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hxxsxxngx · 1 month

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HEESEUNG 이희승 - STEPBROTHER

MINORS DNI

Word Count : 3.3k

Genre : SMUT

Content : step!sibling! (if you are uncomfy don’t read), begging, oral, nipple play, mentions of pandemic, unprotected sex, creampie. lmk if i missed anything!

Preview : After a pandemic took over the nation, how will you and your step brother cope with the house to yourselves.

Authors note : I hope you enjoy <3

SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING if you want

It was an unexpected situation being stuck at home with Heeseung during the pandemic lockdown. He was only a few years older than you, but at very different stages of life - you were still in college while he had already graduated and was just living at home to save money.

With both your parents working the afternoon shift at the hospital as essential workers, you two had the house to yourselves during the day. You figured Hee would spend most of that time holed up in his room, playing video games and chatting with his friends online like usual. And at first, that's exactly what happened. For weeks, he'd wake up late and then disappear into his room, the sounds of gameplay and his friends' voices filtering out from behind the closed door.

Meanwhile, you filled those lonely days by mindlessly scrolling on your phone or napping the hours away in your own room, emerging only to grab food. The house felt eerily quiet and empty even with Heeseung there. You were both just about existing under the same roof, going about your isolated pandemic existence in parallel lines.

Seung had always been the quiet, reserved type - never one to flaunt romantic relationships or bring many girls around. He kept things low-key, sticking to his close circle of friends whom he was intensely loyal to. Looking at him, you would assume he never had any luck with the ladies. But saying he NEVER brought a girl home would be a complete and utter lie.

Back when he was in university, every once in a blue moon, you'd hear some...noises coming from his bedroom late at night. At first, you tried to ignore it, but the sounds of rhythmic creaking and muffled gasps were unmistakable. Your face would burn realizing what was going on in the next room over.

Your bedroom happened to border his, the thin walls giving you unintentionally intimate knowledge of Heeseung’s occasional overnight guests. A soft feminine giggle would drift through, followed by his low rumbling tones, indistinct but clearly meant to be seductive. The telltale sounds of activity would start up again minutes later.

You'd lie awake, pulling your pillow tightly over your ears, trying desperately to block it all out. But it never worked - small creaks, breathy gasps, and rhythmic squeaks of the bedsprings would persistently filter through no matter what. On those nights, you couldn’t help but to slip your fingers into your panties, wondering what it would be like if it were you in the room with him instead. This would even happen on nights of complete silence. The thought of being fucked senselessly by your stepbrother was eating you alive.

But the next morning was always awkward. You'd have to look Heeseung in the eye over breakfast, knowing you'd been an unwitting aural witness to his private activities. He'd act like nothing happened, utterly shameless, while you averted your eyes burning with silent humiliation.

Those rare evenings served as reminders that Hee did indeed have a sexual side, despite his outward personas a quiet, studious homebody.

You were surprised but pleased when Hee first started initiating hangouts and inviting you into his personal space. At first, it seemed innocent enough - watching movies together in his room, playing co-op video games side-by-side, or even just sitting in comfortable silence as you both worked or read. A welcomed change from the isolation you'd both been existing in.

But as the weeks rolled on, those hangout sessions started awakening feelings in you that you never expected to have towards your stepbrother. With so much time spent together in close quarters, you began noticing things about him that you'd previously overlooked - the way his shirts hugged his toned arms, how his brow crinkled adorably when he was concentrating, the rich warmth of his laugh.

You found yourself stealing sidelong glances at him as he gamed, admiring the sharp line of his jaw and how effortlessly cool he looked with that headset on. Or zoning out while bingeing shows, becoming hyper-aware of him next to you on the bed, close enough that you could smell his subtle cologne and body wash.

At first you brushed off those wayward thoughts and traitorous flutters in your belly. This was just your loneliness and proximity talking after being cooped up together for so long. But you couldn't deny the way your skin grew warm whenever Heeseung’s hand brushed yours reaching for the popcorn. Or how your breath caught when he absently stretched and his shirt rode up, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of toned abdomen.

What started as harmless hangouts quickly began skirting a dangerous line once you registered the undeniable physical attraction simmering between you two. You noticed him sneaking appreciative looks at you as well sometimes. The shifting energy was palpable, brewing tension that went beyond just bonding as stepson and stepdaughter.

Those hangouts that once brought you connective comfort took on a new, charged meaning. You tried to bury the symbolic meaning behind Seung inviting you alone into his private bedroom sanctuary. But it became impossible to ignore when he started finding excuses to "accidentally" graze you with his knee or arm, sending tingles through you at every simple point of contact.

It became a delirious game of brutal restraint and forced obliviousness whenever you were alone with him. You overanalyzed every smile, laugh, and lingering touch, uncertain whether you were reading too much into the gestures or if he felt the same smoldering tension. The captive, heavy atmosphere only grew more stifling with each encounter until you knew something had to finally burn through and break.

————-

The bedroom door clicks shut behind you and instantly that familiar electric tension crackles in the air. Your heart pounds as you turn to face Heeseung lounging on his bed, controller in hand as he's immersed in another video game.

"Hey, wanna join?" he asks casually, patting the space beside him. Such an innocent invitation loaded with so much more weight these days.

You nod, trying to keep your cool as you settle onto the bed, your sides brushing. The warmth of his body so close to yours is utterly disarming. His intoxicating cologne and body wash surrounds you in an arousing haze. You try to focus on the game but are hyperaware of every subtle movement, every shifted position that puts your bodies even closer.

Jungwon curses as his character dies and you chance a sidelong glance at him. The way the words slip from his mouth is so insanely sexy. The tendons in his forearms flex entrancingly as he grips the controller. Your gaze tracks up to the sharp line of his jaw, admiring his beautiful tanned skin. You tear your eyes away before he catches you staring, but not before drinking in the broad expanse of his shoulders straining against his t-shirt.

As the gameplay continues on, you can't resist sneaking admiring looks at the man beside you. The man who has been awakening such unbidden feelings and cravings in you for weeks now. The chemistry between you both has built to a fever pitch you can no longer ignore or rationalize away.

Your entire body is hyper-tuned to him, tingling at every casual point of contact - his knee brushing your thigh, the tickle of his arm hair grazing your skin as he shifts positions. You imagine how electrifying it would feel to have those muscled limbs wrapped around you instead of just these maddening, transient touches.

Hee lets out a dramatic groan of frustration at another death, running a hand through his soft brown hair. You watch hungrily as his shirt rides up to expose a tantalizing strip of toned abdomen. Does he have any idea the effect he has on you with these simple, unaware gestures? The aching need he stokes in you just by existing so close?

As if he can sense your yearning gaze, Heeseung turns his head to meet your eyes. You feel pinned under the heated intensity of his stare, rendered breathless as he deliberately lets his eyes drag over every inch of you. The atmosphere thickens further with the sudden acknowledgment that you both feel this irresistible magnetic pull.

In that searing, loaded look, you see reflected the inner turmoil you've been grappling with - the tangled guilt over these unbrotherly urges warring with the feverish desire that leaves you undone at his smallest glance. The unspoken question of what might happen if one of you finally has the courage to act on those simmering tensions that charge every breath between you.

You can't take this torture any longer. Your mouth is dry, body humming with arousal and need as you open your mouth to finally break the silence. But Heeseung cuts you off by closing the scant distance between you in one decisive movement, capturing your lips in a searing, hungry kiss you've been starving for.

————-

He pulls your head down into a more passionate kiss. You could tell that he has been wanting this. These kisses started turning into rougher, sloppier ones. Your tongues were exploring each other's mouths. He is naturally such a great kisser. He knew what to do and when to do it. He even bit your lip a few times, which was extremely hot.

He sat on the edge of the bed and signaled for you to straddle him. Such an invitation could not go unaccepted, so you crawled onto his lap and continued kissing.

Without even realizing it, you start grinding your hips while on his lap, creating friction that you both desperately needed. It was so subtle but so effective. It made your breaths shallow but you didn't want Hee to say anything about it. You tried so hard to contain your self but you let out a slight moan.

"Mhmm do you like that baby?, you didn't think I would notice what you are doing here?, don't worry because i'm really enjoying it to."

WHAT? You think to yourself. "I'm glad you are enjoying yourself." he says as he slightly chuckles.

This man KNOWS how to make you feel embarrassed, but he doesn't mind what you are doing and you surely don't either. It's as if he were saying these things to provoke you to do it more. So you did. You were desperate.

You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. You could also feel his bulge get a lot more obvious under you.

He gets to the point where he can't take it anymore. He grabs you and picks you up, in the same position that you were sitting on his lap in, and he turns you around and slams you onto the bed, having you laying on your back.

His pants looked like they were getting tight from his painfully large erection. You are so tempted to strip him of his clothes and have it your way, but, you knew that he wasn't gonna happen.

He crawls on top of you and starts kissing you again. This time, more forceful and hungrily. He then starts kissing down your neck and your collarbones. He sucks on your sensitive skin, leaving purple hickies all over your upper chest and neck.

Both you and him start breathing heavily. He pulls at the bottom of your t-shirt, signaling that he wanted to take it off of you. You lift your arms and he slides your shirt off. You are left exposed with only a bra on. He goes in and starts leaving hickies on the exposed parts of your breasts.

He goes back up to kissing your lips passionately while caressing your breasts with his big, muscular hands.

You feel one of his hands slide down you back, you assume it's to unhook your bra. The feeling of his hand grazing on your back gives you goose bumps. He unhooks your bra and gently pulls it off of you.

He admires your beautiful, topless body.

"I hope you know that I have wanted this for so long, ever since our parents got together" He said sincerely.

You can't help but to blush. You are left speechless. You pull him down to give him another kiss.

He pulls away from your lips and immediately goes down to sucking on your nipples. He swirls his tongue and it make you short of breath. "Ah~h~ you are so good at this Seungie." You hands are gripping his hair, fueling him to do more.

He stands up and towers over you, throwing his shirt off and to the side. His eyes were full of lust and determination. He ran his fingers up your thighs and stopped to hold them around the seam of your shorts. You lift up your hips, assuring him that it is okay to take them off.

He pulls of your shorts and your panties in one go. “You always look so fucking hot in these shorts when you walk around the house, but i’ve always wondered what you would look like with them off” he says in a deep, raspy voice. His bulge poking through his basketball shorts brushes against your naked pussy, making you so much more desperate.

“I have felt the exact same way about you” you return, leaning up and tugging at the waist of his shorts. “Please let me taste you” you begged.

He can’t help but to have a huge smile on his face and his shorts drop to the ground. His throbbing cock springs out, catching you by surprise. You imaged it to be big, but not like this. Heeseung could see the fear in your eyes as you knelt down to the ground.

“Don’t be scared sweetheart, I will make it fit”.

You don’t know of him saying this makes you feel reassured or more scared but you continued either way.

You grab the base of it and start off with small licks, trying to build up the courage to take more of it. He hummed a little bit when you put your mouth on it. He starts to run his fingers though your hair in the midst of it all.

Once you got confident enough to take more, you found yourself putting you mouth around it and sucking on it more. You start bobbing your head up and down. You were only taking about a third of it to tease him.

He is relieved from all of his built of tension finally being released by the feeling of your mouth around his dick, replicating the real thing.

He soon gets tired of you only sucking on the top and he grips your hair and slowly pushes your head a little bit farther each time, which didn't bother you too much because despite being scared of the size at the start, your throat seemed to mold to the size of his dick very easily.

He groans quietly because he doesn't want to admit that this good feeling has taken a toll on him. Suddenly, he pushes your head all of the way down, with the head touching the back of your throat. He repeats the motion, he is face fucking you with no shame.

The sound of you gagging on his dick and the sound of his quiet moans mixed together made you feel really good. Cute tears start rolling down your face and he looks down to you.

"You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth, and with the tears in your eyes... I almost want to take a picture and save it for later." he said admiringly

You wish he fucking did. You wish that you had met him before your parents met, so that you both could be together instead.

When he talks to you this way you can't feel any other way but than accomplished. You, making your stepbrother feel really good, was a hard concept for you to grasp, but you loved it.

He pulls out of your mouth and pushed your back onto the bed. He leans down and hovers him self over you. “Are you sure you want this” he whispered in your ear. You could feel nothing but horniness and desperation and all you could do was agree to cross the line that could never be taken back.

"Yes, please, this is exactly what I need."

He smiled at your words and starts massaging your clit with his tip slapping it on you wet folds. One he felt the time was right, he gently inserts himself inside of you.

"Fuuuck~" he said under his breath.

He starts with 1 inch, then 2, then 3 until he is almost all the way inserted in you. Giving you time to adjust to his size. He starts going in and out slowly, making sure that you are as comfortable as possible. You winced at the pain at the beginning, but slowly, the pain was turning into pleasure. You had never taken a cock this big in the past, the new feeling was exciting, but stung as well.

He starts picking up the pace once you signaled that it was okay for him to do so. His face and chest was glistening with sweat which you found extremely hot. His deep breathing and the faces he would make as he was sliding his member in and out of you is something that you just don't forget.

“We should have been doing this a long time ago, I can’t get enough of this pussy” he groans

Your cheeks turn red at the thought that these forbidden feelings for your step sibling were not one sided.

He starts going fully in and almost all of the way out with each stroke. He throws his head back in pleasure and his grunts and moans start to get louder. The pace is really fast and it feels like you are on a whole new world. The sound of your skin slapping together and the sound from how wet you are make the atmosphere of the room more intense. Your moans are all over the place, changing from whimpers, to gasping for air, or just screaming his name.

He used his thumb to stimulate your clit. He was like a professional, knowing every trick in the book to make a woman cum. This in itself would make you reach your high very quickly, but you try to hold it back.

"I had imagined your pussy to be heavenly, but this is so much better." Seung says smiling. He takes pride in making you really wet.

“It feels- So good” You choke up. A few more strokes and you could start to feel your orgasm approaching.

"Angh, i'm almost there Hee." you say out of breath.

"Hold it back for me, for just a little bit longer." he says. You are determined to wait until he says it's okay.

He pounds deeper into your pussy, brushing agains your most sensitive spot, making you scream out. His tip repeatedly pressing against your cervix as he bottoms out, as if his dick was perfectly made to fit inside of only you.

Your walls clenched around his dick and he became more breathless. “Let’s cum together”

“Please Seungie, i’m so close pleaseee”

Your cute begs sent him over the edge. He strokes getting slower and sloppier as he releases his seed inside of you. His dick was pulsating inside of you while you rode out your high, digging your nails into his back while trying to contain yourself.

He slowly pulls his limp dick out of you and grabs a rag to clean you up. He leans down to plant a kiss on your forehead. “You can not not anyone” he states sternly.

“Not a soul” you responded looking directly into his eyes.

He chuckles “I should invite you into my room more often”

#enhypen #enhypen niki #enhypen sunoo #heeseung #heeseung smut #jungwon #enhypen x reader #kpop #stray kids #sunghoon #enhypen smut #jay enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen jay #enhypen jungwon #enhypen jake #enhypen fanfiction #enha smut #kpop smut

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simpforsoap · 2 months

Text

Monstrous Lovers- Part 1

Part Two Part Three

It was honest a shot in the dark when you posted that ad, not wanting to let go of your dream house quite yet. However, you couldn’t deny that it was getting harder and harder to make the bills by yourself. There was quite a bit of back and forth between sending the ad out or not, but after a simple post online, you felt it was a good deal, your best friend thinking you were crazy, but you posted it anyways.

Roommate Wanted

1 or more bedrooms, separate bathrooms ranch styled home in the country. Rent 2500/month includes utilities (including, internet, streaming sites, and electricity). Message me if interested, application and interview required prior to approval.

Bit about me: lone female, mixture of at home and in shop work, quiet lifestyle. No pets.

Text preferred if between hours 9 pm to 4 am. Thank you! (xxx) xxx-xxxx.

-----

Soap couldn’t believe his eyes, half blaming it on the tiring mission they had just finished and possible lack of food, but the ad seemed like a great deal. Maybe a little high in price, but he reread that ad three times before nudging Kyle’s shoulder. Gaz’s bleary eyes turned to look at him, half awake.

“What’s up?” his voice was filled with exhaustion, but Johnny paid it no mind (his own energy seemingly endless sometimes) as he turned his phone screen letting Gaz squint and blink a few times to focus on the bright screen.

Soap waited for Gaz to look up at him with an eye brow raised before speaking, “check it out, she posted this two days ago looking for a roommate. Seems like a good deal, maybe a bit pricey but it’s not like we can’t afford it.”

“I mean, yeah it’s a good deal and seems like a good idea, but…I don’t think ghost or the captain will go for it.” Gaz shrugged his shoulders, reading through the ad one more time, unable to deny the way his stomach seemed to twist with the idea of coming back to a home, not just the base.

“I think they’ll agree when they see it.” Soap shrugged, reading through the ad again, even going as far to click into your profile and scroll through some of the public photos you had.

Soap couldn’t stop the giddy feeling running through him as he waited for them to get back to the base, wanting to talk with Ghost and Price regarding this steal of a deal ad.

-------------

You were exhausted, after a long day of several interviews regarding the spare rooms you had, you were beginning to feel like you were gonna have to settle for either the roudy young couple in love, who happened to be expecting or the rather reclusive and silent male who you interviewed. They seemed nice, but you weren’t fully sold on the idea of one of them as roommates.

As you sat in the cafe, a cup of cold tea sitting in front of you, you weren’t expecting your phone to ring. You sighed once before picking it up, “hello?”

“Yeah, I got this number from an ad for some rooms for rent. I wanted to know if it was still available and if we could possible tour it.” The voice was deep, a very slight hoarness to it that made you sit up a bit.

“Uh, yeah we can tour it but I would prefer to do a meet and greet first. I’m at the cafe on the corner of sullivan and market if you want to meet me here.” You glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing it was only a little past two meaning you could handle waiting around a bit longer.

“Perfect, we’ll be there in ten.” Before you could say anymore, the line hung up.

You sat there for a moment, contemplating the risk you were running before deciding ‘what’s the worst that can happen?’

-------

You sat there playing on your phone, having ordered a new tea as yours had gone cold. As you sat there, you jumped when the chair in front of you pulled out, looking up quickly, alarmed before blinking a few times in shock. “Uh…can I help you sir..or uh..sirs?”

You looked up at the men, four of them as the largest of them sat in the chair. You could look at them and tell they were hybrids. It wasn’t uncommon in the area anymore of the hybrids, but you were a little surprised as they sat at your table, thinking briefly how you believed hybrids to stay with one another. The seemingly leader of the four, held his hand out, his lone dragon wing tucked tightly behind his back, tail naturally coiling around the leg of his chair to not take up too much space, “John Price, I believe we spoke on the phone earlier regarding the rooms for rent?”

You blinked a few more times, watching the one with the mowhawk take a seat to your left, the other winged one sitting to your right while the one in an all black mask with his hood up stood behind John. “oh…uh right yes, sorry I…I wasn’t..”

You trailed off, not wanting to sound rude, the one to your left spoke up next a small laugh bubbling in his throat, “no worries, lass! Name’s Johnny, but you can call me Soap, that there is Kyle, or Gaz if you wanted to and the one back there is Ghost. We seen your ad for a roommate or possibly more, we’re very interested.”

