#still need to play soul silver | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kentopedia · 6 months

Text

♰ sent to destroy — dazai osamu

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ KINKTOBER NO. 5 - fallen angel!dazai

he promises he's not the devil, but he steals your soul with just a kiss.

contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, takes place in 1920s for fun ig, actress!reader, alcohol, one mention of suicidal ideation and prostitution by reader, blasphemy, sacrilege, pls don't read this if ur religious & will get offended LMAO, angel fucking (& he has wings), bondage (thru powers), unprotected sex, cunnilingus, corruption kink, possessive sex, softish dazai, mm idk what else — 6.1k

note: i didn't edit this as thoroughly as i normally do so plss ignore any mistakes and i'll love you forever

the speakeasy fills with a thin veil of smoke, coating the room with an intoxicating mix of alcohol and nicotine. it’s a lewd place, full of degenerates and failed actresses like yourself, a crowd of people who don’t belong, but try their best to find a way to keep living.

it’s a place where women pick up their clients, leading them to the hotel around the corner for a night they certainly won’t be paid enough for. it’s where people drown their miseries in alcohol and hope they won’t wake up in the morning.

it is, regrettably, the only place you can afford.

you sit alone at one of the tables, hands shaky from nerves as you smoke another cigarette, contributing just as much to the cloud that suffocates the small room.

hoards of people make their way downtown for a sip of alcohol, the drink that has so ridiculously been banned, but you are no exception, no angel amongst the sinful devils.

someone plays a saxophone at the front of the bar, spinning into a graceful melody of jazz that sings out to you, lulls you into an embrace that warms your core. it soothes the anxiety that has lingered with you throughout the day, the reminder that your life is tailspinning.

you’d failed at landing yet another role, and the acting career you’d packed your bags and moved out for was plummeting. who would accept you now, now that your hopes and dreams had been for naught, now that you’d created a shameful woman of yourself and your family?

the answer was clear; but you were too stubborn too accept it, too desperate to believe that you could be up in the glimmering lights, the brightest silver star the world had ever seen.

you lean back in your chair, stamping out the cigarette with a sigh as you stand to collect another drink. there’s not much left in your pockets, but you’ve made it work before, and you’ll keep making it work now, scrounging up coins for the relief that came with forgetting.

the only consolation is the line of women that stand alongside you at the bar, as dejected and miserable as yourself. all of you have been labeled the failures of your families, the ones that bet on a shot in the dark. none of you expected that the road would be easy, certainly not with the way the industry is hasty to pick up only the most beautiful faces… but your ambitions had led you to believe that you, of all people, had had a chance.

you know your beauty is endless, a sight to be admired, but even that had not been enough to secure your spot in the limelight.

you thank the bartender as he hands you a drink, and slump back to your table, waiting for the effects of the alcohol to kick in. yet, when you stand at the edge of the table, peer at the chair you’d once been seated in, there is already a man there.

he gazes at you with a crooked smile, eyes amused as he regards your beaten-down state.

you’ve seen him before—made every attempt not to see him again. you know what they say about him. he’s a wizard, he’s the devil, he’s a god that steals the body of a mortal, waiting to destroy the earth. all bad things, certainly, and with the way your life’s been going, you’d be a fool to get mixed up with someone like him.

still…you know of the things he’s done for people. that miracles have happened for those brave enough to ask for them.

perhaps, you’re in need of a miracle.

the dark-haired man leans forward, eyebrows raised as you gawk at him from the other side of the table. “no need to look so frightened,” he says, gesturing towards the other chair. “sit.”

“i don’t want any company,” you say, straightening, pulling your drink closer to your chest. “i came here to be alone.”

his eyes flash, predatory, as if seeing down through the depths of your soul, to the very desire that lingers within. all of your dreams, your ambitions, and your loneliness are displayed to him, a flashing banner that alerts him easily of everything that’s ever been wrong with you.

“is that so?” he asks, leaning forward, his voice deepening amongst the chaos of the speakeasy. “then, why have you been staring at me all evening?”

you can’t help the flush that rushes to your cheek, the heat that covers your entire body. with the crowd of men and women alike that are constantly at his arm, you’d hardly thought he’d notice you.

and though you know what they say about him, he is undeniably beautiful; you’re drawn to him. there is a dark and heavenly beauty about him, something that you fear is too angelic to be of this world. his eyes glimmer almost like diamonds in the candlelit room, skin so flawless that it is nearly luminescent.

it’s no wonder, really, that you haven’t been able to peel your eyes off of him.

you circle around his question, instead, and set your drink down on the table, lured in either by a false sense of safety, or the confidence of his grin. “i know what you are,” you say, swallowing back the fear that devils often prey on.

he smiles, indulging you, a lifelong game he has surely played. “and what is that, my dear?”

the mocking tone sends a cold wave down your spine, even though the sweet name seems to warm you. “i don’t believe i should say it out loud.” you’re not sure what kind of consequence that will bring you. perhaps you do not need to make a deal with him for your soul to be damned, straight to the fiery pits; maybe this conversation is enough, and already, you are on the long list of sinners that will be sent to burn.

“because you believe i am the devil? a demon sent to prey upon you and your soul, drag you down to hell once the contract you’ve made is over?”

you say nothing, but your silence speaks loudly.

he sighs, leans back in the chair and looks at you from under thick lashes. “i have no interest in the dealings of those fifty, lesser beings. i find that i can bargain for more enjoyable ventures.” two dark eyes trace over you, swallow you whole as he grazes your curves with his irises, the shape of your breasts under the tightness of your dress, the style shorter to match the current fashions. “so, i think we both may have something the other is interested in. please,” he gestures once more to the seat in front of him, addressing you by your first name—one you never even had to tell him. “sit.”

nervous, you take the chair, wondering why you aren’t running away, screaming at everyone that there is a monster in your midst, a being that hunts the weak to lure them away from their misery. no wonder he has made himself a frequent customer at this place—there are people drowning in sorrows. one deal with him, and they will wake up in the morning, drowning in riches instead.

“what do you want from me?” you ask, letting your hands fall to your sides.

“so eager to get to the best part of my bargain, silly girl. have some patience.” he takes a sip of his own drink, pinning you with his gaze, even above the rim. you squirm under the intensity, but you, even now, can’t look away. “i know you’re struggling to find work. you’ve been here for years, and made pennies to live off of.” he reaches across the table, spins a lock of hair around his finger as he sighs dramatically. “such a shame, really. they must fear the power of your perfection if they refuse to let you shine brighter than the rest of the dull creatures that they call starlets.”

your heart drops, stutters within the delicate bones of your skeleton before starting again, as you remember that this is how the devil would act, luring you in with sweetly poisoned words full of deceit. “they are talented—”

“they are nothing,” he snarls, banging his fist on the table so loudly that you jump, hands shaking against the beaded skirt of your dress. “you may claim to believe in your own talents, your appearance, but it is all a lie, a facade that you maintain to protect yourself. you are the one holding yourself back, and unless you let me help you, you’ll get nowhere.”

you feel tears burn. “you mean to lure me away from the path of god—”

his eyes narrow. “i mean to free the human race from the chains that religion has bound on them. there is nothing for you in the afterlife but an existence of slavery. one to a malicious devil who only wishes to torment, or one to a god who doesn’t love you.”

it confuses you, the way he speaks of these beings as if he is not on the side of heaven or hell. as if there could be another option. it seems surreal, a secret that you should not have been told; since the day you were born, you have learned of the path of righteousness, the will of god.

that is the only way you can obtain a life of peace… yet, there is a creature before you, claiming to offer you a third path, one that doesn’t have you bowing down for a god that won’t answer your prayers.

it may be foolish, the work of the devil, but you are willing to listen. you are already lured in by this graceful creature with a charming smile and a quick tongue, and you don’t know if it will take much more for you to succumb to him completely.

already, you have lost your way—you would do anything to escape your unhappiness.

“what is it you’re after, then?” you ask, your voice softer, weaker than you anticipated.

he laughs, and lets his head tilt sideways, studies you before answering. “my father has cast me out of heaven; i plan to build my own religion of followers, tearing them away from that idiot of a being they call their god. because i am much stronger, much wiser, and the only way that they can find peace after their death is by trusting that i will give it to them.”

you swallow, twining your fingers together, and think. “you’re… an angel?”

he waves his hand. “a fallen one.”

there are things about the world that you do not understand, but you know that god has not once help you when you were drowning without a savior. he did not guide a helping a hand when you contemplated dragging a knife across your wrists, and yet, here is something, someone wanting to save you from just that. how is it that god can be more benevolent than those he casts out, when you have seen nothing but the opposite?

“you want me to join you, then?” you ask, drawing your eyebrows together. “if i join you, you’ll give me what i desire?”

“well… that is usually the bargain i offer. however,” he hums, eyes flashing as they scour your body. he looks at you hungrily, like he has never seen a being like yourself. “it has been a while since i’ve seen a human as beautiful as you.”

you swallow, blinking at him with wide eyes as you grow hot all over. this would not be the first time you’ve sold your body for fame, but never has it been with a man as stunning as the angel before you. “you mean… if i fuck you, you’ll give me whatever i want?”

he sniffs, repulsed by your suggestion. “always so lewd, you mortals.”

your eyebrows knit together. “but you said—”

“i don’t want you for one night. i want you forever. i want you to swear your body over to me for the rest of your life, let me use it as i wish, bear my children.” he traces your features, grazes a thumb over your jaw, your lip. his eyes are hard, and you swallow, wondering why your stomach flips. “you are meant to be mine.” he smiles, and though you can see the mischief within it, for some reason, there is also softness there as he crosses his arms over the counter. “but if you aren’t interested, then the deal is off the table. i have no need for someone who doesn’t want me in return.”

you blink back at him, observing the seriousness of his expression, the softness lurking within the pools of his deep brown eyes. perhaps he is a vengeful angel… but he is offering you a life that is much more promising than the one you have now. would it really be so bad to give yourself to him, to spend the rest of your life in his arms, when he promises to give you everything you’ve ever wished for?

“i—” you hesitate, unsure how to even begin to answer the question, when you didn’t quite understand what it was that he needed from you.

“i’ll give you some time to think about it. after all, it is a decision that will affect the rest of your life.” he stands to his feet, and it is then that you notice there are some eyes on you, the women he typically has hanging off of him watching your interaction with bated breath. “when you have an answer, just call for me. i’ll be there.”

“wait,” you say, turning in your chair to face him. “i don’t even know your name.”

“you can call me osamu.” he smiles and winks at you, tucking his jacket closer as he begins to walk away. “we’ll be in touch."

three weeks pass before you see him again.

you’d decided quickly what you would say to him, and after two weeks worth of auditions that led to nothing, drinking without a friend in the world, alone to rot in your bedroom, you’d made up your mind.

osamu’s proposal, now, after everything you’d suffered, seemed too good to be true. how long had you wished for a companion, for money, for a steady job—and now, these were all things he promised to provide you, if only you’d stand by his side.

you’d called to him at the start of the week, said a prayer to any angel named osamu that was out there—but no one came.

night after night, you said the same prayer, wondering, if perhaps, you’d been made a fool of. that everything he had said was a lie, and you, truly, were doomed to live an unhappy life. maybe, he was mocking you for your misfortunes, for your weak heart.

though, on the twenty-first day after your discussion, you awaken to a figure standing in the corner of your room, watching you with hawklike eyes, the shadow of a wingspan shaped out behind him.

you gasp, nearly letting out a scream as you scramble to a seated position in your bed, bringing the sheets up to your chest. the man is nothing more than a silhouette, so dark in the moonlight, but you know, without seeing his face, that he is the one you’ve been searching for.

“osamu,” you say, trying to quell the fear that has made a home in your chest. you gawk at him as he uncrosses his arms, sauntering over like he owns the place, like he’s been here before, knows the shape of your body, even under the sheets you hide within. “you heard my prayers.”

“i apologize for not coming faster,” he smiles in the darkness, teeth glimmering under beams of starlight. his face becomes visible then, and it steals your breath away—he is more stunning than you remember, skin nearly glowing, golden. “you were beginning to sound desperate.” osamu watches as your breathing evens out, your eyes flicking over his features. “is that still the case?”

he is a sight to behold sitting before you, the very essence of power seeping off of him in waves. a creature crafted from the hands of god, shaped to be the very thing that would protect the weaker creations.

osamu’s skin, his hair, every inch of him is without flaws, while you are but a sinful human girl who succumbs to each of her urges.

“i want—” you stop, realizing that you’re not sure what you want. to be an actress, yes, a famous starlet that is cherished by the masses. but, when you look at osamu, the soft, plump shape of his lips, the lean limbs that hide under his tailored coat, you wonder if fame, security, comfort—perhaps, those aren’t the only things you desire from this exchange. “i accept—”

“you sound uncertain,” he interrupts, eyebrows drawing together in a scowl. “you called me here, begged me to come steal you away, and now, you change your mind?”

“no!” you say, scrambling to grab his wrist as he starts to stand from the bed, his eyes flashing as you reach for him on all fours. “i’m not changing my mind. i want to be famous, i want to be yours.” you swallow, choking out the word as it turns your cheeks warm, the heat making its way up from your toes.

it hit you harder that you anticipated, the taste of belonging to another. you aren’t sure if its because you’ve craved the connection for so long that it’s twisting your insides, turning you into something desperate, or if, already, you feel an invisible string tying you and this stranger together.

“but?” osamu asks, still seeming like he’s about to flee, his eyes hard, blinking back at you. there is something about you that he wants, but he won’t take it, not unless you crave him just as much. it muddles your mind, confuses you—he could have anyone, could take anything. yet—

“but why do you want me?” you ask, releasing him to curl your fingers around the blanket. “i don’t understand.”

osamu balks, then laughs, his eyes crinkling as he regards you with some sort of gentleness. “perhaps i have always loved humans a little too much, much more than i should, at least.” he curls a piece of your hair around his finger, hums to himself. “innocent creatures that my father cursed with misery, blaming their own sinfulness against them.” osamu licks his lips, hungry as dark eyes cover your face. “but it’s not entirely your fault that you must bear the torment of generations. just as it is not my fault that i was born with a lust for something much more delicate than the creatures of heaven.”

he strokes your cheek, fingers grazing you like you are nothing more than a piece of glass, that you might shatter under the force of his power. perhaps you would—with too much, he might break you, turn you into a pile of ash with a snap of his finger.

“but there are millions of us to choose from,” you say, sweating under the blanket as your heart pounds in your chest. the breadth of his power becomes more obvious with every passing second, and yet, you crave a taste of it. “what makes me so special?”

he wraps a large palm around your jaw, thumb pulling at your lower lip. the tip of it dips into your mouth as you watch him with wide eyes, frozen, but not from fear. “i was meant to be your guardian angel, to be the guide that leads you away from the devil until your dying breath.” he moves closer, dipping his head towards your lips, brown irises never leaving your own. “and yet, the moment i laid eyes on you, i had already broken the first rule.”

you stumble over your syllables, whispering them breathlessly. “and what’s that?”

osamu smiles, muttering the words against your mouth, his voice ghosting over your skin. “angels are wired to protect those that we are assigned to,” he says, swiping his tongue against your lip, just barely kissing you, the sounds low and breathy. “we’re not supposed to want to fuck them.” a finger drags slowly, sensuously up your arm, and you can’t move, can’t do anything but watch as he pushes you, sinks you slowly into the bed. “i have never wanted anything as badly as i want you.”

you breath, in and out, slow, as the heat settles in your stomach, a burning pool of need churning there. it’s been so long—so long—since anyone has touched you in a way that is kind, has wanted to please you, instead of steal from you. “all that, just for me?” you ask cheekily, though you’re still not sure that he is telling the truth.

maybe he is the devil, but you no longer care. his voice is so sweet with praise and affirmation, bleeding into the softness of your heart.

he shrugs. “perhaps i was always meant to fall.” your head hits the pillow. you aren’t sure when he got you pinned on the bed. osamu looms over you with wide, burning eyes, licking his lips with an ache he doesn’t bother to hide.

“osamu,” you shudder, grabbing his bicep to steady yourself. it is too much, suddenly, all at once. you are filled with need for him, clawing at his skin as he commands complete control over you with nothing but his words. “i—”

your sentence is stolen away by a kiss, one that burns from your mouth all the way down to your toes. it twists something within you, turns you into a monstrous being that you had not realized you were, longing so recklessly to be touched.

his hands roam over your body, touch featherlight as he removes your dress, drags it slowly off your body, eyes grazing over every inch of your skin like he wants to devour your whole.

he makes a low sound in the back of his throat, fingers lightly dipping down your chest, between the swell of your breast to your ribcage. “how cruel of our father to keep us from such divine creatures,” he says, leaning down to kiss up your stomach, lick the skin around your breasts. “perhaps we are the ones that are truly being punished.”

you writhe under him, hands curling in his hair as his own dips between your thighs. grabbing his scalp hard, you yank him back up to your lips, and your eyes meet, both dark and dangerous as you brush your nose against his own. “you are punishing me right now.”

“is that so?” he laughs, eyes flashing with humor. “such a greedy, impatient little thing.” osamu slips out of his coat, his shirt, revealing the tent that has already grown in his slacks. they are the next to go, and his golden skin is revealed, the perfection of every line and angle of his body heavenly and refined. he leans down to whisper in your ear, breath ghosting the shell of it. “act like such a princess, but i know you want to be fucked until you can’t form a single thought, don’t you?” he says, and the coolness of his voice has you squeezing his shoulders, gasping out his name.

your skin burns, your chest burns, an ache gathering and settling deep in your stomach. your cunt throbs as you look at the angel before you, and he kisses down your neck, bites a hard bruise into your collarbone.

you whimper, wondering why you ever questioned going with him, when he could make you feel this good from nothing more than his hands on your skin.

“such pretty fucking tits.” he swirls his tongue around your hardened nipple, teasing the bud as you cry out loudly in the silent room. far too loudly for the thin walls, the cheap apartment. yet, you wonder if you care that your neighbors can hear the noises that come with your pleasure.

“that’s it,” he purrs, kissing down your stomach before his lips reach your hipbone, smiling into the sensitive skin there. “so quiet before… thought i was doing something wrong.”

“n-no,” you say, chest rising quickly as you watch him hover above your soaked cunt with anticipation. “feels good.”

osamu smiles, spreads your legs farther, so your dripping, aching hole is on display, embarrassingly, every inch of you vulnerable to him. “look at you,” he says, eyes hazy as he holds you tight, digs his fingers in your skin. “so fucking perfect. bet you taste as good as you look.”

there isn’t a moment for you to say a word—his head is already between your thighs, kissing your clit before sweeping his tongue through your folds, gathering up the wetness. a moan leaves his lips, and the vibration sends a wave of need through you as you squeeze his hair, force him back down on your cunt, nose dragging against your clit. “osamu, please.”

“ah, ah, ah,” he stops, licking his lips that are moist from your juices as his head lifts from between your thighs. a dark smile stretches across his features, calculating and cruel. “where are your manners, sweetheart? i don’t want you to cum too quickly.”

you’re not sure what he means until you feel your hands pinned to the bed by an invisible force, the power of the angelic creature before you, finally obvious. you can’t move, can’t even writhe against him, even as you try to thrust your hips forward, gain any sort of relief from the position.

he laughs at you, so pitiful at your desperation to be touched. “much better,” he says, and returns to lap at your cunt, tongue already stretching you as his fingers graze your thigh.

“s-samu,” you say, feeling the heavy pressure build down in your stomach. “want,” your cheeks grow hot, and you’re tingling with a need to touch him, but you can’t move. his pace is too steady, too slow. you’ve never wanted to scream more. “want your fingers. please, please.”

“please? such a good girl.” osamu grins against your pussy. the sound of his tongue slurping at your arousal is loud in the darkened space, and you clench around him, burning with need and shame. “you taste so good, too. better than any of the fucking shit in heaven. fuck.” he slips a finger in then, working at your clenching hole as his tongue curls around your clit, rubbing at the sensitive bud.

your words leave you in a cry, every muscle in your body aching. “please, i want to move. let me touch you, i want to, i—”

“i’m not letting you go that easy,” osamu says, and he pulls his mouth away, his face glistening, soaked. his fingers curl into you and you squeeze your eyes tight as he reaches deeper, to the second knuckle. “you’re so fucking worked up. bet you could cum at the sound of my voice alone.”

“i wanna, please, i’m so close—"

he laughs, looking up at you from under dark lashes. “already?” the sound is mocking, nothing about it soft as he kisses your inner thigh. he sees the desperation in your irises as you can do nothing but stare, unable to twitch a single muscle. “gonna cum all over my face?” he asks, and he’s back between your legs, tongue diving into you. “make a mess on me, sweetheart, wanna see that pretty face of yours when you cum.”

you don’t think you’ve every felt like this before, basked in the moonlight as the angelic man soaks his face with your desire, smiling at the sight of you so sinful. your heart hammers in your chest as you remember what you’ve promised him—that you would be his forever and, perhaps, this is what forever entails.

breathy moans leave you, and with each thrust of his tongue, you’re left with less words on your lips, less thoughts in your mind. “feels so good, you’re so good, osamu,” you babble, over and over.

osamu reaches the deep spot inside of you, and you squeeze him, clenching as you come on his fingers, cry out in the space of black room, nothing but the stars to guide you. you’re not sure you’ve ever come this fast before, not without the help of your own hands, but osamu just continues to lap at your cunt, drinking the juices and making lewd noises of pleasure at the taste of you. “mm,” he hums, “so fucking perfect.”

he fists his cock, already hard as his tongue swirls inside of you, and you lose any train of thought, too focused on the way he’s making you feel.

osamu is hard, leaking before he shifts onto his knees, rubbing his cock between your folds, gathering slick at the tip. “want my cock, baby? such a pretty thing deserves it, don’t you think?”

you nod, muttering syllables you don’t even understand. osamu teases you, drags his cock against your hole as he kisses your lips.

“use your words, sweetheart,” he smiles. his soaked fingers leave patterns of your own slick on your stomach.

you groan, eyelashes wet. “want your cock, ‘samu, please, wanna be stuffed so full,” you babble, and you can’t do anything but lay there, even though you want to touch him, want so badly to shift your hips into him. “please, osamu, please,”

he makes a noise in the back of his throat, grinning as he plays with your nipple, lining himself against your dripping hole. “so fucking sweet for me, anyone would think you were the angel, wouldn’t they?” osamu asks, and then he sinks into you, slow, eyes careful as he searches for any pain in your features.

you blink up at him, making a soft noise as you writhe under your skin. “b-big,” you say, feeling him stretch your walls as he sinks further.

though his eyes are careful, he doesn’t bother to stop, each second dragging as he inches further into you. he laces his fingers with yours on the bed, grinning as dark hair falls into his eyes. “i think you can take it, can’t you? you’ve been sogood for me already.”

sucked into the coolness of his gaze, you don’t realize that he’s released you from whatever spell you’ve been trapped under, kept helpless on the bed. you gasp as he sinks into you completely, aching from a mix of discomfort and the deep need with you.

