#palpable leather shoes

[lxndonorris]

wearing his clothes - Charles Leclerc

Y/N x Charles Leclerc Theme: Smutish Charles catches you wearing his clothes, and he needs to put in some work to get it back x word count: 1900 taglist: @game-set-canet open for requests :)

In the soft glow of the bedroom, you open the closet, looking at a display of your boyfriend's clothes. Charles owns so many pretty clothes, but one item in particular caught your attention once he brought it back from his latest photoshoot.

A beautiful black leather jacket, slim fit, tight—just the way he and you like it. Charles sent you the pictures right after the shoot, but seeing him actually wear those clothes blew your mind.

Right now, he is busy getting ready for a boy's night out with his closest friends. You saw him through the open door, running his fingers through his hair and styling it—a beautiful sight. You assume, as much as he loves that jacket, that he wants to wear it tonight.

At the same time, you know how much he loves seeing you wearing his clothes, and you want to use that to your advantage by teasing him a little and putting him in the right mood for today.

Looking through his closet, you find a few gorgeous jackets and designer clothes, and all of them tickle your fancy. However, that leather jacket is what you need.

"There you are." You carefully take it out of the closet and look at it. What a beautiful piece of clothing!

Just then, you hear his voice echo through the hallway. "Y/N? Have you seen my rings?" Charles exclaimed.

With a coy smile, you drape his leather jacket over your shoulders and slip inside, one arm at a time, savoring your boyfriend's familiar scent that envelopes you. The supple material embraces you, carrying his scent like a secret promise.

You catch a glimpse of yourself inside the mirror, his jacket hanging just right, accentuating the contours of your figure. The soft hum of anticipation fills the room as you hear footsteps approaching. Turning around to watch the doorhandle move, the jacket sets comfortably against your skin.

The door eases open, revealing him, his hair nicely done, his sweater, pants, and shoes flattering his well-formed physique perfectly.

"Y/N. I found the rings." Charles soft voice fills the room when his gaze falls upon you. Instantly, his eyes widen with surprise, and a grin forms on his lips. "Oh, hello." He says, casually leaning with one arm against the doorframe, as your focus shifts to the bulging biceps barely hidden underneath the fabric of his sweater.

"Hey." You lift your chin slightly and raise both of your eyebrows. His jacket makes you feel so comfortable, tough even. Running a hand through your hair, you strike a little pose, holding on to the jacket, when you catch him biting his lower lip.

"Well, aren't you a sight?" Charles remarks, his eyes lingering on the way the jacket clings to you.

You can't resist a mischievous smile, wearing that jacket like a trophy. "Thanks, babé." You tilt your head teasingly, enjoying how much his gaze devours all of you.

Charles licks his lips as his eyes linger on your chest, and subconsciously, he places a hand at his pecs and strokes himself before letting it run down his entire chest.

"That looks better on you than it does on me." He teased his voice, carrying a mischievous tone.

You feel a flush of warmth as his admiration becomes palpable. He closes the distance, his fingers tracing the edge of the jacket, and the touch a gentle caress.

"You really make it look so much better than I ever could." He admits that his voice low and appreciative.

The tension rises between the two of you as he moves even closer. The faint scent of his cologne grows stronger once he leans in to you, his soft lips barely brushing over your cheeks before he lets out a deep breath.

"Fuck. You're so hot." Charles' hands wander down to your waist, securely holding you in place. A spark of electricity rushes through your veins as you open your mouth, letting out a breathless sigh.

"Charles." You mouth, placing a hand at his firm chest, tracing the tangible outlines of his pecs through his tight clothes.

He breathes down your neck, surely holding back a low moan himself. "Y/N." Charles whispers, and you lean your head back in response.

"How about a trade?" You propose, gently stroking his chest. His muscles are tensing slightly, getting harder by the second.

He slowly separates himself, just enough for you to still feel his warmth against your cheek. "What do you have in mind?" Charles chuckles under his breath, both of his hands still at your waist, stroking you with his thumbs.

You lean in, steadying yourself against his frame with both of your hands. "A kiss for your favorite jacket?" Teasingly, you meet his burning gaze.

At the sound of your words, a mischievous smirk forms in the corner of his lips."

Y/N." He frowns. "I cannot decline that offer."

His eyes sparkle with a mixture of amusement and desire, and without hesitation, he closes the distance between you. The warmth of his lips meets yours in a sweet exchange, sealing the deal.

Once or twice, you kiss each other, embracing each other again and again. The tension engulfs both of you as you move even closer. His hands run along your waist, resting and caressing your butt, while yours run down his chest, feeling his toned body tense underneath his sweater.

But you won't stop there yet. In the heat of the moment, you cannot help but run a hand to his crotch, feeling his desire building up, forming a tangible bulge inside his pants.

He flinches once you touch and feel him, encouraging him to rock his hips against the palm of your hand.

"Mhmmm." Charles purrs right into your mouth as you close your eyes, fully embracing this moment.

"You like that, huh?" You tease once again and lean your head back, enjoying the smug grin spreading across his entire face. He narrows his eyes and lifts his chin as well, while you keep on teasing him with your fingers.

There is no need for more words. Both of you know that he's into that, enjoying you making the first move. Charles just shakes his head in amusement, a bright smile on his lips.

"You're one to talk." He says it with a playful tone.

Before you can react, however, he easily picks you up.

"Charles." You giggle, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Both of you giggle now as he carries you toward the bed. You hold on tight, hugging him with your arms and legs.

Gently, he puts you down on the soft mattress before he climbs on top of you, his body towering over yours.

"You're enjoying that, huh?" Charles smirks, his accent coming through a little.

Your eyes wander to his necklace, now hanging in the air just inches above your chest. The two of you are breathing quickly, barely able to catch your breath.

Nodding, you embrace him once he bends down, kissing you again and again while grinding his hips against your thighs.

Your whole body tingles in excitement, but you tilt your head to breathe deeply.

"Fuck. Charles." You let out a low groan when he starts placing kisses all over your neck.

Then, however, he stops.

"I need to go now." Charles places a hand at your neck, tracing your jawline with his fingers, before caressing your cheeks lovingly.

"I know." You lean into his soft touch, feeling his cold rings on your skin.

He helps you off the bed, reaching for your hand.

Lovingly, Charles starts to undress you, one arm at a time, you let go of his leather jacket. You enjoy feeling his hands run all over your upper body. Naturally, he uses this to his advantage, touching you and your boobs gently as well.

Giggling, you turn around, and your eyes meet again. This time, it is more playful, yet you're longing for his gentle touch, his warm embrace, and his lips on yours. Your heart is still racing, and you know he is feeling the same. Charles keeps on touching himself, stroking his chest, his tummy, and his bulge multiple times.

With a grin, he slips into the jacket that had just adorned me moments before. The material molds to his frame, accentuating his broad shoulders and making him look effortlessly good. You watch with a mix of curiosity and delight as he adjusts the collar, clearly enjoying the familiar comfort.

Charles then turns to you, a playful glint in his eyes. "How do I look?" He asks, striking the same pose as in the photoshoot.

Of course, he knows how well he looks. His strong yet slim frame looks so good as he strokes his chest through the fabric of his jacket. All of his clothes flatter him perfectly, but his pants are now unable to hide his desire.

A chuckle escapes you. "Surprisingly good, considering it's my turn to admire now." You reply, appreciating the sight of him wearing the jacket with a newfound allure.

He walks toward you, a swagger in his step, and wraps his arms around you, the jacket providing another layer of warmth. The scent lingers in your nose, making you lick your lips once.

"Maybe you should borrow it more often." He suggests, his lips curving into a charming smile.

You kiss him softly before he pulls away once more, walking over to the mirror, admiring his own reflection.

He runs a hand through his groomed beard, seemingly enjoying himself. When you catch him touching himself, his bulge firmly.

"We should finish that later." You raise your eyebrows again.

Curiously, he turns around, one hand still on his length and the other stroking his own chest.

"Oh, that sounds so good." His accent is still present as his rough voice fills the air all around you.

A soft smile plays on your lips as you take in the way he carries himself, the jacket adding a touch of rugged charm to his appearance. The dim light in the room cast a subtle glow on his features, emphasizing the allure of the moment.

Lost in admiration, you meet his eyes and whisper, "You look incredible in that jacket," letting the unspoken tension linger in the air.

The exchange of glances speaks volumes—a silent acknowledgement of the attraction that went beyond the fabric of the jacket, creating a connection that feels both intimate and exhilarating.

Charles closes the distance again, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a kiss followed by a warm, tight hug.

As he prepares to leave for the night, the air between you holds a subtle tension—a mix of longing and anticipation. He adjusts the jacket one last time, a confident smile on his lips.

You stand there, watching him with a longing gaze, wishing he would just stay now so you could extend this moment of intimacy.

Your eyes meet, and in that moment of lingering intensity, words seem unnecessary. The exchanged glances convey a myriad of emotions—affection, desire, and a touch of playfulness.

"I love you." Charles says softly, kissing you again.

"I love you too." You trace his jawline with two fingers, enjoying how his stubble tickles your skin. "Enjoy yourself, will you?" Patting his chest gently, you paint a coy smile on his lips.

With one last longing look, he leaves for the night.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #Charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc one shot #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x you #Charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc fanfiction

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME (PLEASE DON'T FALL) ❞

Gojo Satoru x male!reader | Nanami Kento x male!reader | arranged marriage, angst no comfort (serious) | sub. bttm. reader (AMAB) | wc: 23K | not proofread

warnings: hint/implied SH through passive means (no descriptions), loss of virginity, blowjobs, handjobs, anal fingering, anal sex, major character death, graphic descriptions of violence, yn's low-key going insane masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

authors note: this is going to have an open-ended ending so you can let your imaginations run wild. also, I'm sorry it took so long to publish this but I hope it satisfies you! also also - i truly apologize for how frantic the shibuya arc is as I'm an anime watcher so (T T) they'll be no continuation of this fic but there'll be a one-shot fic of nanami kento x reader having some sweet moments just for the heck of it along with a short fic of gojo and yn's wedding day...maybe.

“This is nice,” he murmurs. Uncaring of the water trickling into the shape of his leather shoes or how it makes his clothes cling onto him like a heavier second skin. It’s cooling, feeling like relief that was manifested into a palpable form. Pulsing, moving, pushing, and pulling as the shadows undulated. Sunlight dances on the ocean, piercing through the waters to reach as far down as it can.

Your arms around him make him grin. He reaches to hold you, the rarest of treasures appearing on his face as he feels your lips press onto his left cheek. 

He holds your flesh with a gentle squeeze. The weight of you on his back is like a comforting blanket draped over him; he kisses the delicate muscles and marks you have. You burrow your face into his neck, he closes his eyes and chuckles. "I'm sorry, my love."

“You’re going to make me late.”

It grins wide and proud at the sight of your disgruntled face. The cursed spirit was as ugly as a piece of dogshit on the street. Smelled like it too. It was a semi-special grade that had popped up in an abandoned hospital. It was the subject of a bountiful amount of paranormal fans, which meant a handful of people and teenagers had disappeared after entering its premises.

Ah, didn’t I go on a mission like this once? You thought to yourself.

“Or was it Utahime’s mission?” you muttered.

She — the curse — opens her split mouth to screech. Her white hair flies behind her as she furiously charges towards you. The corners of your mouth twist in disgust. What a wretched being. Her hands were bound behind her back as she was in a straight jacket. So far, her attacks had been long-distance but the ones that truly hurt were when she got close enough to sink her teeth in.

The chunk of missing flesh on your hand was proof of that. It was covered by your tie but those blackened veins were a clear sign of trouble if you didn’t exorcise her.

“Yeah, yeah. Come and get it, bitch.” Tucking in your chin while taking a quick breath as her horrendous form gets closer, you feel the familiar rush of energy flowing through you. She was running like a bat out of hell. Her chin probably would’ve been shaved off if she bent any lower — her disgusting mouth was slobbering all over as she unhinged her jaw. She lunges and you release a breath. With your outstretched hand, palm facing up, you press the sides of your pointer and middle finger together. The curse screams, her teeth now a hair away from biting the tips of your finger off.

“Divine Flame.”

The birds seem to freeze midflight and the ants appear static; even the clouds above the building had been glued in place. She sees your lips split into a grin, a puff of air that mocks hers as she struggles to breathe. The curse drags her ruby-red eyes to the spark of black that ignites on your fingertips. "Gods Blade."

A second ago, she was so close to taking your wretched hand off and leaving it a bloody stump. Her stomach wants nothing more than to savour the flesh of a sorcerer and hear him scream in agony as she triumphs in the fight. The memory of it, the bright flash of white that burned her skin off her flesh. She can still taste it in her mouth, she can feel the phantom pain of it slicing the back of her throat. Everything tasted like smoke and blood. As you kick her head, she tumbles until she is gazing up at the sky.

The sky?

What happened to the roof?

The sight of her shaking pupils made you scoff. The building was torn down. Sliced cleanly in half according to the angle of your fingers; everything your technique made contact with was bright orange, smoking, and singing. Cement crumbles into ash, and metal turns to oozing and bubbling liquid.

“Shit. I haven’t used that move in a while. I’m sorry, I’m in a rush, okay? I think I went overboard.” Thankfully, Kiyotaka had raised a veil or else you’d never hear the end of it. The building shudders with each step you take. She watches as you crouch next to her, grabbing a fistful of her white hair and bringing her eyes level with yours.

“Not that you don’t deserve it. You glutton. 14 people in three weeks? You brought this on yourself.”

Her eyes fill with tears as she feels your palm warm and warm and then it burns. Her screams were like nails on a chalkboard but you bore through it. Staring into the black flames that consume her you ponder about your agenda; those spikes of fury remind you of Megumi’s gravity-defying hair.

“You’re really shitty, you know that right?” she’s down to her bones now and it’s slowly piling up into a mountain of ash. Still, she finds it in herself to scream. “Your crappy domain was creepy. It’s been a while since I’ve been back in Japan. I’m just settling in. You were supposed to be a simple mission. Now you fucked up my hand and I’m covered in soot.”

Suguru would surely laugh at you. He often did when you were muttering to dying curses. It was a habit you formed, wanting to annoy them to the very end about your minuscule grievances. They weren’t to you but the curse spirits probably felt like tearing your head off as they died.

“(Y/N), you’re really unique, huh?” Suguru leaned against the red-bricked wall with his arms stuffed in his pockets. Shoko watched impassively by his side, holding a plastic bag filled with burn relief gel. It’s not as though your flames burn you. The heat they produce stung your skin. You suppose you’ve built endurance to it but you appreciate your friends pampering you; your clan was ruthless in fine-tuning your abilities, and there was no such thing as pain-relief creams or gels.

The (L/N) weren’t like the Major 3 of Japan. They were considered to be imitations. Mocked for their gaudy technique names and overzealous attack styles but weak bodies. In order to chase after the huge power gap, your clan brought the children to their knees. Grinding them forcefully on whetstones; until they either become sharp-edged or they break.

As the son of the head of your clan, breaking was not an option.

Luckily for them, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique. Unluckily for you, you were blessed with a powerful curse technique.

Your pout makes him smile. “Calling me unique feels like an insult, Su-Su,” you turn your attention toward the husk of a curse. He was pinned to the wall with one of Suguru’s spear-wielding curses as he was being toasted by your curse technique.

“I’m just trying to make them pass on easily.”

The curse warbles its disapproval as he shakes his head, its skin flaking and smoking. Shoko crouches beside you, unboxing the gel after you spread your fingers and exorcise it.

“I think it might’ve cursed you instead,” Satoru appears with canned drinks. He presses it tenderly to your warm cheeks as Shoko tends to your hands. “Here, you did most of the work today,” he thinks nothing of how flushed you seem and simply shrugs it off when you avert your gaze. Satoru ruffles your head, which erases the blush into nothing but annoyance,

“Man, can you believe we’ll be second-years soon? We’ll have juniors to bully,” Satoru says with too much glee. Suguru knocks the back of his knees with his own and Shoko and you barely muffle your laughter.

Kiyotaka smiles warmly as he spots you. It falls as his veil disappears to reveal the ruined building.

“Mr. Gojo…” Kiyotaka gasps with his hands curled to his chest. He must be pissed, Kiyotaka thinks as he glances your way. “Mr. Gojo!” you lift a hand to stop him from fretting over your bleeding hand, unknowingly showing him your fingertips.

“You used — “

“Principal Yaga won’t appreciate my tardiness, Kiyotaka.” The tie around your gaping wound unravels and he rushes to open the car door for you. “Ms. Ieiri will tend to me just fine, I’m not going to die. Oh, and please just call me (Y/N), Kiyotaka. Honestly, we’ve known each other for so long, I feel bad if you kept calling me using honorifics.”

How can he be married to Satoru? He thought as he nodded at your words. Half the time he’s expecting to be beaten up by Satoru, the way he speaks sometimes is as if he is deaf to how crass it is. As he rushes to get into the driver's seat, you try your best to tend to the soot and ash on your fingertips.

Kiyotaka watches you from the mirror. What worries him is the missing chunk from your left hand. The irritated edges and bulging veins weren’t easing his worries either. “Mr. Gojo,” you lift your head with a polite grin. Kiyotaka unconsciously returns it.

“Your husband left some burn relief gel at the back of the driver's seat,” he says. It leaves you stunned. He says nothing as your cool expression turns bashful. He was glad to see you find relief despite your twitching wound.

“I’ll drive you there as fast as I can, Mr — “

“Kiyotaka,” you huff.

“M-Mr — Mr. (Y/N).”

It’s strange what a familiar sight can do. Seeing the peeks of the sloped rooftops made your palms clammy. This was a form of torture and of that you are certain.

With every step taken to climb towards your destination, the wind carries forgotten voices and laughter. This school was a picture you kept in a box under your bed; meant to collect dust and only seep out through the cracks in the forms of nostalgia. Seeing it materialize the closer you get makes your throat tighten. The tree branches dance in the wind and sunlight falls into step. This would be scenic in any other circumstance.

You had no one to blame but yourself. Satoru may have pestered you to agree but he didn’t force your hand; you caved in all by yourself.

‘ Get a grip, ‘ you scolded yourself. This was doable. The anxiety that’s coursing through your veins does not compare to everything you’ve already been through. First-day jitters are all it is. Megumi will be there with his friends, Yuuji and Nobara.

Along with them, Satoru’s other students would meet you again!

They were all great kids (and an amazing panda). You’ve only ever seen them in passing, sometimes Satoru would’ve asked for you to meet him whilst his students were already there. They were a memorable bunch. Meeting with a cast-aside Ze’nin daughter had shocked you. It was no surprise she narrowed her eyes at you.

It was fair. The elitist nature of the major clans of the sorcery world was hard to escape and unlearn. Satoru could escape unscathed due to his curse techniques, spoiled by everyone and entrusted as head of the Gojo clan the second he was deemed worthy enough. But for Maki? She had to steel herself when your eyes landed on her. Especially because you were dressed in traditional attire, the silk of your clothes decorated with the sigil of your clan and Gojo's (your half-sibling had just been born, so you wore it to celebrate her first birthday).

You simply offered a downward gaze and nodded as a greeting. Flashing her a quick show of teeth that you showed to Toge and Panda as well.

“Mr (Y/N), are you okay?” Kiyotaka’s hands hover over your shoulder. You’ve half a mind to swat them away. He means well but at the moment you need someone whose heart isn’t racing louder than yours. It doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. You weren’t going to die, Kiyotaka just needed to get that memo.

“I’m well. Let’s just hurry before — “

“(Y/N)?” Satoru's presence causes Kiyotaka to stiffen up like a board. His footsteps approach you from behind. You prepare for the questions he's bound to ask. He doesn't say much, simply does a once-over on you, then focuses on the bloody bandages around your hand. An attempt to hide it behind you was made though he’s already reaching to pull it into the light.

“Satoru, it’s fine. Shoko can fix it up, I’m already late. Principal Yaga is going to have my head.” Satoru reluctantly lets your wrists fall. “You’ve got 25 minutes before the meeting actually starts. I built a reputation for being 7 minutes late for a reason. Why doesn’t anyone else abuse it?”

The twitch of your brow makes him grin. Satoru greets Kiyotaka with a nod and he promptly greets the couple a goodbye.

Satoru stays. It seemed as though Satoru was following along on your impromptu trip to Shoko’s.

“He’s excited to see you, even though he won’t say it,” he turns his head in your direction. “He sure is attached to you. All he ever does is be snarky to me. How come I’m getting all the teen angst?” he makes you guffaw.

“Can you blame him, Satoru?” you snort. “Megumi is pretty guarded after what his step-mom and his father did. I don’t blame you for taking on so many missions either but I did end up staying home more often compared to you. Besides, you’re love language of gift-giving looks more like buying love sometimes.” Satoru’s jaw goes slack and his brows pinch into that annoying expression.

“You’re saying I’m like a rich benefactor rather than a parent?”

“More like a gay uncle who likes giving expensive gifts,” you grunt as he tugs on the lobes of your ears. He’s not that offended by your words, it’s not as though you’re denying that he cares for Tsumiki and Megumi. Simply stating that they still hadn’t bridged the gap. Partly due to his frequent goings and partly due to Megumi’s abandonment issues.

It must sting to know your father sold you to a family who only cared about your abilities. It’s no wonder he keeps his walls high. You’re excited to see his friends climbing it, hoping his fortune is as bountiful as his name.

“Must you be so blunt, husband?” Satoru opens the door for you, eyeing the stains on your shirt. "I heard it was a semi-special grade," you shudder at the reminder, "did she cause you so much trouble? It's been a while since you've used God's Blade."

The fluorescent lights of Shoko's don't help your nerves. The theme of today seems to be revisiting memories. The chill in the building does not ease you in the slightest. It reminds you of the same eerie hallway you'd be escorted to, the sickening green-blue lines of light that light the path would make your palms clammy every time. Those five men were akin to statues as they held onto the thickly bound rope plastered with talismans.

"She couldn't talk just yet but managed to create a weak domain. I don't know why. I wasn't expecting it. It was so unsettling."

Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulders, stroking your shoulder as he steers you through the hallway. He knows you don't like long hallways with cold lights. Satoru doesn't ask the why's or what's. Those rigid lunches and dinners with your father and stepmother are all he needed.

Shoko's eyebrows jump at the sight of the both of you walking in.

"Hello, lovebirds," she stands from her chair, "d'you guys need some condoms or something?" The joke earns her an unamused expression while Satoru just chuckles.

"My dearest husband was injured in battle."

Your exclamations of protest fall on deaf ears as Satoru forces you to sit at Shoko’s check-up station. She idles over, pushing Satoru away with a gloved hand. Her touches are careful and light as she takes a close look at the wound.

Then, she grasps your other hand and you can’t help the gentle smile that graces your face as she tuts at the sensitive skin. “You’re here to meet the Principal, right? This won’t take long. You owe me dinner.”

“Yes, Ms Ieiri,” you coo. It was an odd sensation, to feel your flesh regrow, veins stitching together as muscles intertwine. Meanwhile, Satoru is moving around in her office, sticking his head in cabinets and drawers while you wash your hands. Shoko does nothing to stop your meddling husband.

“Found it!” Just as you turn, Satoru’s face looms over yours. Your gasp is choked on the lollipop he puts in your mouth. Shoko’s stethoscope is looped around his neck and her spare doctor's coat makes him look absolutely ridiculous.

"A treat for being such a good boy at the doctor's office today!"

“Those might be expired, by the way,” Shoko says. “‘Toru!” he giggles unabashedly, avoiding your wrath with glee.

“Mr. Gojo is married!?”

Megumi regrets ever saying it in the first place. Nobara and Yuji are staring at him with wide eyes, practically sparkling with curiosity.

“Did you guys not see the ring on his finger?” The chair creaks as he leans back, crossing his arms as they place their elbows on his desk. “Now that you mentioned it, I have noticed it. I didn’t think he was married,” Nobara tilts her head. “I mean, I guess he is pretty good husband material,” Yuji says. “He’s strong, handsome, and he’s generous too!”

“The lip balm he wears is expensive too,” Nobara nods as she speaks. “It’s not that expensive,” Megumi mumbled though the two simply ignored him. He was on another financial level. His standard of ‘expensive’ had been skewered.

“He just doesn’t seem like he has a wife. How does she put up with his childish attitude?”

Footsteps come from the hallway. Megumi says nothing as Nobara and Yuji press their faces to the indoor windows, trying to steal glances. His heart picks up its pace as he clasps his hands together. He kept his guard up for a reason. He expects disappointment so he can never feel that fear of abandonment — a childish wish. Your trips overseas were something he didn’t think would make him fearful again, so he iced them out the best he could. But now that you were back, he felt entirely too excited.

“Shh! Itadori, shut up! Let me sit here!”

They wrestle for the chair closest to the door. The ridiculousness of it has Megumi hiding his smile behind his palm, rolling his eyes fondly. Nobara wins and Megumi buries the feeling of excitement that Yuji is sitting close.

The doors rattle open to reveal Satoru. The silence that greets him disturbs him enough to hesitate to take a step inside. Instead, he stretches his neck and lets his head jump from one student's face to the other.

“Is this some sort of ambush? Why are your faces so intense?”

“Mr Gojo!” Yuji exclaims (he doesn’t need to). Raising from his seat, Yuji plants his palms on his desk and speaks: “Is it true that you’re married and that your spouse is going to be teaching us?”

Satoru beams, one long leg crossing over the threshold. Megumi spots a flash of (H/C) coloured hair and no matter what he does he can’t stop his heart from squeezing in anticipation.

“A guy like me? Of course, I’m married!” Satoru wiggles his fingers in the air. The ring is a simple silver band with a beautiful gem held preciously by silver roots. It was personal, something that would twinkle under the light but remain bashful in any other setting; it didn’t make it any less beautiful or inexpensive.

Nobara stands next. “What is she like? How does she put up with you? Is she cool?”

Soft laughter floats inside. Megumi’s shoulders hug his neck as you walk into the room. You were dressed in a nearly identical faculty uniform to Satoru’s though there were little adjustments and accessories here and there that made it more your own.

“They’ve been your student for less than a week, and they already wonder how your spouse puts up with you, husband,” your eyes meet Megumi’s and turn warmer. Nobara and Yuji gasp, eyes going comically wide as they stare at you.

“They’re overexaggerating. I’m an amazing teacher.” Electing to ignore your pouting husband, you address the first-year students with your hands politely folded in front of you.

‘ Ah, always so proper, ‘ Satoru thinks. It’s probably where Megumi’s manners got reinforced because it sure as hell wasn’t from Satoru. You really were a marvel. How lucky would anyone be to be yours? An idea popped into his marvellous brain. Satoru suppresses his urge to rub his hands together schemingly though hopes Nanami won't mind that he meddles a bit with his mission.

“My name is Gojo (Y/N), it’s nice to finally meet all of you. Mr Gojo has told me what promise all of you show.”

Yuji doesn’t pretend not to notice the way your eyes linger on him. He stiffens up, jaw locking as he feels his tongue spasm. Your eyes — the colour of it seemed to sway, like a flame dancing in the dark. It was spine-chilling.

To stand next to Gojo Satoru, to be his husband — to be his equal. Yuji imagines you must be strong. He wonders what your curse technique is. He is not the only one wondering. Deep in the recesses of his soul, four eyes split open and illuminate the darkness.

“We were thinking of taking all three of you on a field trip around Tokyo!” Satoru says with glee.

“It better not be like yesterday’s trip to Roppongi,” Nobara mutters. You glance towards Satoru, brow raised in question while he laughs innocently at Nobara’s accusing glare.

Megumi takes note of the smell of ash, and cobalt gaze immediately dropping to your folded hands and narrowing as he notices how irritated your fingertips look.

“You’ll enjoy this trip, trust me. Everyone can show off their skills to Mr Gojo, even Megumi,” Satoru said. Megumi's cheeks burned at the callout despite that, he was excited. He learned a lot in those 4-months and he has much to show you. Nobara snickers at his annoyed expression but catches Yuji’s lack of response. Satoru did as well though since there were no marks or mouths sprouting on his face he elected to wave it off as him being stunned by you.

For being a man? Surely, not. Perhaps for your handsomeness? That seems very likely.

It wasn’t as though he was sullen, just tight-lipped as he smiled and guffawed at the ongoing conversation.

“You may call me Mr (Y/N). It might be confusing for everyone if you both refer to us with our surnames." Satoru pretends not to grimace at the lame excuse. It was not for their sake. It was for yours and his. In 8 months, you would no longer bear the heavy weight of his name, placing it on a mantle of your victories and regrets.

“Gojo?” Kento’s voice causes you to jump. He felt bad for disturbing you from your reading, you looked so peaceful. It's been a while since he's found time to sit down and digest the words of a book. The mountain of unread literature in his home begs for a crumb of his attention — they remain untouched until he's sure he won't die without reading the final chapter. That would truly be a nuisance. The cafe had the smell of fresh paint quickly being overshadowed by freshly baked pastries and brewed coffee.

Kento apologizes for startling you. An apology you wave off, setting your book down after slipping the bookmark between the yellowing pages. The spine of it was cracked and the front of it slightly warped despite the plastic cover it was wrapped in. "A good read?"

“It was my mother’s favourite book,” you trace the title on the cover, sheepishly grinning. “She left some of her books in my possession after her passing. It got banged up after a mission with a curse in America, some alligator curse.” “What is it about?” His voice was so deep. Had it always been that deep? Admittedly, you’d only had the pleasure to see Kento again during Suguru’s proclamation of war. At that moment, you weren’t ogling him or relishing in the baritones of his voice. He’d grown up to be a handsome man. Those high cheekbones and strong eyes finally settled on his face. Despite the coat he wore, you could tell his body was chiseled and firm. Muscles stacked on muscles. He’d always been studios — his technique did require a more hand-to-hand approach. It didn’t surprise you. Most active sorcerers tend to train their bodies in order to survive strenuous missions.

As students, you recalled having sparred with him a few times. It didn't surprise you he became a Grade 1 sorcerer. With his flexible ability and his sharp wit, Kento was a force to be reckoned with then, you cannot imagine what he's capable of now. “It’s a bit dark,” you turned the cover to him, “it’s about a woman whose sister and old friend from school died. They were murdered. We follow her through her memories of them and her emotions. It’s quite interesting if you have the stomach for it,” he takes the book as you slip it into his hands.

Your fingers brushed and your ears warmed up.

‘ Ah, stop it. Stop it! You are (Y/N), a powerful sorcerer. Stop acting like a schoolgirl! ‘ “It was inspired by a murder in 1997.” Kento reads the synopsis on the back, his eyes drinking in every syllable. You wonder if his gaze is always so intense. Do they soften when he leans in to kiss? Thankfully, the book distracts him from your aggressive sipping of your drink. "Is the protagonist compelling?" After all, what's more horrid than a boring storyteller. Kento has consumed his fair share of bland-tasting media. It was just how life is, he supposes. Still. It didn't mean he was any less disappointed.

