wrong.”

“Exactly. So, how the hell did I get an A?” He demanded to know he passed the test, if he had no correct answers. It was preposterous in his opinion. Having every question wrong would mean an F, so having it be an A this time…felt wrong.

“Do you not see what is wrong with this?” She asked.

“No?” Leona was getting irritated. Can’t she just say what she needs to say?

[Name] hummed. “Can someone tell me what is wrong with that? Anyone?” She turned to the rest of the class.

A student in the front row had put his hand up to answer the question.

“Āshengrotto. Can you tell me what is wrong with this statement?”

“Yes, professor.” Azul put his hand down and fixed his glasses. “If this test was a written exam the chances of getting a zero are likely. But, because this test is a multiple-choice question, it would be impossible to get zero percent, as you have more chances of guessing the correct answer.”

She smiled at the answer. “That was beautiful. Thank you, Mr. Āshengurotto. Point for Octavinelle.” Some Octavinelle students cheered for their Housewarden, the loudest being Floyd.

“As you hear Āshengurotto say, it would be near impossible to get a zero percent on a multiple-choice test.” she said, turning to face Leona again. His face spelled mad.

“Yeah, so? I could have gotten lucky.” Leona said sarcastically. He wanted to get this over with.

“Mmmm…maybe. Or you simply wanted to fail.” [Name] said accusing him.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I would have agreed with you that you could have gotten lucky enough to get a zero…if not for the fact that you are good with theory. In fact, you are one of the best students in this class with this subject.”

“The only option left…is that you wanted to fail.” [name] finished the final blow as she handed the test back to him, before continuing to disperse the papers.

“Oh and, Kingsholar?” She turned to see him standing there, looking down at the paper that had a good score in. “You violated Rule number four. I expect to see a written paper on it in my desk in the following days.”

Leaving the conversation at that, she finished giving out the test and went back to the podium.

“If there are no further questions, you are dismissed.”

(finished: 5/19/2024, at 6.25pm)

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: @scarabiafriend, @sleep-ydragon, @d3sperate-enuf, @elaemae, @lucky-whispers, @kiwiimochi, @emmorphine, @azriel-sama, @amora-ledezma, @writerstrashbin, @marinahavik, @twstwondersforyou, @lunatheroyal, @ririsun, @dyedscarletletter, @kuureii, @otomega, @valacz29, @busy-dadzawa-fish, @sarah22447, @valacz29, @wondering-again. Re-blog or Comment if you want to get added into the Tag section for Twisted wonderland. Back to The Mind

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44st4rs · 5 hours

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YOU GOTTA DRESS THE PART!

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ synopsis: Your new boy toy made himself at home with just the clothes on his back. When asked where all his stuff's gone, all Toji can do is point to the same clothes he appeared to you with. If he's gonna play the role, might as well spoil him too!

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ pairings: widow!fem!reader x toji fushiguro

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ cw: 10k + words, pwp, dubcon, talks/mentions of death, use of petnames, use of an oc, vouyerism, exhibitionism, mirror sex, couch sex, oral(m. receiving), cûm eating, reader gets a little shy, fingering, clït slapping, brat tamer!toji, unprotected sex, panty stealing

✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ words from chris: part two is here and i don't know how it got...longer! oh well, it's nasty...and that's exactly how i love my fics to be, xoxo!

part 1! • the man for hire m.list

ONE NEW MESSAGE FROM: XXX-XXX-XXXX

PAYMENT: + ¥ 40,000

Forty thousand yen stare Toji back in his awe-struck face. His thumb's back to swiping again, refreshing the screen as if he's expecting the amount to disappear magically.

But they're not, the five bolded digits simply return each time he dismisses them.

So he blinks. His eyebrow arches, his eyes squint, and he blinks at his phone blankly until something like a smile crosses Toji's features. In a single night, Toji finds himself dancing in Lady Luck's palm. He's got a roof over his head, a nice gig, and a pretty lady at his side—and all he really asked for was a few bucks for food.

He wants to mull over the second thoughts that arise—what if it's just a dream? What if it's too good to be true?

But the numbers on his phone don't lie and the wafting heat of the skillet he's working over isn't a dream.

"She didn't even tell me what she wanted..." Toji mutters as he places his phone down on the granite countertop. He teases the browning edges of the omelette with the spatula he kept in hand.

He doesn't usually take people's requests to heart, but for you—something about you makes him hang up his old ways. It's not like you were kind about it, demanding breakfast right before dozing off in his arms.

When he woke up a few hours earlier, Toji faced your sleeping form. He remembers how he captured you under his fawning gaze. He drank in the shallow breaths flooding your lungs, the supple pout pushed out onto your lips, and the way you wore sleep perfectly.

He didn't know how he ended up cradling you in his arms, but for some reason, Toji was willing to ignore the thought in place of the reality before him. You got comfortable with him fast—or just the presence of having someone else in bed with you once again.

That's when he remembers the notion sweeping over to leave your side with a kiss. A tender peck right on the corner of your mouth to let you know someway and somehow that he wasn't going too far.

Even after hours have passed and daylight's entered the room, he still can't put together why he did that—but regret isn't one of those sentiments.

But now he's here, dressed in nothing but the jeans he came to you with cooking you that desired breakfast. Between each flip of the omelette, Toji's eyes scan about your kitchen—gawking at how every countertop is a thick chiseled slab of red granite, gold accents for the handles of all the drawers, cabinets, and the refrigerator.

A vast island stands right underneath yet another chandelier, catching the peeking rays of sun from the windows. Barstools outline the outer wall along the kitchen's rim, making it the perfect penthouse kitchen.

When he first stumbled into your kitchen, he could only stare. And he still is, but the shock ebbs away with each dish he turns his attention to.

He's ending his working shift with the final plate for breakfast, the small salad joining the ranks of miso soup, steamed rice and rolled omlettes. While Toji's hoping you eat it all, he can't help but entertain the thought of how trusting you are of him.

Maybe it's because of his background and the world he hails from, but to ask a stranger to cook breakfast? What if he's malicious enough to poison you and rob you right in front of your dying eyes? Nothing's stopping him either, but he has his reasons. And then again, he's the one who initiated the verbal contract out of thin air.

You two were made for each other.

The soft creaks of bed springs pull Toji out of his mind and his eyes down the hallway again, piquing his attention.

He's graced by the sight of you, clutching that damned robe as you saunter down the hallway. The lazy steps of your stroll lead you beneath the sun's rays, kissing your skin with its gentle glow.

"Good...morning..." he fumbles over, his blown hues fixed on you.

You catch Toji's gawking stare, a grin teetering on your lips.

"G'morning, Toji. Thank you for cooking," you hum, slipping into a barstool across from Toji's workstation.

"You look real pretty this morning, Princess," Toji purrs as a dopey smile grows across his lips.

"You keep calling me that...why?" you quiz, stretching your arms along the smooth countertop.

"Cause...you're basically living in a castle—hm, more like a tower. And it looks like a castle in here. Feel like Princess is the only thing that comes to mind whenever I look at you."

You lean into Toji's ardor, cradling your chin within your soft palm."That would make you my knight in shining armor, no?"

Toji snickers as he looks down, his hand coming to rub the hairs at the back of his neck. "No, I'm just some guy trying to make a living. Thanks for the honor though, I'll do my best."

Your eyes roam over Toji and the display of his bare chest. It's a broad canvas of muscle, stretched beneath skin, scars, and the ripples of veins. Maybe there's another plus in this little arrangement if you get to wake up to this view every morning. You shamelessly let yourself wander over him, tracing each crest of his abs and the faint streak of hair beneath his navel.

Until you find yourself clinging to a familiar sight.

"Toji," you begin, "Isn't it uncomfortable to wear jeans this early?"

"Eh, it's whatever. Don't got nothing else."

"Nothing else? What do you mean?"

Toji leans over the counter, his features softening as he closes the distance between you both. He could laugh at your naïveté, but he knows you understand him—he didn't stutter. But he'll give in just to watch your face fix itself into some new cute expression, shocked by the state you found him in.

"What you met me in is all I got. 'Cept for the extra brush I found in your bathroom. By the way, who keeps sex toys under the sink?"

A look of utter shock breaks across your face—your eyes shot apart and your jaw slack. "No wonder there was a new brush next to mine! You went through my stuff?!"

Again Toji feigns innocence, hands waving defensively. "Calm down! I like to keep clean. I didn't mean to but I didn't wanna wake you up when I have common sense. Took a shower, brushed my teeth, and now here we are."

"Toji...fine. But after we eat, we're going out."

"Where are we going?" He asks, reaching for two plates from the nearest cabinet.

"Ginza, we gotta get you some clothes, some shoes...eh, guess a little bit of everything."

"Ginza? Isn't there some malls 'round here we could go to instead?"

"Course there is, but I'm taking you to a place I know...personally."

"You're really spoiling me now. Turning into a sugar mommy—Oh! Should I just call you—"

"Keep talking and it's coming out of your paycheck."

Toji brings two plates with him as he settles into a stool beside you, placing the fragile dish in front of you. It's a collection of his labors–a small bowl of miso soup, rolled omelet slices, white rice, and a side salad made of tomato and cucumbers.

Toji shoots you one last smirk before turning into his own meal, "Hope you like it."

"Wow," you marvel, grinning at the colorful display, "I haven't eaten like this in a while."

"Huh? You've got all these ingredients and the space to cook. If you don't do that, then what do you eat?"

"Just some fruit, tea, some sandwiches. I rarely cook for myself these days, but it's getting better."

"Hm, is that right?"

Toji places an outstretched digit beneath the contours of your chin, tilting your head towards him. He's giving you a soft stare, his blue hues fanning over your stuffed cheeks.

"Don't worry about it. Way back when, I used to cook a lot, so I remember some recipes. But 'm not doing it alone, deal?"

You nod at Toji as he swipes along the plump curves of your visage, " 'Kay."

For a man you just hired, he's too kind to you. Since last night, he's been nothing but careful with you. He acts as if he's handling something so precious

"Toji, why are you so nice to me?" You ask between a bite of the fluffy steamed rice.

"Dunno," he shrugs, "This is the only way I know how to treat women. My last wives brought this side out of me. And as for you, it just feels natural. Why...want me to be an asshole to you?"

"No...it was just a thought," you mumble softly.

Then again, that's a passive answer Toji put together on the spot. How could he tell you about the sadness that lingers behind your eyes? It's not apparent to most, but there's a dark haze that blends itself into the color of the iris., dimming the soul's light beneath grief. Toji knows those eyes better than anyone else, especially when he himself dons the same look from time to time.

You cover it up behind a snarky attitude, but he knows that's not who you really are. Something tells him you're actually the complete opposite—a free-spirited soul who makes her own rules in life, a woman who leads with passion before anything else. Someone who opens up as they get comfortable, something he's noticing rather quickly.

And a woman just met one of the world's seven wonders too soon. He even said it to himself as he watched you snuggle up against his chest last night; for however long he ended up staying with you, he wanted to get to know you...the real you.

He can't stop thinking about it, how your bodies fell prey to one another within minutes last night. Your body fitting perfectly in his hands, responding to his every beck and call. Even now he's staring at your lips, swearing that just one more kiss could heal him from the inside out.

That's not something he's experienced before, even with his tattered love history. A whim brought him to your doorstep and this whim is what's leading you both down some new path together.

So if he had to wake up to make breakfast, accompany you on some one-sided outings, and give in to your fancies to see the real you, he'd do it all.

With his last bite, Toji places his chopsticks onto his clear plate. He glances over to you, your plate mirroring his own.

"C'mon," he announces as he stands from his seat. " We gotta get going, right?" I'll clean up here, go shower. Oh and Princess?"

"Yeah?"

Toji catches your eye with a stern squint. "Don't. Take. Long. Twenty minutes. Two. Zero."

"Fine," you scoff, standing on the tile floor at last.

Toji watches as you walk off, your hips bearing a salacious sway with each step.

"Fucking minx," he mumbles to himself as he tends to the cleaning.

Twenty minutes later, Toji strolls over to the couch with a much-needed break on his mind. He grabs his shirt from the couch, slipping the gray top over his shoulder and down his chest before settling into the couch's plush chocolate leather. He's back on his phone, scrolling endlessly through his emails and past texts to pass what seems to be an eternity. His eyes fall onto the time displayed on his screen: 11:24.

You're four minutes over the limit. Should he knock on the door? What if he finds you naked? Now that he thinks about it, that wouldn't bother him much, but his point still stands.

"Y/N! It's not twenty minutes anymore! Hurry up pl-"

"...Toji! I'm ready," you call out, breaking him out of his thoughts.

The soft clicks echoing along the floor breaks Toji's train of thought. As he sits up, his eyes fall on you wearing a sage-green silk dress with a pair of strappy white heels. Your handbag matches your shoes, a detail that Toji finds himself appreciating with a mindless grin.

He stands to greet you, sheepishly slipping his hands into his pockets, "Wow, got me feeling a little underdressed now."

You meet Toji's gaze, arching an eyebrow at his words. "Well, don't. If you're gonna be living with me, we've gotta have you dressed the part. But I mean...if you want that. I'm not trying to force you or anything, I just have a feeling that you might want some options."

Toji joins your side, his hand eagerly resting along your lower back. He's wearing a dumb smirk on his face, watching you click the elevator doors open.

"Aww, trying to be considerate, aren't you?"

"Shut up. Let's get going."

Toji follows behind you, stepping into the small chamber. The scene of the living room closes out before him and he's left with you to muse over. You and that pretty outfit that he's obsessing over. His hand has yet to move from you, not that he has the intention to. He doesn't care if it's shameless or outright wrong, Toji just can't help but stare at you. It's barely been a full day and just your beauty has Toji willingly tied around your finger.

You could ask anything of him and he'd be ready to oblige. In truth, he's brimming with half the nerve to tug that dress up your waist and take you on right here and now. But that's too brash and he knows that. Instead, he's hoping you'll leave him something for the chase of imagination.

"Y/N? Look at me for a sec," Toji hums as his fingers tap against the fabric of your dress.

At Toji's demand, your eyes trace up to his own, the azure hues blown wide. The hand he keeps at your back takes on a new path, sinking along the contour of your hip. He's pulling you dangerously close, the fading scent of the cologne on his shirt filling your nose. You aren't even aware of how quickly you give into his advance, your hand sinking into the shielded profile of his chest.

"Give me a kiss."

"...No."

"Why not?"

"Because," you shrug, "I said so."

Toji's pout is a cute one. His bottom lip bears all the jutting weight, his eyes widen with each mindless blink, and the huff that breaks into the air almost makes you want to take back your cold response. It takes all of your strength from laughing at his ebbing resolve, your teeth biting down at the innards of your cheeks.

"Because...you said so?" Toji repeats as he points a finger towards you.

"Yup. 'Cause I said so."

The soft ding of the opening elevator doors pulls you and Toji from the growing heat of the conversation, revealing the building's lobby.

The softly dimmed space draws you and Toji out of the elevator. You've seen it a million times but it's a sight that claims you with ease. The lobby relies on the power of natural lighting, but with its ambient lighting, it's nothing short of welcoming. The polished cream walls wear tile and the green vines of outgrown plants. The only piece of furniture to exist on the waxy hardwood floor is the front desk, occupied by a certain someone.

"Oh, good morning, Y/N! Out for the day?" a voice greets, earning you and Toji to find the source.

The voice stems from the doorman, Daisuke. He's sixty-five, tall with a softened physique of muscle. Only a handful of wrinkles line his fair skin—the typical crow's feet and smile lines. His eyes are of a deep chocolate, but so soft on whoever they land on. His salt and pepper hair stops just shy of his ears, barely hiding his array of piercings.

Daisuke always works the day shift, with his younger counterpart claiming the night. From conversations you've had over the years, Daisuke was a delinquent back in his younger days but mellowed out once he settled down with his current wife.

You and Toji find yourselves journeying toward Daisuke, you both resting along the rim of the shiny wooden surface.

Daisuke sets his attention on you, smiling as he awaits a response.

"Yup! Going down to Ami's for the day!" your words paired with a grin.

"Good, Good...good..." Daisuke trails off. His sights fall over Toji, scanning every bit of Toji's face. Daisuke's sights fall over Toji, his brown hues narrowing down over Toji.

His disapproval is sketched out with a frown, his upper lip arched with disgust. Daisuke isn't one to hide his opinion, especially towards the man trying to court you. He simply stares at Toji until he's ready to speak, his tone honoring his distaste.

"Who might this be, Miss?"

"Oh! Um...this is Toji...he's uh—"

"An old friend," Toji quickly interrupts. "I'm always traveling for work and finally caught a long enough break to visit Y/N."

"E-Exactly! An old friend..." you nervously fumble out, attaching a weary smile to settle your case.

"Mhm...well, I'm not gonna stop you any longer. Have fun you two!" Daisuke sensing your unease. He waves goodbye to you and Toji as you both walk away towards the doors.

Your digits reach for the golden handle of the door, only for Toji to take the lead. With a heavy push, he opens the door for you to pass. But he's waiting for you to get close, so close that he's right behind you, pressing his chest flush against your back.

He leans in, the heat of his breath brushing past the shell of your ear. "Allow me...friend."

You peer back at Toji, rolling your eyes at his comment. "You called yourself my friend, don't get mad at me...friend."

"Fine, what were you going to call me then?"

The question plagues you into a moment of silence, an audible gasp escaping from your lips. All you can do is blink at him, your fluffy lashes batting themselves until you can finally utter something back to Toji's waiting ears.

"You...you talk too much. Let's just get down to Ginza, alright?"

"Yeah, alright," he sighs, walking beside you once more.

But there's some truth between the lines of Toji's sassy remarks.

Despite Toji's hand slipping into your own as you begin your trek, you can't bring yourself to deny him. His presence carries an ease that calms your heart. It's so calming that you can't begin to pinpoint what he is to you. A stranger? To an extent, but in time that title is going to fade away. If he's a friend, then he shouldn't be this kind with you. A lover, no, but the tendencies aren't so far off.

So....who is Toji Fushiguro to you?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A six-minute train ride and an additional ten-minute walk carry you and Toji face to face with a small building at the end of the block. To the unfamiliar eye, nothing about the store stands out. Not the white brick, not the pink awning, not the vintage door with a grand gold door knob.

And with an unfamiliar eye like the one Toji has, he's scanning over the building. You've brought him to a tailor but that's the opposite of what he needs. He quickly glances over his appearance, there wasn't a hole that he could spot but maybe you have better eyes than he did. He's confused but that doesn't stop him from opening the door for you.

"A tailor? My clothes don't need fixing, Princess," Toji notes as he reaches for the door handle.

"I know, Toji. We're getting you custom-made clothes, silly," you giggle, slipping past the opened door.

The soft scent of clean linen pulls you inside the quaint shop, Toji coming to stand by your side. Your eyes rave about the open floor, not a clothing rack, display table, or mannequin is in sight. Thick palettes of cloth hang from the wall, replacing the initial white-painted walls in splashes of color.

There's cotton, silk, wool, chiffon, and denim just from what you can name. A few doors line the right wall, and the kanji for fitting rooms are inscribed into the wood. Your eyes fall onto another door, placed alone and along the furthest wall of the shop labeled with a name that's too far to read.

Roaming steps lead you deeper inside, the presence of the service desk landing in view. Your curious gaze hinges on the figure of a woman. She's busied herself with something in a notebook, her pen furiously translating her thoughts. Long thick locks of gray shroud her face as she's bent over along the desk's surface, but with the smile stretching across your face, you knew who the woman was all too well.

"Ami!" you squeal, waltzing towards her with open arms.