“too much,” you say, but he sinks further, deeper, and your walls clench around him, bringing a heavy groan out of both of you. “fuck, please, let me move, i—”

“i’m not stopping you,” he kisses you hard, sloppy as his saliva drags across your lips. there’s a possessiveness in the way he fucks you, dragging his mouth across your own, claiming you as his. “you take it so fucking well, angel, slipping right into this soaked pussy.”

his words take a moment to reach your disoriented mind, and when you try to move, you can, your hands flying to his shoulders to bring him closer. your whimpers are loud in the hollow room, and osamu loves the sound of you, drinking each little whisper in like a heavenly elixir.

“you’re so pretty,” he says, kissing across your forehead as you arch into him. “making you feel good, hm? so fucking innocent, and i’m ruining you.”

“mmm,” you force the sound out as osamu thrusts into you, hard against the mattress, his hips moving in a steady, fast rhythm. hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat, his brown eyes even darker in the midnight hour.

your fingers graze across his back, between his shoulder blades, and though your touch is featherlight, he freezes, stops immediately with a loud groan as he clamps his teeth down on your shoulder.

you breath in sync, your chests rising and falling together. “osamu?” you ask, staring up at him, his eyes pinched together tightly as he grits his teeth.

“sensitive,” he says, and his voice is hoarse. “fuck, i’ll cum on the spot if you touch me there.”

you blink, your haziness clearing as you let your hands fall to your sides. it takes you a moment to realize why he would curl away from your touch there, why he would—

“your wings?” you ask, and he drags his gaze back up to your’s, nodding, before dropping his head onto your collarbone. he exhales into your neck, resuming a slow, steady pace inside you. though, you place a hand on his chest, feel his erratic heartbeat. “can i see?”

“you don’t want to.”

you pinch your eyebrows together, but he shifts his hips, forces a cry out of you as you collapse back down against the mattress. “i do,” you argue, but he’s fucking you mercilessly, sensuous sounds echoing in the room as he attempts to distract you. “i want to.”

he’s about to deny your request, but you let out another soft please, batting your eyelashes so sweetly. your cheeks are flushed from the heat in the room, and, for some reason, he relents, bowing his head in some sort of remorse. slowly, his wings span out across the room.

you lose your breath for a moment as you stare at them, muddled from the feeling of him inside and the beautiful sight before you. the wings are thick, black and feathery, spanning the length of the room, casting a dark shadow over you. they’re strong and unwavering, with a sheen that could be seen only on a raven, the light turning the shades from a deep purple to green.

“oh,” you can’t mutter anything else as he drags his tip against the sensitive spot inside you. “oh, they’re so beautiful. fuck, osamu, i can’t—”

you can’t stop yourself from touching them, dragging a gentle touch against one of the feathers. osamu cries out, groans into your mouth as your walls clench around him, sweat dripping between you as your chest presses against his own.

“shit,” he says, forehead pressed to yours. “oh, i’m so close. gonna make me come, aren’t you, baby? squeezing me so fucking tight, touching me like that.”

his eyes are hazy, and, somehow, for some reason, he’s let you have control of the situation. he kisses your face, treats you with a gentleness you didn’t think he was capable of, his lips so warm against your skin.

the dark, heavy wings cage you in, falling over the two of you, and you run your fingers against them once more as you feel another orgasm creep upon you. your clit rubs against him, and your slick drips between the two of you, down your thighs as your breath catches in your throat.

for a moment, you revel in the feeling of him deep inside you, and you close your eyes, his feathered wings so soft under your palm, letting your pleasure overtake you.

though that is short-lived as osamu pinches your jaw.

“hey,” he says gruffly, “look at me. want to see those pretty eyes of yours when you cum.” and though his eyes are soft, delicate from the way you’re stroking his wings, he sounds so mean, so possessive. “gonna fuck all my cum inside you, cause you’re mine now.”

your fingers curl around the feathers, hard as you tug him down towards you. osamu moans deep into your mouth when you clench around him, your orgasm rolling over you again as you scream his name into the blackness of the room.

“such a good girl f’me, fuck, i—” he doesn’t finish his sentence, already filling your soaked pussy with his cum. it seeps deep inside of you, coating your walls white until he pulls out, lets his seed drip between the two of you.

osamu presses his fingers across your face, dragging the delicate touch around your jaw, your chin as you breath heavily, still awestruck by the creature before you. you’re exhausted, sleepy, eyes hazy as you regard him with stuttered breath.

but he doesn’t let you go, kissing you over and over again with flushed lips. “i know you can give me one more,” he says in a low voice, humming against your throat. “my perfect mortal girl. just one more, and i’ll give you whatever you want, got it, pretty?”

your body aches, sensitive and spent, but you don’t object when he slips another finger into, kissing you hard as he lets you touch his raven wingspan.

you’d always wanted to be an actress, anyways.

tags: @hannzai @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346

OCTOBER MASTERLIST

933 notes · View notes

seeingivy · 9 months

Text

you belong with me

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: high school!au, gojo is a robotics nerd, reader is class president, emo nanami (my beloved), toji is ur shitass football playing boyfriend, typical cheesy highschool drama

an: tell me why posting this is giving me a tummy ache like I haven't posted for gojo in forever and now i think I suck at it :OOO anyways, please be nice to me about this and close your eyes if you hate it. also, totally reliving my high school days when I was senior class vice president (worst experience of my life) FDLJFKDSJFLS

You’re a hater. A self proclaimed, real-life, deep in your soul hater.

What do you hate today? Being class president.

You hate that you willingly ran, somehow won, had people up your ass all day about stuff that wasn’t in your control, and got stuck in the current situation you were in. Which was arguing with your boyfriend Toji, as you pace around your room and do your own fair share of screaming back.

“You just did that shit because you were pissed at me.”

“I did not, Toji. You know, not everything is about you. Other people needed the money and I put it where it was needed.”

“To the color guard team? Babe, no one gives a fuck about the color guard team. Everyone is at the homecoming game to watch the football team. Not a bunch of idiots waving flags in the air.”

“They’re also part of the game and all their equipment is broken. They need it more than you when you guys literally get donors and funding from the district and-”

“You’re just pissed about the sweetheart thing. That’s why you’re doing this shit and taking it out on everyone else.”

“Toji, I’m not even mad about-”

You’re met with the sound of ringing over the phone, signaling that Toji had enough and finally hung up on you. You flop straight onto your bed, pushing your face so hard into your pillow that sits uncomfortably against your nose and the smell of your laundry detergent makes its way to the crevices of your brain.

You hear a banging behind you and twist around to see Gojo pointing at his walkie-talkie, switching it on as you reach for yours. It’s still covered in glittery pink stickers from when you were seven, the silver coming off on your hand every time you grab it.

“Come in, bunny.”

“Loud and clear, Toru.”

He smiles, setting his hardware down - probably for another weird ass robot he was making - as he holds it up to his face, talking again.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Just arguing with Toji, again. I’ll start allocating some of our funds to get you some sound proof windows.”

“Much appreciated, Madam President. That’s very generous of you.”

You laugh, dropping the walkie talkie to lift your fingertips to your temples, lightly massaging the pulsating under your skin.

“For what it’s worth, the color guard team is really grateful you did that for them. I know Utahime was so excited when the new flags came in, she was flipping them around on the field for hours.”

“That’s why it’s even more annoying. I know what I did was right, but he just doesn’t see it that way. Uta dragged me down to the field to watch them and their choreography looks so much better with the multicolored flags. They were really happy about it.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown?”

“Heavy is the head that’s dating Toji Fushiguro.”

He laughs as you switch your channel off, taking the last few seconds to study you before you draw your curtains. He can see the tension sitting in your shoulders and how clearly it hurts you to argue with Toji like this. And it infuriates him. That you even have to go to sleep angry and that the cause is the headass idiot you’re dating.

Toji Fushiguro is lucky, far more lucky than he realizes. Not for obvious reasons. Yeah, he’s a great football player and yeah, he’ll probably get scouted for some really good university at the end of the year. He doesn’t have a shortage of friends or intelligence and for all intents and purposes, he’s loved (which Gojo doesn’t understand at all).

He’ll probably be that scumbag that people see a few years down the line and then get infuriated at. Because if an absolute asshat like Toji Fushiguro can be successful, then truly all things have gone to shit. That the patriarchy is real, that society is broken, living proof that the asshole always wins and everyone else always loses.

But no, those are common reasons to hate Toji Fushiguro - ones he’s heard echoed by Suguru and Shoko every time he does something that pisses the two of them off. Like scream obscenities in the hallways, block their parking spots when they’re going to class, call them names when they walk by.

No. Toji Fushiguro is lucky because he gets to date you. Because out of the long list of girls he had to pick one, Toji just had to pick the one that was his. The girl he’s been in love with since he moved in right across the street and had a smiley neighbor excitedly waving at him through her bay window.

To him, love has always been the pigtail braids you used to wear everyday in the fourth grade, the matching walkie-talkies you bought him in sixth grade when he got grounded, and that sweet smile you’ve had since the first day he’s met you.

And when he sees those green curtains pulled against the bay window he’s stared at for years, where he’s loved you from for years, he lifts the walkie and says what he forgot to mention.

I love you.

Thanks to your gracious ride, you make it to school thirty minutes early. Your intuition - that Toji was ditching you as your ride to school this morning - was correct. Luckily, you made it in time just before class started.

Nanami’s already seated on the green bench outside the classroom, headphones plugged into his ears. As you walk up, you silently wonder how much hair gel it takes to keep his Gerard Way hairstyle in place.

“Hi Kento! How is my best friend doing on this fine morning?”

“We’re not best friends.”

“Sure we are!”

You reach forward and pinch his cheek in your hand, which he only swats off and rolls his eyes at. That’s how you know your best friends. Because if it was anyone else, Nanami would probably break their hand and walk away. But he always lets you tease him, because he know he loves you.

“Are you still fighting with that dog?”

“That dog has a name. And it’s Toji. And I’m not sure, he didn’t pick me up for school this morning.”

“Did he at least tell you he wouldn’t?”

“No. I was lucky enough that Satoru had walked Megs to the bus stop a little late and I was able to get a ride with him.”

Nanami looks over, narrowing his eyes at you, as the hallway starts getting crowded with people. And you know what he’s saying, what he’s been saying for the past few months.

“You know, it’s very normal to give your neighbor a ride when they need one. Not everything has ulterior motives, Kento.”

“That’s true. Everything doesn’t have ulterior motives. But he does. I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“How does he look at me, Kento?”

“Like he’d kiss the ground you’d walk on.”

You roll your eyes, reaching up to mess up his perfectly styled hair. It doesn’t budge and you get a handful of minty smelling hair gel.

“As if.”

Like you’ve summoned him by bringing him up, Satoru’s sidestepping to where you and Nanami are sitting, Shoko and Getou in tow with him.

“Nanami~~ How’s my best friend doing?” Satoru says, bending over to totally obscure Nanami’s line of vision.

“Shut the fuck up, Gojo.” Nanami responds.

Nanami stands up, giving you a look, before he stalks away to his next class. Leaving you, Satoru, Shoko, and Getou standing in front of your classroom.

“So. I hear you have a robotics competition?” you ask.

“Yeah. Next Saturday. We always practice our hardware out the night before, throw a little party in the lab. You should come.” Getou says, smiling at you.

Satoru smacks Getou in the stomach right after he invites you, clearly trying to tell him something with his eyes. And then when he catches you staring, he gives you a nervous laugh.

You get it. He doesn’t want you there.

“Don’t act too excited to see me now, Satoru. Anything more and I might think you like me.” you bite sarcastically.

“What? No, it’s not like that. I just-” Satoru stutters,

“So you don’t like me?” you say, smirking at him. Shoko and Getou are laughing, the tips of Satoru’s turning pink as he very adamantly tells you that he does indeed like you.

“I have stuff to set up for the homecoming game that day, so I won’t be able to. But I’ll try my best, yeah?”

“Okay. Next time?” Getou asks.

“Sure, Sugar-u. I’ll see you guys around, yeah?”

You give the three of them a polite smile as you trudge away, leaving to meet Toji at his locker and give him a piece of your mind for this morning. Which leaves Shoko and Getou to give Satoru the scolding of his life.

“Are you fucking stupid, Satoru? You made it seem like you didn’t want her there.” Shoko says, smacking him on the back of the head.

“I panicked! Plus, Haibara always likes to play Just Dance and I’d rather not embarrass myself in front of her.” Satoru responds, rubbing the now sore spot on the back of his head.

“You’re hopeless, Satoru. She’s never going to like you if you keep rejecting her the way you do.” Suguru says, dragging him along to the robotics lab.

“She has a boyfriend. Who isn’t me. As if she would even consider dating me in the first place.”

And when the three of them pass you by the lockers, clearly getting yelled at by Toji, it only furthers their argument more.

“Yeah, I’m sure she really loves him, Satoru.”

Your argument with Toji hours prior simmers in your head, as you wait for the bus to arrive and for this godforsaken day to finally be over. You watch him pile into his car with Salma and the other boys from the football team, which only makes your anger fester more.

He’s doing this to piss you off. Of course, he’s doing this to-

“Need a ride?”

You look up and unclench your fists to find Satoru, sparkly blue eyes shining at you and a hand held out to you.

“Thanks.”

He leads you to his car, an almost demolished Honda Civic from his maniacal driving, and you climb in, immediately putting your head in your hands. You can feel him moving around you, the engine purring on and him backing out of the spot.

“About earlier. I don’t not want you to come to the robotics thing. I just thought it was awkward the way he asked you and I-I didn’t want you to feel obligated to come, you know? And I-I’d like it if you came too and so would the rest of us.” he rambles, a hand in his hair.

You look up, his ears tinted pink from the confession.

“I was just teasing you, Satoru. I’ll try to make it by, okay?”

He sighs, a clear breath of relief, and looks over to smile.

“Okay, cool cool cool. Now tell me why you and Toji are fighting.”

“When aren’t we fighting?” you murmur, pressing your head against the glass.

“But why?”

And when you look over, his blue eyes staring into yours, in earnest while the light is red, you unload it all.

“Do you know about the sweethearts thing they do at the homecoming game?”

“Uh. That’s when the cheerleaders wear the jerseys right. And then decorate the locker room or some shit for the players.”

“Yeah. Well, it’s not limited to cheerleaders. It usually is, but if you’re dating someone, that person can do it for you.”

“So I’m guessing Toji doesn’t want you to do it for him.”

“Not exactly. He was just saying that it’s more traditional for a cheerleader to do it since they’re also on the side of the track and he wants to see his name out there instead of running around, trying to make sure the game is running and all that.”

You slump into the chair as Satoru frowns, a pitying look in his eyes, as he keeps driving. You can’t help but watch him, his silhouette against the window - defined jaw, the slope of his nose.

He’s not the guy who ran away from kissing you in the eighth grade. He’s just ten times hotter.

You shake your head, letting the thought spill from your mind, as Satoru looks over.

“Jamoca?” he says, giving you a wide grin.

You can’t help but laugh, nodding as Satoru makes a sharp left turn, making his way to the ice cream shop.

Jamoca is your favorite ice cream flavor. Coffee, layered with fudge and almonds, became a proclaimed favorite when Satoru dragged you once in the sixth grade. After very sorely losing the class president battle, you moped in your room for five days - even going as far as borrowing one of Nanami’s My Chemical Romance vinyls to truly and properly mope.

On day three of blasting the vinyl, Satoru called enough and dragged you to the closest ice cream store, claiming it was the closest thing to therapy that you normies could afford. Since then, any bad day was easily solved with two things.

Jamoca and Satoru.

When you make it to the store, Satoru’s excitedly dragging you out of the car, his hand pressed in yours as you both run into the store, giggling while you order your single scoops. And when he drags you out to the curb and you sit there, you silently think to yourself why you ever stopped doing this in the first place.

Satoru leans over, digging his chocolate fudge covered spoon into your cup, before talking.

“So. If you guys fight so much, why are you still dating?”

“Dunno. Feels weird to initiate a breakup, I guess. I can’t see myself doing it.”

“Even when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart?”

“Even when he wants other girls to be his sweetheart.”

You kick the pebbles into the broken parts of the pavement, leaning your elbows on your knees.

“I don’t know, Toru. I guess he was just the first guy who ever liked me back and then I….spent so much time in the relationship and trying to make it work that it feels weird to let it go now.”

Satoru swallows hard, eyeing his melting ice cream, as he ponders the best response. Because in earnest, he has two options. Support you or be selfish. Support you to stay with Toji, to do what you’ve been doing because he knows it’s what you want. Or be selfish. Tell you that he you deserve better, that he could be that for you if you just let him.

He reaches over, flicking you in the forehead.

“Ouch, asshole.”

“You’ve got a really big brain in there. And you always have. You’ll figure out the right thing to do, just give it time.”

And when you give him a halfhearted smile, reaching over into his cup for a bite of his ice cream, he lets it go.

He can’t be selfish. Not when it comes to you anyways.

After running around all day, you give yourself thirty minutes to go to Satoru’s robotics thing. After triple checking the microphones work, the yearbook team has access to the field, the glitter has been set out for everyone trickling in, and that everyone who could possibly need your phone number has it, you speed run to the other side of campus, to the robotics lab.

And when you make it, the five of them - Haibara, Nanami, Shoko, Getou, and Satoru - are in the room playing Just Dance. Shoko’s sitting on top of the desk, flippantly moving her remote in the air, while Satoru quite literally is trying to give it all he’s got - and losing apparently.

You lightly push the door open, which stops the two of them in their tracks, and you’re met with some very excited cheers as they all drag you into the room. You take a seat next to Nanami, giving his cheek a pinch, which he hates.

“You’re Haibara, right?”

“You know who I am?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re friends with Nanami and Nanami and I are best friends.”

“No we aren’t.” responds Nanami, now sulking two seats away from you.

“Are too.”

You throw the nearest object, a pencil at Nanami, as you turn back to Haibara and laugh.

“I like your shirt. Flight of the Navigator is a really good movie.”

You see Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru’s eyes widen in the back at your words and hear a considerable amount of groaning from Nanami behind you. And after twenty minutes, you find out why.

Haibara really, really loves Flight of the Navigator. Almost too much. In earnest, you barely remember the movie - at most, maybe the weird little alien companion he has. But here Haibara is, reciting the cast, the directors, acting out the scenes and it’s clear to you that you’ve tapped into some monster they all keep hidden.

Luckily for you, Satoru comes to your rescue.

“Okay, Haibara. I’m going to steal her for you for some Just Dance.”

“I don’t Just Dance Satoru.”

“Oh yeah? You’re just saying that because you know you’re going to lose.”

You scoff, knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“As if, sweetheart. I distinctly remember you banning us from ever playing that game together after I beat you in the fifth grade.”

“You’re rusty. Maybe we’ll start with something easy. Like Rasputin.”

“I could do Rasputin in my sleep, bitch.”

“Prove it.”

You roll your eyes as you march over to the front, where they’re projecting the game onto the screen. And just for posterity’s sake, you take Satoru’s sunglasses from where they were flipped over on the desk and put them on, effectively blinding yourself from the screen.

And when the songs start, you can hear them all laughing behind you, Satoru and you hurling insults at each other as you dance on. And somewhere around the middle, you’re sure Satoru must be losing because he grabs your hands and suddenly he’s swinging you around in the air, his hands on your waist as you laugh.

And when you take your blindfold off and the song dies down, Satoru wins by five points.

“You asshole. You literally cheated, Satoru.”

“Did not. You’re just a sore loser, bitch.”

“You kiss your mom with that mouth?”

“Every night, sweetheart.”

You put the palm of your hand in his face as you push him away, moving to sit on the desk. He joins you, the two of you now watching Haibara and Nanami have a very one sided dance battle.

After forty-five minutes, Satoru’s phone buzzes three times and the smile on his face drops when he checks. You place your hand on his, squeezing twice before asking.

“You okay?”

“Huh. Oh, yeah. I-I think you should go to the field. Right now.”

“Wait, what? But you hate that kind of-”

He grabs your hand, dragging you out, as you both start running to the field. You keep asking as he pulls you on, getting almost no response and only a faster pace.

And when you reach the field, you catch just the end of it and the only thing grounding you to that moment is Satoru and Utahime, who was surely the one who had texted Satoru, holding onto your shoulders.

Salma, the cheerleader Toji picked to be his sweetheart, just asked him to homecoming during halftime. And he said yes.

Utahime squeezes your hand three times, a soft look in her eyes when she talks.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just thought you would want to know and I wanted to tell you because you’ve been nothing but nice to me.”

You smile, moving into her open arms as you whisper a small thank you into her shoulder. She leaves, having to return to the color guard team waiting for her on the side, leaving you and Satoru standing on the pavement right by the field.

“Take you home?”

“Thanks, Toru.”

“You want Jamoca?”

“Not today.”

He nods, a hand on the small of your back, as he leads you to his car, even going as far as opening the door for you and letting you crack the windows while you drive back - which you know he hates.

At the first red light, he taps on the top of your head to get your attention.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“What? Of course, not. Toji is just an asshat who doesn’t see you for what you’re worth and-”

“No. No, no. Not like that. Do you think there’s something wrong with me because I’m not even the tiniest bit sad right now? I’m…relieved.”

Satoru looks over, the red front the traffic light flashing on your face, and a blank expression staring back at him.

“Of course, not. He’s a grade one idiot. Anyone in your position would feel that way, bunny.”

“I know. That’s true.”

“But?”

“Does this make me defective, Satoru? Like, maybe I just can’t like people that much or something and I was the problem.”

Satoru twiddles his thumbs on the steering wheel, pondering the same question he has been asking for the past few days. Encourage her or be selfish.

He can’t be selfish with you.

“Okay, Y/N. Close your eyes.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it.”

“Okay.”

He looks over, to find you eyelids fluttering shut, your face lit up by the streetlights outside.

“Now. Tell me about your dream guy, bunny.”

“What are you going on ab-”

“Just do it.”

You sigh, before thinking hard about his question.

“Someone I can be comfortable with. That’s my type. Like we can have fun together and play games but also being around them is comforting to me. Things might suck, but at least they are there to kind of pick me up at the end of the day. They’re nice to people and are surrounded by good company, because you are who you love and they try to be better each day.”

After finishing, you open your eyes to find Satoru staring at you, an all-knowing look on his face.

“Bunny?”

“Toru?”

“Does that sound anything like Toji to you?”

You slump back into your chair, sinking down.

“No.” you murmur.

“You aren’t defective. Well, maybe in the higher level cognitive thinking part because you clearly have some impaired decision making but-”

“Hey. Don’t be rude, asshole.”

“Get out of the car.”

You crane your head out the window to see you’re in fact not at your house, but at the ice cream store. And when he comes around to your side of the car, opening your door, he drags you out, the two of you eating you ice cream in the light of the dingy lamp outside the store.