You gave a small nervous smiling nodding as you looked at Johnny, then to Price and then Kyle and Ghost, “right, yes. I don’t know if I put it in the ad or not, but it’s a five bedroom ranch styles home, each of us would have their own rooms of course and their own bathrooms. Rent would be 2500 a month, which I know is a bit high, but I tried to throw in as much as I could with that as I could.”

Price nodded giving a small smile to try and put you at ease, “course. Now, the four of us would be the roommates, the price is not a concern at all. We are active duty, often in and out of the home due to work, but we want a place to come back to as home. Something a little more homey than the base is.”

You nodded giving a small smile, “of course, I understand that. I am a hair stylist so sometimes I have clients in home, but most times I work in my shop. I have no pets or anything, house sits on 20 acres of forest land, much of it has been untouched. I’m open to changing things on the property but I don’t want to adjust too much as I like the feel it has.”

You noticed the way Price seemed to take lead, “course, we don’t expect you to change for us love. Now, to get the elephant in the room out of the way, as you can tell we are hybrids. I personally am a dragon, Soap here is a werewolf, Gaz is a harpy and Ghost back here is a wraith. Would that be a dealbreaker for you? And it’s completely okay with being honest.”

You were quiet for a moment, thinking it over before shaking your head a bit, “no, it’s not a deal breaker. I’m not really sure how that works or anything but I’m willing to learn.” You gave a smile, trying to put them at ease, not seeing the way the four of them seemed to look between one another before nodding. “Now, would you like a tour of the house?”

Soap gave a large smile, showing off his sharpened canines, “Would love one lass.”

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notjustjavierpena · 9 months

Note

Hiii!!! Can you do some phone sex with dbf!joel? I’ve seen it around but I’d love your take on it 😈

Pillow

A/N: I love you, anon. This is so fun to write! Keep it coming.

Summary: Leaving for college after fucking your dad’s best friend a whole summer is sure to bring along some withdrawals symptoms.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 smut (MDNI!), pillow humping, f masturbation, daddy kink, phone sex, dirty talk, m masturbation, mutual masturbation, somehow also a bit of fluff

Word count: 2.3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48953992

Pillow

Physically, Joel is annoyingly far away from you when you finally leave for college again, but in your mind, he is very much present all the time during classes. He floods your brain with filth, sweet nothings, a sudden memory of how it feels to kiss him and how his fingers feel inside you.

You miss him and it’s frustrating.

Frustrating to a degree that you haven’t quite experienced before, one that makes you want to say a naughty word just to see him drive across the country to tell you off. It must be withdrawal symptoms, you think, as a result of spending a whole summer being so close to him. Every day bouncing on his dick with his hand on your throat, able to see him, have him, whenever you wanted.

Yes, you have his number in your phone’s contacts, but so far all you have messaged him is that you’ve arrived safely, and his dry response of a simple smiling emoji and a thumbs up tells you that he is not the type to text regularly. You’re surprised he even knows how to use emoticons.

It’s Friday night after your first week back and you are alone in your room. The dormitories are quiet, empty of students who have gone out to celebrate the so far successful survival of being back to having their noses in the books again. Even your roommate has gone out despite her being notoriously known for staying in to read ahead. You wonder if something’s happened to her over the summer that’s changed her — just like you have changed from enthusiastic to filled with dread, unable to say why to anyone.

“Just don’t feel like going out to get hammered,” you’d said instead, head in your pillow as you had tried to hide your blues. Is this heartbreak?

Your face is still squished into your pillow, arms wrapped around it to feel something close to an embrace. All the other decorative ones have been thrown onto the floor. Your blanket has been discarded too since it’s still warm at night. You have one leg tucked under your body as you scroll mindlessly through your Instagram feed and watch stories of people in bars, singing loudly and drinking beer.

It’s been an hour since you texted Joel, the famous non-texter, that you missed him. The radio silence is driving you insane, even more so because you do not wish to be the person who demands constant attention.

But the text has sent your heartbeat skyrocketing. Yet the pulse isn’t just evident in your chest; it’s moved down south so quickly. You miss him, yes, but fuck, you miss his mouth, soft tongue on your clit, pads of his fingers rubbing against that little spot inside you that made you a believer. Though above all, you miss his cock that fits perfectly inside of your, now wet, cunt.

Eyeing the floor, your gaze falls upon your new silk pillow. It was a birthday present from your roommate, something about the silk covering being good for your hair’s health, but right now, it’s going to serve a greater purpose.

You snatch it from the floor and haul it onto the bed, impatiently getting onto your knees to pull your hoodie over your head, exposing your chest, and tug your underwear down to your knees. It’s not like you’re in a hurry since it’s still early, but you are too lazy to take your panties all the way off.

You consider getting up and locking the door for a moment, but you should be able to hear if your drunk roomie stumbles towards your shared room, so the need to get off wins over your laziness once again.

From previous experience, you bunch up the pillow how you like it. The silk is tricky since it’s smoother than your normal pillow, but you manage to straddle the fabric how you want it after holding it in place. It’s so soft and comfortable against your very sensitive skin, cooling against your wet heat.

You reach down between your legs to spread yourself open a little, letting out a soft sound as the bunched-up stuffing of the cushion settles right where you need it the most. Your heart is beating out your chest as you start rutting your pussy against the silk, seeking out some kind of disappearance act for the constant ache and dread in your body from being exposed to missing Joel fucking Miller.

You get lost in the sensation quickly. Warmth spreads across your chest as your breathing becomes heavier. Your sensitive clit throbs, earning friction that gets you humming in pleasure. If you close your eyes, you can almost feel his lips ghosting along your neck and you imagine that he is the one touching you between your legs, chest towards your back, and arm around your waist, so he can cup your mound and plunge two fingers into you. Your walls clench, a higher-pitched moan bouncing off the walls.

You grind harder against the pillow. Your thighs tense a little as you rock back and forth, cunt fluttering as you feel closer to the edge by the second. Oh, how you wish to have his face between your thighs right now. His warm, thick tongue fucking you open as his nose bumps against your swollen nub.

Your hips stutter. Not yet. You wonder if you could wait long enough for a reply. Probably not.

You move to get on your hands and knees, looking down between you and the pillow. There’s a stain on the silk, your arousal having seeped onto the fabric and made a darkened wet patch. Your cunt clenches once more, and another sticky drop of slick drips from you.

“Shit,” you moan quietly at the sight. You are about to reach for your phone to cheekily snap a photo of your mess to send to Joel, but before you can open the camera, a message from Joel ticks in.

You almost come at the mere sight of seeing his name on your phone. It’s still coded in as Joel (dad’s buddy). There’s no need to open it as you read it at the top of the screen.

I have some time. Can I call you? -JM.

You don’t reply. Instead, you call him without a second thought. The beeping sound of your phone ringing has you shivering, but he picks up on the third ring.

“Joel,” you breathe shakily into the receiver.

You hear Joel’s breath hitch in his throat at the tone of your voice. You imagine that he has tensed up since there’s a pause on the other end of the line. Then, “What're you doing?”

“Thinking about you.”

“What are you wearing?” From his tone, you can hear that it’s meant as a joke with a tinge of mockery too. You suppose that you deserve that, but you won’t let him get away with being snarky about this. He needs to know this isn’t just to get adventurous with him, but rather to relieve you of misery.

“Nothing, Daddy, I miss you… It hurts,” you pout despite him not being able to see.

“Where does it hurt?” He plays along. All mockery has vanished. He clears his throat, it sounds dry.

“My little pussy. She needs you,” you make sure your bed squeaks as you start moving on the pillow again. Joel is quiet except for a deep exhale as he listens. It has your head swimming once more in record time, clit throbbing impatiently as you’ve already edged yourself once.

“Fuck, baby. I can hear ya. Got anythin' between those pretty legs?”

“Not my hand,” you say truthfully. You put your phone on speaker to grip the edge of the pillow, snapping your hips forward in your seat.

“What then?”

“My pink silk pillow,” you moan softly as heat starts pooling below your navel again. You want him to join you, but you’re not going to ask.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel breathes deeply in through his nose, a half sigh and moan, “We’ve been apart for a week and you already do this. Gettin' out of hand, baby girl. Don’t ya think so?”

“I can’t function without your cock, Daddy” you feed his ego. It won’t harm anyone because you’ve found your statement to be absolutely true, “Miss being sore. You made me hurt so good, Joel.”

“And now you’ve replaced me with… bedding?” Joel teases, but you hear him shuffling around like he is moving through his house.

“Yeah,” you giggle breathlessly, bunching the pillow up even tighter. You wiggle your hips to seat yourself against the silk as before, a little crease of it nudging against your clit. It makes you push your pelvis harshly yet slowly into it. An idea pops into your mind, “Wanna see?”

You hear the sound of sheets, the clinking sound of his belt being unbuckled, and then the pull of his zipper. That was quicker than you thought.

“Hold on,” he replies and moves his mouth away from the receiver. You prop up your phone against the wall on the floating shelf above the head of your bed, listening to the faint sound of pants being shoved down.

When he finally calls you and the FaceTime logo appears on the screen, you press the green answer button and stare right into the camera. If this was a planned call, you would have thought about your looks and your pose, but Joel will see you just how you are right now.

He isn’t disappointed.

“Fuck, look at you,” he says instead of hello. You cannot see his cock, only his broad naked shoulders, mouth that’s slightly agape, and his eyes, which have become a darker brown with his arousal.

“Daddy’s so potty-mouthed,” you reply innocently, sitting up a little straighter to show off to the camera. You move slowly up and down on the pillow, back arched to push out your chest and one hand curled around your breast.

“How long have you been draggin' your cunt all over that pink cushion, young lady?” He asks in a low voice. His shoulder is moving in a way that tells you enough, and if you could close your eyes without feeling rude, you’d be able to see how it looked when stroked his dick.

“A while, a little after I texted you,” you reply. In the corner, you can see yourself moving on the pillow as your tits bounce slightly. It turns you on to see yourself masturbating more than you’d like to admit, “I’m so horny for you.”

“Bet you are,” his eyes roam hungrily over the screen, “So what are you waiting for?”

“What do you mean?” You pant.

“You want me to see you come, ain't that the plan?” His breathing is accompanied by the sound of his fist pumping his cock, “To show me how good you can treat her when I’m not around to do it?”

You nod as you moan loudly. Sweat has started to form on your chest and breasts, glistening prettily for him as you thrust your hips faster to chase your climax. It climbs steadily, like a coil tightening in your abdomen, starting from behind your cunt.

On the other end of the line, Joel’s heavy breathing is slowly turning into moaning as well. He is getting closer as well, trying his hardest to get to where you are.

“Daddy,” you cry feebly, “I’m gonna fu— come.”

A tingle is creeping up your spine. You’re so close, letting go of your breast to pull the fabric taut with both hands as you rock against it. Where you’ve been panting before, you hold your breath right before you come.

Every single drop of tension in your body seeps out of you as the coil finally snaps. Your orgasm hits you like a runaway train. Your world fades from view for a few seconds, your mouth hanging open in a loud groan. You ride it out without hiding your pleasure from the world, hoping that you truly are the only person in your dormitory right now, concentrating on staring into the camera lens as you gain your vision back.

Joel swears at the sight, speeds up his hand. He scrambles for his phone to angle it towards his dick.

“I’m gonna wreck that little cunt when I see you next time,” he promises through gritted teeth, suddenly letting out a deep grunt of satisfaction as he comes. He paints his hand, nearly dropping his phone amid the intensity, “Fuck, sweetheart.”

You’ve collapsed into your bed, pulled your phone down to hold it away from your face, and stare lovingly at Joel as the camera returns to his face. He looks a little flustered, cheeks slightly pink from the blood coursing through his veins.

“Stay on the phone with me for a while. I promise not to fall asleep,” you plead, swinging a leg out over the edge to pick the blanket up from the floor with your toes. You throw it over yourself, suddenly chilly when the air hits your sweaty skin. It’ll be easier than hiding the evidence by cleaning up too.

“Alright, lemme go wash my hands first,” he says, leaving the frame. You hear his feet patting across the bedroom floor, but then you hear nothing else.

When Joel returns, he gets under the covers as well, “So, how was your first week at—“

You’re snoring ever so slightly. He smiles to himself but doesn’t end the call just yet, watches you fall deeper into slumber for a while before deciding it’s enough. He shoots you a text before plugging his phone in for the night.

Fell asleep on me, Sleeping Beauty. I miss you too. Props to you for not getting foul-mouthed like me. I’ll remember that. -JM.

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astronomysturniolos · 3 months

Text

chris sturniolo x book lover gf-reader!!

admiration in silence

summary: chris loves you, and your reading habits, but what happens when you can’t concentrate anymore because he can’t contain himself from distracting u? (fluff)

warnings: none

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as the sun sets, it gets darker in my room, the only light source are my fairy lights draped over my white walls. the sunset casts a perfect, yellow cast on chris’s face, as he scrolls mindlessly on his phone, laying facing me. i’m sitting up, reading the new book he bought me. he loves buying me books, or really anything. he thinks it’s “mad cute” that i read, and he’s so entertained by it he keeps buying me more to the point that it’s almost covered my whole book shelve. his love language is definitely buying me things. at first i hated it, but i’ve grown to love it now that we’ve been dating for around 8 months.

i’m so engulfed with my book, i don’t even notice that the random sounds from his phone had suddenly stopped until i feel his hand start to gently caress my arm, causing me to shiver.

“what are you doing, chris?” i say kind of in an annoyed tone, which is totally fake because i can never be annoyed at him. “nothing ma, just keep reading” he says not connecting eye contact with me, instead focused on my arm, which is now coated in goosebumps.

i try to focus on my book, but i keep losing my spot, too focused on his touch. “chrisss.” i say, dragging the s out. “what baby?” he asks, lightly chuckling. “you’re distracting me.” “i don’t care.” he says still not lifting his gaze and hand away from my arm.

after a while i begin to get into my book, until i hear the snap of a camera. my head quickly turns to him. “CHRIS.” i yell, laughing slightly. “i’m sorry you just look too cute, ma” he says smiling at the picture on his phone.

i put my bookmark into my page, and drop it onto my nightstand. laying facing him as he sets his phone down on the bed and finally looks at me. his goofy smile widening and i smile too, a blush creeping on my face. i dig my head into his chest as he kisses the top of my head, and brushes his fingers through my hair. “i love your hair.” he states “i love everything about you actually, is that weird?” he asks, but it’s not really a question because he doesn’t really care. “well then call me a wierdo because i love everything about you too” i say, slightly muffled, considering my face is still in his chest, and his hands are still in my hair. he laughs, and then it goes quiet for a minute. a comfortable silence actually. then he whispers “i love you baby. so much.” if i thought i couldn’t fall in love even more with him, i was lying. “i love u to chris.” i say tiredly. we stay in that position, laying with each other, until we fall asleep, intertwined like we were made for each other.

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anna speaks: this would be so me coded if he gave me one chance🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻i lowkey hate this, bc i kinda rushed but anyways hope yall liked this🤗🤗feedback is very appreciated!!

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s4lv4tions · 8 months

Text

numerology; nsfw

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

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

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

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

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

"It's been two years."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today's one of those days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

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

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

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

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

"...Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would it have?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(He's joking. It's a joke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, when—"

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

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

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

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Excuse me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

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

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

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

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick.

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living.

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice.

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all.

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later.

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it.

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased.

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness.

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths?

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns.

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay.

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will.

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body.

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised.

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him.

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw.

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of.

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish.

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die.

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact?

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves.

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin.

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata.

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight.

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry.

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities.

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless.

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce.

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier.

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release.

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes.

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever.

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness.

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more.

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful.

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far.

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again.

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you.

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others.

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips—

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk.

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

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persephosposts · 2 months

Text

Lucifer x gn! Seraphim! Reader

A/N: Hope y’all enjoy reading this

In the early days of Heaven, the very early days, there was an Archangel that lived up in the white clouds. The most beautiful creation to ever exist, God’s favorite son; Lucifer.

Lucifer was known to be the most angelic creation out there. His face was so beautiful with was almost painful to look at, and his voice made even the most ugliest of harmonies sound pure. His creations and ideas were large and powerful, and he strived to make his dreams happens.

Lucifer, being the head Archangel, barely had time for himself with all holy duties he had to fulfill. His main purpose was to carry out his Father’s will, and he did its so perfectly. But, even God himself knew that if there was on heavenly creation he made time for it was for his (Y/N).

(Y/N) was a Seraphim, just a step under Sera. They was made for the sole purpose for Lucifer, God knowing how lonely he could get. So when God made his favorite son a friend as a gift, Lucifer held this gift close to his heart.

Currently, Lucifer was sorting through some scrolls. He made sure all of the facts and notions on the parchment were correct before rolling them back up and throwing them in a pile. As he zoned onto his work, his ear perked up at the quiet sound of the door opening and closing, smirking as he heard a restrained giggle from a familiar voice.

Pretending to not notice, he continued with his work with a smirk on his face, only feigning surprise when he felt someone jump on him. “Oh!” He gasped, ‘accidentally’ loosing his balance and making the two tumble over, the familiar Seraphim laughing in surprise as she landed on his back.

Sliding off him, (Y/N) smiled wildly as Lucifer turned over to look at him. “Did I get you?” They asked through giggles.

“Oh, you most certainly did angel.” He hummed, sitting up to face them. “And what was the purpose of this visit?”

“You’ve been working all day, Luci.” They sighed, frowning a bit. “I’ve missed you, and Sera was becoming boring. She always gives me the minuscule tasks.”

“Well that’s because you’re still learning, my dear.” He sighed, placing his hand on her arm. “Compared to Sera, you’re much younger. But one day, you’ll get the big jobs, like me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” They snickered, the two standing up. Lucifer sighed as he looked up at them, a smile on his face. They were definitely taller than him, with them being a Seraphim, but he didn’t mind one bit. In fact, he quite enjoyed the height difference.

“How’s the weather up there, angel?”

“Funny.” They said with an eye roll. “Such a funny Archangel you are.”

“Oh, I know!” He laughed, making the Seraphim smile with glee as they touched his arm.

“Tag, you’re it!” They laughed, Lucifer gasping with fake offense.

“Oh! I don’t think so!” He yelled, flying off after her.

***************************************************

“I got you!” Lucifer laughed loudly, grabbing the Seraphim’s wrist, not enough to hurt them. “You really think you could run from me?”

“I had you for a while!” They hummed, poking his nose playfully. “You’re just lucky I finally got winded.”

“Oh, I see.” He mused, the two sitting on one of the clouds below them. Lucifer sighed as he stared at the Seraphim, who was watching the beautiful clear sky up in the kingdom. He admired their tall stature and their long, soft wings. Their (h/l) locks was slicked back, him having to fight the urge to run his fingers through the tempting hair.

“Lucifer?” Snapping out of his thoughts, he shook his head slightly before staring at the Seraphim more attentively.

“Yes, darling?”

“Were you listening to me?” They sighed, Lucifer blushing in embarrassment. When he didn’t respond, the Seraphim chuckled. “I was asking if you knew anything about God’s newest creation?”

“Newest creation?” He asked, taken aback. With him being the head Archangel, he knew everything about what God was thinking. But he hasn’t heard anything about a new project. “I don’t believe I have, angel. So tell me, what new project has my father come up with this time? Some sort of new bird?”

“No! It’s nothing like any animal that’s down on Earth.” They explained, excitement laced in their voice. “It’s a whole new category! Sera said that they will be called ‘humans’! How splendid is that?”