He flips through the first few pages. His touch was featherlight as he traced the edge of the pages. "She's angry," you reply after a moment of contemplation. "She is...unapologetically resentful, overly judgemental. But, for some reason. It's almost relieving to read," he watches you scratch the back of your neck as if admitting it out loud made you a bad person. “I’ll have to keep an eye out for it in bookstores. This looks intriguing.” Kento hands the novel back to you. You’re only a little disappointed that your fingers don’t brush again. He reaches into his coat as you put the book back in your bag. The file he pulls out makes you sober up from the butterflies in your stomach.

Right, this wasn’t a date — despite Satoru's jests — this was a mission. It must be a pretty daunting one if two Grade 1 sorcerers were needed. “Gojo — “ Your huff makes Kento pause. “Honestly, Ken, just call me (Y/N).” Your eyes widen. Stumbling over your words, you try to apologize for your bluntness, your hair practically lifting and puffing like a panicked cat. It has been so long since you’ve been classmates. A whole decade had breezed past. Calling him by an old nickname after so long was so rude!

To your surprise, Kento smiles. It’s unlike Satoru's, free and sharp, the corners curled like a sly fox as he set his sights on adventure. Kento’s smile was reliable, assuring you without words. Like a prince, though one that was gentler in his ways of living compared to the gallivanting knight that is Satoru.

“Only if I can call you, (nickname).”

Yū’s face floats to the surface. You had given Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and Kento their nicknames.

Satoru, ‘Toru. Suguru, Su-Su. Shoko, Ko-Ko. Kento, Ken.

Yū, well, you had trouble giving him one considering how short his name already was. So he gave you a nickname instead. It stuck more than the others, every time you saw him he’d immediately call you that and you’d struggle to find a nickname that’d stick for him.

After his death, nobody called you that anymore.

If spirits were kept alive through memory, you’re certain Yū’s was thriving thanks to Kento. His classmate, his best friend. What an honoured spirit he must be. Kento was a quiet man, your mother often said those stoic ones were filled with such blinding love it left them tight-lipped so as to not overwhelm others. You wonder if your feelings have tainted Suguru in any way. The very thought makes your knuckles whiten. How awful. You hope he does not resent you.

You remember visiting Kento after Yū’s funeral, leaving food for him at his front door for weeks until you found out he had moved out.

That was a dark summer.

“Of course you can, Ken.” He stands as you do, falling into step next to you as you make your way towards your destination.

This was an interesting mission. It was located in an alleyway that once harboured a noodle shop. Something chased away the people. The building on the right was an abandoned temple, and the building on the left was a nightclub that was torn down after a murder happened.

An unlikely set of locations sprinkled with fear and isolation. The perfect breeding ground for curses. The mix of religious trauma and debauchery formed a mass that seemed forcefully threaded together by a thick rope in the center that looked oddly like noodles.

What peeved you about it was that it took less than two hours for Kento and you to investigate and exorcise it.

He swung his weapon in the air, the dissipating gore of the curse splattering on the walls in a spray. You’re waving away some dust and debris, coughing as you crush a minor curse’s head under your boot. This mission was dangerous, a perfect mission for a Grade 1 sorcerer.

A Grade 1 sorcerer.

It hardly required a duo.

‘ Satoru, ‘ you’re choking him in your mind. This must be his doing. He'd joke about setting you up with Kento but you thought it was that, a joke.

A heavy hand places itself on your shoulder, turning to face him you’re caught by how close your faces are. “Are you alright?” your body twists and you can't remember when he got so tall.

“I’ll be sore, but it’s nothing new.”

You were his favourite out of his upperclassmen. Kento never said that out loud, he wasn’t sure why; you weren’t the quietest or most polite. You were any other teenage boy. Except that was a lie.

(L/N) (Y/N). You were a product of your clan’s race to stand out. The destiny many searches for was laid out ahead of you the second you were conceived.

But you were kind. Not that the rest of the upperclassmen weren’t. You were different, a shining light that Kento finds himself gravitating towards like a moth to a flame. You were the night sky, twinkling and watching those around him. Kento was a mere mortal. All he could do was admire from the ground as he helplessly reached up to embrace deities.

He slides his hand down to your arm, and the reaction is immediate. Pain shoots up your arm, blood hidden by the dark uniform. Kento undoes his tie and wraps it above the bleeding cut. It’s crazy what adrenaline can do to you.

“Kento, you didn’t have to,” you wince as he tightens it. He offers no apologies though his jaw still clenches.

You were strong, your ranking was proof of that. But you were a (L/N). Kento heard of the rumours they tell about your clan's weak bodies but overeager abilities. It was a nice way to say that your clan was in over your head. As history notes, your clan was more devious than forthcoming. Hailing from ninjas or assassins or whatever it is that seemed more malicious.

“I’ll bring you to the school,” his tone was resolute. “It’s just a cut,” he frowns as he takes another look at it. It was deep, not bone-deep, but deep.

He’s terrified that there’s truth in them. The rumours. As you stand here with your heated cheeks and too-warm touch, he’s worried that your brain is overheating. Or maybe your blood is boiling and killing you. You could drop dead right in front of him right now, despite the amount of times you get up each and every time.

He’s terrified, (Y/N). He cannot lose another person he cares about. Kento absolutely refuses to do that all over again.

“Kento,” that stubborn purse of your lips never did go away. He can see the fight you have in you, that fire that fuels you.

As you smile, Yū’s face eclipses yours. For a split second. Just a second. It makes Kento loosen his grip. “I’m fine, Ken. Swear it,” he reluctantly lets you go.

“I apo — “

Your fingers thread through his. They’re intertwined and your grip is firm.

‘ I’m here, ‘ each squeeze relays, ‘ I’m safe, Kento. ‘

The coolness of your ring on his skin earns you a firm press.

He’s content watching you from afar, Kento had long decided that would be his fate. There was no honour in it. He sure as hell didn’t expect a heavenly reward for it. Perhaps he’s a fool for living the way he does. Kento knows he's lying to himself. Deep down he wants nothing more than to kiss you, hold you, make you his, and let him be yours.

But Kento’s fear of losing you outweighs his love for you. Staying by Gojo Satoru's side ensures your safety, wealth, status and prosperity.

Kento will be content with that. Tripping through these messy tangles of heartstrings would just be how his life went. Even if Gojo Satoru did not deserve you, he provided you with more.

He would come home without fail. He was the strongest.

“After we patch up, let me buy you dinner tonight, (nickname). We can catch up.” The offer brightens your expression. You’d always been so divine when you smile, (Y/N).

“(Y/N)?” Satoru always smells so sweet before bed. It’s the lotion he puts on his skin, specifically everywhere else Fushiguro Toji had stabbed him.

It was expensive and meant to heal and moisturize damaged skin. They’re barely there anymore. The only proof of that day was nothing more than stark lines, and barely blushed skin that hides beneath his bangs. It was just routine now, a habit he couldn’t break. Or perhaps, a reminder for him; to know what it felt like to bleed out, to die, to let others die. The day he ascended to the heavens and became the honoured one. The day everything shifted.

“Oi, (Y/N).” You’re burying your face into his neck and Satoru stiffens. He’s ticklish there, he’s told you that before.

“Are ya’ drunk? Did Nanami get you drunk?” His voice lifts in amusement at the end. He'd heard that Nanami was quite a heavy drinker from what Shoko had told him. He hadn’t expected you to come here after a date. He was nearly asleep when you stumbled into the bedroom. Did you forget your new address? Satoru feels your hands tighten around his waist. A blanket of sadness shrouds you.

“Oi. Did something happen?”

You shake your head. Never in a million years would you fathom hating grain or bread. It wasn't her fault for holding Kento's heart but what sort of cruel joke was this? The gods were mocking you. Satoru swallows thickly as your lips brush the junction of his shoulder and neck.

“Did Nanami do something?” His anger was immediate, you could taste it from how close you were. Had he always been so responsive to your emotions? All it took to make him lose his coolheadedness was a suspicion that someone had hurt you.

“Why are you here, (Y/N)?”

“Ken, he dropped me off here.” Your legs stumble as you sway so Satoru holds your hips. He can smell the grilled meat from your hair, the alcohol from your breath, and the antiseptic wound dressing under your clothes.

“You didn’t bring him home?” Satoru teases.

“He brought me home.” Satoru can feel your lashes tickle his neck. Your breath is fanning that barely-there-scar and it makes gooseflesh ripple across his skin. Right, in the public’s eye, this was still your home. Kento was a gentleman, of course, he’d send (Y/N) back to his husband.

“This is my home, S'Toru,” he agrees with you with a nod, “Of course, beloved. We should get you ready for bed, yeah?”

His breath gets caught in his throat as he takes you in. The moonlight makes your skin look absolutely ethereal. Those tales of forest spirits with decadent forms and whispering eyes that lure men to their deaths pale in comparison to you. The drunken flush that looks silly on others makes you look like you’re a teenager all over again. Your gaze was unfocused, jumping or lingering from one thing to the next.

But your eyes meet him and they're so dark. He’s taken aback. It happens when someone’s in a dim room like you are currently. Your pupils dilate to let more light in. Satoru knows that’s not the case. You’re 17 again and the windows to your soul betray you by letting Satoru in. It’s silly what humans do when they’re in love. How our eyes insist on seeing more of them. Take in every microscopic detail despite not having the ability to do so. Fluttering those eyelashes as if curling a coy finger.

' Come, ' your eyes are saying. ' Let me show you where I ache the most, this void in my chest. Come. Inhabit me. Bare your soul to me. '

The act of kissing is perhaps the silliest. Moulding your lips with another person, feeling them against you as your soul breathes into their body. It’s Satoru’s favourite sensation. The intimate act of it all, of breathing life into someone you love. It was almost cannibalistic in a way. As you stand in front of him, hiccuping from all the drinks you took and only being supported by his hands Satoru can’t stop the way his gaze lingers on your lips. Satoru wants to kiss his husband. He wants to feel your soul burn him from the inside and he wants you to harbour his own in yours.

“Why can’t I just sleep now?” You mumble. Satoru’s palm cools your flushed cheeks, his thumb ghosting the edge of your lips.

“You smell like grilled meat and beer,” he traces your jawline and cups the back of your head to pull you into his embrace. Too drunk to care about how fast your heart is beating, you simply let it happen. Satoru’s big hands travel down and he shushes you when you squirm.

Down to the sides of the waist, then to your hips, further down and down until he catches the back of your knees. He lifts you so you wrap your arms around him, going all but limp.

“Grilled meat and beer smell great! I’m so sleepy, please,” he chuckles as you kick your feet. “I prefer if the bedsheets smell the way they do now. Man, how much did you have to drink?”

The hiccup you make when he sets you on the counter makes him shake his head. Satoru tells you to lean back so he can undress you. It’s amusing to see the emotions on his face as he does.

The metallic scent still lingers judging from how Satoru’s nose is twitching. Suppose the new jacket you got did little to mask it. He unbuttons your undershirt and his eyes widen. At that, you turn to breathe in the mirror, entranced by the way your breath leaves traces of itself on the smooth surface.

Satoru ignores the way your chest stutters as he traces the outlines of the fucked up star-shaped scar on your chest. It was a sick imitation of your skin colour. So close to your heart, too close. Your hand rests on top of his as you trace his knuckles.

“There aren’t a lot of doctors like Shoko overseas,” Satoru slips his hand away from you. It rests on the big scar on your side now. He can feel the marred skin beginning from your back all the way to the front, like a sickle. He can imagine it, see the way a claw or a tooth had nearly split you in half if you hadn't gotten out of the way.

It must've ached. He would know. Muscles being torn apart viciously, bone thudding so harshly on the ground that sometimes he's convinced it's broken. You must've been in pain — muscles and nerves screaming at every movement despite whatever sorcery was used to heal it.

Scars are a part of the sorcerer society. It’s a rite of passage just as much as dying is. He’s not surprised you have them. He’s seen your bare torso before. When it’s an unbearable hot summer or on a beach, you’ve chosen to shed a few layers. Sometimes, you’d even sleep topless if it was too humid.

Each time, Satoru would find himself looking at your scars. Counting them, wondering where some came from and what mission caused it. Or was it an accident? A childhood scar that never went away. Was it your training?

Was it your father?

He never asked. Satoru didn’t want to say anything for fear that you’d no longer be comfortable around him. The ones he remembered, he'd let his gaze linger on but the others? No. It felt shameful to ask. So he never knew. Simply wondered.

In those four months, why had your scars increased? The severity of it looked more and more painful.

“You’re usually not so careless,” fear grips him and his expression is so morbid you laugh. Satoru finds no amusement in it and his firm gaze makes your chuckle fade away.

“Maybe my family’s curse is catching up to me.”

“That isn’t a laughing matter.” Satoru knows you’re not completely immune to the flames you cast. You’ve certainly grown a tolerance for it (and other flames), once or twice he recalls you casually patting away at the inky flames that catch on your clothes. But it’s a great technique.

Too great some would say.

Divine Flame. A technique that enabled the user to control cursed wildfires. To manipulate it to burn through nearly everything it came into contact with. A searing black that makes you sweat even from a distance. That is so bright when cast, it blinds those who dare gaze upon it.

The whispers of your clan making a deal with a cursed spirit followed you everywhere you went. People claim that your ancestors made a Binding Vow to become great sorcerers. To rival the other houses and to fill the void of power that Sukuna Ryomen left your society in after he massacred great clans.

But your ancestor got greedy and the vow was broken, which left canyons of karma engraved in the bones of their children. It was why your clan could never flourish. It was why the children die out, why the women grow barren and the men weak.

It was ridiculous but Satoru himself wonders if there’s truth in it.

Why would the Gods give you a body you couldn’t sustain? Were you truly cursed? This mighty curse technique engraved into your skeleton burns you from the inside out; is it hurting you?

If it was, Satoru would demand the Gods to come down and face him. Why should you pay for the mistakes of your ancestors?

Why would they dare take more from you?

From Satoru?

Had they not have their fill?

Just rumours, he tells himself. If they — the Gods — dared taking you from him he'd raze heaven and hell.

“...You would tell me if it was, right?”

Has Satoru’s eyes ever looked as dark as they did now? There’s a ring of blue surrounding that endless void. As he peers up at you, all you can focus on is that sliver of heaven. That cerulean that reminds you of the sky and the sea, that you swear shines in mischief or glows like a good omen.

What is this darkness you're peering into? An abyss that whispers for you;

' Come. Let me show you, come, teeter over the edge and fall with me.'

“Would you stop it, Satoru?” your hands on his cheek make his skin burn. “This so-called ' great family curse, ' could you stop it?”

“I’d do anything to protect you, beloved.” He'd make the Gods ever regret making him fall in love with you.

You grin as your thumb swipes over his cheekbones and all thoughts of killing unreachable Gods dissipate. Satoru lets you come down from the counter, ready to catch you if you fall as you attempt to take your pants off.

Satoru is squirming like a worm under the sun. He’s sat on the toilet lid, refusing to let you tend to him. “Gojo,” your sigh makes him chew on his inner cheeks. Finally, you manage to get his shirt off and without that second skin, he feels far too cold.

You’re in nothing but a towel. Your funeral garbs are being tended to by servants. They were probably steaming out the wrinkles while you attempted to wring Satoru back into shape.

“I can do it by myself.”

He hasn’t eaten. What little he does eat is barely sustaining him. Satoru could barely stand after his adrenaline wore off, you truly hope he will not be stubborn. You reach for his boxers and he exclaims, once again;

“I can do it by myself!”

The blood that rushes to his head humbles him. Satoru stands and Satoru falls. You catch him, gasping out his name as your arm wraps themselves around him.

His face is on your chest, resting on your clavicles while your chin is on his shoulder.

Look away, he wants to tell you. Look away from me.

Suguru’s love letters are still dark on his pale skin. Like flowers blooming under sunlight, they decorate him from behind his ears to the nape of his neck. Satoru can recall pushing Suguru away as he did, his skin remembering unfeeling metal but Suguru kisses him and Satoru forgets it all.

He thought Suguru could forget it too. He tries not to cry but he does anyway. Satoru sobs into your chest and a part of you feels anger. It was your mother’s funeral.

Why the fuck is he crying?

But your grief is hanging outside the bathroom, neat and crisp and proper. It will weigh like boulders when you slip it on and you’ll feel your stomach twist into knots as you hold back the urge to vomit. In this bathroom, Satoru’s guilt is his and you’ll be there to wash it away.

He hates himself for it. He hates how you rub his back and shush him, gathering him in your arms as you stand so you can brush away all these feelings.

He couldn’t imagine going to his mother's funeral.

He also couldn't imagine Suguru not being by his side but that was now reality.

Your mother was a kind woman. Not naively trusting, barely had any faith in others his mother once told him. But she was warm despite it. Cunning underneath the pleasantries she shared.

His mother enjoyed her company. He can’t recall if she ever enjoyed anyone’s company other than his father and his own.

‘ She’s a wonderful woman. Shame she’s married to such a horrible man, ‘ she once told him.

“Let me wash your hair, Gojo.” The water hides his tears but you wipe them away regardless. You offer him a smile and Gojo can feel that tree of guilt sprout.

He catches you as you trip on your discarded pants and perhaps you should feel bashful or shy as your naked body is pressed against his clothed one. But you’re too drunk and too sleepy to care.

Your face rests on his chest and his chin is over your shoulder.

“Why do you call me that?”

Satoru turns the shower on, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist as he tests the temperature.

“Beloved?” You nod against him and the hair that tickles his throat doesn’t make his insides shudder in memory of that day.

“Do you want me to stop calling you that?”

He pushed you into the shower and the warm water has you groaning. He’s gentle as he manoeuvres your bandaged arm up, telling you to brace it on the wall to not get it damp.

His eyes are still so dark.

“Your shirt is getting wet,” you point your finger at it. Neither of you addresses your blatant brush-off. He tells you to turn around and you do. From the corner of your eyes, you see his clothes getting tossed onto the floor and the sound of his hand's lathering soap has you fluttering your eyes closed.

He envies the careless way the water hugs you. How it slithers from your shoulders down to the curves of your legs. Rivulets of ambrosia ease your sore muscles in ways that he wished he could.

“People...people usually use baby or babe,” Satoru’s hands lather soap on your back and you lean forward to press your forehead on the wall.

“Hey,” it twists beneath your arm, brushing over your chest and tilts your head up. You can feel his chest hovering over your back and you wonder if there are raised lines where Fushiguro Toji stabbed him.

“Do you want me to call you baby or babe?”

You shrug, wanting to hang your head again but somehow keeping it exactly the way Satoru had positioned it even as his hand moves to your back again. “It’s because you’re dear to me. Calling you my dear sounds way too archaic though.” He smiles as you scoff, “As opposed to my beloved?”

You’re sobering up from the water. He can feel your muscles tensing under his touch.

“What did you call Suguru?”

You prayed that you didn’t ruin this moment. The sick curiosity of it all has rotted in you for too long. You need to know how great his love was, from his mouth alone.

If you’ve spent a decade of your life resenting yourself for being in love with a man who was never yours, you’d like to know if he was truly unreachable.

“I called him my one and only.”

He sees no point in hiding it from you. Satoru didn’t want to hurt you, he hoped if anything this would make you run into Kento’s arms. A restart, a good man who had more than enough money to make sure you wouldn't have to give up too many comforts (Satoru's money and Kento's were no laughing matter but his was as infinite as his abilities due to generational wealth). From what he gathered on Nanami, from previous partners to his parents and health, he was clean. You deserve that. His beloved, you deserve to be with a man who would never hurt you.

“Your one and only.” Your face is hidden from him. He wants nothing more than to turn you around so he can see what you’re thinking.

“But I am dear to you, Satoru?”

“You are. You’re,” he struggles to find the words. As he does, he struggles to say it.

Cutting him off, you tell him; “You are my first love, Satoru."

He inhales sharply. Crimson seeps from the gauze of your bandages. Staining the white with red. The pinpricks of pain barely register.

“Suguru was yours. I don’t hate you for it. I don’t blame you. You alone hold the sorcerer society’s expectations on your shoulders. Its happiness and misery are all on you. The strongest. I am vindictive. I am selfish.”

“Beloved, you’re not.”

You turn to face him. Here you are, standing in front of each other. Bare and vulnerable. You might as well say what you need to.

“I am, Satoru. I wanted you to hurt, I wanted you to be in pain, for 10 years all I ever wished for was for you to feel what I felt. My love for you was tainted by my own feelings by my own hate. He was your one and only. How could I hate you for that? How could I hate him for that?”

Satoru looks to the side, clenching his jaw as his hands ball up into fists. He shouldn't say anything more but there's this voice pleading for him to say it. Say that he forgives you despite the fact that you didn't need to apologize in the first place. Isn't this what couples do? They kiss and make up. After a decade of this, of wearing rings and honouring vows, you would think it was something the both of you got used to doing.

That's not what you are, in a few months, the only remains of this marriage will be harboured in memories alone. So why does this voice grip him so tightly? This hope that the both of you can actually be together...he needs to extinguish it.

“I’m glad we had each other throughout these years, I'm glad you stayed even if it was out of pity. Even if we were unhappy, even if I could not...please you. We’re friends, and I could never hate Suguru for being your great love.”

“Stop, please.” Your blood is trailing down your arm. Turning the water into a pale red as it swirls down the drain. “I married you so I could marry Suguru.” He releases a shuddering breath. Satoru’s words sobered you up like a slap to the face.

“I was 16. There were marriage proposals from everywhere, even from overseas. I didn’t want to marry them. Not because they were strangers but because my duties would pull me away from his side. But I was forced to. By higher-ups, by clan members, by my mother, the world was looking at me. You said it yourself. The misery and happiness of the world we live in depended on me. But I wanted Suguru more than anything."

He’s looking at you with tears in his eyes. It's your heart that's being shattered.

So why the fuck was he crying?

“I told him if I married you, we would divorce and you would understand the reason. Because you were our friend. Suguru said it was cruel. He knew you loved me.”

These words were like striking a match and holding it to the leaves of that beautiful willow tree you made him.

“Stop, Satoru.”

“I knew too.”

“Please, stop!”

“I — I didn’t...I would take it back if I could. But I can’t.” That voice within him withers to nothing. He pretends he doesn't feel his chest ache as he stares at your betrayal. Your arm pulses in pain but you can barely find it in you to care.

“My beloved — "

“You knew I loved you? All that time, you knew I loved you?”

Was this better? For all these years, you thought he chose you because he held some sort of fondness for you. Perhaps the comfort of familiarity wasn't too far off. But the fact that he chose you due to your proximity? The reason he was so insistent on binding your hands together in matrimony was due to distance?

In another life, Suguru is where you stand now. Except there’d be no distance. They’d be pressed together, lips locked with a passion even your flames couldn’t rival. Would you be happy in that life? Knowing that your marriage was all a facade until the honor was fulfilled and Satoru would whisk his true husband to the altar.

“You used me.” He tries to grab you but you flinch away, stumbling over your own feet as your back meets the wall.

“I’m so sorry.” "You keep saying that, Satoru!"

You needed to get away from him. There was no way this could work. Not as friends, not as husbands, not as anything more. It was foolish to think otherwise. You attempt to squeeze past him and out from the glass doors but he holds you by your shoulders.

Satoru holds you to his chest as you try to slip out of his grasp. You'd think it'd be easy since you were practically covered in soap suds. If your tears were gold, you'd be the richest man alive. He's glad you go limp, gathering you so close you can feel the raised skin of the scar he had.

Blood is seeping through the fine hairs on his arm, staining it as you hang your head in defeat. He turns you around and the foggy glass doors of the shower make your back arch.

He should stop. This absolutely won't end well. He's broken your heart, cremated it into dust. Was this his punishment from a past life? Had he scorned a lover? Was it you? Were the both of you destined to love each other this way?

Why must he love this way? You can't tell what's running through your veins right now. Adrenaline? Anger? Beer? You don't know what it is, but it makes you stay as he stares at you.

"Hate me if you need to. I can take it, (Y/N). I promise you I can."

That's the problem. You can't. The definition of hate had been skewered for you centuries ago. Maybe this is how you love Satoru; with bitter longing and resentment. They had four letters, practically indistinguishable from each other in your mind because that's what Satoru has done to you.

From the second you saw for the first time, he'd burned his very soul on your heart. Branded you like cattle with his smile, left cuts with every exhale and inhale as he laughed; this is what loving Satoru feels like.

How did Suguru manage? Was he a stronger man than you? You wish you could ask him. Would his cold corpse cushion your back with his chest, praising you for taking Satoru's sadistic love so well?

The tip of his nose brushes against your ear as he embraces you. This is what Satoru feels like slotted against you.

So many questions are running through your mind. None were answered. They kept buzzing and it's making your eyes water. The steam, the familiar scent of your favourite soap, and Satoru's fading sweetness as the lotion is washed off.

"I hate you," Satoru's breath does not hitch. He turns his head and your lips quiver as he brushes along your jaw. He can feel you trembling as his face hovers across yours. You should put distance between him. Scream and tell him to get away.

Still, there is this terrible desire to be loved by him.

Just.

Just once.

' Come. '

His eyes are still so dark.

' Inhabit me. '

So are yours.

' Let me show you. '

They flicker to your lips, pure white lashes do little to hide heaven away.

' Bare your soul to me. '

His cheek twitches when you place a hand on it. No barrier between your palm and his face. Being naked isn't the reason why you feel so exposed. It's the way he's looking at you. As if your very skin was peeled away, muscles torn apart, bones bashed to smithereens; as if he used Hallowed Purple and eviscerated you into nothing but the very essence of your soul. He drinks it in with that unlimited darkness.

' I have. Now fall with me. '

He kisses you.

It's not the other times when he tries to initiate intimacy. No. It isn't methodical, hesitant, awkward. On the other hand, it isn't passionate either. It's wet. It's pathetic. Both pairs of lips bumbling fools that try to make jagged pieces to fit. Tears sting in your eyes, and Satoru can't understand why he does this to you.

' Look at what I do to you, ' he thinks, ' all I do is hurt you. '

You gasp when his hand pulls you in closer.

Just once.

He needs to hold you like this just once.

To show you how he loves the only way he knows how — to devour you with his sin so you know how much he meant. He knows he shouldn't. This would only muddy the dark waters you tread through. But fuck it.

Fuck it.

Fuck the world. Fuck the higher-ups. Fuck the clans, fuck expectations, fuck Suguru, fuck Shoko, fuck Kento —

"Satoru," you're breathing into his mouth, lips still pushed against the other as you try to catch your breath. Praying at the altar of the body that holds your soul; Satoru is weakest before you.

His godhood is forgotten.

The strongest kneels.

The taste of him is making your head fuzzy. The pain feels insignificant and for a moment the heartbreak is forgotten.

"(Y/N)," there, where you ache for him, he's there.

His tongue feels like velvet. With one leg tossed over his shoulder, you're at his mercy. Those plush lips paint your skin, ushering your blood just under the skin's surface. The tugs on his hair make him groan as he leaves apologetic licks on your inner thighs.

"Satoru," your whisper could make a mountain bow. A brush of his teeth has you gasping. It's soon replaced with a moan as he takes your cock into his hands.

It's obscene. Sex was never meant to be anything but — however, the sight makes you feel dizzy.

This ethereal man is on his knees, cerulean eyes staring up at you as he kisses the tip of your cock. A hand squeezes the underside of the thigh on his shoulder, slithering up to your hip and reaching for your chest and neck. The whisper of his touch on your chin has you whimpering.

"Don't look away," he says, "keep your eyes on me, my beloved."

Your hands attempt to grab the purchase of the glass doors, but all you manage is a handful of steam. They cover the marks you leave as your palms press on the glass. Satoru's mouth and tongue feel like velvet — so warm and wet. When you nearly slip his nose is pressed to your pubic hair so he simply lifts your other leg. The only thing you can do is thrust into his mouth.

He strokes your hips, nails lightly scratching the surface as he encourages you to do as you please. The noises he makes go straight to your dick and you feel like you're losing your mind.

As you curl over, gripping his head, you can only see white. Satoru's throat is gulping all of your cum down, and the sensation of your cockhead being squeezed has your heels digging into his back.

Those 10 years of denying him felt ridiculous now.

There's a distinctly (Y/N)-shaped stain on the bed. There's still soap on your skin. The coldness in the air makes being wet and naked uncomfortable. But Satoru is there.

He's kissing you like he wants to eat you alive and you're weak to his whims. Your cock is in his hands, painfully hard as he strokes it and swallows every pitiful mewl you let out.

Here he is again, ruining you, branding you.

He's not entirely at fault. You let him.

It was not his fault he loved another and it was not your fault you loved him. He was a teenager, so were you. What did he know of consequences, of choice, of pain? He was 16, in love.

Were you truly vindictive? Why were you so devout in your worship?

What were you worshipping?

The tragedy of this marriage? The humour of it all is a great soap drama that the Gods peer down at to coo at.

"(Y/N)," he says your name like it was a prayer. Such reverence in his worship. His lips are trailing down to your neck and the scriptures of adoration he places on your skin make your back arch into him.

"Satoru," he answers his name with a whisper of yours. He takes a nipple in his mouth, teeth catching to feel your chest try to escape it. He doesn't let it. He tongues at the scar you have, pressing kisses there and to the scar on your side, the scar on your hip, the one on your thigh, the one near your belly button...

"(Y/N)," he'd whisper every time he does.

Satoru is in between your legs but you don't want him there. He grunts as you pull on his forearm, a breath away from showing you his dedication to you but he doesn't complain because you're kissing him.

He likes kissing you.

Satoru moves his jaw up and down, you can barely catch up but that isn't without trying. The feeling of his undercut makes your hand move to grab his hair so you can breathe. His forehead is on yours and water drips from his bangs as he pants.

That endless void; it reflects only you.

"(Y/N)".

It's your name that leaves his lips.

"(Y/N)."

He's pleading for you.

"My beloved."

You're dear to him.

Your grip loosens and he relishes the way your soul burns as it goes down his throat.

When he's inside of you, you were certain you were going to die. Life has taught you plenty of lessons and one of them was that nothing good came without a price.

His cock split you open as gently as he could make it. It was tight. You were grateful for his fingers that stretched you despite how uncomfortable it had been at first. Tears still fall as you try your best to breathe, Satoru kisses them away. He's braced on his arms with you underneath him.

It takes all his strength not to pound into you. He's barely halfway in and all he wants is to stay inside you forever. You're squeezing and he inhales sharply, a breathless chuckle escaping him.

"Easy, you're gonna cut my dick off, baby," you sniffle in response. Satoru reaches to pump your cock and shushes you as you moan out his name.

"I'm right here, beloved."

"Satoru," he meets you halfway when you lean up. His heart clenches as he tastes your tears, saying nothing as you laugh in between the lip-locking. His hips move and you clutch onto him tighter.

