#ALSO. on an even more unpleasant note. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cursedcola · 4 months ago

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Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw (Here) | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits You Steal

Sleep like the Dead (Inherited): Nothing wakes you anymore. Leona is as "selfish" as they come, and has no regard for your schedule. He doesn't feel remorse for soaking up your time in the slightest. Why should he? Other people do it for 90% of the day. Take a load off, the bags under your eyes are unsightly. If he doesn't want to wake up in the morning? You ain't either. It's a done deal. If the building isn't up in flames then don't bother asking. Evidently, prolonged and frequent daytime siestas take their toll on your circadian rhythm. You now need just as - if not more - sleep than Leona. Napping out in public and at the rowdy Savanaclaw Dorm bestowed upon you a disturbance immunity. Ramshackle could be in the middle of a raid and you wouldn't move. Not unless something singed your skin or really did some damage. It's become an actual problem. Crewel is considering a sleep study.

"Oi, herbivore...stop squirming so much. You almost crushed my tail. Hah? Class? You don't need it. Just borrow notes from one of those little friends or make the cat go....fine. Gimmie your homework later. I can teach you a thing or two. That is, if you can handle it." <- Grim can't be trusted on his own? Not Leona's problem. You're half of a student. Half. Not full. Half. There's your loophole now go back to sleep. Yap any more and he'll roll on top of you. Good luck talking with a mouth full of hair.

Perfume (Developed): This comes about in an awkward manner. Beastmen have keen smell. It's a given. Bada bing, bada boom, Leona knows your scent. He could point out the Ramshackle Prefect from a half-mile radius. Now he's never said your scent is unpleasant. Quite the contrary, although the lion would never admit it. The issue here is that your scent acts as a calling card, and Leona is clingy. So you ask Vil for the most popular perfume, potion, cologne - whatever - and start wearing it to mask your scent. At least enough so Leona's de-buffed to a one-fourth mile radius. It doesn't work entirely. No perfume is that strong. It's also an active assault on Leona's nose...but it had to be done. Side note - this was his plan all along. He isn't keen on non-human folk sniffing you out easily. Beastmen, most Mermen, and even select Fae have keen noses. Not that his own scent isn't a deterrent, but some masking perfume is worth the occasional nose-shank if it keeps snickering busybodies off your tail when he isn't around.

"Here. Take this and throw out whatever crap it is you've got on. You want me to say it flat? You reek." <- Take the scent masking balm he's giving and don't shop retail ever again. His nose hairs are literally burning off. The balm costs more than your entire dorm to make, but Leona won't ever admit it. You have an ultimatum. It's either this, or wearing one of his old vests around Savanaclaw. Now unless you want to be twinning with him and Ruggie, do the man a favor and comply.

Hair Ties (Developed): Bless his genetics for that wonderful, silky mane - but he needs to tame it. With how smothering Leona can be, you end up with a mouthful of hair at least twice a day. Man is tall, and he loves using his prefect as a leaning post. Which is cute but he sheds. So your arm is perpetually wrapped with hair-ties 24/7 like a cased sausage, because every time you give him one it disappears. It's on purpose, of course. He also snaps them whenever you aren't paying attention. Spiteful bas-

Biting (Inherited): Biting is a common display of affection in beastfolk culture. Not that Leona ever bothered to tell you this. His little nips (in no small amount) were usually passed off as punishments for being annoying. A lie, naturally. One could say it’s the human equivalent of cute aggression? Yet it has more meaning since it’s reserved for close connections such as family and lover. Although drawing blood or leaving a mark behind is reserved for the latter. You had to learn all this from a textbook, of course. No one in Savanaclaw was going to butt into Leona’s affairs, and Ruggie found your ignorance a funny game to taunt his Housewarden with. You were on your own, on a quest to save your skin. Literally.

Regardless, it’s Leona’s way of affection. Bonus points since he can do it without you knowing why. It’s only natural that you return the favor, playing along whenever he has to hold composure. Acting as if you don’t know and relishing in his micro- reactions. It’s only a matter of time before he figures you out, but it’s so nice to have the upper hand for once.

"That's for showin' up late. Don't like it? Not my problem...yawn if is' so bad, just take my bandanna...Why do you care if it's got Savana colors? Ya spend enough time 'round here, no one's gonna say anything." <- If it really bothered you, he'd stop. King of consent and of reading body language. Otherwise it's a go-go. Also if someone did have a problem with you sporting Savanaclaw colors? He doesn't need to kick their ass. Beastfolk got better hearing than most, and if one of his overhears you getting shit for wearing their dorm's colors then the classic night raven pride will pop out.