“Humans, hmm?” He hummed, stroking his chin as he stared at the ground. He was still puzzled on why he wasn’t informed of this creation. Noticing his expression, the Seraphim frowned in confusion, afraid they made their dearest friend sad.

“Are you upset?”

“Huh?” He asked, looking at her and noticing her face. “Oh! No! Of course not, angel!” Then, “I’m just surprised is all. Just surprised.”

“Oh… alright then.” They replied before letting her head fall on his shoulders. The two angels sat there in a comfortable silence, watching the sun fall below the white, fluffy clouds of heaven. Little did they know is that this would be one of the last peaceful moments between the pair.

****************************************************

Gasping for air, (Y/N) felt like they couldn’t fly any faster, their wings practically burning as they raced towards the courtroom. “It’s not true.” They muttered over and over. “He couldn’t! He would never. Not my Lucifer..”

Arriving at the tall golden doors, the seraphim let out a shaky breath before slowly opening them, quickly sipping into the room. Their eyes immediately landed on Lucifer, who was standing in the very center of the room with his back towards them.

She gulped as she snuck in the seats where the other Seraphim’s sat, Sera sending a look as she noticed her “sister”. The Heavenly Father sat on his high pedestal, a bright light emitting off of him as a sign of his glory and power.

“Young Lucifer, how the mighty has fallen.” His booming voice said, Lucifer staring at the ground beneath his feet. “Dost thou have no shame? You have betrayed me deeply, my son. Tempting Eve and Adam to eat the fruit of knowledge, specifically after I told them not too. And falling in love with a human soul!”

What?

That accusation made the seraphim tense up, finally noticing the woman that was down there by Lucifer as well. She was taller than him, just like they were, and she had long flowing blonde hair. Her deep colored eyes were wide with worry, holding herself by cradling her arms. The seraphim immediately recognized her to be Lilith, Adam’s failed first wife.

But surely, if Lucifer had fallen in love with this… creature, he would’s told them? But now, as they looked back on it, Lucifer didn’t tell them anything about this plan. In fact, they had to learn through the invitation to sit in the court hearing by Archangel Michael.

“How dare you fall in love with a human soul? That was not in my plan. I made you a companion, a partner, already! Was that not enough?”

‘Was I not enough?’ (Y/N) thought, biting their lip in anticipation.

“Father, please!” Lucifer let out a strangled cry, refusing to look up. Especially since he just knew (Y/N), his darling (Y/N) that he also betrayed in a sense, was somewhere in the courtroom, looking down on him just like the other angels. He could feel their loving aura a mile away.

“I have no choice.” The mighty voice boomed. “Lucifer Morningstar, I banish you from heaven!” With that decree, gasps all around the courtroom could be heard. There had never been such a thing of an angel being cascaded out of heaven before. “And that goes for your bride as well.”

“No…” (Y/N) mumbled as they stared down at Lucifer with wide eyes, holding nothing but sorrow and worry.

“What was that, (Y/N)?” The booming voice asked, a sudden spotlight on the seraphim. Everyone looked at them, including Lucifer who finally got the courage too. The young Seraphim swallowed, staring at the bright light that was God, and then Lucifer. Feeling time stop around them, (Y/N) curled their hands into a fist. When they finally got the will to pull away from Lucifer’s beautiful eyes, they looked over at Sera. The older seraphim gave them a pitiful look. Write shaking her head, silently telling them what to say. And (Y/N) understood. “Well? The courtroom does not have all day!”

“Nothing, Heavenly Father.” They said, avoiding Lucifer’s eyes as they said their next words. “I agree with your choice.”

And just like that, their friend, their beautiful Lucifer, was thrown out of Heaven.

****************************************************

It had been days since Lucifer and his little “bride” was banished from heaven. Life up in the holy kingdom went on for everyone, everyone except (Y/N).

All the seraphim would do nowadays would cry. They would cry from guilt, wishing they had stuck up for their friend. They would cry from anger, feeling betrayed by Lucifer. But mostly, they would cry from sorrow, the pain of never seeing their loved one getting the best of them.

Currently, the seraphim was sitting in the clouds. They watched as the beautiful stars of heaven twinkled up in the night sky. They had always enjoyed the night, finding the bright patterns that God had made breathtaking. But yet, all they had the will to do was cry.

“You have to stop crying.” Sera’s voice said from behind them. “What’s done is done. It cannot be changed with tears.”

“Just let me mourn in peace, Sera!” They snapped, glaring at their sister. Sera, who didn’t take their anger to heart, sighed and nodded. She then disappeared, giving the young one some time to cope.

(Y/N) continued to cry, holding their knees to their chest as they stared up at the sky. Even the stars reminded them of him…

And as their tears fell on the clouds, they didn’t notice a bright light emitting in front of their feet. Well, until Seraphim (Y/N) heard a baby cry.

#fluff #angst #angsty #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #Hazbin hotel Lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader

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cozage · 1 year

Note

you wanna do continue the one you did where the s/o gets captured? Get them rescuuuued. please and thank you :D

A/N: I actually have two of these requests in my inbox, and these got really long because I’m insane and have to write every detail, so I’m going to break these up into three different posts so people aren’t stuck reading and scrolling through a 10k fic on tumblr. Ace and Law’s will be coming soon!

Characters: female reader x Luffy

Cw: angst, drugging, near-death experience

Total word count: 2.3k

Summary: You've been captured by marines, and the Strawhats work to get you back. (Followup from this request)

Rescued by Pirates - Luffy

Luffy stood at the top of the cliff, staring down the Marine fleet in the bay. There were ten ships, and you were on one of them. Captured. Alone. He knew you were fighting, but there’s only so much you could do in a locked prison cell with sea prism cuffs.

“I’m coming.” Luffy muttered, hoping the wind would carry his words to you. “Wait for me. Don’t stop fighting.”

“Luffy, get down!” Nami pulled the captain back over the ridge, keeping him out of sight from the scouts. “If a Marine sees you this whole stealth operation is over!”

Luffy groaned and slumped to the ground. “I don’t even know why this has to be a stealth operation! If we just start smashing everything-”

“They’ll kill her.” Sanji said, and Luffy grew quiet. “If they know we’re coming, they’ll execute her now and report it to the news coo after.”

“They probably have people waiting outside her cell to do it as soon as the call is made,” Franky admitted coldly. “They don’t want another repeat of…” he trails off, and everyone knows what he’s going to say.

They don’t want another repeat of Ace. Luffy embarrassed the entire World Government when he broke into Impel Down, broke out of Impel Down, and then sailed to Marineford and freed Ace from his shackles.

“It’s possible that’s why they’re still here.” Nami’s voice was worried as she spoke everyone’s thoughts. “They’re baiting us so they can kill her. They don’t want to transport her just to have Luffy embarrass them again.”

“It would make sense why they haven’t taken off yet,” Brook added.

“Or they’re waiting for backup,” Sanji countered. “She’s a dangerous pirate, but the Navy always prefers public executions. Especially with the new leader having a personal vendetta against Luffy, he’ll want to kill her publicly if possible. I’m sure of it.”

“Then we have to go!” Luffy started to stand to his feet, frustrated with the lack of action, but Nami quickly pulled him back down.

“Let Robin and Brook handle this first part! We have to find her first before you start smashing everything to bits!”

Luffy hated waiting. Especially when there's nothing he could do to pass the time. But finally, after about 30 minutes of silence, Robin opened her eyes.

“She’s on the fourth ship in the back with the red and yellow tailwind sail. Under deck, in a prison cell. Shackles on her arms and legs, and a neck collar.”

Luffy’s eyes peeked over the cliffside to find the ship Robin was describing. He located it, and sprang forward to jump over the cliff, but strong arms held him back.

“Zoro, let me go! We know where she is!” He struggled to break free from the swordsman's grasp. “We have to go get her!”

“Hang on Luffy, we need a plan before we just jump into action!”

The guard change comes early today, which you find odd. Normally the Marines are dragging their feet to stand guard over your cell, but then you spot green hair poking out from the marine cap, the man next to him with a very familiar scar across his cheek, and your heart begins to beat faster.

“So, the keys?” Zoro holds his hand out to the Navy officer watching over you, who laughs in his face.

“This must be your first time imprisoning a pirate, kid,” the old man says. “We don’t keep the keys anywhere near the prison. You know how easy it would be for someone to knock out a guard and take them? Let me show you the ropes, kid.”

The old man and his colleague turn to face you for the first time in hours, ushering Zoro and Luffy to look at you now. You can see Luffy is in visible pain just from looking at you.

Your arms and legs were each shackled to the wall, and you had a contraption around your neck that looked strikingly similar to the ones the Celestial Dragons used on their slaves. Blood caked your hair and trickled down your face. Your body was littered in scratches and bruises, your clothes torn from whatever battle had happened that Luffy wasn’t there for.

“Each one of those shackles has a different key, and that neck collar too, as well as the key to the jail cell itself. Each of those keys are on a different ship, and we’ve got instructions to throw the keys into the harbor if we catch a glimpse of a Strawhat approaching the ship.

“The best part, though,” he continues, with a hungry malice in his eyes. He raises his hand to point a finger at your neck. “That collar has a fun little detonator. The Vice Admiral has the control button if it comes to that. And the collar itself administers a sedative every hour on the hour, and gives another dose if someone touches the bars.”

He smacked the bars for good measure, and you flinched as you felt a pinch in your neck.

“Honestly it’s a miracle she’s still awake. We like to hit the bars every now and then just to keep her calm. Don’t want her causing a scene now, do we?”

You were trying your hardest not to stare at Luffy. You can see the rage consuming his body as he realizes what an insurmountable task it is to save you. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head viciously to relay a simple message. Run. Don’t save me.

But you know he won’t listen. He never has. Not with Robin or Ace or Sanji or anyone else he’s saved against their will. And he certainly won’t do it with you either.

“I see a pretty big flaw in this whole design,” Zoro said, staring at the cell you were in. You could see he was enraged as well, but he was hiding it better than Luffy.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that, kid?”

“Can’t they just cut it?”

The old Marine let out a hardy laugh at his question. “Sea prism stone is the hardest substance in the world. Nobody can cut through that, I don't care if it’s Dracule Mihawk himself!”

“Oh, Mihawk can cut Sea Prism Stone.” The green-haired man gave a devilish smirk to the Marine.

You braced yourself. You knew what was coming. Zoro only had two swords with him, but it would be enough.

You heard a whirlwind of air swirl around you, and you could feel the weight on your arms get lighter. There were several pinches in your neck, and you could feel yourself involuntarily slip into unconsciousness.

Zoro had put just a bit too much power into his swings to free you, and the cuts ripped through the ship behind you. He then turned to the marines, wickedly smiling at them.

“Told ya.” He smacked the younger one with the hilt of the sword and the marine crumpled to the ground, but the older marine was fast and dodged Zoro’s attack. The Marine locked Zoro into a battle of swords, occupying his ability to get the other chains off of you.

Luffy sprang into action, running to grab you. He screamed your name as he ran to you, jumping over sea prism stone rubble and other debris to reach you. He knew Zoro hadn’t hurt you, but you were slumped against the ship wall, and he couldn’t help but think about how fragile you looked. He shook you, desperately trying to wake you up.

And then Luffy heard a beeping sound, coming from the collar around your neck. The same sound that he was helpless against in Sabaody. “ZORO!” He screamed, holding you tight.

“Forgot to mention,” the older marine grinned back at the swordsman, keeping him locked in a battle. “Tamper with the chains too much and the collar will detonate, even without a push from the button.”

Zoro tightened his muscles in horror. “Luffy, get it off of her!”

“I hear she’s the weakness of Strawhat Luffy. Let’s watch and see, shall we? Perhaps he’ll have an even worse reaction than in Marineford.” The marine's gaze was on Luffy now, eager to see him snap.

Luffy ignored the weight of what failure meant for you. He focused, letting his Haki flow through his body like he had seen Rayleigh do in Sabaody. He grabbed the collar from around your neck and squeezed, snapping it in half, and threw it away from you. In the same motion, Luffy turned and glared at the Marine, who instantly crumpled to the ground, knocked out by Luffy’s Conqueror's Haki.

“Luffy, we have to go,” Zoro’s voice was urgent. There was commotion above them coming from the deck. It was clear the Navy was alerted to their presence. But Luffy was ignoring him, desperately trying to shake you awake.

“Come on, Luffy,” Zoro insisted, stepping over the rubble. He quickly cut each of the shackles off your legs. “She’ll be fine. I’ll carry her, you punch things. Let's go.”

Zoro put a sword between his teeth and picked you up into his arms. He saw the darkness in Luffy’s eyes, and stood back to let his captain destroy the people who had tried to take you away from him.

Luffy spared no ship. Once he saw Zoro and you were safe on the beach, he unleashed his full might against the ten ships in the harbor. His crew could hear his screams of rage from the shoreline, his pent up fear of losing you spilling out into his attacks.

When he was finally finished destroying the ships, he came back to the shore and sat silently among his crew. He pulled your unconscious body into his lap, stroking your hair softly. He stared down at you for a long time, just watching the rise and fall of your chest, his eyesight fuzzy from tears.

As the sun was starting to sink over the horizon, Nami finally spoke up. “We should go.” Her voice was hoarse, and her cheeks were damp with tears.

“Not until she wakes up.”

Sanji sighed, pulling out a few small rations of food to give the crew while they waited. Luffy didn’t eat, he just combed his fingers through your hair, willing you to wake up.

Nightfall came, and you were still unconscious. The crew could see lights on the horizon. Marine ships that were supposed to lead you to Impel Down.

“Luffy, we need to go,” Sanji insisted. Luffy refused to respond, his eyes only watching you.

“She’ll be more comfortable on the ship, Luffy,” Chopper said, trying to coax the captain back to the Sunny. “She can sleep in a bed and we can monitor her more closely.”

“It’s better for her to be back on the ship,” Sanji agreed. “And we need to get moving.”

Luffy finally nodded, giving in to his crew's request. If it was better for you, then he wouldn’t be selfish. It was selfishness that got you in this position in the first place. If he hadn’t run off on his own, if he had just stayed with the group like Nami had told him too, this might’ve never happened.

He held you close to him and walked back to the ship with the rest of the crew, not speaking. When they got back to the ship, Luffy set you down in the infirmary and stood in the corner, letting Chopper take care of you.

“Let me know if anything changes in her status.” And with that, Chopper left the two of you alone in the infirmary. Luffy sat in the chair next to your bed, holding your hand and watching you sleep, waiting for you to come back to him.

Before you open your eyes, you can hear the heart rate monitor beeping; you can feel the harsh light against the back of your eyelids. Beside you, you can hear soft, even breathing of someone who is sleeping. Luffy. You’d know the sound of his breathing anywhere. You feel relief wash over you, knowing you’re safe with your crew.

The light is still too bright for your eyes, so your hand reaches out blindly, searching for Luffy. Your hand finds his head, and you pat him gently. You don’t intend to wake him, but he instantly stirs from his sleep.

“Y/n?” His voice is groggy as his head lifts up.

“Hi,” you whisper, your eyes still closed. “Can you turn off the-”

His body crashes into you, cutting off your question, and you wrap your arms around him in an embrace. You can hear his broken sobs of relief fill the air. “I was so scared,” he sobbed into your shoulder. “You weren’t waking up.”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you say soothingly, trying to calm him down. You crack your eyes open a bit, trying to adjust to the light in the room. “Thanks to you, captain.”

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #one piece x you #one piece x reader #monkey d luffy #monkey d. luffy #luffy #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #✧˚law✧˚

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ronwestbreeze · 5 months

Text

take a bow

pairing: geto suguru x non-sorcerer!reader warnings: gore and maybe a little bit of angst summary: you smell like coffee...and geto can't seem to shake it. word count: 6.7k author's note: hiiii ;) as you can tell there will be about five parts to this mini series. nothing more and nothing less. i'm kind of excited for this and i've been really wanting to write for my husband so, i hope ya'll enjoy it! and i will not be doing a taglist for this one. sorry guys!

part 2 | read on AO3

There was a cute customer today.

And you were also sure you hadn’t seen him around before. Then again, you moved to this village two weeks ago, and you weren’t too familiar with the regulars yet. Perhaps he was just one you hadn’t seen until now.

You leaned over the front counter a bit, trying to get a better look at him as he moved down one of the aisles to the far left of the store.

He wore what looked like a school uniform, his dark hair tied up with a few strands framing one side of his face. Even though he was further away from you, you could see he was on the younger side, maybe around your age. Possibly older.

You hadn’t met many boys in your life—attractive ones especially—mostly because you were sheltered for half of your childhood and didn’t go outside. So when you did happen to stumble upon a few of them, you were left wondering what to do or say around them. They were almost alien to you.

It was the same with people in general your age. While you weren’t bad at socializing, you still adapted the best way you knew how.

“You’re being creepy.” Your co-worker, Tohru, said passively while scrolling through her phone. A very busy activity she had been at for an hour now.

“I’m not.” You cleared your throat, quickly looking away from the otherwise oblivious customer. “But you can’t deny that he’s pretty cute.”

Tohru drew her eyes from her phone and glanced toward the newcomer who was now in the snack section. Now it was her turn to lean over the counter, a look of interest inching onto her usual bored mask.

“Damn.”

“Told ya.”

“He’s definitely new. No guy that fine lives in a boring ass town like this.”

You hummed, “I wouldn’t exactly call this town boring—but you’ve been here longer than me so I suppose you have the better judgment over that.” Carefully, you snuck another peek at the customer who was studying the back of a bag of chips. “And if he’s that fine, no doubt someone already bagged him.”

“Ugh,” Tohru grumbled with a defeated expression on her face, “you’re probably right. The hotter ones are always taken.”

“Or they end up being a douchebag.” You added with a snort as you organized the stack of gums on the counter.

“Amen to that.”

“Newbie!”

You jumped with a yelp at the loud voice filling the otherwise quiet store. Glancing over your shoulder, you found your manager, a very old and impatient man, stomping over with a toothpick dangling from his mouth, “Are you pullin’ one on me, kid?!”

After getting over your short shock, you furrow your brows, “Um, pulling what, sir?”

“Where the hell is the leftover food from last week?! I told you to save it in the back storage!”

You gave a sheepish smile and rubbed the back of your neck, “Oh yeah, some of it went bad so I had to throw it out.”

“We don’t even do anything with them anyway,” Tohru grumbled under her breath which you tried not to acknowledge.

He eats all the leftovers. Despite his shop advertisement promising to send any leftover food to orphanages and charities.

“Look, newbie, I’ve been real lenient because you’re new. And I get it, you're in a tough spot but I ain’t pityin’ you no more! I have no problem tossin’ you the curb, you hear me?”

Your face burned in embarrassment, especially when his loud ass voice carried throughout the store. No doubt the hot guy heard every word by now. “Yessir.”

The old man huffed, “Good. Now stop messin’ around and help the damn customer! Poor boy’s been waiting for you to notice him!”

God, please don’t be him. Please let it be another boy who's been waiting for a while.

You chanced a glance over your shoulder, only to shrivel up when you found the hot customer standing at the counter, watching your interaction with a small absent frown.

Fuck.

“Someone’s gonna be on dishes tonight.” Tohru sang with a snicker as she disappeared in the back along with your manager.

With your face on fire, you went toward the cash register. You cleared your throat and gestured to the pack of cigarettes and the bag of chips, “Will that be all for you today?”

He seemed to have been lost in thought as it took a beat for him to reply, “Sorry, yes, that’s it.”