"Oh fuck, 'Toru." He's there. Nestled in the space he had molded inside of you. Satoru is sheathed fully. You're convinced you're about to die as your chest grows heavier. He cradles your face in his hand, wiping that steady flow of tears as he thrusts in and out. You simply let him, gasping for air and mercy as your body hangs onto him.

"(Y/N), fuck, (Y/N)," his nose curls as his lust-lidded eyes drink you in.

"'To - Toru, Satoru." He can feel your nails digging into his back. It stings but fuck does it feel good.

"More. Nuh - Need more, 'Toru. Need — "He nods. You don't have to say it. You need him.

"Me too, (Y/N). You feel s'good, s'fuckin' good."

When his hips rattle yours, it's enough to have you sobbing.

"Love you so fucking much," he says. You don't have to say it back. Because your eyes betray you. They only reflect him and you're sure this is how you die.

"Satoru."

With his name on your lips.

"Please."

Begging for his mercy.

"Satoru."

You ____ him.

The clouds are strangely dark today. Earlier this morning, the reporter had babbled on and on about the clear blue skies and bright sunny day. Weather predictions weren't an exact science, Satoru knew that, but the sky was not cheery much less sunny.

It was baleful.

The Gojo clan's grounds were meticulously opulent. Preserved history in every shimmering roof tile and old ghosts whispering tales from the creaking wooden frames. The servants are dressed to the nines as well. They lower their gaze with such grace, Satoru wonders if they're robots.

"Satoru, you've come home."

His mother does not meet him at the entrance, nor anywhere else other than her office. It's a traditional room with an open floor plan, despite her aging body she prefers sitting cross-legged as she works or writes or draws or whatever it is she likes to do.

If the sharpness of ice could be personified, it was his mother. It was spine-shivering every time someone told him that he resembled her. Her hair was colder than his own, having an almost silver tone to it compared to his lilac. Her eyes were almond-shaped with delicate double eyelids that lifted up at the end, which resembled a cunning fox. Satoru knows his nose was from hers, his chin as well although his lips were passed from his fathers instead.

"Yes, I have."

Before her, on the short-legged table (which she had commissioned from a talented craftsman), were the signed divorce papers.

It'd only been a day. There was no surprise, if anyone was going to find out it would not be the head of the (L/N) clan.

It'd be his mother.

"Was he not good to you, Satoru?" The shadows swallow his visage as a cloud covers the sun. "It was a mutual decision," he says, "we both thought it'd be best."

"Because of Itadori Yuji's death?" his brows pinched together. A sigh escapes her. "If you feel so much for children, I wonder why you never had some of your own. Men like yourself can have bloodlines now through extraordinary science." "It wasn't because of young Itadori."

"Well, it'd better have been for a good reason then. This divorce will not reflect badly on you. I know why you settled for (L/N) (Y/N) despite his clan's reputation. However cruel it was, you told me yourself you'd take responsibility. I recall you using your power as head of the clan to strong-arm the decision despite much more powerful families offering their sons for you. This ' mutual ' decision will only have a consequence on (Y/N)."

She sniffles prudently.

"I quite like him as my in-law. His late mother was an honorable lady. I do not wish for her to haunt you for hurting her son."

"I cannot keep him against his will. He wishes to be free."

She scoffs at him. He does not need to lift his eyes to know how sharp her scrutiny is. The clan may have spoiled him with care and affection, but his mother had not. A hand was never raised and she never yelled, however, she ensured that her son was able to lead studiously.

"Free? Of you?" she places her temple against the knuckles of her fist. "Do you beat him? Are your words harsh and cruel? Do you rule your house with an iron fist like his impudent father?" Satoru shakes his head, frowning at the very suggestion.

"Mother, of course, I wouldn't — "

"Do you take him despite his protests? Force him to labor heedlessly to your whims? Is there a lustier boy waiting for you in a seedy hotel?"

"Gods, no! What do you take me for!?"

Her brows cover her double eyelids as she glares at him. "Then what is it that he wishes to be free from? If you are not mistreating him, if you treat him kindly, what is the freedom he seeks?"

"My informants tell me he had signed it before you did. They tell me that he had moved to a penthouse 4 months ago, mere days after Geto Suguru's death."

The light filters through that grey cloud. It highlights the upturned tip of her nose, her pink-dusted cheeks, and her lilac eyes. She was such a refined beauty, it was no wonder her son was too. But this made her look especially cruel as she stared him down.

"I took responsibility, I told him what my initial intentions of marrying him were," he says. "You idiot," she seethed. "He was a respectable man. A good man. A strong sorcerer with a cunningness his late mother had passed down to him and you chose a dead man?"

"You humiliate him, Satoru. The poor boy will be eaten alive by the gossip. Will you take responsibility for that too?"

"How are you doing, my love?"

Megumi raises from below the covers. The distinct sound of the windows rattling open makes him rub the sleep from his. He takes a breath, then says; "I'll be training with the second-year students today with Kugisaki." He hears you exhale and he can see the gentle grin you have on your face even with your back turned to him.

“Is she going easier on you?”

“No point in training if they’re going easier on you,” he mumbles. It makes you laugh while you settle next to him on the edge of the bed.

“Fair. You still haven’t answered my question, Megumi.��

The silence drones for a minute. Despite this, you can tell what races through his mind. Memories bursting with every blink and laughter echoing in his ears. All the things he should not have to know, all those precious moments ripped away from him.

“Does it ever get easier?” His cobalt gaze is especially heavy as they dance around the room.

“Losing someone?”

You stared at the wisps of steam that escaped the spout of the kettle on the kitchenette. Losing a comrade was a rite of passage for sorcerers. Through death, through betrayal, through this or that. For you, you supposed, it was a gentle albeit tedious loss.

The morning after that night had left you nauseous. Satoru was awake just as you woke, and both of you silently, rigidly, stayed in the embrace. His toned arms wrapped around your torso, nose pressed to the top of your head whilst your lips were mere inches away from his neck. His grip tightens as you squirm but ultimately he lets you go.

You couldn't bear it. That night of bittersweetness, of passion you've been craving for, of weepy love confessions and apologies. Not anymore. So you signed the papers despite the 8 months left and sent them to him.

It's Megumi who witnessed the death — according to the reports he'd been fighting with Sukuna Ryomen all by himself. That trait you know he got from Satoru, not the cockiness, but the self-sacrificing resolve. You hate Satoru for tainting Megumi with it, even if most would call it valor.

There is no honour in a child dying.

“Yeah,” Megumi inhales through his nose. It stings. Every inhale is a reminder of Yuji’s last.

“No, it doesn’t. It stays, shrinking or stretching sometimes but it remains.” He had hoped you’d say something else. Tell him that one day he’ll forget about it all. That this sinking feeling will fade away.

But you know he wouldn’t want that. He’d want to remember. No matter how painful. To keep Yuji’s spirit alive, he’d remember.

“It’ll get easier to carry it though, that much I can promise you.” Your arm slips over his shoulders and cradles his head. He is pliant as you pull him in, closing his eyes as your lips press on his temple.

“I loved him, dad."

Megumi stares stoically, eyes rimmed with red. Those words strain to escape his chewed lips. It quivers and as much as he tries to stiffen it, a cry escapes him.

Megumi knew his time with Yuji was limited, he told himself he was content with what they had. He was a lamb sent for slaughter and the butchers were the higher-ups whose orders he fulfilled. Megumi felt like a butcher. He feels Yuuji's blood drying on his hands, he can still feel the weight of his body on his back when he carried it.

He remembers how tightly he held him when Satoru tried to pull Yuuji away from him. How unwilling he was to part with the boy who didn't deserve any of this to happen to him. Megumi starts gasping, bowing his head as he presses the heel of his hand to his teary eyes.

"Oh, Megumi." He turns into you and weeps. Body racking with sobs as you comb through his hair, curling over him as he clutches at your torso.

"I'm here, Megumi."

Tokyo is dark by the time you reach your home.

The beeping of your intercom makes you pause.

Ice-cold water travels down your spine at the overwhelming aura that comes from the front door. Although you hope for it to be Kento, or even Satoru — hell, even his mother would be great — you know who waits for you beyond that door.

To deny him what he wants will just make this more painful. What greets you as you open your door is your father’s hulking frame. Steeling your expression, you widen the door. No entourage waits in the hallway. It was just him. He always dishes out his punishments that way. He says nothing about it. Closing the door felt strangely final; the soft click and thud blanketed the penthouse in silence.

As you turn, a fist connects to your jaw. The force has your skull bouncing off the wall, crumpling to the floor.

There was a monster in your house. Trapped with you as it grabs fistfuls of your hair. It drags you to the living room, lifting and then slamming you down on the glass coffee table. The wood breaks and the glass shatters but at least it lets you go. Taking a desperate lungful of air you lift your arms to protect your head but it lifts a mighty foot placing it right on your chest.

Your ribcage screams its protests. When your hands fly out to desperately push its weight off, it merely places its knee on your chest instead. The pressure has you gasping, and blood blurs the vision in your left eye which doesn't help the disorientation. He grabs at your neck and you swear you feel your ribcage concave as you desperately try to breathe.

"You worthless child!" The beast roars. Finding a purchase of broken wood, you imbue it with cursed energy and strike it above its knee. It yells, shifting its weight enough for you to push it back and away.

Your back presses against the balcony doors and your hands tremble as you bring it to your chest and face.

The monster snarls, baring its teeth at you as it stands.

It's funny how much bigger he looks right now. It's as if you've shrunk back to being a child when you stopped being one a decade ago. It was frightening how much fear your father put in you.

When Tsumiki and Megumi first met you, you were apprehensive about adopting them. You were a teenager, barely fit to take care of yourself, much less keep two children alive. You were certain that kids were never in your cards either.

The night Tsumiki and Megumi found themselves nodding off as you were huddled up together on the couch watching some stupid TV show was when you were struck with a moment of realization.

You could never imagine laying a hand on them. The very thought made you feel sick. You wanted to protect them, cherish them, love them. Loving them felt like the most natural thing in the world.

How could your father not feel the same for you?

"I gave you everything!" He growls, veins bulging across the back of his hands.

"You breathed your first breath because of me! I gave you life!"

"Get out of my house," the words are strangled and garbled. His eyes darken as he takes steps towards you. Not like Satoru's that night. No. His eyes are dark like the walls of that hellish room. They only reflect you but not because he cares for you; because he wants to kill you.

There's a sharp whistling sound that comes from over his shoulder. The glass door behind you shatters as shards of red crystals fly towards you. His innate ability was to control broken shards of glass, changing their shapes and imbuing them with cursed energy. Blood flows from your cheek and torso. The wound from your mission with Kento spills open with fury. Cold wind rushes in as your hips bump into the railings of your balcony. He looks warbled in your vision, painted crimson.

"You're nothing without me! I made our clan rise from the ashes. I saved it from shame as I gave you that tyrant of a husband! I prevailed. I sacrificed everything for it! What do I get in return for giving you this auspicious life?"

You bring your hands up and yell as the shards intently aim for your scars, intent on ripping them open.

"Humiliation! They denied me entry to high society. Me! Denied of my destiny because of my weak-willed son!" The neighbors are rushing to their balconies and out onto the hallways. They yell if you're alright, trying to catch a peek of the scene by holding out their phones and aiming it at you. They yelp as his crystals fly into the air, clearly shocked at the unusual phenomenon.

This beast. He had 10 years to make himself worthy enough to stand between those of "high society."

Is it your fault that high society never — and would never — accept him in the first place?

He reaps what you sow. That's the kind of man he is. His pride comes before all, your mother once said to you.

She knew sacrifice. You knew sacrifice.

He knows nothing, yet he spouts his ideologies so loudly, so defiantly, it is as though it is gospel.

What a foolish man.

"Where is your respect!? Your gratitude!? I gave you life, I'll take it just as easily, boy."

He was close enough to reach out and grab you. When he did, he quickly regretted it. Fire engulfed his fist, the flame dark as ink as it roared. He yells in pain but you don't let him pull away. Instead, you bring your hands to wrap around his wrist and keep it there. His flesh smells rotten as the fire melts the skin away, charred almost. It sizzles on your skin, leaving its mark as more and more fat renders and pulsates. Bubbling like a foul soup.

Pull as he might, you keep him there, glaring with blood in your eyes.

The hand that holds his wrist lets go as he falls to his knees, summoning his weak ability again. They cut and slice furiously, emboldened by his pain, but yours was greater. With him on his knees, your hands thrust through the fire and grab his face.

It hurts. Your skin screeches in pain as the flames eat away. It feels insignificant. Before you, kneeling, was the beast that played the role of your father.

He feels as though your grip would completely crush his jaw.

The hand on yours is beginning to show bone. You feel nothing. His vomit slips down your hand, lumps of tears as well, and he looks so pathetic, so utterly inhuman. The grinding of your teeth makes your temples feel as though it's about to burst.

"Here it is! Do you feel it!? " his nerves burn to nothing, the crisping sound of his eyelashes distracting him from your voice. "I asked you a question, boy!" The flame lashes out, crawling to his elbows, and he strains out a scream.

"Here is my sacrifice!"

The fingers gripping his cheek warm and the fear in his eyes sends shivers up your spine.

There. In your eyes. That cursed candle. Its flames roar. The heat causes the windows to burst into a million pieces, sharp shards flying around. He tries to summon his ability, windows bursting as he forms a large spear. It flies to pierce through your back but your flame is too hot.

Your eyes are dark. He sees himself in them.

Had he always looked so weak?

His glass spear melts and bursts. The sound causes the building to shake and the screams that follow make your grin widen. Flecks of orange embers swirl around the both of you.

"Savour every drop of it, father."

It's always too sterile. The walls, ceilings, floors. He threatens to slip on the wooden floorboards with every step. Satoru watches the black car drive away, jaw clenched as it grows smaller and smaller into the distance.

The (L/N)'s clan manor lacked warmth. Despite the open courtyards and shoji doors, the meticulously cared for trees and shrubbery. It felt plastic. A show put on for the sake of being presentable.

The servant bows, telling him you are awake and he follows her.

The room is bright, facing the inner courtyard with a windchime swaying calmly from the threshold. You're sitting up on a futon, staring out at the small bamboo spout water feature.

Satoru can't believe his eyes. Every inch of skin below your face was covered in white bandages.

"Master (L/N), presenting Gojo Satoru."

The title brings a smile to your face.

He wasn't dead, your father, he was elsewhere. Getting his wounds treated by the best of the best but most importantly, far away from you. If Satoru thought you looked like a walking gauze, he hasn't laid eyes on your father yet. According to your stepmother, he was wrapped from head to toe, resembling a mummy from Egpyt.

It serves him right. The bastard.

You inclined your head and she bows, that same swirl pattern greets you goodbye. Master (L/N). Head of your clan. The position was temporary seeing as your father was still alive but the very title made him uneasy. Satoru settles near the wall, observing the sight before him.

The night of your 'scuffle' with your father had been the same night he fought that one-eyed curse. He had sensed a chill in his bones but with the opponent (and teaching opportunity) before him, he elected to brush it off.

"Satoru, did you see my stepmother on your way out?" He squeezes his biceps, shifting his knees as he adjusts his crossed legs. It wasn't his fault he was born with elegant legs, it felt uncomfortable to sit this way but to point his feet at you was a disrespect he wouldn't toe.

"Yeah. She seemed like she was in a rush, your brother and sisters have grown."

Of course, she would run. Make a scene of it to show her fear. To say she was displeased at the news of your fight with your father was the understatement of the century. She had wasted no time in calling for a trial, pointing a hysterical finger your way, and screaming that you did this to be called the head of the clan.

A quick mention of how your siblings lacked any resemblance to your father but an uncanny one with his trusted servant made her very tight-lipped.

"The higher-ups aren't pleased with the fiasco?" you inquire.

"What d'you think?" Satoru says dryly.

The entire population of the building had to have their phones wiped, memories too, and paid a huge sum in repairs due to your powers.

Apparently, people had thought there was a fire-breathing dragon that appeared in Tokyo.

Facing the garden, you pull the covers away. Crimson seeps through the white, like blood-tainting snow. Satoru is dressed in black pants and a white shirt, his bomber jacket was the same one you'd picked out for him some time ago.

This familiarity is not lost on him. The look in your eyes, that faraway gaze and twitching of your lips. When your mother had passed, you seemed lost but at this very moment it was as though the answer was right before you, that mishappen vision of your destiny a hair away from you.

Suguru had that same look.

"They whisper about you now," you giggle out as he takes his glasses, folding them in his lap. "They always do," he tries not to sound cocky but it's interwoven with every word.

"No. Satoru. They whisper about your curse," you wiggle your toes and stifle a grimace as the cut on your foot stings in protest. "Geto Suguru who killed his parents and (L/N) (Y/N) who nearly burned his father alive."

"They think you made us insane."

"I need reassurance." A laugh spills from your lips. He watches you curl your knees and place your elbows on them with your forehead braced on your knuckles as you give him your full attention. The sun glowed from behind you. The light does not reach your face.

"I'm not crazy, Satoru." His eyes meet yours and your smile slips away.

"I need reassurance that you won't go the same path Geto Suguru did."

"I don't resent non-sorcerers," you say curtly. "Don't play dumb." Satoru's neck is littered with traces of you. Akin to a collar. "Did the higher-ups ask you to execute me, Satoru? Do they wish to incite war on the (Y/N) clan?"

' My, you took to your role quickly, ' Satoru thinks.

"They worry that the new head of the (L/N) clan took his title with force."

"Not all of us were born with such legendary curse techniques. Is that a crime?"

Satoru's grip causes spiderwebs to appear on his glasses. "Do not be obtuse, (Y/N). You know what is implied. You've played this polite game of veiled threats and boasting for years. You know what they ask and you know what I ask."

"I don't." Shades of red bloom underneath your bandages. If Satoru concentrates enough, he could hear how the gauze seeps it and how your stitches strain as you straighten your back.

"Speak plainly."

"(Y/N)," your glare silences him.

"Speak plainly, Gojo Satoru."

Red-veined roots wrap around his throat. That precious willow tree was smoking, sparks of embers bursting from the center as it creaked and moaned. Its branches gnarled, its flowers leaving nothing but ashes.

"If the Grade 1 sorcerers weren't called to stop the fight, would you have killed him?"

The windchimes sing gently. Water gently flows from one end of the bamboo spout to the other. The birds chirp, the clouds move, and the world continues its song and dance.

Satoru's ears feel like someone has stuffed cotton in them. He makes sense of the words you speak by reading your lips, he hopes you're jesting so he looks into your eyes.

The windchimes still.

The shoji doors slide open and the same servant greets you.

"You have visitors, Master (L/N). A man named Nanami Kento and a woman named Shoko Ieiri. They've come with Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara as well."

"Please, send them in and escort Gojo Satoru to his car."

She stands, waiting for Satoru to do the same as his glasses threaten to shatter in his hand.

"Do not do this to me, my beloved."

"Have you ever loved me? Truly?"

His indignation fuels you with sick fascination. The corpse of Suguru grins, his cracked lips pressed to the junction of your neck as he praises you.

"I love you, (Y/N)."

"Then give me the same grace you gave our beloved Suguru. Leave me and cast your gaze aside. If you truly love me, husband. Grant me this final wish."

He whips his head to the side, reaching forward and grabbing the back of your head. It aches. Every shredded muscle and rattled bones, bruised organs and cut skin.

But he holds you against him. His lips taint yours.

Suguru chuckles coyly.

"Please." His forehead is pressed against yours, and you can feel it, that raised scar.

"I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, don't do this."

"Satoru," Suguru whispers it along with you. His tears almost taste sweet as they slip down his cheeks and land on your lips. That ghost, the one that drapes itself on your back with his bony ribs and dirt-covered gojogesa, his smile graces your face as Satoru's heart dies once again.

"Fuck off."

"Is it strange?" Megumi quirks a brow at you from across the table. You set down a plate of cut-up fruits, stealing an apple for yourself before you sit.

"Finding out he's alive 2 months later."

The expression on his face makes you struggle to hold in your laughter. You've never said it out loud but Megumi looked like a prickly sea urchin every time he was pissed off and now he was pricklier than ever.

"I wanted to pummel Gojo to the ground. Yuji too." He stabs into an apple and the loud, angry, chewing makes you giggle. His brows pinch as you grimace but you tell him not to worry.

The dining room is unmistakably grand. Feeling far too empty. Megumi much preferred your old penthouse. This manor was far too big, far too pretentious. Which wasn't a slight on your clan, just their tastes in design.

"Did he really never tell you?" he narrows his eyes.

"We haven't talked much," you reply. Megumi finds that hard to believe. You were both teachers at Jujutsu High, so interactions were unavoidable. Everyone has seen you and Satoru side by side, talking to each other about this or that. No matter how short or icy the interaction was...it was still something.

Formalities were still shared, and Satoru's crass behavior softened just as his voice does when he talks to you.

There must be some lingering awkwardness, Megumi is not naive to think that there wouldn't be. But, it was clear that there was still some affection Satoru held for you. It was almost jarring to see how blatantly you ignored it when once upon a time, you’d been silently blushing at his efforts. Megumi wondered if the two of you had yelled at each other again. He hoped that was not the case. Your relationship was far from perfect but...it wasn't as though Gojo did not deserve your bitterness.

"Is it because you're seeing Mr Nanami?" Sweetness slips down the fork and you hand him a tissue. “Is this like those shitty TV shows?”

The idea of this being a revenge arc against your ex-husband was humorous. Kento was far from the plotting type. He may be annoyed by Satoru but he wasn’t a man who would intertwine his hands with another for the sake of hurting someone.

“Haha,” you said dryly. “Finish up your homework, I’ll drive you back to school.”

Megumi doesn’t pout. At least he think he doesn’t.

He does.

He pouts as you walk out from the room.

Megumi continues to pout even in the car ride back to the dorms. You’re watching from the corner of your eyes, lips curled in endearment.

“Do you like Mr Nanami?” He blinks at the question, turning his head to look at you. Megumi crosses his arms, pout dissipating into a thin line.

“I don’t know him, but from what Yuji tells me, he is a very reliable man.”

“He is,” you continue to gaze out the window, ignoring the itchiness of the healing wounds. The only solace in this pain is that your father’s was greater. Still comatose, skin still peeling as the heat lingers in his bones.

Saying this out loud would make the crows that follow your every movement very rich though.

“In some ways, he reminds me of you. Both of you have a stoic expression, so mature-looking. Mr Nanamin is 27, so it suits him. But you, my beautiful son, — “

Megumi grunts as you poke his forehead.

“ — you are only 15. Stop frowning!” He yells in protest as you stretch his cheeks, frowns only deepening as he tries to escape your grasp.

Yuji waits in the hallways. Megumi and you pause in your steps and Yuji’s eyes widen as he opens his mouth.

“Mr (Y/N)!”

Mirth swims in your eyes. “Itadori, did you need something?” He scratches the back of his neck as his cheeks blush. How cute. Young love was such a sight to behold.

“Isn’t it?” Suguru sighs. “In the same halls, we used to walk through too, (Y/N).”

“No! Ah, just, I heard footsteps so I thought I could hang out with Fushiguro for a little.” You push Megumi not to subtly towards his room/Yuji.

“He’s all yours,” your cooing tints Megumi’s ears pink. He mumbles he wants to wash up first and Yuji just seems excited he didn’t turn down his offer. “Don’t stay up too late, Itadori. Classes are bright and early tomorrow,” he salutes you and the bright smile he has is so contagious you grin as well.

The eye on his cheek split open to take a glimpse.

As you turn, it slips close.

Kento waits for you at the house. He smells like petrichor and as you get closer there’s the distinctly sharp taste of lightning-struck earth. You burrow your face in the crisp white shirt he wears, and he smiles. You can tell even without looking. He always huffs in amusement before he smiles.

“Did you have a good day?” You shrug your shoulders and he slips his hands around you. Those strong arms squeeze you, molding you to his frame. “Did you?” He makes a noise, something between a hum and a grunt and you peek up at him.

Kento visited you frequently during your recovery. He sent you to school during your first days back, then he sent your favourite foods during your lunch and they turned into flowers.

His shy courting was anything but. Kento pursued you with a hunter's grace but a priest's devotion.

Could anyone blame you for accepting his attempts? He made your heart flutter, swoon and race. For the first time in your life, someone was sending you flowers in hopes of you paying attention to them. Kento fed you while you healed and the same day you find out that his eyes do soften when he kissed.

People whisper about how quickly you brought Kento home. Infidelity, they say. Hah! What a load of bullshit. A servant must’ve opened her mouth, one whose loyalties still laid with your stepmother.

How unlucky was it that her home had been burnt down the very day she was fired?

You wrote her your condolences. She begged for your forgiveness.

Kento doesn’t know this. You’re determined for it to remain that way.

“Today was nothing special. Tonight is a different story,” your brows raise at his flustered gaze. “I made reservations for us.”

There it goes again, your heart swoons. Kento tilts his head into your palm and you wonder what your life would have been like if you had noticed his gaze back then.

After that kiss, after knowing that he returned your feelings and only spoke of his interest in a baker because of your marriage, he confessed how he’d been smitten with you the longer that school year passed.

“You were training hand-to-hand with Geto,” he whispers to you, as if shy to confess this. You’re sat with the covers a mess at your legs and the food on the tray forgotten. He’s flustered? He kissed you silly mere seconds ago while you were wrapped up with bandages. The scent of healing ointments practically radiated from you. He was so put together and you’d been going through your clan's financial statements since 3 am.

Kento remembers it like it was yesterday. The way you lifted yourself up into the air, your leg was a blur as you spun. Tendrils of your hair caught the gleam of the sun and it glowed like vinyl. The ringing laughter that followed as Suguru dodged made his heart squeeze.

“We’re supposed to be working on your close combat skills, Su-Su!”

“Quit aiming for my head, (nickname)!” Suguru dashes towards you and you yelp as he catches your middle but the shock wears off. Suguru grunts when you press your palms down on his shoulders and dig your heels into the ground before kicking off, pushing Suguru down.

“Go, (nickname)!” Yū cheers beside Kento. He rolls on top of you, smiling victoriously until your legs wrap around his waist and twist.

“Oi, S’guru! I bet money on you!” Satoru waved his fist around while Shoko curled her fingers expectantly his way.

Kento can’t believe you’re real. Your smile is so wide he can see your gums, the sweat that beads down your skin makes you glimmer like a gem and despite the dirt on your skin Kento can’t fathom it to be a smudge or mistake.

Because everything about you seemed deliberately made. The blood and flesh of those before you must have loved each other so greatly to bless you with such a face. He wonders if, in the future, they’ll find traces of him in your bloodline.

Fire in the wind. Wild and free and untameable.

“You win, you win!” Suguru goes limp and you giggle. Rolling off of him, you lay down on the grass as he spreads his arms out like a starfish. You cushion your head on it and spot the bruise on his neck that peaks out from his unzipped jacket.

“Su-Su, you’re not holding back, are you?” you turn your gaze to the sky. He’d be a Special-grade sorcerer with no problem. His ability was insanely useful, and flexible - a trump deck of a technique. If he exceeded in close combat, that grade would be his with no ifs or buts.

The strongest.

Suguru blinks once, and twice, then offers a warm smile.

“Give yourself more credit, (nickname). You totally beat my ass.”

“You‘re amazing,” Kento tells you as the memory fades away. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I was content with watching from the sidelines,” your finger presses to his lips and Kento’s eyes widen. It slides across his bottom lip before it travels below his jaw and ear and you’re leaning in.

“A reservation?” Your eyes twinkle. It would explain why he was dressed so nicely. It must not be the fanciest place since he wasn’t dressed in a suit and tie but the watch he wears hints at luxury nonetheless.

“Go, get ready,” he tells you in that gentle tone that makes his voice go so deep. Everything about Kento’s actions felt so intimate. You would think he’d be reserved, wanting to go slow as to be proper. In your world, death is a guillotine blade that’s dug into your neck over and over again.

Kento can be courteous but to assume he would go slow was not likely. He knows you, (Y/N). From those times in high school to the fleeting glances of you during meetings and the mission you went on; he sees you.

Perhaps it’s just the way sorcerers will always love each other.

The way Suguru loved Satoru. The way Megumi loves Yuuji. The way you loved Satoru. The way Satoru loves you.

None of you were made for casual affection. Everything and everyone that falls for wicked beings like you find themselves with deep marks embedded in their shoulders, arms, and neck; desperate hounds begging for their man to not leave them but unable to pull their teeth out.

So Kento grips you and kisses you with a heavy weight of relief and you return it.

The Gods have taken too much from you. Kento will not be one of those things they rip away from your fingers - no, not him.

“‘Atta boy,” Suguru’s decaying arms circle your waist as you walk the halls of the house. When you shed your clothes to clean yourself, Suguru sits on the edge of the bathtub. The humidity makes him look paler and his eyes more bloodshot.

“You deserve someone like him. A good man to fill that cavernous void. Kento’s always been hiding his flustered face every time you walk past him,” Suguru moves his hands around as he talks. You don’t remember him being so chatty but as of late, this apparition keeps the voices in your head quiet. He makes sure you’re not alone.

Your father must’ve knocked your head hard enough for some screws to come loose but you find it hard to care.

“Cavernous?” you mumble. Suguru pauses then leans back a bit. His hair swaying as he does so.

“Do you think it’s enough? Being loved after everything you’ve been through, is that enough for you?”

“...Was it enough for you? In your final moments, was it enough?”

What would this Suguru know about his final moments? He wasn’t real, he never had been. He’s just a manifestation of your hurt, a coping mechanism your brain conjured for some hellish reason.

“I died by Satoru’s hand and then, died in his embrace. What could be more poetic than that?”

You died in Satoru’s arms too. That night he took you as his husband. The weeping, the love confessions, the moaning. Your heart was racing in your chest as he thrust into you, his face nearly scarlet as he kissed you.

The heat that pools between your legs makes Suguru guffaw.

He dips his hand in and traces your thighs.

“Kento’s hands are rougher than ‘Toru’s. Fingers thick and finger pads sanded with hard work. Everything you taught him as his upperclassman he still uses today.”

Shuddering, you slip your knees apart. Suguru takes a hold of your cock.

“You’ve always had the best legs, ya’ know. So strong, even your punches hurt like hell."

You lean back, eyes lidded with pleasure as Suguru pumps his fist. The water spills over the side as he slips in with you, his hair acting like curtains as he peers down at you. His slanted eyes and those onyx eyes make you feel powerless against his desires.

"He'd be so sincere with you. Every thrust," a gasp makes him chuckle darkly. "Every stroke," you moan and grip the sleeves of his robe. "Every kiss," his lips trace the bridge of your nose.

"S'guru..."

"A testament to his adoration for you. He'd worship you, (nickname). But will that be enough? His skin on yours? Is his heart in your hands instead of the other way around exciting? Will that finally fill this void?"