Habits He Steals:

Vegetables (Inherited): Leona sticks to meat, cheese, bread, and more meat. Bring on the steak. Bring on the beef. Bring on the deluxe cutlet sandwiches. Savanaclaw's kitchen is the most costly of all the dorms purely for how much Beastmen eat. If Ruggie can guzzle down seven plates in a sitting yet still look like a stick? Imagine a Lion's appetite. No one knows how you managed to get this guy to eat a salad like a true herbivore, but it's a cold day in the Savanaclaw dormitory when Leona's facing down a spinach side-salad on top of his lunch. Meanwhile you're happily munching away at the table, picking random veggies off your own plate to put on his. Each instance accompanied by an agitated twitch of his tale, but the lion's eerily silent. Dire Crowley is right. The Ramshackle Prefect is a Beast Tamer indeed...

"Now I know you didn't just pick at my plate, herbivore. Your luck's running thin...Oi. That's enough. I'll sooner eat one of your limbs than another turnip" <- he, in fact, did eat the turnip. The threat scared his underclassmen so much, that seeing you come around still in one piece the next day earned you a warrior's respect.

Correspondence (Developed): Leona's used to getting a sea of letters from ministers, attendants, and a particular little menace back at the palace. Unless it was an urgent message - he'd let the letters go unchecked after skimming them. Replying always took too much effort, and he'd rather not encourage unexpected visits like during the annual Magiift tournament. That is until you start receiving them as well. Nowhere near the amount Leona deals with - but he'd rather die than have his family telling you things without the ability to intercept. Falena blackmails him into responding to Cheka's letters, or else the little furball is going to use you as a penpal for writing practice. Side Note 2.0 - regardless of Leona's 'cooperative' ways, you still write to the mini lion in 'secret'. He knows but gave up caring.

"Another one? Just toss the damn thing. No - hmph. Give me that. I'll respond, just don't start up the lecture." <- You always manage to find the letters Cheka sends over before Leona can get to them. It clicks that you're a middle-man once they start showing up at Ramshackle instead of his dorm. Leona can't wait too long to respond, otherwise you'll start harping him over how cute the kid's handwriting is or whatever picture he drew. He lets you keep them. Cheka's got his own exhibit on the Ramshackle fridge.

Accommodating (Developed): Leona’s not necessarily a ‘verbal’ communicator, despite his smart mouth that always manages to get the last word. He will not openly lend his aid without a bit of pressing before hand - his pride would never allow it. Take the three days you and Grim stayed in his dorm as an example. Inevitably you earned the right to crash in his room, but there was a roundabout to get there. Mainly for show, since in Savanaclaw things are earned not given. You also weren’t close back then. He wouldn’t go easy on anyone, even if they’re from a different dorm or stranded homeless by some octopunks.

The tides change for you, and only for you. His morals are held high, and his ability to treat a partner well is no exception. There is no glory in being above your supposed equal. Everything is shared. This means Leona’s room is now your room, just as Ramshackle is now partly his. He’s clearing some of his closet out, filling it with your stuff, and doing the same back at your place. Doesn’t even ask and doesn’t give a damn that there are dozens of open rooms. It’s the principle. Sharing a space is letting someone see your most vulnerable being. Not that he’d think you could ever do any significant damage (lies) - but considering he doesn’t want anyone within a five foot radius during his leisure time, Leona giving you open access speaks volumes.

"Hah? So what? It's not like I'm forcin' them into it. Got a problem with how I act? Enlighten me." == Talk about nonchalont. Leona is well aware of the imprint he's left on you. He sees it in the way you talk. The way you think. Not just in the chess matches he makes you sit through over and over. Round after round until you can put him into check. You're confident. You're demanding. You're ripe potential that he got to first before anyone else. You chose him, and no amount of backtalk on your end outshines that you like him enough to mimic his ways. The Ramshackle Prefect’s presence isn't something people can overlook anymore, and Leona is damn proud that he's left a mark.