You nodded, trying not to look him in the eyes. God, even his voice was attractive.

After giving him the price, you began bagging his items while he fished into his pockets to grab his wallet.

You still had yet to look at him.

The last thing you wanted was to get chewed out by your bum boss in front of a guy that you’d possibly never see again. Before you had been dying to have a quick conversation with him, just to keep looking at him for a little longer. Now all you wanted to do was get him out of the store as soon as possible and hide away in a hole, never to be found again.

“Is he always like that?”

You placed his cigarettes in the bag before you realized he was talking to you. Which only made your cheeks even hotter.

“Uh, yeah, he’s usually getting high in the back, or napping.” You shrugged, glancing up at him every now and then, only to find him directly staring at you. Fuck, you were awful at this. “Only ever out front when the shop closes. He’s always the first out the door before anyone else.”

“Mmm,” By then you looked up to find him not too happy about that piece of information. “And he gives you a hard time to add onto that. Don’t you want to quit?”

At that, you smile, “It would be easy, wouldn’t it? I don’t know if you already heard—probably the whole block had heard him—but I’m not really in the best situation to be quitting a job just cuz I hate my bum ass boss.”

This time he looked sheepish, “Yeah, I wanted to pretend that I didn’t hear him, but I guess there’s no point in that. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” You chuckled before handing him his bag. “It’s life, you know? I just have to brave it out until I have a stable income of money. Then maybe I can consider the option of kicking myself to the curb from this trash can of a place.”

The male stared at you curiously, the disinterest that he had worn before was now long gone. He searched your face—for what, you didn’t know.

And then he smiled, “You seem to have it all figured out.”

It was infectious, his smile. Even though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I wouldn’t say all that.” You returned the smile, anyway, hoping it appeared real enough for the both of you. “But I think it’s going to work out for me in the long run. That I can say.”

The male chuckled as he walked toward the store entrance, “I wish you luck then.”

He waved with another smile which took you off guard a bit. You didn’t have much of a chance to respond back to his wave, nor tell him to enjoy his time in town before he was already long gone.

It was now just you and your blushing face.

The back door opened, “Aw, you didn’t even get his number, did you?”

You glanced over your shoulder to find Tohru pouting at you. You grinned sheepishly, “Oops, guess I didn’t.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Tohru sighed, “You really need to learn how to flirt.”

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. Regulars came and went. Your manager was passed out in the back. Tohru’s shift ended sometime before you and booked it out the front door before you had the chance to say goodbye.

Essentially, you had the shop all to yourself. And it was unfortunately horribly boring.

Later in the day is when fewer and fewer customers start coming in. Apparently, many of the people in the village were too cautious about going out once the sun started setting. There were a few rumors here and there, about mysterious deaths all over the village. You weren’t exactly sure how much truth there was to those rumors, all you could do was clock in and clock out and go straight home.

Just because you doubted the stories didn’t mean you weren’t going to be stupid.

You wondered if that hot guy knew about the rumors. It probably would’ve been neighborly to try and warn him.

The sky was filled with oranges and purples as the sun was slinking behind one of the mountains. The evening glow made the shop look almost ominous, especially with the indoor lights off.

You should probably turn those on by now. They would’ve been on throughout the whole day like regular shops but your boss was such a cheap stake with the light bill you had to keep it off until evening fell and you practically couldn’t see in the dark.

Just as you stepped away to turn the shop lights on, the bell above the door rang. You glanced toward the clock and grinned.

You moved back to the front counter and grinned at the familiar newcomers. Two young girls, who looked no older than five, stood at the entrance. “Right on time! Looks like someone’s excited for today’s batch.”

The brown-haired girl—you knew as Mimiko—with the stuffed doll approached the counter first. Standing on her tippy toes enough for her chin to rest on top of the counter, “Do you have any more rice balls?”

“You bet.” You gestured toward the two chairs next to the counter. “Why don’t you guys take a seat over there and I’ll go get the food. It’s a real treat this time.”

“Okay.” Mimiko nodded before grabbing her sister’s hand to drag her over toward the chairs.

“Thank you!” The blonde-haired, Nanako, called.

You sent her an adoring smile, “Of course, hon!”

You moved to the back, passing your knocked-out manager, as you grabbed the box of food in your locker and brought it back to the front counter. Mimiko and Nanako got up from their chairs and bounced over to get a better look, “I actually got these rice balls from this place in the city during the weekend. It’s way better than the crap here.”

“Really?” Nanako looked into the box, her eyes widening, “Wow! Those look really good!”

“Anything for my best customers.” You winked and allowed them to grab what they wanted from the box.

Both girls giggled as they grabbed rice balls and ramen from the box. You smiled and patted both their heads before allowing them to sit back down in the chairs and eat.

You hadn’t known the twins for very long. Actually, you met them on your first day at the store two weeks ago. They had been attempting to steal a few snacks when you discovered them. You couldn’t shake the way they were looking at you when you found them. Scared yet desperate for some food. Mimiko had been clutching her stuffed doll tightly in her hands as if she were about to tear its head off at that moment.

They were expecting you to berate them and kick them out of the store. Maybe your manager or Tohru would’ve done that, but you just couldn’t find it in you to turn them away. They were obviously hungry, so what else could you do but feed them?

So you took the leftover food from the storage and gave it to them. They were pretty tight-lipped about their home situation so you didn’t push. But it was pretty clear that they didn’t have a lot to eat, wherever they lived.

“Let’s make a deal.” You had said to them that day. “You guys come back at around five o’clock every day and I will feed you some stuff we don’t need. Hell, I’ll probably even cook and bring it over every now and then. As long as the two of you eat.”

They looked hesitant. The brown-haired girl—she told you her name was Mimiko—spoke first, “Will you really do that for us?”

You smiled softly at her, “Of course. You guys are hungry, right? Why wouldn’t I want to feed you?”

Her twin, Nanako spoke next, eyes cast down, “Most of the people here are scared of us. Because we’re different. So they ignore us whenever we do ask for food.”

You frowned, your heart breaking at the time. Of course, you had some questions about why a bunch of adults would turn a blind eye to two little girls who looked no older than five. You seethed at the thought that the only one willing to help them was a barely surviving sixteen-year-old, who couldn’t even make minimum wage.

Instead of crying for them—which you were definitely close to doing—you patted their heads, “Well, I’m not scared of you. And I don’t care if you’re different. Come back tomorrow and there will be food for you guys. Okay?”

The two girls were stunned at your kindness like it was foreign to them. But they both nodded, hints of a smile making its way to their lips. “Okay!”

“But you also have to promise not to steal anymore so you don’t get in trouble.” Mimiko pouted but you attempted a stern look. “I’m serious, girls. And we’re going to pinky promise on it.”

You held out your pinky. Reluctantly, the two girls took it. Giggling when they fought to cover your own pinky with their little ones.

After your pinky promise, Nanako’s nose scrunched, “You smell like coffee.”

You laughed and cleaned up the trash from their meal, “I get that a lot.”

And since then, the twins have kept coming back every day, after five o’clock. Sometimes you wonder where they went before that. Did they go to school? Did they have any parents taking care of them? Did they even have a home?

You supposed none of that was any of your business in the end. But sometimes you couldn’t help but worry.

If you had a big enough space that wasn’t one small box, then you’d take the girls home with you in a heartbeat.

Once Mimiko was finished with her rice ball, she walked over to you as you were counting through the cash in the register from today’s productivity. “Can I help?”

“Sure,” You hummed trying to find something for her to do. “Do you think you could stack those new packets of gum for me and place them in this small box?” You handed the little box which she took instantly. “Go get your sister to help if she wants, okay?”

Mimiko nodded and took the gum packets and the box back to her sister who was just finishing up her rice ball. You made a mental note to buy some coloring books for them in case they got bored. Sometimes they like to stay a little bit longer after they finish eating, to keep you company. And you enjoyed their presence. It was better than staring at the ceiling for hours on end, waiting for a customer to enter even though you knew they wouldn’t come. And then got done with their little task quite fast. Yeah, you definitely need to get those coloring books.

Thankfully, just in time as you heard your manager shift in the back, the two girls made their leave. Waving goodbye to you with the promise of returning tomorrow.

Sometime later your manager came from the back and left the shop, grumbling about you closing up.

And another hour after that, you leave the shop. Hoping to see the twins again. And maybe—even though it was probably impossible—you hoped to see that hot customer again.

It was delusional, you knew this.

But it didn’t hurt to hope.

“Ugh, why are you eating that shit?” Tohru made a look of disgust at your bag of coffee beans. “Now the whole place is gonna smell.”

That was what you were greeted with upon entering the shop the next morning, “Good morning to you too, Ru. And don’t you think it’s a lot better than cigarettes and booze?”

Surprisingly, it was pretty crowded which was a first for you ever since you started working at the shop. Of course, it was a bunch of older people—middle-aged to elderly—but it was busy, nonetheless.

You went around the counter as an older woman locked Tohru into a conversation, “Did you hear what happened to that little boy? Oh, what an awful thing, I can only imagine what his parents must be feeling right now.”

“It’s that demon terrorizing our home again.” An elderly woman standing in line shivered

A man huffed, “I tell you exactly what’s causing all of this. Those no good—”

You didn’t bother to stay and hear the rest as you made your way to the back to throw your bag into one of the lockers. It was the same old thing. A horrible incident happens at night—a few people die—and people are going on and on about the town being haunted. Something about some demon going on a killing spree in the dead of night. To be honest, you thought it was some sick weirdo having the time of his life and the people haven’t realized it yet.

“Gotta buy some new locks.” You mumbled to yourself as you shrugged off your jacket.

“How was your night?” You glanced over your shoulder to find your manager sitting in the office, the door wide open as he smoked.

“Good, sir!” You offered a friendly smile as you closed your locker. “My mattress was uncomfortable but all in all, I can’t necessarily complain! And what about you, sir? How was your night?”

He grunted but never gave a response, which wasn’t unusual. He never offered to talk about himself, even on his good days.

You nodded, took your bag of coffee beans, and joined Tohru back at the front.

“—This is the fifth incident this week! When will enough be enough?!” This was an older man scowling this time. Next to him was a woman—whom you had to guess was his wife—trying to push him out of the shop as he began his rant. “We need to hunt those monsters down! How many more have to die?!”

You watched the couple leave with a small frown, “Wow, it’s never been this bad before.”

Tohru sighed tiredly, “Yeah, they’re pretty fired up this time around. I wonder how much of this is gonna mess with my precious sleep schedule.”

You hummed, noticing the usual dark bags under her eyes.

“Hi.”

A bag of chips was placed on the counter. Both you and Tohru looked up to find the hot customer from yesterday standing at the counter with a friendly smile sent your way.

Your face both burned with being taken off guard and the fact that he was addressing you directly, “Oh—Hi! Welcome back!” Quickly, you manned the second register while Tohru sent you a side glare. You returned his smile, “To be honest, I didn’t think you were still here.”

“Really?” He raised a brow as you checked his item out. “How come?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the town’s kind of haunted.” You chuckled as you stuffed his chips into a grocery bag, giving him a sheepish smile, “Scares the tourists away. I should’ve probably warned you about it yesterday, sorry about that.”

He chuckled as you handed him his bag. This time he wasn’t wearing the black top he had on yesterday. The baggy pants were the same, just this time around he wore a white button-up. “Fortunately, I’m not afraid of many scary stories, but I appreciate the warning.”

“How brave of you.” You chuckled, ignoring the subtle glances Tohru kept sending you while attending to her own customer. “I can’t necessarily say the same for myself.”

“Don’t you live here?” His eyes twinkled as he tilted his head, “I’d say you’re a lot braver than me, you know. Tonight’s my last night here.”

You shook your head, ignoring how your chest fell slightly in disappointment at the new piece of information, “Then many would say you’re one of the lucky ones.”

“Oh yeah?” He hummed, his eyes never wavering from yours. Wow, he really loved making eye contact. You couldn’t figure out if that made him even hotter or a bit intimidating. And he was so nonchalant about it too, hand in pocket, stance somewhat relaxed. “What would you say? You count yourself unlucky then?”

The bell above the door rang, “Welcome in!” You called the new customer before replying to him. “Well, to be honest with you, I feel like I’m the luckiest girl alive. It’s not so bad here, you know, despite the obvious flaws of the shop and this town. I’m just grateful to at least have a job and a roof over my head. It’s not perfect but it’s everything I need right now.”

He was observing you again. Tohru was far too distracted with the other customers to notice and make fun of your bashful facial expressions. Or how you were practically malfunctioning on the spot from the way he kept looking at you.

“You know,” He leaned on the counter with a smile turning into somewhat of a smirk, “I’ve never met someone as optimistic as you. I almost think you’re unreal.”

“Don’t we all,” Tohru commented as she made her way to the back. “Your turn to man the front counter, newbie. The last customer nearly made me pop a vein.”

“Sure thing, Ru!” You called, trying to ignore how hot your face was at the moment.

Of course, the hot customer saw this and gave a soft laugh, “I didn’t mean to sound like I’m making fun of you, I promise. It’s endearing. You wouldn’t have a hard time finding someone to marry, that’s for sure.”

Steam was probably coming out of your ears at this point.

“I-I-uh, thanks?” You searched the store to try and distract yourself and prevent further embarrassment. Only when you didn’t find anything, you smile sheepishly, “I-uh, I think it’s a little too soon to be thinking about marriage—uh but thanks for the compliment?”

You watched as his nose twitched, raising a brow, “You smell like coffee. Like a lot.”

“Yeah,” You gulped with a nervous smile, “I get that a lot.”

Another laugh left his lips. He was far too amused now. Meanie. “I’ll see you around.”

With that, he left the store. The bell rang in his wake. You watched him go through the window. He waved to you as he passed. And you waved back.

Once he was finally out of your sight and you out of his, you groaned and dropped your head onto the counter, “I’m such a loser.”

The back door opened and Tohru poked her head out, shaking her head disapprovingly, “Yeah, you can’t handle all that man.”

“Shut up, Ru.”

You were the exception, not the rule, Geto Suguru realized a block away from the store.

He’d never really met anyone like you. It was so rare. Pure. So unheard of in this world.

But it didn’t change how the world was. A bright light like that would be snuffed, almost instantly. You would become exhausted at some point, smiling so genuinely like that.

It would make your fall much harder. Much, much worse.

More curses wreaking havoc through villages. More curses to swallow down, leaving the bitter taste of vomit in his wake.

You, Geto decided, were just like everyone else in the end.

Applause.

He wondered if he would ever stop hearing them clap.

Around the late afternoon, your manager sent you out to pick up a delivery of chips that apparently couldn’t make it. Something about a mix-up with the trucks—you weren’t entirely clear on the details. But your boss was pissed about it and you were left with driving to the city to retrieve the box of chips. The only thing you didn’t like about it was the fact that the drive to the city took almost two hours.

You just hoped you’d make it back in time to meet up with the twins.

So half your day was spent rushing through the city, trying to track down that missing shipment of chips, bringing it back to your car which was almost towed because you happened to park in the wrong place, and then driving back to the village while the sun was beginning to set.

The drive back wasn’t as bad as the drive to the city. But you arrived back at the shop twenty minutes past five. Which wasn’t too bad but you were still late, nonetheless.

“Sorry, I’m late!” You called as you entered the store from the back with the box still in your hands. “I got coloring books this time, hope you guys like to draw!” You brought the box to the front, expecting to find the twins.

Only you stop and find Tohru and your manager there instead. Tohru stared at you in confusion, “Who are you talking to?”

You blushed in embarrassment, “Um, sorry, I thought you were…” Quickly, your mind raced. “Did you guys happen to see two girls walk in at around five—that’s what the coloring books were for, yeah, yeah, that makes sense.”

“Two girls?” Tohru frowned, appearing even more confused. “Did you hit your head or something?”

Just as you were about to quickly explain what you meant, your manager blew out another puff of smoke, “She means those unlucky twins.” At this, you furrowed your brows, opening your mouth to ask what he meant, only for him to continue as if you had already asked the question. “Those two have been poisoning our town ever since they killed their parents. It’s about time they get what they deserve.”

Your eyes widened, heart, falling to your feet, “W-What does…what happened to them? What do you mean get what they deserve?”

“Oh yeah,” Tohru said while hoisting herself up to sit on the counter, “now that you mention it, there were two girls that came in here. They didn’t stay for long, some of the villagers barged in and took them. I think they mentioned taking her to the old temple or something like that, I don’t know, I had a headache and they were all being annoying. They went on about them being the cause of all the deaths happening in town—whatever that meant—”

The box fell from your hands onto the floor, spilling the bag of chips. Your heart thundered with panic and disbelief, “You…You just let them take them?” Surprisingly, your voice wasn’t quivering like the rest of your body. Instead, it was full and firm with distraught. “They didn’t even do anything! They’re children! They’re—oh my god, they’re just babies!”

Tohru rolled her eyes as if you were the one being dramatic and unreasonable, “Dude, relax, they’re probably not going to do anything that bad to them. Maybe send them off to another village. Look, who cares? At least there won’t be any more deaths—hey, where are you going?”

You ignored her, threw off your work apron, and jumped over the counter. “This isn’t right! None of this is fucking right!”

“Hey, you still need to clean your mess up—hey!” Tohru’s voice became further and further away as you bolted out of the shop and ran through the street, heading further into the village.

Tohru had mentioned something about an old temple. You quickly searched your mind until you remembered there was a temple on one of the hills. You always passed it whenever you went jogging on your days off. Yes, you knew exactly where they were.

Running wouldn’t get you there fast enough, you soon realized. So you thought quickly. In front of a flower shop, you spotted a bicycle sitting at the front. Quietly apologizing to whomever this belonged to, you took the bike, got on, and pedaled your way up the hill.

In your haste, the world was silent to you.

All you could think about was those poor girls. All you were worried about was saving them before the townsfolk did something that no one could possibly come back from.

The world was silent to you.

You didn’t see the people running by in terror, even when you nearly ran into an older man who had dashed out into the street in a fit of panic. You didn’t see the smoke in the part of the village you biked through. You didn’t see the blue flames consuming the houses and the people around you until there was nothing but burnt ash left.

This chaos was nothing but white noise.

The world was silent to you.

You ignored the large shape flying over you, spewing the blue flames onto another part of the village.

All you cared about were those girls. Mimiko and Nanako.

You should’ve brought them back to your home. You should’ve taken them in. You should’ve pressed for more information about them. You should’ve known that they didn’t have anyone taking care of them.

You should’ve known. You should’ve done more.

“My god,” You gasped, fear tearing at your heart as the temple finally came into view. “have I failed them?” There were no flames consuming the temple. Strangely enough, it was the only place that wasn’t on fire.

When you were close enough, you jumped off the bike and dashed for the entrance. You slammed into the double doors, attempting to pull it open. Only they were locked and wouldn’t budge.

You backed up, not willing to give up. Not willing to let those two die for this fucked up town. And with all your might, you kicked the doors open, causing them to slam against the walls inside the temple.

“Mimiko! Nanako!” You called as you entered, searching around for the two girls.

Smoke filled your nose and caused you to cough just as small voices responded back to you. Calling your name with childlike desperation. It sounded like it was coming from above you. Like there was a second floor.

The stairs were on your right. You dashed for them, skipping two steps at a time until you made it to the second floor. Until you made it into the first room you spotted. Until you found them both locked in a cage together. Beaten and bruised and scared out of their minds. Until you found the two bodies lying in a puddle of scarlet right in front of the cage.