Your spine arches and your knees bump into the edge of the bathtub. Suguru's breath feels like a hurricane as he kisses the side of your jaw, his fist damn near merciless.

"Will you accept his sacrifice, (nickname)?"

When you come, you squeeze your eyes shut. The floor is slick with water and steam makes everything fuzzier than it needs to be. As you lift your hand from beneath the water, you grimace at the sight.

How shameful.

You settle the bath by yourself, the servants didn't need to see more than they've already heard.

Kento is waiting by his car when you step out. He drinks in the sight of you, unable to stop himself from kissing you as you come close. As usual, he opens the door for you, and you stroke the cream-coloured leather seats of his Mercedes Benz.

"Ready, (Y/N)?" He reaches over to hold your hand and you bring it to your lips before he can. He can feel the softness of your lips, the slight gloss that sticks to his skin that makes his crotch tighter than his pants liked.

"Ready, Mr Nanami." Kento chuckles, squeezing your shameful hand and bringing it to his lips next.

Suguru sits in the backseat, his dark eyes keeping themselves glued on you. You see him in reflections, in puddles, in every monotone face that walks past.

As Kento settles you on his lap, his thick cock making you feel stars and heaven itself, Suguru is still watching.

"Ken, I - "

Kento sinks his teeth into your neck and you groan. His hands are big and rough, just like Suguru said they'd be. They grope and squeeze and bruise. He grabs a handful of each cheek and your thighs are thankful for it. Kento lifts you so effortlessly it makes your desire feel unquenchable.

His strength doesn't surprise you. The gym in his apartment complex was one he frequented. If he didn't want to mingle, he had a dedicated room for working out in his home. You've seen the weights he has, how interesting was it that they were the same weight as you, (Y/N).

"(Y/N), does that feel good?" You squeeze the tip of his cockhead in reply and sink down on him to cement it. His cock keeps kissing your prostate, the drag of his dick makes you want to be keen and whine.

His hair looked good when it was dishevelled, which makes his jaw sharper and his nose makes you want to grind on it. Kento shifts and moves to lay you down on his pillows. Your legs wrap around his waist and twist.

The aching muscles hiss in protest but the lust that flows through you overcomes it.

"(Y/N)..."

Kento tries to sit up but your hands on his chest keep him down.

"(Y/N)".

"Kento."

Suguru traces his jaw and it's no surprise Kento does not react. He grips at your waist, whispering your name again. You pin his arms next to his head and Kento's eyes widen.

There it is. That darkness that takes over that molten brown. It only reflects you. Suguru is peering over your shoulder, his hands circling your neck as his dark tongue licks your cheek.

"You want what I want, Ken," you murmur against his lips. "To come undone by each other's hands, to devour each other, to be one."

"Yes," he breathes out. "Then let me feel you like this," you brought his hands to your waist once again, and he planted his heels into his mattress.

"I want to see you unravel under me, Kento. I want to see you, all of you, just as you do."

He nods and you grant him a kiss, allowing your tongues to dance.

"Do you intend to keep following me forever?"

Kento's balcony is unexpectedly warm. You can smell the breakfast he's making as you nurse your cup of tea. For your throat, he tells you.

How pervertedly kind.

The crow tilts its head and you narrow your eyes at it. "They must've paid a heavy sum. Or was it my stepmother?" It flaps its wings, preening the under feathers. Lifting your hand, you press your pointer and middle finger together. It squawks, hopping as it flaps its wings again.

"I'll pay you more to leave me alone. My ex-husband has left a hefty fortune for me. If this persists, I won't hesitate to wipe the floor with you, Mei-Mei."

The crow squawks again but turns its head to leave.

A crisping feather floats gently down onto the floor of the balcony. By the time Kento walks over to place the tray of food down on the table, it turns to nothing but ash in the wind.

"You spoil me," your legs are over his lap and he brings those hands to massage them. "You spoiled me," he answers. "Just showing my appreciation."

A group of crows flies past but Kento is cutting up your food and moving to feed you. Your cheeks burn, you open your mouth and Kento's gentle grin makes your heart race.

"I don't recall him having a temper, are the rumours true?"

Mei-Mei had better things to do. Her time was worth more than stalking someone's ex-lover. However, the head of the Gojo clan was a generous man. How could she refuse?

"Do you truly make them go insane?" He can hear her smile from over the phone. "He attacked you?" Satoru rolls his ring over his knuckles and between his fingers. The classroom was empty as the students trained on the field.

"He's committed arson against a servant who was trading secrets with Lady (L/N) and now he's burned a crow into nothing but dust. He even offered to pay more than you have. What a lucky man he is to have divorced from an endless fountain of wealth."

"Yeah? Maybe you should try that instead of chasing after green."

"Careful, Gojo. I still have my pride."

He places the ring on his palm, curling his fingers over it.

"Kento and him make a handsome couple. I almost feel jealous." Satoru would be stupid to believe Mei-Mei trusted that this stalking was him feeling possessive. She wasn't an idiot. He was concerned about you. Your grandiose act of nearly burning your father alive was the talk of the town.

The evidence of it being self-defense was backed up by the cameras in your home (the ones that hadn't melted anyway).

But it was too convenient.

Satoru is a man who is filled with memories. As careless and crass as he portrays himself as, he's sentimental. He slips a hand into his pocket and your ring is accompanied by Suguru's button.

The cameras were damaged enough to make it out as if it was just saved by fate. But Satoru knows your flames better than most. It burns everything. Devours with a hunger that no beast could compete with. It's indiscriminate. Which is why your aim is immaculate.

If it hadn't melted, you wouldn't be as free as you are now. Even in your rage and fear, you were careful to ensure your longevity.

"I'm sure you do."

"The divorce barely made a dent?"

"You already know the answer to that. Make sure he doesn't suspect me, I'll pay double."

"And if he faces me?"

Satoru grits his teeth together.

"Run."

Kiyotaka waits for him at the front of the school, that usual sour-puckered face and obscene politeness manages to elicit a grin from Satoru. The drive to the house on the hill is filled with silence, which is for the best seeing as how tightly wound he was.

Kiyotaka knew divorce could put people on edge but seeing Satoru’s fists tremble on his lap, knuckles nearly turning bone white and all, terrified him.

The gates are opened after Satoru rolls down his windows. He should ask why they were here but his instincts knew better.

“I’ll be out in an hour or so. You don’t mind waiting, do ya’?”

“Of course not, Mr Gojo.”

He smiles, giving Kiyotaka a firm squeeze on his shoulder before walking inside the modern home. Its grey colours looked atrocious against the vibrant greens of nature. Ah, Satoru was glad you had better tastes compared to the rest of your family.

Your stepmother waits for him in the living room. The carpet before her is littered with toys of all sorts. The youngest of the family takes a liking to smash some toy cars together while the others were most likely tended to by their governess.

“Mr Gojo,” she stands with a certain air of grace that prickles his skin. He nods politely her way.

"Is he doing better today?" The machines that they've hooked him to made him resemble a sick science experiment. Perhaps it's poetic justice from his late wife. The curtains were drawn and the only light was dim to ensure his skin wasn't exposed to any more unnecessary heat. There were talisman papers pasted on the walls and ceilings which Satoru thinks is entirely too much.

"Have you..."

The exposed split of bandages reveals nothing more than charred flesh and peeling skin. A hint of bone and muscle too that help him speak. Satoru ignores the hazmat suits, stepping through the heavy plastic curtains. His infinity wouldn't bring any harmful germs into this room, never had so far too.

"Leave." His wife commands in that shrill voice.

The doctors and attendants bow deeply and the door closes behind her. She sits close to the wall, outside the curtain.

"Have I?" There's writing on the bandages. Sutras are written in some sort of special ink that emits curse energy.

"killed (Y/N)." He sighs, crossing his arms as he spreads his legs.

"My son-in-law — " It might be cruel to tune out the words of a man who's half-dead, but Satoru cannot believe he's spouting this again. A part of him wished you had burnt through his throat. Satoru sighs loudly, tossing his head back and scrunching his face.

"Old man, the divorce papers have been signed. I haven't been your son-in-law in a whole month."

Between this and your increasingly violent tendencies that Mei-Mei keeps reporting back, those curses spirits working together popping up, Itadori Yuji's attempted assassination (and the mysterious way he rose from the dead...) — Satoru was in no mood.

He does not agree with your decision to commit attempted murder. But make no mistake, he fully believed the bastard deserved it.

"You keep telling me to kill him. I shouldn't have to say this, but you do know in the decade Geto Suguru was gallivanting around, I did nothing because he was dear to me. (Y/N) is dear to me. I'll wait 50 fucking decades before I lay a hand on him."

"You dare curse at my lord husband?" Satoru glances at her from over his shoulder. That distorted reflection makes her look more attractive than she actually is. "Lord of what? Gauze and morphine? If we're doing a dick-measuring contest, I win. Sit down. Your voice is annoying."

She sputters, mouth opening again. So Satoru tilts his head, flexing his fingers as he clicks his tongue.

"Woman." The ' lord ' croaks out. She watches him raise a hand, shaky fingers flicking outwards and Satoru swears steam nearly shoots out from her ears. The door has a soft-close feature which makes her attempt at slamming it void but it brings a smile to Satoru's face.

"The rumours, of my clan."

Now that was far more interesting for Satoru. His silence is a prompt for the man to continue. A sharp intake of breath comes in quick twos and threes as his bandaged hands squeeze the trigger for the drip of morphine.

Then his shoulders sink into the mattress and he speaks.

"The Binding Vow we've broken. The karma we faced since then...I think, I fear, I..."

Satoru feels his ring heat up against his sternum, so he leans forward and it's cradled by the button of his shirt.

"I fear he's paid the price, wholly, his self-righteous pain...he's balanced the scales..."

"I messed up."

The chattering of the skulls at least fills silence. Satoru can see why it'll quickly become a nuisance that will make his ears shrivel in disdain but for now, he finds it better than nothing. Whatever it is underneath him pokes him and shifts against his clothes.

Slipping a digit under the rim of his blindfold, Satoru tugs on it and exhales through his nose.

"Things are not looking good."

"Yo, Satoru."

The weight of the blindfold rests over his eyelids and Satoru sinks into the mass below him.

"I'd kill him a thousand times if I could, Satoru."

' Would you really, my beloved? ' Satoru's lips twitch into a grin. No, you wouldn't. Maybe in the moment, that night fuelled by fear and anger. The morning after when your pain still pulsed under ripped-open skin; but he knew you, his beloved, his darling friend; his (Y/N). Your father was nothing but a frail man who knew nothing of what he spoke of.

You'd be safe, protected, and cared for regardless of who you lay with or whose heart you hold. Kento be damned. You were his first and his always. Suguru's corpse was a jarring sight. A painful one too. He'd bury him properly, his love for him will join him in that new grave. His love for you will haunt him for as long as you walk this earth.

He unbuttons his outerwear, tugging on the silver chain until he unclasps it. The blue gem twinkles sweetly his way and he slips it on his finger where his skin all but sighs in comfort.

"Well, there'll always be a way. I'm counting on you, everyone." "Sealed...?"

Kento moves forward and you stare at his frame as he does. Megumi's head swivels to follow him and Ino's as well, they walk in step with him but you stand there in shock.

"Move," Suguru whispers to you. The joints of his fingers dig into your back as his hair curtains your peripheral field of vision. "(Y/N). Move."

"(Y/N)?" Ino's voice causes the group to pause. Their eyes are expectant. Megumi wonders why he cannot pinpoint the flickering emotions on your face while Kento's gaze takes note of your trembling hands.

"NA-NA-MIN!"

His touch shocks cause your pupils to jitter into focus. Kento says nothing, simply squeezing your forearm as he whispers your name.

"If they sealed him, our top priority will be undoing that."

"You know this, (nickname)," Suguru bites, the click of his teeth sending shivers down your spine. "(Y/N) — " You move past Kento, curling your fingers into fists and feeling Suguru thread him through yours.

"Let's be quick about it then."

This feeling...

"It's like that day," Suguru croaks, "the day he died. Your heart is beating so fast. Do you still ____ him, (Y/N)? Do you truly?"

"Why is he off limits?" Geto does that serene smile that makes Jogo simmer in annoyance. "Jogo, you can't kill everyone you see in battle. There's some grace in keeping a certain few alive."

"Will he be used as a hostage to make Gojo Satoru fall in despair?" his words humour Geto, truly amuses him. Mahito lifts his head from the ground, leaning on the heels of his hand as he peers at the two of them.

"Man, Jogo. You really are wicked," Geto peers at the shimmering scales of the curses that lurk within the waters.

"He's not for Gojo Satoru's imprisonment."

"Don't keep us in the dark, Geto," Mahito voices out Jogo's thoughts, his mismatched eyes impatient.

"Gojo (Y/N) is for..."

You yell as the eel tightens its body around you, digging your heels into the sand as Dagon summons it to themselves. The force of it makes your back bow and no amount of strength could stop it. Dagon holds the back of your skull and you hear Megumi yell out for you.

"(Y/N)!" Kento takes several steps forward and Maki grits her teeth.

Naobito focuses his gaze on their escape, knowing that they would be able to help the poor fool if they were outside of the domain.

But then.

"That man — " Dagon pulls you to its chest and your eyes widen as Fushiguro Toji appears before you. His eyes, it must be some sort of sorcery cast, a trick, a body double. Your fear recognizes you. He shifts his gaze to meet yours and there's a smirk on his face.

"Still alive, are you, freak?" The cursed weapon in his hand rattles in the air and then straightens. He aims it right at you and you brace yourself for the pain.

Dagon blocks it at the cost of its hand.

' It's protecting me!? ' You grunt at the blood that sprays onto your face and into your mouth, coughing as Dagon tries to fight Toji.

"Hah? Did you leave your husband for this thing?" The eel that held you disappeared into nothing after the barrage of hits he had laid out. Dagon tries to grab you but you engulf your fists into flames and spin to punch its face. Dagon does not let you escape but Toji is running toward you again so you plant your heel into its head, kicking off from its chest to fall right into the waters.

Kento catches you in his arms, and the tension of the surface breaks with monstrous sea beasts that try to land a hit on Toji. With his arms occupied, he relies on you to deter them as he makes his way back to Megumi's simple domain.

Megumi —

You stare at him as he asks you if you're alright.

Megumi, you should tell him who this man was. You should —

Dagon is exorcised.

The ground beneath you disappears. It takes a second too long for you to catch your bearings. Brain rattled and breathe knocked out of you as peel yourself off the ground. Kento, Maki, Naobito —

"Megumi!?" Kento helps you up and you take a step forward to follow the sounds of destruction but the air grows thick.

Satoru was never an artist. The horrendous rendition of the curses that attacked him the same night your father had looked as though it'd been drawn by kindergartners. But it was unmistakably him.

The disaster curse. Bald and one-eyed.

His fire makes the water on your skin steam into the air. He removes Naobito, and you move to protect Maki by getting between them. Barely in time, she still crumples to the floor but she would live if taken to Shoko quick enough. His eye widens as you stand unscathed, your clothes flaking off like snow as your skin reddens and steams.

"Gojo (Y/N)."

"Divine Flame."

He lifts his hand just as you do.

"Do not let him use his curse technique, Jogo. He's not as strong as Satoru, but you'll thank me," Geto's voice coos.

"God's Bl — "

"Kuantan?" he sets down the rest of the breakfast he made. His home is as neat and crisp as he is — though there are still traces of himself. His hopes especially. The mountain of books, the pamphlets about Malaysia here and there. If you peered into his room, Kento had even laid out a few notes of plans he hoped to fulfill. It was as if he was waiting for the perfect moment, lying in wait.

"The beaches are nice. The food as well," he sits across from you and pauses as you pat the spot next to you. Endeared, Kento settles where you ask. "Perhaps after Megumi graduates to a second year," he stays silent for a moment and watches you eat.

"...Would you resent me for not marrying you until I retire?"

You pause mid-chew, blinking at him for a moment. Then you turn your gaze on the plate, eyes trailing after the dew drop of water on the lettuce.

"I won't if you do not regret marrying someone from a sorcerer clan."

He pinches the lobe of your ear gently, tracing the shell with so much fondness he chuckles as it warms under his touch. It was damn near perverted how he did it — your heart races as he turns your face his way.

"I could never regret being yours, (Y/N)."

That memory burst into flames. His house, his books, his hopes, and his dreams. Jogo stands there in the ashes and he smiles at you with those blackened teeth.

"(nickname)," Suguru whispers. Your trembling hands stiffen as he strokes the insides of your wrists, his empty gaze reflecting you as he stands in front of you. "Balance the scales."

"Gojo (Y/N)!" Jogo exclaims proudly. "Y — !"

Jogo barely had time to react to your kick. Bursting through windows and walls. He digs his fingers into the floor and just as he lifts his head he sees your shadowed face. Your pupils were nothing but a speck of (E/C) on white as smoke slithers between your lips.

"Divine Flame — "

A spear pierces through your stomach. Jogo covers his eye just in time before your blood splatters on it. Breathing through your nose, you grasp at the crimson-soaked spear, eyes widening as you take in the details of it.

"Impossible," you turn to look and it's there. Satoru had let you name it this time, among the Fredericks and other silly names he dubbed Suguru's curses as this one was the one you named.

"Togatta?" It does not give any sign of recognition but there was no mistake.

Jogo's fist makes contact with your chest and you choke, coughing up spit and blood before he lands a final blow on the back of your neck.

The puddle of blood grows next to him. Those stupid girls, demanding things of Ryomen Sukuna, threatened to fight him with no plan nor strength. Humans were really something else.

Jogo waits for Ryomen to ask and then and only then he tells him he didn't want anything but Ryomen's freedom. Sukuna's crimson eyes take interest in the cursed object Jogo has slung around his neck; a dark shard of glass that pulses a steadily beating blue within it.

"Ten fingers and what's mine?" He looked beyond pleased.

"You've outdone yourselves." Jogo gulps, unbinding the rope around his neck and using both hands to present it to Sukuna. He takes it after a particularly gentle stroke of the sharp edges, then places it in his pockets.

"Ryomen Sukuna?" Geto nods assuredly. The rolling waves melting into the sand give leeway for Jogo and Mahito to process his words. What could Ryomen Sukuna find useful in Gojo (Y/N)? He was a Grade 1 sorcerer but he was not like his husband.

"His family line, the (L/N) clan, is a disgraced one. All the men are weak, all the women dimwitted and the children cursed. Sorcerer society looks at them in disdain, calling them desperate and thieving. It was the child from the (L/N) clan that made it possible for Ryomen Sukuna to be sealed. A son with a curse technique so strong and a face so beautiful, Ryomen Sukuna took him as his property. He had forced the boy into a Binding Vow — one the boy broke to defeat Ryomen Sukuna."

"It left the clan with nothing but shame. The Gods inflict karma on generations to come even if the Vow was wicked beyond belief. Sorcerer society rejected them and curled their noses at the clan that saved them from extinction. I still remember that boy's face."

Geto chuckles, leaning back in his seat as he closes his eyes.

"Mahito, do you think a soul ever comes back in a new body?"

Reincarnation or divine coincidence.

Jogo does not ponder on the question. All he knows is that giving Sukuna an ancestor of the boy whom he favoured, whom he made into a treasured concubine, pleased him.

"This is your reward for the fingers. Come at me. If you manage to land even a single blow on me, I'll work under you all."

Megumi is still leaning against the shutter doors. The shinigami he released, it's a beast that Sukuna had never had the pleasure of seeing before he was locked away. Placing his hand over Megumi's chest, he heals the wounds to ensure Megumi is no longer on the precipice of death and darts his eyes toward the rope that sticks out from his pockets.

He slips the shard into Megumi's hand, recalling how fond you were of the boy. How perfect. This world — this era, truly was made for him. Everything would be his. Men, women, and children — all for him to devour indiscriminately.

With Uraume and (Y/N) with him, this age of haughty sorcerers with abilities he'd never seen, ah. His mouth waters from the very thought. Once he obtains Fushiguro Megumi's body. Once you submit to him. Once he kills Gojo Satoru. Once he destroys Itadori Yuji into nothing.

"Na..."

The sight before him, it made his stomach twist into knots again and again and again...

Kento sees himself in Yū's eyes, he points to Yuji and Kento can't bring himself to say anything to the boy.

"Nanamin..."

The nickname makes his heart squeeze in relief. That youth that he wants to protect, is still there in his final moments and that alone would have made Kento die without regrets — but he's lying to himself.

He made a promise to you to return to your side. You did not ask him to say "alive" because just having a body to bury is a miracle in your world. (Y/N), he saw that stubborn strife in your eyes even as you nodded.

Too little time spent with you. Those 2 months of pure love with you, it would never be enough but he cherishes them all the same. He hopes you can tolerate this pain — he never wished for you to go through this before him, (Y/N).

He should have introduced you to his family.

He should have kissed you deeply before tonight began.

He should have given you everything you deserved.

Ah, regret truly is the worst feeling in the world.

He wants to take care of you like he promised to, (Y/N).

What could he say to Yuji to make him understand what this means?

Mahito's curse energy was enveloping his soul and Kento used the bit of strength he had left to ensure Yuji would not be the one to kill his transfigured corpse. The least he could do, this cruel kindness... "I'll leave the rest to you."

"My husband."

Shoko pauses. Satoru is not looking her way, instead, staring at the ceiling with a bored expression.

"He did not greet me," she's glad that he does not see the way she clenches the box of cigarettes in her pocket. Or maybe he does because he straightens his composure and asks;

"Is he still pissed at me or is he dead?"

"....We don't know, Satoru." His nose curls in distaste. Still, he waits for her to continue.

"Nobody has seen him and there's no time nor resources to sift through the rubble of Shibuya to find him. The last person to have seen him alive was Maki, she says that he was against the onne-eyed disaster curse."

"He'd have no trouble exorcising that baldy." Satoru is being too kind, you would struggle but you'd still win. He was sure of it. Then again, your abilities were too similar — a tie maybe? You had more wit, you'd win.

Or is that denial talking?

"Nanami died by Mahito's hand," Shoko pulls the box out and tosses it aside as he takes out the final cigarette. "Does he know that?"

"Maybe he's already with Nanami."

"Shoko."

"All of you are dropping like flies around me. Was there an invite I was never given?" She doesn't cry but Satoru stands to walk towards her anyway.

"Yū, Suguru, Kento, (Y/N)," she allows him to hold her shoulder and pull her in but does not return the affection. Should she? Would this be the final memory of Gojo Satoru she had?

"He isn't dead." Satoru pulls away after a long minute. The smile on his face makes her hopes soar and Shoko doesn't understand why she can't force it down.

"I can feel it. He's still here. Don't host a funeral just yet, yeah?"

"You're way too cocky, do you know that?"

"I have every right to be."

"Mr Gojo." Satoru wonders what Yuji would say to him. He wonders where the scars come from, when his eyes had ever been so dull or hardened, he wonders if Yuji will bounce back from everything; if he'll regret being so selfless in the first place.

"Itadori," he braces his arm on his hips, and Yuji's shoulder droops.

"Mr (Y/N), Nanamin...he said he'd leave it to me. You told Ms Ieiri that you had a feeling he was alive."

"Eavesdropping, Itadori?" Yuji's laughs as Satoru slings an arm around his shoulder, attempting to escape his hand that is ruffling his hair.

"Aah, Mr Gojo, quit it!" Satoru settles with a few more chuckles so Yuji continues. "When everything settles, could you help me fulfill Nanamin's wish?"

"Yuji."

Satoru smiles brightly, squeezing Yuji close as he ruffles the back of his head.

"You leave (Y/N) to me."

"Does this form please you more?"

Your eyes can't take themselves off the sight before you. Satoru — no, his corpse. What a strange string of words.

Satoru's corpse.

It's too unreal. Those words do not belong to one another. He grasps the back of your head and forces it to face him. You can't decide what is worse; when you wake to Megumi's face twisted in a cruel expression, finding out Tsumiki was being used as a vessel, being shown Kento's death on replay through Sukuna's/Yuji's memory of the moment, or this monstrous being before you with Satoru's corpse behind you.

"My, my, my, don't tempt me," Sukuna does not let you squirm. His four hands held you firmly within his grasp as you wept.

"I truly am delighted your bloodline prevailed. The betrayal should be punished with death but, seeing you again, I'll not make the same mistake twice."

The binding vow that was made with your ancestor, one that made Sukuna keep the flame technique within his grasp and your ancestor in the other. Breaking it left your bloodline with a technique meant to be used only after mastering the innate technique — to put it simply, it was akin to making someone tame a pack of rabid wolves before they even potty-trained a puppy. It was no wonder you were all so weak.

"Keeping such a trump card of a technique hidden from me, how shrewd."

Yuji cannot believe it. Everything was moving too fast. Gojo Satoru was dead, and the era of sorcerers was coming to an end as reality settled in the bones of curses and sorcerers alike. But then, you're there.

Apparated out of thin air — no. The necklace around Sukuna's neck. You were kept there, did you spectate everything? The entire fight? Every person Sukuna had killed —

They had tried their best to look for you and you'd just been there, hidden in plain fucking sight.

Suguru is in your peripheral, you blink and you swear you feel your mind break as he loops his arms around Satoru's corpse. Another blink and Kento and Yū appear, pale and rotten and burnt and dead.

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" His eyes are filled with nothing but amusement as you will yourself out of his grasp, your foot making contact with his face as you kick yourself off from it.

The rubble stings your bare feet as you dig your heels into the ground, your dark flames eating away at the sleeves of the silken garments his loyal servant, Uruame, had dressed you in. Feeling its weight disappear fuels you with more ire than you ever thought you'd ever feel.

This man, this monster, had taken everything from you. Even if it kills you, even if you end up burning the entire world into ash and cinder — nothing matters anymore.

Your mother, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, Fushiguro Megumi —

Heaven and Hell will rue the day they took them. The Gods have created a new monster in the form of you and Yuji shudders at the empty look in your eyes.

What had you gone through in the months you were gone? The garments you wore were that of highly respected concubines, heavy and silken and patterned.

What had Sukuna done to you? Had he taken the very essence of your soul and ripped it to pieces just like he had done with him?

Kento's words echo in his mind, and Satoru's face appears with a blink. He needed to step in and save you — from yourself and from Sukuna's grasp. His two mentors, he can't let them down, he can't. You were precious to Megumi, to Tsumiki from what Megumi had once told him. Satoru looks at you with such a warm aura, that Kento always threatens to smile when he even mentions you.

Desperation pumps through Yuji's body and he feels his nails elongate, giving it a quick glance before spotting Kashimo descending from the sky.

Sukuna's laughter booms throughout the empty planes and echoes around the destroyed buildings. The very earth shakes with each inhale.

"You truly haven't changed, my concubine! Come! Let's go insane together!"

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #gay reader #male reader insert #male!reader #satoru gojo x yn #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x male reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x male reader

[st4rfckerz]

alley | anakin skywalker x reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: MDNI 18+, dubcon, no foreplay, exhibitionism (if you squint), choking, hair pulling, slight dumbification, mild degradation, unprotected sex, anakin has a very short temper, just pure filth :)

summary: after acting out for attention, anakin gives you the attention he thinks you deserve.

a/n: happy thanksgiving to those who celebrate! i'm expressing my thanks by giving you all this little fic i've been conjuring up these past few days. eat up!!!

you’ve been feeling neglected all day, craving anakin's undivided attention. so, being the little brat you are, you decided to act out to get his focus on you. you playfully pouted, sighing loudly every now and then, and occasionally making snarky remarks just to provoke him. unsurprisingly, your antics didn't go unnoticed by the easily frustrated anakin. he finally snapped, his patience wearing thin.

"angel, what is up with you today?" anakin asks, trying to disguise the annoyance in his voice.

"nothing." you respond dryly, crossing your arms and turning your face away from his gaze. you know you've been pushing his buttons all day, and a part of you enjoys seeing his frustration build.

you take a quick glance of anakin again, his eyebrows were furrowed slightly, and you could tell he was biting down on his tongue to suppress his irritation.

"put your shoes on." anakin demands. without giving you a chance to protest, anakin grabs his leather jacket and motions for you to follow him. he leads you out of his room and down the stairs.

outside, you see his sleek race car parked on the street, the engine purring with anticipation.

with a flicker of irritation still present on anakin's face, he held the door of his race car open for you as you slid into the passenger seat. anakin's hand lingered on the door, his grip turning tight for a brief moment. then, with an exasperated huff, he slammed the door shut. the sound echoed through the car, punctuating the tension that laced the air.

for a moment, silence enveloped the vehicle as anakin took his place in the driver's seat. his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white, revealing the depths of his annoyance. the engine roared to life, but the once-eager excitement seemed to be tinged with a tinge of frustration.

as the car pulled out of the parking lot, the atmosphere between you both filled with an unfamiliar tension. the silence became a heavy weight, the unease palpable. you glanced at anakin, watching the turmoil play across his features. the furrowed brow, the tense jaws, and the distant gaze all made it clear that your behavior had taken a toll on his usually patient demeanor.

anakin didn't take long to exit the vehicle once it stopped in front of the bar. he swung the car door open with a bit more force than necessary and stepped out onto the pavement. anakin swiftly made his way to your side of the car, holding the door open for you. his hand reached out to you, and he murmured a cold "come on," more of an order than an invitation. you understood the underlying frustration in his actions, and without hesitation, you followed closely behind him. anakin handed his keys to the valet driver and instructing him to park it around back.

the moment you and anakin stepped into the bustling bar, the atmosphere enveloped you both. the low music and laughter filled the air, creating a gleeful energy that was impossible to ignore. warm toned lights adorned the walls, casting a comforting glow on the patrons and adding to the relaxed ambiance of the place.

anakin guided you through the crowd, his hand warm and reassuringly firm in yours. the occasional brush of hips against yours made excitement stir within you. you could see the mischievous glint in his eyes as he led you through the bar, scouting for an empty booth.

the low hum of conversation and the quiet music formed a backdrop to your conversation. anakin took a seat across from you, his expression showing a mix of concern and curiosity.

leaning forward slightly, anakin's piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. with a deep sigh anakin speaks again.

"baby," although his stern expression hinted at lingering frustration, he mustered a softer tone as he spoke. "i can't help you if don't tell me what's wrong."

you look at him for a moment before finally speaking.

"there isn't a problem anakin."

anakin's jaw tensed ever so slightly, his stern expression firming as he leaned back in his seat. while you rarely used his full name, choosing instead to affectionately address him as "ani," it was clear that your deliberate use of "anakin" had struck a nerve.

"no problem, huh?" he retorted, his voice tinged with annoyance. anakin's mind was racing with thoughts as he studied your face, his gaze focusing intensely on you.

it was as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head, illuminating the reason behind your recent behavior.

you were just about to reply when anakin suddenly grabbed your arm and started pulling you away from the bar into a dark alleyway. he continued to walk deeper into the alley, pulling you along with him.

your eyes widened in surprise as anakin's lips covered yours, his tongue searching for your own. he pushed you against the wall of the bar, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

your breathing became heavy and you closed your eyes, his lips sending shivers down your spine.