You knock hard on your window, only stopping when Satoru looks up from his desk, dropping the pencil he was just scribbling with. You point to your walkie talkie, switching on the channel as he grabs his.

“Hi bunny. You look nice.”

“Thank you. Are you coming tonight?”

To homecoming. Because despite all odds and last night, you still have to go. And crown the homecoming king and queen since you’re the class president, which you’re sure will be Salma and Toji since the universe is very, very kind to you.

“I’m sorry. Haibara needed help designing something for next week.”

“Oh. Okay. I wish you were.”

“I wish I was too. His hardware is Flight of the Navigator themed so wish me luck.”

You laugh, giving him one last smile as he pulls the curtains to his window. And when you see his navy windows against the pane you’ve stared at him through for years, it only now occurs to you.

When he asked you to describe that last night, he unlocked something. Bringing it to your attention, to the forefront of your mind.

The person you were describing is him. You lift your walkie talkie to your mouth, press the button, and mention the words you forgot to say.

I love you.

And then you turn on your heel and drive yourself to the dance.

Satoru ponders it for thirty minutes.

Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish. Support her or be selfish.

Be fucking selfish.

Satoru gets up, dropping the hardware he was making for Haibara, and pulls out the first suit he can find. He grabs his walkie talkie off his desk, convinces Megumi to go beg your mom (who loves Megumi) for your walkie talkie, and then goes ninety on the freeway to get to the school on time.

He finds Nanami first, the glob of gel on his head somehow even worse than normal and sets his plan in motion.

“Nanami.”

“Please, for the love of god, not tod-”

“Go hand this to Y/N.”

Nanami and now Shoko are taking the walkie in their hands, flipping it over and inspecting it like they’re the fucking FBI. And more importantly, wasting time.

Three feet away, you’re standing by the punch table, counting how many balloons are on the ceiling. You reach three hundred and fifteen when you’re approached for the first time that night, by Nanami and Shoko.

“Nanami. What is going on with your hair? You can’t possibly need that much hair gel.”

“You would be shocked, Y/N.”

“That's what I said to him too. But this is for you.” Shoko says.

She hands you your walkie talkie, the silver glitter coming off on your hand, as you flip it over.

“Did you break into my house, Shoko?”

“No. But I’m guessing Satoru did. He ran in here five minutes ago and basically yelled at us to give it to you.”

They both shrug as they walk away and you look around, clutching the walkie talkie so hard in your hand you think you might break it. Satoru’s here.

And when you scan your eyes around the room, you see him at the front door, his eyes already fixed on yours. He’s smiling so big that it makes your heart squelch and suddenly you’re moving towards him. And as you both start walking (running) to each other, you can’t help but feel the anticipation of what’s coming.

Except that’s right when Toji stands in the middle of the two of you, his characteristic slimy, sneer on his face. He reaches for your hand first.

“Can we talk, Y/N?”

"No."

You shrug your hand off, pushing right past him, as you walk closer to Satoru. You can hear Toji shouting something at you, but you’re too tunnel visioned on Satoru to pay attention. And when you reach him, you’re both smiling so big at each other, that it makes your face hurt.

He lifts his walkie talkie to his mouth, talking first.

“Come in, bunny?”

“Loud and clear, Toru.”

“I love you.”

You can feel yourself smiling so big, so excited that you’re basically jumping on your toes, your walkie shaking in your hand.

“I love you.”

“Oh thank god. I was scared I was going to get a breaking and entering charge.”

You laugh, pulling him down by his tie and kissing him square on his face. And when he pulls away, ears pink and face red, you whisper against his lips.

“It was always going to be you. I belong with you.”

He smiles, that stupid smile you’ve stared at, loved for years and you can’t help but cheese, leaning forward to kiss him again.

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @platrom @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

830 notes · View notes

vampyrsm · 3 months

Text

‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER TWENTY | AMANOZAKO

‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale continues with wandering souls in the middle of the night, joining together to discuss the name of one who has the gift of immortality. Another comes knocking at the door of the King and Queen, and a chance of redemption is offered to the one who started it all.

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 10.5k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, female reader, violence, blood, cannibalism, suggestive at the end.

Grasping hands and goading words, all muffled by the water that rushes over your head. It burns at your nose, and pools at the back of your throat until you’re forced to cough in an attempt to breathe. Their hands don’t relent and the water never stops, you can feel your lungs tightening and tightening—

You find yourself sitting up in the darkness of your bedroom, the futon beneath you crumpled by your restless sleep. You can feel the warmth of Sukuna at your side, a reassurance that you know he’s real and there. You weren’t locked away in a cell to rot until they came and played with you, tortured you for information they didn’t truly need.

A glance at Sukuna confirms that he wasn’t roused by your nightmare, only his chest rising and falling steadily. It should comfort you, but instead, you can only focus on the phantom hold of hands on your ankles, the pressure of fingertips against your shoulders to hold you down to the table.

You slip from the safety of your bed, careful again to not disturb Sukuna. It was no surprise he was as exhausted as you were, he most likely didn’t sleep in the time you were away.

The room you had been moved into was in a different wing of the estate, the other bedrooms had only doors that led to the outside with small slatted holes in the wall to serve as windows—all to keep the wind from the mountains out as best it could. But this room had a beautifully made window, rounded and covered with only a sliding shoji door-like cover.

Your fingers move the cover just slightly, enough for you to peer outwards. You find yourself looking directly into the courtyard you had walked by a handful of times, the pebbled floor is coated in snow as it always was and a number of snowflakes have started to drift onto the wooden walkways.

It looked serene in the moonlight, with no trees to block the moon from stroking its fingers along the snow. It was enough to drown out the nightmare blaring in the back of your mind, enough to ignore the feeling of ghastly fingers still wrapped around your limbs. You were free, no longer tethered and powerless in a cell that smelled like stale air and piss.

A chilling curl of wind brushes against your cheek, biting at the blood that nestled beneath your skin. It would be enough to have someone retreating into the warmth of their bed, to wrap themselves up in the arms of the one who would protect them against the harshness of the outside world. Instead, it has you relishing in the feeling. The cold has your skin dappled with gooseflesh, your lungs tightening at the frigidity of it as it rolls along the exposed flesh of your neck.

Something crunching has your eyes opening once again, glancing out into the courtyard to search for the source of the sound. Immediately, you’re met with glossier silk wrapped around a feminine body. Their hair as dark as the night sky above spills down their back, unbound and unattended. Smoke billows around her face, her lips unpainted and parted to breathe the grey cloud into the sky.

Beneath the smoke, you meet eyes of green. Kenjaku.

Her head tilts when you maintain eye contact, the silver Kiseru in her hand glints in the moonlight with the movement of her wrist. It burns brightly at the tip before it dims once again, and that same breath of ghastly grey leaves her lips—and this time you can see her lips curl into a feline smile. Her body shifts slightly, and then with slow and deliberate steps, she begins to traverse along the wooden engawa, protected by the roof above.

She grows closer and closer with each step, the next gust of wind has the smoke travelling your way and it stings at the back of your throat. Her cursed energy is no better, it batters against your skin and demands entry. It strokes along your features, along the length of your jaw and the scar barely hidden by the dishevelled haori you were drowning in. It makes your lip curl.

Without a glance backwards to Sukuna, you shift the window to be closed once again before leaving the bedroom. The hallways are deserted and silent, not even a flicker of a flame to guide you towards the beacon of cursed energy that continues to stroke at your own even through the walls surrounding you.

It reminded you of a serpent, curling and curling before it tightens—constricting until its prey gives in. Until there was no hope left. Kenjaku was something worse than a snake, however, she was intelligent. Conniving. A strategist who could have the world in the palm of her hand if she so wished it. And that alone has the hairs on the back of your neck rising in warning; she was not to be trusted. Ever.

The door leading to the courtyard opens with a muted slide of wood on wood, the bristling cold latches onto your exposed ankles and tightens around your throat.

“Little lamb.” A honeyed voice comes from the right of the door, with Kenjaku leaning against the wooden beam supporting the roof above. “Or should I now also call you the Queen of Curses? Do you demand the same level of respect as that of your beloved?”

Her eyes glint with mirth at the glare you send her way, opting to not speak—you step out into the cold. The frozen wood beneath the soles of your feet is enough to finally force you to draw in a deep breath to try and temper the shocking chill that shoots through your body. Kenjaku thankfully says nothing at the fact you were no doubt exposing yourself to frostbite just to speak with her.

Moving along the wooden walkway, Kenjaku finds herself next to you easily enough. Each of her steps in time with your own, one arm crossed over her chest whilst the other continues to hold the Kiseru just inches from her face when she takes another long deep drag of the tobacco.

“What keeps your mind awake so late at night?” Kenjaku asks, her head turned just enough for you to catch the green of her eyes when she side-eyes you. Her words are probing, an underlying question of ‘What weakness have you procured in your time away?’

“My father’s death.” You half-lie. It’s not the truth of what had woken you up in the first place but it certainly plays at the back of your mind. The smell of his broken and rotten flesh would forever be imprinted on your mind, and the final moments you shared with him before he died—it didn’t fill you with the sense of relief you were longing for.

You can see Kenjaku’s lips turn upwards out of the corner of your eye, no doubt finding joy in the fact you were once again speaking with her on the matter of your father. After all, she’s the reason why you had fought Sukuna so closely to death and why everything had happened afterwards.

“Hm, and why does it still bother you? He was never alive to begin with.” Her words have you sharply looking towards her; she knew your father was kept as a cursed spirit. “Oh, don’t look so scandalised. When you’re as old as I am, you’ll understand the importance of having eyes on the most important people in the world.”

Kenjaku’s words take the tone of a condescending manner as if she were a mother speaking to a child who had no idea how the world worked. Perhaps that was partly true, you had no idea just how vast and intense the world was beyond your enclosed childhood. You’d appreciate her advice if it weren’t for the smirk on her lips and the air of superiority that follows when she tilts her chin just slightly upwards.

“His death doesn’t bother me. I have no feelings about it.” You direct your gaze out into the courtyard, the flurry of snow beginning to pick up once again with darker clouds starting to blow over to hide the moon. “I feel nothing for any of the people I killed.”

“Why should you feel something? People should be seen as stepping stones, a way to advance your own power.” Kenjaku shrugs with her words, eyes closing with another inhale of the smoking pipe in her hand. “Consider it a good thing you feel nothing. No doubt you would’ve driven yourself to madness with the guilt that comes with killing another.”

“The lack of emotion is maddening.” You murmur. You didn’t want to feel guilty, or sad, you just didn’t have anything to process following the death of your uncle and father. There should be something there, and yet it’s as if the dark void in the centre of your soul had opened wider to absorb everything and anything you could feel.

Kenjaku laughs at your words, a melodious laugh. “You don’t lack emotion, you’re simply processing it differently. Sukuna notices it too, why else do you think he was so quick to shoo me away last night?”

When you offer nothing but a glance towards Kenjaku, she comes to a stop at the edge of the Engawa, looking at the grand seat that would house Sukuna if he were ever to hold court.

“He sees the same chaos within you as I do. You had entered that place a lamb, and emerged not a wolf—but a beast that would cause children to wet their beds at night. It’s not that you have no emotions anymore, it’s rather you have only one way of processing those emotions. When you take the life of another.”

The tobacco crackles in the pipe when she takes another drag, her eyes set on the scene before her. “It’s why the ghosts of your tormentors haunt even your dreams.”

“How did you know about that?” You furrow your eyebrows, and Kenjaku only grins at your words.

“I know more than you ever could about the human mind. Consider it my speciality. I know the look of someone plagued by nightmares, you’re not going to be able to keep those hidden from Sukuna by the way.” She turns to face you finally, “The only way forward now is bloodshed.”

“The Emperor, you want him dead also.” Kenjaku smiles a little more wryly this time, reaching a hand forward to brush the cold tips of her fingers along your cheek. You don’t flinch away.

“Not the Emperor, but the one who whispers in his ear.” Your eyebrows furrow at her words—the one who whispers in his ear? An advisor perhaps? His wife? You knew the Empress had a say in some matters, but it was rare for a woman to have any say in what a man was to do with his country. “Worry not about the specifics, we’ll fight that battle when we get there.”

Her hand curves along your jaw, brushing the collar of your haori to the side just enough to peek at the marred flesh of your shoulder. “Tell me about the fight with Sugawara, the Six Eyes.” Her hand drops after her words, eyes reawakened with interest at what was to be said.

“...I didn’t kill him.” You admit, waiting to see the surprise written across Kenjaku’s face but instead, her impassive smile remains in place.

“I know.” She turns to face the courtyard, standing next to you at the edge of the wooden walkway. “A user of the Six Eyes simply doesn’t die, the natural scales of power would’ve tipped over.”

Your eyebrows come together in contemplation of her words; she knew a lot more about Sugawara than you assumed she would. As far as you knew, no one knew much about Six Eyes or even the clan he came from—only that they did exist and lived somewhere in Japan, hidden away. No wonder Sukuna kept her around, she wasn’t just strong with her technique but she was a wealth of information.

When you don’t speak, Kenjaku continues. “But even with his… immortality. How did you get close enough to crush his eyes?”

“Our cursed energy isn't compatible. Whatever he uses to protect himself, isn’t really a shield. It slows down time or has a similar effect. And with my own cursed energy being similar…”

“They cancel each other out.” Kenjaku finishes for you before she grins. “I see, that’s quite something. I’ve had my own issues with Sugawara in the past, each time he was the one who won. His strength is something that only the Gods possess… and yet you could touch him, crush his power.”

Her voice grows breathy as if she was relishing in the fact Sugawara had been vanquished—or at the very least, incapacitated. Her history with Sugawara was no doubt deep, deeper than you could ever realise. She had her own issues with Sugawara, meaning she had fought Sugawara in the past… and lost. Repeatedly. Perhaps that’s why she was so surprised to see someone who came from nothing, who is nothing, defeat him.

“Sugawara was only the start. The Emperor still lives.” And that grin on Kenjaku’s face grows malicious at your words.

“Yes. An Emperor who has been stroked by the brush of heavenly principles, and at his side is a woman older than any of us combined. An old croon who will be quite upset with you putting a timer on her impending death.”

What? You didn’t know you did such a thing, you’ve never met an older woman, never mind someone who was close enough to Sugawara that his disappearance would lead to her death. “But I didn’t—”

“Of course, you didn’t know. It’s actually a good thing, it forces her out of hiding. A perfect opportunity for us to take her.” Kenjaku turns to face you, her eyes drifting momentarily to the side before she meets your gaze. “Our next target is not the Emperor. It’s Tengen.”

You open your mouth to speak before a cold chill brushes against your back. “Kenjaku. I hope you’re not whispering your nonsensical ideas to Master Sukuna’s wife.”

“Uraume. What a pleasure it is to be in your presence. How’s the dog?”

You turn to glance at Uraume, their features are deepened into a frown that sends another frosty chill to race down your spine. You hadn’t even heard them arrive, or even the approach of their cursed energy—was it being masked? Hidden away? …and what dog?

“Alive.” Uraume glares at Kenjaku when she laughs in return before their gaze flicks to you. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“I can go where I please.” Your words come out clippier than you’d like, and Uraume only narrows their gaze at you.

“Of course. But it’s against Master Sukuna’s orders.”

Their words spark an immediate flame in your chest. Orders. Orders to be kept within the confines of your own room, to be locked away when you had regained your freedom. Your nostrils flare and you feel the prickle of a surge of cursed energy just beneath your skin—squirming, wanting to lash out.

It makes Kenjaku huff out a laugh, even if she takes several paces away from the growing frost at Uraume’s feet in retaliation.

“I don’t take orders. Not from Sukuna, and certainly not from you.”

Uraume’s jaw ticks in annoyance, and their hands that were hidden within the confines of their attire drop down to reveal individual patches of ice forming in sheets along their skin. “You will respect—”

“Uraume, that’s enough.” His words are deep, a barely there snarl that has Uraume’s face dropping from the frown into mortification. You hadn’t even heard him approach, hadn’t even noticed Kenjaku had vanished entirely from sight. “And here I thought you were on strict orders to deal with an issue on the other side of the temple.”

“Yes, Master Sukuna. However, I didn’t think it was wise to allow Kenjaku to speak with your wife unaccompanied.” Uraume at this point was already in a deep bow, an apology for disobeying his direct orders. You almost want to laugh.

Sukuna is quiet for a moment, a heartbeat of a second that has you itching to glance over your shoulder at him— “Leave us.” comes his command instead, and it’s hardly passed by his lips before Uraume disappears in a flush of chilled air.

As soon as they’re out of range, you notice they fall back into that murky almost-hidden state of hiding their cursed energy. Whatever was on the other side of the temple was to be kept secret.

“Sneaking out again?” Sukuna’s voice isn’t accusatory, yet his words still twist your stomach. When you turn to look up at him, his face is like stone. Cold and unforgiving, eyes narrowed and sharp despite having only just woken up in the middle of the night.

“No, I couldn’t sleep.” You admit, and it feels like defeat. You half expect Sukuna to turn his nose up at the idea of you falling victim to something as trivial as nightmares. But when warm hands curl long fingers around your arms, you’re victim to the gentle pull that Sukuna gives you until you fall into his chest. He breathes you in then, his nose buried into the top of your head.

His chest is warm against your cheek, the bareness of it such a stark difference to the icy background of the outside world. It’s only natural for your arms to find their place beneath his, your fingertips pressing desperately into the skin of his back. You can hardly reach around him, and yet you try. You try to lose yourself in the feeling that is Sukuna holding you; as it was as rare as it was unusual.

“It’ll only fester if you keep it to yourself.” His words rumble against your ear, and he presses his cheek to the top of your head once he continues, “I would say I don’t care about trivial things, I don’t—but your mind clouds my own.”

“And you need your mind clear.” You move to dislodge yourself from his chest, to push away and allow him the clarity he’s asking for—

“Did you become stupid in your time away?” This time, his words are a growl and his eyes meet your own when you snap your head up. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m telling you that your nightmares, your thoughts, they are as if they’re my own—and they anger me. Until I can’t tell what is my anger and what is your own.”

A hand comes up to grasp at your jaw, unforgiving fingers sinking into your cheeks to hold you in place when he meets your gaze head-on. “What I’m trying to tell you is that you need not run to the shadows and find solace in people like Kenjaku—I will listen to you.”

In any other normal circumstance, you would ask why. Why would someone care for another so deeply that they’d listen to their burdens and shoulder them as if they were their own? But you have no need to ask when it comes to Sukuna, you can feel his reason. It curls delightfully in your stomach, strokes its dark claws along your heart and tugs at the strings of your soul.

So instead, you gently wrap your hand around the wrist attached to the hand still holding your face. It’s such a minuscule touch, a minor brush of your fingers against the band of black ink there and it has Sukuna visibly softening—which was more of just the red in his eye turning from molten rock to the same shade of red that paints the trees red in autumn.

He comes to you like a moth to a flame; his lips find yours as if they were meant to be forever joined. It’s not as hungry as the kisses you had shared in the past, a simple press of the lips that oozes an intimacy shared between two souls. And when he breaks away, Sukuna is wearing a smile that spells nothing but trouble.

“You upset Uraume enough to almost destroy this half of the temple.” His forehead presses against your own, a bump that causes a smile to break out on your own face.

“I didn’t mean to. They’re just under the impression that you order me about.”

“Oh? And I don’t?” His smile grows into a grin.

“No. And you never will.” Your words push a chuckle from his mouth before he lays another kiss against your lips, then your cheek before he stands back up to his full height.

“Perhaps I made a mistake giving you all this power. It’s clearly gone to your head.” His eyebrow raises when your smile turns dangerous. “After all, you’ve never won a fight against me.”

“Ah, does that determine who wears the crown and has servants kissing their feet?” You muse, “I see no crown and I see no servants. Perhaps I was the one who made a mistake in thinking you were the King of Curses.”

Sukuna’s nostrils flare in amusement, the glint of his canines in the moonlight makes him look truly like the monster they portray him as. Yet you see beneath it all, you can see the playful gleam in his eye and can feel the care in the way he still holds you close to him. He may be a monster, but he was no monster to you—this was a man who would rip and tear the world apart if it meant to protect his own.

“You’ve grown bolder. I hope you haven’t forgotten that I like it when my women fight back—”

“It makes the skin saltier. Oh, I know.”

Sukuna laughs, loud and mesmerising to listen to—and to watch. The way his face lights up with delight at meeting his own match, how it exposes the wrinkles of his forehead and creases the tattoos that mark his face. He looked so human when he laughed, so alive.

“As much as I would love to put you into your place, I think it can wait for another time.” His arms move you easily enough, tucking you into his side and pushing you alongside. “You cannot avoid sleeping by picking fights with Uraume and Kenjaku.”

“Kenjaku surprisingly had much insight to offer. She told me more about Sugawara and another. One she wishes to capture.” You sneak a glance at Sukuna, but he spares you no glance at your words. “Tengen. Do you know who that is?”

“Of course I do. Tengen is well known for her barriers, they’re near-impossible to break—and they say she’s immortal.”

“Truly?” Immortality. You’ve never heard of such a thing being actually achievable, it was something sought after, as it’s human nature to simply wish to put a stop to the inevitable end that comes for everyone.

“So they say. I’ve heard whispers of the ritual she undergoes to secure her immortality; she absorbs vessels suited for her needs.” Sukuna pauses at the entryway into the building, glancing over your head towards the snowy courtyard with an expression you could only pin as contemplation. “Kenjaku must have a reason for wanting her.”

“Perhaps she’s looking for the secret to immortality too.” It would make sense, you reason with yourself, Kenjaku is a woman who no doubt wants to be the one at the end of it all—alive, and at the top of the food chain.

“Kenjaku doesn’t have a need for immortality, she can achieve that all on her own.” Sukuna shakes his head before glancing down at you. “Don’t listen to what she might be whispering in your ear, it’ll never be for your benefit. Only her own. Do not play into her hands.”

His words are serious. Scorning almost. As if he’s already disappointed that you went out of your way to speak to her without anyone there to monitor the words that may come from Kenjaku’s mouth. So all you can do is nod, and it’s enough to satisfy the man before you as he turns to open the door. You follow after him through the dark hallways, only guided by Sukuna who finds his way back to the bedroom easily enough.

The door slides open, and naturally it would be you following after Sukuna once he steps foot inside. Instead, he holds it open for you, and you stop in your tracks. He wasn’t planning on returning to bed tonight.

As if sensing your train of thought, Sukuna glances your way. “I have something I need to deal with.” It’s a flimsy excuse, one that holds far too many unanswered questions and it must show on your face because Sukuna quickly begins to scowl. “Rest.”

With no room to argue against the hissed tone he takes with you, you’re forced to step into the confines of the bedroom. You turn to glare at him, a look he hasn’t had his way in some time. “And why can’t I come with you?”