You didn’t rush toward the cage right away. Struck frozen at the sight of the blood. At the sight of the two bodies. It made the once quiet world around suddenly become loud.

There were screams outside of the temple. There was smoke, so much smoke.

Then there was the blood.

Blood.

There was a small call of your name, snapping you out of your frozen shock. The two girls were pressed against the cages, Nanako reaching through the bars for you…

“I’m coming, it’s okay.” You said, finally snapping out of your shock before rushing over toward the cage. You ignored how your shoes were stained with scarlet as you walked through the puddle.

You tried at the cage for a bit until you roughly yanked it open, breaking the lock that kept it closed. Both girls ran out of the cage and hugged your waist, nearly knocking you over. Their sniffles were muffled in your sweater as you ran your hand through their hair in an attempt to comfort them.

“It’s okay, I’m gonna get you out of here.” You promised while glancing over your shoulder at the bodies. “Nanako. Mimiko. What happened to them?”

Mimiko buried her face further into your waist while Nanako spoke, “Everyone thought we were the ones behind the deaths so they took us and tried to make the man kill us. But he didn’t, he saved us!”

You nodded as you both listened and led them out of the horrific room. The three of you went down the steps. Just from looking through the wide open doorway of the temple, you saw the flames hitting the village had gotten so much worse. What had caused this, you had no clue, nor did you have time to stop and wonder where it all had come from.

Mimiko tightened her hold on your hand, forcing you to stop, dozens of steps away from the front door, “The man told us to stay put and that he would take us away from here.”

On your right, Nanako nodded, “He said the curses won’t hurt us and that we’re special.”

You let go of their hands and turned to face them, your back to the entrance. Carefully you knelt down in front of them, “Okay, slow down. Before I even think about touching the curses part, I just need to know what man are you guys talking about. There wasn’t a third body in that room.”

“They mean me.”

At the sudden voice, you spun around to find standing at the entrance a male. A familiar one at that.

The same male who had bought chips from your store. The same male who had that gentle smile on his face—similar to the one he wore now but colder. The same male who had laughed at your fumbling and embarrassment just a few hours earlier.

“You.” Was the whisper that fell from your lips.

He stepped forward and instinctively pushed the girls behind you protectively. His brows raised at this and he chuckled.

“Mimiko. Nanako.” His voice was slow, silky, and calculated. “It’s time to go. Those people won’t hurt you anymore. Just as I promised.”

You watched him warily but the girls after a beat started toward him, surprising you. Mimiko was the one who stopped while Nanako went to the male’s side and grabbed his hand. She looked at you and then the male. She then grabbed your hand and tried tugging you forward, “Can’t she come with us?”

Something flickered across his face and instantly disappeared in the next second as he smiled, “Why don’t you two wait for me while I talk to the nice lady?”

You didn’t let go of her hand right away, “Mimiko.”

She looked at you and smiled reassuringly despite one of her eyes being swollen shut, “It’s okay. He’s a nice man. He saved us, remember?”

With that, she followed her sister out of the temple. The male didn’t move from the doorway. The blue flames were menacing in the night, his shadow tall. The heat was just as overwhelming as the smoke.

“Who the hell are you?” You finally muttered.

He started walking toward in slow leisurely steps, “A sorcerer.”

Instinctively, you wanted to back away as he got closer. But you stood firm, “And you were the one that killed those two people upstairs?”

“Yes.” He was now in front of you with very little space left between the two of you. The obvious question was at the tip of your tongue but you never voiced it. Yet he replied anyway, “I’ve decided it’s time I’ve stopped serving non-sorcerers. All they’ve done is create more problems for people like me. I figured I cut the problem down from the roots. For all of us.”

There was no smile on his face now. No traces of the friendly face, of the sheepish boy you met back at the shop. Just someone else entirely.

He leaned forward, staring at you with that same look he had back at the shop. Like he was trying to see right through you. Accusatory. Blame.

“What good are you to me?”

You glared now, clenching your hands into tight fists, “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind. I don’t see a point in proving a damn thing to you.”

He stared at you for a moment longer and then smirked. “Too bad you’re human.” He turned and walked back to the entrance. “I would’ve liked you a lot. I do like you a lot. But if my new world is going to be without non-sorcerers…”

The curse flew past Geto and into the temple. It was large enough to cause irreparable damage to the temple. It was deadly enough to crush any target in sight. Even your screams were swallowed whole in seconds. That’s how efficient it was. That’s how easy it all became.

Geto didn’t look back at your body. Nor did he watch you get killed by his curse. Instead, he continued out of the temple with a few more curses following him at his tail.

“There are no exceptions.” He muttered to himself.

Applause.

He wondered if he would ever forget that coffee smell.

Applause.

Hours later, once the flames had long settled, you sat up in the rubble. Some of the most severe wounds were nearly done healing. But the only pain you felt was the tight twists in your stomach.

You were starving.

Applause.

Your sweater had been burned off and your skirt was ripped as you dragged yourself away from the ruins of the temple. Saliva dripping from your mouth that you tried to ignore.

For a while, you kept going. Pushing yourself through what used to be a lively village. But now it was filled with ruins and dead bodies alike.

You kept your composure thought. Especially when you pass fallen body parts, scattered along the streets.

Applause.

Eventually, you made it to the store, just on the outskirts of the village. The same one you worked at. The one place that had your coffee beans.

The bell above your head rang as you lugged your way over to the aisle where you knew the coffee beans were. Ignoring the calls of your name—which was just background noise to you.

You were hungry. Really, really hungry.

Just as you found the coffee beans, you grabbed one of the bags and tore it open.

“You know you’ve been fired, right?”

For some reason, your hand never reached into the bag to grab a mouthful of beans and tossed it in your mouth. Instead, you just stared down into it, saliva dripping from your mouth as Tohru continued her taunt.

“Boss’ pretty pissed with you taking off like that. And now I’ve gotta miss my concert because of you.” In the corner of your eye, she sneered, “I hope it was all worth it.”

Applause.

“Risking your job for a bunch of girls you don’t even know. What did you even try to do?”

Applause.

“Hmm, judging how quiet everything is, my guess is they probably finished the job.” Tohru sighed and leaned against the shelf, “Well, at least I can get better sleep.”

The bag of coffee beans fell from your grasp and spilled onto the floor.

Tohru gasped, looking down at the mess, “Hey! You fucking idiot! How many more messes are you going to leave for me to clean?! Ugh, you’re such a brat—hey, what the hell is wrong with your eyes?”

Applause.

Fuck it.

Applause.

The next morning, the shopkeeper was found dead in his office. Half of his face was gone, along with a gaping hole in his chest, where his heart should’ve been.

The girl was behind the front counter. Missing a leg, her organs spilling out of her abdomen. Blood everywhere.

It was a horrid sight.

At least, that’s what you heard.

Applause.

You wiped the blood from your mouth.

“I’m done lying to myself.” You mumbled. A giggle left your lips. “What the hell is the point?”

Applause.

With that, you took your final bow.

“Things will be different this time.”

#jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #suguru geto #getou suguru #jjk geto #jjk imagines #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk season 2 #tokyo ghoul #geto suguru x you #[ *take a bow ]

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deltaromeo3 · 11 months

Text

ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ⋆ Lando Norris

pairing: Lando Norris x childhood!friend reader

summary: Good or bad, she was always there for him. But things between them changes once he starts to become rich and famous; but it’s not for the reason you think it is.

requested by: this ask

A/N: changed it up a lil! Hope you don’t mind. Enjoy!🫶🏼

How could he forget the one person who was always there for him?

You knew Lando since he was racing in karts. Heck, maybe even before that. But this was a given since your brother was best friends with Lando.

Of course, with that comes the inevitable; liking your brother’s friend. You had no idea when it started but maybe it was that one summer day in Italy.

You were on summer break with Lando, your brother (of course) and their group of friends. This was a yearly thing, and they would always head down to Italy. This year, you decided to tag along after much bugging from Lando.

You were laying down at the back of Lando’s yacht reading a book while the rest were out swimming. Your peace and quiet was rudely interrupted when Lando splashed water on you, getting you wet.

“What was that for?!” You yelled.

“C’mon!” He gestures. “The water’s nice!”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “I will if you promise to buy me a new copy,” You showed him your now damp book.

He laughs, “Just one? I can buy you ten.. a hundred even.”

“Whatever,” You rolled your eyes. Cocky.

Nonetheless, you jumped in the water. He swims up to you.

“Liking Italy so far?” He asks.

“Yeah. It- it’s good.” You stuttered as you were shocked by the sudden closeness in proximity.

He smiles. “Good. I’ll make sure to bring you back here every year, kay?”

“You don’t have to,”

“I want to. I like having you around. Your brother? Not so much. He’s such an annoying-“ The conversation cuts off when your brother splashes water on the both of you, well mostly Lando.

“Oi!” He calls out.

“…prick!” Lando splashes water back at him and they start fighting.

You laughed at their antics. It has always been like this since young.

With the closeness, came questions.

It was obvious that you were someone important to him.

Whenever you came by to his home in Monaco, the fridge would be stocked with your favourite drinks and the pantry would be filled with your favourite snacks. When your brother found out, all he said was “Oh I see that he has favourites. And it’s not me.”

You liked spending time with him, and he made it very clear he liked having you around.

Fans would even ask about you on his live streams.

And most of the times, he would call out for you (if you were with him of course.)

You would always smile and wave to the fans and it was like they would go ape-shit over you. Some even asked if you two were really friends, and you confirmed it by saying yes. He didn’t like you like that anyway.

It has been a month. A month of Lando giving you the cold shoulder.

It started off when he didn’t acknowledge your presence in the garage. You knew something was off, but you didn’t want to bug him about it.

Usually, after every race he would bring you to dinner at a fancy restaurant. He would even go as far as asking recommendations from other drivers.

He knew you loved food and that it was your first in every country you went to with him, so he made a promise that after every race, good or bad, he would always bring you out.

But that night, after his race in Monaco, all you got was a “sorry I’m calling it an early night” text from Lando.

What a prick!

You were gutted as you were already dressed up. You sighed, throwing your purse on the bed.

That night, when you lay in bed, scrolling on Instagram, you saw his Instagram story. Lando did not call it an early night. In fact, he was partying with the other drivers. This obviously surprised you but you thought nothing of it.

Of course, you still went to his races, but it was like you were invisible now. Suddenly coming every Sunday started to feel like a waste of time; the person you supported didn’t even acknowledge your existence.

“And where are you off to?” Your brother asks.

You shrugged. “He doesn’t even want me here anyways,” You took your headset off and left.

You walked away from McLaren’s garage to go walk around the paddock… and right to Ferrari’s.

What better way to spend your time, right? Going somewhere you were actually wanted.

You walked into the garage, a sea of red hitting you. You weren’t used to this… you were much more familiar with the orange walls instead of red. The workers greeted you and you did the same.

“Cariño!” He shouts as soon as he sees you. He walks over to you, engulfing you in a hug. “What are you doing here?”

You smile. “Why? Can’t I come see my favourite driver?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Favourite?” He laughs. “Isn’t your favourite Lando?”

You rolled your eyes at the question. “Not anymore. It’s you now.”

He blushed. “Well, I’m honoured. And please, stay as long as you want.”

“I will.”

“Good. I’ll be back.” He disappears into the sea of mechanics and you stayed, watching him from the back of the garage.

This had been going on for a while, and obviously your brother had caught on.

At first, he too was confused to as why his best friend wasn’t talking to his sister anymore, he figured it was because the two of you fought, but that wasn’t the case. The pair of you never fight. A few disagreements maybe, mostly because Lando wouldn’t last a day without talking to you.

But soon, the reason behind that became clear on one night he was over at Lando’s, gaming with him.

The laughter dies down. So I decided to pop the question. Y’know, rip it off like a bandaid or whatever.

“Lan,” I call out.

He hums in response.

“What’s up with you and y/n? Everything okay? You know I can always talk to her for you right?”

I see him let out a heavy breathe. “Nothing’s wrong,”

I squint. I know he’s lying. “Really?”

He nods.

“Cmon Lan.” I nudge him. “I’ve known you for years. What is it?”

He sighs, “It’s nothing Dylan. Nothing is going on.”

I sigh, “Well she’s saying she thinks it’s because you’re famous now, that the fame has gotten to your head. And I know that’s not it cause I’m sitting here playing games with you. She’s upset, Lan. Talk to her, will you?”

He laughs, but not because what I said was funny, more like in disbelief. “Tell her to talk to Carlos instead.”

I snap my head towards him. “Carlos? What does he have to do with this?”

“You should ask your sister,” He says, unhappily.

“Now why would I do that? You know I dont like prying into her life.”

“But you should. They’re getting close.” He scoffs.

“And what’s wrong with that? Wait, don’t tell me you’re jealous?”

He laughs, again. “I’m n-not jealous!”

“You’re lying! Lando!” I smacked his arm.

“Dylan I swear, I’m not!”

“You like my sister!”

“I do not!”

“You son of a bitch! I knew it! You like my sister.” Now it was my turn to laugh in disbelief.

“Shut up.” He says. “If word gets out I know who I’ll have to kill.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. But you have to talk to her though.”

He just hums in response.

You were scrolling on tiktok, waiting for Carlos to be done with changing. You came across a video of Lando and you. It was posted by what you assumed was a fan.

The video showed him looking at you. And it wasn’t a “that’s my bestfriend” kinda look… it was more of a “i adore you” look.

You scrolled past that tiktok video, brushing it off. Maybe you were overthinking it.

The video below that was of the same thing, just from another angle. You were so engrossed in the video you didn’t even realise Carlos was calling out for you.

“Cariño?”

You snapped out of the trance, quickly switching off your phone.

“Carlos,” You smile.

“Ready to go?”

You hum in response.

You no longer joined Lando for race weekends anymore. As sad as you were, you figured well, this was one way to get rid of a crush and someone who has been there for him this entire time.

You picked up your phone, calling your brother.

The line rings, and finally, “I need to talk to you,”

There was silence on the other end, “It’s about Lando, isnt it?” Your brother asks.

You sigh, “How’d you know?”

“You’re my sister. I know everything. What’s up?”

“Lando!” I shout as I entered his room.

“Lan! Lando!” I yell out once again.

“What!” I hear him respond. Sounds like it’s coming from the shower.

I barged in to the shower, Lando quickly covering himself.

“Relax. It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked.”

“Fair point.”

He relaxes and continues to shampoo his hair.

I took a seat on the toilet. “You said you’d talk to her, right?”

No response. He just goes silent. “Lando?”

“I…I have. It’s sorted.”

“Is that so… then why did she call me, crying?”

“What?” The water stops. Lando opens the glass door, poking his head out. “She’s crying? I made her cry?”

“Yeah. You did.”

“Well, shit. I fucked up, didn’t I.” He pinches the bridge of nose.

“Yeah. You did.” I repeat myself.

“I didn’t mean for it to get this bad, I swear Dylan. Everytime I try to talk to her, I can’t do it. Mate she’s got a thing for Carlos, not me.”

I laughed at the absurdity.

“Mate, you got to be shitting me. It’s my sister we’re talking about here.” I stopped. “Do you not see her lock screen? Even after all this while it’s still a picture of you during your first Euro Championship win. She still saves your contact as ‘bubba’ because that’s what she used to call you.“

I can see him form a slight smile. “Well that’s funny. I still have her contact saved as ‘nugget’.”

We laugh. “Icing her out like this is no way to do it. You love her Lan. Don’t let her think otherwise.“

You were tossing and turning, hoping to fall asleep. You figured it would be easy to fall asleep as it was raining. Usually the sound of rain usually lulls you to sleep easily. But tonight just like the other nights you were wide awake, thinking of Lando.

How could he forget me? How could he just toss me aside after all the times I was there for him? Did he just forget me because he’s rich and famous now? Do I not fit into his lifestyle? I know I’m no model but… God I miss him.

Suddenly, there was a knock on your door. The knocks were just getting more impatient. You groaned, leaving your bed. “I’m coming! Jesus.”

You unlocked the door in frustration, but all that frustration went away when the person who stood in front of your door was none other than Lando Norris.

“L-lando?” You croaked. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“Hey,” He smiles. “Can I come in?”

“Uh, o-of course.” You stepped aside as he enters.

He clears his throat. You were still confused. When did he come home?

“So, listen.” He says, as he takes a seat. “I’m…” He exhales. “I’m here to apologise. It’s not that I forgot you, or that you don’t fit into my lifestyle. You do, and you are one of the few people that understands this more than anyone. So,” He pauses, gathering all the courage he has. “I’m here to say that, yes.”

Yes what?

“Yes, I do like you. I’ve liked you since you took that trophy off my hands in Italy. I’m sorry I hurt you. And please, don’t ever doubt your place in my life, you’re always on top… after my career of course.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What took you so long?”

“What?”

“I said, what took you-“

“No I heard you the first time. I dunno.” He shrugs.

There was silence between the two of you. “Okay.” Was all you could say.

He leaves your apartment, relieved but unsatisfied. Maybe he was expecting a kiss. A hug? Maybe even for you to jump on him and cry?

He unlocks his car. It was pouring. When he was about to enter his car, a familiar voice stops him.

“Lando!” You stood, under the rain.

He rushes over to you. “What are you doing?! You’re gonna catch a cold! Your brother’s gonna kill me.”

You laugh. “I forgot to tell you,”

“Tell me what?”

“That I like you too. About damn time!”

He smiles. The widest you’ve ever seen. “Really? You don’t have a thing for Carlos?”

“No, I don’t. I’ve always had a thing for you though,”

He smiles, again. “Well, me too. I’m sorry it took me so long,”

“It’s okay. I was waiting. I was here all along.” You smile. He holds your face, brushing the rain on your face away with his thumbs. The gap between you two closes as he kisses you under the rain.

You pull away, “It’s not safe for you to drive home. And I need someone to keep me warm,” You flash him a cheeky smile.

“I’ll gladly be your human heater,” He says, kissing you once again.

#lando norris #f1 x you #f1 #f1 imagines #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #deltaromeo3 #lando norris fic #lando norris imagines #f1 fic #one shot

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pupcuck · 4 months

Text

SLEIGH BALLS !

ft. leon s. kennedy x gn!reader

tags. GILF LEON!!! incest, big age gap he’s 60+ at the very least, voyeurism

note. ignore that this is sort of xmas themed and sorry if this does not live up to any expectations I think I hyped him up too much LMFAOO still getting out of my writing slump so forgive me if this is very clunky and boring! not edited whatsoever so begging u ignore mistakes i’m . really unhappy this fic but still gonna post it bc idk when i will be able to write ab him again 😭 trust this will be rewritten

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

You’re a good kid. Honest. You don’t do drugs, you don’t drink, you don’t stay out late, but what you do partake in is the act of sitting in your bedroom hunched over your desk and mindlessly scrolling. Dad says to let you be, mom is unable to stay out of your business, and she thinks you need to go outside more often. Fresh air is good for you! What she’s trying to say, essentially, stripped down to the simplest of terms, is that you’re a total loser. That her and dad were fucking, partying, shooting up in alleyways, all the shit that normal teenagers are supposed to be doing.