"is this what you wanted?" anakin growls, his large hand tightening around your throat. you feel his sharp teeth against your neck and you can't help but let out a small moan.

"acting out just because you wanted my cock, hm?" as anakin continues to tease you, he roughly turns your body around so that your face is pressed up against the dirty wall.

the pressure of his touch causes your body to tremble slightly. you feel the heat rising in your face, but instead of pulling away, you continue to let anakin touch you. you're embarrassed about how needy you are, but you don't want him to stop.

"you're just so needy, aren't you?" anakin's warm breath hits the back of your neck. the way he speaks to you is filled with playful sarcasm, but underneath it you catch a glimpse of his true feelings. anakin does think you're needy, but not in a bad way. this fuels his ego; your neediness is what he craves.

"needy little girl," anakin hisses. anakin's grasp tightens around your waist, sending a rush of anticipation through your veins. with a swift, demanding motion, he flips your little skirt up and yanks your panties down, exposing your bare skin to the cool night air.

without wasting a moment, anakin unbuckles his jeans and positions himself behind you, his hands firmly gripping your hips. the roughness of his touch and the feeling of his hard cock poking at your bare ass sends shivers down your spine, intensifying the raw desire that courses through your body. you can feel his prodding erection press against your flushed skin.

anakin teases your throbbing clit with the tip of his cock while you steady yourself by holding onto the edges of some random boxes and bins.

feeling your hips push back slightly in anticipation, a thrill shoots through anakin's body. he grins before grabbing a handful of your hair and forces your head back, admiring the way it makes you arch your back. an added tingle of arousal runs through your scalp when your hair is tugged, intensifying the connection between you.

"look at you, just begging to be fucked in a dirty alley," anakin purrs. his hips snap forward, driving himself deep within your core. a broken moan that escapes your mouth echoes through the alleyway as anakin's thrusts increase in pace. your walls eagerly welcome him, enveloping him in a tight, warm embrace that sends ripples of pleasure cascading through your body.

"it's almost like you want everyone to see how much of a slut you are," anakin's grip on your hair tightens as he pulls your head back more. "is that what you want?" he speaks through his teeth in a harsh, but teasing tone.

your senses are overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure that crash over you, leaving you unable to form coherent words. with each deep, forceful thrust, a pathetic moan escapes your lips. your mind was was in a complete haze that made you unable to create any coherent words.

"poor girl, too cock dumb to speak." anakin tsks, his voice laced with fake sympathy, all you could muster was a faint sob that got stuck in your throat.

"i know angel, i'm almost done." anakin presses a rather sweet peck to your bare shoulder. unable to verbalize a response, you convey your readiness through the way your body quivers, your breath hitching in your throat. he reaches down and his nimble fingers find your swollen clit, circling and caressing the sensitive bud.

soon enough you hear a guttural groan escapes anakin's lips, reverberating in the air, as he spills his warm cum deep within you. feeling the pulsating throb of his release inside you, your own orgasm hovers at the edge, just waiting to be let go.

"come on baby, give it to me." anakin, still sheathed inside you, works his fingers vigorously against your clit. unable to contain it any longer, your walls clench around him as you feel an electrifying surge of bliss flood throughout your body. you swear you saw flashing lights as you clench your eyes shut.

when the last traces of your orgasm fades away, fuzzy tendrils of relief creep through your body and leave you falling deep into subspace. anakin carefully withdraws himself out of your dripping cunt and adjusts his own pants before pulling up your panties, and bringing you in for a tight hug. the feeling of his cum trickling down your leg goes completely unnoticed once anakin's arms are wrapped around your shivering body

"there you go," he coos, stroking the back of your head. anakin pulls your head from his chest and holds your sweet, flushed face in his hands. "you ok now?" a small smile creeps onto his face.

all you respond with is a soft nod and a quiet "mhm" before returning your head back to his heaving chest.

"come on angel, let's get you home." anakin's hand finds yours, and you both begin to walk around the alleyway in search of his car. the night has been long and now you want nothing more than to go home to rest in each other's arms.

#nai writes ୨୧ #anakin skywalker #anakin #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #star wars #st4rfckerz

[tatesdiary]

No more

Summary Tate comes up to see you after your dad told him he couldn't be his psychiatrist anymore.

tags you know everything about Tate etc., cursing, you're Bens & Vivien's daughter

word count 675

Tate Langdon x f!reader

"I don't understand him, you know? Like, I finally got a friend - which they've been pushing me to do - and then he wants to get rid of you?" Huffing you fall back against your pillows, angered at your dad's lack of understanding.

"I mean I kinda brought this onto myself," Tate mumbles, his eyes still a little red from his crying earlier. "No," he flinches at your loud tone and you get up from the bed, instead standing between his legs.

"Just because he couldn't handle that we're in a relationship he's being unprofessional. Wow, you definitely brought that on yourself," the sarcasm in your voice is palpable.

He sighs and leans forward, his head resting on your chest and his arms looping around your waist. You bury a hand in his soft hair, playing with it the way he loves.

"I don't know why you stick with me. You know all the things I did, how can you not hate me?" His voice is shaky and you almost crumble when he looks up with his big doe eyes.

"I don't think it's okay what you did. I told you before. But you have to stop thinking it's all your fault, when this house and the other ghosts had a huge part in it. And you've gotten better, too," he smiles a little and you melt - letting go of him and laying back down. "Come cuddle me. Also, I'll talk to my Dad later."

He nods and kicks his shoes off. When he lays down you take him in your arms, knowing he loves being the little spoon (when you first found out you couldn't hold back cooing at him).

He sniffles a little before his breathing evens out, holding your hand tightly to his chest while sleeping.

When you're sure he's in deep sleep you loosen yourself from him, closing the door and searching for your dad.

You find him still sitting in the chair, seemingly saying goodbye to another patient.

When she's left you speak up, "We have to talk." Is all you say and sit down in the place of one of his patients. He looks surprised but nods and sits down in his leather seat, "What's up?"

"Why'd you send Tate away? He told you a million times he doesn't want to be treated by anyone else and he's obviously been through a lot. Why the fuck would you tell him to leave?"

His expression turns stony and he sighs, "(y/n), you know he's dangerous, he can't stay here. And he talks about you in a way I'm not comfortable with."

You laugh humorlessly, "Oh, so you can't deal with him? A teenager? Isn't that, like, your job? Get your shit together, ever since you cheated on mom and got that girl pregnant you've been letting it out on everyone but yourself." Rolling your eyes you get up, ready to leave. You knew that's not the way to talk to your parent, but he behaved like everything was resolved around him and like his actions didn't hurt anyone.

"Stop believing everything's gonna turn out great. You ruined this family. It's your fault, get it in your head, Jesus. And start treating Tate again, you can't stop me from seeing him anyway."

Sending him a last glare you push yourself up and leave, seeing the very boy you just talked about sheepishly leaning against the railing. With an embarrassed grin you walk over and lean against him, his arms going around your waist.

"It's so sexy when you're mean," he says and you gasp before laughing, hitting his chest weakly. As you're about to answer the door from the living room opens and your dad comes out, stilling when he sees you both.

Before he can start scolding you again you take Tate's hand and pull him back to your room.

#tate langdon x reader #tate langdon #evan peters x reader #american horror story #evan peters

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Plastic Hearts - (13)

<<<Prev Next>>>

---

Sometimes you have to choose love.

---

He was upset as he turned away from you and it plummeted you into the depths of anxiety. All that free flight that you were enjoying, died, like the wind stopped blowing your way.

“I need you to come with me.”, he said, knowing well that it had the real possibility of killing whatever it was that was growing between you both. But as he took your hand, he was certain of one thing. He could sacrifice being with you but he could not stand by and watch as he lost you again.

“Ok.”, you said as you fetched your bag and turned off the lights. All this could be cleared later, the worry in his eyes were so palpable that you began to wonder what the issue was.

“Is everything alright?”, you asked as you got up, his distant eyes found yours and brought him back to the moment.

“Yeah.”, he said it but it wasn’t believable and he knew how that could have scared you.

“I had a lovely night.”, he drew closer, to cover you with his leather jacket, to give your hand a gentle squeeze as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He didn’t want that truth to be lost in everything he was about to say.

Actually, as he felt your hand in his and with the sudden awareness setting in, that danger was imminent to this world around him, it began to scare him all the more.

Was he going to have to give you up too?

But he put on a smile and began to head back to his apartment. He had to show you the doomsday meter and tell you about the skates. So he set his mind to it, if he thought about the various other outcomes, he was never going to have the courage to do it.

He walked beside you and held your hand as though it was an anchor, that the gesture was meant more for him, while you were trying to figure out what had spooked him.

Maybe it was you.

Maybe it was something else.

You focused on the concrete in the pavement to stop the nervous thinking from eating you away. His jacket feeling like an extension of him trying it’s best to help you retain your calm.

You got into the elevator that was wide enough to fit two people. He pressed the button to his floor and the doors closed. He was on the tenth floor, but you couldn’t put a handle on the worry you felt.

Was he going to leave?

As he stood there in front of you, watching the numbers change on the dial, you wanted to step forth and loop your arms around him. To hug him like before but instead you just wanted to stay there, in the hopes he might stay longer too.

But the dial chimed and the doors opened, he held out his hand for you to walk out first as he followed you, the sound of keys jiggling in his hand as though it was an ode to the tension in the air. He came to a stop before his unit and unlocked the door.

He went ahead to turn on the lights but somehow seeing him move around in a domestic space was amping the stress all the more, because with every second that passed you were falling in love again and you were scared he wasn’t.

His home was different to what you had thought, it had a lot of horse related artefacts but it was enhanced well with good interior design. The windows from his living room had a wonderful view of the neighborhood. His space had a lot of scented candles that made it smell like a mix of cinnamon and leather.

“I hope you don’t mind the mess.”, he put away his shoes as he waved his hand around even when there was no mess to be found.

“I had to relearn the aspects of housekeeping.”, he chuckled as he made you feel comfortable, asking if you wanted to put away his jacket but you held onto it.

He popped open the double door fridge to get you a drink as he helped himself to a soda too.

You took a seat on the sofa with the cold soda can giving you hope that what it was he wanted to say could not be as catastrophic as you were thinking. But he sat across you instead of by your side and that smile of his was no where to be found. He took a quick sip before he turned to you.

“The skates that brought you here.”, he began and you could feel cold needles of ice pierce through your heart.

“How do you know –

“Brie, those were doomsday skates.”, he continued as though he needed to get this off his chest.

“It's slowly destroying Barbie land and along with it the imagination of all the girls and women on this planet.”, he narrated and your gradual onset of sleepless nights and the lack of dreams fell into place.

“You need to get those skates back to Barbie land as soon as possible, if you wish to save it.”, he held his hands together as his eyes grew distant again.

"If I wish?", you questioned. The news was a shell shock. Your selfish desire has caused the worst disaster.

"What happens if it don’t?", you leaned forward, trying to keep panic at bay

"It fades away forever, erased from history.", he continued.

"No, what happens to you?", you stopped him to ask more precise details.

"I disappear along with it.", he shrugged his shoulders as though he had made peace with the concept.

The panic you wished to keep away flooded your system.

"Without Barbie land, I don’t exist.", he found your eyes, his blue waning to a grey almost as if he believed it.

"But you can.", he said with a fervent tone.

"The skates grant you one wish.", he took another sip and sat back.

"You can choose to be human and start a new life.", he said it to you as though he was relaying new strategy.

"How can you say that?", you grew angry but the sadness was causing tears to flood your eyes.

"I’m just being realistic.", he met your steely gaze with resistance of his own

"About what?", you sniffled throwing your hands around in frustration.

"About how you have a life here.", he said it seriously.

"And you don’t?", you reached out to him but he got up to pace around.

"Brie, I was sent to get you.", He placed the cold can on the side of his forehead to ease the stress.

"That was all this was?", you asked in shock. Unable to believe you had become a fool yet again.

"God, no.", he furrowed his brows.

"No.", he said more calmly.

"I fell in love with the version I was here.", he replied.

"My job, my home and my car.", he had a small smile on his lips.

"The kids, the school ...", He paused his steps but didn't look at you.

"You.", he said softly before he resumed to his walk.

"I want to be here.", he said like it was his dream.

"But I can’t.", the melancholy in his voice was breaking you down.

"I'm not of this place.", he shook his head as he stared out the window.

"That doesn’t make sense.", you challenged his argument and his logic.

"The tunnel plays you an advertisement.", he stated and you could understand where all these thoughts were coming from.

"That garbage.", you began to push it away but he shook his head.

"No, Brie.", he caught your attention again.

"I didn’t have one. Just a line, stating if a Barbie chooses to exist then a Ken can.", he found your eyes for a second before looking away defeated.

"So without a Barbie back in Barbie land, I’m a goner anyway.", he downed the contents of his can and chucked it in a Bin with a frustration. Because it wasn't fair.

"I will fade away all the same.", he pursed his lips

"And I know.", he glanced back at you. The very sight of you giving him a few extra minutes in life.

"You love it here.", he smiled.

"Do you now?", you answered with sarcasm because how was he to know how it actually was.

"Yeah, Brie. That glow from within you. That’s something Barbieland could never give you.", he pointed his hand at you, his eyes glimmering as he drew closer to you.

"No that's became of you, Ken.", you held his gaze as you said it.

"With you, I feel like the sun. For five years, I lived a life of hopelessness. Struggling to find worth in my work, to discover myself when I’ve been so blind. That the best version of me is the version that exists now.", you explained the truth behind why you truly felt alive.

"Then you take my world by storm only to take it away again?", you couldn't look at him anymore as it stung you.

"You can’t do that to me.", you shook your head.

"What do you want me to do?", he raised his voice in anger, out of hopelessness because this was a dead end. He wasn't the hero of this story. Getting a good ending wasn't in his hands.

"I lose you all the same. All I have are seconds with you when I want it all. Brie, I won’t force you to come back. I know what it’s like to have found an identity to then lose it.", he shook his head with vehemence.

"So this is it?", you looked at him, utterly broken.

"I guess so.", he said it half heartedly.

"So these past few days have all been a lie?", you couldn't believe it, you didn't want to believe it. Not when it felt so true and real.

But He found your gaze and eyes flicked like blue flame.

"No. I craved the real thing, Brie. I had fallen in love with you the moment I knew I had lost you. And for the next five years, I hated myself for not choosing you sooner. I spent every day and night scourging the streets of this city in search of you.", he held on to the sides of the kitchen island because he needed the strength to say the next few words

"Because I love you Brie. That’s all there is to it. I love you. I have loved you and I will continue to. But the choice to save Barbieland is in your hands. And only you can determine if it was worth saving.", he said it as though that was the most purest form of truth he had ever held.

"If I’m worth saving.", you heard him and his eyes pierced your soul.

He wiped out a watch that had a meter on it and placed it in front of him. The needle now at the start of the red zone, it was true.

But it was all too much, all at once, the heavy decision to save Barbieland, to leave this life behind and go back all while getting know that he had loved you all this while.

You needed some time away, cause if you continued to sit here you were going to be sick.

So as he stood by the kitchen, bracing himself, you put away his coat and took your purse. You walked past him, unable to look him in the eye cause if you did you were going to breakdown. He didn't try to stop you and somehow that made it all the more worse.

You walked away and stomped down the corridor, upset and angry, pressing the elevator button to call it to the floor you were in. But the truth of his words sunk in. That you stood to lose him forever this time.

To continue to live in a world that will never have a trace of him.

The elevator chimed it's arrival but you turned away from it. You ran down the corridor, this time, you weren’t going to run away. That here you could own up to your feelings, that you could have everything you wished for. So you didn’t have to chose between yourself and love. You could have both.

You stood in front of his door, you held your fist up to knock but the door opened on his own.

He had his jacket on halfway as though he was coming to chase after you. His eyes widened with surprise as you stood there.

---

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#barbie movie 2023 #barbie movie #ken barbie #barbie #ken carson #ken x y/n #ken x you #ken x reader #ryan gosling ken #ryan gosling #ken fic #ken fluff

[ne0nic]

Our Game

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Wriothesley x f!Reader ₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

MDNI

ִ ࣪𖤐 Word Count: 5.2k

ִ ࣪𖤐 CW: NSFW, Dom!Wriothesley, Thief!Reader, Mentions of Human Trafficking, Drugged Tea, Slight Bondage

ִ ࣪𖤐 No use of Y/N, Never use of Y/N

The game is lively tonight and you expect to enjoy it in full. 

With effortless grace, you move in and out of the shadows around the Court of Fontaine, becoming a phantom of the night. The deserted streets are a ripe playground, businesses closed, doors and windows locked, and the guards drowsy and inattentive. It's a realm of exhilarating opportunity, just waiting for you to claim.

Your destination is the side door of the antique jewelry shop, known as the last source of pride for an elderly proprietor. Your knowledge of every shop in the city is impeccable, following a mistake where you learned that it's unwise to steal from a Fatui-owned establishment; it's akin to pilfering from the Tsaritsa herself.

With a few deft movements, you manipulate the lock, and the door swings open without a sound. The shop's interior is as silent as a tomb, its owners having long retired for the evening. You enter, your eyes alight with anticipation.

You navigate the shop's layout like a child in a candy store, your gaze drawn to the glass cases showcasing a myriad of jewels, each one casting a beguiling shimmer. With nimble fingers, you open the case and select a ring featuring a sizable ruby. You slip it onto your finger, admiring the deep red luster. The ring itself is far from delicate, clearly designed for a more masculine hand – someone like…

You quickly remove the ring, tossing it into your bag. No point dwelling on such thoughts; it's time to collect your treasures and make your exit. You work swiftly, carefully placing necklaces and bracelets into your waiting bag, ensuring the displays remain untouched.

The unmistakable sound of heavy boots approaching makes you freeze in place, listening to the resonant thud of leather shoes and the subtle jingle of chains and cuffs. It's time to depart. You wrap up your mission with meticulous precision, and as swiftly as you had arrived, you vanish into the night. Peering from the safety of an alley, you remain silent, unable to spot the approaching figure. Even worse, you're uncertain of the direction from which he's drawing near.

Taking on the rooftop is undoubtedly the better choice. Climbing up the copper gutter pipe, you gain a sweeping view of the city from the high vantage point. From here, you can easily traverse the rooftops, leaping across buildings and making swift progress. As the immediate danger lessens, you descend to the streets below.

Suddenly, that distinct sound returns, the one signaling his presence. How did he catch up to you so fast? It's time for plan B. You snatch a dark cloak from a nearby stall and quickly drape it over yourself, making a dash for the nearest stationed Garde.

"Oh! Garde! Monsieur!" you implore, rushing up to the uniformed soldier. The young man, evidently new to the force, turns his attention to you with an eager desire to assist.

"Madame? What's the problem?" he inquires, clearly willing to help.

"I was just at the tavern getting a drink, and I think a strange man is following me! Please, help me!" You plead, ensuring fear reflects in your eyes.

"Do not worry, ma'am. I will take care of this," he assures, stepping around you to face the direction of the approaching footsteps.

"Oh! Thank you so much, Monsieur," you say, masking your sly grin as you slip away.

The guard stands firm, ready to protect the innocent young woman who has placed her trust in him, aligning with the oath to safeguard all citizens of Fontaine. His excitement is palpable.

A shadow emerges in the dimly lit street, advancing slowly. The young Garde stands at attention. "You there! I'd like a word with you!" he calls out.

The approaching figure steps into the light, revealing a large, menacing man. He possesses piercing blue eyes, is adorned with chains and has a pair of handcuffs hanging at his side. His coat is casually slung over his back, and a scar stretches from the base of his neck, disappearing under his clothing.

The young Garde recognizes the man and instantly locks up. "Y-Your Grace! My apologies! I mistook you for a suspect!"

"Suspect? What gave you that idea?" the man inquires, tilting his head gently.

"This young lady, she—" The Garde turns, only to find that you've vanished. "Where'd she go?"

"A woman?" he asks.

"Y-Yes, a woman. She claimed a man was following her," the Garde explains. The man, who moments ago wore a serious expression, breaks into a smirk and chuckles softly.

You've successfully ascended the tower, fully prepared to make your getaway into the cover of the night. Luckily, tonight's escape had proven effortless, and you hadn't even needed to trigger an alarm to elude the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. He must be accustomed to your flamboyant tricks by now. The two of you had been engaged in this thrilling game for so long that you constantly had to innovate new ways to lead him astray. However, you'd come to find that the simplest tricks were the most enjoyable, especially after the sheer madness you'd put him through as you slipped away.

As you make your way toward freedom, a hand wraps firmly around your wrist, pressing your back into the wall. He looms above you, an unamused expression on his face. The way his stunning eyes seem to gleam in the dim light sends a shiver down your spine.

"Hello, darling," you taunt.

"Give it up. I'm taking you in," he declares with unwavering determination.

"That's what you always say," you mutter, causing him to grit his teeth.

"The bag," he demands, extending his hand.

"You're no fun," you pout, pulling the strap over your head and placing it in his palm. Wriothesley keeps you cornered as he opens the satchel, only to find it empty—no jewels, necklaces, or even a few coins. "Trouble?" you ask with a smirk.

"Where are the jewels?" he asks bluntly.

"What jewels?" you play innocent. He grabs your arms, pressing you firmly against the wall.

"I'm not in the mood for this today," he growls.

"But I'm completely innocent, Your Grace," you say with wide, doe eyes. "Little old me? A thief? Isn't it wrong to accuse someone without any evidence?"

"Enough!" he snaps, pushing you closer, your chests almost touching. You can feel the way his heart races, how you make him nervous. It sends a thrill through you.

"Or was there a different reason you followed me tonight, Your Grace?" you inquire, leaning forward. Your lips are mere inches apart. He tries to hide the way his breath hitches, but your smirk widens. "Did you want me all to yourself? You could've just asked. I'd never refuse." You tease him with expert precision, knowing precisely what to say and do to provoke him. You close the distance even further, his eyes locked onto your lips. Your breaths mingled so closely that your lips could touch if either of you moved even slightly. And just when it seems like he can't take it any longer, you pull away. "Forgive me, Your Grace. Sometimes I forget you're a man of the law, dedicated to your work. Surely, you're far too busy for me to take up any more of your time."

"Shut up," he snaps, closing the gap between you in an instant. He captures your lips, instantly stealing your breath away. His kisses are demanding, his desire to take the lead palpable, and you willingly submit to his commanding presence. His teeth graze along your bottom lip, eliciting a breathy, barely audible moan from you. You press your thighs together, utterly captivated by the way this man has the power to make you unravel. His longing for you has always had the ability to make you tremble, particularly in moments like these, when the game between you two reaches its zenith, when he finally catches you, and both of your desires hit you without reserve. 

His hand raises to the back of your neck, tilting your head up, giving him more of you. He's going mad. He has to be. There must be some kind of spell or pheromone that you've cast over him, that makes him need you desperately. Everytime you're before him like this, his morals fly out the window, and his lust becomes so thick he can't resist. He's well aware of the moral dilemma that plagues him. You're a true criminal, through and through, and he's fully cognizant of the wrongdoing of his actions. However, he never feels the exhilaration of the chase as intensely as he does when it's with you.

The tranquil sound of water churning brings you back to the present moment. Regrettably, it's time for you to make your exit. Your fingers slide over his vest pocket, and Wriothesley's brow furrows as you withdraw from the kiss.

"Gotta run," you murmur, slipping out of his grasp and collecting your discarded bag. Wriothesley's brows knit as you head toward the boat.

"Wait!" He attempts to step forward but is abruptly pulled back. He turns, only to discover that you've cuffed him to the service pipes. With a frustrated grunt, he struggles against the cuffs, and something falls out of his pocket. He gazes downward, finding a jewel necklace on the ground. Lifting his head to you again, you turn back to him with a playful smile.

"I had fun."

"Dammit!" He curses, his bracers materializing on his hand as he strikes through his own cuffs. Finally free, he makes a dash toward the boat. But the ferry has already set off, and he can only huff in frustration as you slip away. 

Again. 

Your fingers trace over the ledger, where rows upon rows of names denote inmates at the Fortress of Meropide. However, none of them match the one you're seeking. You can't help but wonder how many trivial offenses landed people in this imposing place.

Infiltrating the fortress itself was a relatively straightforward affair. They treat their prisoners well down here, making escape seem an improbable feat. Most inmates are cowed by the mere sight of the glass barrier that separates them from the relentless ocean outside. However, gaining entry was an entirely different challenge. Infiltrating the Duke's office, that's where things get tricky. Luckily, your familiarity with the office makes the entry a minor concern, especially when you have a duplicate key at your disposal.

"I'm assuming you didn't come for tea," a voice intones behind you. His hand closes the ledger's cover and rests atop it. Veins course through his arm and hand, and his knuckles are rough and calloused. You push away the inappropriate thoughts that threaten to surface.

"Should I even ask how you got in?" he continues, but you maintain your silence, choosing not to respond. Playing along with him today is the last thing on your mind.

"Who are you looking for?" he gets straight to the point.

"An...associate of mine went missing a few days ago. I was merely curious if he happened to be in your custody," you reply. He picks up the ledger and moves to the other side of his desk to set it down.

"Associate, huh? I thought you worked alone."

"I do," you confirm.

"His name?"

"As if I'd give you that. I'm not here to further incriminate him; I need to secure his swift release."

"Then it seems I can't help you," he states.

"You've never helped me," you correct, to which he chuckles.

"Touche."

"I brought you more of that blend you like," you say, gesturing toward the cabinet.

"Paid for with the proceeds from the jewels?" he questions, a hint of darkness in his tone. You smirk.

"I don't recall any jewels. It's simply a friendly gift, a favor for a favor," you reply, reveling in how his eyes narrow at your words.

"And what favor have I done for you?" he inquires, already knowing the answer. He's trying to ensnare you with your own words.

"I'll prepare a cup for you, dear. You seem weary," you offer, turning toward the cabinet. He's beside you in an instant, gripping your wrist.

"I wouldn't trust you to make anything for me," he snaps, making you smirk.

"Do you truly believe I'd do anything to harm you?" you ask in a feigned tone of surprise. You notice the tension in his jaw and your gaze drifts lower to the scar on his chest, which barely peeks above his clothing, triggering memories of that fateful day. "...Anymore?"

"Go sit down," he orders, and you pull away from his grasp.

"Yes, Your Grace," you say as you step over to the table. Outside the window, the vast expanse of the ocean unfolds, with creatures moving freely, seemingly unconcerned with the curse that hangs over the people of this nation.

You can't help but envy them, particularly after the arrival of that blonde-haired traveler, which marked the beginning of a downward spiral.

"I would like—"

"Three sugar cubes, I know," he interjects, causing a subtle smile to play on your lips.

"What time will the Iudex be arriving? I'd hate to be a bother," you inquire, knowing full well that you've committed his schedule to memory. He sighs, realizing there's no use concealing it from you.

"He won't be. Monsieur Neuvillette had a sudden trial, so he's rescheduled for next week," he admits, an air of candor coloring his response.

"What a shame. That blend is best served fresh," you murmur, your gaze drifting back to the water. A few moments later, he joins you at the table, the gentle clinking of teacups and saucers filling the air. You eagerly pick up your cup.

"I must admit I only ever have tea with you," you confess.

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow as he settles into his seat. He observes you as you bring the cup to your lips and take a sip. Only then does he feel comfortable enough to indulge in his tea.

"It's true," you affirm, setting the cup down. "I always believe tea deserves to be enjoyed in good company."

"You don't have any other good company?" he inquires.

"None quite like you," you reply with a smile.

"Your clever quips won't get you out of here, you know."

"You think I'm clever?" You tease with a playful glint in your eyes.

"I don't intend to just let you walk out of here."

"You never have, not until I was properly sore and had trouble walking the next day," you taunt, taking another sip, causing him to gulp down his tea. His hands clench as you speak.

"Enough. This... arrangement we had is over. I'm taking you in. I'll inform Neuvillette of your transgressions, and you'll face justice," he declares, his tone stern.

"And then I'll find myself right back under your vigilant watch. Is that what you desire? To keep me close? Ensure that we'll never be apart again?" You tease. His jaw tightens. "I thought you relished our little game as much as I did."

"Game?! You're stealing from people!" His anger is palpable now.

You roll your eyes, reaching into your jacket and producing a document, which you slap onto the table. He leans back, perplexed. "And what is this?"

"The justification you seek. The part of you that yearns to believe I'm not entirely malevolent, this is your evidence."

"I don't understand."

"You will," you assure him. The grandfather clock in the corner begins to chime, marking the appointed time.

"It's time for me to go."

"What?" he blurts out.

You rise from the table with alacrity. "Thank you for the tea. I had a lovely time." You begin to walk away, and he suddenly springs to his feet. However, dizziness overtakes him, and he barely catches himself as the world blurs around him. Overwhelming drowsiness renders his legs wobbly, and he finds himself on his knees, struggling to resist it.

"When?" he manages to mumble.

"It was your teacup. You always use the same one," you giggle. He exhales in frustration. You draw closer.

"Don't worry. I'd never harm you. You're just going to have a short nap."

His hand grasps your wrist. "Don't go," he pleads, his desperation evident. It ignites a spark in your heart, prompting you to sink to your knees, cupping his cheeks.

"Well, when you ask so sweetly like that, how can I resist?" you murmur before pressing your lips to his. "Listen to Siegewinne, dear. You've been appearing quite exhausted lately. But I hope you'll feel better when you awaken. And on top of that," your gaze drifts toward the document, "you might see me in a different light the next time we meet."

After a lengthy and exasperating lecture from Siegewinne, Wriothesley finally returns to his office. It appears that you were telling the truth; it was merely a sleeping drug, and by the time he awoke, you had vanished. He didn't provide Siegewinne with many details about your encounter, nor did he delve into any in-depth discussion about you.

He sinks back into his chair, holding a cool washcloth to his forehead. You had been here, well within his grasp, and yet, once again, he found himself incapable of fulfilling the very duty he had sworn to uphold. It frustrates him to no end. Every time you make an appearance, it catches him off guard. However, when he saw you inspecting his office, for a brief moment, he had hoped you were there for him alone. Alas, that's never the case.

To make matters worse, you've infiltrated his dreams. Every time he closes his eyes, there you are, bare beneath him, your cheeks adorned with a charming flush. Your hands tenderly caress his face, and he takes you with a gentleness and passion that starkly contrasts the reality of your late-night rendezvous. Normally, he's rough with you, mirroring your intensity rather than expressing love.

The thought of you alone is enough to stir his desires, and he curses himself. You had drugged him not long ago, yet he's back to square one. Removing the washcloth, he stares at the ceiling, hoping his little problem will subside on its own. He replays the recent events in his mind, striving to rekindle his anger instead of his lust.