Habits You Steal:

Extreme Couponing/Haggling (Inherited): If you do not think Ruggie spends his Sunday mornings going through sales ads? You are sorely mistaken. This man is an absolute menace when it comes to hitting the market and squeezing a shop-keep for everything they are worth. Sam fears no creature in all of Twisted Wonderland aside from this particular hyena. Screw fighting blot - grab some popcorn and kick back to observe the game of verbal chess those two engage in every week. It's more entertaining than any battle or show. You will become Ruggie's apprentice. Ain't no partner of his going through life without the ability to haggle. Sam stands no chance.

“Ya get this week’s ad? Good. C’mon over and we’ll get the clippings going. I think I saw somethin’ about a buy-one get-two on those candies ya like. Maybe if your nice enough, I’ll shmooze Sam for a bonus!” <- Ruggie honestly enjoys having a coupon buddy. He makes a show about how you take too long, and that if you don’t wake up early then he won’t stick around! Can’t miss the sale, so he isn’t lying there. Except he does grab what you need on the off chance you do miss the meetup. Side note - he doesn’t just take an apprentice without ulterior motives. This is all in preparation for you to handle the slum markets. If you can’t fight off a few broke students, then you won’t last a day back home.

"Shishishishi" (Inherited): There is no escaping it. For the countless times you've poked fun at his little wheezy laugh - imagine the utter mortification when it came not from him! No no. From you. It's unconscious and in the moment you don't recognize anything wrong. You were only laughing over a won victory against Sam. That new lamp you wanted for your work-desk finally within reach, and 70% off no less! Said conman looks at you with eyes blown wide, because great seven there are two of them now. It takes a moment for self-awareness to hit, but you're too late. Two fuzzy-satellites atop a mop of shaggy blonde curls perk up, and your laugh from before echoes from the original culprit's mouth.

“I heard that! You’re doin’ it wrong. Gotta put more air, Shishishi~” <- Ruggie’s a taunting little turd on a good day. Be prepared. You won’t be living this down. Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it? Next thing is to train ya in the art of sticky fingers - no? Ugh. Fine. Ya Goodie-Goodie.

Hands Up! (Inherited): Ruggie has a very unique way of standing. Hands behind his head, laced together to support his neck. One hip normally supports most of his weight, and he's always in a deep-slouch. Bro doesn’t need to cast ‘Laugh With Me’ for his movements to be mirrored, because you’re already following along without realizing. Leona finds the mimicry unsettling. Take that freaky shit out of his line of sight.

Habits He Steals:

Sharing Food (Developed): This is the inner hyena coming out. Just like in the slums, it's demanded to share amongst your own. He might be a sleaze to other people, but not to you. This also backfires into Ruggie thinking that what's yours is his as well - but that's not the point. He'll plop down next to you at dinner and wordlessly offer up half of his meal. You need more meat on those bones, he'll say if protested. In turn he'll then take half of your dessert. It's a sign of trust, instinctively believing that whatever's on your plate is safe to eat. Yet also shows that he's taken you as one of his - and that's a privilege no one at NRC has. No strings attached because everything you both have is shared. On a side note, you'll never be-rid of Ruggie once this comes to pass.

Shared Wardrobe (Developed): Again with the collective treasure hoard, but with a twist. Ruggie can essentially squeeze into most clothing or modify them to his needs. If it works, then it works. So he'll happily offer up any modified dregs he has for your usage, and in turn he will claim whatever clothes you aren't overly attached to. There is also the matter of scent, of course. Ruggie is the type of person to cut up one of your old pajama shirts and fashion arm-bands, making sure to have one knotted around his bicep at all times. You in turn are welcome to swipe his bandanna at your leisure in place of that tacky uniform tie.

“Hey…you seen my blaz - hah? Uh, nevermind. I’ll go grab somethin’ else. Where’d ya leave the heavier coat Gran sent over. Forget it, I’ll just go check myself” <- The first time you snag one of his oversized blazers or hoodies gets him. It gets him bad. Sharing with Leona was one thing but, c'mon. Warn a guy would ya? You're so lucky he's an opportunist on quick feet, so of course he’ll take the chance to steal something you wear often. Ruggie’s great at brushing off any taunts or quips. Being Leona’s right hand gets him stable back at Savanclaw, but that doesn’t take away years of being the underdog. Whether the other beastfolk stare at him openly brandishing your clothes means little, if anything, he enjoys it. Cause once again the underdog’s got a top prize.