She forcibly packs your bags, all while you trail after her whining about how she can’t touch that— Don’t be so rough with that- No that’s not to throw out- No, Mom! I wear that all the time—

She threatens to take away Christmas presents, which at your age shouldn’t be so wounding, but you shut up right then and there. “Now,” Mom talks to you like you’re a baby still. You appreciate it sometimes, like now, when your body is wilting as she opens up the curtains, fragility is much appreciated. You fear the sunlight might turn your bones to dust. “Me and dad are going away.”

What— For Christmas, mom says. Where— A few states over, none that really concern you, might be a road trip for all you know. When— As soon as you’re gone. How, why, who— Mom doesn’t answer those, she’s exasperated by your rigorous questioning, by the way you wring your hands and slump when you sit. It’s awful, looks like you’ve got a hunchback forming.

“Why would you do this to me, mom?” You paw at her sleeve, she brushes you off. “Will you pick me up before Christmas? I don’t want to stay there, what if he doesn’t like me?”

“Grandpa’s fun,” She tells you, “He’s been asking about you.”

Liar. You’ve met grandpa a handful of times, and that was as a child. He doesn’t visit for any holidays and vice versa. Doesn’t even send a Christmas card, forgets to call his own daughter to wish her a happy birthday. Grandpa clearly enjoys his solitude and you firmly doubt he’d appreciate having a mopey teen around.

Grandpa’s nice. Grandpa’s sweet, he won’t bother you. Grandpa might need help in the mornings, I don’t want him to get hurt, he works too hard. Grandpa’s quiet, don’t worry about it, both of you are. You’ll get along fine!

No one told you grandpa was hot. Mom failed to mention he was a babe at, like, what? Seventy years old? Not quite, but you don’t remember him being this hot. Good grief. He’s not tall, but his bicep is the size of your face, and his hair is shaggy. A dull grey colour, shiny like gunmetal. When he takes your suitcase, his arm flexes and bulges outwards, you start to overheat, brain sizzling as you’re cooked under his cobalt gaze.

There’s an old pick-up outside his expansive farmhouse, a mailbox that’s in desperate need of another layer of paint, a wooden stable off in the distance that you doubt he uses - other than that it’s barren. This is true torture. Mom’s very own version of those camps they send out of control teens to. Your sneakers sink into the mud, as you walk the soles make that icky squishy sound, your socks are soaked for sure. He doesn’t take his boots off, tracks mud into the house and you recoil. Somebody needs to give grandpa etiquette lessons.

“Can you ask him for the wifi password?” You ask mom quietly, playing with your fingers as Grandpa Leon places your suitcase on the bottom step, grumbling about taking it up later, that you should’ve packed lighter.

“Dad, did you set up the router?”

“The what?”

“The router, broadband, so you can use the phone I sent you? For Christmas?” Mom’s frowning, hands on her hips as Leon waves her off.

“I got a landline.” He gestures to the telephone on the desk that sits pushed up against the wall of the entrance hall, you had to squeeze past it into the open-plan lounge. Rustic. Old. The ornaments that sit tucked between nooks and crannies remind you of the shit that gets sold for two cents in a yard sale.

“Dad, that’s not…” She shakes her head, pushes you forward, “Give grandpa a hug.”

Is this bitch serious? How old does she think you are? Nonetheless, you step forward, outstretched arms being met with hands that gently put them back by your side. Leon pats your head, his smile looks more like a grimace, a few of his teeth are fake - you can tell. Thank god they’re not dentures. You don’t know if you could deal with watching him popping them in and out, and what about kissing? The texture must be awful. Not that you’re going to kiss him. Your grandpa. It’s just the thought of course.

“Uh, you’re big now.” Leon notes, squints at you so hard the skin around his eyes gets wrinkled to the point where they sink into his face. Ew. You’re just lucky he doesn’t have that old person smell, and from what you’ve heard, grandpa’s capable of taking care of himself. No diapers, no IV tubes, no hourly medicine, nothing that you were afraid of happening. Putting you in charge of someone’s life would be a bad choice to put it simply. “How old are you? Twelve?”

“Dad, god,” Mom rubs her temples, “Nineteen, okay? Got that?”

“I was kidding,” Leon huffs, looking to the side in a brooding manner, he wasn’t kidding. He’s a bad liar like mom.

“Okay, just, please,” She has her fists clenched, biting the inside of her cheek, “I’ll be back for you before Christmas Eve, okay?”

“On Christmas Eve? That’s too late.” Grandpa has bad hearing it seems, or the inability to process whatever his child is saying as most men do.

“I said before, dad, before Christmas Eve,” Mom’s eyes almost pop out of her head, “Whatever, I have to go now, just behave for Grandpa, okay?” She does not have to go yet, she just wants to abandon you here, with no wifi— how will you be able to do anything, the panic hasn’t properly set in yet, you’re too busy pressing your hands to the glassy watching forlornly as mom gets into the car and speeds off so fast you hear her tires squeak. She really wanted to get rid of you. Dumping you with an old man who doesn’t even know your name. A hot old man, but you shouldn’t let your judgement be clouded so easily. And you shouldn’t talk about your grandpa like that.

“How you doing in school?” Grandpa’s question is said with so much disinterest you wonder why he tried to sound like he cares in the first place.

“I’m in college.” You say.

“Right.” Leon shrugs in a way that says worth a shot - at communicating with his basically estranged grandchild that is. “How’s college, good grades? Still gotta pay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, to all of it or none. And that’s that.

Staying with grandpa, you decide, is not the worst thing that could’ve happened to you. Going on vacation with your parents who are in desperate need of a fuck so they can stop arguing sounds worse now that you put it into perspective. The old man is quiet, mom was right about that, and he does his own thing. He let you set up the router, but in the middle of Bumfuck, USA, surrounded by flattened fields, connection isn’t the greatest.

Old photo albums end up being your main source of entertainment. Of your mom as a kid, of grandpa when he was sunflower blond and boyish, with all the beauty of a wild mare, long-faced and tow-headed, although not quite. Much softer, similar to that of raw linen, as if he was born from the rib of spring itself. From its newfound petals and holy lambs. You think it’s too poetic, pretentious even, that it gives grandpa too much credit for being blond and blue-eyed. Beneath Leon’s crushed nose you can see the former pretty boy that he once was. His eyes are the same, and his aged face is more rugged than it is handsome, that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. You think you like him better this way, as grandpa.

Among other things, you learn all sorts about grandpa, he doesn’t speak much, and when he does it’s hard to decipher - just kind of nonsensical grumbling that you can’t really make out. But you’ve done your own research. His bedroom door doesn’t shut fully, you noticed it one night on the way back from the bathroom and decided to take a peek. The setup of his bedroom mirrors the spare room you're sleeping in. His nighttime routine consists of taking a shot of whiskey and trying to get through a book that looks like it’s been sitting on his bedside cabinet for centuries. Leon gets through less than a single page and knocks out, mouth wide open as he snores. Loudly.

He never notices you. Or he pretends not to. Or he’s just senile. It might be wrong, that you know more than you’re letting on. Like what his dick looks like when it’s soft - heavy between his thighs, the skin is wrinkled but not to the point where his dick is unrecognisable. Still looks like a pretty solid dick. You know whether his nipples are pink or brown - brown obviously. Y’know, just the usual, what all grandkids should know about their grandads.

One night, you watch him silently through the gap, the only light that remains glowing is the lamp on his bedside. An ornate looking thing, beaded fringe that lines the shade, out of place in his otherwise barely furnished room. It bathes him in its warmth as he undresses, and you’re struck in the gut by this awful need. His body held up well, surprisingly firm for his age, god forbid he turns around you don’t want to catch sight of anything saggy and unholy. Firm muscle is softened by a layer of fat, making him thicker around the middle. The beer is finally catching up with him.

Grandpa sits back on his bed, with a soft groan he lifts his hips and takes off his boxers. There’s a terrible ache between your legs, throbbing and pulsing and downright nasty. His cock rests heavy on his thigh, the tip is fat and dark, uncut on the fat, you want to put your mouth on it. Never sucked dick before, never been inclined to suck one, but now you think it’s a matter of life and death. You need him down your throat or you’ll die due to neglect.

Why he wanders around the room naked and aimless for a good five minutes mystifies you, a sign of dementia maybe, great jerk off material though, so you don’t complain. Your hand rests on the doorframe as you rub yourself raw, he seems to remember what he was looking for and approaches the vintage chest of drawers, opening the first one to grab his pyjamas. They’re always in the same place, he’s forgetful and old you guess.

As your stomach lurches with the onset of your high, you make the mistake of stepping forward, clasping at the door knob to steady yourself as a wave of pleasure washes over you and leaves your legs shaky. Grandpa looks up, and he blinks at you standing there with your hand in your pants. He’s not quite as stunned as you expected him to be, and while you get ready to wing it back to your room - he half-smiles at you. Like he’s amused.

“You enjoy the show?” Grandpa raises a brow, he pats his lap, and you nod dumbly, legs working on their own as your brain tries to process the fact that he’s not reacting to this badly. “Think I didn’t see you, sweetheart?” Once you near him, he sits you down on his thigh, “You just gotta speak up and ask for things sometimes, then you’ll get ‘em.”

“I don’t… I’m sorry.” You don’t follow, clinging to his shoulders helplessly.

“Been a long time since I’ve done this, you gotta be nice to me, I can’t keep up with you.” Leon kisses the top of your head, that’s the most affectionate he's been since you’ve been here. The most you got out of him was a pat on the back so hard it knocked your organs out of place.

“Grandpa, wait,” The air is stolen from your lungs by a single sharp gasp as he takes your hand in his, the one that was previously down your pants, and sucks on your fingers. His tongue collects the slick that coats them, then he pulls off with a pop, lips wet with your pussy. “Wait, wait,” Your chest tightens, and you’re lightheaded.

“What?” Leon pays you no mind, he lifts your shirt over your head, there’s some struggle as you refuse to lift your arms for a moment. He gets his way, leaning down to take your peaked nipples into his hot mouth.

“It’s wrong.” You push at his head, resist the urge to tangle your fingers in his hair and bring him closer.

“Oh, ‘s wrong now?” Grandpa kisses you, his stubble scratches your cheeks and it feels so right. “Wasn’t wrong when you were getting off to me, was it?”

Spit trickles down your chin, he licks it up, kisses you once more, the excessive dribble finding its way back into your mouth. “That’s ’cause… Well, ‘cause I was…” You stammer, clasping at his chest, fingers tickled by the faint grey hairs that cover the expanse of it.

“‘Cause what?” He gives you more spit-slicked kisses till you shut up, growing dizzier by the second.

“Grandpa…”

His nose wrinkles, “That don’t sound right.” Leon mumbles, under his breath, but ‘cause he’s going deaf it's loud and you hear it. It’s more of an announcement.

“Papa,” You try as he thumbs your pout, the ghost of a smile lines his thin lips. He seems to like that.

Grandpa likes to kiss, he’s starved for affection probably, or he’s just a sentimental old man. You’re impatient and young, he knows that, so when he lays you down, caged by his big arms, Leon makes sure to slow it down even further. Watching you squirm brings him joy, you’ve never seen him smile like that. He kisses every inch of tender flesh, from the top of your head to your ankles.

When he finally parts your thighs to get to your centre, you let out a sigh of relief, body growing lax as he peels your underwear off. Practically glued to your cunt with how much you’ve leaked. Leon traces the shape of your puffy lips, his nose meets your clit first with a light bump. The touch has you reeling, hips lifting up in a jolty motion that makes him chuckle. He uses a single hand to pin you down, splayed over your stomach so he can eat you out without being bothered by your level of sensitivity.

A moment after the nudge of his nose comes his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your swollen bud that has pleasure blooming in your gut. Then his tongue swipes along the seam of your cunt, catching on your clit, he parts your folds with his thumbs, catching every droplet that leaks from your drippy hole. Grandpa sucks on your clit like it’s a piece of hard candy, your thighs clamp shut around his head, he doesn’t seem to mind at all, taking the chance to nestle further into your pussy, tongue digging into your clenching hole all while his nose rubs against your clit.

He’s satisfied only when you are, when you cream on his tongue and he can taste it in the very back of his throat, only then does he pry your thighs apart. Emerging with the bottom half of his face covered in a sheen of your slick like he’s just been diving, you’re pretty sure he gave you carpet burn.

From then on, you begin to sleep in grandpa's room, you sit patiently on his lap while he watches black and white westerns dug up from the depths of who knows where. They’re slow paced and soon enough you find his hand cupping your pussy, grandpa gets you off on his fingers, he kisses your neck - but he doesn’t go any further, never gives you the dick that you crave so badly.

Mom calls a few times, not as many times as you would like her to call, but now that you and grandpa have bonded, it’s been easier to pass her off. You tell her there’s no need to pick you up, that you’re quite happy to stay with grandpa for the rest of the holidays, you don’t say that you’re ready to move in with grandpa and drop out of college to tend to his soft cock all day. Theoretically, if you did drop out of college, you think everything would be handled, surely by now he would’ve put his will in your name. It doesn’t sound all that bad. It sounds quite ideal actually. Sure, grandpa’s fussy about the thermostat, he might need dentures in a few years, but you’ve settled in so nicely. Like, all you’re trying to say is, grandpa’s a lonely guy - he could use your company till he’s sent off to a nursing home somewhere.

“I don’t want to go home,” You say into Leon’s neck, your hand sneaks downwards as the two of you lay in bed like you have been doing every night. “I wanna stay with you, grandpa.”

Leon’s brows knit together when you lift the waistband of his boxers, squeezing his soft dick in your warm palm. “Hey,” He warns lightly, there’s no real malice to it.

“Grandpa, I want you just once before I leave,” You palm him, he hardens albeit slowly, painfully slowly - he’s doing well though. No Viagra needed. You're so proud of him, he’s come a long way. The first few times you tried this his dick adamantly refuses to do more than hang limp.

“You can take me if you’ll have me.” Leon hums, and you don’t really know what that means. Feels like he speaks in tongues most of the time, that’s okay though. Not his fault, poor old man. You clamber onto his lap, dressed only in a sleep shirt for easy access, he guides his half-hard cock past your folds, the head stretching your little hole so well.

Your back arches so far he has to straighten your spine himself to keep you upright. Leon takes your wrists in one hand, bringing them behind your back and keeping you tied up like a rotisserie chicken. With some difficulty you manage to take him, both from the fact he’s still partly soft, slipping out more than a couple times, and ‘cause you’re so tense you keep pushing him out by mistake.

“Easy, sweetheart. Nice ‘n slow, don’t rush yourself.” Grandpa coos as your cunt stretches impossibly to accommodate his length. The tip rests snug in your cervix, jabbing at it painfully, and if it wasn’t for the thumb on your clit, soothing all discomfort, you’d be complaining. Grandpa’s cock doesn’t get any harder, but it doesn’t get any softer either. You start to think it might be his limit as you swivel your hips, grinding yourself down into him, the base of his cock splitting you open.

You ache to touch him, to lay against his chest and fuck your hips downwards onto him lazily. Grandpa insists on keeping you like this, he begins to rut into you from below, the thumb on your clit follows the same pace. “You’re too little, sweetheart,” Grandpa chides when he feels you tighten, “Going too fast for me.” The knot snaps, unravelling as warmth spreads through your limbs, makes your legs feel like jelly.

Grandpa takes longer, he doesn’t have much left in him, but you milk him dry till his cock is left sputtering. When he lets go of your arms, you allow yourself to slump down on his chest, kneading it with your hands. “That was okay.”

“Just okay?” Leon snorts, he pats your head like he did when you first met him.

“Just okay.” You confirm, hoping he can feel your smile, and that he knows it was more than okay.

#leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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onlyswan · 2 years

Text

summary: in which jungkook doesn’t understand you sometimes.

> fluff, suggestive / wc: 2.8k

> warnings: making out, oc likes calling him baby boy okayyyy

note: protective boyfriend jungkook i love you

—

with a sigh, you pull a sweatshirt over your head as the neighbor’s landline telephone continues ringing like it has been doing for the past hour. you shove your wallet in the deep pocket of your sweatpants, holding your phone as you shut the front door of your apartment.

the chilly air of the night engulfs you, and it makes you yawn again. you sniffle and wipe away the shallow tears at the very corners of your eyes, shivering like a leaf.

you feel a sense of relief wash over you when the familiar lights of the 24-hour convenience store appear before your eyes. the bells ring as you push the door open. there’s a few people inside, most probably looking for a cheap and quick late night dinner or snack.

you come back out with the tip of the watermelon slice popsicle between your lips. you skip along the quiet road, freely crossing to the empty playground illuminated by the warm streetlights. you make sure the swing is not dirty nor wet before sitting on it, pushing your feet on the ground to make it rock back and forth gently.

you scroll through instagram mindlessly, double tapping without even looking closely at the pictures appearing momentarily on your screen. celebrities. tattoo shops. art accounts. best friends. friends. friends you don’t talk to anymore.

your popsicle is halfway finished when the contact name ‘my baby’ pops on top of your screen.

my baby: Just got off work.. It was fun but tiring :( I hope you’re sleeping well. Goodnight I love you♡

you read it over and over again, a smile spreading on your lips. while jungkook constantly updates you throughout the day, it’s more often that you wake up to his goodnight messages. you happily start typing up a reply until your smile drops when you realize that you should be asleep on your bed, not riding a swing at almost two in the morning.

you slowly tap the backspace to delete one letter at a time, just as the popsicle dissolves on your tongue slowly as well. he scolds you when you go out of the house late at night, but the neighbor’s telephone and your own thoughts became too unbearable, and you just had to get some fresh air outside to maybe help you get a more comfortable sleep later, albeit late.

“oh fuck,” you curse with a wince when your phone plays a familiar ringtone, your boyfriend’s face and contact name shoved infront of your face. you have no other choice but to answer his call now.

“hey, baby. why are you still up? can’t sleep?” he sounds sweet and tender, voice quieter than it usually is as if he’s afraid of waking up. you’re fully awake right now, though.

it makes you smile again as you carry on with finishing your cold snack. “how did you know?”

“the three dots . . .” he trailed off with a laugh, and you can already imagine him shaking his head at you. “i always leave my phone open to our convo when i’m driving and they kept appearing and disappearing.”

“why the hell do you do that?” you whine, embarrassed by the way that you got caught in the headlights.

“incase there’s an emergency. so i can see it right away. it worked just now, see?” he answers proudly.

you kick your feet on the ground to express the giddiness he never fails to make you feel. he still surprises you with his thoughtfulness. “me having a hard time sleeping is an emergency?”

“of course, that’s not healthy! i can hear you eating ice cream, too. hmm, or is that a popsicle?”

you leave the remaining small piece of watermelon inside your mouth, the wooden stick hanging between your lips, before putting your hand over it in surprise.

“baby, what did i tell you about not going out alone at night? you should’ve called me.”

the thing is jungkook scolds you in such a tender manner that you immediately feel guilty for being stubborn. sure, you’ve had small fights here and there, but he has never raised his voice at you. while it’s true that he doesn’t want to scare you in any way, it’s really more that he can never get that upset or angry with you. he never projects his anger with others to you either. when he’s in a foul mood, he explains it to you and takes his time to cool off before spending time with you again. the usual remedy for this is boxing, and he lets you tag along and watch him train slash release the negativity in his body when you have the time. boxing, gaming, cursing movie or show villains. those are the only times you can recall seeing him angry on different levels.

“it’s so late. i didn’t want to bother you because i know you had a late schedule.” you confess, words slightly slurred because of the melting popsicle in your mouth. you quickly jog to the trash bins to throw away the stick before going back to your previous spot on the swing.