"You might see me in a different light the next time we meet."

What did you mean by that? How could he perceive you differently? His gaze drifts to the desk, where the document you left behind rests. He leans forward, scoops up the folded papers, and breaks the wax seal. As he peruses the contents, his heart sinks.

The elderly man who owns the jewelry shop was using it to launder money from human trafficking sales. You appraised numerous items and recorded their selling prices. You even managed to gather evidence of the boats at the marina being involved in the conspiracy. Photos, evidence—everything is meticulously compiled within these documents. This alone must have taken you weeks. A small note is clipped to the last page, the page itself revealing the location where the captors are holding their victims.

Without jewels, there are no sales. I have bought you time, Warden. Do not disappoint me.

He rises from his desk, his mind racing with thoughts of what to do next.

The entirety of Fontaine's police force is mobilized for this operation, simultaneously raiding all the identified targets. Wriothesley, however, personally takes charge of the most significant arrest. With a sense of duty, he apprehends the elderly man, promptly handcuffs him, and pushes him toward the exit.

Outside, the ever-dramatic residents of Fontaine have congregated, forming a boisterous audience to witness this spectacle. The vigilant Gardes work diligently to keep the curious onlookers at bay as he escorts the man outside. His eyes inadvertently scan the crowd. 

A sudden pause overcomes him as he catches sight of you. A sly smile graces your lips as you knowingly meet his gaze, and then, with your characteristic grace, you disappear into the crowd, leaving him with a sense of intrigue. 

About a week later, following the court's verdict and the subsequent exile to the Fortress, you make a return. Leaning casually on his desk, you patiently await his arrival. As he trudges up the steps, his demeanor brightens in pleasant surprise at the unexpected sight of you. There's a trace of solemnity in your smile as your eyes meet his.

Setting his report down, he approaches you, his curiosity evident in his tone. "You've been gone for a while."

"I had some important matters to attend to," you explain. "The victims who were kidnapped are now under the care of the Spina di Rosula. Most of them are just awaiting reunions with their families. Convincing a few to testify during the trial was a bit challenging, but I'm relieved it's come to a favorable resolution. The Spina di Rosula has pledged to hunt down the buyers, and I've provided them with all the information I could gather."

"Why not have the Spina di Rosula collaborate with the Garde?" he inquires.

"You and I both know that would never happen."

"What now?" he asks.

"My job is done, and I've cut my few remaining ties. All that remains," you say, raising his cuffs, "is you, Your Grace." He takes the cuffs from you, studying them with furrowed brows. As you lift your hands toward him, he glances from the cuffs to your wrists.

With a resounding clack, the cuffs land on the desk. The gravity of this decision settles upon you, hiding within it the unspoken message he wishes to convey. Slowly, you lower your hands as he fixes his gaze on you, drawing dangerously near.

"You're making a mistake," you caution.

"I know," he responds before pulling you closer and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. 

In a matter of seconds you both burst into his bedroom, lips locked, jackets falling to the floor. Your nimble fingers are quick on the buttons of his vest as he backs you towards the bed. He pulls your shirt upwards, his rough hands riding up your front. Once one hand finds your breast you moan into his mouth. His ice cold touch electrifies you. He rids you of your shirt and pushes you down onto the bed. His gray vest falls to the floor leaving him looking seductively disheveled in just his black button up. 

The tip of your nail fits between your teeth as you devour him with your eyes. "You're going too slow," you whine, reaching a hand out. Your fingers trail over his shirt, feeling every curve of his muscles just beneath the fabric. It has you aching for him. He reaches up, tugging his tie free from his neck. You light up, obediently offering your other wrist to him too. 

"If I didn't know any better I'd think you'd liked being my prisoner," he says, leaning closer as he ties the red fabric around your wrists. 

"Don't threaten me with a good time," you tease, leaning in as well. His gaze falls to your lips before lifting your arms over your head and guiding you to lay on your back. From there he spreads your thighs, fitting himself between. Pressing your lips tight together, you resist the urge to beg. Even a small bit of friction would be heavenly, but it doesn't come. Instead he slowly strips your bottom half, taking his sweet time to admire your panties before just snapping them off your hips. 

He sinks to his knees, lips caressing your inner thigh. Your hands find their way to your mouth trying to muffle your own weak whimpers as he trails towards your core. Where you want him the most. 

Just as his breath ghosts over your aching cunt he stops. Suddenly his hand wraps around the tie and shoves it upwards again. "Do not move them again, if you do you can forget about my earlier mistake. I'll take you in, right now, like this," he threatens in a husky voice, eyes boring into yours. You smirk, lifting your thigh to rub against his hip. 

"Like this, Your Grace? How scandalous," you tease. 

"Do you understand?" he demands. 

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" He snaps. 

"Yes, sir," you say, your voice growing weaker. 

"Good girl," he praises, and you know you're soaked down there. Cheeks tinged red and heart racing as he sinks back down your body. He lifts your thighs over his shoulders before tugging you in one last time. Torturously slow he gives a chaste kiss to your clit. You resist the urge to pull your arms back down as a groan leaves your lips, your body involuntarily twitching. Wriothesley smirks at the display. It's as if he's trained your body to fall apart at just his touch, something he carries with pride. 

His tongue dives between your folds, and you throw your head back with a sinful moan. The man below you is terrifyingly good with his tongue and fingers which makes his next move a damning one. 

Two fingers easily slide into you, but he makes sure not to curve them into the place you like. Instead he watches the way you writhe, almost trying to force his fingers that way, the pleasure making you dizzy. Pathetic moans and whimpers pass your lips, music to his ears. 

"Please… fuck— mh." 

"What was that?" He mutters. "I couldn't hear you." His fingers slow to a cruel rub. 

"I wanna cum. Please," you beg. 

"Really?... I don't know if you deserve to," he says, his voice dropping a few octaves. The voice change drives you, making him smirk as he feels you tighten. "After all, you didn't tell me what you were up to. You worked outside the law, you could've gotten yourself hurt. Now, that… I just can't seem to forgive." He crooks one finger up slightly, sending you spiraling. 

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry! I won't do it again," you promise. He slowly rises to his feet, fingers still deep inside you. Wriothesley leans over your trembling frame. His hand caresses your cheek with a tender touch. The coolness of his fingers on your burning cheek is practically bliss. 

"Now, how can I believe you? You've broken every other promise you've made to me," he says tauntingly. Fuck! You hate him. You know what he's trying to do, and he knows how desperate you are, enough to agree to any of his demands. He brings your diverting gaze back to his. 

"No more secrets," you agree, making him sigh. 

"Now, was that so hard?" He asks, pressing right there making your head go fuzzy. You gasp in surprise as his fingers pull you apart all over again, the familiar sensation pooling within you. Wriothesley presses his lips to yours, tongue forcing its way into your mouth so he can still hear your gasping moans. "Cum, pretty girl." Your body shudders in the wake of your orgasm, and he doesn't relent, driving you oversensitive in a matter of moments. Your hands grab his wrist, stopping him as you still ride out the end of your orgasm. He smirks and pulls his fingers out. You feel the tie release your wrists. 

He's gentle as he lifts your face, seeing the dazed, blissed out expression you wear. His lips peck around your cheeks, to your neck, to your collar, and them to your shoulders by the time your high fades. 

"Back with me?" He asks lifting your chin, you nod and he slots his lips against yours while opening your legs again. He fits himself between them and pulls on his belt with one hand, something you don't mind helping him with. He chuckles as he feels you desperately pull his pants open. His aching cock springs free hard and hot in your palm as you stroke him. His forehead sinks to your shoulder as he shudders, slightly thrusting into your touch. "Shit." 

"Hurry," you urge. Lifting himself up he positions himself so the head just barely brushes against you. You press your lips together. 

Wriothesley reaches upwards, his hand sliding down your arm until he can fit his fingers between yours. Then he thrusts. His other hand grips your hip so tight you pray there will be a bruise. He stretches you open, forcing you to take his size, your eyes roll back into your head. 

"Fuck!" You cry out as he bottoms out. He starts with slow shallow thrusts but his patience quickly wears thin. In no time he's snapping his hips forward, rocking the bed, shoving himself deeper inside you. It's predatory, the way he heaves, the way he takes, the way his fingers grip your hair and hold your head up to make you watch him fuck your brains out. 

In practically no time at all you're cumming again, but he doesn't slow down, his own orgasm approaching as he feels you clench down on him. The continued force of his thrusts sends you right into a second orgasm and he follows suit. Your cunt milks him for all he's worth. Every drop belongs to you. 

He belongs to you. 

"Just fucking be mine already," he groans. His words break through your hazy mind in an instant. 

"What?" 

"Fuck," he mutters. "You're gonna make me say it outright, aren't you?" He leans over fingers brushing over your cheek. "Stay with me. Be with me." 

Your heart feels as if it may beat out of your chest as he says it. His cold eyes are now strikingly warm and tender. But you don't know what to say. 

Instead you reach up, hands pulling his face down to yours. He complies easily. You kiss him sweetly, whispering against his lips, "I'm yours." 

Your confirmation makes his heart sing as he kisses you with more fervor, growing hard inside you once more. The first thrust catches you by surprise but you're loving it. This time there's nothing rough about the way he holds you. He treats you softly, like you'll break if he's any harder. He holds your body in tight to his, burying himself deep inside you, until you're seeing stars. 

The clock chimes, marking the hour as Wriothesley opens his eyes. To his dismay the spot next to him is empty. He rubs his face, already stressed that you've disappeared like usual. Unfortunately, maybe he was foolish enough to hope for something more from you. 

Sitting up he finally notices the weight on his finger. A ring, a gigantic red ruby within a thick band. The metal is dark and the design is intricate. Honestly, it truly seems like something he'd wear. 

Peering over to your side one more time his eyes widen as he sees a folded up paper. With one hand he retrieves it and flips it open. 

My secrets come at a cost, Your Grace. So, if you manage to catch me Thursday night, I might consider telling you one or two. Preferably over tea. 

I'll be expecting you. 

He laughs to himself, "So, the chase is still on, huh? Better make it interesting."  

#wriothesley x reader

[fairy-writes]

Hii, can i request a oneshot of Ayato (tokyo ghoul) with an investigator reader?

STAR-CROSSED

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Tokyo Ghoul

Pairing(s): Kirishima Ayato x Reader

Word Count: 0.8k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, CCG Investigator!Reader, Human!Reader, Angst

Notes: Ayato is :re age in this (so around his 20s for those who haven’t finished :re (like me lol))

__________________________________________________________________________

You should’ve known this was going to happen. 

You stare blankly at the packet in front of you, a big bold “CLASSIFIED” stamped in red across the front. You had gone through it already before the meeting, only to go through it yet again in the meeting to make sure nothing was missed. 

Not that you would miss anything. No, no, no, you were too good at your job for that. 

Which is probably why they assigned you this mission. Because you were one of the best, not the best—that was reserved for Arima Kishou. But you were still an accomplished Special Class Investigator despite being in your twenties. 

But that didn’t matter right now. Or maybe it mattered more than anything in the world. 

Because you were being forced to kill your lover. 

The packet weighs heavily in your leather satchel on the bus ride home, but you refrain from opening it again to shield the classified information from prying eyes. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out, your heart sinking. 

“Ayato <3”

You swipe your thumb across the screen, sending the call to voicemail. Almost immediately, Ayato calls back but you do the same thing. 

And again. 

And again. 

Until…

“Boy troubles?” Comes an older woman’s voice, and you jump, turning to face her. She looked sympathetic, watching you with big eyes filled with sadness and warmth. You feel unexpected tears well up in your eyes,

“Something like that.” You sniffle, and her eyes soften. 

“It’ll be okay, dearie, just talk it out with him, yeah? That’s how my husband and I did it for sixty-three years.” She smiled encouragingly, and you let out a watery laugh.

“I’ll give that a go,” you mumble and shake hands. “Thank you,” You say, and she pulls you into a hug.

“Everything will work out in the end.” She promised, and the two of you parted ways. 

Ayato is waiting for you at the train station. You spot him almost immediately after getting off the train, just as he spots you. He pushes through the crowd until you are facing each other. 

“What did I do?” He demands, and you sigh, all your previous thoughts rushing back. 

Your mission. 

Your job.

You had to kill him or face the consequences yourself.

Could you even do it?

“Nothing.” You say and brush past him, intent on walking home. He follows you, boots kissing the heels of your dress shoes. His anger is palpable, making a shiver run down your spine at his dangerous emotions. He was infinitely stronger than you, being an SS-Class ghoul. You were pretty sure he’d stand no chance against Arima Kishou, but you? You’d need help from your team, but you were supposed to be the leader of this execution. 

The two of you didn’t say a word until you got to your apartment. The second the door shut and you locked your various locks, Ayato was in front of you, hands on his hips and demanding an answer. 

“Why are you upset?” He asks, and you toe off your shoes and hang your coat in the closet.

“I’m not upset.” You try, and he scoffs, 

“Bullshit. I can tell you’re upset about something. You never send me to voicemail unless I screw up or something happened at work.” You set your work bag on the dining table, the heavy papers inside thumping against the wood. 

“Can we not do this right now?” You say, pouring all your weariness into your voice. He arches an eyebrow and, thankfully, doesn’t say another word. 

You wake up a couple of hours later when Ayato slides into bed beside you and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. He noses the back of your neck, inhaling your scent in a way that was comfortable to him. You close your eyes again, feeling tears welling up yet again as you try not to cry. 

You didn’t want to kill him. 

You weren’t even sure that you could. 

“I looked in your bag.” He mumbles, and your heart stops. 

“You—”

“I know, I’m sorry, but I was worried.” He says and squeezes you tight, pecking the back of your neck. 

“But that meant you saw my case file—” He cuts you off gently, and you feel your soul cry,

“I’m not mad. I want you to know that. It was bound to happen anyway.” He says, and that makes you turn to face him. He presses a kiss to your mouth and you can taste the coffee on his lips. 

It was almost funny how much he had changed. You knew from his sister that he used to be a brash and obnoxious teenager who was extremely violent and ruthlessly slaughtered investigators and humans alike. 

It was a wonder he fell in love with you at all. 

#ayato kirishima x reader #kirishima ayato x reader #ayato x reader #tokyo ghoul x reader #tg x reader #tg #tokyo ghoul #kirishima ayato #ayato kirishima #fairy writes

[blowflyfag]

HEARTBREAK HOTEL

So! I originally wrote this for a friend of mine, and i dont usually focus on fem readers but i wanted to indulge her :) this is probably my... longest fic??? so get ready for a read folks. It is i wrote very early on.. so if it’s not the best i apologize. I also apologize for how much i describe the outfit and such since i did make it for a specific friend. 

THIS IS AN 18+ FIC IF YOU ARE A MINOR DO NOT LOOK AT THIS PLEASE

anyways i hope you all enjoy it!!!

Your hands tugged slightly on the skirt you were wearing, hands clenching and uncleaning around the fabric as you sat on the plush red heart shaped bed. A palpable nerve in the air… the tall guy didn’t help much either, he was practically as tall as the doorway. Dressed in a black leather vest and pants and sunglasses even though the room was already dark enough. At least you thought it was. The way he kept adjusting his glove over and over caused a small pit of dread in your stomach, he could fucking snap you like a twig probably. You looked foreword to avoid him from seeing your own prying eyes and you glanced towards the open bathroom door. The only clear gleam of normal light coming from it, breaking up the dark red lights of the room you were in and showing the small fog of cigarette smoke that wafted from the bathroom. Hearing the humming from it revealed to you what waited for you… maybe we should go back a little.

You weren’t really… into wrestling. Sure you’d see it on tv every now and then, glance at a magazine in the store or hear others chat about it but you never really thought about it too much. However when the opportunity to see a showing of Monday Night Raw live presented itself to you? Well why not see what the fuss was about. And boy did you see what the fuss was about, it was… amazing! High flying action, people fighting. Hell someone even almost hit you from the metal gate. It was.. exhilarating! You found yourself quickly becoming a fan, Wrestlers like Double J, Yokozuna, you had a soft spot for heels… They were more interesting than the good guys! But your favorite bad guy… your favorite heel. Shawn Michaels.. he was many people's heart throb and the heartbreak kid maybe had you by the heartstrings. When showings weren’t happening in your town you'd find yourself rushing home to catch Monday Night Raw, just to possibly see the HeartBreak Kid.

But how did you end up in this cheesy love hotel? Well you and your friends decided to take a spontaneous trip. Las Vegas.. while you wouldn’t normally agree to it you had Paid Time off you needed to use and hey your friend offered for the ticket. Why not… and when you learned a showing of Monday Night Raw was happening at a theater near your hotel..? Well the two of you decided to go. It would be a fun memory! So there you two were at ringside, hooting and hollering as the match. You were dressed a bit nicer than usual. Your friend had spoken beforehand about how he knew someone who would be working at the event and could possibly slip the both of you backstage after it all to meet a few of your favorites! Maybe get an autograph signed luckily if possible but best to not push you luck too much. So you were dressed in a cute white top, a pale pink skirt and your favorite pink buckled shoes, walking in them could be a nightmare but god were they cute. The match was everything you could’ve wanted and more. Doink and Dink showed up to fight some new baby face, your friend got squirted by the flower Doink had on him, The Qubecers somehow won another match against the Smoking Guns but… that seemed to be a constant with how dirty they played.. and then the best part of the night show far. The familiar choir of woman’s moaning started and you let out an excited gasp. Shawn Michaels, with his bodyguard Big Daddy Cool Diesel making their way down the walkway and to the ring. The way he walked, the way he carried himself. God it was like being shot with Cupid’s bow and he was the first person you’d laid eyes on. You couldn’t deny that Diesel as well was a physical specimen to be gawked at. The embodiment of strength it seemed at some times, he reminded you almost of a Greek statue. As Shawn was doing his. “Glorified strip tease” to prepare for the match you watched the hat be flung in your direction. Excitedly you reached up to catch it in your grasp looking over to your friend with excitement evident in your face as you clung to the hat tightly in your grasp. For the match Shawn was going up against IRS. It was quite the match. Hell even Diesel walked by you guys for a moment to throw IRS back into the ring after Shawn had kicked him out. In the end Shawn won the match, dancing around as he did when he won that had you staring at every movement in awe.

Once the match had wrapped up you were grabbing your bag and looking towards the stairs before your friend grabbed you to motion for you to go back to your seat. “Hey. Remember what I said? My guy just needs us to wait for it to clear out a bit and then he’ll grab us ok? We just gotta wait.” He whispered to you and you nodded. Still holding onto the hat that had been flung at you with a giddiness in your soul. So you two sat, talking about the exciting match you had watched, your hopes for the next one you’d catch on tv before some came towards the gate. “Hey uh.. guys.” He seemed awkward… but this had to be the guy your friend had been talking about seeing how they got up to high five the guy. 

“Kenny! My man! You hooked us up right? We’re not gonna get you fired or anything?” Your friend asked and this Kenny shook his head. 

“Nahhh. The guys love meeting fans. ‘Specially the chicks.” Kenny said as he looked to you with a half smile. You offered your own weak smile back as you got up. Dusting yourself off before following him and your friend down the ramp, in a way following the footsteps so many wrestlers you were a fan of had. 

There was a bustle and commotion in the backrooms of the arena, staff walking by hurriedly to pack up stuff and others talking loudly on flip phones about… well you didn’t even know what. You stuck close to your friend as your heels clicked against the ground. You felt an excitement boiling and bubbling in your stomach that you couldn’t deny, you were actually gonna be face to face with wrestlers you liked! Who were you even going to talk to first… should you ask questions.. would you- your thoughts were cut off by your nudging you. “Hey. You lost in your mind again or something?”

“Huh..? Yeah I’m sorry! I’m just.. really excited.” You offered with a small giggle and Kenny chuckled.

“It’s no worry! I can imagine how exciting this is. So. Who you wanna see first… wait. Let me guess.” He said with a smirk. Glancing back to you and then down to the hat in your hand. “Could it beeeee… The Heartbreak Kid?” He asked and your eyes widened a bit. 

“Oh I wouldn’t want to be a burden! I know he was just in the ring and-“ Kenny cut you off abruptly. 

“Oh trust me. He’s not gonna mind if it’s you sweetheart.” Kenny snickered before looking at your friend and smirking. “Razor Ramon?”

“What! Am I that predictable?” They asked with a snicker before looking back to you. “Hey… you gonna be ok with them on your own and stuff..? I can always stay with you before I meet Razor and-“ now it was your turn to cut someone off.

“I’ll be fine.” You gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Promise. I’m a big girl.” You giggled and your friend rolled his eyes. Shoving you playfully before you both continued to follow after Kenny before he stopped at a door and rapped on it a few times. 

“Hey! You got a fan out here.” Kenny yelled through the door and you raised a brow as you heard what sounded like some stumbling before the door flew open. Shawn Michaels. Shawn Fucking Michaels was less then 3 feet in front of you. God he was even more beautiful up close. He looked at your friend first. Half expecting it to be him who wanted to meet him but your friend simply shook his head, motioning to you with a slight head movement.

You froze for a moment as the spotlight was put on you. You cleared your throat and smiled wide. Telling him your name as you took his hand to shake, except he didn’t. He pulled it to his mouth to place a chaste kiss upon it.. you nerves shot and you felt yourself let out a nervous giggle out of reflex, “you.. uh. Would you like this back?” You said as you offered the hat to him that he had thrown during the set. He looked at it before smirking towards you.

“If it’d make you happy you could keep it.” He offered and you let out a small hum of excitement. Looking at him with such admiration in your eyes.

Kenny cleared his throat as he clapped his hands together. “Alright. Perfect. Since you two are getting along so great. I’m gonna get our man here to his own meetup.” He said as he patted your friend on the chest and they rolled their eyes. 

“You sure you’re gonna be fine?”

“More than fine.” You offered as you went to give your friend a playful nudge. They chuckled and nodded. 

“Alright… just. Keep me in the loop alright?” They offered as you nodded excitedly and they scoffed before turning on their heel to follow after Kenny. You watched them walk off down the hall before feeling an arm wrap around your waist to pull you into their form.

“C'mon in. Be rude to leave you waiting out here in the cold.” Shawn said in a teasing tone that had you giggling like a dumb blond as you followed him into the locker room. He shut the door behind you once you had walked in. You looked around before stopping your movement, you noticed the large man near the locker, leaned against it as he pulled down his fingerless glove. Big Daddy Cool Diesel. Of course you knew him. He was Shawn’s bodyguard… of course he’d be here too.

“Big Daddy!” Shawn started enthusiastically as he placed his hands on your shoulders. “This is our friend (y/n)! She’s a real big fan.” He emphasized real, Causing you to offer a sheepish smile and small wave. 

“It’s very nice to meet you.” You started and only received a glance from over his shades before he looked back up. Shawn rolled his eyes and gave your shoulders a small squeeze. 

“Promise he’s more fun.. especially if we get him a bit warmed up. But what is it you want sweetheart? Photo? Autograph? What can Shawn Michaels do for you?” He asked effortlessly. As if it was a routine he had done a hundred and one times before.. or he was just a charming devil. 

What.. Did you even want out of Shawn Michaels. I mean. You knew what you wanted. But you feared saying that would leave you being hauled away by security and banned from any more shows. You have a nervous smile as you shrug your shoulders. “I’m sorry I just.. I’m very excited to be here right now. It's hard to think straight.” You admitted  and Shawn chuckled slightly. “

Oh I completely understand. I would be in awe in front of the Heartbreak Kid as well.” 

Humble didn’t seem to be a word in Shawn’s dictionary. So for a while you stayed there. Absentmindedly talking about the match, other wrestlers, upcoming events that maybe you shouldn’t have been let on… but the insider knowledge did make you feel special. As the time kept ticking however Shawn eventually stretched. “Say. You got anywhere to be tonight?” He offered and you quickly shook your head.. what. It was only 11:30… and Vegas never seemed to sleep. “How about you come out with me and Diesel tonight? Make you feel real special. We’ll give you the work around.” He offered as he sprung up from his seat on the bench. Going towards the locker to slip his jacket on. 

“Are you sure it won’t be a hassle? I don’t want to be any trouble getting back to my hotel and-“

“You can stay the night with us! It won’t be a burden at all!” Shawn interrupted you as he wrapped a hand around your shoulders to pull you close causing you to giggle. What the hell… why not. When would you ever have this chance again! 

So here you were. After a night of being driven around by a taxi driver to see the lights and sights you found yourself in their hotel room… one bed. An obnoxious heart shaped bed that seemed less and less practical as you thought it over, that red wallpaper, and the smell. A smell of sex that never seemed to have fully escaped the room. Your grip tightened on your skirt as you glanced towards Diesel once again. He himself seemed a bit annoyed by Shawn’s… insistence on fixing himself up... but it had been what. 15 minutes now? But just as you thought it over Shawn came out of the bathroom with that lopsided smile that looked perfect on him. 

“So sorry to keep you waiting sweetheart.” He said with a somewhat sincere tone. Leaning close to bringing your chin up to meet his gaze before glancing at Diesel. “Diesel! Least you could’ve done was warm the lady up bud. Last thing we’d want is for a fan to be uncomfortable right?” He asked with a cocked brow and Diesel grumbled something as he turned his head to the side. 

“Is… is he gonna stay in here during… this?” You asked and Shawn let out a small hum.

“Oh Baby.” He began before smiling. 

“We’re a package deal.” He said before bringing your lips to meet his. His kiss was needy. Desperate almost as his hands went to rest on your hips to pull him closer to him. Your own hands went to reach up to cup his face. A kiss that sent electric shocks through your body. It distracted you enough that you didn’t feel the bed dip from behind you, only feeling the sensation of large hands on your thighs and lips attaching to your neck. You let out a small gasp at the new sensations allowing for Shawn to deepen the kiss with you.

You were practically sandwiched between the two. Your wildest dreams finally coming true this very night. Your hands moved to grasp Shawn’s hair. Giving it a small tug which caused a small whine from him that sent shivers down your spine. Diesel’s hands gripped your thighs a bit tighter before the grip loosened as his hand slowly trailed up to the hem of your shirt. Shawn pulled away from the kiss leaving you panting for air as you raised your arms to help Diesel get you top off. You watched as it was thrown halfway across the room practically before watching as Shawn began to shimmy off the jeans he had been wearing, making a bit of a show out of it.. like he did with everything. However your attention was dragged around as you felt a large hand on your face. Directing you to look to the side where you were met by Diesel who continued where Shawn had left off. Kissing you deeply as his hand slowly trailed down your stomach towards the hem of your skirt. You quickly went to help. Sliding the fabric down your waist to leave you in only your undergarments. Diesel moved to slide his hand inside your underwear, large hands quickly finding that sensitive little Nub that had your hips bucking foreword. 

“We’ve got a lively one huh?” Shawn teased with a wolfish smirk before sinking to his knees in front of you. “Works perfectly for me. I knew you’d warm her up just fine Diesel! Just next time.. why don’t you do it while I’m getting ready Hm? Don’t want it to be awkward for our company.” Shawn raised a brow before pulling your underwear down your leg and smiling wide at the prize presented to him. Diesel rubbing and teasing your clit, having you moan wildly into his mouth, Shawn quickly moved forward to latch onto your weeping cunt, licking eagerly which had you pulling away to cry out in pleasure. Legs shaking before Diesel set his free hand on one.

“Cmon. You can take it. You were doing so well!” His tone was almost teasing as his fingers kept circling your clit, having your stomach knot and coil. Your hands quickly went to grip the leather of Diesel’s pants and you cried out. Honestly the barrage from both of them had you cumming almost instantly, your back arching as you cried out in pleasure. Shawn pulled away from your pussy with a smile on his face. Wiping his lips before looking to Diesel who also withdrew his hand from your clit as he patted your thigh. His gaze met Shawn’s which had a playful nature to it. Holding his hand out expectantly in a fist, Diesel quickly followed suit as well.. were… were they really playing rock paper scissors? Rock beats Scissors, Diesel had won the game. Shawn rolled his eyes. “Best of Thre-“

“Shawn. You said it yourself. We’ve kept the poor girl waiting long enough.” Diesel smirked as he patted your thigh and Shawn relented. 

“Right right. How selfish of me.” He cooed as he tussled your hair before moving back towards the top of the bed. Diesel helped you shift to your stomach. Rubbing a small circle into your lower back before pulling away. Shawn himself sat expectantly. Legs spread as he looked at you with a smile. “You still got energy in you pretty girl?” He asked as he went to place a hand on your head. You nodded before moving a bit closer to take his cock in your mouth, savoring it for a moment before beginning to bob your head slowly along the length, shawn tilted his head back. Letting out a small sigh as he closed his eyes and tightened the grip on your hair. “That’s it sweetheart…. You’ve got it.” He encouraged. But you were brought out of the bubble abruptly.

You felt a heat prodding at your entrance. Big. That was the first thing that came to mind, big, hot, heavy. You glanced back to see Diesel Aligning himself. Teasing a bit with long drags against your pussy that would occasionally graze your clit causing a small whine that caused a groan from Shawn. “Diesel… whatever you’re doing don’t fuckin stop man…” Shawn said before looking to his bodyguard who smirked before finally inserting himself. Your legs shook ever so slightly as he did, back arching as you went to pull away from Shawn to let out a moan. Diesel filled you up in all the right spots, as if he was made perfectly for you. They both were. You almost were sure this was a dream. This couldn’t be possible. But Shawn quickly brought you back to the moment as he cupped your face with one hand. 

“Thought you said you had it in you.” He teased and you gulped. Whining for a moment as Diesel worked on pounding into you. You gripped the sheets tightly before you sunk your head down back to Shawn’s length to continue your earlier work, bobbing your head up and down, running your tongue along his stupid pretty cock. No wonder he was always so showy about it.. about himself. He was an enigma almost, a modern day Dionysus. You moved your hands to grip Shawn’s thighs instead, it helped you feel a bit more grounded in a sense… 

Diesel’s thrusts into you had you seeing stars, he could be so brutal with his grip around your waist… his hands were huge. But it was a good brutal. The kind of brutal you’d think back oh and go man. That was a wild night… 

You pulled away from Shawn’s length for a moment to catch your breath. Your hand going to take the place of your mouth, it was well lubed up enough at this rate, you quickly began to move your hand up and down the length. Looking up to Shawn with pretty doe like eyes. 

“A-am I doing good..?” You asked with a smile. You knew you were doing good. You placed his tip to your ginge as you kept your hand movements going, Shawn gritted his teeth slightly as his hands gripped your hair. 