Ami breaks away from her work to meet you, her cheeks pulled taunt by a full-bodied smile. As she steps away from the counter, you glance over Ami giddily. From the last time you visited her, she hasn't changed.

She dons a veil of gray with grace these days, not a strand of her rich black hair left. She's still wearing that soft expression—her doe eyes wide and brown, her brows eased and plucked thin, her skin fair and gentle, and her lips wear a forever smile.

"Oh, my sweet Y/N!" Ami beams as she pulls you into her arms, the sleeves of her blue sweater pushing along your skin.

"You're glowing, my dear. And you're wearing the dress, it looks so—well, who might this be?" She cuts off, directing her sights to Toji.

You step back from Ami to join Toji's side, giving him a kind yet warning stare. You can't control what he's planning to say, but from what you've gathered so far, he's a blunt man. A blunt man who calls the situation exactly how he sees fit—without shame.

"Hi, I'm Toji," he waves. " Y/N here is my mistr—"

"Friend! He's going to say friend!" You blurt out, welcoming an awkward silence.

You don't have to look at Toji, the heat of a grim squint tells you everything you need to know. You're back to using that damned word, but what else fits? As much as you want to calm him, selling this story to someone as keen as Ami is taking all your focus and energy not to crack beneath the pressure.

Your heart's running on nervous fumes, an echoing pang clogging your ears. All you can do is suffer beneath Ami's careful observation, her big brown doe eyes thinning into a stern squint. She's standing there with her arms folded to her chest, darting her sights from you and Toji.

You're wearing a smile but it's a shaky one, the corners of your mouth quivering with each passing second. You don't know what sort of smile she sees and that's the fact that scares you. You can't tell if she's buying it, but she isn't prying at you for an honest reply.

"Well...it's nice to meet you, Toji! So, what can I do for my favorite customer?"

A sigh of relief pours from your chest, as you lean into Toji's hold, your head resting against his shoulder. His hand quickly laces around your waist, instantly ruining all of your hard work.

So much for being a friend.

"It's him, I wanna get him some custom clothing. Whatever he wants."

"Great! Then I'll leave the hard work to you! Do you mind measuring him?"

"Measure me? Isn't a large enough for me?" Toji asks, turning to you with knitted brows.

"Well, yes a large is enough for you, but it doesn't complement you. Here, I'll show you."

Taking his hand into your own, you lead Toji before a mirror, the glass pane slotted between two fitting room doors. In the reflection, you stand beside Toji, your hand running along the front of his shirt.

"Your proportions aren't something an average man like you has, which means that there's always gonna be spots where there's too much or too little fabric. Like here..."

The tips of your fingers pinch at the hem of Toji's gray thermal, tugging at the loose fabric surrounding his waist. "You've got a small waist but wide shoulders. This shirt looks decent on you, but it's literally just sitting on your body. Let's see if a top made with a bit more for your shape works better."

"Oh, I don't care about that," Toji begins, his stare falling onto you. "As long as I got something on my body. But since you're going out your way for me...I'll try anything once."

You give Toji a faint smirk, his charm's enough to make any woman fall for him.

"Ami," you announced. "We'll be in the fitting room. I'll be done with his measurements in a bit!"

You guide Toji to the lone door at the back of the shop, your hand reaching for the sliver handle–until Toji catches a particular detail.

"Huh...who's name is that on the door?"

"Oh, that's mine. It's a private fitting room made just for my late husband and I," your digits tracing the engraved characters.

"How'd you land that—"

"Oh, Toji!" Ami calls out before you both disappear into the room. "Do you have any fabric preferences? I wanna pick some out while I wait for the measurement."

"Nope, just use your judgment, ma'am," his words inducing a smile along Ami's features.

"Great! There's measuring tape in the room already. So go get measured and I'll pick out some colors and fabric for you!"

You give Ami a nod before sinking past the doorframe with Toji. The door opens up into a dimly lit circular room, welcoming you back with the soft scent of vanilla.

"Just how we left it..."you whisper to yourself, looking around the room.

It's not a huge room, but it's comfortable for two people. Panes of glass line the walls, looping around the curved walls. In the center of the room stands a toffee leather divan bolted to the ground, accompanied by a small glass table with magazines, a candle, and a roll of measuring tape.

"Wow...so this is all yours?" Toji gawks as he strolls around the room. Everywhere he turns, his reflection is everywhere—along with your own. He's stuck on studying your agile steps to the small coffee table, taking the measuring tape in hand. You're twirling it in the palm of your hand as a smile crowds your visage.

"Yeah. Years back, my husband and I were in the neighborhood and came across this place. At the time we needed some clothes for an event coming up and Ami was willing to make them just for us. When we got the order and saw how nicely they fit us, we were sold. My husband and I invested in this place and had it renovated. As a gift, Ami wanted us to build a room just for us and that's exactly what we're standing in."

"So...long ago," you muse. The memory isn't that old but it feels like an eternity has passed since that fateful day. The room that was made as a gift was merely nothing more than a memoir of memories made with you and your late husband.

Until your drifting sights latch on to Toji. He's standing a few feet from you with his hands in his pockets. His head's fallen into a tilt, concern weaving into his features.

"Never mind that, it's in the past now. Ami also works with socialites, doctors, lawyers, governors, anyone really," you brush off swiftly, spinning around to face Toji.

"Mhm..." he mumbles. "So what do you need from me?"

"Could you take your shirt off and stand in front of me? And just relax."

Your instructions are followed down to the letter, Toji presenting himself before you. He tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the divan's cushion. He keeps his arms at his sides, waiting for your next instructions.

"Good...now just let me..." you mutter, pressing the white strip of leather to Toji's skin.

Silence falls over the room, but the tension between you and Toji grows with no bounds. You're gentle when you touch him, placing the marked leather along the curves of Toji's body—his broad shoulders, thick biceps, and sculpted forearms. You save his chest for last, carefully placing the measuring tape along the hull of his rippling pecs.

All Toji can do is watch you hard at work. He's picked up on a quirk of yours, how you bite your lip whenever you're focused. He's touched honestly with how much effort you're putting into him, all this effort put for him.

"I still need an answer, y'know." Your words pulling Toji from his thoughts.

"For?"

You roll the tape back into a small ball, finally setting your attention on Toji. You stare at him with kind eyes, letting your touch explain all he needs to know. The pads of your digits trace the burly hull of his chest, languidly following the rigid print of his faded scars.

"These. How'd you end up with 'em?"

A chuckle rings from his lungs, Toji's chest rippling beneath your wandering touch. He's looking at you, his stare flickering at every inch of your face. Underneath his dim lighting, he's intrigued by the glow behind your eyes. It's a blur of curiosity with the hues of tease. It's a deadly mix—the same deadly mix that rushes through Toji's veins every single day.

"Would you believe me if I said I'm not the best guy? I get into fights for a living and these are simply my reminders of what I do."

"That's fine."

You're...unfazed. He has to blink a few times to register it all—but you simply present him with the same look. He just told you he's no good. Maybe it's too subtle of a warning.

So...He tries again.

"And what if I said my hands are dirty? I'm a selfish man who only lives for himself and the money I make. What would you say about that?"

"That's fine, too."

"God, you're so—"

"Stupid? Crazy?" you interrupt. "If you wanted to hurt me, I gave you all the chances to...and I'm still here. Paint yourself to be the bad guy if you want, try to scare me away...but I don't care. We have a deal remember? And breaking a deal is just bad business."

A smirk cracks along Toji's lips, "Oh, I'm gonna like you."

"Come on, I need to measure you more. Take your pants off too," you huff, stepping back from Toji.

Toji's hand rustles with the metal clasp of his belt, yanking the leather strap loose around his hips, yanking his belt loose. His pants follow the same pattern, the unclasped button granting him the freedom of space. The denim falls from his waist, revealing a black pair of briefs sitting snugly around him.

"I thought you didn't have extra clothes," you ponder aloud as you drop to your knees.

"I always keep an extra pair of underwear."

"Is that right? Well, just stand still and we'll be done soon," your focus already shifting to the small red numbers lacing around his thighs.

And it's a simple task asked of him, but nothing's ever simple with Toji. He's doing his best to behave but innocence isn't and has never been his forte. It's because of you he's struggling beneath a pesky heat that's running amok over his body. He's just too wary of how close you were to him.

He's catching your hot breaths with the front of his briefs, bringing a flurry of twitches to strum through his cock. He has to stand there and ignore how your soft hands travel along his thighs, working so hard to get an accurate number.

Why oh why do you have to look so cute on your knees for him?

Toji's so drawn by his racing imagination, that he nearly misses your question.

"How do you like pants to fit?"

"Oh...some days tight. Some days loose."

"C'mon," you scoff, peering up at Toji. "I need a real answer."

All he can offer you is a coy smile, hiding all his intentions behind the gesture. "Sorry, Princess, I just can't focus right now. Ask me the question again."

"And...what are you doing that you can't focus?" your lips pushing out a pout.

"Don't do that—you know why. I mean, you look so pretty on your knees, doing all this work for me. Can't blame me for these thoughts, they just...come in, y'know?"

You shake your head, "Toji, focus. Let's be pro—"

"Don't shut me down like that. It's always been a fantasy of mine, a quickie in a fitting room."

Toji's hand breaks away from his side to tease you. His thick digits curl beneath your chin, tilting your head to bear the searing heat of his gaze.

"Can't tell me you haven't thought of it too, Princess."

A sigh breaks from your lungs as you drop the roll of measuring tape on the floor. Your hands are eager to be filled, stretched around something thick. It's no wonder that your digits choose Toji's thighs for the job. He fits perfectly in your palm, but he's just so big that your two hands alone can't form a proper grip around him. Your only resort is to tease him, dragging your nails to paint his skin red.

"...And maybe I have. Doesn't mean I should give into it."

Your nails trail up his sides, down the developed curves of his abs, and slowly hang right under his navel. He's playing it off well, but the chills that lick Toji's nerves tell you all you need to know. Antipcipation's making him sensitive from this point on, a ploy that's set to work in your favor. You dress his skin with a single line, the faint flare of crimson mapping your path down to his pelvis.

"Toji?"

"Yeah, Princess?"

"So, it's fine for me to do such a dirty job now?"

Toji's thumb swipes along your bottom lip, "Shhh, just for today, it's okay. I know that greedy mouth wants to taste me."

Toji allows himself to fall into lust by settling into the comfort of the divan, the cushions dipping beneath his weight. He isn't wasting any time to have your pretty lips wrapped around his cock. He already went back on his word—and might as well follow through with his lustful agenda for the moment. He makes quick work of his briefs, tugging the black cotton down his legs. The concealed bulge of his breaks free from its stifling confines, his dribbling cock slapping against his stomach.

All you grant him is a grin of approval as you crawl between his legs, your hands surfacing atop his thighs. But that grin you wear so proudly fades away with the first peck you place along his tanned length. Your lips are met by the quivers of spry veins rising beneath Toji's skin, a testament to the growing pit in his tummy.

Your eyes don't dare to part from his, basking beneath the ravenous glare he's cast upon you. All Toji can do is watch—watch as your playful kisses paint his cock in the pinky hues of your lipgloss.

He's cracking right before you, his lungs barely grasping the thickening air. He's hard, painfully hard at that. All his thoughts rush straight to the crown of his cock, sending an aching headache to rile the swelling tip. He's falling back into the nasty habit of impatience thanks to the mess of pearly tears trailing down his girth, leaving you to catch every drop.

Your lips curve along the juicy tip, suckling at the thick vein that flushes out the underside of his cock. You're so gentle with him that he's flinching, his hips bucking into the air. He's whimpering at your tender display, but that's not all you're pulling from him. Creamy beads drip from Toji's slit, dyeing your skin in his shade of white.

"Mhm, stop teasing me, Princess. Making my cock all pretty with your kisses. Want me you cum just like too, don't—Shit!"

Your puckering pout stretches along the head of Toji's cock, pulling him into your mouth inch by inch. The hot, salty tears of his precum greet you first, the instant reminder flooding your dumbed brain. His essence is something to relish, that deep musk sinking past your senses. Just the taste of him stirs up your mind, prying at some hidden carnal urge.

You're hungry for him, that hidden urge turned into the sin of gluttony. You're hungry for every drop of him, to have his flavor simmer on your tongue for as long as possible.

That newfound urge of yours, your mouth eagerly swallows Toji down to the last inch, your nose cutting into the dark bushel of hairs. But he's so big that you can't keep this up forever. It's a last resort but all you can do is form a loose fist at the base of his cock, softly squeezing at his girth.

"Thaaaat's it, take it all down your throat," Toji cheers, his palm cupping your cheek gently.

It's such a dirty display that Toji can't help but stare—your lips split around his girth. You're leaving him to gawk stupidly at you. There's spit carelessly spilling from the corners of your mouth, whimpers singing from your housed throat and pretty tears staining your skin. You've barely started and you're already driving yourself into a mess on his behalf.

Just his type of woman—so shy, so reserved, but so fucking nasty that not even a picture would be enough proof.

As you find a cadence to strum along to, you suck your cheeks in around Toji. It's a gentle cocoon, wrapping his cock's wrapped in a heaven of velvety bliss. You even enlist your hand to help with your salacious endeavors, the balled fist dragging up and down Toji's sticky length. Now, you're really spoiling him, pitting him to bear the silky fat writhing around his plump cock.

He can't help it, lifting his hips to meet your worked mouth. His hands race to brace the back of your head, his palms smothered over your ears. With the brash snap of his hips, you've driven yourself numb to everything that wasn't Toji.

You've even become numb to your surroundings, nearly dismissing the soft knock on the room's door.

"Y/N! I'm gonna get started on some samples. What are the measurements, darling?"Ami's voice filters through the stained air.

"Better hurry up 'nd tell her. Can't have poor Ami watching her favorite client make a mess of herself," Toji taunts, his hand coming to replace your grip over his cock.

"Oh, yes! His height is 188 cm, waist 72.6 cm, chest 110cm, upper arm 42.5 cm, wrist 19 cm, and collar 38cm! W-We'll come back for the pants another day!"

"Wonderful! I'll get right to work then!" Ami hums. Her shadow beneath the door's crack disappears, taking along that plunging throb in your tummy.

"Toji! That was too—"

The tip of Toji's cock taps at your lips, halting any words to fall from your busy mouth. "Shhhh, I can't wait any more! Finish what you started...or...should I?"

Before you can get a word out, Toji's stuffing his cock back into your mouth, selfishly launching himself back into that drunken bliss with a feverish drive.

With each buck of his hips, Toji's shamelessly engraving himself into you—every vein, every curve, every detail of him engrained to the inner plush of your cheeks. He's addicted to it—to you. Your mouth's just so warm, so soft, so tender. He's losing himself to you without the hope of ever pulling back.

"Oh, that's fuckin—Shiiiit, please....please, y're gonna make me cum!" He chokes out.

Through the budding mist of your lashes, you peer up at Toji, studying his battered form. His teeth are gritted, his fists balled up and with the curse of twitches riddling his cock tells you one thing—he's ready to cum. Toji tosses his head back, the devastation crashing through his body. You're bringing him so close to the edge, but it's teetering on a line he can't cross without you.

"Awww, you like this dick, filling up your pretty little mouth like that?"

A sloppy nod is all you can conjure as the tip of Toji's cock nudges at the back of your throat. His greed's bringing about tears to your eyes, fat tears rolling down your puffy cheeks.

He's chuckling at you for the moment until a crippling heat lays seize to his nursed cock. That pit in his stomach is meeting its limit, forcing Toji to sob out slurred curses of his timely demise.

"Fuck! 'm cumming, 'm cumm-"

Toji drags his twitching cock against your tongue for the last time, pulling away from your gaping mouth. His hand rushes to grip the base of his cock, squeezing every drop of him to rush to the mushroomed head. He smears the tip along your tongue, forcing the slick muscle to dip beneath its weight.

"There's your fucking mess, Princess. Don't waste a drop, 'kay?"

His scent swells within the caverns of your mouth, the thick ropes of white sputtering from the fat juicy crown. A grin spreads itself thin over your lips as Toji ruins your mouth with his scent, drinking down the forbidden fruits of your labor.

"Oh...fuuucck," the words mindlessly falling from Toji's broken lips.

It's such an honor for him, bearing witness to your puffy lips nuzzling along his twitching cock. He's made a real mess of himself but you're here, using that tongue of yours to melt away his sins from white to clear. And you do the job well, all evidence of his high sitting along your tongue.

Such a good girl he's got on his hands.

"C'mere," Toji groans, his hands racing to your own. With his hands for balance, you quickly recover onto your feet. It's a team effort—you pull the dress over your head and he's busy with yanking your panties down your legs.

"Turn around–yup, come sit, I wanna show you something."

He drags you down to his level, seating you on his lap with his hands clipping to your hips. Toji's chest defines the arch that befalls your spine, his skin flush against you.

Toji cups at your jaw, his digits sinking into your cheeks. He's got your full, undivided attention, his hold directing your sights to your reflections.

You're dumbly gawking at the lewd display, your nude form melding into Toji's. You couldn't try to separate where your body begins and where his ends, that's just how close Toji kept you. You look so small in his hold, your hands desperately clinging to his biceps.

His presence is commandeering, even with you as the painting's main subject. Not to mention that just between your legs, his cock's hidden away behind the wall of your smothered thighs, hidden from sight but twitching with anticipation. It's just so...so—

"Spread your legs, Princess. 'M not done with you."

You're hesitant to oblige but your legs still creak apart, all the same, granting for Toji's hand to tend to your cunt.

The thick pads of Toji's digits nestle along the puffy lips of your pussy, spreading the sticky mess apart with a grin.

"Fuck, she's so pretty," he marvels at the reflection. He's lost in the picture your pussy paints in the mirror for him, his digits melding into the precious pink hues hidden between your folds.

It's a sticky mess, but he couldn't care less. He's using such care with you as he traces the fragile curve of your folds, gawking at how your hips buck into his touch.

"Look Princess, god, your pussy's so cute. Wonder what'll happen if I do...this..."

His fingers sink past your folds, the delicate petals glued to his touch. He's rubbing out languid strips to ease those woes of yours, his digit slinking through the sticky channel of essence.

That same finger comes to tease your clit, nudging the glossy pearl spry beneath his touch. And you can't hide it, that sprawling heat growing between your legs. Your clit's overtaken by that heat, the nerves answering Toji's call.

Toji's too gentle for his own good, knowing exactly how to get a rise out of you. And he's winning, thanks to the thickening veil of your honey staining his lithe fingers.

"C'mon look, Princess," he urges, his eyes hinging over the lewd display. "It's too pretty for just me to see."

"N-No, Toji. It's too much!" you squirm, but the hold he has over your jaw doesn't budge not even an inch.

His lips press at the curve of your shoulder, his greedy tongue slipping past to lick a lazy trail along your skin as he takes to the shell of your ear.

"'Nd why's it too much for you, Baby? Too much to see how cute your pussy is? You just gotta, but...I guess I can tell you since you don't wanna see..."

"No, Toji, wait!—"

"Shhh, did you hear that?" His fingers gently drumming at your gasping slit. "Oh, you're so fucking wet."

"Mm, 'm not gonna look Toji."

"Why not?"

"I just don't want to! D-Do I have to look, it's feels so good—"

"You don't wanna look? Ha! that's real cute, Princess. Something a brat like you would...Hm...don't tell me you're a brat, mommy...I like those."

"Mm, No, Toji. I can't—" you sob, screwing your eyes shut.

"So that's how it is?" Toji sneers. His voice carries a cold annoyance with you. You know he's planning something to combat your arrogance, something made just for you.

Toji's fingers fan across the sloppy mess of your folds, his thick digits landing a firm slap over the twitching bud of your clit.