“Because you need to rest.” His fingers curl around the door as if to close it in your face. “Tomorrow. I’ll explain tomorrow.”

And with that, the door finally does slide closed in your face. Sukuna doesn’t linger on the other side of the door, trusting you enough to abide by his request to rest, as his heavy footfall takes him further and further away until you’re left in the usual silence that comes with the dead of night. Your fingers twitch at your side, yearning to rip open the door and follow after Sukuna despite his wishes.

But the last time you didn’t listen to his words of staying put, you put yourself in immediate danger. Your body still aches in places from the torture you endured, even with the injuries and scars that had faded with the help of Sukuna, you found no desire to endanger yourself. So instead you find yourself wandering to the futon, the bed was a mess from where Sukuna had no doubt ripped off the covers in realisation you had slipped away in the night again.

Your heart squeezes at the thought, the thought that he may have been worried you were gone. Again. He hadn’t spoken much about what it felt like to lose you, only that he knew he wouldn’t ever leave you in the hands of your enemy. His actions, however, were a different story. It was as if he was making up for the time away, his hands wandered and squeezed—and he held you more.

A sigh is forced from your lungs, eyes closing momentarily. You find yourself naturally seeking out the other half of your soul, the part of you that was shrouded in the darkest part of a man whom you found yourself entirely too fond of. But instead, you’re met with that same murky feeling that washes over his energy, and the more you prod at it, the quicker you realise it was a barrier.

Someone had put up a barrier to protect, or hide, whatever was within the barrier. Your nose scrunches at that, just what could they be hiding from you? Kenjaku had seemed to know about it too, with the comment she had offhandedly given to Uraume. A dog. That’s what Kenjaku had said, but Sukuna wasn’t the type to keep pets… at least, not animal ones.

Something sinister slithers up your spine, and your stomach drops at the thought of Sukuna finding his fun with another woman; a human pet. It makes your blood burn, bubbling and boiling until you can hear it bashing against your ears with each thrum of your heart. You’d never felt jealousy in your life, at least not of this magnitude. You never felt jealous when your first husband had found concubines to satisfy his ‘male needs’. You had only felt jealousy in the form of envy; you wanted to be strong like your father, to rule over an army… to be respected.

You overlook the futon, deciding to step away and rest beside the unlit Irori. The wood and charcoal are long since cold, no warmth to curl around your frozen toes. Your hand rises, and there in the centre of your palm cradled by your flesh is a flame; it flickers and grows brighter the more you focus on it. It no longer seeks to consume you whole, instead, it sits there, waiting for instruction.

It leaps from your hand and into the sunken hearth, relighting the wood until there’s a growing fire in front of you. It flickers, shadows dancing until the flame bursts upwards — much too high for a hearth fire, the flames hiss and spit, shifting from orange to blue. The heat laps at your exposed flesh, ash spitting from the hearth stings against your still outstretched hand.

Your mind is clouded with too many thoughts; thoughts of replacement. It conflicts with that bound part of your soul, two voices whispering two different things—one demands you trust Sukuna and the other hisses that you can’t trust anyone. The second voice sounds much too like your father, that it has you blinking away the darkness that shrouded your eyes only to find your hand blistering before you.

Pulling back your hand from the bright flame, the fire immediately dies back down until it is nothing more than a gentle flame. Your hand sizzles still, flesh bubbling and popping before your very eyes—but you find yourself unable to feel the pain, a numbness immediately washing over. Skin regrows over exposed bone and singed nerves knot back together as if nothing had happened.

Instead of following the orders of resting, you sit there by the hearth for the remainder of the night—thinking, prodding at the barrier that at times pushes back against you.

Morning came quickly, the rising sun washing away the settled snow and brushing away the icy clouds of wind. Sukuna did not return at any point during the night, nor did anyone come to the bedroom with intentions of keeping you there—so you left.

Dressed in a black long-sleeved Furisode that must’ve been procured at some point in your absence, you assume by Uraume, you wander the halls. You still feel the barrier along the east side of the building, barring you from seeing inside. You wonder if the creator of said barrier knows you’re aware of its existence, you’ve never encountered a barrier before and whilst Sukuna had an extensive library; barriers weren’t often the topic.

You’re unsure of how long you meander through the halls, not until you find yourself standing at a junction. One direction leads towards the throne room, and the other leads to the entrance. You still can’t pinpoint Sukuna’s location, no doubt he’s still behind the barrier that had been created to keep you out. His throne room would be empty—did it now also count as your own? Could you sit on the seat made up of bones and belong there?

There’s no denying the thought is appealing, the power that comes with sitting atop a throne composed of human bones… and so you turn your attention towards the throne room, set on pushing the limits of your newfound position at Sukuna's side.

Except you freeze in place. There’s a knocking behind you, on the large wooden entrance doors. You remain silent, waiting to see if it was just the wind—and there’s another knock. Light, almost non-existent, and you’d otherwise ignore it if you didn’t feel an odd amount of cursed energy beyond the door.

With tentative steps, you grow closer and closer to the entrance until you tug on the heavy wood. It opens with a gust of wind, a creak of wood and you have to squint at the brightness of the outside world… standing before you is something you had thought was nothing but a terrible nightmare.

In the direct sunlight, standing before you is something born from your own fear, from the darkness and loneliness of being locked in a closet all those months ago. Its skin is still twisted and waterlogged, and sunken eyes that stare back at you in what might just be intrigue. Your fingers twitch at the door, urging you to slam the door closed in the face of the cursed spirit that seemed to follow you all the way into the mountains.

But you stop when its hand comes up to its own face, pushing away flesh with a wet shlick sound, you wait to see your own face staring back at you. However, you’re met with odd-matched eyes, blinking and widening alongside your own. The cursed spirit continues to transform before you, shifting out of the nightmare you had thought up until it—she stands before you.

Her hair is silvery in the sunlight, glinting with a bluish hue that wouldn’t be found on anyone other than a curse. She’s shorter than yourself, completely naked, and you make quick notes of the various scars across her body—they were more like very faint lines of stitching, so unnoticeable in comparison to Kenjaku’s forehead stitch.

Then her mouth splits into a wide grin, all white teeth and it’s unnerving. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Who are you?” You’ve only encountered a few curses in the past, and only one of them was capable of complete human speech. The one before you speaks as if she were the same as you—a human.

Her grin drops, lips coming together in a pout that looks far too friendly for someone whose cursed energy is enough to have sweat gathering on the back of your neck. You watch as she tilts her head to the side, long silver hair falling from her shoulders.

“I don’t know—I have no name.” She then shrugs, unperturbed by the fact she’s nameless, seemingly born into a world with no idea of who she is or what she can do. “You should name me. You’re the one who created me, after all.”

You blink in surprise, eyebrows raising at the way her eyes snap to your own with a glint that further unnerves you. “I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did!” She steps closer, and you’re forced to remain in place when she invades your space. Her hand raises just to the side of your face, fingers brushing against the edge of your furisode. “You were so scared. You were terrified of people, of the ones who trapped you and fed you nothing but scraps. You feared men and monsters. You made me.”

“What are you? You’re not like the others—”

“You.” She grins once again, her fingers twitch out of your peripheral vision before she drops it and takes a step backwards. “Or whatever part of your soul shattered that day. So, my name?”

Your soul. You were unaware a part of it had already broken so early on. Shattered and torn away in the darkness of a closet fit for supplies—and this curse, a woman, born from that hatred and fear that you had accumulated for those women… for Sukuna. That would make her the part of your soul that was untouched by Sukuna, unbound and free to do whatever it may like—a true soul.

“Masato.” You watch the name register with the curse, her eyebrows drawn together before she begins to smile. “Your name is Masato.” Masato laughs surprisingly, a jingle bell of a laugh and her eyes close momentarily. “You have a sense of humour. Masato—a true person, you know I’m not human, right?”

You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes at the curse in front of you, her words are goading—like a child wanting to make fun of someone. So instead, you step to the side. “Come inside. Do you not feel the cold?”

Masato doesn’t hesitate to step inside, shaking her head at your question with a curious look on her face as she looks over the barren halls. They were sparsely decorated, no doubt a choice made by Sukuna—he kept his most prized pieces of art in the library, hidden and protected.

“I have no feeling in my body. It’s just a husk.” Masato comments absentmindedly, fiddling with the frayed ends of a rope that once connected to a bell somewhere deeper in the temple. “Is that why you wear clothes? To stop yourself from getting cold?”

“Among other reasons.” You can’t deny that this curse before you is no different than that of a child, with questions of the simplest of things. It was smart enough to understand human speech, and it was quick to adapt to its surroundings—did others like Masato exist? Created from other human’s fears? “One of those reasons is that you can’t run around naked. So, come with me.”

Masato follows behind you when you retreat the way you had come, finding your way back to the bedroom. Sukuna was still absent, and you wondered if he could pick up on the sudden spike of cursed energy that was following you around the temple. It was so vastly different from your own, Masato’s cursed energy was cruel and cold… like death itself.

You watch as Masato invades your personal space, eyes darting back and forth as if she is seeing a bedroom for the first time—and you realise, she is. She doesn’t touch anything however, her hand always just inches away from touching the surface of something. Determining she’s not a threat, not yet anyway, you make your way towards the chest that had been filled with fabrics and silks at some point in your absence.

“It smells of fear in here.” Masato comments from somewhere behind you, and you glance over your shoulder to see her standing at the end of your shared bed. You spare a glance at the ruffled sheets, still ruined from Sukuna waking up to find you ‘missing’. Did it smell of his fear?

You didn’t want to know, nor did you want to inform Masato about Sukuna’s possible fear. So instead, you pull a spare pair of Hakama trousers you had previously worn for training as well as a wide-sleeved kimono. You turn to hand them to Masato when your blood runs cold, her fingers are hovering just above your blade.

“Don’t!” Your raised voice is enough to have Masato staring at you with wide eyes, her hand retracting out of instinct. “Do not touch that sword. It’ll kill you.”

Despite the warning, that seemed to draw Masato’s attention even more. Her mismatched eyes of blue and grey darted back to the sword, widening as if she could see the amount of cursed energy stored within—and what it was capable of doing.

“It’s yours?” Masato questions, her fingers twitching at her sides. You move towards her, thrusting the clothing in front of her in hopes of drawing her attention away from the sword.

“Yes. Now please, get dressed.” You watch as Masato glances down at the clothes, a second passes where she just scrunches up her nose in distaste—and then glances back at the sword. So you shove them against her front, enough to startle her into taking a few steps back and taking the clothes from your hand. “Now.”

Masato looks at you for a moment, truly looks at you. You no longer see the facade of a curse pretending to be a living human there, only empty eyes and a bottomless pit of a heart. There’s no humanity there, nothing but a creature who thrives off of fear and hate—and then she grins, a deathly grin. She says nothing when she turns away, seemingly busying herself with figuring out how to appropriately dress herself in the garments you’ve given her.

You exhale the breath you were holding, shoulders relaxing just enough for you to release the tension in your back. Your own eyes find themselves resting on your sword, it seemed to draw Masato’s attention a little too much. Was it because she could see it had the ability to slice deeper than flesh and bone? That it could slice at the very soul itself? You have no idea, maybe she herself could resonate with something to do with the soul.

Like calls to like.

It buzzes at your touch, and the tips of your fingers glide along the unsharpened edge of the blade until you find the tuft of black hair at the hilt. It fits in the palm of your hand as if it were born there, your fingers mould around the woven hilt easily enough that you don’t quite realise you’ve lifted it free from the stand and holding it in front of yourself.

Not until Masato appears next to you.

“Do you know what the soul looks like in order to cut it?” Her words are no longer tinged with dripping sarcasm, instead, it’s genuine curiosity that paints her. You can’t draw your gaze away from the sword however, its steel blade glinting in the stream of sunlight that brushes the room in a gentle warmth.

“Of course.” You admit, your eyes blink once and it’s like a candle flickering into existence; everything around you buzzes to life. “You must know the shape of your own soul in order to see others.”

Masato goes quiet at your words, quiet enough that you finally drag your gaze over to her. And instead of looking at the blade, she’s staring directly at you with what could only be described as wonder. Her lips are slightly parted and pupils wide, it’s a little unsettling—even more so when her face splits into a smile.

“I can see yours too.” Her head tilts, eyes drifting downwards until they settle at your heart. “It’s so twisted and broken, and yet it’s perfect. As it was meant to be.”

Her hand rises from beneath the sleeves of her kimono, and you can’t help but notice she seems lost in thought; staring directly at you, at your soul. The air thrums with her cursed energy, barbed and twisted as if it were to touch you then you’d be snagged along and turned inside out. Even without the physical contact, you can feel the pull on your own soul, her cursed energy curls and fluxes before it pools at the tips of her fingers—just centimetres away from your chest.

Your hand wraps around her wrist, snatching her hand away just in time. Masato startles at the touch, her eyes darting to where you hold her wrist hostage. “Never touch my soul. Ever.”

Masato looks more like a rabbit in the maw of a wolf than a curse being held by her creator, her eyes are wide and lips turned downwards in a shocked frown. Her skin is cold beneath your fingers, like ice, and her pulse doesn’t quicken where your thumb presses into her wrist—not human. Lesser than.

You release her wrist when she blinks away the surprise in her eyes, instead her features start to twist in what might be her first experience of anger. You don’t spare her a second glance, instead turning and walking out of the room with only a call of her name over your shoulder; a command for her to follow.

She does.

She follows you through the corridors, blending into your shadow; unseen and unheard. You follow the path you had set out for yourself just earlier, turning right instead of left—towards the throne room. The doors open with a shove, and it’s unsurprising to find the room completely empty of any people.

The pools of blood are unmoving, their screams absent without the presence of their tormentor. You pay no mind to Masato when you make your way towards the steps, traversing up them until you reach the top of the dais. The throne is much larger up close, each of the bones had been melded together with an intense amount of heat. Sukuna’s own fire.

It’s cold beneath your touch, seeping through the thick layers of your furisode. Even the throne itself buzzes to life under your touch, the residuals of the souls tied to it reeling in surprise. You cast your gaze over the quiet throne room, it was much larger than your typical throne room. The Emperor himself didn’t have something so grand as this, and it definitely wasn’t as grotesque.

Your gaze drifts to Masato finally, she lingers at the bottom of the stairs. Knowing she shouldn’t take a step closer to you, or the throne you sit upon. Good. You can’t imagine Sukuna’s reaction if he were to find a cursed spirit lingering around his seat of power.

Speaking of. Your eyes cast towards the far wall, there’s a standalone door there that leads to the east side of the temple. You can no longer sense the barrier, its murkiness evaporated and you’re met with signatures belonging to four different people. You account for Uraume, Kenjaku, Sukuna and finally…

You can’t keep the frown off of your face. Yorozu. Maybe this time you’ll finally bring your imagination to life; rip her asunder and listen to her scream for days on end. The sword in your lap grows heavy with anticipation, would she scream for mercy or beg for death? You’ll find out. You’re certain of that much.

A tug at your own soul has your spine straightening, shoulders squaring—Sukuna pushes through the doors first, his eyes snap to you first with what might be thinly veiled amusement before his face twists in disgust at the lingering cursed energy. All four of his eyes are suddenly aimed at Masato, and you can see her freeze under Sukuna’s scrutiny.

He doesn’t move a muscle, leaving Kenjaku to step around his hulking figure and her face breaks out into a wide grin with a muffled laugh that she tries to suppress in the sleeve of her kimono. Her eyes are latched onto you, watching you sit on a throne much too large for yourself.

“It would seem the lamb has found her backbone.” Kenjaku chides, earning a sharp-eyed glare from Uraume who lingers just in the shadow of Sukuna. You, however, don’t take your eyes off Sukuna—waiting, watching.

“It would also seem that she’s captured a stray.” Sukuna finally moves, taking strides forward until he’s just a foot away from Masato. The curse visibly shrinks in his presence, or perhaps that was her cursed energy—it bubbles beneath her skin before she actually grows smaller. How strange.

Sukuna just sneers at the curse, deeming it unworthy of his attention for any longer before he sets his sights back on you. He prowls up the steps of the dais slowly, a predator approaching the throne of another. Your eyes track his movements flawlessly, even catching when he glimpses downwards to the blade sitting idly in your lap.

“If you wanted a throne, I would’ve had one made for you too.” His eyebrows raise in amusement once he’s just a step away, even when he’s on lower ground he still looks down at you. “This one is too big for you.”

“It fits fine.” You reply, perhaps a little too snippy as Sukuna’s amused smile drops instantly. “Bring her here.”

Sukuna stares down at you for a long moment, his nostrils flaring and the top set of his arms crossed over his chest. The whole situation must be new to him; to have someone ordering him around… and to find himself wanting to obey that command. He glances over his shoulder, nodding to Uraume who vanishes before anyone can blink.

You can see Kenjaku slinking around the room with an air of mirth, her eyes are locked onto Sukuna until finally she’s within reaching distance of Masato. Her eyes are sharp and narrowed, inspecting the cursed spirit in front of her. “And who are you?”

“Masato.” She replies, eyes hesitantly glancing up towards you and you almost want to wince at the wolfish grin that spreads across Kenjaku’s face in realisation at the fact Masato seems to look to you for guidance.

“Oh, how wonderful. I’m sure great things will come from this partnership.” Kenjaku steps away from Masato with that, her eyes drifting up to you with a clear look in her eye that she’ll be wanting to hear more of how Masato came to be.

There’s a chill that rolls through the room, and everyone shifts their attention towards the door once again. Uraume stands quietly, their fingers curled into the matted mess of hair belonging to none other than Yorozu—her clothes are tattered and torn, bloodied and barely hiding the new wounds covering her body. Even from here, you can tell that it’s Sukuna’s handiwork.

Her hands slap against the cold stone floor when Uraume forces her forward. Sukuna shifts at your side, standing with all of his arms crossed across his chest and head turned towards Yorozu. You had expected him to force you from his throne, to have you perched in his lap or even kneel at his feet for daring to sit upon it without his permission—

Yorozu lifts her head finally, eyes dragging along the stairs until she finds you sitting there instead of Sukuna. Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise and her bloodied lips part in shock—it seems even she can see how odd it was for Sukuna to not demand his seat of power back. Instead, giving it over to someone else. An equal; his wife. It would seem Yorozu finally realises Sukuna had meant it when he called you his wife, someone whom he shared his space with willingly… as her shocked expression morphs into a neutral look.

A look of acceptance.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” Sukuna sneers, upper lip turned up in disgust when he sees Yorozu shift her gaze to him instead. “After all that pitiful yapping like the mutt you are… you’re awfully quiet now.”

Yorozu doesn’t give Sukuna the satisfaction of showing her hurt at his words, instead, her eyes shift back towards you and there’s distaste in her eye; maybe even a little regret, for she was the one who dug her own grave with her insatiable jealousy. Your fingers trace along the hilt pattern of the sword in your lap, it calls for you to lift it and cut true.

However…

“Why did you do it?” You ask instead, relaxing against the spinal column of the throne behind you. Your question seems to catch everyone’s attention, even Kenjaku raises her eyebrows before schooling her expression once again.

“What?” Her voice is harsh, a forced whisper to help her voice carry up the steps and to your ears. You wonder if the barrier was also there to keep her screams quiet.

“Why did you inform the Shogun of my whereabouts?” You can feel bile in your throat at the mere mention of his title, a title he did not deserve—one you had stripped away from him. “Was it all because of envy? Because of love?”

Yorozu’s mask crumbles at your hissed words, a poison that strikes exactly where you want it; her heart. You can’t help the smile that lifts your lips momentarily before you temper it. Love, of course, she thought she did it for something as fickle as love—for something she would’ve never received from a man like Sukuna.

Sukuna himself seems amused at the expression on Yorozu’s face, his head tilted in condescension yet he doesn’t speak, he waits to see if you’ll strike. After all, she was your welcome-home gift. Kenjaku on the other hand can’t seem to hold in her amusement, as she hides her laughter behind the sleeve of her kimono, fox-like eyes gleaming with terrible intentions.

“Oh my, what a sweet thing. To sell out another woman in hopes of warming the bed for the King of Curses.” Kenjaku goads, earning a mean-spirited grin from Sukuna in return. “I do wonder what’s to come for the would-be usurper.”

What’s to come, indeed. The thought has your mind drifting, that darkness that coils so tightly in your chest unspooling itself to slither along your bones and settle at your shoulders; whispering obscenities and punishments it thought fitting for Yorozu. Flashes of red, sticky and dark, blood that sticks to your hands and body matter that finds itself under your nails.

It wanted you to claw her apart, piece by piece, whilst she screamed at the top of her lungs for mercy. It wanted her to suffer, just as you did. If not more. It wanted you to paint your skin in her crimson blood, it wanted you to feast on her bones and wear her fingers as souvenirs. It wanted you to break her, to shatter her heart and force her to endure that heartbreak in perpetuity.

But you find it’s your own soul that yearns to have your teeth sinking into the fleshy muscle of her heart, to have the very thing she thought would beat solely for Sukuna in what she thought was love… A smile spreads across your lips at the thought, eyes flitting to Sukuna momentarily to find him already looking directly at you.

His eyebrow arches, a silent question; what will you do?

“I’ll give you one shot.” The room freezes at your words. Sukuna’s eyebrows furrowed together and you can see the protest building on his tongue. “You have one chance to kill me, and take my place.”

Yorozu seems speechless at your command, even more so when Uraume steps away to allow Yorozu the room she may need to hit her target. She watches as you stand up from the throne, katana in one hand and only the fabric of your Furisode there to offer a weak armour.

But that seems to be all the time Yorozu needs to make her choice, she’s pushing herself up onto her feet with new blood dripping from her wounds and staining her skin further. Her hand is out at her side in an instant, the pull of cursed energy pooling in the palm of her hand and you can only watch in feigned surprise at how strong she actually was; you had an idea of her power.

No doubt if she was weak, Sukuna would’ve killed her in an instant.

A black mass of something liquid starts to form in the air just beside her palm before a short dagger takes form. Her fingers are wrapped around it in an instant and you think you see Sukuna shift out of your peripheral when Yorozu raises the arm up to bend over her shoulder before throwing the dagger directly at you. It soars through the air before anyone can blink, and you stagger a step back.

The black liquid of a blade sits snug in your chest, buried against the torn muscles of your heart.

You’ve never experienced a pain quite like it; a pain that was there but also absent. A type of pain that was so overwhelming, that your brain was trying to rapidly recover and numb you to the spreading feeling of your heart tearing with each attempt to beat around the blade lodged in the thick muscles. You can taste the copper on your tongue, can feel it wetting the roof of your mouth and choking up the back of your throat until you inevitably cough.

Surprisingly, it’s Kenjaku who takes the first step up the raised dais in an attempt to reach you first. Her face looks aged almost in her worry, the line on her forehead is more prominent when her eyebrows draw together in concern, but she stops before she can take another step up towards you.