“just call me no matter what, baby, please? you know that i’m proud of you for being fearless, but i’m not.”

his pleading voice tugs at your heartstrings, and it takes everything in you not to squeal because there is currently no pillow that can hide that eardrum-shattering sound. “yah, what is this? why are you the sweetest boyfriend ever?”

“i am, aren’t i?” he answers cheekily, chuckling as you come into view. “then be good for your boyfriend and stop swinging so high like you’re riding the vikings.”

“how the fuck did you-” you stare at your phone in offense when you get cut off by the sound of the call being dropped. and then a familiar car parks only a few meters infront of you. out jungkook’s favorite stompers go before the rest of his body follows. huh, you thought these kind of scenarios only happened in the dramas.

he speed walks towards you, strong hands grabbing the chains to stabilize the swing that made you feel as though you were flying in the sky. well, it was nice while it lasted.

“hey, i was having fun.” you look up to him with a pout.

he roughly tugs at his black face mask to take it off, revealing the rest of his face to you. your pretty, bare-faced jungkook.

“how else will i kiss you if you keep on swinging like that?” he asks rhetorically as he hungrily eyes your glossy lips shaded red from the popsicle you consumed. he bends to connect his lips with yours, securely holding your face in his hands. his tongue begs for entrance, and you indulge him with rapture.

he licks his lips as he pulls away, the refreshing flavor heavily similar to your favorite lip balm and fruit shake order. “you’re making me addicted to watermelon.”

“i bought it to celebrate.”

“hmm, celebrate what? did i miss something?”

“i got a failing grade in chemistry!” you share with a delighted grin, and his mouth hangs open in utter confusion. he squats down to level with you as he tries to piece together the information he just learned and your bright enthusiasm about it.

“it’s not like i did it on purpose, you know? i really tried my best. but like, so this is what it feels like to fail! ah, i can’t believe it that i keep laughing when i think about it.” you slap your thigh as you hunch over in laughter. your forehead falls on his shoulder as your body shakes, and he shifts his weight to accommodate yours as well.

“baby, are you okay? isn’t this the denial stage? you-you can cry it out, if that’s what you need. it’s okay.” he strokes your hair comfortingly, pressing a small kiss on where your neck and shoulder meet.

he clearly recalls you crying a month ago, rambling about how you don’t understand anything about the subject because your new professor is a condescending asshole. that is the same reaction he is expecting, if not worse.

wait, isn’t it this the worse? has my baby succumbed into insanity?

you pull away with wide eyes, and he finds you so adorable he can’t help but to give you another kiss on the corner of your mouth while you talk. “no, no- i’m really okay. instead of sulking about my failure, i’m celebrating the new experience!”

“why do you look happier than when you get good grades?” he finds himself copying the same amused smile painted on your face, astounded by the mindset you’re choosing to go with. he has learned a new thing from you today: how to see life from a fresh and insightful perspective.

what a tender spirit you are, one he swears to cherish and protect.

“i don’t know either. why do i find it so funny?”

“i’m just glad you’re not beating yourself up over it.” he tucks your hair behind your right ear, gazing at you lovingly. his touch grazes down until it reaches your chin, tilting it down so his eyes can meet yours. “you’ll do better next time. i should help you study! we will ace it!”

“i don’t think i will.” you admit with a giggle, throwing your arms around jungkook. he stumbles back a bit until he hangs on the chains of the swing for balance. “but i won’t turn down the chance to spend more time with you.”

your words make his expression soften, and he buries his face in your neck to inhale your natural scent. “right after i sent my text i decided to turn around and come over to your place because i miss you.”

“oh, that’s how you found me then?”

“i didn’t have to find you. you stand out more than you think.”

you pull away, leaving your wrists limp over his shoulders. “like in a good way?”

“in a dangerous way. who rides the playground swing like an amusement park ride at this time? only you.” he quirks an eyebrow, hand squeezing your face to make your pout pop out.

after your boyfriend spelled out what you were doing before he arrived, your expression darkens in realization of how dumb you must’ve looked all alone in the playground.

“that sounds more like something you’d do. you just rubbed off on me.” you remark with a huff, holding his wrist to push his hand away.

“whatever helps you sleep at night, baby. let’s go home so we can cuddle.” he stands up to tower over you once again.

you frown in response, getting annoyed as the ringing sound plays in your head again. “don’t want to. the neighbor’s phone might still be ringing.”

“again?” this is the third time you’re complaining about it to him. “my place then.”

he chuckles when you spring on your feet swiftly, tugging him towards his car like a child forcing their parent to the toy store.

“wait, i’m craving that watermelon popsicle. let’s go there first.” he points at the deserted convenience store on the other side of the street.

you halt on your tracks, looking back at him with sad puppy eyes. “am i no longer enough for you? now you need the real thing?”

he scratches his head, caught off guard. “babe-”

you hide a smile, entertained with his reactions when you play around with his feelings. “okay, fine. my treat, since we’re celebrating.”

the cashier looks up from his phone to be greeted by a familiar customer purchasing the same item they did only thirty minutes ago. the only difference is that there’s a tattooed arm hanging on your shoulder this time around, which also smoothly leads you outside after you pay.

jungkook pulls you on his lap before you can even take a single step towards the chair facing him. an arm securely wraps around your waist as he devours the celebratory sweet treat you bought him. he poses for your front camera, making his doe eyes appear bigger as he bites off the tip of the watermelon slice. the red bumper light of a car passing by shines on his face.

he offers you a taste after, letting you suckle on it as he holds it up for you because you’re too preoccupied with checking the photos that you took. and as corny as it may sound, it hits him there and then. the epiphany that love shouldn’t be as difficult as he originally thought.

it shouldn’t be intense that it messes with his head, leaves him unable to function. it shouldn’t give him the same rush as driving a race car. it shouldn’t be crying and screaming and begging. he doesn’t need to slay a dragon, or sacrifice a part of himself. it takes work, but it doesn’t take away from him. because this, this trivial moment fulfills him in magnificent ways he can’t even dare to comprehend. because you have occupied all the space in his heart and made a home out of it— staying put through droughts and winters. because- god, because you redirect his hand to his mouth and mumble an affectionate my love, it’s yours and suddenly he wants to write you another love song on the spot.

“are you sure that you’re okay?” he checks up on you again, concerned that you might just be pretending to not be affected by your grade to avoid worrying him.

“i am. i really am!” you laugh, not tearing your eyes away from your screen as you scroll through instagram again. “i know i did the best i could at the moment, and that’s enough, because i can’t be the best at everything. i found my weakness as an imperfect human. i was bound to fail something at some point. it’s just the way life is. if i dwell on it too much, i’ll just end up failing my other subjects too.”

you may not be perfect based on your dictionary, but to jungkook, you are. so perfectly human, so perfectly you. your favorite flavor exploding sweet fireworks in his mouth. it’s so perfect how it’s so you.

“but if you ever feel sad, just remember that i’m by your side, okay?” he rubs your stomach, resting his chin on your shoulder to subtly take a peek of your instagram feed. huh, someone is on a honeymoon at greece. should he add it to his list since you liked the post?

“i know that you are, baby. besides, some did even worse than me so that helped me move on faster.”

his breath tickles your ears when he chortles at your confession, and you flinch with a giggle. “then should i help you study to do better than everyone? i’ll behave this time, i promise.”

you turn to look at him with a challenging look. “then that means none of that one right answer, one make-out session game again, right?”

he pouts at the mention of the game that got him banned from your study time months ago. “i’ll follow the rules this time. just a peck.”

you roll your eyes. “yeah, i don’t trust you.”

truth be told, you don’t trust yourself more.

“just behave and i’ll kiss you after we study, baby boy.”

he sighs in defeat, a hopeless case once you refer to him with the pet name. “can i have kiss right now then?”

you bite off the last piece of popsicle on the stick before sharing a french kiss with him. you caress his face gently, feeling the dips of his dimples as his tongue dances with yours. he pulls away with a satisfied hum, heart beating so loud he can feel it in his ears. with you, he never knows what he’s gonna get. he swallows down the remaining piece of the dessert, about the size of a pebble, that somehow ended up in his mouth. your hazy eyes follow the way his adam’s apple bobs, licking your lips unconsciously.

your shameless act doesn’t escape him. he chuckles as he wipes your wet chin with his black shirt. “you’re a messy eater.”

“but you like it when i’m sloppy-” you squeal when he covers your mouth with the cloth supposedly covering his abdomen, giggling uncontrollably as you paw at his forearms until he releases you.

you stand up to leave and he smacks your butt before following you. “you’re such a menace.”

“hurry! it’s so cold, i’m dying.” you complain, lacing your freezing hand with his.

he clicks his tongue, thinking about how questionable you are for eating a popsicle when you’re freezing your ass off. more so if he includes the fact that you bought it to commemorate your failing grade.

“wanna eat ramen at my place?”

—

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#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts fluff #bts reaction

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brabblesblog · 8 months

Text

Jealousy

Part two of the Goodnight Moon fic! This will probably now be a slow burn with a fair amount of angst, fluff, maybe smut? and a happy ending.

Please let me know what you all think!

Read on AO3.

Part 1 and 3

Masterlist.

The sound of your laughter from across the camp broke Astarion’s reverie. Ears prickling, he looked across the campfire to see you and Gale in his tent, shoulder to shoulder and looking at a scroll. He leaned in, eyes narrowing. You never laughed like that in his presence.

Ever since that night, feeding on you had become an almost nightly thing. Without fail, you would come over to him shyly every day and whisper that he could come feed on you tonight, and he would always purr a flirty response that never failed to make you blush. He would never admit it, but he lived for those moments when you would get flustered, cheeks reddening and barely able to string together a reply. The rest of the day would almost always end up with you two together, either quietly walking together behind the rest of the group, or fighting side by side, his back to yours and yours to his. In the evenings, once things quieted down, he would make his way to your tent and always find you awake. The two of you would chat a little bit, before and after the bite, and then he would bid you goodnight. You still kept your hands clenched, he noticed, and he wanted to put his hand over it every time, but something in him held back. In this way your friendship was slowly blooming into something more authentic, but Astarion really didn’t know what to make of it yet. He knew you were attracted, yes, but was not sure what the reluctance for physical intimacy meant. You no doubt wanted his body - but why say no, then? Every time he made some sort of advance - fingers ghosting down your neck when he leaned in to bite, hands wrapping around your waist to stop you from falling into a trap - you would respond very positively, heart racing and face reddening, but you would always pull away. And you never really laughed, he realized. You smiled, and looked at him warmly (and he would always feel something warm pool in his chest whenever you did) but it was always so- he sighs, trying to figure out what it was -

Guarded. Like there were parts of you you were never going to let him see.

And now, this laughter. He pretended to continue reading his book, but his eyes were glazed over and trying to listen to the conversation.

“Gale- this.. this is stupid!” You giggle, smacking Gale on the thigh. “I can’t even figure it out. I’m too dumb for this.”

Gale utters a long suffering sigh and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with so little affinity for the weave. It is quite intriguing, if it weren’t so pitiful.” You smack him again and he yelps. Astarion looks up, staring now, and his heart breaks a little. You were so open around Gale, so willing to be so close to him without any walls up.

“I have to go soon,” you say, “but I definitely will be practicing more with you.”

Gale chuckles, then grows more serious. He lays a gentle hand over your shoulders, tugging you close. Astarion notices you don’t blush, but you also lean in fully. “Are you sure this is what you want? It’s dangerous, falling for-“

You interrupt Gale, shushing him. “It is. And I don’t think I really have a choice. Now be quiet! Only you know.” You give him a quick hug and then leave, heading for your bed. Gale watches you go with a soft look on his face.

The elf quietly closes his book, pondering what he had just heard. Falling for? Gale? How did he miss this?

It should be fine, right? Just because you and Gale were well- whatever you two are- doesn’t mean he’s lost your protection. You still let him feed on you. Perfectly fine, he tells himself, as a burning hot feeling rages through his chest. A feeling he suspected to be jealousy, but refused to acknowledge as such.

He preened more than the usual before coming to your bed tonight. He made sure his curls were perfect and clean, and that his shirt was tied a little looser, showing off more of his chest. Bracing himself, he walked to you, and to his surprise saw you still with that blasted scroll, practicing.

“Looks like either your teacher was inept, or you’re just unable to grasp the finer points of the weave,” he drawled, adapting an air of casual indifference as he walked in. You blush furiously, hiding the scroll. “Astarion. Uh- hi. I didn’t think you’d come so early today.”

“I’m not surprised. Seeing you fumble about all day, I’m sure it’s a you thing, not him,” he continued. You eyes darken with hurt, and you look away. Wordlessly, you lay down and bare your neck, wanting him to just bite and be done with it. He sighs, sits down next to you, and eyes you warily. The quiet stretches for a few minutes.

“Am I to assume our nightly… rendezvous is at an end? I am sure Gale would mind if his sweet apprentice always ended up woozy in the daytime.” He knew it made zero sense, but he was just trying to soothe his own pain, stamping down any hope he had inside himself.

“No, he does not mind,” you say softly. “I’m just trying to learn one spell, not be a wizard.” Your eyes move over him and gods, he was beautiful. His eyes were filled with an emotion you have never seen there before, and your eyes fall downwards, lingering on the pale skin where his shirt was a little too carelessly left open.

He notices your eyes, and his expression darkens. Maybe your heart was Gale’s, but you still wanted him. He takes your hand and places it where you were looking.

“You know, they say that when vampires feed, their hearts beat again,” he says, leaning in closer, keeping your hand over his chest. “Would you like to feel that?”

You can only gulp and nod, completely caught in his trap. He places a soft kiss on your jaw, then moves down to your neck, biting down.

You feel a soft thudding under your fingers, but you aren’t sure if it’s your own pulse or his heart. You close your eyes, just feeling it. The now-familiar cold and numbness creeping over you; the new and possibly imaginary heartbeats under your splayed fingers. You lean in against the top of his head and inhale, planting a soft, loving kiss.

You were dangerously close to falling in love with him, that much was sure. Gale had been right to caution you against it. You weren’t even sure what he wanted. To manipulate your feelings so that you’d feed him, help him? Most likely. By all means you should resist, to tell him he could have what he wanted without giving anything in return, but for now you wanted to enjoy this.

He finally finishes, pulling away with a satisfied smile. The thudding stops, but you’re not really sure if it was ever there. “Did you enjoy that, my dear? I never really am sure if it’s true, never checked myself, but you can tell me now,” he smirked.

You take a few moments to compose yourself, then sit up too. “I did feel something - I think. I wasn’t sure. But. Astarion,” you speak so earnestly he looks to you with surprise.

You take a deep breath. You have to tell him.

“You don’t have to do anything, okay? Nothing in return for feeding. I will feed you. And I will help you. And I will do my best to keep you safe.”

He looks crestfallen, but in a second it’s hidden behind a mask of indifference and a smirk. “Why of course I knew that! It’s all just fun though, isn’t it? To taste you, to taste me - to make our dull days a little better?”

So it is Gale. Astarion’s heart breaks a little bit at your words, as much as he denies it even exists. Your help is assured, so he should be happy. But all he feels is that gnawing hole in the middle of his chest.

“It is fun,” you acknowledge. “You have made my days considerably less dull.” Gathering your courage, you finally lean forward and kiss his cheek. You keep your eyes shut, afraid to see his expression. This will probably be the last time you and he would have any contact of the romantic sort, seeing as you told him it was no longer necessary. But all the same you will miss it.

“Good night, Astarion,” you whisper softly, eyes still closed. As you begin to pull away, he stops you, hands on your shoulders keeping you there. He takes a sharp breath, one that makes you realize his lips are right in front of you. “Good night, darling. Sleep well.” A small, chaste kiss is placed on your lips, and just like that, he is gone.

Astarion leaves before he can say too much. Before he can spill out words that he’s too afraid to admit even to himself. He hunts recklessly tonight, trying to burn the thought of tonight’s events from his mind.

#baldur's gate #astarion #astarion baldurs gate #astarion x mc #bg3 #pale elf #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 gale #bg3 tav #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #baldurs gate astarion

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bagopucks · 1 year

Text

J. Hughes - It’s Out There

✄————————————

Jack Hughes x Reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: a bit of ass grabbing💕, talk of ED, general angst (not proofread)

—————————————

The horror stories weren’t exactly true, but they also weren’t far off. College is what one makes of it. That I learned early on. I kept up with the work, I built a steady routine, I put forth my best effort. Things so far had been fine. I had enough time for my major and my life.

Taylor on the other hand.. she wanted to party. I loved her. I truly did, but sometimes her complaining stressed me out. We were roommates, and I always offered my best advice and a helping hand when she needed it. But she never put forth her own effort. Jack often heard about her when I needed time to complain.

Today though, I had gotten her to sit down with me and study. I promised breaks here and there, and even a late dinner. We’d both missed out on lunch for finals, neither of us were exactly hungry considering the stress. We were in need of food. But more importantly, we were in need of better help.

I managed well with our other classes we had together. I let her copy my notes and we discussed and reviewed, but when it came to math, we were both scattered.

So we decided to take a brief break.

I leaned back against the wall, sitting on my bed, while Taylor mirrored me from her own bed. I texted Jack, while she no doubt scrolled through social media.

I enjoyed the silence. Not interrupted or broken by anything but the quiet flow of air through the AC in the room. Occasionally Taylor would send me something on Instagram, and our silence shifted into both of us scrolling through our social media apps and sending each other things.

I sent her a video of a French bulldog, I received a post in return that I couldn’t quite make out from the small notification. So I opened it.

“Jack Hughes Finally Off The Market?”

It wasn’t anything more than one of those meme pages, but the photo of Jack and I kissing at his favorite cafe in the city- that was what caught me off guard. I felt my stomach turn, my entire being feeling like it fell through the floor.

It had been pitch black that night. Nobody had even been on that street when we came out. How did somebody get a photo?

“Tay,” I glanced at the likes. There were enough to make me nauseous. I decided to check the comments, hopeful that perhaps somebody would point out how it was a joke. I knew that was unlikely though.

“Where’d you find this?” Fear gripped my heart as I read through comments.

‘Can’t see her face :|’

‘Great content bud’

‘Fuck her’

‘Don’t worry guys, it’s me’

‘Hands couldn’t even fit around that ass’

‘I’ll bet she’s pretty’

A different degree of reactions all around. My gaze remained on some longer than others.

“Just on Instagram. Since you started dating Jack I just.. I don’t know, guess I started keeping up with the hockey stuff.”

Taylor looked up at me, and I looked up at her. I was pale, she looked careless.

“Hun.. I wouldn’t worry. It’s a meme page. Nobody takes their stuff seriously.”

Taylor had a point, but at the end of the day.. that was still a photo of me and Jack. Whether people believed it or not, to me, that was very clearly, me and Jack.

“Why don’t we skip the next break and get back to studying.. okay?”

I was reluctant to agree, but Taylor eventually pried my attention away from my phone. Or at least she thought she did.

The rest of our night was spent studying. We had gone out to grab something to eat from the nearest fast food place, and ate together watching the hockey team of my hometown city play. The Devils didn’t have a game scheduled for a few days, so I took it as an opportunity to check up on my other team of interest.

After the hockey game, we had both called it a night. With the lights out, and the only sound being the occasional thump of footsteps or somebody in a room around us, my mind wandered. It wandered to the point that I had grabbed my phone again to check for any news.