Your breathy gasp falls on his ears, but without a care to be found, he's merely ignoring you. His stare turns cold as he scans your splayed rest against his chest. You aren't even making an attempt to free yourself with a response–just keeping your eyes screwed shut and your head whipped away from the mirror's grand reflection.

"Well...are you?" Toji pries sternly. " 'M not gonna stop til you say something. Not when I'm liking this cute lil' pussy."

And not a lie falls from Toji's barred tongue. The lewd crashes of his slicked fingers against your pitiful cunt rings around the room. He's playing with your clit as if he's forgotten that you could cum at any given moment, forgoing composure for the time being. You're just so wet, dripping with the same essence that drives him near mad. He wants a taste so bad, his mouth watering at how your pussy squelches beneath his touch.

Yet all those wishes and desires bubbling at the forefront of Toji's mind didn't stop his fingers from finding the cute bulb, the weeping throbs melding into the tips of his punishing digits.

Your rambling sobs threaten to drown the sweet symphony, Toji simply grins. Your cries are nothing when his blows can carry just a little more weight. His hand winds back this time, cutting through the air to deliver a stinging jolt to trace through your hips.

"Fuck, Toji, okay, okay!" you whine at last, " 'M not a brat!"

Toji halts his wrist for the moment. Finally, you're giving up, another land of his slaps and he's sure you would've soaked his pants. He moves to soothe your throbbing clit with a rewarding slew of laggardly drawn circles.

"Then, tell me... what are you?"

"A...A...princess."

Toji grins as he presses a kiss along your puckering pout. "Good girl! That attitude isn't for you, too pretty for that. 'Nd I like hearing manners from that mouth of yours."

Toji groans as he pulls you further along his lap. His cock's nuzzled right between the curve of your ass and that spout of friction sends his dormant nerves buzzing yet again.

It doesn't help that he's been catching your slick from his lesson of discipline a thick stream of gloss dripping down his cock. Blood rushes to cram into every inch of his cock. Toji can't even try to hide it, not when his cock's growing so heavy that it's bearing that familiar upright curve again.

"Oh shit...'m getting–"

Your hand reaches down between your legs to lace around his girth, the pads of your digits drifting around the blushing tip.

Your hands are so soft that Toji's flinching, his hips jerking as your fist encircles the mushroomed tip. "Sorry, Dollface. Should've grabbed some condoms before coming here.

"I don't mind if we don't use one."

"A-Are you sure? Really, I can wait for when we–"

Toji's long-winded pleas fall short on your ears, your lithe hands swiftly aligning him with your hole.

"Toji," you coo.

"Yes?"

"Hurry up and fuck me already...please."

A part of Toji wishes you wouldn't use such a word—fucking. He isn't fucking you and hasn't been since last night. Not when he wants to see your cute expression, trying to guess how deep he's ended up. He isn't fucking you when he wants to hold you just like this, keeping your body wrapped up in his arms.

He's too interested in finding ways to ruin you just to be fucking you.

He hasn't found a word to describe what exactly he's doing the moment his cock sinks into you, but it surely isn't anywhere near something as heartless and crude as "fucking".

The head of his cock paints your slit in sloppy kisses before his girth robs you of composure. He's watching the swelled mounds of your folds split at his length, painting the throbbing veins in your essence. You feel so good around him, enveloping his cock in your heat.

But it's something he shouldn't even have the honor of bearing witness to, especially when you're back to hiding in the crook of his neck.

"C'mon, let's watch together," he purrs, cupping your jaw firmly once more within his broad digits. He's directing your sights to the pane of glass before you both, your flaring eyes gawking at the scene.

"We can see everything, baby. Get to finally see how greedy this pussy is too–fuck. Taking every inch of me...just...like...that."

He's back to stretching you again, his pudgy girth bullying your pussy to accept him. But his face tells you a different story, his skin flushed in bliss's shade of rouge. He's squirming beneath you, desperately trying to stop himself from getting ahead. He's filling your ear with rambles, mumbling off some mantra of being patient.

Toji's patience's warranted when he huffs out a groan, tossing his head back when he buries himself to the hilt at last. The hairs decorating the base of his cock brush against you as he grinds his hips against your ass, the bush of onyx tickling the bare skin of your cunt.

"See?" he groans breathlessly, "Did such a good job, Baby! N-Now, lemme...lemme make this pussy all mine."

The languid drop of Toji's hips pulls you from his lips, a weak keen escaping your lips. He buys himself an inch or two before flooding your senses again, the thich crown of his cock pecking at your core.

Toji's noticing how you ease up each time he meets your sweet spot with a kiss.

He brings his hips to an angle when his hips drop this time. He's praying that the thick curve of his underside works in his favor to hit all your sweet spots in a single stride. His hands reach to cup at the back of your knees, pinning your limp body to his own.

"Ohmy–fuuuuck, Toji!"

The crashing barrage of waves his hips carry rip through your pert ass, trailing all the way to the underside of your thighs. Suddenly, he's reaching so much deeper than before, his eyes bearing witness to his cock stretching with ease. His excitement's getting the better of him, coaxing Toji to feed your poor cunt with relentless strides.

"That's it, Princess, take that fucking dick!"

Your lips unwind at his praise, his name rolling off your lolling tongue. In the heat of your bliss, you steal a glance at your silhouettes in the mirror, eyes falling right on the sinful fixture of where you and Toji meld. It's a dizzying sight to swallow, your hazy stare watching your own cunt swallow down Toji for every inch he has. It's so lewd but...so...so mesmerizing!

It's wrong but you can't look away from the swell of your lips splitting around the fat of his cock. It's like he belongs there with the way his hips snap riveting strokes to flush your pussy raw. He's pulling everything out of you, rousing the overwhelming swell of heat to rile your nerves.

He's harboring a resilient drive now, earning the badge of a thick white ring wrapped around the base of his cock. But he isn't working this hard for nothing. He's trying to drown out the facts of just how good you feel around him.

Your fluttering walls coddle his shaft with pecks, the suckling heat gnawing at his ebbing resistance, the way you're peering at him with those eyes—those blown hues begging for just an inch of relief. You've got Toji's body running hot, thriving off nothing but carnal lust.

He knows you're close, but he wants to cum with you even more. He's more than aware of the fact that if he hits your core just one more time, that would be your undoing.

But you just can't cum yet...you can't.

Toji graces your visage with a kiss, pity souring his thoughts. You're ruined by him; tear-stained cheeks, spit-ridden lips, and the dumb rambles falling from your mouth prove his theory to be true.

"You wanna cum, don't you, Princess?"

"Y-Yes...p-please, Toji!" you sniffle, nodding frantically at his inquiry.

"T-Then cum with me!" he sobs, his forehead dipping into the crook of your neck.

Your bodies catch the seizing hold of anticipation, the promise of bliss breaking over you. "Mmm, Tojiiii!" you hysterically bawl.

It's selfish to seek out his aid but the pit in your tummy's too much for you alone to handle this time. It's a sweeping spasm, capturing your body whole. Hot white steaks lick across your skin as you arrive at your high. It takes every ounce of your being to sustain, your back bearing a harsh arch. Just as it came, your high quickly ebbs away from you, rendering you into a panting mess.

Toji does all he can to free himself from your silky walls, his hips dropping from your own. He's pitted his cock to relish the final moments alone before the compelling surge of white explodes from the fat head, your inner thigh lathered rich in his scent.

"Fuckfuckfuck, I c-can't stop—hnn!" Toji blubbers, his stomach caving in against your back. He tosses his head back along the divan's frame, writhing beneath the weight of his high pins upon him.

Your blurry vision falls onto Toji, basking in what his own orgasm had planned for him. He's gritting his teeth. You want to help him, but just as your own, this is something Toji has to bear on his own.

All you have for him is a kiss, your lips simmering at the corner of his mouth. It isn't even a minute before your kind gesture is returned by Toji. It's soft kiss, his lips barely sinking into yours. He lazily pulls away, wearing a weak smile to greet you.

"T-Thank you, Princess."

"C'mon, let's get out of here. I'm sure Ami is waiting out there," Toji croaks, pressing one last peck to your cheek.

You nod weakly, planting yourself on the plush carpet. Toji follows right behind you with his hand too fond of your lower back. He helps you first, slipping the sage dress down your body before tending to himself.

"Oh," he calls out, reaching for your panties. "You don't need this right?"

"And what are you going to do with them?"

Toji stuffs the lacy material into his back pocket, tugging away any evidence of his perverted ways.

"Told you I'm no good. I steal too."

"Go ahead...but it's just because I'm too tired to argue right now," you hint as you wait for him by the door.

You and Toji quickly slip past the private fitting room's door, walking into an empty lobby.

"Huh, guess we beat her—"

"Okay guys! I just finished the samples, sorry to keep you guys waiting. Come back next week and I'll have the full order of tops done. We can get his bottom done as well!" Ami announced.

You and Toji watch the woman with dumb, gaping eyes, right until she stands before you both. You sheepishly accept the bag in her hand, Toji reaching out to take it from you.

Guess luck is still on your side.

"Okay," you mutter slowly. I'm gonna use the bathroom. I'll be right back."

Toji offers you a nod, watching you disappear behind the service desk.

"Wow, it's so good to see her back to her old self," Ami shares, her comment piquing Toji's interest.

"Why? Oh! Because her husband passed right?"

"Yes, she's been so sad for the past four years. So seeing her out and about again brings me such ease."

"Wait, four years? Her husband died three years ago..."

"Yes, that's still right," Ami avows, "But he was diagnosed a year before his death. They tried so many treatments, and hospitals—all that money couldn't get him a reasonable recovery. Then, one day he simply called off all treatment and wanted to spend his final days at home with his wife. So even before his initial death, she was already filled with grief."

"Is that so..." Toji hums, his attention called back as you return to the sales floor.

"Okay, sorry about that. Ready to do Toji?"

"Yeah...thank you again, Ami," he waves at Ami, his quick steps bringing him to join your side.

"Bye Ami! See you next week!" you grin.

With the chime of the door's bell, you and Toji are transported back outside onto the streets of Ginza.

The sun's setting tendrils blaze through the orange sky, hues of purple, rose, and yellow casting themselves across the horizon. The buildings nearby bask beneath the gentle glow of dusk as night teases its way in.

"You wanna get on the train again?" Toji hums as he faces you. He's wearing that dumb look again, gawking at how your afterglow drinks in the day's final rays.

"No, it's nice out. Let's walk back home," you suggest, earning a nod from Toji.

You both begin on your trek home, slipping your hand into his.

He's too busy racking his brain to notice the gesture but he welcomes it all the more. You were vague with the details of your husband's death, but to know how much grief you've endured in recent years pulls at Toji's heartstrings.

He knows he's no replacement—hell, you're the one spoiling him. But he knows he can still give you something of his—his time and effort.

In the long run, his time and effort might not amount to much. But somehow and someway, he's hellbent on making his own mission to cheer you up. And no, you didn't ask for a savior, and he's far from being called on.

But call it compassion from the resident wanderer.

"Hey...Princess?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I call you my lady?"

You stop dead in your tracks, forcing Toji to come to his own stop.

"What?"

"How about I call you...my lady? It doesn't need to have any romance behind it and it kinda sums up what you are to me."

"And what are you to me? Not a friend since you get all pissy."

"I don't get pissy, thank you very much," Toji scoffs. He places himself in front of you, wanting to read your reactions as he urgently tries to explain himself.

"I mean, you hired me to be your boy toy. Now, I have no issue saying that, but I can see where that might not sound too pleasing to others. So...you're my lady...my mistress even. How does that sound?"

"I'll take lady, mistress is no better than boy toy."

"Great!" Toji smiles. You playfully roll your eyes, attempting to step away from Toji—but he isn't done with you yet.

No, how could he be?

His hand's swift to grace the dip of your back, pushing you flush against his chest. A mischievous grin curls onto his lips as he scours that bombshell look on your face. It's been a day and you still aren't used to his brash advances—something you know you'll adjust to in time.

But Toji's playing coy, blowing you a teasing kiss. He just has one more thing to say, and he hopes you're ready to agree.

"Can we kiss on it?"

TAGS: @pixelsanji @sleepy3 @slaughterakira @woahhajime @champagnej @shuxjodie @just-yer-average-key @bontensbabygirl @tojitsukaisen @serenareiss @omniuravity @sweeneyblue1 @yukihime-mikeys-girl @kazusugar @jjjangsta @10-jiku @missyasma @a3trogirl @chaoticevilbakugo @luvrdrop @yourmommy52726 @widepipepaladiknight @tojishugetiddies @nekoriots @ladyackermann @tonaken @holychocopie @dukina @kensgff @humantrashcan2000 @batmanslittlelover @23victoria @sisnot @insideboburnham @shima707 @patchi-chi @brokenheartshards @akiko0-0 @mx-luvzz @whore02 @lilystarknette @hannas16 @girlwith-kalei-do-scope-eyes @your-favorite-god @missakward123 @ssetsuka @alwaysfreakingout @httpstoyosi

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 2 days

Note

Hi babe!!! I heard you wanted Miguel!! I know I always love dad characters, but I have one for Miguel that’s a lil different. How would Miguel react to y/n not being able to have kids? Maybe they’ve been trying to have kids but they get that news

Hope you’re doing well, love!

-🍼

my lovely hii!! omg yay! been missing him so bad lately, but I fear it’s been so long I feel like I forgot how to write him (maybe I’ll just have to watch atsv again for research😏) thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌 hope all is well

sorry it took so long for me to post, there was a huge line ahead xx

READER AND MIGUEL NOT BEING ABLE TO CONCEIVE.

honestly, I don't think he would take the news too lightly. he's secretly really disappointed (bc he just wants a family) and as much as he's upset by the news, he knows it must hit you so much harder

he knows that it's neither one of your faults, so he tries to remind himself that sometimes there's nothing you can do. BUUUT..

he is a science boy, so he suggests inventing/ creating something

but maybe you don't want to go through all that, like all the tests, hope, disappointment, being prodded, poked for blood and samples. so you're probably against the idea

he's reassuring in the way he believes he can create something/ make it work, but you tell him how maybe making a family just isn't something that's supposed to happen for you both

he knows you're upset about it and understands you may not mean what you said. so he tries to be the one with a clear, hopeful head (emphasising tries) and when you talk negatively about it all, he wants to be the one to comfort you, even though he's also crushed by the news. he’s just sorry that it couldn’t be easier for you both

after you both have time to process it all (the idea of kids is still on the table btw and you're both still sure you want them) you both have a discussion about the next steps ie, surrogacy, adoption or keep trying in the rare chance it may happen etc etc

he says how it's up to you, and whatever you want to do he'd be happy with. whatever decision you make he'll support

missing him terribly tbh

#🍼#miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara headcanon #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader

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nana-au · 2 days

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Best Friends Know Best

Suguru Geto ♡

MDNI

₊˚ପ⊹ Summary: Your trip to the mall stresses Suguru out, so you treat him to some head when you two get home.

₊˚ପ⊹ Warnings: possessiveness, praising, immodest clothes in public, toxic ideology from geto, oral m! receiving, slight slut shaming, throat fucking, dirty talking (did i miss anything.. lol)

₊˚ପ⊹ an: this is sorta an extension off of my fic Best Friends Forever! (also sorry for not posting in a while i’m working on longer fics while also struggling to keep up with life lol)

₊˚ପ⊹ wc: 1.8k

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

He doesn't really understand why you insist on dressing up to go to the mall. You were there to buy new clothes, does it matter what you have on? Typically he would never complain about your fashion choices – You look darling in your girly little outfits.

But today? He cursed himself for not making you change while he still had the chance. He didn't want to be cruel, you were so excited to wear your new dress. It was a pink gingham number – it was so you. What he didn't like was how your chest spilled out of the low neckline and how anytime you shifted in just the right way your sheer panties were on display. He wanted to cry upon noticing how see-through your panties were – there was no mistaking the outline of your plump cheeks. Did you not know how many creeps there were in this world? Did he protect you so well that you were blissfully unaware of the dangers of looking this good? Tempting any man that is so fortunate to breathe the same air as you.

All throughout the day Geto followed closely behind you, shielding what he could of your body while trying not to make it obvious. You didn’t really notice what he had been doing until his hand reached to cover your chest from the employee at your check-out lane when you bent over; looking at the cute bracelets set up on the counter in front of you. You slowly stood up straight, giving him an odd look as he pocketed his credit card and grabbed your bag of items from the clerk. “What was that about?” you asked him while walking out of the store.

“Nothing baby,” he said from close behind you, your multiple bags in his arms, “Let’s go get you a latte.”

“Ooo that sounds good,” you mused, daydreaming which flavor syrup you wanted before you quickly snapped out of it, “Don’t change the subject! Why did you cover my chest? Is it really that noticeable?” You ask, looking down to see your cleavage spilling out the top of your dress. “It’s not that bad…” An exasperated sigh left his lips, seemingly exhausted by spending the whole day trying to keep you modest. “Geto? Does my dress upset you?” you stopped in the middle of the mall, turning around to meet his dead eyes. Your brows furrowed, noticing just how tense Geto was compared to when you first arrived. “Do you not like my dress?” your voice is drenched in worry.

“No baby, your dress is very pretty,” he meant it, your dress looked amazing on you. But that was just the problem he was having. “You look good… Just a little too good, y’know?” he forced a chuckle, trying to convince you that he was less upset than he really was. The two of you had been there for three hours, and for three hours he was at war with every guy’s wandering eyes. He had endured three hours of men checking you out, some were so indiscreet about it that the handles of your shopping bags were barely managing to keep the straps under his tight grasp. “Let’s get you a drink and head home, hmm?” he said, pulling together all of his energy to sound fine.

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

Even after a couple of hours went by at your shared place, Suguru still looked as wound up as he did at the mall. He sat on the couch, drinking a beer and staring at the show on the tv, obviously not really watching it. His grip on the beer bottle was loose, only sipping it when he remembered it was in his hand.

You grew more and more worried as time passed. You lost the outfit as soon as you got home, opting for pajama shorts and a long sleeved shirt – hoping that he would forget about whatever issue he had with your dress if he no longer had to look at it. That didn’t seem to be the case.

“Sugu?” you barely said above a whisper, “Is everything okay?” he only hummed at you, not taking his eyes off the screen. “Do you want to talk about it?” you meekly asked. His head shook while he took another lazy sip of his beer. You bit your lip in thought, taking in his still tensed figure that leaned back into the couch. He never changed out of his jeans and black tee, opting to prioritize drinking over unwinding for the day in his usual sweatpants attire. An idea came to you while your eyes trailed his figure, and you hesitated before speaking. “Do you want your cock in my mouth, Suguru?”

He nearly choked on his beer hearing your words, turning to see your face. You looked desperate to hear his response, so eager to hear you can please him. “Of course,” was his response to you, he could never turn that down. You crawled down from the couch and placed yourself between his legs. He sat up, moving to the edge to make it easier for you to reach. He pitched a tent almost immediately seeing you between his thighs. You began to undo his belt, working slowly as he watched with bated breath.

“Will this be a good apology, Sugu?” your doe eyes met his and you can see him melt at your words. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, waiting patiently as you pull down his zipper. He lifts his hips off the couch, helping you slide his pants all the way off. You rub his cock over his briefs, slowly stroking it and watching the fabric grow a wet patch. You decide it best not to tease for too long, so you pull his cock out and run your thumb across his wet tip.