“It’s always the heart people go for.” You splutter with a wet laugh, your fingers wrap around the inky liquid of the blade handle. It pulses under your fingers, Yorozu’s own cursed energy fighting against yours before you pull the blade free from your chest.

Blood spurts from the gaping hole, drenching the black material of the silk on your body. You watch the realisation draw across Yorozu’s face, she didn’t know you could heal your own body. The skin and muscle pull together quickly, remodelled before she can so much as blink—and when she does blink, you’re gone from the spot at the top of the dais.

“It’s the brain you need to aim for.” Your words are warm against her ear, and she visibly flinches at the proximity. “Remember that for your next life.”

Her words, if they were to be her final ones, are garbled with a wet choking sound. The blade she used in an attempt to kill you slides easily along her throat, deep enough that she had only a few agonising seconds before she bled out. Her hands come up fruitlessly to her throat, eyes wide and searching the room but all she finds are malicious grins beaming down upon her.

With a crack of her knees on the floor, Yorozu crumbles under the loss of blood and you take your time to step around her. Standing before her when her head tilts back lazily, uncaring for the deep throat laceration that continues to pour blood with each languid beat of her heart. You smile at her when she meets your eyes, you can see her fighting to see if you’d curse her into the next life but your grin only grows brighter.

And then finally, her eyes dull and the light leaves. Her body falls unceremoniously at your feet, blood pooling beneath your bare feet and soaking the ends of your heavy kimono. You don’t turn at the heavy footfall of Sukuna as he takes his steps down the dais until he’s just behind you, the warmth he emanates wraps around you instantly.

“Uraume.” You address the otherwise silent monk, their head snapping up to meet your gaze. There’s no longer a look of contempt, instead, you can see respect there. “Keep her heart. Flay the rest.”

You wait to see if Uraume flicks their eyes up to Sukuna for confirmation, but instead, they just bow their head deeply before leaning down to grasp at Yorozu’s still-warm body, then disappearing in a gust of icy wind. There’s a clipping of wooden shoes on stone that has your gaze drifting to the side to see Kenjaku approaching you with a smile.

Her gaze sweeps the bloody floor quickly before she then raises her eyes to yours, “Bodies always make quite a mess. Yet you make it look like an art, you’re fascinating.”

“Leave us.” Sukuna commands, his voice is a deep rich tone that has the hairs standing up on the back of your neck. “And take the curse with you. I don’t care what you do with her.”

“Don’t kill Masato.” You say as quickly as Kenjaku’s face lights up with ideas no doubt that would lead to Masato’s demise. “Figure out her technique. Maybe make use of it.”

Kenjaku bows her body in a short dip, her smile hidden by the shadow of her hair. “As you wish.” And then she’s turning, herding Masato out of the room with hushed whispers of something about a village of people not too far away.

And then the throne room was empty once again, except for the rightful King of the throne sitting just a few feet behind you. Sukuna says nothing when you turn to face him, yet you can’t help the soft smile that takes over your face at the shining pride in his eye when he looks down at you. One hand smooths up along your arm, rubbing the soft silk between his battle-worn fingers before he rests his hand on the side of your neck.

Another hand smooths up your front until it rests over your heart, your blood soaks his skin and yet he shows no discomfort—only a relief that your heart still beats in your chest, healthy and alive.

“I felt that knife in your chest as if it were my own.” He admits, an odd look on his face. “It was… strange. I could feel the pain blooming, the beat of my own heart was painful.”

Your own hand skirts up along the bare expanse of his stomach, smile broadening momentarily when the mouth there grins at the contact. Then your hand finds its place over his heart, nestled between the thick muscles of his pectorals.

“I hope I didn’t scare you too much.” You grin when he rolls his eyes, using his available hands to tug you closer until you are pressed to his front.

“I’ve never known fear.” His hand is gentle when it strokes along your scalp, careful to not disturb your hair too much. “Not until you appeared. You’ve ruined me.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes and laugh, and you feel a warmth in your stomach at the salacious grin Sukuna throws your way. He doesn’t mean ruin in a terrible way—he means you have ruined him for life, you have changed something inside of him forever and no doubt that will come to bite him in the future.

But for now, you can see he doesn’t care for the possible repercussions of allowing himself to feel fear for another human being. The hand carding through your hair drifts back down towards your throat, his thumb pressing daringly against the column of it to feel you swallow weakly against the pressure.

“Now, what did I tell you about putting yourself into idiotic situations?” Sukuna growls, the low purr of his words has blossoming heat curling in your gut.

“I don’t think I remember.” Your words earn you a smirk, and Sukuna leans in closer until his nose bumps against your own.

“No?”

“No.” You whisper when he tilts his chin just enough to let his lips brush along your own teasingly.

“Perhaps a reminder is in order.” The hand at your throat tightens slightly, his hand large enough to nearly wrap around the entirety of your throat.

“I think I’ll need a little more than that.”

And Sukuna laughs lowly, a type of laugh that would scare anyone who it was aimed at. Instead, it has you smiling along with him, his canines flashing dimly in the waning firelight of the various lanterns littered around the room.

It only takes another nudge of your nose against his to have him leaning in, the kiss he gives you is all-consuming. It’s like breathing fresh air for the first time in a while. The impact of your decision to let Yorozu have a chance at cutting your life short had hit Sukuna hard. His lips move with a ferociousness that has you struggling to keep up, his tongue already pressing in and invading your mouth.

His hand slips from your throat and up to your jaw, pressing thick fingers into your cheeks until you’re forced to open your mouth when he pulls away. He smiles at the look on your face, no doubt quite the mess from just a kiss—

“On your knees.”

‣‣ Main Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#dead dove do not eat #cw gore #cw dark content #cw violence #tw cannibalism #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader

237 notes · View notes

libertyybellls · 4 months

Text

silver soul !

pairing; finnick odair x fem reader

summary; you’ve been reaped for the 68th annual games,as you say your goodbyes you realize the ocean is not the only thing you are leaving behind.

contains ; ANGST, sadness, unconfessed loves.

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

you’re sitting atop the smoothest rock nearing the shoreline, too close to be dry but too far to be soaked. the air is cool despite the season. something somber lays in the air- as if nature can read the silence between you and finnick.

oh, finnick.

you wait for him to speak, for him to say goodbye and let you go. let you move onto your impending doom. but he doesn’t speak- he doesn’t even move. no noise is emitting from him, you’re not even sure you can hear his breathing- the typically obnoxious huffs and puffs he exudes are gone and he remains next to you in these final moments on district 4- refusing to speak.

he’d prayed to any god that would listen for the 68th hunger games to have mercy on you. he wouldn’t give just an arm and a leg for your safety. he would give anything that belonged to him to ensure that you’d return home, back to him, back to whatever you two were in.

he could’ve crumpled to the floor when he’d heard your name called, when nobody had volunteered. why you? why not anyone else? anyone but her.

“i’ll be okay.”

you couldn’t promise that, you knew it was a lie, you’re only 16, you have nothing to depend on getting you through the games.

“i’ll be your mentor. i’ll find you sponsors. let me help you.” finnick pleads, his eyes lowly looking into yours.

it is only then you want to break into pieces in his arms. you want to sob. you want to retreat back to your family, back to his safe presence. he looks so pure with the sparkle of grace in his eye, deeply at variance to the picture that’s been painted to the capitol. his altruistic belief in you when even now, you are certain you won’t make it far in these games, gives you a rush.

you don’t respond to his desperate offers. you only look down to your lap- at your dress playing with the simple garment. you laugh breathily, “what are the odds.”

‘not in my favor’ he selfishly thinks. he may still have a life whether you win or lose this game- but will he be alive? will he have his anchor?

he shames the world, shames the capitol, shames all of the people who sat back and let you walk onto that stage, shames the game makers who would ever let you step foot in that arena. he needs you to be okay. this world is cruel, cruel to do this to his girl.

“please trust me, i will get you out of these games. you will be a victor and we can live in peace, y/n.”

he sins. he lies. he deceives. straight through his teeth. no matter the outcome you will never live in peace once your out of this. you will never be the same girl.

you think back to his own games. though he has yet to directly say his nightly terrors, his daily horrors, the acts he’s committed that he will never say as he looks into your loving eyes. the capitol has not had lenience on this boy, only a boy, but with troubles of a man.

there is no outcome of this predicament that either of you favor. no scenario in which the world grants you the rest you deserve. you want to scream, cry, pour your heart into him. let him fully consume every fiber that holds you together, all the words you’ve never yet said to him lay heavy on your heart. now it is your turn to stay silent, to lose all oxygen in your lungs, let the blood leave your face. but your voice fails you, “i trust you finnick.”

i trust that i am safe with you. i trust that you won’t let me die. i trust that i will make it back to you. i trust you.

he pulls you into him, his cheeks are wet, there’s a lump in his throat but he does not speak. he simply holds your head onto his chest- his fingers lock into yours as if that’s where they were made to lay.

your words continue to lie dormant in the back of your shared minds- but you let the angry waves speak for you. the greying sky share your sadness, the cold drops of water that reach your legs will bring you back to life- rejuvenate your soul ties. this is the peace you’ve been granted- this is all that is fair in your life.

only in this moment will he have you as you are now, in his arms, still so fragile but he holds you intact.

#finnick odair #finnick oneshot #finnick angst #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick fanfic #finnick fluff #finnick smut #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x you

236 notes · View notes

whitedarkmoonflower · 3 months

Text

You are good

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female)

Authors note: I refuse all responsibility for this and blame @foxyanon and this post for planting this idea into my head. I think you will recognise your quotes. 😅

Warnings: SMUT 18+

Word Count: 3,3 K

Tags: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @hb8301 @zillahvathek @alexagirlie @gemini-mama @verenahx @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @willowbrookesblog @thenameswinter99 @ellabellabus07 @mcbuckyyyy @kirtseinw

If you want to be added to or removed from the tag list - write to me.

Uhtred's tail, you had silently dubbed him. "Yes, lord" and "No, lord" were nearly the only phrases to escape his lips. Most of the time, he seemed to vanish, only to reappear as if conjured by a magic wand at the mere sound of his name, his head tucked into his shoulders, hunched forward, eyes fixed on the ground, avoiding any direct gaze. Horses need to be readied – Sihtric will do that. Not enough wood for the fire – he’s already gone searching. Pretty face and large, alerted eyes. Suspicious eyes.

You didn’t trust him. Uhtred apparently did, but your brother had always had a far too big and soft heart, he tried to hide behind his loud talk about destiny and honour. So, you kept a watchful eye on Sihtric.

You saw him conversing with the horses in hushed, gentle tones, telling them about his day, treating them as if they were his best friends, meticulously brushing their backs. You witnessed him sitting in the darkness, far from the reach of the fire's flickering light, leaning against a tree or a cart, his form curled up, arms wrapped around his legs, chin resting on his knees. He would startle at the sound of raucous, drunken laughter piercing the air. You noticed him shudder when his name was called, jumping to his feet as if he'd been bitten by a venomous snake, and wince when someone unexpectedly placed a hand on his shoulder.

But you saw other things as well. You observed him reach into his saddlebag, generously distributing all his provisions to the beggars who sat at the city gates as you entered Winchester. You saw him remove the silver ring recently bestowed upon him by Uhtred, gifting it to a small, emaciated boy whom he had caught attempting to steal his pouch just moments earlier. You even saw him step in and kick out a drunkard from the alehouse, who was about to take a swing at the serving girl.

"Here, have a drink," you offered him a mug, settling down beside him. He flinched and looked up at you in surprise. A hesitant smile graced Sihtric's lips as he accepted the drink from you, his eyes filled with warmth and gratitude. That's how it all began – your quiet chats away from the noisy laughter and banter by the fireplaces. You were just plain curious and cautious, or so you kept telling yourself. You wanted to learn more about the reserved and timid warrior in your brother’s service. And with each moment, each story he shared as he gradually opened up to you, revealing bits and pieces from his life, your fascination with him never wavered.

Your own path hadn't been a walk in the park either. You'd lost everything except your brother. You both survived that Danish assault, but life played a cruel trick on you, and you didn't luck out like Uhtred who found a new family. Fate turned you into a warrior, fueled by anger, rage, and an unquenchable thirst for revenge. Sometimes, it felt like your heart stopped beating the day the Danes yanked you from your old life, leaving you with an empty, pitch-black hole in your chest. It changed when you reunited with Uhtred. It was like you finally fit into this world again, and your brother's love warmed your heart. Yet, in the quiet of the night, when you were alone with your thoughts, that dark hole in your chest still haunted you, making you wonder if you were really alive.

And now, you'd crossed paths with someone whose journey had been even more rocky as yours, whose soul seemed like an open, bleeding wound. But within him, there still was a warmth that felt like it could rekindle the spark of life within your own heart too.

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

"What a pretty thing!" the guard sneered, his fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks as he pulled you closer, his foul breath assaulting your senses. It had been your fault; your recklessness had landed both you and Sihtric in this grimy dungeon. But not a single word of reproach had escaped Sihtric's lips. You had a sense that rescue might be on the horizon, as the boy who had been with you had escaped and was likely delivering the news to Uhtred. However, for the moment, you were stuck here.

"Don't touch her!" Sihtric hissed, his voice quivering with anger as he swatted the guard's hand away from you.

"What the hell! Hold that rat for me," the guard grumbled, turning his attention away from you, while the other two forcibly twisted Sihtric's arms behind his back. You winced as the first blow landed on Sihtric's face, jerking his head to the side, followed by another and another. Not a sound escaped his lips as he stared back at the guard, his eyes burning with pure hatred.

Another punch, this time aimed at Sihtric's abdomen, caused him to double over with a grunt, gasping for air. The guards released him, and Sihtric's knees and hands crumpled to the ground. A heavy leather boot struck his stomach, sending him sprawling. Arms defensively wrapped around his head, Sihtric writhed on the floor, convulsing under the brutal onslaught that was shattering his body.

"I hope this serves as a valuable lesson, you filthy heathen. Next time, think before you open your mouth," one of the guards spat, then turned to leave, motioning for the others to follow suit.

"What was that? Are you out of your mind?" you whispered sharply to Sihtric, rushing to his side and kneeling beside him to assess the damage. His nose was bleeding, and his lip and eyebrow were cut. Gently, you placed his arm around your shoulders, wrapping your arm around his waist as you helped him back on his feet and guided him towards a heap of straw in the corner of the cell. He sank heavily onto it, leaning his back and head against the wall.

"At least they got distracted," he shuddered, shoulders quivering, spitting blood and wiping his chin with his sleeve.

"That was incredibly foolish of you. It seems you don't have any broken ribs, but it could have turned out much worse," you tore the lower edge of your tunic and reached out to clean the blood from Sihtric's face with the makeshift rag.

"It's not too high a price to pay if it keeps their attention off you," Sihtric replied, raising his eyes, and for perhaps the first time, your gazes consciously met. "Besides, I'm used to it," he added, a sad smile playing on his lips.

"I can handle myself," you hissed, but your eyes were brimming with gratitude, while Sihtric merely shrugged his shoulders, wincing when your fingers touched his split lip.

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

Your blood ran hot, adrenaline surging through your veins, a loud thump of your heart in your ears. Your senses sharpened to an almost painful degree as it seemed you could hear the trampled grass beneath your feet crying out. Your fingers clenched tightly around the shaft of your axe, tracing every line and wrinkle carved into the wood, as you melded seamlessly with your weapon, becoming an extension of your arm. There was no escape from the thick, intoxicating scent of blood that hung in the air, clinging to your clothes, seeping through your skin, intensifying the thrill. You sank to your knees, using the shaft of your axe for support, the taste of iron and ashes lingering in your mouth.

"Are you injured?" you flinched at the touch on your shoulder, raising your head only to see Sihtric quickly retract his hand.

Today was the first time you had witnessed him in battle, his eyes ablaze with excitement, his body a coiled spring of taut muscles, moving with purpose and precision. He resembled a young wolf on the hunt, thrilled by his own strength and agility, seamlessly blending with the chaos around him.

A brief, lingering gaze at the young Dane fighting alongside you had cost you dearly. A sudden swing of an axe caught you off guard, your step back too hurried and unsteady, causing you to lose your balance and tumble, releasing your own weapon. The stench of death filled your nostrils, the axe poised in the air, ready to strike, etching itself into your senses as you desperately fumbled to find something to counter the blow.

Too late, a single thought pierced your mind as you watched the blade descend, moving so agonisingly slow that it felt as if time itself had altered its pace just to mock you. A clank of metal and a scorching splatter of blood across your face brought the world back to its normal tempo, as the lifeless body of a red-faced Dane thudded to the ground beside you. A hand reached out, and you grasped it, allowing it to yank you back onto your feet. You met the piercing gaze of two mismatched eyes, filled with anxiety and something more, something profound and indescribable, yet so intense that it sent shivers down your spine. There was no time for words as you both were drawn back into the intricate dance of life and death surrounding you.

"I'm fine," you growled, breathing heavily, your body trembling as you pushed yourself upright with the aid of the axe's shaft. A deep ache surged through your tired muscles. You seized Sihtric's hand, which hung hesitantly in the air, and pulled him along with you, striding towards the trees at the edge of the clearing. He followed, eyes wide with surprise but offering no resistance.

You plunged into the forest, not stopping until the battlefield's clearing had long vanished from view, leaving behind all its chaotic sounds. Silence, you needed silence—to quiet your racing mind.

A startled crow fluttered away, its caw echoing through the trees and your ears. Coming to a halt, you turned to face the utterly bewildered gaze of Sihtric. Pushing him against the nearest tree trunk, your fingers frantically fumbled with the laces of his breeches.

"What... what are you doing?" he gasped, as your hand slipped inside his pants.

"Feeling alive," you whispered, a mischievous smile appearing on your lips as you felt his cock hardening under your touch.

You had grown tired of those lingering glances and deep sighs, of him becoming more like your shadow than even Uhtred's. You had had enough of his trembling fingers and flushed cheeks, his hand brushing against yours when you passed him an ale mug, and the way he held his breath when you sat beside him, your thighs touching.

You wanted him, and you were aware that he craved for you just as intensely. You could feel his blood running hot at this very moment, just as yours did. You had seen it in his eyes, in that brief, fleeting moment after he helped you back to your feet, and you didn't want to wait any longer. You knew him too well by now to realise he wouldn't make the first move, so you had to be the one.

"I... I can't... we can't... Oh, damn it...," Sihtric stammered, a loud, almost desperate moan escaping his lips as you pulled down his breeches, freeing his already fully hard cock, wrapping your hand around it and giving it a few slow, teasing strokes.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t been dreaming about this. I’m not blind. I can see how you look at me,” you purred, biting your lower lip, while your hand kept moving.

"I... Oh gods, fuck... You're Uhtred's sister, and I... I... He'll kill me if..." The words caught in Sihtric's throat, his breathing quickening and growing more erratic, his hands balling into fists as your fingers moved to the tip of his pulsing shaft, collecting the precum and spreading it along its length.

“You just saved my life,” you murmured, going down on your knees before him and licking your lips at the sight of Sihtric’s long and thick, perfectly formed cock, tip slightly red and dripping, “and I haven’t even thanked you for stepping in that time in the dungeon.”

Feeling Sihtric's entire body tense, you glanced up at him from beneath your lashes, savouring the sight of him. Head thrown back, eyes closed, breathing shallow and ragged, he leaned heavily against the tree, his arms hanging somewhat awkwardly by his sides. You were surprised that he still hadn't made a move to touch you.

"This isn't your first time, is it?" you suddenly inquired, raising an eyebrow. You smiled as Sihtric vigorously shook his head. "Good. Then you know what to expect, don't you? You know how good it feels," you teased him, pressing your mouth to his upper thigh, trailing a path with your tongue and placing soft, wet kisses on his naked skin. Sihtric exhaled sharply, but didn’t answer.

“Talk to me,” you ordered, giving a teasing, quick lick to the tip of his cock.

“Aaahhh, y-yes,” Sihtric whimpered, gasping for air, pressing both his palms against the tree.

“But you said, we couldn't do this. Have you changed your mind?” you asked, your tone taunting. “Tell me, do you want me to take you in my mouth? Do you want to feel my lips around you?” you circled his tip with your tongue, your hand jerking him, so teasingly slowly. You could tell you were driving him mad by the way, his breathing was picking up with each gentle lap of your wet and hot tongue and each movement of your hand.

You were aware that you were a brat, torturing him, testing his self-control, but you wanted to know how long he could hold back.You had seen his eyes glint with passion and fervour on the battlefield and you wanted to see them glint the same now. You wanted him to lose his composure and fully surrender to the pleasure you were eager to offer.

"I don't hear you," you pulled back and released your hold on him, causing Sihtric to whine in frustration.

“Yes, yes… fuck, by the gods… I… I want it … I want you…,” he breathed, a mortified look on his pretty face, his cheeks crimson, “I have wanted you since the first moment I saw you. You are so beautiful and so … so strong, but … fuck, ahhh, please, please touch me,” he whined.

“Ask me nicely,” you purred, moving your mouth back closer to his throbbing cock.

“Please, just touch me again. Please, I need you …,” Sihtric begged, his voice shaky, a slight desperation creeping in it. He was finally looking down at you as he reached out, cupping your chin with his rough tattooed fingers, his thumb gliding over your lips, eyes darkening with lust and longing.

You kept your gaze locked with him as you bit your bottom lip and wrapped your fingers around his length again.

“Good, you are such a good boy. Just relax and enjoy. Can you do that for me, handsome? I want you to feel good,” you purred, a satisfied smile on your lips as you heard Sihtric gasp and whimper at your touch.

Sihtric moaned loudly as your lips closed around the tip of his cock, your tongue lapping at it teasingly, and then you moved up taking him in your mouth almost completely. You sucked gently at first, then harder, relishing the soft whines and moans rolling over Sihtric’s lips as your head started to move up and down his length, your palm firmly around the base, stroking the part that didn’t fit in.

Sihtric’s hands were in your hair, not pulling or tugging, just holding on to you, gently and carefully, his trembling fingers caressing you, brushing your hair out of your face. He looked so sweet trying to keep his eyes on you, trying to keep still. You moaned, feeling his grip in your hair tensing, as you fastened your movements, wrapping your lips even tighter around his cock, watching him lose his uneven struggle. It didn’t take long for him to become a whimpering, moaning mess, his hips thrusting forward, eyes half lid, breath heavy and panting as he finally lost himself in the pleasure your mouth was giving him.

“It feels so good…,” he moaned, as his hips started to move faster, fucking your mouth harder and deeper, his eyes rolling in the back of his head as he chased his release, the grip of his fingers in your hair tightening, “I’m close… aaahhh, I can’t take it much longer! Slow down… stop … please, let me … ” he whined through his panting breath, looking down at you questioningly, but you kept sucking him like your life would depend on it, tears bursting into the corners of your eyes, moaning lewdly your mouth stuffed with his cock as your core throbbed in burning need for him.