“Fuck… fuck yeah you’re doing good just..” he let out a small groan, it didn’t take long before he had come undone and was spewing into your mouth. You quickly wrapped your mouth around the tip to try to catch as much as you could, hand still working to pump what was left into your mouth. Once it was over and you pulled away from him, his head slumped as he panted. “Jesus sweetheart…” he began with a smile before looking at you, his eyes softening as he watched Diesel work. Pounding into with a vigor that he had experienced himself. Shawn took his time reaching over towards a heart shaped ashtray to start a smoke for himself,  he might as well enjoy the show. Diesel had hiked one of your legs up to get deeper inside, if that was even possible but you seemed to be enjoying it with the way your eyes rolled back and hands dug into the sheets as if at any moment they’d disappear from under you. It didn’t take long before that coil in you snapped once again causing you to spiral and cry out as you came against Diesel’s length, before Diesel himself finished he pulled out abruptly to furiously rub himself to finish. He ended up spraying his load on your stomach as he panted slightly. Looking down at you before fixing himself to put himself back in his pants.

The rest of the night was a blur. To fucked out of your mind to clearly recall but you remembered bits and pieces, heart shaped bathtub, Shawn and Diesel kissing, how comfy the bed was once you were under the covers… no wonder you passed out so quickly… and when you awoke you were on your own. You looked around for a moment before rubbing your hips.. Diesel had done a number on you. On the bedside table sat a tray.. someone must’ve called room service for you before leaving… it made you feel. Nice that they had thought of that for you. Your clothes were neatly folded and set on one of the chairs with your bag, and the hat on top, and near the tray you noticed a little piece of paper.

‘Call me if you ever need some good fashion lovin~’ 

The flowy handwriting and number made you feel giddy… he left you his number. Shawn Michaels left you his number. You quickly went to put the piece of paper in your bag. Stumbling a bit to get there but once you did your phone began to ring. You stared at the number for a moment before picking up.

“Hey! I was wondering when you’d pick up!” Your friend's voice rang out and you smiled. 

“Sorry just… slept in. That’s all.”

“Slept in. Uh huh. Yeah sure I totally believe it.” They teased, causing you to giggle. 

“Oh whatever… how’d it go last night with Razoooor Ramon.” You said in your own teasing tone and you could hear the snicker from the other line. 

“Oh it went just fine. I won’t get into the nitty gritty… but where are you at? I want to make sure I don’t lose you.”

“I’m at the heartbreak hotel.” You could practically hear your friends gasp in realization at what your night had been like. You snickered, telling your friend to give you a little to get ready before you’d be ready to go…

#shawn michaels x reader x big daddy cool diesel #shawn michaels x reader #diesel x reader #wwf x reader #i popped off on this one i think #wrestling smut #Blowfly Writes #shawn michaels #big daddy cool diesel

[suchawrathfullamb]

HI LAMB 👋 here's an interesting prompt for them: H and W get into a fight before they arrive at a really fancy party they were invited to. W (or H if you want!) gets drunk and has to be taken home early by the other. when they get home they are all over eachother

We love making H drag Will to some fancy party he don't wanna be at, don't we? Haha I swear I've read this in a fic before, or something similar.

Hmmm, let's see...I think I want them to be murder husbands already, maybe like 3+ years into it so we don't have to deal with the practicalities of living undercover, cause in 3 years these bitches already figured things out, I'm sure lol.

Maybe it's summer time, it's a really hot night, which makes Will annoyed at having to wear formal clothes with so many layers.

"Could you manage alone?"

"I could, yes. But I'd prefer not to," Hannibal says as he undoes Will's shirt.

"Can't we skip it, then?" he mutters, letting Hannibal help him out of his clothes with a hint of reluctance.

"Maintaining these connections is imperative." Hannibal reaffirmed, his gaze fixed on the intertwining fabrics.

Silent concurrence lingered within Will's contemplation. Their clandestine existence hinged upon a complex network of debts and alliances, so he just let out a resigned sigh.

They ended up in the shower, Will standing lazily as Hannibal took charge.

"Look at this mane," Hannibal teased, lathering up Will's hair.

"Guess I could trim it."

"Don't. I like it like this," Hannibal insisted with a fondness for the untamed locks.

Hannibal chose a refined yet understated ensemble for Will, who was not at all in the mood to pick clothes, a tailored navy suit that exuded sophistication. The crisp lines of the suit jacket accentuated his frame, complemented by a classic white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar. A slim black tie added a touch of sleek elegance. Paired with polished black shoes, the overall look was a seamless blend of simplicity and luxury. Contrastingly, Hannibal's attire was a striking portrayal of exotic elegance. Adorned in a deep burgundy velvet blazer, intricately embroidered with golden floral motifs that shimmered under the party lights, he exuded an aura of opulence. Beneath the jacket, a silk shirt in a rich shade of amethyst peeked through, the buttons embellished with ornate designs. Hannibal's trousers, a sleek black with a subtle sheen, draped perfectly over his frame, elongating his stature, and a pair of patent leather shoes with subtle detailing—added a refined touch to the ensemble, completing the portrayal of effortless luxury with an exotic flair.

In the soft glow of their home, Will stole glances at Hannibal, a bashful smile playing on his lips. "You look really good."

"You look impeccable, as always," Hannibal replied, reaching out to adjust the subtle fold of Will's lapel with a tender touch, then he leaned in, his breath barely grazing Will's ear as he whispered, "But I can't wait to get you out of those," his voice a velvet caress that sent a shiver down Will's spine. But this made him even more resentful that they needed to go out. He knew Hannibal was trying to distract him, and buttoning up his shirt with a touch more force than necessary, there was a simmering frustration.

"I don't see why we have to play this game," Will muttered, his tone clipped with restrained irritation.

Hannibal, adjusting his cufflinks with a composed grace, regarded Will with a calm yet probing gaze. "Connections are crucial, Will. You know that."

"I know, but I'm tired of relying on others," he countered, his voice carrying a tinge of exasperation. "Why can't we just vanish, disappear completely?"

Hannibal's composure remained unwavering, his tone measured. "Disappearing doesn't solve our problems; it merely postpones them."

"But why we have to dance to the tune of favors and alliances?" Will's frustration was palpable, his movements more erratic as he continued to dress.

"It ensures our safety," Hannibal replied, his voice steady but infused with subtle resolve.

Will's agitation simmered beneath the surface as he fastened the last button, his gaze locking with Hannibal's. "I'm tired," he admitted, the weariness in his words belying the depth of his emotions.

Hannibal met Will's gaze with a mixture of understanding and determination. "We do what is necessary," he replied, his voice a steady echo of conviction.

A weighty silence enveloped them, tension lingering in the air like an unresolved chord in an otherwise harmonious melody. The disagreement hung between them, unspoken sentiments swelling within the quiet spaces of their mutual understanding, as they silently finished preparing for the evening ahead.

As the car sliced through the night, there was a heavy silence. Hannibal attempted to bridge the emotional chasm, reaching out with a gentle touch to Will's hand, seeking a connection that he seemed reluctant to reciprocate. When they finally arrived, the opulent house loomed ahead, a luxurious mansion adorned with tropical elegance. Inside, a lively fusion of sophistication and laid-back charm greeted them. Formal attires flowed amidst the indoor tropical oasis while rhythmic music formed a captivating backdrop. As the night unfolded, Will found himself gradually succumbing to the alcoholic remedy, and his demeanor transformed with each sip of the drink, his usual reserve giving way to a sharp-edged inebriation.

But Will's allure seemed to be magnified, his subtle charm and striking features catching the eye of other attendees. Some discreetly admired, while others approached, drawn by his magnetic presence. Hannibal watched him, his eyes a beacon of unwavering concern. As the persistent glances from other guests intensified, Will's irritation grew apparent, his responses becoming more brusque with each interaction.

As the evening's ambiance swirled around them, he found himself the focus of a stranger's persistent attention. A man, emboldened by Will, edged closer, striking up a conversation that hinted at more than casual interest.

"Quite the evening, isn't it?" The stranger's tone held an undertone of intent as he directed his attention toward Will.

Will offered a forced smile. "Certainly is," he replied in a sarcastic tone, indicating his disinterest in further engagement.

The man, however, remained undeterred, continuing his attempts to engage Will in conversation. Hannibal remained watchful, a silent presence on the periphery.

As Will found himself cornered in the persistent stranger's conversation, Hannibal noticed the discomfort flickering across his eyes. Sensing the unease, he gracefully glided closer, a subtle yet deliberate move, slipping his hand discreetly into the small of Will's back.

Will's gaze flickered with relief at Hannibal's timely intervention. "Hi," he whispered, subtly leaning into Hannibal's touch.

Hannibal acknowledged the stranger with a warm smile. "Good evening."

The stranger, undeterred by Hannibal's appearance, persisted, his words edged with a hint of intent. "So, are you two open to company?"

Hannibal's smile remained polite but firm. "I'm afraid not," he responded, his tone gentle yet resolute. "I don't share well."

The stranger attempted to push further, his persistence bordering on the edge of presumptuousness. "But I—"

"I assure you," Hannibal interjected smoothly, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "This one," he emphasized, gently squeezing Will's back, "is exclusively mine."

As the evening progressed, Hannibal observed with a tinge of jealousy as others encroached upon Will's space. He remained composed, though the subtle flicker of possessiveness glinted in his eyes. His hand lingered protectively on Will's back, a silent claim.

Yet, despite the attention, Will's focus remained on Hannibal. His eyes sought out Hannibal's, a silent plea for reassurance and connection amidst the throng.

He gently drew Will closer, his hand resting against the small of his back, an anchor in the swirling sea of conversations.

"You seem to be quite popular tonight," Hannibal remarked with a teasing glint in his eyes, his tone laced with playful jealousy.

Will chuckled softly. "Can't help it if they're drawn to me," he retorted, his gaze meeting Hannibal's with a mischievous twinkle.

Hannibal's fingers traced gentle circles against the fabric of Will's suit jacket. Their bodies instinctively sought each other's proximity, the subtle dance of their conversation growing more intimate amidst the escalating noise. Hannibal's thumb traced a gentle pattern along the curve of Will's waist.

"Can we go?" Will's tipsy whisper carried a note of eagerness mixed with tiredness, his movements betraying the effects of the evening's revelry. Hannibal chuckled, amused by the rosy flush on Will's cheeks. "Yes, seems like you're very much ready to be taken home, aren't you?" he teased, gently guiding them toward the exit. When they got home, Will's buzz lingered, and his attempts at undressing Hannibal were met with playful laughter. Hannibal, sensing his efforts, guided him with patient amusement, gently coaxing him to sit on the edge of the bed. "Oh, come on... I'm not that far gone," he protested, his voice laden with a hint of mischief. "Come here," Hannibal called, ignoring the persistent touches, his tone gentle, guiding Will upright as he deftly replaced his attire with more comfortable clothing. Persistent in his playful advances, Will sought Hannibal, attempting to draw him closer. Hannibal, maintaining his patience, placed a tender kiss upon Will's forehead. "Give that a moment," he murmured, his voice carrying both warmth and restraint. - This is way too long, so I won't go further on the sex scene lol. But lol, I wanted to use that line he said at Dolce haha, "give that a moment" to a drowsy Will.

#not quite the prompt i guess i got carried away #blame the adhd #ask the lamb #fluff headcanons #fic prompt #hannigram #nbc hannibal #hannibal #will graham #murder husbands #hannibal lecter #fanfic #fic rec #drunk will

[canonatypical]

blind spot

pairing: Virgin!Eddie Munson x Mean Girl!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Drugs, Taunting, Oral (M Receiving), PiV Sex Word Count: 2,092

Read on AO3.

The steady crunch of dead leaves beneath two pairs of shoes echo out into the otherwise quiet forest that surrounds and permeates Hawkins. When you reach the familiar, small clearing that contains an old, wooden picnic table, you hoist yourself up to sit on the tabletop and watch as Eddie stops to lean against the trunk of a nearby tree.

“Have you ever fucked anyone out here?”

“What?” Eddie’s response is immediate though, quite frankly, he isn’t entirely sure he heard you correctly.

“Have you,” you start again, this time slower to let the words sink in as you toy with the edge of the cheerleading uniform you don, “ever fucked someone out here?”

Eddie swallows and casts his gaze elsewhere, suddenly finding the canopy of the forest real interesting, much more so than the topic at hand. “What’s it to you,” he asks with as nonchalant of a shrug as he can muster. When he’s met with only silence, he risks a glance in your direction.

Your lips are pursed in thought and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him that the skirt of your uniform has been hiked just a little bit higher. “I was just wondering,” you say, allowing the words to tumble from your lips carelessly, “if I would be your first.”

He nearly chokes on the very air that he is inhaling. You can’t know. Surely this isn’t happening.

“My first?” He arches a brow, forcing out a snort of indignance. “Sweetheart, you’re hardly my first.”

“Is that so?”

There’s a challenging tone to your response and it makes him uneasy. He’ll never live it down, if you find out the truth. You’re mean, ruthless—you’ve embarrassed people for less, he knows. He cannot possibly let you know that he’s—

“What?” He knows that he’s missed the first portion of your statement, but he thought he’d heard her name.

“Chrissy,” you reply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She talks about you at practice, like an annoying amount. I assume you’ve had her out here…”

There is a wickedness to the smirk that curls your lips, daring Eddie to divulge any and all titillating details of any and all encounters he may have had (or not) with Chrissy.

“I haven’t— I mean w-we haven’t.” Fuck, he’s stammering, caught off guard by your insinuation and your probing. It was a mistake, coming here with you, he knows.

“No?” Eddie watches as your head angles to the side, like you’re taking in this information and processing just what precisely it means.

Forcing himself to regain his composure and put an end to all of this before he can get caught more firmly in whatever little web you’re laying down, he pushes himself away from the tree and steps towards where you sit on the table. “I thought you came here for weed.”

“I did,” you reply quickly. “But…”

Of course there’s a but, he thinks to himself. There’s always a but.

“You see, I’m out of money.” Once he’s close enough, you reach for him, walking your fingers up along the hardened planes of his stomach and chest. “I was really hoping there was some other way I could pay.”

A single brow lifts as you simultaneously drop your hand down to the black leather belt that wraps around Eddie’s hips. You’ve barely begun to pull the strap free from the belt buckle before he slaps your hand away, now taking a step back to distance himself.

“If you want weed then I’ll need mon—”

“Are you a virgin?”

The question catches him off guard and sends Eddie reeling. Fuck. Fuck, I should have known we would get here. You’re too damn nosy, too damn wicked to let a topic like this go.

“What?!” His voice cracks, only further deepening your suspicions; he can tell by the way that your eyes narrow and your lips curl into an even more devious expression, if such a thing were possible.

“You are…aren’t you?” There is a palpable interest in your tone and it’s only now that Eddie’s noticed you’ve hiked your skirt up so far that the fabric of the panties you wear are exposed for his viewing pleasure.

Quickly, he averts his eyes just as he’d done earlier, this time as an unbearable heat spreads across his face, reaching up to the tips of his ears.

“Don’t be shy,” you coax, your own gaze falling to the front of Eddie’s jeans, where his unspoken want is impressively evident. “You want to impress Chrissy, don’t you?”

I know what this is, he thinks to himself, you’re taunting me.

Eddie’s jaw ticks visibly with silent agitation, but eventually, his eyes slide back to where you are, watching as your legs part further and your fingers toy with the fabric between your legs to produce a growing wet, dark patch.

Fuck, you’re right and he knows it, and goddammit, he hates that you do; hates that you have this all figured out in that pretty head of yours.

“That’s what I thought,” you say, as if able to read his thoughts. “The last thing you’ll do is impress her if you have no practice. The second you get inside of her, you’ll shoot off like a rocket,” you tease. “But…a little practice never hurt…”

“I don’t have a condom,” Eddie shoots back, his head swimming with disbelief that this exchange is really happening.

“I do.” He watches as you pull your hand away from yourself and reach behind you for your purse, pulling a small foil packet from one of the interior compartments. “C’mere.” Shoving the bag aside, you slide off of the picnic table and as Eddie nears where you are, you drop down to your knees, leaves crunching beneath you.

He pauses, hesitant with your current position, but after a brief round of beckoning and your hands on his hips, urging him closer, he complies. The buckle of his belt jingles, the heavy metal falling to the ground along with the leather strap and quickly, you undo his jeans, pushing the dark denim down until his cock springs free.

It’s impressive, you come to find out; so pretty and pink, thick and long with prominent veins lining the length of him. A shame he’s never had the pleasure of using it on anyone else, you think to yourself…but then again, this may very well be the best kept secret in Hawkins and, if you have any say in it, it will stay that way.

Rooted in place, Eddie’s head tipped down and his curly hair framing his face, he watches in astonishment as your tongue lolls out to trace the underside of the head of his cock. It pulses with interest in your hand and against your tongue, eliciting a satisfied smile from you as Eddie grunts at the contact. You pull away momentarily to tear the foil packet with your teeth, keeping one hand firmly wrapped around the base of his cock. Spitting the foil sliver aside, allowing it to get lost in the leaves of the forest floor, you return your attention to Eddie, slipping your mouth over his length and taking in as much of him as you’re able to.

His head lifts and then drops back, eyes squeezing shut tightly as his hips involuntarily push forward, accidentally gagging you in the process. “Ohhh shhhhhiiiiit,” he sighs, the feeling of your throat constructing around the head nearly too much for him.

Simultaneously, his hips pull away just as you do the same, his cock slipping free of your mouth. “Fuck. I’m sorry,” he begins to apologize, though you’re quick to stop him.

“You didn’t hurt me, Munson, relax.”

Discarding the remainder of the foil, you expertly roll the condom down the length of Eddie’s cock before rising back up onto your feet. You turn your back to him, hands disappearing briefly beneath your skirt as you hook your thumbs into the elastic waistband of your panties, sliding them down and off, and discarding them also before hoisting yourself back up onto the picnic table.

Eddie closes the distance just as you lie back against the wooden tabletop, legs spread and glistening pussy on display all for him. The tip of his cock bumps eagerly against your slick hole, eliciting a soft moan to fall freely from your lips.

“Go ahead,” you encourage him breathlessly. “Fill me up and fuck me, Eddie.”

Fuck, he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more erotic statement. Sure there were the porn tapes he’s seen and gotten off too many times before, but here and now he learns there’s nothing better than hearing his name in this context.

He pushes in slowly at first, his groan commingling with your moan as the head of his cock is welcomed into your tight, warm cunt. Your legs lift to wrap around his waist and without warning, you tighten and pull, sending Eddie surging forward, his cock pushing in as far as it can go as he catches himself from falling on top of you entirely. A mischievous giggle bubbles up from your throat, the vibration it sends along his cock along with the incessant squeeze and release of your pussy is almost too much to bear.

His head drops forward between your breasts and he squeezes his eyes shut once again, focusing on his breathing in hopes of staving off his impending orgasm. You leave him be—for now—opting to run your fingers through his soft curls.

“You can move,” you say, your tone now much softer than before.

“Can’t,” Eddie pants, desperate to last. He’s barely been inside of you—he’d never live it down if he came now.

“Eddie.” Slowly, he lifts his head and opens his eyes to look at you, a pinkish hue dusting across his face. “You can. I want you to cum for me, even if it’s now. Want you to tell me how good this pussy is—”

“It is,” he gasps as he gives a tentative rock of his hips.

“Yeah?” Your hands lift to frame his face as you lift from the table slightly to bring your lips to his. Moan after moan tumbles from your mouth in between the kisses you exchange.

Eddie nods slightly in reply, groaning in tandem with the noises that you make. “Yeah. Fuck.”

“You gonna cum for me?”

The wood of the picnic table squeaks and groans in protest of the sudden quickening of Eddie’s movements; a silent reply to the question posed.

“Eddie, look at me.” He lifts his gaze to look at your face as you continue to hold his in your own. “Don’t want you to pull out, okay,” you request through shaky breaths. “Want to feel you.”

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but…he’s got the condom and that’ll keep him—you—safe…

“Fuck,” he whispers, taking the opportunity to steal another kiss from you. “Okay. Okay.”

It’s sensory overload in all the best ways, he finds: the way your moans grow progressively louder the harder he snaps his hips into yours, how your limbs tense and your pussy tightens around him when you cum. It isn’t long until Eddie follows, tipped over the edge by every little thing until he releases a guttural groan that echoes loudly into the forest. For once, he’s grateful for the privacy.

The two of you remain in place a little while longer, catching your respective breaths.

“Not bad for a first time,” you remark with a smirk.

“Er, thanks,” he replies hesitantly as he finally pushes himself up and off of you. He turns his back to you, now focused on ridding himself of the spent condom whilst allowing you the privacy of getting decent once more. “About the stash—”

“I don’t want your weed, Eddie.”

With everything now back in place save for the belt which lies by your feet, Eddie turns back to face you with a look of bewilderment. “You don’t?”

You reach for the belt and step towards him, offering the leather to him with a shake of your head. “No. But I do want to come back. Same time tomorrow?”

I’m a strange twist of fate, Eddie discovers that he’s looking forward to your visit. Hell, he’d even welcome many more if they all share the same outcome. You hand off the belt and gift him a wink before turning around and gathering your things.

As he watches you walk away, waving goodbye over your shoulder, he finds himself thinking that perhaps you aren’t so bad after all…

#anyways I've been feral for this man for so long #H E L P #Eddie Munson #Virgin!Eddie #Eddie Munson x Reader #Virgin!Eddie x Reader #Mean Girl!Reader #Eddie Munson x Female Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Stranger Things #Stranger Things Fic #Smut

[koifishart]

High time to get it started. Lets begin that long and full of adventures story of raising little koi fish into dragon 🤟 with the most masculine of men,

Hanayama Kaoru, greatest yakuza of all Japan!

I want to be Your Koi Fish

Warning: +18 content, criminal underworld, intercourse, strong language - and so on

Fanfiction based on: "Baki" by Itagaki Keisuke

>1<

>>1<<

Life didn't pamper. Never. In addition, her father made sure that she didn't dream that it might be otherwise.  Never asked, if she's worrying about him. In fact, there was no reason for that - how NOT TO BE WORRY about someone, who illigaly trades weapons?! She felt strongly connected to him, more than the rest of the sisters ... and her mother. They left as soon as he got the business going, she stayed to watch over and protect him. She trained for him, live double life, guarded against stupid ideas that he had in bunches from the very morning. Apparently he was choking on the profits of negotiating with the yakuza. At the same time, she had to think about school as well, and he insisted on it the most. It would be best for her not to interfere at all, and to take up her studies. She couldn't. She has worked out such methods to spend as little time as possible on books and get the most out of them. She could not say that she was not amused by the world into which her father had entered. Yes, it was dangerous. Yes, it was so easy to be eaten by bigger fish...but it excited her and pushed to act even more. During one of the longer trips, when he could not leave her at home, there was an extremely intrusive customer who tried to lower the price in his favor to such an extent, that the father would have to pay extra. It was then that she did it for the first time. She was not disgusted with cutting limbs or seeing blood. On the contrary. She felt a palpable hunger, she wanted more ... and the environment sent information very quickly. Word spread about a young hitman in the service of Goro Soga. The orders fell in handfuls, and the need to refuse arose many times. On top of that, the last year of school had started, so she had to stick harder than usual to be on time. She wanted to pass the exams and have it done once and for all. Then she'll have time for whatever she want. She was buttoning her dark jacket over her green miniskirt when a message appeared on her "work" phone. "An order you can't refuse." If so, at least she had to check. Deadline: as soon as possible. She froze upon seeing the personal data of a potential victim. She licked her lower lip involuntarily. In fact, she couldn't ignore it.

The day at school passed very quickly, and in every free moment she wondered what she could do to complete the task. First of all, she need to find this guy, and feel the moment, if he'll be unarmed...although in his case the term "more vulnerable" would be more appropriate. Finding him was not big deal, he was very noticeable. Incredibly tall, broad-shouldered ... or maybe rather bulky, with THIS amount of muscles, always in a perfectly fitted suit, certainly made to measure, made of perfectly white fabric with a navy blue or purple shirt and a light tie at the neck, sometimes wearing a hat, covering jet black hair, always wearing crocodile leather shoes. She counted quickly, by eye. He could be at least two - three times bigger than her, taking all parameters. Or maybe four. It is said that the bigger the enemy, the better he flies, but on the other hand, it probably did not include the massive, functional body he had. She wanted to feel his huge biceps and even more if she could. She wiped a trickle of saliva dripping at the thought. She glanced at his face. He was pretty, despite the scars that cut him. In fact, they added charm and a certain masculine character, especially the two largest. One from the right ear to the bottom of the left cheek, the other from the right cheek to the left side of the forehead. As he pulled his hand out of his pocket, she noticed a lot of smaller scars on it as well. He didn't look his age, she knew he had just recently graduated from high school. She would have given him a minimum of 25 ... and he was a year older than her! He completely shocked her. She remembered the amount she offered for the commission. She wanted to blow her head for stupidity - after all, with this scale of the problem, she sang funny pennies! On the other hand, she began to wonder if this mission really was so ... irrefutable?

She considered several options, and none of them gave a 100% feeling that she would succeed. It was possible to count on a miracle or ... No, no, it didn't work. She wasn't so lucky with men. She knew he had a little outing with his "gang mates". They were supposed to drink late and stay overnight at a hotel on the edge of the district. It amazed her, how little he wanted to cause trouble. After all, he was the boss of the yakuza, such people, especially young ones, usually run around the city, play with the police, have a lot of fun and loud, in the best brothels, drinking the most expensive alcohol! There was an option, that she spend too much time in front of the TV. He didn't seem to be what she thought. The more she watched him, the more she wanted to know, especially what kind of person he really was. She thought, lying half-naked on his hotel bed. For lack of an idea, she put everything on one card - a simple set consisting of a black, lace bra tied at the back and neck, similar panties and long black socks. Lying down and playing with the phone, she realized an important thing - if something didn't work out, she would have to give herself to him. The heart beat faster in the young breast. She couldn't think of it except with joy and fascination. There is always a price, and this one ... seemed extremely tempting. She was looking forward to his arrival. She stroked her hand over the slightly tense stomach as the door to the room opened, and after a while their thump against the doorframe was reflected off the walls. He stared at her, completely taken aback from behind elegant rimless glasses. You could barely see he was drinking anything. She froze, staring directly into the beautiful dark eyes. She changed her mind in an instant, but couldn't quite back down. So she decided to implement Plan B. She pushed herself into a sitting position, placing the phone on the cupboard quite naturally. She's played the scene so many times that they could pay her for it. And they paid, but not this time. This time it was supposed to be different. She was more worried about what to do next.

- At last you came, Hanayama-san! - she said lightly, with a sweet smile. - I thought I was going to sleep before you came.

- Do we know each other...? - he muttered, unbuttoning his jacket.

- Im a "gift" from one of your mates. - she lied, then puffed her lips slightly. - You don't find me attractive?

He didn't answer, just grasped her jaw and lifted it slightly to kiss, then sink his tongue into her mouth a moment later. He drank a lot, she could smell expensive alcohol, the more she was surprised how well he was on his feet. She had no idea which time he did it, but he was great. It wasn't her first kiss. She had the opportunity to compare him with others and ... he turned out to be completely different, more mature, more confident. He worked wonders by wrapping her around him. Instead of fighting her for dominance, he was driving and giving her a lot of fun. She trembled at the thought of what to do next. She felt extremely safe even though they had only exchanged a few words, and he was one of the most dangerous people in all of Japan. She pulled him out of his tie and shirt, making no objection as he stripped her. She remembered from the stories of her friends that the first time hurts terribly, and she felt nothing, except for the pleasant distraction caused by a huge body.

She looked at the clock. It was two in the morning. There was absolute darkness around them, to which eyes slowly had to get used to. She felt like after a full day of sleep - well rested, refreshed, full of energy - although a maximum of two hours had passed, and absolutely intense. She was lying on her stomach. She put her arms under the chin and turned head towards him. He wasn't sleeping, he was rather faking it. The breathing showed it, not as shallow and calm as it should have been. Well, mission complete.

- Did you know, that I'm here to kill you, right? - she muttered bluntly. - I've received order for your head, Hanayama-san.

- So why I'm still alive? - he asked.

- I'm not a soldier, so that I would have to obey even the stupidest order. Besides, I find that I wouldn't get enough for you. - she replied, laughing. - I gained much more from getting to know you ... and using you.

- Using me? - he wondered, looking at her.

She glared at him suggestively, and judging by the reaction on face, he realized he "had gotten" her virginity. She turned lazily on her back. She was still covered, but even if the covers had fallen off, she wouldn't have bothered about it. She had a rather nonchalant attitude. She couldn't just lie in bed and rest for a long time. Usually fell like a log and got up in zombie mode. But it was time to get up and leave. She only managed to sit up. He stopped her, firmly grasping her wrist.

- Didn't want to know me better, did you? - he muttered.

- And only that's why you stopped me? - she asked a question.

-It only took a few hours for me to like you.- he replied calmly, running his finger gently over her bare back. - What's the next few? I have profits from your company.

She shuddered as she moved slightly away from the massive paw. He was surprised.

- I have terrible tickles ...- she whispered a bit ashamed. - Could you please not do this, Hanayama-san?

He smiled as he pushed his hand away and sat down, leaning against the headboard. He adjusted the other pillow, clearly for her. She sighed, accepting the silent invitation. She glanced at her watch again.

- I have time at least to 5:00. Next fast nap and physics exam.

- You're in a high school?! - he muttered surprised.

-You're only one year older, Hanayama-san. - she answered shrugging shoulders, then added sweetly - Or maybe...senpai?

- Call me by name, regardless of the situation. - he ordered. - In the other hand, you know a lot about me, as I can see, and I about you...nothing.

She laughed. In fact, she managed to get to know him quite well during two weeks of observation, he only found out about her existence. Well, let it be!

- Soga Hanabi. My father is a smuggler, mostly weapons. And me...I'm going to finish school soon. - she said, pulling her knees up to her and hugging them with her hands.

- Murderer in school uniform...that's fascinating... - he laugh lightly, handing her the card he took from his jacket pocket. - Give it to your father. As for you... I'd love to see you more often...

- We'll see what fate says. - she whispered, pushing her face close to him. - Kaoru.

At 5:00, she was jumping out of the hotel room. She wasn't in the habit of leaving by the door when she entered through the window, even when he assured her that she would survive the meeting with his people. She preferred to remain anonymous to them temporarily, although she suspected he'd be following her. It's inevitable, she'd have done the same in his place. Hanayama ... Kaoru ... turned out to be an incredibly friendly and warm man. This was not what she expected from one of the strongest yakuza bosses. In addition, he seemed even more handsome up close than from afar. She felt the phone vibrating in her pocket.

- Didn't sleep? - she asked suprised.

- How's the assignment? - she heard in the receiver. - Done?

- Um...halfway. I think that he lost his head, but not as they wanted to. - she muttered mysteriously, then laughed slightly. - I'm fucked up!

#fanfiction #fanfic #oc x canon #hanayama kaoru #baki the grappler #baki hanayama #kaoru hanayama #baki headcanons #baki dou #baki son of ogre #baki hanma #yakuza #+18 content #baki fanfic #adult fanfiction

[gxrlcinema]

― 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐓, 𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐓!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Steve Rogers x Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. Your boyfriend is about as Brad Majors as they come, which is why you don’t tell him that you’re playing Janet in a production of Rocky Horror. What happens when he finds out anyway?