“F-fuck,” he sighed, his hips following you as you began to stroke his cock. You twisted your wrist as you slid your hand up his length, teasing the head with your thumb each time you reached the top. He watched you behind his lidded eyes, waiting to feel the warmth of your throat. He dropped his beer onto the end table, preferring to stroke your hair as your wet tongue reached out to lick a fat stripe from the base of his cock to the tip. He groaned at the feeling, leaning back as your mouth finally took him in. You started slow, only taking him halfway and stroking the half that was left out with your hand. It wasn’t long before Suguru started his usual dirty talk that made you squirm. “You feel so good, princess,” he grunted, “This is what I deserved after a long day of putting up with you, hmm?” His hips bucked up, his tip hitting the roof of your mouth. “Having to keep you safe because you wanted to dress like a slut,” his other hand reached down to pull up his shirt, exposing his toned stomach that flexed every time you showed his tip extra attention. You licked the slit, pulling back just to spit all over it and using your hand to guide the lubricant down. He shuddered as you took more of him into your mouth, massaging his length with your tongue as his tip neared further down your throat. “Just couldn’t help showing yourself off,” he let loose his frustrations while his dick was stuffed in your mouth, preventing you from talking back. “Gotta suck my cock to make it up to me, princess,” he snickered. “You’ll do a good job? Hmm? Take me all the way?” it was your turn to react to the pleasure he was giving you. The way he talked to you always riled you up, his words always going straight to your clit. You shifted on your knees, desperately trying to give yourself any form of relief. As if he knew, his foot reached out for you and you took it, rubbing your clit shamelessly against the spot where his ankle and foot met. He laughed darkly at you, completely in awe as he watched you hump his foot while you drooled around his cock. “Look at you baby,” he purred at you, “Getting off to sucking my cock…” his Adam apple bobbed in his throat while he tried to collect himself before he came too soon. Your tight shorts were already growing wet as you rutted into him, sucking him even more feverishly. You took all of him, your eyes watering at the heavy feeling against your tongue and in your throat. “Fuck your throat feels so good. S’warm and wet,” he was moaning now, not capable of keeping it back anymore. “Almost as good as your little pussy… too bad she doesn’t deserve my cock right now…” you whined at his words, causing you to gag against his cock. You pulled back, coughing and wiping the tears from your eyes. “Am I too big for you, princess? Can’t take it?” he teased and you shook your head, readying yourself to go back down. Instead he guides you back, standing up and pulling his briefs completely off. “Gonna fuck your mouth, okay?” he asks you and you nod, moving in to take him back in your mouth. As soon as his tip hits your tongue he is pushing himself all the way in, gripping your hair and shoving his cock down your throat at a brutal pace. You feel his trimmed hair tickle your nose with each thrust of his hips. Your cheeks were covered in tears and drool seeped from your lips and onto your chin. “You’re so good t’me,” he moaned out, throwing his head back as he used your throat. His hips stuttered and you felt his dick twitch in your throat, you could tell he was close. “You’re gonna swallow it all… else you’re gonna have to try again until you get it right. Fuckkk, can’t waste a drop,” you dug your nails into his thighs, waiting eagerly for him to reach his peak. Eager to taste his salty cum.

When he finally came you did as you were told, cleaning up anything that spilled out with your fingers, before popping it back into your mouth. “Such a good girl,” he murmured to you, smoothing out the hair he roughed up previously. “So beautiful,” his dark eyes showed nothing but adoration for you, kissing your forehead as he spoke, “A little too beautiful…”

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imagine-darksiders · 7 hours

Text

Eden's Heir, chapter 4 - The Jump.

I can't believe it's been almost a year since I updated this. A lot has happened recently, not all of it good, but I'm still here, and will continue to be by hook or by crook! I've had to cut it into two chapters because the final fight between the Slag Demon and the Horsemen is taking way too long to write. Good news though, there'll be two chapters in [hopefully] quick succession. Hooray! Hope you like this one, guys, thank you all so much for standing by me and waiting so patiently.. I don't know where I'd be without your support. <3 <3 <3

Summary:

As you grapple with the horrifying, new reality you've found yourself in, Strife continues to torment you in the misguided hope that somehow, you'll spontaneously start to like him. His jokes are terrible. It's just a shame you have a weakness for terrible jokes. War, meanwhile, can't stop his eyes from wandering to your fresh, undeserved scar...

You suppose that when Strife said this would be ‘fun,’ he was only factoring himself into the equation. Because for you, there’s nothing very fun about having your particles ripped apart and rocketed through a portal which, according to modern science, should not and does not exist.

Well, modern science owes you a formal apology.

As it turns out, portals very much do exist, and they’re a lot less fun than the media has led you to believe.

The experience - though you hesitate to give it such a mundane moniker - isn’t… painful, per se, mostly because the whole process is over and done with so quickly that your brain and body aren’t given the time to notice that they’ve been squished through one end of a worm hole, reassembled atom by atom, and then spat out on the other side.

Perhaps more disconcertingly than the feeling itself is the fact that when you’re hanging for that split-second moment in a space outside of existence itself, you notice that the temperature around you inexplicably skyrockets.

And frankly, you’re not sure which is worse… The stale, unwelcoming chill of the Void, or the absolute blistering inferno that greets you within less than a second of leaving it.

Before you can even open your mouth to scream at the unnatural process your very human body is being subjected to, the space around you solidifies and stabilises again, and an unexpected jolt shoots straight through you when Strife’s metal boots collide with a hard, stone surface, jarring your stomach painfully against his shoulder pauldron.

At the same time, a wave of hot, dry air sweeps over you from head to toe, cloaking you in uncomfortable and immediate warmth that’s downright oppressive, thick and inescapable, as if you’ve just been tossed onto the fiery surface of the sun and left to sizzle.

Actually, now that you’ve experienced both extremes, perhaps you are sure which is worse. At least that sinister demon’s Void didn’t make you want to peel yourself out of your own skin.

Groaning miserably, you pick your hazy head up and suck in a breath that goes down about as well as spoiled meat, and then nearly retch at the unpleasant texture of heat sliding down the walls of your oesophagus like something squirming and alive.

Even the metal chain on your bag begins to grow warm against the skin of your neck, dangling down below your head near the Horseman’s holsters.

“Hot damn,” Strife announces, concisely putting a voice to your thoughts.

Your lashes are sticky from leftover tears, clumping together when you squeeze your eyes shut and attempt to pry them apart again. It takes a few arduous blinks before your blurry surroundings bleed into focus.

You rather wish you’d just kept your head down and your eyes firmly shut.

If there were any doubts left in your mind that teleportation really is possible, they swiftly fly out of the proverbial window when you catch your first, proper glimpse of the surroundings.

Wherever you are, it definitely isn’t the same place you were in barely ten seconds ago.

Bracing a palm against Strife’s solidly armoured back, you lever your torso up slightly to give yourself a better view of the world around you.

It seems that the portal – your brain starts to ache as it tries to accept the existence of those – has spat you out underneath the roof of an absolutely gargantuan cavern.

Roving your gaze back and forth, mouth ajar, you notice the walls, floor and ceiling are made entirely of dark, igneous rock, and yet all around you, you start to spot signs of… Well, perhaps not civilisation exactly, but definitely an external presence that gives you the impression that this is a keep of some kind, dug by hand rather than time or nature.

Two, immense pillars stand proudly at the far corners of the enormous chamber, large enough to prop up the roof of a veritable mountain.

Craning your neck back until it twinges, you squint through a haze of simmering air at the ceiling far above you, feeling a trickle of dread creep down into the pit of your stomach.

Bolted into the rock between the stalactites, there are numerous, gigantic chains hanging like eerie sentinel over your heads, so large and heavy that it doesn’t look as though anything short of gale-force winds could cause them to sway. You don’t dare to imagine what purpose they might serve.

Pale, unreachable light trickles lazily down from above, dappling little patches of the grey stone underneath Strife’s boots.

With your heart wedged in your throat, you swallow another curl of heat and let your gaze wander over to the side of the keep to where the ground falls away in a sheer drop several feet from the walls. It’s from the resulting pit that a vivid, orange glow rises, carrying with it the distinct sound of cracking, like glass windows slowly splintering apart, or a lake of ice breaking under a heavily placed boot. And below that sound, a deep, subterranean rumble serves as the background noise to this stifling place, constant and oozing.

Coupled with the acrid stench permeating your nostrils and the sweltering heat, you’re suddenly struck by the very disconcerting but plausible notion that you might have found yourself in the heart a volcano.

As if your day wasn’t horrendous enough.

All of a sudden, your ears are pricked by a low grunt from somewhere just a little too close to you, reminding you of your larger tormentor’s presence with a nauseating pang to the stomach. Consequentially, the unsightly welt on your forearm gives an insistent twinge.

Twisting your head to the left, you nearly jump out of your skin to find War has appeared out of thin air beside you, straightening to his full domineering height that easily clears his brother, and subsequently, you. The hooded behemoth only spares you a disinterested glance before his pale, blue eyes dart away again just as quickly and he stomps around to Strife’s front, out of view.

A breath you didn’t know you were keeping behind your teeth shakes itself loose.

You have to peel your tongue from the roof of your bone-dry mouth like a strip of velcro before you’re able to form a small, hesitant question in a voice baked hoarse and thin. “What is this place?”

No sooner has your meek question faded below the rumble of the cavern’s ambiance than an entirely new and harrowing sound punctures the otherwise quiet air.

Howling along the cavern walls comes a piercing, anguished scream, stemming from a place much deeper than you’ve already seen. It’s a raw sound, broken and terrified and primal, like a man with his humanity stripped and skewed just enough that he can’t quite be called human any longer. It prompts a sharp gasp out of you as the sound ricochets off the rocks, curdling your blood and raising the finer hairs on the back of your neck.

As if he’s entirely unconcerned with such a horrifying occurrence, Strife plants his free hand squarely on a hip and draws in a deep, obnoxious breath through his nose before he sighs it all out again, casting a casual glance around with all the air of a man surveying a pleasant sunrise.

“Ahh~ Screams of suffering, chains hanging from the ceiling, no sign of an exit…” he sighs wistfully, clapping the back of your thigh with his palm and announcing, “Yep! We’re definitely in a dungeon.”

He seems oblivious to your apprehension as you dart your eyes to every darkened corner of the cavern as if you might find the source of the tormented scream, curling your legs up under your dress until your knees bump against the Horseman’s chest. “A-a dungeon!?” you gulp, kneading your fingers between the gaps of Strife’s armoured spine, “A dungeon for what?”

Distracted for a fleeting moment by the foreign sensation of fingertips pressing against his leather under-armour, the Horseman almost forgets to respond.

It isn’t until he notices War’s expectant glare burning a hole into the side of his visor that he gives his head a shake and promptly shrugs his massive shoulders, swinging himself around to face away from his brother, and in doing do, bringing you almost nose to chest with the surly giant.

“Beats me,” he hums, utterly heedless of the fearsome stare-down currently happening just behind his head, “Probably for the poor bastard we just heard screaming... And a few others, to boot.”

Angling your head up, you have to gulp past a rather thick lump in your throat as you peer meekly up at War, who in turn, glares right back down at you, his eyes glinting ominously from within the shadow of his hood.

Reluctant to drop your gaze or even breathe for fear of provoking him by committing some unknowable slight, you shrink against Strife and duck your head, peeping up at him through your lashes as you tap your forefinger against one of the silver armour pieces interlocking across your captor’s back.

“Um,” you start, hearing Strife’s helm brush against your dress when he turns to listen, “C-can you, uh, put me down now…” Then, following a notable stretch of deafening silence, you squeakily tack on a hurried, “Please?”

There’s no guarantee that being on the ground will be any better for you than dangling over an uncomfortable, metal shoulder, but you’re at least willing to entertain the illusion that you’ll be safer on your feet without Strife dictating your every move. A modicum of control is better than none at all.

And truthfully, you’d just like to end the humiliation of being carried around like a sack of distraught potatoes.

Yet for some, inane reason, the armour-clad Horseman doesn’t seem as eager to relinquish you as you are to be relinquished.

“Aw, what’s the matter?” he drawls, bumping his shoulder up and down playfully, no doubt to pull a rise out of you which you frustratingly give him in the form of a gasp before he continues, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

Still glaring down at you, unimpressed, War gives an exasperated huff, blasting a jet of warm air onto the crown of your head.

“Put her down,” he states firmly, lifting his gaze from you at last, “You will need both hands free if we run into trouble.”

Knocking his head back over a shoulder to address you, Strife grins beneath his helm and murmurs, “Ha. You’d be amazed what I can pull off one-handed.”

Trying your best to ignore his boast, you roll your eyes and start to squirm, wriggling around under the weight of his arm. “Ugh,” you complain, “Will you please just put me down?”

“Mmm…” Humming obnoxiously, Strife sucks his teeth and replies, “Depends. You gonna try and run away again?”

That, at least, gives you something to consider. Are you going to try and run again? They certainly haven’t given you much of a reason not to.

The scar War gave you still burns when you bend your arm a certain way and the flesh pulls and stretches beyond the limits of the tissue.

More to the point, how do you really know any of what they’ve told you is true?

How do you know you’re not on Earth right now, somewhere remote, yes, but escapable. Because they told you you’re not?

You don’t know these giants from Adam.

You can’t trust anything they say. You don’t trust anything they say. And while you’ve undeniably found yourself smack-dab in the middle of some seriously unnatural goings on, that doesn’t mean you have to accept everything at face value.

Reality might be breaking apart around you, but you don’t have to join it, tempting though it may be to curl up into a ball and sob until the problem sorts itself out.

Desperate, your brain falls into a tailspin as it tries to rationalise such irrational circumstances.

Outwardly however, you’re aware he’s waiting for a response, so, sweeping your tongue nervously over your bottom lip, you finally croak out a hesitant, “No?”

The silence that follows is damn near chilling.

Twisting your neck up and back over your shoulder, you catch the shine in one of Strife’s luminous eyes peering at you, narrow and thin with obvious scepticism.

“Huh,” he says, clicking his tongue, “That didn’t sound very convincing. I’m not very convinced.” Casting a look over at his brother, he adds, “War, are you very convinced?”

Predictably, War’s only response is to glower down at the shorter Horseman and grumble impatiently at the back of his throat.

Nonplussed, Strife returns his attention to you. “I don’t think he’s very convinced.”

You have to press your lips into a firm, immoveable line and swallow back the vulgar words you’d just love to spew all over his shoulder…. Instead, you heave in a hot, arduous breath and slowly reiterate, “No. I won’t try to run away.” Then for added measure… “Again.”

You loathe that you can feel the scrutiny of not one, but two apocalyptic beings boring into the side of your head with suspicious, calculating glares.

Just as you’re beginning to consider whether pulling his hair will get him to drop you or kill you, Strife suddenly perks up, his sinister doubt disappearing as he raises his chin to pipe, “A’right. Good enough for me.”

Taken wildly aback, you let your mouth hang open whilst Strife simply raises his arms and lays two oversized hands on your hips, causing your jaw to snap shut before you can emit an embarrassing squeak of fright.

With far too much ease, the Horseman lifts you up and off his shoulder.

The moment you lose the stability of his armour under your stomach, you begin to tilt forwards. Choking on a gasp, you throw your hands up and brace them on each of his forearms.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha,” he chuckles brightly, to your immense dismay.

It’s a disconcerting sight. From the tips of your fingers to the heels of your palms, your hands don’t even wrap halfway around his armoured wrists.

Gawking down at your appendages, they seem so lost against the enormity of the arms that lower you gently to the ground.

As soon as the soles of your shoes touch a solid surface again, you waste no time in ripping your hands away from him and staggering backwards, trying but failing to extract yourself from his sturdy grasp.

Before you can get very far at all, fingers of solid steel bury themselves into your dress at the hip and you jerk to an immediate halt for fear of tearing the fabric by struggling. Arms held aloft to avoid touching his own again, you throw a wary look up at Strife’s visor, reluctantly meeting those sharp, alien eyes and finding they’ve narrowed to thin lines of gold, gleaming brightly against the shadows cast by his helm.

“You’re gonna have to get used to sticking close to one of us, kid,” he warns, his tone brooking no argument and devoid of any previous jocularity, “Cause as nasty as you think we are, I guarantee there’re things in here that are a thousand times worse.”

The well you typically draw your courage from ran dry long ago, long before you came here, long before you quietly agreed to marry Cain. So, you aren’t sure where you find the nerve to jut out your chin and bitterly remark, “Worse than trying to slice off my limbs?”

Sudden movement freezes you in your shoes as War emerges from behind his brother, moving to stand at his side and swallowing you up in the egregious shadow he casts across the ground.

Ignoring his approach, the gunslinger continues to hold you still.

“Yeah,” he replies simply, “A lot worse.”

Squeezing your lips into a tight, anxious pout, you swallow, unnerved by the way his gaze instantly dips to watch your throat bob around the undulating motion.

Gradually, you lower your head, losing the defiance of a jutting chin to instead tuck it timidly away against your chest, consumed by the sudden and unwarranted ideas that start to flash in your mind’s eye, showing you gruesome fates that could await you just around the corner.

If two gigantic maniacs wielding guns and a sword aren’t the worst you could face…

Just what the Hell have you walked into?

Regarding you closely for a few more moments, Strife eventually gives his head a satisfied bob, deeming that you’ve read him loud and clear.

Gingerly, he starts to peel his fingers from your dress, wincing when the gaps in his gauntlets pinch the delicate fabric as he returns his hands to his sides. Regardless, all of his muscles remain bunched, ready to spring into action at the first sign that you might go back on your word and attempt to flee after all.

He’s almost more caught off guard when you don’t move.

Instead, you murmur a soft, “Thank you,” which just about smacks the jaw clean off his face. Staring down at you, his lips parted by a fraction, he watches you fiddle with a jewelled band of gold sitting at the base of one of your fingers for several seconds before he remembers to blink.

Indifferent, and admittedly ignorant of his sudden bout of silence, you try to distract yourself by absently brushing the palms of your hands over your dress, tutting softly at the creases and rumples in the tulle.

It’s all you can think to do now that you’ve got a little freedom back.

Nearby, War shifts his immense weight to stand even closer to Strife’s flank, and together, the brothers share a sidelong glance before returning their attention to the fussy, little human in front of them.

Even with the helm obscuring most of Strife’s angular features, War only needs to take one glance at his profile to catch the distinct and unmistakable gleam of fascination bleeding through the cracks in his armour.

Typical Strife, he scoffs to himself. The minute something new and shiny comes along, it’s all he seems to be able to think about. And there are very few things newer and shinier than a lost human dressed from head to toe in sparkling, white garb.

Hauling his eyes up towards the cavernous ceiling, War lets out an exasperated sigh and brusquely elbows Strife aside, sweeping him backwards with the palm of his prosthetic gauntlet, much to his brother’s belligerence.

“Hey!” he barks, though he goes entirely ignored.

Stepping sideways into the spot Strife had once occupied, War places his back to the smaller Nephilim and clears his throat, curious at the way you quickly stiffen like a prey animal and gradually lift your head.

He stands so close that you have to tip it all the way back before you’re even able to meet his eye, reminding him of how much smaller humans are. Smaller, and weaker…

The colossal Horseman almost can’t quite believe that for a member of a species so vulnerable, you don’t seem to possess any weapons. Natural or otherwise.

His eyes drift down to the long, pink line he’d marked you with. You hadn’t tried to claw or bite or do much of anything to stop him, not that it would have made an iota of difference. You were helpless… And he…

A pair of snowy white brows twitch microscopically inwards.

“Do you know how to fight?” he utters at last, lifting his gaze to meet your otherworldly stare. He doesn’t miss how you seem to be fixated on something behind his crimson hood, and if he has to hazard a guess, you’re staring directly at Chaoseater’s hilt.

Pulling a face, you look back at him and croak, “I… I-I’m sorry?”