Nothing.

The internet still seemed oblivious.

I went back to the post to look at it. There were more comments and likes, but nobody had considered it a real possibility yet.

I spent hours awake, staring at the screen, turning it off only to give in and turn it back on, waiting for my entire world to crumble around me.

I fell asleep somewhere around four am.

When I woke up, I forced myself away from my phone to focus on my last final. I told Jack that I would visit him after it was completed and I was off for spring break. I had that to look forward to, but every time I thought of Jack, I thought of that post. So I pushed it to the back of my mind as I entered my professor’s classroom and set my phone by others on the front desk.

I’d attest to the fact that my mind wandered a few times, but I would also say I thought the exam went well. Taylor promised to meet me in the mess hall when we were both done.

I stepped out of the classroom and flipped my phone in my hand. With spring break beginning officially for me, I only had one other thing to stress about.

Opening my Instagram was like stepping into a whole new world. I followed the Devils, the NHL page, ESPN, and a few others. Mostly just for news on Jack when it came out. But this time, the news about Jack made me sick.

I slowed to a halt in the hallway, before my body went into autopilot.

The first post in front of me was the New Jersey Devil holding a bottle of champagne in a photo. The caption was a mess of words in my head. A congratulations.. with my account tagged.

I forced myself to lower my phone as I jogged through the halls and out the first exit I found.

When I got outside, my pace slowed, and I lifted my phone again.

I opened the Devils story first. Another congratulations post to Jack.. and me. My name. Next to Jack’s. Something the media team was no doubt doing to try and poke fun at the situation. It was all in good fun for them. I could understand, but at the same time it made me want to throw up. They hadn’t even spoken to Jack or me. They didn’t even ask if we wanted to remain private. Instead they simply confirmed everything. As the story played through, the next one for the NHL opened. It was a repost, with a message that said, ‘welcome to the NHL WAGS FAM.’ With my account tagged.

I could not imagine the page doing it for another player, but this was Jack Hughes. This was one of their most followed guys in the league. They’d cover every moment of his life if it meant more money and a bigger following.

ESPN had a more formal address on the topic, but it was still about Jack and I nonetheless.

I blacked out. I blacked out so hard that I barely even noticed I was in my dorm until I heard the door click shut behind me. Panic was the only thing I had really felt before. Until I looked at the posts. The posts, then the comments.

There were a select few who congratulated, but the majority? The huge crowds? They hated me. It made a sense of dread bubble up in my throat, until a quiet cry escaped. Girls insulted me in every photo posted, guys asked why Jack went after me, some even said I was nothing but a distraction. People made fun of me for being a secret, they tore me down for not setting my life aside to follow him and his hockey dreams.

How did they even know about my life so quickly? How did they know where I went to college?

I made a split second decision. I grabbed a duffel bag from my closet and began to throw clothing inside. I was certain that I had forgotten things along the way, but there was nothing a quick visit to the convenience store couldn’t fix. I put my laptop in the bag, as well as various chargers I hadn’t bothered to ravel up.

I was panicked, and the one person I wanted to see was an hour away. Taylor called me a few times while my phone laid on my bed, but I hadn’t called her back until I was out of my dorm room and headed for the car.

“Hey! We were supposed to meet up.” Taylor’s voice called through the phone. I sniffed quietly. I hadn’t begun crying yet, but my nose was running nonetheless.

“I have to go into New Jersey early.” I spoke through a shaky voice. I tossed my bag into the back seat of my car before climbing into the front. I was quick to turn the vehicle on, and Taylor’s voice cut out as my phone Bluetooth connected to the car.

“Is it bec- of that post?”

“Jack and I are out. All of the sports media has confirmed it. Tay, I don’t know what to do.” I backed out of my spot before I tore out of the parking lot.

“It’s gonna be okay. I’m sure Jack will have it handled.”

“Jack?” I asked. Incredulous. “I love Jack, but I highly doubt he’ll have any of this shit handled.” He’d never been through it before. We were both amateurs at this, and now we were sinking together. I needed him. I assumed he needed me.

“Okay well.. I’m sure everybody’s happy for you guys.. yeah?”

“No! No, they’re not! They keep commenting on how shitty I am! And in that post last night, everybody was all over my ass! My ass!” My loss and hopelessness caused me to get choked up.

I’d always had a rough relationship with food ever since I was a teenager. People told me I was too skinny or too big. People told me that being insecure because I was skinny didn’t count. They invalidated my feelings while at the same time telling me my ass wasn’t big enough, or my cup size was awfully small. Then others would come back and say my ass was too big or my boobs might be distracting.

Depending on the comments, some days I ate, others I did not.

When I met Jack, I was healthier than before, but I still struggled. He always reassured me. Told me I was beautiful. That he loved me, thought I was perfect, and that gaining or losing a couple pounds meant nothing as long as I was healthy.

He made me feel safe eating huge greasy burgers and shoveling cake into my mouth on a Friday movie night. Likewise, he validated my feelings when all I wanted was a chicken salad and maybe a piece of bread or two. He always said, ‘as long as you’re healthy.’ And every once in a while he made sure I wasn’t hungry either. Especially after I ate salads. After he’d seen me put away pretty nice sized meals, he always made sure I had enough to eat. And that I was comfort able enough to eat.

It was amazing how a few social media comments could tear down so many walls I’d built, but it was deeper than that to me. These were Jack’s fans. If they didn’t like me, then why should he? Had he been lying to me all this time?

“Your beautiful ass?” Taylor tried to make a joke. A tear finally fell down my cheek.

“What if Jack hates me?” My bottom lip quivered. “He hasn’t reached out.. what if he’s breaking up with me?” The mere thought made me want to pull over and turn around.

“What is he doing today?” Taylor asked expectantly. I had to think about it.

“Media stuff?” The thought brought a moment of relief to my lungs.

“Exactly. You’ve had days before where he doesn’t text until late in the evening and it’s never bothered you.” Taylor’s voice gave me the encouragement to continue on.

“I know this didn’t happen in time like you guys planned it, but it’s all going to be fine. The crazy fan girls will always be mean, but people are going to get over it.”

“Yeah.. but what if they hate me forever?”

“They might. But oh well, right?”

Taylor was right. But that still didn’t make me feel any better. I gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“When does Jack get home?”

“I think.. I don’t know? Maybe around three?” I breathed out a sigh.

“So you’ll be there before him?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you go see him at the arena?”

“And bother him? After all this?”

“If it’s a media day, you know he won’t be that busy. And it’s better than torturing yourself at his place for hours.”

She was right.

“I’ll have to think about it..”

“Don’t think too much.”

As if I hadn’t been overthinking everything that day already. Our conversation ended with mutual good lucks, and the familiar monotone beep of a dead line. I sighed, wiped the tears from my cheeks, and focused on the road ahead.

My hour in the car was spent flipping through radio stations, trying to find music that was loud enough to distract me or soft enough to calm me. Nothing worked. My jaw was clenched most if not the entire time. My face hurt. My cheeks hurt. My fingers felt stiff every time I pulled a hand from the wheel.

And entering Jersey didn’t help. It felt like a smack upside the head. A loud call back to my horrible reality. I felt like everybody outside the car was staring in. Everybody knew who I was. Everybody hated me. They were all looking at my body.

By the time I had pulled into Jack’s own apartment community, I felt like I was suffocating trying to choke back tears. I parked in the lot outside of his complex. I gave it five minutes. Then another five. Then another five.

I grabbed my phone and opened TikTok this time. I typed Jack’s name into the search and hit enter. The first video eased my mind. Somebody saying how beautiful I was.. how happy they were for Jack.

The next broke my heart. Comparing me to the first girl. To the hot girl. The skinny girl. The perfect girl. I’d seen videos here and there before of people saying how they thought Jack and his ex had been such a beautiful couple. People said they ‘missed’ her. Like they ‘knew’ her. I never let it cut too deep, because they didn’t know I existed.

Now it was blatant. Now they said things like that, because she was better than me.

I put my car in reverse.

Taylor was right. I’d torture myself if I didn’t see Jack.

Closing the distance between myself and the arena was like beating a new nail into my coffin with each mile. It only stressed me out more. But I hoped Jack would take it all off my shoulders. If he had time.

The thought that he’d be too busy also occurred to me, but even being in the same building as him, I decided, would be soothing.

I had pulled into the private parking area before climbing out of my car. My face was red, but I had since stopped the tears. My heart was set on Jack. Nothing else could distract me.

I walked through the double doors at the bottom, stepping right into one of the many entrances. I was quick to find the hall that led to the private facilities. I walked past maintenance closets, and equipment rooms, before my swift pace was brought to an abrupt halt by a body stepping out of the lounge.

I gasped. He grabbed me by the shoulders. When I looked up, my eyes caught Jesper. His gaze softened from surprise to sympathy. We stared at each other, both uncertain of what to say. He spoke first.

“Jack was worried when you didn’t text him that your final was over.” He spoke, as if having an ‘A-ha’ moment. He let me go. I reached to rub my eyes again, fearful that something was still there.

“He didn’t text me all day.” I countered.

“Well.. he didn’t want to distract you. They won’t stop asking him about you.” My brow furrowed in question.

“He’s in with reporters right now.” Jesper gestured down the hall. I assumed he meant Jack was in the locker room. “They won’t let you go.” Tears welled up in my eyes again.

“We can wait for him together?” I nodded.

Jesper walked me into the lounge and grabbed me a bottle of water.

“I was shocked when it came out.. I know you and Jack were trying really hard not to be public.” Jesper sat down on the couch, and patted the empty cushion next to him. I sat beside him as he handed me the bottle of water.

“I shouldn’t have kissed him that night we went out.” I breathed out, shaking my head. I unscrewed the bottle cap and took a sip of the liquid. It helped refresh my dry throat.

“Can’t limit your happiness to closed doors.” Jesper had a point, but if I had limited my happiness to closed doors, I wouldn’t be miserable right now.

“Bratter?” My head shot in the direction of the door at the sound of a Swiss accent. I raised a brow at Nico in the doorway, dressed in a sweater covered in a colorful floral pattern. Nico looked right back at me, staring me down with that, ‘stays between us’ kind of expression.

“What the hell are they making you do in there?” Jesper asked, slinging an arm over the back of the couch.

“Some spring skit.. I don’t know. I acted really bad so they wouldn’t use me for it.” Nico quickly peeled the sweater off. “Your turn.” He stepped into the room and tossed the sweater at Jesper.

The blonde looked rather displeased, but he swiftly grabbed the sweater and stood up.

“You sit with her and wait for Jack then.. okay?” Nico and Jesper exchanged looks before the Swiss man nodded, then the Swede left the room.

“So,” Nico turned back to me. He fixed his hair, pursing his lips. “Jack’s pretty tense.” He plopped down on the couch next to me, my body jolting slightly at the way the sofa bounced. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit, Nico.” I glared at him. He was trying his best.

“Right… everything’ll iron out.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “You wanna play chess while we wait?” I glared at him once again. How could a man so thoughtful like Nico be so… lost when it came to this stuff? Because he’s been single for far too long. Jack always tried setting him up, but Nico was never interested. Said there were too many cultural differences.

“I have air hockey on here too.” He gave me that dumb lopsided smile. That smile that I always rolled my eyes at. Now I just wanted to wipe it off his face and tell him he was no help. But I gave in. I needed a distraction. I pulled my legs up onto the couch and turned my body to face Nico. He opened the game and set his phone down between us.

He started the game. I was better than him at it.

“People being mean to you?”

“You have no idea.”

“I checked some of the comments on the Devils post.” I glanced up at him before looking back down at the phone.

“It’s not good.” I shrugged.

“People make fun of my eyebrows sometimes.” I looked back up at him. Nico looked sincere, yet his eyes were still focused on the phone. I had to look back down. If he scored, it would only interrupt the flow of our conversation.

“Kids used to do it a lot in school. I used to ask my sister to fix them for me.” Somehow, the idea of a tiny Nico asking to have his brows waxed was amusing, but I held in my laughter for the sake of his ego. “Kids called me angry birds. I didn’t know what it meant for the longest time. But I knew I just hated my eyebrows.”

I wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but it felt great to be understood nonetheless.

“Now everybody’s calling you a bunch of things, and I know it’s hard. But I’d suggest listening to what the people who love you say. They know better than anybody else.”

I scored on Nico. We both looked up at each other, and I offered him a sad smile.

“Means the world to hear, Nic. Sorry for calling you the Eagle from the muppets.”

His brows knit together in confusion. But I didn’t have time to explain the subtle joke before we both heard quiet complaining in the hall. Jack’s ever gentle voice laced with tension and stress. Maybe even shaking.

“Where’s Nico?”

“God- I just wanna talk to Nico!”

I quickly stood up and took the bottle of water with me as I stepped out into the hall. Jack was gone. My gaze flickered about until he emerged from a room, he must have been on a pretty aggressive hunt for his captain. Jack stopped though when he spotted me. The emotions returned. He looked as stressed as I’d felt before. Now I only felt overwhelmed and sad.

“Babe?” Jack slowly made his way down the hall to meet me by the lounge door. He was gentle when he pulled me into a hug, dipping his head to rest against my shoulder while I wrapped my arms around his neck, careful not to spill my water.

“It’s all gone to shit.” I whispered.

“I’m so sorry..” Jack mumbled in response. Neither of us could have been prepared for this. And it wasn’t either of our faults.

“Jack don’t apologize.” I pulled back, feeling the familiar sting of tears in my eyes.

“I’m done for the day.. I got done early. Let’s just go home.. please.” He sounded as desperate to get out of there as I was to get to him. I nodded.

——————

Jack drove us back to his apartment. I didn’t care enough about my car to be away from him for too long, but I had grabbed my bag. He let me inside before himself, but we never left each other’s eyesight. The second Jack pushed the door shut, his arms were around me. I reached a hand up to hold the back of his head, my other hand resting overtop of his own that lay on my stomach.

“They asked me so many things about you.” Jack mumbled.

“Jack.. baby.. you don’t think..” was now even the time to bring it up? I sighed. “I’m not too big for you.. am I? Or too small? Or too anything?”

Jack pressed a kiss to my shoulder.

“You’re just right. You always have been. Always will be.” He slowly pulled away to walk around in front of me. “Are they saying stuff about your body?” He looked so disgusted by the fact, but Jack was more worldly innocent than one might assume. He never wanted to expect the worst from others.

“I guess so..” I shrugged, rubbing one of my arms. My body language said enough. He could always tell when I was uncomfortable.

“You shouldn’t look.” Jack reached out to rest his hands on my upper arms.

“I know that, Jack. I just- I guess I just wanted them to like me.” I looked down.

“Hey, hey.” Jack moved one of his hands to rest his fingers beneath my chin, tilting my head up. “They will. They’re gonna love you.” His brow furrowed as his eyes searched for my own. But I still couldn’t be bothered to make eye contact. “Babe.. babe look at me.” He wasn’t demanding. He was gentle. Encouraging. He was always so kind to me. Even his behavior in this moment brought tears to my eyes. I looked at him though, and I watched his heart break in slow motion. I watched his eyes grow solemn.

“It’ll just take time. Just give it time.” Jack pulled me into another hug, his arms wrapped tightly around my body as one hand laid between my shoulder blades and the other pressed into the small of my back. I buried my face in his chest. I wanted nothing more than to go back to the day before, when nobody knew about me. When I was just me.. just a university student.

“Jack,” I whispered into his chest. I slowly lifted my head. He looked down at me. His expression showed nothing but devotion. He was ready to pull the stars from the sky if I said the word. “We’ll be with each other through this.. right?”

“Stay with me through spring break…” the offer was a surprise, but one I wasn’t opposed to. We both needed each other, and time away from my college campus was never a bad thing.

“I think I can do that.” I sniffled as I slipped my hands between our bodies, resting them on his chest. Being in his arms was the most comforting thing in the world. Going through this whole ordeal seemed a lot less stressful when I knew it would be spent with him.

“I love you.” Jack whispered, a grin forming on his lips as his hands wandered to my hips, only to eventually find my backside. I jumped at the feeling. “I want you to love yourself too. Please don’t let people convince you you’re not perfect.” Jack’s words were easier said than done.

“I wish you’d just see yourself the way I saw you.. god you’re such an Angel to me.” He pressed a kiss to my head. My heart fluttered as my temperature rose. “They’ll see you that way one day too.” Those promises were debatable, but believing them made me relax. Maybe if I just lived in Jack’s world for a little while.. his positive reality, it would be better in the long run.

Despite the fact that we still had hours left in the day, neither of us seemed too interested in going anywhere or doing anything. Jack and I ended up in bed together. We both had the bare minimum on.. bodies mark-less but heads full of love. I could still feel Jack’s lips pressed against each of my insecurities, and his hands massaging circles into my muscles. Likewise I swore I could still feel his skin beneath my hands. His silky hair between my fingers. Every dip and curve of his muscles committed to memory.

Jack kept me away from my phone in the most effective way.

Moments ago, lips had trailed my shoulders and my arms, down my chest and around my stomach and sides. He’d put the work in on my thighs too, so gentle and sweet. He never left a mark. It wasn’t that kind of night. His kisses were passionate, but not lustful. He was so full of love.. so heartfelt in each of his movements. Jack was one of a kind.

I laid, curled into his side, my head resting in the space between his arm and his chest, just beneath his shoulder.

“Ya know.. I saw a girl today say she missed your ex.” I spoke quietly, afraid to disturb the peace. But it was on my mind nonetheless.

Jack tensed. He shuffled, then picked his head up to look down at me.

“I don’t.” He scoffed. “She was horrible.”

I turned my head to look at him, but Jack rested his head against the pillow again before I could see his eyes.

“What was she like?”

“Nothing like you. She came around at a busy time.. right after the draft. I was too distracted to really pay attention to all the red flags. She was mean.”

“Does it bother you when people say they miss her?”

“It would if there was something to miss.” Jack moved his shoulders to shrug before halting when he realized my head was there. “It would be a different story If it was you.”

“What?”

“If it was you.. I’d miss you too. I was so worried you’d back out when you saw everything today. I didn’t want to lose you.. but by the time I could speak to anybody, our whole social team just put it out there.” Jack slowly turned onto his side, my head fell to the bed. He wrapped his arm around me and I quickly turned to mirror him.

“I would never leave over something like this. You mean too much to me.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page then.” The sound of my phone ringing from the floor had me slowly turning to get up, but I only got my back turned to Jack before he pulled me against his chest. I yelped out a laugh.

“Jack.” I reached to pry his hand from my stomach.

“No phones.. please?” I sighed. The chances of somebody actually needing me were slim, so I let the call go unanswered.

“Alright. You win baby.” I carefully rolled over, pulling his hand from my body and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Jack smiled. He loved a lot of things, but being pampered was one of his favorites. I pressed another kiss to the back of his hand, then one to his wrist, before playfully biting and kissing all the way up his arm. Kissing him everywhere just like he’d done to me before. Jack broke into a fit of giggles by the time I reached his forearm. After I got to his shoulder, I raised my lips to his own, pressing a much deeper kiss there to silence him.

When I pulled away, Jack’s baby blues eyed me. I kissed his jaw. “God.. they’re gonna love you so much.” He whispered, shaking his head. Astounded.

“They just don’t know you yet.. but they will.”

“As long as they don’t love me more than you do.”

“Nobody can love you more than I do.”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

#nhl imagine #nhl x reader #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #nhl hockey #nico hischier #jesper bratt

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