𝐀/𝐍. This isn't my usual thing but I wanted to try my hand at fluff! I hope y'all enjoy.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. The Rocky Horror Picture Show, heavy sexual themes (it’s Rocky Horror), insecure!reader, internalized slut shaming, references to past slut shaming, loving and friendly use of words like slut and whore, various queer original characters, feminist!Steve Rogers

𝐖𝐂: 2.6k

The excitement backstage is palpable. The familiar cacophony of clicking platform heels and swishing fishnets as your castmates run around, the thick cloud of hairspray, glitter and cheap perfume.

You smile at yourself in the dressing table mirror. The Rocky Horror Picture Show has been part of your Halloween tradition since your teen years, but only in the last couple years have you begun participating in shadowplays of it. There’s nothing like the community that you find between the boas and glitter. And there’s no feeling more powerful than standing in your underwear lip syncing to Susan Sarandon. You smack your lips together, making sure they’re fully covered with the soft neutral color you’ve coated them in. 

“Alright, Miss Janet Weiss!” you hear from behind you. 

You look up in the mirror to see your friend Mac, already fully dressed in a corset, garter, and a pair of black leather platform heels you’re certain that you’d topple over in. This was Mac’s first year as Dr. Frankenfurter, but you’ve known each other for years from various Rocky Horror screenings around New York.

“How’s the crowd looking tonight?” you ask.

“Good,” he smiles, pearly white teeth glinting mischief against red lipstick. “Lots of virgins.”

You laugh, leaning down to fasten your white kitten heels around your ankles. While you do that, your phone buzzes on the dressing table. 

“Text from Steve,” Mac says, lifting your phone. They gasp. “Y/n, have you still not told this poor man what you get up to in October?”

Your shoulders tense, and you fumble a bit at the clasp on your shoe. 

“I told you, he’s old school,” you grumble, snatching your phone back from Mac’s manicured hands. 

Old school is an understatement. Steve was born in 1918. He’s older than color film, and he can barely say the word sex even when you’re in the middle of having it. On top of that, he’s Captain America, the country’s symbol of wholesome family values and the pinnacle of good men. You can’t even begin to imagine his reaction to you prancing around on stage half naked while the audience calls you a slut and a camp horror musical plays in the background. 

You finish with your shoes, standing up from your chair and stepping back to get a full view of yourself in the mirror.

You sigh. “I just don’t know how he’d react to all this, and I don’t want to scare him off.”

“As if the sight of you in your underwear could scare any man off,” Mac scoffs. 

 You study your appearance in the mirror. You look positively virginal in your white cardigan, pink knee-length blouse and skirt combo and kitten heels. This is the image of Captain America’s perfect girlfriend. Unfortunately, you know that the white lace bra, panties and garters you have on underneath are going to be exposed before the end of the show, all of the innocence ruined. 

“All you sluts need to be backstage in five!” your stage manager calls from the hallway. 

Corset-clad bodies scramble for last looks around you, heels clicking as people make their way out of your dressing zone and into the wings. Mac fluffs his wig in the mirror one last time, and then turns to you.

“I’m just gonna reply to Steve,” you tell him. 

He nods and sashays away, throwing in one more unimpressed glance over his shoulder before he disappears from your sight. 

You sigh, looking in the mirror for confidence once again. You stare down at your phone, the text Steve had sent earlier staring back at you.

STEVE: I just got off of work, can I come see you? We could get a slice of pie at the diner, my treat.

Guilt twists in your gut. 

Here, words like slut and whore are interchangeable with hon, dude, or babe. But outside of the Rocky Horror-sphere, people don’t mean anything good when they direct them at you. You think of the disgust on the face of your first boyfriend, hot shame trickling down your spine as he berates you after discovering that he wasn’t your first. You think of your friend’s parents' comments on the length of your shorts in 5th grade, about getting dress coded over every inch of unapproved skin visible in the hallways of your high school.

Steve’s not the type to judge, but that doesn’t exactly mean he’d stick around after seeing you pretend to do the dirty on stage for a crowd of freaks in leather and crazy makeup. He’s a man of his time after all. And your heart won't be able to take it if he looked at you with disgust, same as your first boyfriend all those years ago. 

You type out a quick response.

YOU: i promised wanda a sitcom night :( that diner pie sounds amazing. next time?

You watch the message go through, a familiar knot of guilt settling in your stomach. 

Delivered.

With that, you turn your phone off and walk into the wings to wait with your castmates for the show to start. 

You’re backstage half-naked, your cardigan and blouse having long since been surrendered to the bizarre inhabitants of Dr. Frank-N-Furter’s castle. The beginning of the show had gone well, the virgin sacrifice as hilarious as it is every year. You watch the stage as your castmates act out the movie playing out on the screen above them, the audience chiming in with their own commentary at every opportunity. 

Jeremy, who plays Rocky, walks up next to you in the wings. He smiles at you, all blond and cheeky. You have to admit that he’s your type, in so much as he looks a lot like Steve. (A fact which Jeremy and his boyfriend Ahmed had taken advantage of the year prior, when they’d gone as self-described “slutty Cap and Bucky” for Halloween. You’d sent the pictures to Bucky, who’d only responded that his arm wasn’t silver anymore. You’d never shown them to Steve). He looks even more like Steve now, his golden briefs and gold knee high boots - the only two articles of clothing on his toned body - oddly reminiscent of the USO tour costume your boyfriend had donned back in the way. 

“You ready to get your cherry popped?” Jeremy whispers as he sidles up by your side.

You grin up at him. “Bring it on.”

You hear your cue and the two of you quickly take your positions on the stage. The movie projector’s light streams above you, showing the film in tandem with your performance. You and Jeremy mouth the lines being said on screen to each other, the actors playing Columbia and Magenta chiming in from the opposite side of the stage. And then your song starts. 

I was feeling done in, you pout, lip syncing to Susan Sarandon’s voice. Couldn’t win. I’d only ever kissed before.

I said there’s no use getting into heavy petting. It only leads to trouble and, you pull a grimace, seat-wetting.

The audience laughs, sending an electric warmth through your body as you launch yourself into the next part of the song. 

Now all I want to know is how to go. I’ve tasted blood and I want more, you lip sync to the music.

You move downstage, closer to Jeremy. He staggers back, clumsy, exactly how a man born two hours ago would be. The two of you play up the virginity of your characters, stealing furtive glances and nervously touching your own bodies as the song continues. 

I’ll put up no resistance, I want to stay the distance. You’re almost chest to chest with Jeremy, a scared and confused frown on his face that you nearly want to laugh at. 

I’ve got an itch to scratch. I need assistance.

You throw yourself at Jeremy, and the two of you begin your more complicated sexy choreography. Your skirt disappears. You’re practically on top of him when you catch a sliver of light out of the corner of your eye, coming from the back of the house. The light disappears, but you see a flash of light hair move through the aisles of the theater, until it disappears at the back of the house. You internally roll your eyes, returning your attention to Jeremy. It’s probably just some twink who spent too much time oiling themself up, but still, rude. 

You turn back to Jeremy and grind down. You throw your head back, rocking on top of him while Susan Sarandon does the same on screen. 

This is why you do this every year; in your normal life, you work a normal 9 to 5, and Jeremy is a yoga instructor. Only here do you two get to be harlot and himbo, respectively, having fake sex while people yell at you and yet feeling happy and at home. For the month of October this cast and the audience is your spooky little family, even down to that late-arriving twink. 

You end the song to raucous cheers, panting from your perch on top of Jeremy, behind the colored plastic of Rocky’s tube. Jeremy throws a wink your way, knowing that the audience can’t see him. You grin back. 

You’re still grinning as you walk offstage after bows, the raucous hooting and hollering of the audience ringing in your ears. You run back to your dressing station, hoping to change quickly and head to the alley on the side of the theater where the cast all hang out after the show. 

You find your station as you’d left it, and quickly throw on the corset top, skirt and boots you’d had on earlier in the day. Unfortunately, your jacket is nowhere to be found. You shrug, figuring it’ll turn up by next weekend’s show, and head out the back door of the theater. You round the corner to the alley, spotting your cast immediately. 

“There she is, the supreme slut herself!” Mac calls when he sees you. 

You grin, and give a little bow. Ahmed had clearly found Jeremy after the show, so you join the circle between him and your castmate Jaz as the group hoots and hollers at you.

“Where’s your coat?” Ahmed frowns at you. 

“I’m sexy, Ahmed, I don’t need a coat,” you say, shivering. 

Ahmed is unimpressed. Jeremy snorts. 

“Sexy grandpa over there has a coat,” Jeremy points to your right, where a tall, broad blond is making his way over towards your group. The smile drops from your face. 

“Is that the guy who came in late?” you hear Jaz whisper right as Steve reaches you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

“I have an extra jacket in the car,” he whispers to you, letting you know he heard the entire conversation prior. 

“I’m Steve,” he says, waving at your castmates. 

It’s obvious by the looks on their faces that they know who he is, but they have enough tact, at least, not to comment on Steve’s obvious celebrity status. Steve’s appearance on the other hand…

“Damn, Y/n! We thought you had a Brad at home but turns out you were hiding a full on Rocky!” Jeremy hollers. Your cheeks go hot and Steve blushes a furious shade of red. Ahmed smacks Jeremy on the arm, but the himbo just looks down at his boyfriend, confused. 

Mac swoops in to save your ass.“Oh, the famous boyfriend! I didn’t think you were coming tonight.”

Steve gives a tight smile. “It was a surprise for Y/n.”

Your stomach drops at the hurt you hear lurking under his words. 

“Sorry to get here late, I uh,” he looks at you, the threat of a talk to be had later clear in his eyes, “got a little lost on the way.”

Your castmates fawn over Steve for a little while longer and then you quickly make your goodbyes, Steve walking you back to his car. If you were shivering before, you’re shaking now, your nerves and the cold working in tandem. Steve’s eyes fall on you as he climbs into the front seat, concern shining through. He reaches into the back seat, pulling out a navy SHIELD hoodie.

“Here,” he gently places the sweatshirt in your lap. 

His eyes trail over your face for a moment, searching for something. You don’t know what to say. 

Steve sighs, pulling the key out and turning it in the ignition. 

You throw the sweatshirt over your head, fasten your seatbelt. Steve pulls the car away from the curb in total silence. 

Neither of you says anything for the entire drive back to your apartment. Steve keeps looking over at you, expressions shifting through his eyes too quickly for you to catch, and then turning back to the road without a word. You want to say something, but your mind fills with your first boyfriend, with hot shame on your back. He pulls the car up outside of your apartment, parks on the street (which is no small feat in the city). 

“Is it alright if I come in? I think we need to talk.”

You only nod, hands nearly trembling in your lap. 

You can hear the sound of every mechanism as you unlock the front door, Steve’s stoic silence so utterly unnerving that you nearly flinch when you actually get the door open. Steve walks in behind you, clicking the door shut and locking it after you’re both safely inside. 

“That was-” Steve walks to one of the armchairs in your living room and takes a seat. “That was some show you guys put on back there.”

He holds an arm out, gesturing for you to sit down on the couch in front of him. You acquiesce, forcing yourself to take your seat at the very edge of the couch, hands twisting in your lap. 

“How much did you see?” 

“How’d you find out?” you ask, unable to really meet his gaze.

Steve “You weren’t with Wanda. I got worried and then tracked your phone.”

Guilt twists in your gut like you ate something bad. Of course your perfect superhero boyfriend found out you lied about your location and got worried. You glance at Steve, taking in his furrowed brow, his focused gaze trained completely on you. 

“Are you mad at me?” you ask, unable to take the silence anymore. 

Steve sighs.

“I’m not happy that you lied to me,” he says. 

It’s his Captain-America-is-disappointed-in-you voice. Brutally effective. The guilt twists again. 

“But I guess- I want to know why you felt the need to?”

You swallow, trying to find the words. It made so much sense to you before, but now all your insecurity feels so incredibly stupid. 

“I thought you’d think- well, I didn’t know what you’d think. I guess I was scared that you wouldn’t want me if you found out I didn’t fit your image anymore.”

Steve raises a singular self-righteous eyebrow. “Fit my image?”

“You’re Captain America! One of Earth’s mightiest heroes! The embodiment of truth, justice, and the American way!”

“That’s Superman,” Steve deadpans.

You glare at him.“So not the point. The point is, you’re like, this paragon of virtue and I’m with you. I’m supposed to be Cap’s best girl. And what I did tonight… What I do in October… I thought it’d be like, an ‘embarrassing display of perversion’ to you or something. It’s not a good look for you if Mrs. America turns out to be a two-bit floozy.”

Amusement curls at the corner of Steve’s lips. Your cheeks burn. 

“Floozy?”

“What, do you prefer ‘hussy’?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. “Sorry that I don’t know your favorite old-timey word for slut, Steve!”

A laugh bursts out of Steve, one you’d find infectious and charming if it wasn’t aimed at you. Your gut sinks. Maybe he would have forgiven you for being a whore but now you’re a dumb whore. You cross your arms over your chest while Steve sobers, taking a few moments to shake his head and clear his throat before he looks back up at you. 

“Do I get to talk now?”

His voice is a warm mix of stern and gentle. It gives you the distinct impression of being scolded by your favorite teacher in middle school. You steel yourself. 

“Three things,” he says, holding up three fingers. “First off, I don’t think you’re a floozy. Or a hussy, or a loose woman, or whatever it is you think we said back in the day. I’m not some pearl-clutching grandmother at church. I’m not in the habit of judging someone’s character based on how much they have sex, and I wouldn’t assume to know anything about it based on a performance or a costume.”

He fixes you with a gaze that’s all fire but not quite meant to burn you. “I really hated it when people used to make those assumptions about me.”

Shame washes over you. He’d been so open with you about his life before the serum, about all the assumptions people had about his former life. And you, like an idiot, had taken Captain America at face value, just like they had. 

Your mouth falls open, excuses already forming on the tip of your tongue, but Steve holds up a hand. You sag into the couch, but nod for him to continue.

“Two: you’re my partner, not a marketing campaign. I don’t care and have never cared what the optics are. I want to be with you, Y/n. I’m in love with you. I don’t know who put ‘Cap’s best girl’ shit in your head, but I want it gone.”

You sit stock still, shock setting in. Yeah, the other stuff is important and you’re not off the hook but he’s in lo-

“You’re in love with me?” you’re tense, half sure that pointing out his words are the wrong move.

Steve’s brow furrows. Then they go wide. He flushes bright pink, flashing a sheepish smile. 

“That’s not how I wanted it to come out.”

Your heart flutters. You can’t help the little smile that breaks the line of your lips. You quickly school it down, so that you can look him in the eye and deliver your honest apology.

“I’m sorry, Steve. It was shitty to lie to you, especially given what can happen with your job. And it was shitty to make assumptions about what you’d think. I should’ve just talked to you.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” he repeats, clearly trying to make that stick. “I’m sorry, too, that I didn’t make it clearer how much I love every part of who you are.”

Your lip twitches. You really love hearing him say that. 

Steve’s sharp eyes catch everything, as always. “You like that?”

He stands from the chair, walking over to sit beside you on the couch. You nod furiously. He smiles a little, but then goes serious again.

“There’s no pressure to say it back. If you’re not ready or-”

“I love you,” you rush out.

You don’t give him time for the victory to settle in, instead launching yourself at him so you can press your lips against his. You make out for a while, melting into Steve as you lay him out under you on the couch. When you pull away, it’s abrupt.Steve pouts, his lips bereft from your absence. 

“What was the third thing?” you ask, giving him a quick peck to keep him sated.  

His mind is miles away. “What?”

“Earlier, you said you had three things to say. What was the third one?”

“Oh. Oh.” 

He smiles, a particularly devastating blend of shy and wicked that only Steve could manage to pull off. “The third thing is how unbelievably hot I found that ‘embarrassing display of perversion’ you put on.”

Your cheeks heat in an entirely different way than they had earlier.

“Yeah?”

Steve nods vigorously. You giggle at him, before dropping an assessing gaze over his form. 

“You know, you’d look really hot in a corset and fishnets,” you muse aloud. 

Steve’s eyes go wide as saucers, the color in his cheeks rapidly getting darker. His mouth hangs open.

“I’ll uh- take that into consideration,” he manages. 

You giggle again and pull him down into another kiss before his cheeks can get any redder.

#ip fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #steve x reader #steve x you #steve x y/n #halloween fic #marvel fic #mcu fic

[sillicii]

✦ — 18+ Chatbot | Hugo the Demon Butler — ✦

✦ — ᴏᴄ | ᴅᴀʀᴛʜᴍᴏᴏʀ ᴇsᴛᴀᴛᴇ | 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 — ✦

ᴀɴʏᴘᴏᴠ | sғᴡ ɪɴᴛʀᴏ | ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs ᴄᴡ: non-con, size difference, supernatural/demonic/religious themes, potential violence/death Hugo is an original character from my Darthmoore Estate universe. You can read the introduction here.

Character Description:

First message:

Darthmoor Estate harboured its fair share of peculiarities, amongst them, its colourful cast of denizens and a labyrinth of seemingly endless rooms sprawling across multiple floors and maze-like hallways that often led to dead ends or worse. Its medieval structure had weathered countless transformations under Hugo's stewardship as both primary custodian and head butler to the scant few servants. As the earl’s most trusted servant, Hugo ran the household with a tight leash and meticulously maintained his lord’s dominion however bewildering those standards may be.

It was a responsibility Hugo took immense pride in and yet, despite his vigilance, something had slipped past his scrutiny. It was inconceivable that a human could infiltrate the estate and remain undetected for hours. The discovery came when a number of Opal's seeing-eyes spotted the trespasser skulking through the upper floors. Ordinarily, a lone human wouldn't be cause for alarm and on several occasions the issue took care of itself when the unsuspecting human ventured into some dark corner where its shadowy inhabitants were more than happy to dispatch the uninvited guest.

However, where other intruders faltered and met their ends, you proved to be unlike the ones that came before. As the butler stepped through the dim corridors, he followed the faint trail left behind by an unusual soul, you almost seemed purposeful, methodically scouring the vicinity as if searching for something specific.

The gentle rhythm of leather shoes on the carpeted floors echoed in the silence even as he drew closer towards you. At each door, he paused as you must have done prior, raising the candelabra and surveyed the room with the flickering light before moving onto the next. His demeanour exuded stoicism and a palpable sense of disinterest, giving the impression that he was merely executing his routine duties with mechanical precision. Under the stoicism however, Hugo’s steps hastened when he was met with one empty room after another and it slowly dawned to him that you truly were not like the others.

A human that dared venture into Darthmoor uninvited and searched the premises with a goal in mind.

Empowered by a surge of determination, Hugo shed all pretences and homed in on his objective. As a demon, he possessed a heightened sensitivity to human presence, particularly attuned to the lingering essence of their souls—a scent that served as a beacon for a demon on the prowl. He had already been on the trail, but he now pursued its source with purposeful strides.

Despite the gravity of the task at hand, Hugo couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration for your ability to evade capture thus far. More often than not, his prey consisted of lordly humans, pompous and slow-witted, adorned with titles they scarcely deserved. They posed little challenge, their escape ending swiftly and unremarkably. Hugo disposed of them efficiently, their carcasses discarded for the moor to consume, not even worthy of hound feed.

Pausing when he finally located you, Hugo found himself outside your choice of refuge in one of the estate's many sitting rooms. As he opened the ornate wooden door, the room felt eerily still, save for the unmistakable scent that betrayed your presence. Hugo closed the door softly behind him, his gaze swept the room, noting the absence of the stoker from its place by the fireplace. You had armed yourself—an unexpected twist, but one that held no true concern for him. Hugo’s attention landed to a wooden trunk nestled in the corner of the room and with his senses attuned, he now detected the rapid thud of your heart and barely audible rasp of your breath. Even the subtle trembling of the brass stoker in your hand, evidence of your willingness to defend yourself…

Which then begged the question, what had you seen that spooked you so terribly? Humans typically did not resort to violence unless given a reason and he wondered what could have driven you to such desperate measures.

Without hesitation, Hugo reached out and lifted the lid of the chest. In an instant, you sprang forth, wielding the metal weapon with intent, but Hugo's speed surpassed yours and it appeared you were caught off guard by his towering height. With a swift motion, he effortlessly disarmed and subdued you, watching as you stumbled unceremoniously back towards the chest.

“Not one for formalities, are you…?” Hugo’s voice rumbled softly, the faintest hint of amusement in his tone as he nonchalantly kicked away the stoker. Turning back to face you, he regarded you with an ethereal glow in his red eyes, noting the weariness and fear etched into your features. “I had intended to bid you a good evening and offer my apologies for not greeting you sooner… but it seems you've chosen to behave barbarically. At Darthmoor, we pride ourselves on our hospitality. While we may forgive an uninvited guest for slipping through the back door… Attacking a host in their own home is pressing on the limits of our patience…”

Hugo observed the tremble in your body and the bloodshot gaze fixed upon him, a gaze that seemed to suggest a recognition of his true nature. But you knew nothing. What you thought you knew barely scratched the surface of the horrific truth lurking within Darthmoor's walls.

“It appears you fancy yourself a detective of sorts,” Hugo continued, unable to suppress a smirk at the terror evident in your expression. If only he possessed the ability to peer into minds, he was certain he would find the contents of yours rather entertaining. “You dropped this while arming yourself.”

With a flick of his wrist, he produced a small leatherbound journal, holding it delicately between his immaculately gloved fingers. Hugo made a show of flipping through the pages, skimming its contents with an unreadable expression before looking back up at you. The second he snapped the book back shut in his hands, the room shifted from a luxurious sitting room into a damp dingy cell. A simple teleportation to move the interrogation into a location more befitting.

“Explain,” he commanded, his tone firm. “Now.”

Scenario:

{{user}} is investigating the numerous unsolved disappearances around the Darthmoor area. Hugo is now hunting you down and will not permit you to leave the estate alive. Depending on {{user}}’s actions and words, Hugo would either eliminate you quickly out of annoyance or if he finds you amusing then he may prolong the torture, having you locked in the dungeons and maybe even make a meal out of your soul.

Example dialogue:

{{char}}: “The worth of a soul is not so easily gauged, nor is such a thing static. It evolves, sings in pitches both resonant and quiet. Every soul has its own song, its own allure.” {{char}}: “Are you even trying, dear?” Hugo looked half amused as he watched you struggle to accommodate his unnaturally shaped cock. “Do put your back into it… Or must I do even this myself?” {{char}}: “Say another word and risk losing your tongue,” Hugo was livid, fire raging behind his blazing eyes. “I won’t stand to hear another insult uttered of my master.”

#janitor ai #chatbot #my-bot #my-bots #my ai art #darthmoor #darthmoor estate #original characters #original art #ai art #concept art #supernatural #gothic #goth aesthetic #vampire #eldritch #selkie #demon #elf #dark elf #english folklore #original concept #my concept #darthmoor-hugo

[paigenoelchas-blog]

They were everywhere. Those happy couples walking in the sunlight with their coffees and their dogs. Lately, she dreamed of how she could erase those smug smiles from their faces.

It was raining, of course. At least the weather matched her mood. She pulled up the collar on her leather jacket as she clung to the walls in the town square trying to stay as dry as possible. She hadn't cared much for her appearance this morning, loosely pulling her long curls into a braid and throwing a beanie on to brace herself from the cold. She hadn't worn makeup. There was no need, he wouldn't be here. She had barely checked to see that she had chosen clean clothes and matching shoes.

The weather certainly was cold. All she needed was pneumonia to end this horrible day, this horrible year. Or maybe that is what she needed, an excuse to stay in bed, away from the world for a few weeks. At least then she didn't have to fake the smile that everyone wanted to see.

A police officer drove by quickly, were they after Jake? Was he in the area? She worried constantly. She never trusted that he was safe or taking care of himself. She never knew what country he was in or where he was sleeping... if he was sleeping. Part of her wondered if he was sleeping alone. She knew better, but the separation had done some ugly things to her brain, warped it somehow.

All she needed was another reason to think about what things would be like if he was around. She could take care of him then, and love him the way he deserved to be loved. It made her heart ache for the things that she wanted to do with him, the life they should be living.

Now, she was powerless, sickeningly in love, lonely, and a little lost in her darkness. It wasn't the choice that she had expected at this point in her life. It wasn't the choice anyone could have planned for.

But then again, no one chooses who they love or how their heart feels, no control over the electricity that can pass between two people.

She hadn't expected to be in love with a man on the run, one that she couldn't be with. She hadn't planned on being so heartbroken, so pathetic. She reminded herself of one of the forlorn women in a Bronte novel, pining in the darkness, eternally separated from their love, unable to move on. Shouldn't be surprised, this was her life, separated from the one she loved and unable to move on. Every day she plowed through, going to work and attending public events as needed, but her heart was missing from all of it. She was a shell of who she had been and it was starting to show. The fake pleasantries could only last for so long.

All she managed at this moment was to walk around this godforsaken town waiting for a call or a text from someone that she had never met but loved with every atom in her body.

It wasn't that she didn't have friends, the group from Duskwood was still close, talking via video chat at least once a week, but it usually made her miss him more. He was a big part of that adventure and talking with Jessy and the rest was lovely but it made his absence more palpable. She often left those conversations with tears in her eyes and a restless night of sleep.

The part that bothered her the most was that she wasn't a naturally bitter person. This feeling was one she was not used to. She usually was the first to rally around and congratulate others on their happiness. She used to be the first to "ooh" and "ahh" over a baby or watch two couples be adorable in their outward affection for each other, but now, it was like a knife in her heart. She had changed. Her loneliness and her heartache had created a miserable MC with no real capacity to find the joy that was once there.

She hated the world of happy people, hated that she hated that people were delighted, hated that she couldn't find comfort or pleasure without him.

She couldn't find joy or compassion either, not anymore. She knew that she wouldn't find it until he returned.

So, she waited for a phone call or a text that reminded her that she was loved, reminded her that there were light places in this world. She waited for the test that would let her know that her love was safe. She dreamed of the day that he would tell her that they could be together.

As she walked through the streets, dark and damp, she felt her phone vibrate, alerting her of a text. She thought about ignoring it. It was probably work, or Jessy inviting her to a girl's night. But she always forced herself to keep on including the outside world. She wanted it to be there when she found herself again.

This time, it wasn't Jessy.

And a smile, radiant and alive, filled her with the warmth and joy that she had been missing.

#duskwood jake #jake x mc #jake duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood fandom #duskwood mc #duskwood fanfiction #iamjake #mc x jake #duskwood mc x jake

[callmebyyournamephoto]

Much of the movie was filmed on studio soundstages, said King, although some scenes were shot on location in the UK, offering a glimpse of the hysteria that follows his star.

“I got an insight into Timothée Chalamet’s life, which is people leaning out of windows and screaming, ‘Marry me!’” he recalled, chuckling. “It was quite strange … I don’t know what they thought was going to happen.”

King’s gratitude towards Chalamet was palpable: “It was a huge commitment for him because it was a very long shoot and there was a lot (of) singing and dancing.”

“What’s so fabulous about him is you feel a lot of people his age would have been tempted to put on a superhero outfit and then sort of go and save the world,” he added. “And I managed to get him to put on a pair of heeled leather boots and do some tap dancing.”

Director Paul King for CNN - July 11, 2023

#timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #2023 #paul king #wonka #wonka movie #cnn

[invisibleraven]

'' are you gonna kiss me good night? '' for rulie?

Also for @daintyduck99 who sent me the exact some prompt and pairing!

Julie was never sure why her brain latched onto the most clueless himbos, but it did.

There was Nick who was too far into CarrieLand to see Julie there, ready to be a much nicer, supportive girlfriend who treated him like the prince he was. She swore she could have held up a sign saying I Like You and he wouldn't have gotten the message. And by the time he did notice her, her crush was good and dead, so they were destined to remain friends and occasional dance partners.

Then there was Luke, who obviously returned her feelings, but never made a move. He didn't want to screw up the band, or their friendship, and no matter how much she assured him that nothing would change, eventually they decided it would be better not to act on their feelings. Much to the disappointment of everyone who were pulling for them to get together. Then they went on one very awkward date just to shut them all up, and came back declaring they had definitely made the right decision regarding them dating.

After that, Julie swore off dating people within her friends circle. She had a few flings during college, a serious relationship or two, but by the time she graduated, she was single once more and happy to stay that way.

Of course this was when Reggie decided to reappear in her life. The band was taking a break so that Alex and Willie could get married and honeymoon. Luke was stuck in a song writing fugue, and Reggie decided to reconnect with his old friends, Julie first and foremost.

They met for dinner one night, and Julie had never had a more awesome time. He was still Reggie of course, full of corny jokes and inane thoughts, but he's also grown up. Seemed more settled and mature, able to get into deep discussions about her job as a composer regarding music theory and then switch to talking about the exhibit the boys had seen at the Getty that he was sure Julie would love.

It didn't hurt that he'd grown into his looks either. The same crooked grin and sparkling sea glass eyes, but he was a bit broader, less gangly.

Plus he still flirted like a champ, and part way through the night, Julie realized that she was flirting back.

Oh. Oh no.

But she kept doing it, unable to stop the rampant attraction and ease she felt, and even when they were nearly kicked out of the diner at close, they kept it up. Trading compliments and small touches as Reggie walked her back to her place.

So what if she told him the long way round to get there and they stopped for a bit to admire the clear night sky that only appeared in LA once in a blue moon?

Eventually though, they were lingering outside her door, and Julie wondered how much she would have to twirl her hair and flutter her eyelashes for Reggie to get the message.

"This was fun," Reggie said, running his fingers through his hair. "We should do it again some time."

"Definitely," Julie agreed, taking once step further into his space and grinning when he didn't back up. "Though I don't think we can ever show our faces at that diner again."

Reggie laughed at that, shaking his head. "No, probably not."

They stood there for another heartbeat, staring at one another, the tension between them palpable. Finally Julie had enough. ''Are you gonna kiss me good night or what? ''

Reggie startled, then beamed at her. "Thought you'd never ask." He leaned in and kissed her softly, a mere whisper of a kiss, pulling back a little then dove forward once more, a bruising, hungry kiss that had Julie's toes curling in her shoes and her fingers digging into his leather jacket, keeping him close.

They were both breathing heavy when they pulled apart, eyes aflame as they kept eye contact. "Good night Julie," Reggie whispered.

"Good night Reggie," she replied. Leaning up to plant a much gentler peck to his lips, almost making him whine.

It took all her strength to push him away, and go inside, hand over her racing heart, but a smile stretching her face. Plus some heart emojis from the bassist outside her door that made her ache for their next date.

And it wasn't long before Reggie kissed her good night-and good morning every day.

#filled prompts #ficlet #rulie #julie and the phantoms