Briefly wondering why in the nine Hells you’re apologising, he presses, “Have you any weapons training?” When all he receives it a blank stare, he casts his mind about for something primitive you’ll have heard of and adds, “Swords? Axes…? Bows?”

“Guns?” Strife eagerly pipes up from somewhere behind him.

Heaving an irritated sigh, War half turns his head over a shoulder and snaps, “She is a human. She doesn’t know what guns are.”

“I… What?” you peep, wrenched from your stupor by the absurdity of his declaration, “Uh… Yes, I do.”

Bemused, War raises his brow at you and retorts, “No, you do not.”

For a moment, you’re so dumbstruck by his apparent ignorance that you forget how much larger and more dangerous he is, enough that you pluck up the gall to scoff at him and insist, “Uh. I’m pretty sure I do? Humans have been using guns for centuries.”

Raising your hands, you start to knock a list off your fingers, unaware of the behemoth’s eyes growing wide.

“Shotguns, rifles, pistols-“ you state, pausing to throw a hand out and gesture at the guns in Strife’s leather holsters. “Revolvers-!”

You’re unprepared for War to suddenly move forwards, instantly cutting off your rambling list and sending your glimmer of nerve scurrying back down your throat as he leans towards you, filling your field of view with his indomitable, ferocious scowl.

On a reflex, you tilt backwards with a hand on your chest, blinking owlishly up into the depths of his hood.

“How could you possibly know about firearms?” he demands, the sigil on his forehead burning with fiery heat as his temper flares.

Shaking your head rapidly, you stammer out, “I.. I don’t, I’m not-“

“-Hey,” Strife tries to interject, “C’mon, War. You’re scarin’ her.”

Disregarding his brother, the Horseman raises his voice and growls, “Who has been supplying you?! Speak!”

Your hands wring together as you try to form an answer, struggling in the face of someone who has proven they have no qualms about hurting you. But all you can produce is another pitiable whimper. “Nobody! We just-“

Before you can utter another sound, a large, silver hand suddenly appears over War’s shoulder, grabbing the metal pauldron that’s been forged in the likeness of a snarling face and tugging him away from you.

“War!” Strife barks, trying to wrench his brother around to face him, “I said back off.”

Savagely tearing his arm out of his grasp, War rounds on him, nostrils flaring like a raging bull. Flinging his arm out towards you indicatively, he bellows, “If humans are being supplied with weapons-!”

“-Then why’re you takin’ it out on her, and not the asshole trying to arm her species?”

War’s teeth click shut, his shoulders heaving with every breath he pulls into his train carriage chest.

Letting out a sigh, Strife sends a sideways glance at you, lowering his voice to add, “Come on. Look at who you’re trying to intimidate.”

Begrudgingly, War follows his brother’s line of sight.

You’re well aware you aren’t exactly giving humanity a good name right now, shivering like a wet leaf and holding your injured arm guardedly against your chest, all the while stifling a sob and eyeing War as if he’ll draw his sword and run you through at any moment.

For several, terrible seconds, the Horseman’s sneer remains locked in place, rigid and threatening, but as he watches you cower away from him, something in War’s almighty resolve shudders…

And yields.

Slowly, at a pace that would make a glacier yawn, his hard snarl recedes.

“See,” Strife points out, “You just look like a dick.”

The furious expression is back on War’s face in the blink of an eye, but at least this time, he aims it at his brother, opening his mouth to suck down a sharp breath, ready to berate him…

Rocks skitter across the ground somewhere too close for comfort, snatching the attention of your unlikely troop.

As one unit, Strife and War spin towards the far end of the chamber where the noise had come from, reaching for their weapons and placing their broad, armoured backs to you.

It would be the perfect opportunity to make a break for it, if you weren’t frozen solid by the prospect of running into whatever made these juggernauts so jumpy.

The former Horseman draws both of his guns from their holsters so quickly, your eyes can barely keep track of the movement. War, in the meantime, takes a gigantic step backwards as he swings his accursed sword over his shoulder, crowding you into a clumsy retreat to avoid having your toes stepped on.

Frantic, you try to peer through the gap between the titans, scanning the chamber walls for any sign of life.

“What the hell was that?” you can’t help but whisper-shout, hardly daring to breathe.

Neither of them replies for a time, not even Strife, who has his revolvers aimed out at the room, his arms still as statues as if he isn’t even vaguely affected by the weight of his guns.

Seconds tick by at an agonising pace, and the three of you wait, and wait, straining your ears to try and pick up another sound. But aside from the crackle of lava cooling as it hits the air, everything remains perfectly still and silent once more.

After another minute, War grunts, lowering his sword and casting a dark look up at the ceiling. “We’ve lingered here for too long,” he remarks, half turning to peer down at you again, his eyes skimming over you from head to toe.

“So,” he starts, “You’ve handled guns?”

Shaking your head, you hold your hands out helplessly and say, “No, I mean, I know about them, but I-I’ve never actually shot one.”

“I could teach you,” Strife pipes up, thrusting the revolvers back into their holsters with casual ease.

“Now is hardly the time, brother,” War snaps, still eyeing you pensively.

Something very strange has been hovering about you like a miasma ever since you crashed into his brother in the Void. Something unplaceable that he can’t quite put his finger on. You are human, that much is confirmed, but you’re not like any human he’s ever heard of. It’s a troubling notion, that some unseen force might be trying to arm your species. If that’s the case, they’ll need to figure out who. Then why.

But in the meantime, he and Strife have a job to do, here and now.

First thing’s first…

“… Never handled a weapon,” he murmurs aloud.

It makes sense, he concedes. Humans aren’t a war-faring species, so it’s little wonder that you don’t know how to use weapons… For War, however, a Nephilim who has been holding a blade since the day he was risen from dust, the concept seems so alien, not to mention disconcerting.

Inclining his head, he gives you another once-over before turning away, stating matter-of-factly, “You will be a liability.”

It’s such a blasé statement, accusing, as if you’re culpable of something you’ve had no control over thus far. It actually makes you recoil as you draw your head back to fix him with an incredulous frown, lips parted, and your brows furrowed heavily above your eyes.

Despite every fibre of your being telling you that there’s a terrible idea forming at the back of your mind, you take a step away, lean your weight on your heel, and start to size him up.

Now, you’ve picked some battles before, tried to stand up to people you had no business standing up to. Cain and Delilah nipped that streak in the bud back when you thought asserting your opinion on matters of marriage should make a difference. Those battles were wildly different from this one, and you lost, every time, worn down and beaten back from the woman you used to be by wills stronger and more tempered than yours. You used to think you could face the world bravely, and all it took were a few people to show you that you weren’t as strong as you liked to think you were. It humbled you, and over time, you learned an easier life was synonymous with a passive life.

But you’ve been passive a lot lately.

Maybe you’ve been running on cold feet for too long. Maybe this whole, nightmarish interruption to your routine is finally catching up to you and numbing you to sense and logic, but truth be told?

You really don’t like hearing that this is somehow your fault.

Balling your hands into fists, you swallow thickly, and steady yourself with a noisy breath, wondering if this will be the moment you get to learn if there’s a Heaven as well as a Hell.

“Hey! I didn’t ask you to bring me with you, okay?” you say in a wobbly voice, staring at a spot just past his left arm to avoid his glare lest your words fail you completely, “Maybe, if I’m such a liability, you should just leave me to find my own way home!”

His head snaps properly in your direction with such velocity, you let out a gasp, flinching backwards and shrinking in on yourself again, your eyes darting to his lips that curl just the slightest in one corner, and the little bit of gall sitting on your tongue shrivels up and dies at the back of your throat.

Oh well. It was nice to have your guts back while it lasted. Just a pity they’re probably about to get ripped out of you for raising your voice.

For a number of unpleasant seconds, War merely regards you like you’ve just completely thrown him for a loop, neither raising his sword nor his fist to send you spinning off your mortal coil into the aether.

Finally, just as you’re beginning to fidget under his inspection, he quirks his brow at you and slowly states, “If you leave… you will die.”

You were expecting him to lose his temper again, to shout you down or put you down, not remark on your chances of survival.

“Oh, as if you give a shit about that,” you huff guardedly, curling a palm over your marred forearm and eyeing the Horseman like he’ll tear you in half for daring to call attention to the injury he caused.

War’s stance and expression don’t change in the slightest. He only continues to observe you coolly from inside his hood, ignoring the frequent looks Strife keeps flicking between the pair of you.

After a further spell of silence in which you seem to grow impossibly smaller, he at last gives an appraising hum and straightens his shoulders, jerking his head towards his brother and declaring, “You will stay close to Strife.”

Wait… You will?

“I will?” you say aloud, sending the other Horseman a distrustful glance. Strife, for his part, looks conversely pleased with the verdict, his head tipping coltishly to one side as he gives you a little wave.

… Well, you suppose if you have to choose between the two, the less time you spend near War the better. You assume he feels the same about having to be close to you, at least until he adds, “If we run into trouble, his guns allow him range. He will not let anything to get close to you.”

“They’re welcome to try,” his brother says cheerfully, thumbing the stock of a revolver.

Wilting like a helpless flower plucked from its patch of earth, you weakly ask, “Do I have a choice?”

Giving a hearty chuckle, Strife takes an exaggerated step closer to your side and pivots on his heel to face the same direction, cheerfully replying, “Ah, c’mon. Don’t be like that. I thought you humans were social. Safety in numbers, and all that?”

Disconcerted by his proximity, you lean away from him, cupping your elbows. “That’s not true for all of us,” you mumble.

You hear his intake of breath and prepare yourself for yet more inane chatter, but at that moment, you jump as another howl – distant but hair-raising – comes drifting into the chamber from some unknown offshoot deeper in the keep’s depths.

“Fucking hell,” you quake, your voice shaking like glass on the verge of shattering.

At your side, Strife mutters, “My sentiments exactly.”

Raising his head to catch War’s eye, he swings his chin towards the only visible exit; the apex of a wide, stone staircase that winds down away from the chamber, disappearing into a tunnel below. “You wanna take point?”

War’s response is a rich, throaty hum, accompanied by a decisive nod. “Indeed, we have wasted more than enough time here. Let us find Vulgrim’s troubling demon and pry the artifact from its cold, dead hands.”

“Ohho-okay!” Strife grins, suddenly gleeful as he claps his hands together, “Now you’re getting me excited.”

Rolling his eyes, War turns away and makes for the stairs, swinging his arm up to clip Chaoseater into its usual place on his back. Blankly watching him leave, you give a start when something metal and solid nudges at the small of your back, prodding you to stumble forwards awkwardly until Strife’s knuckles drop and he falls into step beside you, one stride for every two and a half of yours.

“I love it when he gets like this,” he remarks.

Begrudgingly, you resign yourself to trail after his brother and ask, “What? Murderous?”

“Oh yeah. Even he can be fun.” Tilting his head to the side in thought, he adds, “On occasion.”

Sweat has been steadily gathering on your forehead, and as you finally begin to move, a tiny droplet breaks free of your brow and trickles slowly down the side of your face. Of all the days to get swept up in a Universe-spanning caper, it would be the day you elected to wear one of the most awkward and cumbersome dresses known to man.

“So far none of this has been fun,” you huff, reaching up to flick the sweat drop away with a finger.

Strife’s boots hit the top step and he twists his helm sideways to shoot you a mock-offended smirk, “Not even me?”

You don’t bother to respond to that, instead throwing nervous glances around the room as you lift the front of your skirts and start to descend the staircase, your heels clacking noisily against the hard stone underfoot and echoing off the high walls. Somewhere nearby, you can hear liquid lava squeaking and splintering as it hits the marginally cooler air, though the heat only seems to grow more stifling the further you venture.

Absently, you wonder if you remembered to put your setting spray in the bag.

The staircase spirals down into the depths of a tunnel, twisting out of view and giving you no concept of what might lay ahead. To your left, you note the presence of tall, metal spikes jutting from a pit that runs alongside the stairs, like a wrought-iron fence whose purpose has been retrofitted into an inefficient and hostile railing. From the corner of an eye, you spot something round and ivory impaled halfway down one of those spikes. A single glimpse is all you need before you immediately avert your gaze to the stairs ahead, heart thumping in your chest. Behind you, a pair of dark, unseeing eye sockets seem to sear into your back as you continue your descent.

As you move lower, more signs start to appear that you aren’t the only visitors to this keep. Sconces line the wall, roaring with open flames that cast the path ahead in an orange glow. Two, iron firepits stand on either side of the staircase at its base, and it’s here that War has paused. It strikes you that in spite of his size, he’s slightly more camouflaged in this place than he was in the void, his scarlet cloak and dark grey armour blending well with the rock and heat around him.

As you and Strife come to a stop behind War, you lean sideways and find yourself peering tentatively into the space beyond his bulk.

The tunnel has opened up into another spacious chamber, and the path beyond the stairs has opened up too, into a vast, circular area with no walls or boundaries, nothing but another deep pit that sweeps around it, carrying a river of flowing, basaltic lava to somewhere further into the - as Strife had called it -‘dungeon.’

Maybe you really are in some kind of volcano. The urge to find a way out of here increases dramatically, but with Strife watching your back a little too closely and War cutting off an escape from the front, your options, at the moment, are quite limited.

At last, War takes a step out onto the level ground, then another and another, stalking forwards with his head on a constant swivel, vigilant. Strife, in the meantime, walks out with a confident swagger, ensuring to walk slightly behind you to keep you moving up in front.

Tearing your eyes off the pit, you focus instead on the behemoth stomping ahead of you. He’s already on the other side by the time you and Strife make it halfway across. For a split second, you almost let yourself feel a pinch of guilt for wearing such inappropriate shoes and slowing the Horsemen down, but you’re just as quick to take the feeling and grind it up under said heels, curling your lip distastefully. You weren’t exactly given a chance to pack for this ‘excursion.’

“Y’know,” Strife says abruptly, breaking you from your thoughts, and just in time too. You glance down and see the lip of the platform’s edge rise up to meet you. It likely would have tripped you if you’d remained lost in your head. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Death will be pleased to hear it,” War remarks from up ahead.

The back of his hood receives a simmering glare, but Strife is quick to brush the dig aside and continue, “If Lucifer is as dangerous as the Council says he is, why’d they send just the two of us?”

If the uneven ground didn’t manage to trip you up, his comment definitely does. Stumbling on the heel of your foot, you hurriedly try to right yourself, swatting irritably at Strife’s hand that reaches out to steady you. There’s that name again. Lucifer. Would it be na��ve of you to hope that their ‘mission’ doesn’t somehow involve the Biblical Devil? You’ve managed to survive for the better part of an hour, but you don’t like how the odds are quickly stacking up against you with every step you take.

“Death and Fury attend to other matters,” War responds simply, “It is not our place to question the will of the Council.”

Apparently unable to let his brother’s earlier tease slide after all, Strife rolls his eyes and quips, “It’s not my place to question your wardrobe, but I still think your armour could use some more creepy faces on it.”

You’re not sure how much you like trailing in between the sizeable men, especially when the more sizeable of the two slows his gait to aim a vicious snarl over his shoulder. “Must everything be a joke to you?” War snaps, “The Council-!”

“-Ugh!” Cutting his brother off with a pompous groan, Strife throws his helm back. “You really need to lighten up.” Then, lowering his voice to a deeper pitch, apparently for the sole purpose of mocking the far scarier Horseman, he taunts, “The Council this, and The Council that! You wanna hear an actual joke?”

Facing forwards again, War responds with a firm, flat, “No.”

Strife, of course, doesn’t seem to have the same reservations as you do about antagonising someone with the name ‘War.’

In fact, you carry yourself so rigidly in fear of being caught in the middle of a scrap that you almost have the wind knocked out of you quite literally when Strife chimes in with a phrase so familiar to you, you just about choke on your own spit.

“Knock knock…”

The classic setup, so universally understood that you almost wonder if humans are born with an inbuilt recognition system designed to identify two simple, unassuming words.

The three of you pass beneath an open portcullis, but you barely notice the jagged bars of iron looming above you because you’re so busy trying to pick your jaw up off the ground.

You can’t see Strife’s face, and you don’t dare turn around to gape at him in case you end up taking a painful tumble. Instead, numbly, you continue to stare ahead with unblinking eyes, vaguely taking in the narrow path ahead of you, and the apparent end of it fast approaching.

War makes a dismissive sound, an irked mutter of something too low for you to make out.

Clearing his throat when he doesn’t receive a response, Strife prompts, “You’re supposed to say, ‘who’s there?”

You can’t quite believe you’re hearing this. Perhaps the idea that you’ve been drugged isn’t so unlikely after all because this isn’t something you could ever come up with sober.

Ahead of you, the stone pathway falls away in an abrupt drop, and the ceiling of the tunnel disappears, both opening out into yet another cavern, this one more spacious than the first two.

Or, you continue to muse to yourself, maybe you really did die in that church graveyard, and the chemicals released in your brain have conjured a hallucination of this pair of giants to serve as some unconvincing reapers who will guide you into the afterlife.

War comes to a stop at the edge of the escarpment, and unseen by you or Strife, his expression scrunches up in confusion and he asks, “Why would I give away my location? I would simply smash through the door and face my assailant.”

Oh. Wow. That’s…

“Ugh, you’re hopeless,” Strife complains as he draws to a halt just behind you and his brother on the rocky ledge. For a second, he’s distracted with casting his keen eye over the chamber, so he doesn’t notice you lower your face to the floor, your lips pursed like you’re trying to keep a cough in.

He does, however, notice straight away when, instead of escaping through your mouth, the sound you’re desperately trying to hold in finds its escape through your nose instead, and out jumps a sharp, unbecoming ‘snort!’

It’s unexpected. So much so that you’re just as surprised to hear it as the Horsemen. At once, you slap a palm over the lower half of your face in horror, a cold rush of dread trickling down into your stomach.

Eyes blown wide open, you stare at the ground, only too aware of the heavy silence that settles over you like a blanket, thicker than the heat pressing in all around you. You’re not even willing to raise your head because you can feel two sets of eyes watching you from above.

For too long, all you can hear is the ringing in your ears and your own pulse throbbing just beneath the skin of your temples. The silence swells, tuning up like an orchestra, deafening you to every sound save for that accursed, high-pitched ringing caused by the crushing grit of your teeth.

“Did…?” Strife’s voice cuts through the atmosphere like a headsman’s axe, “Did you just… laugh?”

Your jaw eases apart, and the ringing fades.

The telltale ‘clunk’ of War’s boots alert you to him turning from the ledge, pointing himself in your direction instead.

Suddenly and appropriately alarmed that you just snorted at someone nearly three times your size, you instantly shift from freeze to flight and throw your head up, only to find yourself blinking apprehensively into War’s face, etched with his signature frown.

“I-I wasn’t laughing at you,” you rush out, backing away from the scowling Horseman a little too far and ending up colliding right into Strife’s torso.

With a tiny yelp, you leap forwards again, tossing glances back and forth between them whilst they continue to stare you down. “It’s just-! I haven’t heard a knock-knock joke in so long, it… It just surprised me.”

A pause ensues, and then quietly – eagerly – Strife asks, “You know what knock-knock jokes are?”

Wondering why that’s his first question, you offer him a timid nod. And then you’re immediately flinching away from him when he barks out an abrupt, disbelieving laugh and straightens up, his chest swelling proudly.

“No kidding. Y’know, not to brag,” he brags, jabbing a thumb into his sternum, “But I practically invented knock-knock jokes.”

Well, who are you to argue with the man carrying two guns? “O-oh?”

“Brother,” War complains, “We do not have time for your-“

“-Here! Here, try this one,” Strife rushes out, leaning towards you a little too fast for your liking, “Knock knock.”