Caffeine Addiction (Inherited): Ruggie spends more time and effort running around than most. His *hobby* is doing part-time work. Those overpriced sugar-loaded drinks never appealed to him because why waste money when powering through is just as effective? Or chugging some ice water? Yet you seemingly always have some sort of caffeine to make it through the hell NRC dishes out, and Ruggie being a mooch is always there to steal at least 1/3 of it. Now he’s trained and gets extremely sluggish around mid-day without a dose. It’s your fault if he falls off his broom during spelldrive practice.

"Wha'cha trying to say with that tone, huh? Think I'm not good enough? 's that it? There're way worse chumps to take after. Way I see it? They're learnin' how to make it in this world, sha ha ah! So thanks!...eh, why're you still here? Shoo already." == Considering rumors never have anything good to say about Ruggie's attitude, he's not dumb enough to take the little 'compliment' as genuine. More like as a backhanded sight towards your relationship. Rugs could care less about what those nobodies have to say. Not like they've got anything he's after, just some busybodies that scurry off with their tail between their legs when things get rough. Even if you catch word of it, Ruggie ain't going to get pissy because they're right. Everything they're saying is right, he is rubbing off on you. He is actively trying to. Life isn't a peach and it's not like he's strong enough to protect you from the hardships. It'll be a big laugh if you pull that righteous crap and try to defend his honor, though. Someone better get it on camera.

Habits You Steal:

Paternal Disappointment (Inherited): There was a time, a simpler time, a Jack-less time...when you were a fool. No. You are one to this day, but it is better tamed under Jack's strict aura of perpetual disappointment. Once on the side of being scolded with Ace and Deuce, you are now the one doing the scolding. You are not fun anymore. There is a stick shoved so far up your ass, and it's now part of your internal organ system. Ace dubs you a traitor, as does Grim. You've gone to the dark side in exchange for the morally sound wolfboy to offer cuddles and the occasional snack. I'm sorry to tell you this dear prefect but you've become....*gasp* the (mom/dad) friend.

“Boring? Who said you were boring?…don’t listen to those jerks. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders. They’re just upset that they can’t get away with murder anymore - Uh, not t-that I was jealous or anything! Don't get the wrong idea! . Hmph.” <- Jack doesn’t take offense when others call him names, but he doesn’t like when you’re brought into it. At all. Especially because he used to be jealous how you, Ace, Grim and Deuce were more tight-knit than with any of the other first years. Like a pack. That behavior is childish, and Jack hates that he used to think that way. As if your attention was something he had to fight over. It's not like he wanted the same bond you shared with those three either, that's friendship and he wanted more. By being with you, Jack knew that it was going to put him on a different tier than the others. That's just what happens. Part of him feels guilty that you might be losing face because of him. His reputation isn’t bad, but he does have a resting angry face. Reassure him in turn and Jack will be over the moon. Any happier and his wagging tail can become a makeshift duster for the dorm (Were he on earth, he’d definitely get the nickname ‘tails’. After the sonic character, just to clarify)

Meal Prep (Inherited): This is actually an amazing influence and is wonderful for someone on a tight-schedule. You're not going to be eating high-protein meals every night, neither wasting away in an attempt to chug down pre-workout shakes. That's on Jack and Jack alone. Helping him prep meals is a nice touch and a pleasant evening spent together once a week. You don't become strict with it, but Jack does convince you to at least prepare some of your favorite dishes as snacks/emergency meals. He also constantly shoves energy water and vitamins in your bag. No more cup-noodle or scrap sandwiches on those nights you don't reach the mess hall on time. Now you have balanced meals, and get to flaunt matching containers with your boyfriend. Very cute. Everyone hates both of you.

"Uh...are all those stickers really necessary? I know we agreed on matching boxes but this is a bit...No! I'm not embarrassed! Gah, just keep it to a minimum. Nothing that falls off or sparkles." <- He is flustered beyond compare after every track meet. At first he barely bat an eye, thinking nothing of the orange bento box with chibi-cactus stickers and his name written in bold bubble lettering on top. You decorated it just for him, and if it meant you would carry around a spare meal then that's even more incentive. Yet the smell of fresh food attracts jocks after a meet like nothing else, and the teasing was relentless. It isn't enough to stop him from enjoying his meal, though.