You loved the desperate, wanton sounds rolling over his lips, the sight of him falling apart, all shaky and whiny, his limbs starting to tremble, because you made him feel so good, because you had this power over him. You and only you! You didn’t let go of him, didn’t allow him to pull out and after a few more sloppy thrusts, his cock twitched in your mouth, his head snapped back and with a loud moan Sihtric was spilling down your throat, cursing under his breath.

“Oh gods… fuck…,” Sihtric looked down at you, breathing heavily and slumping his back against the tree. You let him come down from his high, sucking gently and letting your tongue slide over his sensitive tip, making him moan and twitch a few more times.

Breath panting, Sihtric reached out to you, pulling you off your knees into his embrace as he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, his fingers gently brushing through your hair.

"I...," he began.

"Shh, don't speak," you interrupted him, leaning into his embrace and listening to his racing heartbeat beneath your ear. "Can you hear it?" you asked, placing your hand on his chest. "It's beating; you are alive. Isn't it wonderful to be alive?"

A deep sigh escaped Sihtric as he continued to hold you to his chest, his body quivering slightly. "Why are you so good to me?" he finally asked, cupping your face with his hands and lifting it to meet his questioning gaze.

"Because you are good, Sihtric," you whispered. "I have seen the goodness in you, I have felt it, and I want to be a part of it. I want to be yours."

"You want to be mine?" The surprise in Sihtric's voice was evident, his large, beautiful eyes reflecting the disbelief that his tone betrayed. He couldn't bring himself to believe it. After a lifetime of being resented and despised for who he was, he simply couldn't accept what you were saying.

"Yes, I do. Do you want to be mine?" you asked, taken aback by the quiver in your own voice. The silence lingered in the air as you awaited his response. You had finally found him, a man you were certain you wanted in your life not just for fleeting moments of pleasure but for a lifetime. Someone you had come to admire and wished to care for, someone from whom you wanted to receive care. His kindness and inner strength had captured your heart in an unexpected way. You felt certain that in Sihtric you had found a man who possessed the strength and warmth to fill that dark void in your chest.

"I'm already yours," Sihtric murmured, "I'm yours. I've always been yours," he repeated more resolutely, leaning in to capture your lips in the gentlest and most tender of kisses. Without breaking the kiss, Sihtric spun you around, pressing your body against the tree, and a soft gasp escaped your lips as you felt his already firm arousal pressing against your thigh.

"If you are mine, then I'm allowed to make you feel good too," he purred. "Will you be a good girl for me?" he asked, his bashful smile turning into a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he went down on his knees before you.

#sihtric #sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic #tlk fic #the last kingdom

238 notes · View notes

harunayuuka2060 · 1 year

Text

The NRC students: *are visibly confused as to why there's a kid in the Orientation*

Kid MC: *wearing a smaller version of the ceremonial robe*

Kid MC: Dad?

Malleus: Yes? *carrying them in his arms*

Kid MC: These feel like my pajamas.

Malleus: Do you feel cozy in it?

Kid MC: *nods* I don't think I can study while wearing this.

Malleus: *chuckles* Don't worry. There's another uniform you're going to use. The ceremonial robes are only for formal events.

Lilia: Malleus, it's time for MC to know which dorm they're going to be in.

Malleus: Would that be necessary? I'm sure they'll be in Diasomnia.

Lilia: Malleus, we still need to follow the protocol.

Malleus: *sigh* Fine.

Vil: Is there a reason why we have a literal kid here in Night Raven College?

Rook: I heard they're Roi du Dragon's adopted child.

Vil: Ah...

Kalim: Jamil! Jamil! Do you think they will be in our dorm?

Jamil: I doubt that.

Cater: Aww~. Look at them, Trey. Do you think they're going to be in Heartslabyul?

Trey: I don't mind having a kid over. Right, Riddle?

Riddle: *examining them* Hm. Yes.

The Dark Mirror: Please state your name.

Kid MC: MC Draconia!

Malleus: *smiles*

The Dark Mirror: The nature of your soul is...

Malleus: Diasomni—

The Dark Mirror: Pomefiore.

Vil: What?

Rook: *clapping*

Malleus: ...

Kid MC: Dad? My dorm is Pomefiore!

Malleus: ...

Malleus: No, it's Diasomnia. That was just a mistake. *about to leave the venue*

Vil: I'm not all enthusiastic about this. Rook, get our student.

Rook: Oui!

Sebek: Don't be sad, Waka-sama!

Malleus: I'm not sure if I can do that, Sebek.

Lilia: *chuckles* Oh, Malleus. Why are you acting like your child is never independent?

Lilia: They're going to be fine.

Silver: I agree with father. And Mr. Vil Schoenheit reassured you that he will take care of them.

Malleus: I don't need a stranger taking care of my child, Silver.

Silver: ...

Silver: MC will start their first class in a few hours. Would you like to check on them?

Professor Trein: Is everything clear?

Kid MC: *raises their hand* Professor!

Professor Trein: Yes?

Kid MC: Can I borrow this book? I didn't get to finish reading pages 206-209.

Professor Trein: Sure. But don't forget to do your homework. *giving them a chocolate bar*

Kid MC: Thank you, Professor!

Professor Trein: Now run along.

The other students: That's unfair, Professor! Why do they get to be dismissed early?!

Professor Trein: *frowns at them* Kids don't have long attention lifespan. And I don't want them to get bored in my history class.

Ace: *hides under his desk* Wow! You're playing favorites, Professor!

Professor Trein: Who said that?

Epel: How's your class, MC?

Kid MC: I got a chocolate bar!

Vil: Uh-huh. And what do we do with sweets?

Kid MC: I eat them.

Vil: ...

Epel: *laughs*

Vil: *sigh* Epel, just make sure this child brush their teeth later. Especially before sleeping.

Epel: Yes, sir.

Sebek: LITTLE HUMAN!!!

Silver: You don't have to shout, Sebek.

Malleus: *smiles* MC.

Kid MC: Dad! *runs to him*

Malleus: I've been looking for you everywhere.

Kid MC: My classes finish early than the others!

Malleus: Oh?

Vil: Yes. The headmage and all the teachers made an arrangement where they're going to have four hours of classes everyday.

Vil: You're free to take them to your dorm after they're done with school work, but you have to bring them back to Pomefiore before bedtime.

Malleus: Can't they just sleep in my dorm?

Vil: No. I'm their housewarden.

Epel: Don't worry, Mr. Malleus, sir. I'm sharing a room with them.

Kid MC: Hm! Epel is the manliest guy in Pomefiore! He can fight bad guys with his bare fists!

Epel: Hehe, you flatter m—Eek!

Malleus: Oho...? He could?

Silver: Malleus... It's not the place to be jealous...

Sebek: LITTLE HUMAN!!! DON'T FORGET THAT WE'RE ALL LOYAL TO WAKA-SAMA!!!

Kid MC: Yeah! You don't have to tell me, Sir Sebek!

Vil: MC, have you forgotten about acting all dainty?

Kid MC: *pouts*

Kid MC: But it's too late for me to do that now!

Vil: Do it.

Kid MC: *pouts again*

Kid MC: *looks at Malleus*

Kid MC: Dad~? Do you think I look stupidly cute today? *blink* *blink*

Vil: *facepalm*

Malleus: You're the most adorable child I've ever seen. *chuckles*

#twisted wonderland #twst malleus #twst kid mc #twst lilia #twst sebek #twst silver #twst ace #twst kalim #twst jamil #twst riddle #twst cater #twst trey #twst trein #twst vil #twst rook #twst epel #i was adopted by the prince of briar valley

1K notes · View notes

lilac-5ky · 11 months

Text

Roommates from Hell, pt.1 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Stolen Fries taste best

(pic from loving yamada at lvl999, adorable manga, recommend)

Chapter 2 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist

Plot: Out of all the women that come and go in Toji's life, you're the only one he calls his friend. But when he suddenly forces his way into your apartment, the feelings you've kept from him are put to the test.

Setting: Pre Hidden Inventory Arc. Toji and reader are both in their late twenties, no Megumi in picture... yet :p

Themes: Cohabitation, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers

Warning: Slight sexual content minus the actual smut.

A/N at the bottom

“You’re late. Again.”

The small silver bell at the top of the glass door notified you of a man’s arrival, his heavy steps refusing to wipe themselves upon entry, spreading mud all over the now-blotted checkered tiles of the dimly lit diner. You’d been expecting the owner of those shoes for the past six hours, his untimely arrival coming as a bitter aftertaste to an afternoon full of childish joy and mayhem— popped balloons, colorful confetti, and half-eaten pieces of cakes swept into one big pile at the room’s southernmost corner by yours truly.

“I never said I was coming,” the voice retorted, its defiant sound overshadowed by the gruesome screech of a metallic chair. “Not interested in celebrating some brat’s b-day, ‘specially if it ain’t mine.”

“How many helpless children must have spent their birthdays without their no-good father, I wonder,” you wiped your hands against your cherry-red apron, pushing the broom back into place. “If your goal is to repopulate Japan, I’m certain you’ll succeed.”

Hefty fingers mindlessly combed through a head of obsidian black, little spikes forming and then settling back down. “None, as far as I’m concerned,” sarcasm dripped from his tongue.

“Well, I find that hard to believe,” you mumbled under your breath, circling through the room to ensure everything was dealt with: leftovers in the fridge, gift wrappings in the bin, and the large aforementioned pile of garbage waiting to be scooped up. “You’ve known Kenzo since birth. Even if this ain’t your thing, the least you could’ve done was make an appearance. He kept asking about his favorite uncle all night long.”

“Except I’m not his uncle. Don’t mix me in with your sister’s family, I ride solo.”

Sigh.

“My sister’s family might as well be your family, Toji. You know how much Hinata and her kids adore you.”

“Good for them, I suppose.”

Another sigh.

“Can you at least tell me what was so important for you to not even pick the goddamn phone up?”

As if the device had grown sentient, a generic tune began tooting from the back pocket of his sweatpants, eradicating your final hope that it’d simply run out of battery.

Without budging from his seat, Toji twisted an arm around his back to pull his flip-phone out, the silver-tinted lid slamming shut as soon as he’d peered at the caller’s number, his next immediate move being to drown the sound in a glass of leftover Coke, fizzy bubbles playing the device’s final requiem.

You didn’t need to ask to know it was a woman, and he didn’t need to answer that she, whatever the name of his latest conquest was, happened to also be the reason for his being unfashionably late.

It was always like that. He was always like that. He went out with one girl after the other; from women of extreme beauty and poise to mindless bimbos who couldn’t tell tea leaves and coffee beans apart. He’d spend some cash to butter them up with expensive meals at overpriced restaurants, or VIP entrance at the hottest club, or even pay for the name tag on their designer clothes, but come next morning, he was either caught stealing straight out of their pockets or checking whether the tag was still attached to the dress for him to return it to the store—at which point, the vast majority gave up, except for those few poor souls who earnestly believed they could fix him, though they never would.

If there were two things in this world that remained unfaltering and resolute throughout the eons, then that was the earth’s orbiting the sun, and Zen’in Toji’s being the bastard of a man you knew and loved— special intonation of that last part.

It was quite the oxymoron. To know him as an irredeemable scumbag with no intention of changing, and to love him for all he was; a sentence as contradictory and controversial as the man before you. What was there to love? He never gave two shits about the people around him dying, and if he could encourage or partake in their deaths then he certainly would. He gambled every cent of cash in his hands away, and his every attachment ended with the disposal of his used-up condom. He was vulgar, cynical, and brass, and he possessed a great charisma of making people dislike him at first glance. His only saving grace was his good looks and even those he managed to scrape on a daily basis.

So, really, what was there to love about a man whose place fitted best among the pile of garbage in the corner? What was the point in all that?

He never answered your question, and when you realized he wasn’t planning to, you dragged a second chair to his side, propping your elbows first and then your chin over the vinyl backrest, feet landing at each side. You took in his expression— sour and undeniably agitated, with a frown tugging at the scarred corner of his lower lip, and a glare too icy to be meant for the wall of American-styled neon billboards he mercilessly studied. Something definitely bothered him, and as a huff stiffened his chin, the reason became evident enough for you to point at it.

“Woman or work?” you gestured at the blood that dribbled below his ear and down his neck.

He followed your forefinger with his eyes, thumb scrubbing where the gush began. He seemed oblivious to his injury, though it wasn’t as if his becoming aware changed a thing.

“So it is a woman,” you gladly seized the chance to rub salt into his wound, drawing a frustrated grumble from him.“What did you do this time? Stole her car and crashed it into a tree? Blew all her savings on cockfight betting?”

“Horse races,” he had the nerve to correct.

“Or… did you by any chance bring an uncalled ménage à trois to her bed?”

“What kind of man you take me for?” Toji protested.

“A very, very, veeeery bad man,” you smirked, and he returned it. You knew him like the back of your hand. There was no need to pretend otherwise after well over a decade’s worth of friendship.

“If a very bad man is what I am, then why’d ya let me in?” he asked. “A young unprotected woman all by herself in the middle of the night letting such scum in never ends well. Thought you were smarter than this.”

“If I was smarter, then I wouldn’t be calling you my friend, would I?”

His grimace turned into a full-blown devilish grin, the kind that secretly had your heart buzzing against the frail set of bones of your chest. He always looked so dazzling when he smiled, that sometimes you couldn’t find fault in those women wanting to believe in his pretty lies, because you, too, wanted to. You hoped that whatever the price for those smiles was, you would one day be able to afford it and gain ownership of his heart, no matter how wretched or blackened it was.

“You are a real idiot to mix it up with me,” he conceded. “Though, you are a greater idiot for letting that term define us. I bet your nights serving meals at some kiddie place get rather lonely. But I could help. I could make you feel really good, Y/N. So good that you’d risk some prick getting in, lest he is me.”

His tongue poked out his mouth, giving his bottom lip a brief lick while he peered at you through half-lidded eyes. He had this way of turning things sexual in the blink of an eye, selling himself so well that your refusal to buy seemed commendable— despite the unmistakable affection you held for his face. Little did he know how much you longed to push that chair to the side and rip his cocky expression along his black-sleeved shirt off his body, making it so that neither of you had a place to hide from the other.

Now, that’d feel good.

“My nights are fine as they are, thank you very much,” you countered your instincts much to his disappointment. “And if I ever needed myself a helping hand, know that you’d be the last I’d call!” Not as if you’d pick up, anyway, you mentally added.

His gust of interest fizzled out as soon as it surged, your rejection forcing him to rock back and forth between the chair’s legs. He wasn’t interested in continuing this. It was enough for him to take in the dusty pink shading of your ears and smile to himself, knowing you were still the kind of woman affected by his charms. Yes, that certainly was enough, for now.

“I’ll clean you up,” you declared, getting off your spot in haste and strolling through the bar in search of a clean towel.

Once you found it, you let it soak under the faucet and brought it back to him, rubbing against his skin regardless of his petty attempt at gritting his teeth. You placed one hand on his shoulder and another at his jaw, pushing them apart to no avail. Every muscle in his body was stronger than your entire bodily force combined, and he was awfully willing to flex that difference between you, just as he was at letting you straddle his hips and climb all over his body like some sort of feral monkey in heat.

A string of profanities that ranged from “bastard” to “shit-eating-asshole-shithead” poured out your mouth while Toji smirked, and smiled, and grinned, and didn’t even try to stop you from knocking the two of you onto the ground, palms barely managing to stable your head over his face. Your pleated skirt had risen, or rather flipped, over your panties, revealing the strawberry pattern panties you were wearing to his greedy hands as they hiked up your flesh without an ounce of shame.

“Wh-What are you doing?!”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he cooed, burying his calloused fingers under the elastic waistband of your underwear.

You felt him trace the inward of your thighs in languid strokes, the fabric stretching the further his hand dipped— closer, and closer to your now-pulsing core, but never so close as to make actual contact. His hot breath tingled your lips, smelling of nothing in particular, but a sweaty tang of a woman’s deodorant that still lingered in his clothes. Had he fucked her before making it here, you wondered, heart tightening at the thought.

Your legs wiggled shut, unable to fully repel his hand, and for a brief moment, you considered letting him go through with this— whatever this was. Even if you came to be another conquest won, you didn’t care. All you needed was for him to hush all logic from your brain, and fuck you senselessly against the checkered tile floor of the “kiddie food place” you served meals at.

“Toji…” you begged, uncertain what you were begging him for until you felt the warmth in your thighs subside.

“Makin’ sure to preserve your maiden’s dignity,” he said as he fixed your skirt in place. “Wouldn’t want some perv catching sight of your cute little ass, would we?”

His condescending tone made you want to throw a slap across his face and then yours; for thinking that maybe this wasn’t a mistake, that you could really move past the pretense of friendship and aim at what you really sought. But he’d been right once before. You were stupid, stupider than all those girls combined, considering you knew and still wouldn��t mind being dragged down with him one bit.

“Fucking asshole,” you blurted as you pushed yourself off him, dumping the cloth on his smug face.

Your lip quivered as you stepped onto your feet, unable to quite shake the feeling of incompletion from your core, walls pathetically clenching around nothingness. You refused to look at him, lest you caved in a second time, and thus you paced around the booths, stopping before the one window whose blinds didn’t block the magnificent parking lot view. Only a black SUV was left— most likely his newest rental.

Following a beep, you watched the lights flicker white, his reflection in the window lifting the chair back up. You crossed your arms over your chest and waited, your impatience and frustration churning into a dangerous mix within your guts, as the asshole whose name wasn’t worth saying moved past you and walked straight to the door, not a single word or goodbye said.

“What about your phone?” you asked, at last paying him a look of spite.

“I’ll text ya my new number.”

“We both know you won’t.”

He glanced over his shoulder and showed you his pearly white canines, his expression not polished enough to be called a smile. You rolled your eyes in the opposite direction, spotting his old device blinking a variety of different lights, refusing to die just like its bastard of an owner.

“What should I do with this?”

“How the hell should I know?” Toji shrugged. “Get rid of it, or toss it in some burger. I’m sure no one will be able to tell the difference. Later,” the bell chimed as the door collided with the frame, chiming a second time as his head popped in a moment later. “Loved the raspberries.”

“They were strawberries, you scatterbrained swine,” you cursed, but he’d heard none of it. The car was gone, and so was he, and it was for the best that he didn’t get to witness the strawberry-colored shadow that loomed over both your cheeks.

Fanning some of that heat away, you returned to the table, surprised to find a white envelope with the name Kenzo hastily written on the front. Cash. Lots of cash. Enough cash to keep a low-end apartment afloat for at least a couple of months. An excuse and simultaneously the answer to all your previous questions.

“You fucking bastard,” you hummed, the term switching to one of utter endearment.

When the first instance of a wintry breeze came charging at the semi-exposed features of your face—a scarf’s fluff tucked right below your nose— you knew that walking all the way to the location where the unknown ID claiming to be Zen’in Toji ordered you to meet up was probably a bad idea.

For starters, you’d turn into an icicle long before making it back to your workplace. Not to mention you had no foolproof way of guaranteeing the person you were about to meet wasn’t some random impersonating psychopath. But when you finally spotted the yellow curvy “M” upon the rectangular red sign that spelled the fast food chain’s name, you narrowed down the psychopaths to that one cheapskate you happened to know.

Walking into the nearly vacant dining area —only the first two booths near the door occupying a family of four each— you detected him almost immediately. He was the only one seated in his wing. Head slightly tilted to look past the window, golden highlights showering the curve of a nose as it arched into thin eyebrows, calm eyes glinting with subtle emerald, and fingers that absentmindedly tapped away onto one of the two paper-covered trays. He had the decency to wait for you before getting into his food, though that didn’t stop him from munching on the occasional fry.

You tugged the handbag off your shoulder and slowly approached him, hesitating to enter his field of view, if just for a moment. He seemed so peaceful and serene, that if you had the guts, you’d snap a picture of him right then and there and make it into your phone’s wallpaper. But you didn’t. You’d never be able to explain it to him in a non-humiliating way, should he catch you in the act, and so, you shook the notion off and marched in his direction, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

“What’s the point of calling me out here for lunch if we are gonna have burgers?” you dropped your bag at the far end of the table. “Why not eat at our place?”

“I like the fries here better,” he bit onto one as if to affirm his claim, licking the salty essence off his fingers. “You should be glad I got you some, too,” he nodded toward the closed dome-shaped box that lay in front of you. “Nuggets over burgers, right? Didn’t know what toy ya wanted though. Cashier girl told me bunnies are quite popular with girls your age, so I went with that.”

Ignoring, or rather postponing your answer to his outrageous suggestion, you peered through the contents of your meal’s box, spotting the wrapped-in-plastic purple-colored bunny key chain right at the bottom between the small portion of deluxe potatoes and even smaller portion of chicken nuggets that still steamed hot air. You were surprised he remembered everything about your order, down to your preference for milkshake over other beverages, and perhaps you would have shown your gratitude if it wasn’t for that last comment of his gnawing at your pride.

“How old did you tell the cashier I was, again?” you gritted, trying to suppress the toy’s cuteness within your fist.

“Didn’t. Just said it’s for some kid I know. Probably thought it was for my daughter or something.”

A pair of googly eyes popped out from their sockets, the bunny’s head in serious danger of coming right off.

“Stop acting like an old man,” you muttered in embarrassment. “A nine-month head start in life doesn’t make you old enough to be my father.”

“Still older than you, kid,” said Toji, his fingers latching onto his wrapped-up burger. “Now eat up. Didn’t pay ya lunch for it to go cold.”

Annoyed by his remarks, but oh-so terribly starved, you decided to let things slide, the two of you lunching in a period of temporal truce. He went through his burger in big bites, clearing it out before you even finished your portion of nuggets. You mildly wondered why he’d held off if he was this hungry, but didn’t press on the reason behind his invitation until after his tray was half-emptied.

“So… why’d you wanna meet up? Got something to tell me?”

“Mhm, I actually do. How would you like us to be room—Nah, that doesn’t sound too right,” Toji shook his head off, dusting the excess salt off his fingers. “I decided I’m moving in with you.”

“You, what?!?” You shrieked, eyes wide with shock, resembling those of your newly acquired key chain.

“What I just said. I’m moving in,” he repeated as if you hadn’t heard him the first time around. “Got everything right here. I’ll pop by later so you can show me my room.”

You glanced down at what he tapped as “here”, spotting a large black duffel bag that rested on his feet. He wasn’t joking, you panicked. He was being 100% serious about this. Directing your milkshake to your mouth, you took a nervous sip, nearly choking on the plastic straw between your teeth, while Toji kept staring at you, awaiting no answer in particular. After all, he wasn’t asking. He was proclaiming.

“Why would you want that?” you asked once you regained the ability to think rationally. “Weren’t you the one who said you ride solo?”