You start to get the impression he’s been waiting for an opportunity like this to come along for quite some time. Sparing his brother a nervous glance, you wet your lips and tentatively indulge him, “Uh, okay, who’s there?”

Taking a breath as if he means to brace himself, Strife says, “The interrupting War.”

Oh… Oh, for God’s sake...

You try to steady the muscles in your cheeks, sending another wary look over at the juggernaut clenching his fists by the ledge.

Still, with Strife waiting for an answer, you slowly and dutifully sigh, “The interrupting War wh-“

You knew it was coming. You knew the gist of the punchline if not the punchline itself, but you’re still wholly unprepared when Strife cuts you off by crossing his arms over his chest and letting out a loud, resounding growl.

“Grr! The Council~!”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you immediately purse your lips, your cheeks aching with the effort of keeping a straight face. You wonder if this is the start of another emotional breakdown because the joke isn’t even particularly funny, but there’s just a familiarity to the formula that almost comes as a welcome relief, like Earth isn’t so far away after all.

A brother teasing his sibling… There’s something almost human about it, abating just the tiniest modicum of terror bubbling away inside your stomach.

Clearing your throat, you keep your lips puckered and inhale deeply through your nostrils in an attempt to compose yourself. Perhaps its Strife’s enthusiasm that lends itself to the humour of the situation, or perhaps it’s simply the absurdity of such a large and formidable brute doing something as innocuous as telling you a knock-knock joke at the expense of his brother, but whatever the case may be, when you open your mouth to tell him it wasn’t that funny, your lips spring up at their corners, contradicting you immediately.

“Think it needs some work,” you say, your voice wobbling.

“Needs work?” he parrots, his own mouth quirking into a grin as he clocks your expression, “Then why are you smiling?”

It takes no small amount of effort to wrestle your face back under control. “I’m not smiling,” you insist, “That isn’t how humans smile.”

Strife, naturally, isn’t fooled at all.

“Ah ha! It is! She’s smiling!” he gloats, jabbing his thumbs at his own mask, “I’m funny! And you-!” Swivelling his head up to War, he pokes a finger at his brother’s face and declares, “You were wrong.”

You make the mistake of glimpsing underneath the stoic Horseman’s hood, wincing when you find him sporting an expression of absolute thunder. He glowers down at you as if to say, ‘Now look at what you’ve started.’

Outwardly, he flattens his brows and exhales slowly through his nose, “Yes, you must be very proud that you’ve found the one, sole creature in the Universe who finds you almost as funny as you find yourself.”

Flapping a hand dismissively at his brother’s words, Strife blows a snort through his lips and tuts, “Ah, you’re just jealous she likes me better.”

You decide not to chime in with the fact that you don’t, in fact, particularly like either of them.

Besides, if War is at all concerned with his new ranking, he certainly doesn’t bother to let you know.

“If you are quite finished cheapening our reputation…” he growls, whirling away from Strife and stepping up to the very edge of the platform.

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started.”

Before you can protest, the masked Horseman lays a hand on your back and nudges you forwards until you’re standing next to his brother, then takes up his own lookout on the escarpment to your left.

Snugly sandwiched between them, you squash your arms into your sides, grimacing at the sharp angles of their armour that threaten to snag your dress as you try to shuffle backwards, but you don’t manage to retreat further than a few inches before you happen to cast a cursory look out at the view ahead and promptly freeze in your tracks.

Eyes bulging, your jaw falls open and you let out a soft, incredulous breath, your brain racing to take stock of what it’s seeing.

“Oh god.”

The path ends abruptly, falling away just a few paces from the toes of your shoes. And waiting beyond the precipice is a rock-walled cavern of absolutely phenomenal scale, far larger than those you’ve already come through. At its centre, rising from a chasm down below, there’s a rocky platform large enough to fit your house within its dimensions several times over. From what you can see, there isn’t any conceivable way to cross over to it, save for sprouting wings and flying. You’re not even confident you could pitch a tennis ball across the gap and have it land on the other side.

Scalding heat prickles your brow, and when you glance down to see where it stems from, you give an audible gasp as you look past the toes of your shoes and over the pathway’s crumbling edge.

Far, far below you, a stomach-churning drop lays in wait.

Thirty… forty-something feet of shimmering air is all that stands between you and a vast lake of red-hot lava.

“Hey, look down there,” Strife’s voice twitches your ear.

At your side, he raises an arm to point at the platform and says, “See that grate?”

With no small effort, you wrench your eyes off the pit of death and lift it to the level of raised stone, blinking your eyes hard to moisten them again after staring at the lava.

At once, you spot what he’s indicating.

Right at the centre of the platform, set into the stone floor itself, is a large, circular grate, vaguely reminiscent of the bars of a prison cell.

From the darkness below it, you can just make out a faint, pink glow seeping through the metal gridiron.

War answers his brother with a hum that vibrates in your chest.

“What’d you think?” Strife prods, “Reckon that’s where they’ve stashed Vulgrim’s artefact?”

Studying it for a few seconds, War eventually nods. “Something is definitely down there…” he murmurs, “No doubt that grate is heavily fortified.”

Shooting him a sly look, the smaller Horseman adds, “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you to pick the lock though, right?”

It’s disconcerting to see War with any expression other than a scowl, so to witness him return a smirk over the top of your head sends a veritable shiver right up your spine.

Lifting his arms, he slams his fist into the palm of his gauntlet with a resounding ‘thwack.’

Amused, Strife turns to thrust his chin at the gut-wrenching gap between the path you’re standing on and the edge of the central platform.

“What about that? Think you can make that jump?”

“J-jump!?” you blurt out, whipping your head up to stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

Hell, maybe he has.

Briefly, War’s eyes flit down to you before he returns his gaze to his fellow Horseman, scoffing, “Is that a serious question?”

And without another word, he begins taking several steps backwards, away from the ledge.

“Wait,” you sputter, shooting him an incredulous look as he continues to back up along the path, “You’re not really going to-“

You don’t even get to finish your sentence.

Before you can blink, War pushes off on his back foot and lurches forwards, his boots pounding against the stone hard enough to send powerful quakes all along the path as he charges straight for the edge.

You think you let out an alarmed yelp, but there’s not much else you can do except helplessly gawk as the Horseman, laden down by his heavy, clanking armour, plants his boot centimetres from the crumbling edge of the path and unceremoniously launches himself, his sword, and all of his bulk off solid ground, soaring out over the lava-drowned chasm below.

With a comically loud gasp, you slap your palms over your eyes, yet you can’t resist peeking through splayed fingers to watch.

Why the Hell would he do that!? There’s no way he’ll make it, you tell yourself, not with all that weight dragging him down.

You wanted to get away from him, yes but… shit. You didn’t want him to get himself killed doing it!

It’s as if you’re staring at a runaway train, waiting in morbid fascination for it to derail. Something in the nature of a disaster unfolding keeps you rooted to the spot, unable to tear your attention away from it.

There’s power and grace in the way War sails over the gap, an impossible feat, further than any Olympic gold medallist would ever hope to achieve. And then, to your utmost astonishment, he makes it.

Metal boots hit the stone platform with an almighty ‘clang’ on the other side, and he dips his knees as he lands to absorb the impact.

You’re almost certain you can see the whole structure quiver from the force.

For several moments, you merely stand there with your mouth hanging ajar whilst War rises to his full height again and turns around, tipping his face up to see you staring back at him, your eyes wide with unconcealed awe.

“How. The fuck…?” you say emphatically, blowing out a disbelieving little whistle. You might not trust the man, but even you can appreciate a good stunt when you see one. Giving your head a shake, you briefly forget you’re supposed to be their kidnappee and gush, “That was incredible!”

Your voice carries easily across the sizeable gap and reaches the Horseman’s ears, erasing the hard line between his brows. Taken aback, War blinks, pressing his lips together bashfully in lieu of a response. ‘Perhaps it was rather impressive,’ he privately concedes, ‘from a human’s perspective…’

Back on the escarpment, Strife’s keen gaze makes out the befuddled expression warping his brother’s typically impassive face, and he sends several glances between you and War, pursing his lips at the glimmer lighting up your eyes.

“Oh yeah?” he huffs, “You think that was impressive?”

A loud clap rings out across the cavern, causing you to jump as Strife smacks his palms together. “Okay, little miss,” he announces behind you, “Your turn.”

Just like that, the colour promptly drains from your face. “My what?”

You don’t have time to spin around and face him, for not a second later, a powerful arm scoops your legs out from underneath you whilst the other snakes around the back of your shoulders, hauling you clean off the floor and pressing you to a hard, armoured chest.

“Oh for-! Stop grabbing me!” you complain, planting your hands on his clavicle and shoving yourself away as best you can, “Are you insane!? I am not jumping over that!”

Cocking his helm at you, he spares you an innocent blink. “You’re not?”

You don’t like how much levity is lacing his tone.

“NO!” you squawk, aghast, “Absolutely not! Let me go!”

One of the Horseman’s eyes narrows to squint at you before he angles his helm very pointedly towards the platform. “You sure?”

Something about his question gives you pause.

Hesitating, you snap your head in the same direction and follow his line of sight. It doesn’t take you more than a second to glean the bastard’s intent.

Now you really don’t like the way he’s looking at you, his upturned eyelids the clearest indication that he’s smiling quite broadly underneath his visor.

Your stomach gives an unpleasant lurch.

“Oh, if you dare…” you hiss.

Daringly, he raises his sizeable shoulders in a shrug and chirps, “Lesson one; Don’t ever dare a Horseman, kid. You’re always bound to lose.”

He wouldn’t…

Flashing you a golden wink, Strife turns his body sideways and swings you to the right, like a rugby player readying a forward pass.

It finally occurs to you that, oh, good god, he would.

“Wait-! WA-WAIT! STRIFE!” Issuing a high-pitched, wordless scream, you start to flail, but his ironclad grip on your legs and shoulders keeps you from launching yourself out of his arms.

Somewhere across the chasm, War’s voice drifts up to you, though you hardly hear it above your undignified shrieks. “Brother?”

The muscles around you bunch up, solidifying as hard as the stone underfoot.

“See you on the other side!” is all the cheery warning you get.

“Don’t you DA---AAAAARRRGGHHH!”

He’s moving before you can think to adhere yourself to his arm.

Sidestepping into a purposeful bound, the Horseman flings his arms to the left, with you in tow, and when they get to the zenith of his reach, they disappear out from under you, letting you go hurtling spine first out over the chasm like a screaming, thrashing blimp, dress and all.

You have several phobias that you were aware of before you fell into this godforsaken place. Phobias that, for the most part, have been quite avoidable in your day-to-day life.

Finding yourself suspended in the air over a pit without a safety net underneath you… add some lava to break your fall, and you suddenly realise as you’re flying through empty space that you’ve just discovered an entirely new phobia to add to the list.

Sailing in a none-too graceful arch, you stare in disbelief back at the silver Horseman on the ledge, your dress billows out behind you and the scorching air whips your veil over your face, tugging at your hair where the grips are heroically keeping it situated. Likewise, some subconscious part of you instructs your toes to grip like vices on the insoles of your heels, valiantly trying to stop them from plummeting off your feet.

Inevitably, as is the case with the laws of physics, you reach the height of your curve, and that’s when gravity seizes you by the heart and starts to drag you back down, sending your stomach crashing up into your diaphragm.

Time seems to slow as you descend, reaching back for Strife as if he could somehow stretch across the gap and catch you. You can’t see behind yourself, and it’s all you can do to hope that you pass out on the way down, so you don’t have to feel your body melt into a puddle in the hungry maw of the lava below.

It hurts your chest something fierce to think that the last anyone will see of you is your terror-stricken face and your raised hand closing into a fist, bar one choicely extended finger.

The hot wind screams past your ears and you screw your eyes shut tight, squeezing out the last tears you’re ever going to cry. Your father’s face flashes in your mind’s eye, and you wonder what you did to set off this chain of events.

Strife said he wouldn’t hurt you…

What a joke.

‘WHAM!’

Your mouth jerks open, wheezing out a gasp as something suddenly slams into you from behind, knocking the air violently from your lungs. Or rather, you crash into something with the force of a white, ruffled meteorite and nearly lose your heart through your open mouth.

At first, you assume you must have smacked into the hard side of the platform, but then the Something you’ve collided with grunts, and you hurriedly wrench your eyes open, coming to focus on a monstrous, metal gauntlet that’s secured itself under your knees, crushing your dress between prodigious fingers whilst something equally large presses across your shoulder blades.

With a kick in the guts, you realise you’re being held aloft in much the same way Strife had been holding you mere moments ago.

He caught you… War caught you.

Finally, you remember to gulp in a noisy breath to refill your desperate lungs.

You’re not dead.

But you are, in fact, shaking.

And as the revelation that you’re still alive sets in, your limbs start to wobble in earnest.

“STRIFE!” You visibly flinch when War’s terrible, wonderful, abrasive, beautiful voice booms like a claxon right above your head. “You fool!”

Even through layers of solid metal and leather padding, the Horseman can feel you trembling under his palms. Propping your neck in the crook of his elbow, he lifts his head to level a snarl up at where Strife still stands on the escarpment whilst you unclench your fists from your lap, heaving air in and out of your lungs in hysterical little bursts.

“What were you thinking!?” he bellows.

Leaning over the side to look down at you and your unwitting saviour, Strife throws his arms out wide and argues, “She said to let her go!”

“You knew what she meant!” A deep thrum rolls around in his chest, spreading up his throat and spilling out in another growl so deep it rattles the teeth in your skull. “You could have damaged her!”

“Oh relax, I wouldn’t have tossed her if I didn’t think you’d catch her.”

War slides his lips back to reveal his inhumanly sharp canines, but at that moment, something tugs very lightly at the fabric of his cowl.

Faltering, he angles his chin down and nearly gives a start.

Tiny hands have wandered towards him, found the scarlet material hanging from around his neck and latched onto it with possessive intent, fingers twisting themselves into his cowl and getting lost amongst the folds, as if you fully expect him to toss you over the side as well. The strange, white veneer lays draped across your face, so he can’t see your expression when you unexpectedly twist about in his arms and pull yourself a little closer to his chest.

Caught off guard, War remains stock-still, seriously contemplating whether or not he should drop you right then and there to spare himself from Strife’s potential teasing.

His bulging arms give a twitch, which in turn causes you to cringe, letting out a quiet bleat and further entangling your fingers around his cowl.

This, War decides, was not in the job description when the Charred Council made him a Horseman. Still, whatever he might think of you, he can’t bring himself to drop you in a heap on the ground.

For once, he might be out of his depth.

As soon as the notion occurs to him, he brusquely flicks it away with a toss of his head.

Taking a large step back, he slowly ambles himself about until he’s facing away from Strife and the platform’s edge, then stomps several paces towards the central grate, only stopping once he hears the loud clang of metallic boots hitting the stone behind him as his fellow Horseman leaps to the lower level.

Gingerly, almost as though he expects you to shatter if he moves too quickly, War bends down until he’s almost on a knee and starts to withdraw the arm that’s wrapped around your legs, a stoic frown tugging his brows towards the centre of his forehead when you refuse to let go of his hood.

Grumbling, he lowers you until your shoes click on the stone floor, and then he slips his hand out from under your knees, moving it up and taking both of your wrists between his gauntlet’s fingertips and thumb, mindful of the delicate limbs he’s handling.

He can still recall how you’d nearly crumpled to your knees when he got a little heavy handed trying to apply the poultice to your arm. He truly thought he had been correct in gauging the pressure he needed to apply to your flesh to draw blood. He’d only meant to take a little. Just enough to prove the validity of your claim. What an idea that had turned out to be. If War were being honest with himself, he’d been outright startled when your skin peeled open so readily to admit Chaoseater’s blade.

So, if he’s a little more careful in prying your hands off his cowl than he ought to be, well, that’s his own business.

It doesn’t take much coaxing before you seem to come back into yourself.

With a sudden jolt, you wrench your hands away from his hood and start to struggle valiantly with the veil on your face, flipping it back over your head and choking on a sob as your knees start to buckle.

Planting both of his palms on your shoulders, War hauls you upright again.

“Steady,” he murmurs as if he’s addressing a wounded soldier, not a frightened human, “On your feet.”

The sound of clanking boots drifts closer, approaching from his rear.

War bristles, but he’s not the only one who heard Strife’s footsteps.

“You okay, kid?” the gunslinger’s voice drifts over to you, and War watches your jaw cinch shut, the hands at your sides curling into fists as you attempt to stop them from shaking.

Whirling around, you tear yourself from the Horseman’s gauntlets, your dress twirling gracefully around your ankles to find Strife standing a few paces behind you, paused halfway between one step and the next.

Blurting out a delirious laugh, you shoot him a bloodshot stare, half tempted to rip your bag off and lob it at his head.

“Am I okay?!” you echo, “Have you completely lost your mind!?”

Peering down at you appraisingly, War makes a sound that might be affirming, and even his brother lifts a hand to tilt it back and forth in a ‘so-so’ motion.

Breathing hard, you resist the urge to scream and instead lower your head, massaging at your throbbing temples.

Slowly, through gritted teeth, you seethe, “I am trapped… inside a volcano… with two of the scariest people I’ve ever met…”

Strife shares a look with War, the former’s frame wilting as if he’s put out, while the latter, by contrast, almost seems proud of the achievement.

“I,” you continue, a humourless grin straining at your lips, “Just found out that demons exist! I also found out that Lucifer is apparently real…! It is my fucking wedding day!” Vitriol drips from your teeth like venom, and with each passing word, your voice grows louder and louder. “And! I just got chucked! Like a… like a fucking pigskin over a river! Of LAVA!”

All around you, the cavern echoes with the throes of your furious shout, bouncing off the rock walls and coming back to you ten times over before it fades into an uneasy silence.

Lungs heaving with the effort of raising your voice, you stop to breathe, finding, to your dismay, that tears are spilling onto your cheeks, only to start evaporating on your skin in the smouldering heat.

Clearing your throat, you sweep a few fingertips delicately beneath your eyes and wipe away the lingering evidence of moisture cutting tracks through your blusher. “So, no,” you sniffle, “For your information, I am not o-fucking-kay… I think I’m about as far from okay as it gets.”

It’s almost satisfying that the gung-ho Horseman can in fact be made to shut up.

Fidgeting idly with the gauntlet on his left hand, Strife shoots several glances at War, but finds no source of assistance in his fellow Nephilim’s cold, critical glare.

“Uh,” he starts, clenching his hands into fists and opening them again, “I mean… it was kind of funny, right?” He lets out a chuckle that falls painfully flat. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Your jaw begins to ache from grinding your teeth together like you’re trying to crush coal into diamonds.

“Knock-knock jokes are funny,” you say stiffly, turning away from him to scowl at the ground, “People don’t get hurt.”

Draping a hand over his hip, Strife lowers his voice and asks, “Come on, you really thought I’d let you get hurt?”

“OF COURSE I DID!” you suddenly bellow so loudly your voice cracks, “You threw me over a lava pit!”

“War caught you, didn’t he?”

“What if he hadn’t!?”

Strife doesn’t even hesitate before he offers his palms to the ceiling and says, “Then I wouldn’t’ve done it.”

“Why the hell would you-!? Why even take the risk!?”

“There never was any risk,” he shrugs far too nonchalantly, sending his brother a knowing look, “Besides, this is a good thing, right? Now you know you can trust War to keep you alive.”

Pulling a face, you allow a spiteful scoff to burst out of your mouth, arms folding sternly across your chest. “Oh, so that was all so you could prove some point to me, was it? Jesus, what is wrong with you?!”

“Now there’s a door best left unopened,” War chimes in.