“Numerous reasons,” he stated, drawing his forefinger forth as if to recount. “For starters, rental prices going up, gas too. Inflation in the market and all that crap. Your place is also closer to work, and” he leaned closer, “wasn’t your neighborhood the one on the news recently? You know, those serial break-and-enter cases? As far as I’m aware, the culprit’s still running loose, could be a cursed spirit or something. You can’t see ‘em, but I can. I’ll keep ya safe. Wouldn’t you want that? Sounds like a fair deal to me, at least.”

The repetitive pattern of a catchy pop song blasting from the speakers served as a backdrop to your thoughts, eyes flickering between the table and his face. He wasn’t exactly wrong about what he said. The girl next door was the robber’s last victim, and from what you’d gathered, it seemed like the ones targeted were exclusively single women in their twenties. Curse or not, that was the intruder’s type, and you just so happened to tick both of those boxes.

From a standpoint of reason, his suggestion sounded fair alright, but this was Toji we were talking about. The man whose name was your first thought in the morning and the final afterthought in the night. The man you were coincidentally in love with.

Living with him would entail being around him a lot more than you could handle. Waking and sleeping and eating in the same house as him, spending your days off together, bickering about bills, take-out, and the TV remote’s ownership, doing things that only couples got to do, and of course, sharing a bathroom, which on its own meant seeing him parade through the cramped little space of your apartment in nothing but a soggy towel, hair slick and teeth beaming as he’d be asking if you’d like to join him in the shower—

You hit the break on these thoughts and pressed your forehead flat against both palms, feeling the heat exuding through your fingers. You were only able to keep this relationship platonic because of the distance he put between you. If he were to suddenly close it, what would come of you? How on earth would you be able to hold back?

“Don’t you want me?”

“Huh?” you bit at the straw again, snapping it in half.

“I said, you hate the idea of living with me that much?”

Toji certainly didn’t mince his words, but the way he was looking at you, brows furrowing and lips quivering into a frown despite the edge in his tone, almost made it seem as if hearing your rejection out loud would hurt him, and because of that, you had no choice, but to shake your head in denial. You wanted this. More than words could express, you wanted to be with him like that, even if you refrained from disclosing that truth.

You wanted him.

“What about your girlfriends? Wouldn’t they be against you living with some woman?”

“Nah, I’m done with that. Done with all of ‘em.”

“But my apartment is too small. I don’t think it’d suit you—”

“I’ll manage,” he cut you off.

“I don’t even have a second bed-”

“We can always share,” he smirked, letting out a light-hearted chuckle as he watched color paint your cheeks. “Couch is fine, too. So, whaddya say, roomie?”

“…Fine,” you conceded, very well knowing you’d come to regret this decision. “But we need to set some ground rules! No trashing the apartment, no throwing your ‘work tools’ all over the place, no smoking, no drinking, no loud music, and no bringing in random women. No starting fights either! You’ll help around and pay half of what’s needed, so no gambling your money away. Those are my terms.”

“You drive a hard bargain, roomie,” Toji said, balancing his chin atop his elbow. “Fine by me. Told you I’m done with half those things anyway, and I don’t mind helping you with anything. I mean that.”

But I could help. I could make you feel really good, Y/N.

His words from that night still lingered in your mind like an unfulfilled promise, and when he phrased it like that, you couldn’t help but be reminded of how good his hands felt that night, creeping all over your skin as if he owned it— as if he owned you.

“G-good!” you said, picking up a fry off his tray and tossing it in your mouth, lest you said something stupid.

“No one taught you stealing other people’s food is rude?” Toji shot you a glare unequal to your crime.

“It’s not stealing if you are done with it!” you protested. “You haven’t touched your fries in over ten minutes now.”

His tongue clicked against his mouth’s roof, producing a series of “tsk” sounds while he shook his head in disapproval. “Didn’t take ya for such a brat, Y/N. Disrespecting me in my face right after we came to an agreement? That’s some bad business ethics.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, barely keeping yourself from groaning. “I’m so terribly sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have stolen your esteemed fries, sir. Won’t ever happen again, sir. Please allow me to express my profound remorse, sir.”

Although Toji knew you only addressed him as such to get on his nerves, he was still pleased enough to grace with you an unsuspecting smile, seconds before you shoved a ketchup-covered potato against his mouth, smudging the left corner of his lips in a way akin to that of his right corner scar. He blinked, clouds of fury gathering in the bleakness of his eyes and cheeks puffing up, painting the most adorable expression you’d ever seen him wear.

“So cute,” you gushed, unable to suppress a hearty laughter that agitated him even more, red blooming across his cheeks— most likely by the lack of oxygen, you interpreted.

“Fucking brat,” he hissed, dipping the last of his fries in ketchup and then stuffing your mouth with it before you could even react. “I’ll show ya how it’s done!” he declared, your lips puckering against his fingers, condiment spreading all over like lipstick. His other hand forced your head in place, stilling your chin for him to work on his masterpiece, making a much bigger mess out of you than you had made of him.

“Hmphmmph!” you hummed while Toji laughed, a deep sound that reverberated straight from his guts, his eyes glinting along with his teeth in sheer joy that convinced you to give up so as to not spoil his fun. It was rare to see him genuinely happy.

“That should teach ya to behave,” he spat, smugness in every aspect of his features as he pressed his thumb onto his mouth, cleaning the ketchup off with a lick. “But you did address me properly, so you’ve earned the right to choose. Napkin or my lips? Which one?”

Stupefied as you were, you didn’t understand the full context of his question until you felt the sudden warmth of his mouth flutter over your skin, the tip of his tongue sloppily gathering the leftover ketchup off your right cheek. Your jaw popped open, a small gasp escaping as a result of his action.

“Too slow,” Toji whispered, hooded green eyes peering right into yours. “I’ll ask again. Napkin or my lips? What’s it gonna be, doll?”

“N-n-n-napkin!” you must have stuttered at least a thousand times before forming a comprehensible answer. He was so close that if he tilted his head any closer your lips were sure to touch. “P-please get me a napkin.”

“Please?” he chuckled, acting as if was really going to kiss you and then pulling away. “Be right back.”

Even after Toji let go, you could still feel the weight of his thumb holding you down, your eyes zeroing in on his black sweater as he set off for the other side of the room where the napkin and condiments stand was located. You heard a few whispers coming from beside your table, catching three pairs of eyes shooting daggers right at your back.

“Don’t they have a home?” a woman’s voice echoed first.

“Kids these days…” a man added.

“Honey, don’t look at their sinfulness, it’s the devil’s work.” A second woman concluded.

You were on the verge of experiencing a cardiac arrest, and you were pretty darn sure you would have if Toji hadn’t returned with the napkins in time, his hand snatched by yours as you forcefully dragged him out of the place, spelling frantic apologies at whoever was listening.

Once you’d made it outside, you sighed in relief, winter’s viciousness coming as a much-needed slap across your face. You took in a few breaths, letting go of his hand and padding a few steps away from the store’s windows, afraid you were still the focus of their attention. Toji followed, one hand stuffed inside his jeans pocket, while the other held the duffel bag over his shoulder in a lazy manner.

“Can you give me a lift to work?” you managed to ask, dodging his stare even as he stepped to the front.

“I would, but I can’t. Gave the car away.”

“You did what?”

Nothing about your reaction was funny in any shape or form, but he seemed amused enough to break into a soft chuckle, his eyes, too, softening ever so slightly.

“Planning to walk around town like a bloodsucker?” he asked, bringing a napkin to wipe your lips with greater care than you’d think. “How dirty,” he cooed, gently tapping at the center. “Next time, I won’t ask for permission to kiss you, roomie. Let’s go.”

“W-Where?” your voice came out so frail that you doubted he’d heard your question, his bag bouncing over his taut body with every step he took outside the parking lot.

“You asked for a ride, didn’t ya? Come.”

A/N: Launching a new series because I have so many feelings bottled up that I'm in danger of farting hearts and rainbows and shit. Decided to take the time off and write this fic for myself cause I needed it, but then I thought why not share it with the world? First time writing for Jujutsu Kaisen and Toji in particular, so hopefully it's received well!

516 notes · View notes

shaisuki · 7 months

Text

— A LESSON TO LEARN

ENTRY #005 OF SHAISUKI'S KINKTOBER 2023

FT. KISHIBE + EXHIBITIONISM

— exhibitionism is the term most commonly used for the action of being nude and/or engaged in a sexual act for others to witness visually.

• pairing: kishibe x chubby reader

• content warnings: public sex (alleyway), reader is in her twenties, kishibe in his fifties, spanking, calling of whore, kishibe calls reader, kiddo.

you have a lot to learn considering you're new in the public safety division and whose much better to learn from is the man who had years of experience, the strongest devil hunter — kishibe.

kishibe really lives out to his name being called the strongest in the division and to your expectations of him when you first entered the doorways of the public safety commission — you knew you were there for the thrill and the with the astronomical salary paid for people with your line of work.

and of course, to meet kishibe.

despite the adrenaline you were chasing for — death and fun are in the same page of your vocabulary — you need to at least toughen up in this line of work the high you were looking for and you were given the opportunity to be trained by no other than kishibe. thanks to ms. makima for her connections.

it didn't matter how old he was to you. the older someone is, the more experienced they have and he was perfect to you.

“the circumstances isn't what i expected coming from someone like you.” he says gruffly. taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke out. his eyes narrowing and yet he remained emotionless.“hunting devils isn't for people like you who seeks it for fun. this ain't a playground for you to play, kiddo.” pulling the silver flask from his coat and taking a swig from it.

you were annoyed by it. you knew you were young and being young and knowing the future that waited for you. it seems right to enjoy it.

seeing you were affected by what he was saying with your brows scrunch, the little mean pout and the glare you were sending to him. kishibe knew you were stubborn. youngsters this days.

“perhaps you could find something that will satisfy you.”

it was a low for someone like him to be fucking someone in a dark alleyway. his coat abandoned in his feet, pants pooling in his waist and the few buttons of his shirt are undone while his large cock is buried deep inside your sopping cunt.

you were the someone he is currently fucking in a dark alleyway with bystanders passing by with, unaware of you two both but with your filthy moans echoing — it wouldn't be too long for someone to notice you both.

“if i've known this also the fun you wanted — i should have fucked you sooner.” he groans behind your ears. his breath ragged while he drills his cock to your fat pussy. the back of your knee hooked in his arm while you moaned out his name.

kishibe didn't expected that at his age and his experiences in women — he would be still disciplining a brat like you. a few decades younger than him.

“told you — 'm not a kid, kishibe — mmph” you moaned out as you taunt him. if he would treat you like a kid then better be a brat for him. you giggled looking above him with his eyes neutral and his face monotonous but it looks like he was cracking from his facade.

his eyebrows raising while he examines you. your skirt bunched up to your waist. your blouse discarded along with his coat. showing the the side of your head pressed to the cold wall while you look to him like you were challenging him and you were getting too cocky for his taste.

“you're not a kid? hm?” he hums, questioning you with a confirmation. his hips snapping to yours and you let out a squeal from the sudden pace of his pounding to you. “then you wouldn't mind being shown like a whore to this people.” he says. spreading you wider and with your chunky leg hook in his arm, he positioned it to the direction where unsuspecting people passing by in the alleyway. if there's a unknown soul who turn his head to the direction. they can your fat cunt on display with his cock sliding in and out of your hole.

the thought of being seen by someone while getting your hole used sends shocks of shiver running down to your spine and to your pussy. the thought of it got you clenching around him and kishibe groans.

“you like that? you like someone watching you while you're getting impaled by an old cock, huh?” you gushed more from his filthy words. your slick dripping out as it runs down to his length.

“yes! i love it very much! please!” you cried out. your nerves tingling from how he was hard from he was fucking you. the sound of skin slapping and your cunt squelching from his length turns you on more and you didn't want it to end. finding the thrill of being fucked in a public place by your senior.

“more — please! fuck me harder!” moving your own hips to match his speed. your hand reaching out for his head and pulling it close for you to kiss him. turning your head to the side to meet his face and then his lips capturing your own. turning it on a more heated kiss. both of your tongues clashing in the insides of your mouth. “mmmm” his fingers coming to rub your swollen clit while his other hand gripping the rolls of your stomach. finding the leverage to continue his barrage of thrusts to your warm hole.

holding his head, you can feel the stitches in his cheek. rubbing into your face and that adds to the appeal of him. the sensation being too much for you and it wouldn't be too long before you can cum. your fingers pinching and pulling your nipple.

you didn't care about the noises coming from you. you weren't afraid of being someone with your body full on display as long you were under his touch.

your plush body quivers when the tip of his cock — hits the soft spot inside you making your juices drip down. “hit me there! hit me there again!” and kishibe complies to your wishes. angling his hips to a different position to hit that special spot inside you. raising your leg a little higher.

his cock throbs more than ever the more he buries himself deep inside you. the moment he took you under his wing — he knew he fucked up. you unknowingly bewitched him and it was his fault. you were deranged from the moment you joined his division. too fucked up and too crazy to ever fear death and he realizes him fucking you in this place will never satisfy your greed.

with a harsh bounce as you lower yourself to him. his balls slapping to your pussy. your warm walls came convulsing around him. making sure you were going to milk him dry and that triggers his own high. groaning and muttering a curse as he bit the crook of your neck while you milked him for all his worth.

his hot, white, sticky cum warming and painting your insides. generous amount of his cum seeping deep inside your walls that it creates a creamy, white ring at the side of his cock while still being inside you.

“you filthy whore.” he rasped out and it made you giggle. “yes. i'm your filthy whore.” looking at him with a daze look and he couldn't deny you still look innocent despite just being fucked by him.

turning around to face him and you hisses from the sensitivity. his cock still buried inside you. “i will be always your whore — kishibe.” kissing the tip of his nose.

“sure you are.” he muttered. pulling his length out from you. his cum running down to your creamy thighs. after fixing himself up. he grabbed his coat along with your blouse. assisting you dressing up and turning around with his back facing you. after making sure you were decent you followed him.

a huge smile etched from your face and kishibe takes a swig of the liquid in his flask. hearing you follow him and kishibe damn sure, he will never take someone as crazy like you under his wing again.

it was a lesson to learn for a man like him.

#ʚ•ɞ. shai writes #anime x chubby reader #shaisuki's kinktober2023 #kinktober 2023 #chubby reader #chainsaw man smut #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man #csm kishibe #kishibe x reader #chainsaw man kishibe #kishibe smut #anime smut

257 notes · View notes

jennifer-jeong · 6 days

Note

Okay so first, I really love your LnD fics (patiently waiting for more of your amazing works) 🥹🫶 and hear me out...

Reader who is reincarnated as a Fae being and has been alive since. But the thing is, her wings had been clipped off (with the use of silver chains, meaning she's vulnerable against silver) for a century and is in Linkon city since she feels that part of her (her wings) are somewhere hidden in the city (Think of Maleficent live action ig where her wings were taken from her) and meets the guys and so on :)

HI ANON THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR ASK AND YOUR KIND WORDS FJDSKLAFJSDL;A I APPRECIATE IT SM!! TY FOR INTERACTING!! I’m so glad to hear you like my fics and I promise more are on the way hehehe please do request me again if you have more ideas!!

I hope I did your prompt justice! I definitely did think a lot about maleficent when writing this hehehehe

[Fluff + Angst] [Love and Deepspace Boys x Fae!Reader] Angel

CONTENT

Angst to fluff, gender neutral reader, mentions of violence, blood, trauma, torture, healing alongside them, mutual pining between you and the boys, happy and open ended endings! ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

Your wings were a pretty and pearly milky white. Your wings resembled those of high flying birds. They were thick enough to allow gliding and also strong enough to give you lots of control in the air. They were iridescent in the sun and carried you high in the bright sky. The air was thin but more refreshing up there. You played with clouds and soared through the endless blue. It was freedom. It made you feel alive, warm.

It was your gift, but unfortunately, it was on someone else’s wishlist.

You’d never been a spiteful being, nor had you ever hurt a fly. But when silver chains ripped your flesh and tore your muscle to take your wings, severing your very soul from your body. When they destroyed your forest, your home, your family, your heart. You swore to make them suffer.

You were powerful and hunting these fools down was nothing difficult for you. The problem was hunting without your wings, your best weapon.

The lack of mobility and being forced to fight on the ground made it so that you could maim the weak ones, but you could never reach the ones who profited off the suffering of you and your people.

Linkon city is where they were. You knew this. You could feel your wings there. You also knew that you’d need to hide, figure out who did what and how to get your damn wings back. It would take time, but time was all you had as a fae. You’d do whatever it took to make them pay.

It’d take years, but it was worth it.

2 years later and you’ve already made moves to apprehend (and torture) a few key figures, always leaving them in front of the police station when you were done. You still had so much good in you and it always prevented you from killing. But it made you seethe that they were filthy fucking rich from what they stole from your homeland. They sold your resources and displayed your bodies, your wings, like they were trophies. Life was still cold and depressing for you but you did manage to make some friends in Linkon. They’d even help you with your mission. You only trusted them with the information because they had similar goals.

XAVIER

Xavier was a local policeman you had met a few decades into your plot when you were hired to help with the case. He was coincidentally also investigating illegal hunters and black markets selling goods stolen from other civilizations such as yours. It was a big ring of crime and he was determined to end the atrocities that were being committed in it. Meeting you was just extra motivation on top of his already relentless drive for justice. You became investigative partners since you were both capable in combat and often investigated the same people anyways.

Xavier was kind, gentle, quiet, and stronger than he let on. He always worked without expectation of reward and you appreciated that. You just wanted justice and he wanted the same. It helped that he didn’t seek publicity because it would’ve made your life harder since you were probably wanted as a vigilante from before. Xavier taught you his philosophies and you realized you’d been consumed by your desire for revenge, unable to enjoy life outside of it. You admired him for his morals, so you learned from him, and it made you two grow closer. He was more than happy to help, it was so rewarding to see you slowly become your bubbly self that he guesses you lost a long time ago.

He had his suspicions that you might be fae. The man was smart but he played his cards carefully, he always held them close. He acted aloof with you and pretended to not constantly stare at the back of your shirt, trying to see if you had imprints of missing wings on your shoulder blades. He also figured that your motivation for wanting to crack these cases came from somewhere. If he also managed to figure out that you’d been behind some of the previous mysterious arrests, he’d turn a blind eye. He knew your actions weren’t crimes. He felt glad that you got them back for what they did to you and your people.

After a few years of planned raids and dozens of arrests, one of the recovered items from the warehouse was a beautiful pair of wings. Still buzzing with magic, craving to feel the wind again. You felt them when they were being transported to the police HQ. The surge of energy that continued to approach you made you hold your breath and bounce your leg out of pure anxiety. Xavier put a hand on your shoulder to try to calm you down. He’d already figured out what was going on just by looking at you. You didn’t need to say a word. It was something that slowly came naturally since you two spent so much time together. You smiled and he smiled warmly back. You were in the middle of panicking because Xavier was still touching you when you were presented with your missing soul, your wings. You requested to view the “evidence” privately with Xavier and wasted no time in feeling your delicate wings with your fingertips again.

Xavier stood behind you, his right hand found its way to your upper back. He finally traced the outlines of your cut wings. It made you gasp at first, but you trusted him. As he continued to feel them, you shivered. They were scars, they were more sensitive. He stepped to your side and you turned to partially face him, his hand sliding off of you. You looked into his eyes and your longstanding feelings for Xavier were making their presence known by heating up your face, flushing your cheeks. You swore you saw a slight tinge of red on the tips of his ears too. He spoke to you in his familiar voice that you loved so much. He decided to tease you slightly.

“I think I always knew that you’d have wings, you were too perfect to not be an angel.”

ZAYNE

Zayne was a surgeon you’d met one day when he treated your wounds since you collapsed outside the hospital. He discovered the scars where your wings used to sit on your back. You were high off the morphine when he checked your back for more injuries so you barely even realized.

He questioned you but not in the way you expected. You thought he wouldn’t know what they were or try to take advantage of you. But instead he asked what you knew about the hunters that took your wings. He already knew exactly what happened to you just by looking. He was involved in cracking down on research related to Fae and Lemurians since there were people trying to fuse their genetics with these races to gain their beneficial traits such as immortality.

He knew some things you didn’t know and vice versa. You both began working on this together, investigating research facilities, interrogating suspects, and fighting only when needed. You were unstoppable and the law didn’t plan to ask you to let up. You both hand delivered them collectors and shadowy figures that had hid from the police for so long. When you fought, Zayne could both heal and attack from afar while you rushed them head on. You were unafraid because you believed in your partner, your trust in Zayne only grew as the years went on.

Early on, Zayne encouraged you to let go of the spite, the revenge. You knew he was right when he said that they did not benefit you in this. He saw the rage in you and could see that it was hurting you, mentally and physically. You listened, you knew better. You stopped the relentless tortures and instead, let the collectors rot in jail, but not before you got in a few good punches. Zayne watched you slowly come out of your shell again, actually taking the time to enjoy the little things in life instead of being hyper focused on revenge. He’d be lying if he said you weren’t one of the most rewarding patients he’d ever had.

Working with your partner was definitely quite the rollercoaster. He was always so professional and mature but would also randomly tease you as if you were kids, albeit with a fully deadpan expression. Zayne was reserved and often came off as cold but he made you so warm. You knew he was an extremely compassionate and kind person under his exterior and you admired him for it. Zayne also adored you in the same way. You had gone through so much pain and suffering but you still smiled and shined like the sun.

Over time you adapted to live without your wings but after one specific raid on a collector’s mansion, you knew exactly what the collector’s prized possession was because it belonged to you. You could feel your wings. They still surged with energy and upon seeing them when you went to do follow up investigation, you immediately called to them. They flew towards you and you inspected them, almost not believing the scene in front of you. Zayne stayed close ready to support you, especially if you were to fuse with your wings again, he knew it’d be hard to keep them hidden and it’d just bring up so much previous trauma.

You turned to face him slowly, leaving your wings behind you. You hesitated. Not letting your wings fuse with you yet. Zayne looked into your eyes, trying to comfort you with his presence. After a few seconds, Zayne held out his hand, you took it. His skin was cold but somehow it made yours burn, the heat spreading through your body as your face warmed up. He spoke quietly to you, telling you to take your time. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, your thumb slowly caressing the back of Zayne's hand as he did the same back.

Zayne had always been good at comforting you with his words, maybe it just came naturally since he was a doctor. Regardless, you knew it was exactly what you needed right now. You didn’t know what you’d do after you got your wings back. Would you go home? Would you continue this mission with Zayne? Would having your wings make it harder? Would it make it easier? You confided in Zayne as you spoke your thoughts out loud. Once you were done, you were overwhelmed and he could tell. He started his reply with a sentence that filled you with warmth, hope, and a little bit of giddiness. He speaks, teasing you a bit at the end, his face flushing.

“It doesn’t matter what you are or if you have the wings or not, you’re beautiful and you should follow your heart… especially if it’s here.”