At last recognising that there’s some, invisible line he’s crossed, Strife holds his hands up placatingly. “Look,” he concedes, scratching at the back of his head and disturbing the thick spines of ebony hair growing behind his helm, “After what happened back in the Void, I just thought, if we proved we could keep you safe, you’d… maybe start to trust us a little more, y’know?”

You have to take a moment to stare at him, waiting for his words to sink in for you, and hopefully for him as well. “So… you thought you’d show me you can keep me safe by… launching me over a lava pit, and expecting me to know your brother would catch me?”

The Horseman doesn’t speak for several seconds. When he eventually does, he crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, “I mean, if you’re only gonna focus on the first part, sure the plan had holes.”

“Well,” you say haughtily, “No offence, but I trust you two about as far as I could throw you. Which, you’ll be shocked to hear, isn’t very far at all. And unlike you-“ Here, you jab a finger up at his silver visor. “- I’m not strong enough to go around throwing people off the edge of cliffs!”

Once again, Strife remains silent, rapping his fingertips on a metal bicep. Soon enough however, he lowers his head and peers up at you from beneath the lip of his helm’s sockets, prodding, “It was a pretty good throw though, huh?”

“It was a very good throw!” you agree sharply, blowing out a rough exhale as your heartbeat finally begins to ease off the throttle, “Neither of you even had a run up. You two are like something straight out of a comic book… Except without the charisma… and altruism...”

“Comic…?” War asks, frowning, “Then… you are amused?”

“No, not comic like-…” You inhale. You exhale. “Never mind. Weren’t you guys supposed to be looking for something?”

Just like that, the pair of titans straighten up with a start, and you wonder if their ‘mission’ really had slipped their minds for a while.

Rolling his shoulders back, War just grumbles something inaudible and begins moving purposefully towards the grate.

You stand back to let him pass, chewing thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you mull over what you’re about to say.

“Hey, big guy?”

At once, War stops and swivels his head sideways, silver hair spilling out from underneath his hood.

Shuffling awkwardly on your feet, you avoid the pale, unblinking eye that’s trained on your face and call, “Thanks…. For catching me.”

You won’t thank him for healing your arm when he was the one who cut it in the first place. But this? You can swallow your grudge for this. At least for a little while.

Several seconds tick by without a response, and the only sound you can hear is the heavy clanking of boots on stone as Strife ventures up behind you.

And then at last, War’s head falls and rises in an almost imperceptible nod.

When he turns away, you suddenly feel like you can breathe again.

How can one man be so intimidating just by standing still and saying nothing?

You’ve already deduced that the two Horsemen are like chalk and cheese, with one half of the duo serving as the strong, silent type, and the other, a smart-mouthed chatterbox.

… Speaking of whom.

Just as you start to trail after War towards the centre of the platform, an enormous shape sidles up next to you, easily keeping pace with your diminutive gait.

“Hey…” Strife tries, actually sounding hesitant for a change, “Knock-knock.”

Ah. There it is.

“Strife…” His name still sounds foreign on your tongue. “I’m… look, I’m not in the mood, okay?”

“…”

Scoffing quietly, you give your head a defeated shake and sigh, “Fine… Who’s there?”

“Eyes wear.”

… Okay?

“…Eyes wear who?” you venture, hesitant.

Swivelling his helm towards you, Strife bends his neck down, chasing after your face even as you try to ignore him by staring straight ahead.

“Eyes wear to… never throw you across any more chasms,” he offers, tipping his helm upright again, “Lava filled or otherwise. How’s that sound?”

Your lips quiver. “Wow,” you drawl, “I think that was even worse than the last one.”

“Oh yeah?” he replies coyly, “Then why’re you smiling?”

You jerk to a halt mid stride, taking stock of your expression.

Damnit. You are smiling.

You’re a little too slow to force the corners of your lips back down into a straight line, and of course, Strife sees it, tipping his chin back to peer at you triumphantly. You may not be able to see his mouth beneath the visor but judging by the upturned curve of his golden eyes, you just know the smug son of a bitch is grinning from ear to ear.

“I was not smiling,” you insist.

Quick as a whip, he retorts, “Well now you’re lying.”

Stuffing your teeth into your bottom lip, you kick yourself into gear and speed up, marching up to where War has stopped by the grate. “I am not lying, I’m leaving.”

The Horseman’s chuckle haunts you all the way across the platform.

#darksiders #darksiders genesis #strife x reader #war x reader #bride reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #Strife being Strife #Fear #Bad Knock knock jokes #Reader has had enough

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polaroidcats · 3 days

Text

On the Origin of Gayness – Are All Gryffindors Actually Gay?

(another pseudo-scientific paper by cat)

Abstract

This paper examines the question of Homosexuality in the Gryffindor House, drawing from previous research as well as collected samples and interviews with several acclaimed marauders scholars, using mixed methods. Much uncertainty still exists around the relationship between Gayness and Gryffindor, so in this paper I will once again commit to the bit and evaluate scientific scholarship on tumbler dot com for your education and entertainment.

Introduction

This research was prompted by my esteemed colleague and collaborator @lynxindisguise who revolutionised the scientific community by asking “what if gryffindor is just where you go if you’re gay [?]” (lynxindisguise 2024), daring scholars to “name a straight gryffindor” (ibid). Several highly esteemed scholars such as @plecotusauritus (2024) and @kaleidoscopexsighs (2024) agree with lynxindisguise on her thesis, @werewolfenthusiast (2024) even went so far as to comment that this "would explain a lot" while acclaimed marauders scholar @spindrifters is asking lynxindisguise to “pls”, not elaborating further what they want lynxindisguise to “pls” do, leaving the reader with more questions that this paper hopes to answer.

This paper systematically reviews the data gathered from the popular blogging website tumblr.com on this topic, aiming to provide more insight and clarity on the question of what I have coined “Gryffindor Gayness”.

The overall structure of the paper takes the form of two parts: the main part is 1 The Gryffindor Ideology, Theses on Gryffindor, focusing on the question of Gryffindor Gayness, providing an in-depth analysis and discussion of Gryffindor Gayness. Part 2 Can the Slytherins be Gay? can be seen as a call to action for other Hogwartian Sexuality scholars to consider doing research in this promising field.

1. The Gryffindor Ideology, Theses on Gryffindor

1.1 The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Gryffindor

This section of the paper aims to give a quick overview of the history of Gryffindor Gayness. The term “Gryffindor” tends to be used almost synonymous with “Serving Cunt”, which can be seen as synonymous for “Gay”.

To answer the question “What the hell is a Gryffindor?”, readers are encouraged to also familiarize themselves with previous works on this topic (cf. The Sorting Hat 1997, 2000, 2003; The Scarf of Sexual Preference 2009, 2010, 2012).

The Sorting Hat, leading expert in all things Gryffindor, has done extensive research in various closets, stating “I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, And I can cap them all” (The Sorting Hat 1997), and “You might belong in Gryffindor, Where dwell the brave at heart, Their daring, nerve and chivalry, Set Gryffindors apart” (ibid).

To fully understand this, additional context of the song is important to note: whenever the Sorting Hat says brave or chivalrous, or daring, most scholars agree that these can be read as synonyms for “gay”, “homosexual” and “serving cunt” respectively. With this alternative reading of the Sorting Hat’s song, Gryffindor Gayness starts to make more sense, but in their later work, the Sorting Hat elaborates more on this, referring to Godric Gryffindor as “the bravest [the gayest]” (The Sorting Hat 2000).

@wanderingdonut (2024), a certified expert on vibes of all stripes shared insightful and important scholarship on the inherently homosexual symbolism of swords, and was the first scholar to draw the connection between the sword of Godric Gryffindor and Homosexuality, stating:

“as everyone knows, swords are the gayest accessory (the point is designed to penetrate? Please. And we all know everyone is gay for a woman with a sword), so really, it was godric who set everyone up for gayness.”

Further proving that Homosexuality has been connected to the House of Gryffindor from the beginning, as was intended by its founder. Wanderingdonut (2024) then goes on to say:

“There is nothing gayer than being bonked on the head with gayness at a deeply inconvenient time and Godric wants that for all his children”,

again stating explicit intent of homosexuality by the founding daddy of Gryffindor house, Godric Gryffindor.

Marauders scholar @fruityindividual also indirectly refers to Godric Gryffindor’s intentional mandate of homosexuality by describing the accommodations for Gryffindor students as having “cosy beds” and forcing proximity, thus leading to Gryffindor Gayness.

1.2 Gryffindor Trouble: Gayness and the Subversion of Identity

In this chapter I will give some examples for Gryffindor Gayness, illustrating why the initial assumption that all Gryffindors are Gay (cf. lynxindisguise 2024) is such an important, one could almost say revolutionary addition to this field of science.

1.2.1 The Weasley Family

The Weasley Family are one of the most prominent Gay/Gryffindor families, making them ideal subjects for this study.

Molly and Arthur Weasley have both been known to be into swinging, often asking couples to be their third and using rubber ducks in many creative ways, setting a good example for their many gay children (cf. polaroidcats 2024).

Fred and George Weasley are both known to have dated Lee Jordan at the same time, “Lee thought he was only dating one of them but forgot which one and was not brave enough to ask” (polaroidcats 2024), which makes Fred and George both perfect examples of that mischievous flavor of Gryffindor Gayness the Weasley family seems to be known for.

However one of the most prominent examples for Gryffindor Gayness in the Weasley family is the youngest child, Ginevra (“Ginny”) Weasley.

Wanderingdonut (2024) claims that “everyone is gay for a woman with a sword. Particularly if it’s Ginny Weasley with a sword”, calling her a “lesbian queen”. Similarly, plecotusauritus (2024) states that “Ginny had a new girlfriend every two weeks but it never got mentioned since it wasnt [sic!] important part of Harry's journey”, introducing not only Ginny’s tendency to fall into her parents’ promisingly promiscuous footsteps, but also highlighting an important aspect of her relationship with Harry James Potter.

@kaaaaaaarf (2024) elaborates further on this idea of compulsory heteronormativity in relation to Ginny’s relationships:

“That girl [Ginny] is a lesbian and I will not be convinced otherwise. I think half the reason her and Harry were drawn to each other is because they recognized (even subconciously) that the other gave off queer vibes, and therefore was a safe person to be with in a heteronormative society. I truly believe that eventually she met a woman and fell in love”

The Homosexuality of the Weasley family is well-documented and widely accepted among scholars of the field. One more example for this can be found in the next section of this paper, discussing the compulsory heteronormative tendencies of certain Gryffindors.

1.2.2 The Golden Trio and Compulsory Heteronormativity

In this section I will explore the parallels between Harry and Ginny’s relationship and Hermione and Ron’s relationship that I have found in my research.

Plecotusauritus (2024) raises the point of “Ron having a major crush on Krum” and elaborates that Ron eventually decides “that he was actually jealous of Hermione and not Krum, and commiting to the bit so hard they end up married (but will eventually find a way for them both to act on their queer tendencies)”, bringing up the idea of compulsory heteronormativity.

This sentiment is mirrored in kaaaaaaarf’s (2024) description of Harry and Ginny’s relationship, where the scholar states that “when [Ginny] finally talked to Harry about it [falling in love with a woman] he wasn't really upset at all. This sent him on his own spiral, realizing that he might not be as straight as he thought he was...”

When asked about favorite Gay Gryffindor moments, scholar lynxindisguise (2024) replied with: “harry being unable to talk about cedric or sirius without mentioning them handsoming [sic!] handsomely down the stairs”.

Likewise, the scholar kaaaaaaarf (2024) replied to the same question as follows:

“I think every time Harry made some sort of comment about how attractive other men were/his obsession with Draco. No straight person is that obsessed with their same sex arch enemy, I'm sorry.”

Scholar @greengrug (2024) also refers to Harry’s obsession with Draco Malfoy, stating that he “takes a permanent residence in the love-to-hate you part of the brain. Two powerful emotions combined to create an unwavering obsession that can't be forgotten.”

Greengrug (ibid) also points out the inherent heteronormativity of the love triangle between Harry James Potter, Cho Chang and Cedric Diggory, elaborating on Harry’s feelings of jealousy and mourning leading him to participate in the classic comphet ritual of kissing your dead lover’s ex girlfriend next to his picture:

“Harry is jealous of Cho being with Cedric! Why else would he kiss her next to his picture next year? Anyone else can see how horridly inappropriate that is. Clearly only a mourning gryffingay could be driven to that point.” (ibid).

1.2.3 The Marauders

Before evaluating the individual Gayness of each member of the friend group known as “the Marauders” (see also my previous work on their crying practises, polaroidcats 2023), a common thread in the gayness of all four members is, as marauders scholar fruityindividual puts it “the scantily-clad special alone times in the sheesh shed”, raising the important question of where the wizard’s clothes go when they change from their animagus form back to their human forms, an area that has been overlooked by science thus far. There is little to be known about it, but it can be assumed that most time any of the marauders has spent in the “sheesh shed”, as the expert calls it, must have been spent naked. Further research on this topic is encouraged.

1.2.3.1 Sirius Black

The added context of Gryffindor Gayness allows for a much more interesting reading of Sirius Black being sorted into Gryffindor. Acclaimed Sirius Black expert plecotusauritus (2024) states that “deep down his [Sirius’] parents knew that this might happen. It was still bit of a shock to this notably straight family.”, referencing the Black family tradition of Slytherin Super Straightness.

1.2.3.2 Remus Lupin

Remus Lupin is one of the most interesting examples for Gryffindor Gayness, proving simultaneously that being Gay is and is not a choice. According to lynxindisguise (2024), Remus “chose gryffindor because he immediately fell in love with sirius on the train and then felt bad when he saw him get sorted into gryffindor and look scared”, proving that being gay is a choice. In my own previous research, I have stated that “Neville’s first crush was Remus Lupin” (polaroidcats 2024), to which spindrifters (2024) has since added the important addition that “remus lupin was also dean thomas's gay awakening”, stating that “there is canon evidence for this across like 3 books”, proving once and for all that being gay is not a choice.

1.2.3.3 James Potter

James Potter is another fascinating example of Gryffindor Gayness, because he was in what the scholars call a “bi4bi” relationship with Lily Evans, another Gryffindor Gay, proving that Gryffindor Gayness is inclusive of Bisexuality and possibly also other queer sexualities. Further research on this topic would be necessary to find a definitive list of sexual orientations that can be subsumed under Gryffindor Gayness, but James Potter and Lily Evans are probably most if not all of them at the same time.

1.2.3.4 Peter Pettigrew

Peter Pettigrew is still the nastiest skank bitch I have ever met, I do not trust him and he is a fugly slut. He was also in love with James and fandom would be all over that Gryffindor Gayness if Peter hadn’t been portrayed as unattractive, but that is a different topic for another paper.

1.3 Gryffindor Realism

This chapter illustrated different examples of Gryffindor Gayness across various generations and genders. There are countless more examples that I encourage scholars to explore. One could argue that there are also straight Gryffindors, but one would be wrong, all Gryffindors are gay. The last section of this paper examines the question of why some non-Gryffindors are also (seemingly) gay and provides further questions for future researchers to consider.

2. Can the Slytherins Be Gay?

The question of why there are also non-Gryffindors who are gay can be answered by referring readers to section 1.2.2 The Golden Trio and Compulsory Heteronormativity. Children are sorted into these houses at eleven years old, so some children might develop their Homosexual tendencies only later in life, or they might try and hide them from the sorting hat. Black family scholar plecotusauritus (2024) also raises the important point of Bellatrix Lestrange (née Black) threatening the Sorting Hat so bad that she got sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor.

3 Conclusion

Previous studies of Hogwartian Sexualities have failed to identify the precise reasoning for students of other houses also showing signs of Gayness. In this article I hope to help close that research gap by focusing on Gryffindor Gayness, but further research into Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Ravenclaw Sexualities would be necessary for a more systematic approach. With more time and funding, I hope to address these issues in future research.

Future research questions that could be asked include “Why was Gilderoy Lockhardt in Ravenclaw?”, “Who are the Slytherin Super Straights?” and “What the hell is a Hufflepuff?”.

The most obvious findings to emerge from this research project are the confirmation of Gryffindor Gayness in all members of the Weasley family, the Marauders and the Golden Trio, as well as other Gryffindors, and the exploration of compulsory heteronormativity as a possible explanation for Non-Gryffindor Gayness, as well as atypical Gryffindor behaviour. Considerably more work will need to be done to determine the precise circumstances of phenomena such as Slytherin Super Straights, Hufflepolyamory and Ravenclaw Aces, and I hope to be able to do research on these soon.

#cat's highly profesh fandom science #gryffingays 2024 #HI I'M BACK TO COMMITTING TO THE BIT AND WRITING A 2K WORDS FAKE ACADEMIC PAPER ON A SILLY TOPIC I HOPE U ENJOY IT <333 #hogwartian sexuality studies #gryffindor gayness

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papayatori · 2 days

Text

Fall away (p2)

Inumaki Toge x fem!reader

The night was full of loud, uninterrupted visions of humanoid creatures. Screams that weren’t my own filled my ears endlessly. I could feel the fear radiating from my bones, from my core. My entire body shook relentlessly, as if seizing without content. I knew it wasn’t real, I had felt this and seen these things before, but it all felt new and different, stronger and more powerful.

In a cold sweat, I awoke with a start, a soft knock echoing on the door. Terror had subsided for the most part, remaining purely for its own enjoyment and thrill. Shaking, I stood to open the door.

I was met with crazy brown eyes staring back at me. Itadori’s piercing gaze threw off my mental balance just enough to bring the fear I had tucked away boiling back over.

“I felt some serious energy coming from down here, I was worried something had come after you.” He invited himself in, giving me no other warning. He studied the room thoroughly, the gaze that had just held mine scanned the room intently to make sure it was safe for me to reside.

“Are you alright, y/l/n?” He sent me a confused but worried look. I nodded.

“I’m alright, sorry to startle you, Itadori.” He ran his hands through his pink hair.

“I could’ve sworn I felt something in here.” He mumbled to himself. “Didn’t you feel anything?” I only shrugged.

“I think I was having another nightmare.” I answered, hoping to give him some sort of relief.

“Do you mind me asking of what?” He had sat on my bed now, watching me as I slowly shut the door.

“I’m assuming of those cursed spirits Satoru had explained to me earlier. I’m not too sure what was happening if I’m being honest.” I shoved my hand behind my neck, rubbing it anxiously as if it would fix the awkward situation I had been forced into. He snapped his fingers in one swift motion, smiling slightly as his eyes lit up. He patted a spat next to him, beckoning me to sit. Reluctantly I did so, hoping this didn’t look as terrible to an outsider as it felt.

“That’s probably what I felt. You did seem terrified when I opened the door. I’m sorry if I made it worse.” He sheepishly grinned.

“You didn’t, I can promise that.” He smiled at me further before continuing.

“It feels different being taken from your home and forced into an environment you aren’t used to. It probably triggered your cursed energy without you realizing it.” I was suddenly aware of the cold air around me, the sweat clinging to my body as the boy next to me continued to speak. He eyed me curiously.

“You speak as if you know from experience.” He laughed lightly, playing with his hands.

“You’d be correct. I’m still new to a lot of this stuff, but I don’t think I’d trade it for the world.” His eyes had become glossy, his body stiff.

“How’d you get here, Itadori?” I asked, hearing the silence ring in my ears afterwards. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“I ate a finger.” I gasped, forgetting to let out my breath after. “It’s not as terrible as it sounds, believe me.”

“It sounds pretty terrible.” I said, giving him a deadpanned look.

“After my grandpa died, I had an incident with a school club. It was alright once I got here, but I remember the helpless feeling I got when I shut my eyes every night. Sometimes even the strongest people can’t hold back their own haunting memories.” The first genuine smile Itadori had ever given me radiated from his features. I felt my heart crack at his words.

“I’m sorry, Itadori.” I said, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. He looked surprised I had done so, his iris’s growing slightly as he smiled down at me.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. You’re going through a similar situation. If anything, I should be comforting you.” He squeezed my hand back, causing me to smile as he did so. “Your parents really never mentioned anything about jujutsu sorcery? How’d they know to send you here and not to the Tokyo institution?”

My brain rattled at his question. My eyes scanning a nonexistent folder of my recollections on the subject.

“Now that you mention it, I think my parents used to talk about it when I was younger.”

I remembered my parents leaving me a lot when I was young, equipped with weapons of all sorts. I don’t remember any conversations well enough to tell Itadori about them specifically, but I told him of these faint memories. I tore through my past, attempting to find anything that could be of significance. I remembered talk of danger towards others in Tokyo and other cities alike, small towns that I hardly recognized the name of.

“I think your parents were sorcerers like us, y/n.” I believed him, but it was hard to come to terms with.

“I’m just not sure I’m ready to put two and two together, Yuji.” He nodded in understanding, pulling his hand from mine after squeezing it one last reassuring time.

“I think you should sleep on it, or at least try your best to. I know how difficult things like this can be to process.”

Yuji waved before exiting my room, leaving me in my same seated position on a bed that felt foreign to me. I felt a tear fall from my eye, wiping it just as fast as I let it slip free. Crying about it would get me nowhere, and Yuji had a point, even the strongest of people couldn’t face their own past within their dreams.

Before I knew it, the alarm on my nightstand was ringing and the day was beginning. I wasn’t sure what to make of last nights encounter, and I hardly slept because of it. The thought of my parents being like Yuji and the others threw my mind into a frantic tizzy.

Had my life always been destined to start here? Had my parents set me up for torment all of these years or had they simply been trying to shield me from the truth? I shook my head to rid the thought. I hadn’t received word from my parents since my departure at the school gates. They had refused entry and allowed me to walk in free of their presence. I thought they had been trying to allow me a sense of freedom and maturity, but maybe there was more to that than I had foreseen before?

I walked into the classroom full of commotion. Gojo had yet to make an appearance and the others were caught up in conversation. Yuji sent me a greeting that I happily returned. I felt eyes on me as I walked over to reclaim my seat from yesterday, looking over to see who’s they belonged to.

My eyes were met with the raging violet of Inumki’s stare. They smiled at my own, softening with kindness as he waved at me. I smiled back happily, hoping he hadn’t sensed my fear last night as Yuji had. I watched him stand from his seat, Yuta nowhere in sight. He walked over to me and crouched beside my desk.

“Kelp.” He said to me, his hand extending for me to shake as the others had done yesterday. I was confused but shook his hand anyway. His warmth surrounded my smaller hand as he did so, shocking me still in my seat.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, confused still. I heard a snort from somewhere behind me before the conversation continued. Inumaki shook his head.

“Bonito flakes.” He stated confidently. I deadpanned, not sure how to respond. Seemingly frustrated, Inumkai pulled his phone from his pocket, anxiously typing away as I sat and stared at him. His eyes were fixed on the screen, giving me a chance to study his seemingly flawless features without interruption from the violet orbs that radiated thoroughly. His bangs fell perfectly to shield the top of his eyes, his collar hiding the rest of his face without effort that made me almost disappointed.

“I’m a cursed speech user. I have certain things I can say that don’t affect me much, it’s mostly why I speak in ingredients rather than words themselves. I greeted you before, then denied your question afterwards. I apologize for the confusion, but im sure Satoru will explain further later today.” It read. I smiled at the boy in front of me. He unzipped his collar, sticking his tongue out to reveal the markings that bound him to the curse.

“I’m not sure I would’ve ever caught on had you not explained it. Thank you.” He smiled brightly at me before zipping his collar and taking his phone back, tapping around on the screen once more. He handed it back to me with a questioning gleam in his violet eyes. He wanted my phone number.

I felt my face flush as well as hearing some snickers behind me. Inumaki glared at the source of the laughter while waiting patiently for me to fill out the information. I did so quickly, my heart beating slightly faster than before as he quickly went back to his seat when Yuta entered the room.

I almost immediately got a text from Inumaki, just letting me know it was him. At that time, however, Gojo stalked into the room with a cocky smirk.

“Hello everybody.” He said, dragging out the ‘o’ slightly. Maki facepalmed. “How do we feel about only training today?” He said, looking around at the others. My mind went blank. I’d never done that before. He seemed to notice my panic and lifted his finger. “With exceptions, of course.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I was scrawny, not built for the physical just yet. I wasn’t even sure what they did out there that qualified as training. As the others mumbled their agreements and started to file out of the room, Nobara stopped in front of Gojo, not moving.

“I’m staying too, I feel like you might need a demonstration at some point.” She grinned at me with two thumbs up. Gojo didn’t object, only pushing her lightly back towards her seat. Inumaki spared me one last glance before stalking out the door with the others and shutting it behind him.

I giggled at Gojo and Nobara, they were bickering back and forth about who was really the teacher here.

“Anyways, Even if Nobara is right, im still your teacher, meaning I know best.” Nobara rolled her eyes, huffing out a breath.

“So, what exactly is happening?” I asked, their attention returning to me. Nobara smiled at me slightly.

“I’m teaching you the art of cursed energy!” She exclaimed, happy to get the point across. Gojo sent her another small glare with his lip puffed out slightly.

“She means WE are going to teach you the art of cursed energy.”

The two continued to bicker for about thirty minutes before I finally stepped in and decided to ask some questions of my own. I figured I’d never get a word in edgewise, but I suppose asking the burning questions I knew they’d love to answer would allow them to put their differences behind them, even though they continued to one up each other like siblings.

“So, how can somebody manipulate cursed energy? I thought it was just to scare children growing up.” I asked. Both stopped arguing almost immediately before Nobara grinned wildly.

“Cursed energy comes in many forms, y/l/n.” Gojo spoke, gaining a somewhat serious attitude. “You can’t just ‘manipulate’ it. My students have trained to harness the power of their cursed energy, something I can only hope you’d work for as well.” He finished.

“My cursed energy is focused through my hammer.” Nobara spoke, pulling the hammer from her back. That was odd, I’d never noticed it before. She smiled smugly.

“We believe you have potential to do these sort of things, y/l/n, we just aren’t exactly sure to what extent.”

Nobara continued to explain her technique, Gojo watching from the sidelines. The two thought it would be a good idea to show me how it worked, though I found it quite frightening as they took me out to the training yard to watch the others train for a while.

The beauty of the courtyard was breathtaking. The breeze felt nice compared to the stuffy classroom I’d been in all morning, and getting to watch Nobara in action against Maki was something I’d probably never forget. The two danced with elegance in their battle, neither holding back on the other. As we continued, Gojo would explain to me what was happening.

“Maki uses cursed weapons to her advantage. She can’t exactly see cursed spirits the way we can, y/n; that’s what her glasses are for. She possesses no real cursed energy of her own, meaning she doesn’t manipulate it the way Nobara can.” He rambled for a while, I listening intently in the background. I would occasionally nod and try to understand what he was explaining to keep him entertained.

My eyes were fixed on Maki and her diligent grace in battle. Nobara seemed to gain an upper hand, launching her cursed nails at Maki and damaging her to the point I thought she would resign, though she never did. Maki seemed to heal quickly and learn Nobara’s moves almost instantly after being wounded. She summoned a weapon from almost thin air, which Gojo explained was her technique. The two fought wordlessly and breathlessly without as much as a blink towards the other. I was astonished by the ending.

The two walked towards us, not worried about the others training behind them.

“Interested, y/n?” Maki chided with a cool smirk. It’s almost as if she hadn’t been touched by Nobara at all.

“Quite.” I said with a smile. She handed me the spear she had been using against Nobara. I inspected it, feeling the writhing energy within it seeping into my skin. Was it supposed to react this way? Gojo chuckled from beside me.

“You’ve never come into close proximity with a real cursed object, have you?” He asked coolly. I deadpanned, letting the look sink in before dropping my gaze back to the spear.

“I use it to channel energy I cannot manipulate myself as Nobara can. I’m sure Gojo explained that to you?” She questioned. I nodded.

I looked up, handing back the spear and feeling the release of the energy. Its presence, however, left a weird tingling residue on my hands where I’d touched it.

I saw the others in the background, throwing punches and jabs and kicks to their opponents. I heard a yell from somewhere behind them.

“Don’t move!” It sounded calm, smooth. I saw Panda standing still in the courtyard as a punch was thrown his way by the person who hid behind the voice I had heard. I watched intently as he fell to the ground, still stuck in position as Inumaki hovered over his body. His collar was unzipped. He had spoken something other than ingredients?

He caught my gaze, giving a sheepish smile as the markings on his face rose with his dimples. Panda had slowly regained his movement, angrily shouting something at Inumaki that went unheard by my ears. He moved to see the direction Inumaki was facing and caught my gaze as well. He smirked before waving in my direction.

“Cursed speech works like that of Nobara, though entirely different. The user can manipulate words in ways like no other, causing their opponent to stun temporarily depending on the power of the manipulator.” Gojo spoke beside me once more. It seems as though he had followed my eyes to reach Inumaki’s brawl with Panda.

They walked over to our position in the grass beside the courtyard, sitting next to us without a word.

“That was impressive, Toge. Panda couldn’t move for several seconds even after falling to the ground. Your strength has improved. “ Inumaki nodded in thanks to Gojo, who seemed to be in a good mood if he was offering praise. “Have you been meditating?”

“Salmon.” He replied enthusiastically. Panda was rubbing the side of his face where Inumaki had punched him earlier.

“This is going to bruise later.” Panda said, leaving us all staring in his direction.

“Panda’s don’t bruise.” Nobara retorted, voicing what the rest of us were thinking.

“Salmon.”

“Just because I’m not human, doesn’t mean I don’t bruise.” He yelled playfully. Maki rolled her eyes, not keen on being the referee in another argument. Inumaki’s stomach growled next to me, I giggled as his cheeks reddened slightly when we made eye contact.

“Hungry this time?” I asked playfully, slightly elbowing his arm. He smiled a toothy grin.

“Salmon.” He replied. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.

“On that note, who wants lunch?”

We returned to the classroom, Inumaki staying beside me until we entered. He pulled out a small bag that held what I was assuming some sort of food inside. His smile made my face redden. He hadn’t zipped his collar back since the fight and I was able to see his facial expressions clearer than I could before. He walked to his spot in the back, motioning for me to follow him. I obliged, intrigued by the silent blonde male.

I sat beside him, allowing for Yuta to take my seat up front. Inumaki pulled a box out of the bag he had been holding. Looking around, I saw everyone had had some sort of food with them. I had felt singled out, being the only one unprepared.

“Tuna.” I heard from beside me. My attention returned to Inumaki who was holding out a small onigiri in his hand. He pushed it towards me, offering it to me. My cheeks flushed at his kindness. I shook my head slowly.

“Im really not hungry, Inumaki, but thank you.” I smiled, not wanting to take food from the person who suggested we eat lunch in the first place. Like the traitor it was, my stomach growled loudly. He chuckled, shoving the onigiri into my hands. His fingertips grazed my palm, sending a shock of what I wanted to call cursed energy through my skin. I flushed red, taking a bite as I did so. I moaned as I tasted the onigiri. I must’ve been hungrier than I had anticipated.

“Did you make these?” He nodded, offering me another. I eagerly took it as I finished the other.

He pulled out his phone, typing away as he had done this morning. I felt my phone vibrate from my pocket.

“I enjoy cooking, I like to think I’m rather good at it 😊.” I smiled at the text he had sent me.

“I think you are too, Toge.” His face reddened slightly. He averted his attention to the onigiri, eating one himself and smiling at his own culinary abilities.

“Salmon?” He asked, i assumed he was asking for my approval. I nodded eagerly in his direction.

“They’re amazing.” We smiled at each other once more.

As the day had come to an end and we all retired to our rooms, I had a small frown lingering on my face. I turned the lights on in my room, hoping to keep the darkness at bay for a while longer before my attempt to sleep. I decided to shower and hopefully clear my mind a little.

My thoughts lingered on the darkness for the majority of my shower. As I scrubbed myself clean of the dirt from the courtyard and the invisible germs I had started to wonder more about my own cursed energy. Was I really able to do the things these students had been doing earlier? Or was there some sort of mix up and I was just a normal human being. The incomparable strength they had in order to fight in hand to hand combat was one thing, but the stamina to concentrate cursed energy and fight all at the same time was something I couldn’t entirely wrap my mind around.

I ran my hands through my hair as I dried it, detangling it and staring into the mirror in front of me. My thoughts wandered further until I heard a small ding from my phone. It was Yuji.

If you need me tonight don’t hesitate to call me, you probably don’t know where my room is yet, I’ll come to you. I’m turning in for the night, but I mean it. Sleep good, y/n!

I smiled at his message, sending a quick thank you before shutting off my phone and returning to the mirror in front of me to do my skin care.

Another ding interrupted my thoughts once again, thinking it might have been Yuji, I unlocked my phone to see what the commotion was about. To my surprise, Inumaki had sent me a waving emoji. I smiled, my stomach fluttering and leaving my mind blank.

Inumaki 🍙! : 👋

y/n: Hi Toge!

Inumaki 🍙! : Do you usually eat breakfast?

His question threw me off, it wasn’t what I was expecting whatsoever, but I went along with it.

y/n: not usually no, but I probably should 😅

Inumaki 🍙!: okay! Sleep good, y/l/n, im headed to bed.

I tapped my chin, grinning about the conversation but being just as perplexed about it. Why would he ask me something so random? Especially as I was about to sleep.

I turned out the lights, trying not to think about the things that lingered in the shadows that I was unaware of. I shook my head, focusing on the comforting warmth of the sheets that surrounded me.

I stared blankly into the darkness, deciphering the shapes that I was still not completely familiar with. I find it hard to tell what things are real and how much of the black I was hallucinating because of my horrid imagination. I knew outside cursed spirits couldn’t enter Jujutsu high, Gojo had explained that yesterday, but something Yuji had said didn’t sit right with me

I wanted to make sure nothing came after you.

Was it possible for such a thing to happen here? Should it be something to worry about? Or should I simply just prepare myself in case the time arises.

My thoughts lingered for a while, I knew my mother had been widowed before I was born, but I wasn’t sure the situation completely. My step dad had always been my father, I didn’t consider him anything other than that, but was it possible I had been born into one of the Jujutsu clans and been completely unaware of it? I just couldn’t understand why they hadn’t told me or bothered to reach out to me after dumping me off here.

The room had started to spin, I felt a hot tear roll down my cheek without my consent. Why had all of this happened so suddenly? I thought I would’ve been happier here than back in Tokyo, and while I am happy with my new friends, why had my entire life been flipped so mercilessly so quickly. It felt like the door had been ripped from the hinges, or my home had been pulled from the foundations and placed in a new spot.

Ding!

Was that my phone? I had forgotten it was there.

I thought I told you to call me if you needed anything, at this rate you’re going to wake the whole school up. I’m coming over.

Before I could respond, my door was opened frantically by Yuji.

“Y/n, are you crying?” He hurried over to my bed to wipe the tears from my face. I sat up, attempting to compose myself in front of Itadori. He stopped me, sitting on the foot of the bed.

“What are you thinking about y/n?” He asked. I suddenly felt like a therapy patient.

“Everything, Yuji.” I let another tear fall as I pulled my legs to my chest. He smiled at me slightly.

“I know it’s hard to process, you’re going to struggle with that for a while.” Silence rang loudly after he said that. I allowed myself a shallow breath.

“Do you think I’m going to fit in here? I haven’t figured out anything about my parents, about my past. I don’t even feel like I fit in with them very well anymore. I don’t even feel like I know them. I dont really feel much of anything other than that if you want me to be honest.” He looked at me genuinely, sweeping over my features.

“I think you’ll be just fine. I’m sure they don’t mean any harm by it.”

“But do you think they care anymore? Do you think they ever did? Why would you dump your own kid in a place like this with no guidance, not even a word of affirmation after the ordeal-“ before I could finish my sentence I was being crushed by Yuji’s embrace. He held me there, letting me cry on his shoulder without release.

“I don’t know the situation, y/n, but I do know that you’ve made friends here and we all care for you, even if it is your second day.” He pulled away from me, smirking a bit. “I’m sure Inumaki would argue with you if he heard you speaking such nonsense.” My heart thudded at the mention of Inumaki. I wasn’t sure why my pulse increased or my cheeks heated, and I wasn’t exactly sure why I didn’t argue with my body’s decisions to do so.

“What does Toge have to do with this?” He smirked harder at me, wiping the remaining tears and poking my cheek.

“If you haven’t already noticed, he seems quite fond of you. He never offered any of us his number except Yuta, and that was an exciting encounter for sure. Toge doesn’t do social interaction with other people, y/n, much less willing sit beside them after a training session.” My gaze settled on his face, he was being genuine. I figured Toge was only being nice to me, but here I was being proven wrong again.

“It’s only my second day, Yuji.” He glared at me, puffing out his bottom lip.

“We’ll just have to see then. But you seem to like the thought of being on his mind. Either way, I got you to stop crying so I see this as a win in my book” he flashed his teeth at me. I grimaced.

The rest of the night was spent with me tossing and turning with Inumaki on the back of my mind. I hated the thought of someone already being fond of me, I hated it so much that I found myself enjoying the thought. I hated the way my cheeks reddened when he touched me, when he spoke to me. I hated the way that I wanted to text him in the middle of the night when I needed guidance for these sort of things. I also hated the fact that he was surprisingly a good cook.

I glared a hole in my door, someone was knocking on it in the earlier hours of the morning. Thinking it was Yuji, as it usually was, I went to open it and was met with a fragrant smelling Inumaki. I let out a gasp.

He had a small box in his hand with a smile on his face. He was in his pajamas, not bothering with the uniform yet, so his face was completely uncovered and visible to my eye. My face flushed completely as he motioned for me to take the box.

“Tuna, tuna.” He said, waving it in front of me. Reluctantly I took the box, eyeing him carefully. He started at me expectantly, waiting for me to open it. I did so, smelling the contents before seeing it. I covered my mouth with my hands to stifle another gasp from escaping my lips.

“T-toge you didn’t need to-“ he grabbed my hand, earning my attention once more. He shook his head vigorously to show me that he wanted to, I didn’t need to worry.

My eyes trailed back down into the box, it continued a few croissants inside with a small note that had a smiley face on it. I smiled back up at Inumaki, who smiled happily back at me.

“You need to eat.” He mouthed to me, keeping me focused on the way his lips moved when he did so. His violet eyes seemed to glow as he looked at me. I couldn’t help but blush further, he still hadn’t let go of my hand and I was overly aware of it.

“Thank you, Toge.” His face reddened and his eyes darted to the side. He nodded slightly before dropping my hand and giving me a wave. He then darted back down the hallway, leaving me speechless with my door wide open.

The day continued something like that. Toge also made me lunch, forcing me to take it regardless of how I felt about it. One thing was for certain, and that was that he knew what he was doing in the kitchen; but why had he bothered to do so much for me? His eyes had dark circles under them, leading me to believe that he had stayed up to do this for me. I couldn’t help but feel guilty regardless of how generous he was being.

Yuji continued to give me smirks throughout the day, as well, which didn’t help the way I felt towards Inumaki’s kindness. Though, it left me wondering, maybe Yuji had a point. Maybe I liked being on Toge’s mind.

#fall away #inumaki toge #inumaki x you #inumaki x reader #inumaki x y/n #jjk inumaki #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk fanfic #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo saturo

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