RAFAYEL

Rafayel was a painter “looking for art or inspiration” that you met at an underground event where illegal goods were being sold, but you quickly figured out it was a front. Rafayel was a Lemurian, you sensed it immediately since you weren’t human. As a fae you had the ability to sense certain things, and so did Rafayel. Upon meeting each other at an art exhibition, you quickly exchanged information and agreed to meet up again the next day. You almost simultaneously revealed that you were both after the hunters that destroyed your homes when you finally got to chat alone.

The two of you start to frequent more underground events, both of you being well connected and hiding your true intentions very well. You use the events to gather information and then put your plans into action when your targets are alone. It worked amazingly well, you were both extremely skilled and efficient at what you did. It slowly chipped away at this network that shamelessly destroyed your beautiful homes.

Rafayel was a bit of a loose cannon. The man was so sweet and bashful one second and deadly serious the next. He was so gentle with you but didn’t hesitate when there was business that needed to be done. He could easily switch it on and off too. You were just glad you were on his side of this war.

Both you and Rafayel were out for revenge but something about your partnership changed you two. You both slowly helped each other heal, confiding your worries and traumas in each other. You were still both ruthless when it came to apprehending the people who did you wrong but the tortures stopped and the warmth returned outside of the violence. You two actually started to make good memories and live life instead of just trying to survive. You’d often watch the sunset over the ocean together, it was peaceful and you’d chat about anything and everything.

Eventually, after dozens of raids and missions, Rafayel finds weapons that used to belong to his family at the same time you find your wings again. You kept quiet until the mission was done, knowing you could feel your wings but not wanting to startle Rafayel. You looked at the weapons with him, you put your hand on his back to show your support for him. His eyes stayed glued on the knives and his face was a painful melancholic expression. You rubbed circles into his upper back with your thumb, hoping it could ease some of the pain caused by resurfacing memories.

After ensuring that the weapons would be sent to his personal studio, he continues to explore the mansion with you, following you while you find your wings. You communicated to him about your wings and he knew this would be tough for you too but you were both glad you had each other in this moment.

When you saw your wings in a display case at the end of one of the hallways, you bit back tears. It was a lot to take in. You passed millions of dollars worth of paintings to reach the most priceless thing in this whole building. Rafayel lags slightly behind you, wanting to give you a moment. You turn to face him, telling him that you don’t know if you want the wings back or not. Would they make you complete again? They can’t bring anyone back, can’t take away the pain. You couldn’t hide them like Rafayel could hide his true form, would it be a nuisance?

Rafayel makes his way towards you as you ramble, clearly distressed. He quickly envelopes you in a hug, letting you cry lightly into his chest, a painting of Lucifer on the wall next to you. You stay like that for a while. When he finally pulls back, he cups your face with his hands. You were his fallen angel, he wasn’t always great with his words but he truly spoke from the heart when comforting you like this.

“You never needed these wings to be complete, you’re ethereal with or without them. You’ll always be my angel, no matter what.”

Thank you for reading!

|| MASTERLIST<3 ||

#love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #l&ds x reader #xavier x reader #xavier fluff #xavier angst #zayne x reader #zayne fluff #zayne angst #rafayel x reader #rafayel fluff #rafayel angst #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace angst #lads fluff #l&ds fluff #j's silly ramblings

104 notes · View notes

arcielee · 10 months

Text

Our moonlight drive.

Summary: A night drive with your boyfriend. Paring: Modern Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 700+ Warnings: Modern Aemond fluff to soothe the soul. Author's Note: This story is dedicated to the lovely, the talented @babygirlyofthevale 💜 This is a drabble, sweet piece inspired by the masterpiece in motion Comet Donati by @inthedayswhenlandswerefew (chapter2, oh my goodness). A big thank you to my darling beta readers for your help! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @sylas-the-grim @aemondx @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii

Night is coming with its amber smear of burnt oranges and yellows overwhelmed with the purple hue swallowing the last of the day’s light. The route is familiar, a routine drive towards your favorite sweet spot, and the windows are down, letting the cool air knot your hair.

It isn’t far and Aemond parks further back, quickly out and moving to grab your door; you smile with the gesture as he shows that he is firstmost a gentleman, especially when it comes to you. You follow his steps and he reaches for your hand without looking back, knowing fully well that you will take his hand, enlacing your fingers with his own, a perfect fit.

The ice cream parlor is a town antique, with a window opened for the late night crowd to come by. You order first and he leans against your backside, over your shoulder with the shimmer silver curtain of his locks spilling forward.

You feel the warm rumble when he adds, “She also would like sprinkles on top,” and reaches to take napkins from the dispenser.

You peer up at him, a warm glow of pleasure that he remembered, that he knows your simple pleasures.

There is a stone bench that you both straddle, facing one another with your treats in hand; he offers you a spoonful of his ice cream and leans forward to lick your waffle cone. The napkins he grabbed come in handy, helping the failing battle against the muggy night, the sweet spill of sprinkles over the cone’s edge.

Once done, more napkins are needed to clean up and he takes your hand again, leading you back to the car.

This is the only time you willingly place yourself in his blindspot, whenever he would drive but Aemond does not seem to mind it. He likes how you play the role of reconnoiter during daylight, but tonight the roads are empty and this allows you to sink comfortably into the passenger’s seat, enveloped in his scent of leather and his cologne, with a hint of smoke, and you enjoy the press of his large palm into the softness of your thighs, his thumb drawing small circles on the outside.

His vehicle is an imported stick shift, sleek and meticulous, allowing him the control he strives for in every aspect of his life. Aemond is careful, calculated, and you see this in the mirrors added, an extension and a reminder to his half vision; he always turns his head fully to check before a lane change, and this allows him a moment to look at you.

And you are looking back, ever watchful, ever aware of him. In this moment, the blue lumination from the dash gives an iridescent shimmer to the sapphire stone set in his scarred socket, an ethereal glow to the sharp contours of his face.

You feel the warmth return to your cheeks when you see the curl of his lips into a smile that only belongs to you.

“Do you trust me?” the low timbre of his voice asks.

And you do, with everything you have to offer, with every molecule wrapped within you thrumming with a loyalty that began from the moment you met. You remember the play of his perpetual smirk, both inviting and enticing, and what you felt bloom with the first kiss shared, sparked from the touch of his soft lips against your own. It is a feeling that grows still, a sense of comfort and safety with his intimate touches, igniting something that you were not aware existed within your heart.

You keep this to yourself though, and hum your acknowledgement, your grin gleeful. “Where you go, I go,” you remind him.

He does not turn homewards, but instead his long fingers curl around the wheel to rotate, to follow the vacant weave of road lit by his headlights and the settling nightglow. Aemond looks forward and you can see the dimples that line his cheek; only after he settles into gear does he reach for your hand, bringing it up to his lips for a gentle kiss and nestles the hold onto his thigh.

Your fingers curl around in response, a perfect fit.

arcie’s masterlist

#modern aemond targaryen #is a soothing vibe #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd au #aemond targaryen drabble #this is just fluff #a gift for brit and for better days to come

345 notes · View notes

theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

Text

A Fresh Start [4]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: use of fake name, reader’s on the run, grogu is a menace

Word Count: 3,160

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

Ch. #04: MAYFELD DIDN’T MEAN TO STEP ON HIM

Chapter Summary: As acting Deputy for the day, you keep the city safe by watching the Marshal crawl out of a hole in the wall.

“Taking time to do nothing often brings everything into perspective.” ⏤Doe Zantamata

This was the first time you had ever walked the city streets with Mando, you realized. Up until now, you’d explore the sights of Nevarro with Grogu or Nima, and it’d be during his work hours. Nobody seemed caught off guard by the silver beskar warrior, which made sense considering this was his city, but it was still odd that all the attention drifting your way was to greet the man beside you eagerly. Mando always returned the greetings with a simple nod of his head. Walking beside him, you felt weirdly safe. Not that you didn’t feel safe walking these streets alone, but being side by side with a Mandalorian brought a sense of confidence. You doubted there was a soul in the universe who would willingly start a fight up with the man beside you.

Both of you walked a step behind Grogu’s pram. He was mumbling to himself while playing with the stuffed, blue frog. Around all of you, the street was decorated with bright flowers and banners. Each side was lined with various stalls selling every kind of item you could think of and from the looks of it the stalls went all the way up the street to the plaza in front of the Magistrate building.

“Does this happen every weekend?” You asked.

“Not every weekend. Just once a month. Karga is trying to increase that though.”

You continued to gaze around, waving at the vendors who waved at you, “Where I lived in the city, we had a marketplace this size that stuck around all the time, but it wasn’t as fun as this. In fact, I’d describe it less as cute and cheery, and more dangerous and shady.” You glanced toward Mando. “I’m pretty sure someone got mugged there daily.”

“Did you live there alone?” Mando asked.

“Mhmm. I have some family in Naboo still, but I lived alone on Coruscant. Tatooine too.”

“Mos Espa, right?” You nodded in response. Mando continued. “That’s quite the change. What took you to Tatooine in the first place?”

One of the last patients you treated had told you about Tatooine. He said Mos Espa was a desert hell scape that lowlifes and runaways called home because they belonged to no other world in the universe. Needless to say, he hadn’t been a fan and he had a scud experience there. It hadn’t been a revolutionary conversation, but for some reason it stuck in your brain. So, when your life spiraled out of control, and you decided to make a run for it, that was where you went.

You were a lowlife and a runaway, and you didn’t belong anywhere anymore.

“A friend told me it was a fun place to live.” You shrugged.

Mando shook his head, “I’m not sure that person should be called a friend if they sent you to that corner of the universe.”

“Bright eyes!” The sudden new voice startled you. Grogu dropped his stuffed toy at the sound and immediately lifted his arms. Seconds later, an older woman with bushy, curly hair stormed up with an ankle tall, one eyed droid stumbling around her ankles. Her face was decorated with a wide grin as she spoke directly to the child. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!” She scooped him up. “Your father has been keeping you from me.”

“You were literally the one who suggested I hire someone to watch him.” Mando sighed.

“Don’t you start with those excuses, tin man.” She snapped.

Mando motioned to the woman. “This is Peli. Peli, this is Soran.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widened, recognizing the name, “It’s nice to meet you. Nima has told me so much about you. She idolizes you.”

Peli bounced Grogu on her hip. “She’s a good kid. Just don’t tell her I told you that.” It seemed like Nima hadn’t exaggerated in any of the stories she told you. “Now, I’m taking the kid.” Peli lightly kicked the droid. “Get the pram!”

Without another word, you watched as the woman walked away with Grogu and her droid dragged the pram beside her. You turned your head to look up at Mando who was shaking his head. “Um, I think your child was just kidnapped.”

“Fighting Peli isn’t worth the energy.”

Music wafted through the air, mingling with the smell of food and sweets, and the crowd drifted around the both of you. Mando and you were just standing in the middle of the street now⏤ childless. Before, you at least had Grogu with you, but now you were alone with him. No adorable babbling to break up the awkward silences. Mando suddenly began to walk once more, and your eyes momentarily widened before keeping up with him.

“Can I ask you something probably considered personal?” You blurted. Mando glanced at you briefly before nodding. “Did you really used to be a bounty hunter?” His steps faltered and he did a double take toward you. Nervously, you held your hands up in surrender. “Sorry.”

“No, no. I’m not upset.” Mando replied. “I just… It caught me off guard. I thought everyone already knew that.”

“Oh,” You grinned, “Well, Nima did tell me you were, but Nima tells me a lot of things. Only 60% ends up being true.” Mando let out a soft chuckle and nod. “So, that’s a yes then?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“This job, I suppose.” Mando shrugged. The two of you paused so a set of people could carry armfuls of boxes across the path. “I was still taking bounties with Grogu at one time, to afford fuel and supplies, but I haven’t picked up a bounty since settling here.”

You nodded. The moment the path cleared you both began walking again. A woman held out an arm draped in thick scarves she was selling, and you politely shook your head and stepped past her. You cleared your throat. “I have another personal question⏤”

“You can ask anything you want, cyar’ika.” Mando interrupted you. You didn’t recognize the word at the end of his sentence. Though the accent made you believe it to be Mando’a. The tone he held conveyed a friendly air that settled any remaining nerves you had at the moment. Your lips curled up in a broad smile at him. Mando stiffly rolled his shoulders with a muted cough. “Go on.”

“How did you and Grogu meet?” You asked. “I know you adopted him, obviously, but was it at birth or…”

Mando tilted his head with a light huff. “He was a quarry actually. I was hired to pick him up and deliver him to a man here in Nevarro.” His words made you wonder what meeting that version of Mando would be like. “While bringing him here, he saved my life.”

“Aw, so you never turned him in?”

“No, I did.”

“Oh.” You blurted in surprise. “Huh.”

Mando paused at the edge of the street and you did the same. You had reached the mouth of the plaza where a band stood off to the side playing music as the townspeople shopped at the vendors perched around the circular space.

“But I did come back for him.” Mando finished. “I should’ve never left him in the first place. It was a mistake.”

“It sounds like you more than redeemed yourself.” You replied. He turned his head to stare at you, and this time you stared back in hopes that you could gauge something through the black glass of his visor. He was better at holding your gaze though because it only took seconds before you had to glance away. “It’s just obvious Grogu loves you like crazy, and he’s a great kid which is a testament to the guy raising him.”

“Thank you.” Mando hummed. The two of you stood side by side in silence, but this one wasn't awkward. It was comfortable, and you could just enjoy the bubble of laughter, music, and chatter that surrounded you. Mando motioned across the plaza and you followed his hand to where a dark skinned man in elegant red and gold robes stood speaking to a few others. “Have you met Karga yet?”

“High Magistrate Karga? The guy, you know, running Nevarro?” You shook your head with a disbelieving laugh. “No. He always seemed a bit busy for me to suddenly stop and introduce myself.”

“Come on.” Mando chuckled. He set his hand on your upper back and led you closer to the large, busy building. If eyes hadn’t been on you before when you were walking side by side with the Mandalorian, they certainly were now as you grew closer and closer to the High Magistrate. When you were a few feet away, Karga’s eyes glanced over and his face brightened. He stepped away from the people he was speaking to so he could meet you halfway. “Karga.”

“Mando!” He greeted, holding out an arm. Mando pulled his hand away from your back to return the greeting. Karga’s eyes drifted to you with a smile. “And who is this beautiful, young woman?”

“Hi, I’m Soran. It’s very nice to meet you, sir.” You replied.

“Please, no need for the formalities.” Karga laughed. “Any friend of Mando’s is a friend of mine. I believe I’ve seen you around some. You’re no traveler here, correct?”

You shook your head. “No. I moved in with Mando.” Karga’s eyes momentarily widened and you held a hand out to clarify. “As his nanny⏤ Grogu’s nanny. I’m Grogu’s nanny.”

“Ah!” Karga laughed. “I understand now. You’re Nima’s cousin then? Sorry for the confusion, I was expecting someone a little less human.” He glanced around. “Where is the little guy though?”

“Peli beat you to him.” Mando replied. He pressed a few buttons on his gauntlet.

“Damn.” Karga shook his head with a mumbled curse. His hands drifted to his waist and his attention swiveled to focus solely on the Mandalorian beside you. “I’m actually glad I ran into you. We have a problem. The Anzellans who run the droid repair shop two streets over have some complaints.”

Mando crossed his arms. “Today’s my day off. Mayfeld is running point.”

“Mayfeld doesn’t quite have your…charm.” Karga replied. “Besides, the Anzellans hate him after what happened last time.”

“It was an accident. Mayfeld didn’t mean to step on him.”

“Yes, well they’re not quite ready to let bygones be bygones.”

“Too bad. He’s the Deputy on shift. They either file their complaint with him or wait until tomorrow.” Mando said simply. You wondered if that meant Cara was off today too. On weekends did just one of them work?

Peli’s voice shouting from behind you made you glance over your shoulder to see the woman rushing over with Grogu’s pram beside her. Briefly, you worried something was going on with the kid, but he seemed as chipper as ever as he nibbled on a stick of meat. Peli must have bought it for him.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“I messaged you where we are.” Mando motioned to his gauntlet.

“Whatever.” Peli waved his words off. “Here’s your boy back. I gotta get to the landing pad. One of the merchants’ ships went AWOL.” Grogu lifted his half finished snack and you cooed at him in response. Peli begun to rush away once more, no further information given, but paused to glare over her shoulder at the droid that lingered by the pram. “Come on, you idiot!”

The droid jumped in alarm before sprinting after her. You chuckled in amusement before reaching down to scoop up Grogu who had lifted one hand in request. Once settled in your arms, he held the stick of roasted meat up to your mouth to share. You took a small bite from the opposite end then thanked him profusely to which he squealed in delight.

“Plus, now Mayfeld will be busy with whatever the kriff is going on at the landing pad.” Karga raised an eyebrow.

Mando hesitated and his gaze drifted over to you which caught you off guard. You bounced Grogu lightly in your arms, making him giggle, then gave Mando a reassuring smile. “If you really need to go I can keep an eye on Grogu. We’ll explore the market some more.”

He held your gaze a second more before turning to Karga. “What’s the nature of the complaint?”

“Non-violent.” The Magistrate shrugged. “They think someone’s been breaking in and stealing their things. Some items have been going missing. Very much a tomorrow problem, but they’re insistent that it be solved today.” Karga held a hand over his chest. “As an old friend, I would love for you to help me keep the best droid repair mechanics in the Outer Rim happy.”

“Fine.” Mando sighed. “We’ll go see them.”

“Yes! Thank you, Mando!”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, “We?”

Mando had one hand resting on his belt as he tilted his head toward you. There was something about his posture that screamed ‘sheepish’ to you. “If you don’t mind tagging along. I did want to show you around the market eventually, but I know this is a lousy day off for you.”

You let out a small laugh, “It’d be my honor to tag along, Marshal.” The sheepish energy you initially got from him disappeared as he gave you a slight nod. You both threw back quick good-byes to the Magistrate, and you added that it had been nice to meet him before following Mando down a different street. “Me tagging along. Does this mean I’m a Deputy today? Because if so, I’d like a badge.”

“I’ll work on that for you.” Mando chuckled.

On the list of things you thought you’d get to witness today, you didn’t think seeing Mando’s large frame crawl into a Anzellan garage would be one. He may have thought this was turning out to be a lousy day off, but you were truly entertained watching him sit curled up, seated with his legs crossed, while arguing with the head droid repair tech of the garage. When you all arrived to the garage, the Anzellans had insisted that the Marshal step into their office to discuss the matters at hand. Their office being a tiny crawl space that fit multiple working Anzellans with ease.

You had been invited in as well, but it was much more fun to watch from the entrance of the garage where you knelt with Grogu.

“I don’t understand.” Mando let out an irritable sigh. “Do you speak Huttese?”

“Ransack. Ransack!” The Anzallen standing across from him groaned in a squeaky voice. He continued on in his own language before belting the word out once more. “Ransack!”

“Who? Who do you think is ransacking your garage?” Mando pressed.

You bit down on your lips to keep back a chuckle. You glanced down to share the amusement with Grogu only to realize the little green guy had wandered off. Eyes blown with panic, the sound of his nearby cooing reassured you quickly. Grogu had stepped away from you to wander into the garage toward the pack of Anzallens. “Oh no.” You hissed quietly and reached out to him. “Grogu. Come here. Your buir is working.”

Grogu ignored you with the complacency only a toddler could have and crawled onto the table. He was only there for half a second before he wrapped his arms around the Anzellen who had been struggling to communicate with his father.

“No, Grogu.” You blurted as the Anzellan hollered.

The child cuddled to the man who was about the size of his stuffed frog. At least he wasn’t trying to eat him, you supposed. “No, no, no, no, no!” The Anzellen bellowed. “No squeezie, not squeeze! Not squeeze!”

“Grogu. K’olar!” Mando reached out to the kid. “Sorry, he’s young.”

“Bad baby!” The Anzellan replied. You crawled into the space to grab him, but he took a step out of your reach. Mando held his arm out to keep Grogu from waddling away any farther and herded him into your direction. When he was close enough, you scooped up the green, giggling gremlin and tried to detangle his arms from around the Anzellan. When the droid repair tech broke free he hurried away, still repeating the same phrases. “Oh, bad baby.”

You had kept most of your laughter in control, but when your gaze met Mando to see him already staring at you the dam broke and a laugh slipped from your lips. Quickly, you crawled out of the garage before you could really lose control and once out you stood to let all your amusement out. Grogu joined in happily, and you bounced him in your arms.

“No wonder your buir calls you a womp rat.” You laughed.

A minute later you watched the Marshal, esteemed Mandalorian, decorated in rare beskar sacred to his people and sought after over the universe, crawl out of the garage. You were leaning against the wall with his son in your arms, and the moment he was able to rise fully to his feet another laugh spluttered from your lips. Mando set his hands on his hips as he stared at you, and you shook your head. “I’m sorry, but between watching your son cuddle a droid tech and you crawl out of a hole, I didn’t stand a chance at keeping a straight face.”

“Uh huh.” Mando stepped closer and held his arms out for Grogu. “I hate to break the news to you, but you’re fired as my Deputy.”

“Drat.” You snapped your fingers with a wide grin.

Mando turned his attention to his son, “And you. What have we discussed about cuddling people against their will, ad’ika?” Grogu made a humming noise that suspiciously sounded like ‘I don’t know’. Then he held his hands up to his father’s helmet with his face drawn in innocence. “Uh huh. Nuh’la.”

“Did you save the day, Marshal?” You asked.

Mando looked back up to you. “I did. No thanks to my two deputies.” You laughed. Mando kept Grogu in his arms as the two of you walked back toward the market. The pram followed behind you. “I promised them we’d add their garage to our evening route when we’re walking the city.”

“Mmm.” You held your hands behind your back and shot him a grin. “It’s nice to see Nevarro’s security in action. I feel safer already.”

“Happy to be of service.” Mando replied with a breathy laugh.

You reached out to tickle Grogu’s belly as you walked. “Speaking of service, I’m still waiting for that tour, Marshal.”

“Of course.” Mando nodded. “I think I owe you lunch now as well.”

At the word lunch, Grogu began to babble in excitement. If any other job you worked had you technically working on your day off and specifically spending it with your employer you’d consider it an absolute nightmare. However, this day had only grown more and more enjoyable, and laughing with Mando had knocked off the last bit of awkward chill you had felt overall. Watching him crawl out of a hole had probably helped.

A/N: Do you guys want translations to the Mando’a used? At first I wasn’t going to b/c then as you read you’re just as clueless as the reader on what’s being said, but I know personally I’m too nosy to not know lol. I’ll give translations this time below--

Cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart

K'olar: Come here

Nuh'la: Funny

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #protective din djarin #good dad din djarin #Female reader #star wars #nevarro #greef karga #the high magistrate #peli motto #mandalorian and grogu #grogu is a precious menace to society #nanny AU #nanny!reader #slow burn

481 notes · View notes