Lint Roller (Developed): Leona sheds, but Jack? He is like owning six full-grown huskies. He apologizes profusely for the shedding, especially since the NRC uniforms are black. You run through lint rollers like Deuce runs through eggs. It isn't Jack's fault, but man. Ramshackle collects both dust and fur bunnies these days.

Habits He Steals:

Piggy-Back(Developed):Jack carries you everywhere. He's normally very patient but when there's a place to be? Well, he wants to get there on time. Jack has a strict bedtime at 10:00pm sharp and so his free hours are scarce. Do you want enough time to enjoy the lakeside as planned? If so, hop on his back so no time is wasted. Jack also pressures you to join him for morning and evening jogs. He refuses to give up his diligence, but also is acutely aware that there is little spare time he can afford you during the week. Either you have to keep up with him, or you're getting used as a makeshift weight and being hauled across campus. Relationships need quality time to grow and this is the perfect excuse to hog your attention for two hours every day. Not that he'd admit it, but the swish of his tail while you chat is enough to tell Jack's enjoying his runs much more than before.

"Are you comfortable? Just let me know if I'm going too quick. I'll try not to jostle you around too much...if you're tired then take a nap. I'll wake you when we're back home." <- He'd prefer if you didn't sleep. It messes with your circadian rhythm, but the whole point of this is to help you relax. Just knowing you're with him is enough to make Jack happy. Rain or shine, no excuses. If it's cold he'll let you use his hair to block out the chill, although he'd never let you out in anything less than the proper gear. Even if he joins Deuce or Vil on occasion - you're his favorite running partner.

Safety (Developed): Jack asks you to text him twice a day. Once in-between class, even though you’ll be spending lunch together, and once before bed at 9:30pm. The morning isn’t needed since he’s your alarm clock. He understands that as a prefect, you don’t have a curfew like the majority of students. Yet he is communicative with concerns about you being outside of Ramshackle late after dark. Even when you were just friends, hearing the story of when A-Deuce hauled you to that abandoned mine in the middle of the night? The blot monster and how close it came to you guys not making it? Magic or not, that would worry anyone with common sense. It doesn’t help that Ramshackle has no security beyond its resident ghosts.

"- and you just went with them? Because the headmaster told you to? Are you insane!?...No. You're right. What's done is done. Just...call me if something like that ever happens again." <- Thank the seven Jack's hair is already white.

Jack never thought he’d care this much about anyone. When your partner is a walking heart-attack, in the best way possible mind you, one just wants some piece of mind.

Covering Ears (Inherited): It's a natural response to cover your ears when frightened. Like when watching a scary movie and you don't want to hear what comes next. Jack covers his ears because they're sensitive, and loud noises can cause a migraine quicker than anything else. Especially when they're sudden. His hearing is more sensitive than most, being a wolf beastman. It's almost on par with Leona's. Yet his first instinct when there is a loud noise is to cover your ears instead of his. Even though you're human, the instinct to protect them takes over. It's also his way of being within arm's reach in case of a threat. You must be scared being in a new place. Jack will never let himself forget that. Nor how brave you are for continuing on regardless.

"What a relief...huh? Nah, I didn't say anything. Isn't there a test coming up in Alchemy next week? Want to hit the books together?" == The type to divert the topic as quick as possible, on the chance that he lets too much slip. Needless to say that Jack is relieved to hear that you're mimicking him on an unconscious level. It means that you trust him. That you respect him and see him as an equal. It's the biggest compliment Jack can ever ask for. If people are automatically associating you together, then it means he's done his job. You're part of his pack - and outsiders can recognize it at first glance. He'll do a good job at hiding how happy it made him, but expect that tail to wag at torpedo speed the next time he sees you.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst scenarios #leona kingscholar #jack howl #ruggie bucchi #leona kingscholar x reader #jack howl x reader #ruggie bucchi x reader #this...took a lot longer than i intended #it was hard to pick without going too in detail with who i view as 'yuu' for each character

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chuluoyi · 1 year ago

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MARRIED ON PURPOSE

- gojo satoru x reader

"for one, i can show you incredible things!" jujutsu, madness, heaven, sin. the strongest sorcerer is sure to show you all of that during the whole duration of your six-month marriage contract.

genre/warnings: marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, crack, fluff, slight satosugu angst/comfort, kamo!reader, very suggestive. gojo clan is portrayed as very traditional, meanwhile kamo clan is rather unpleasant here

note: the unholy amount of times i've edited this story *sigh* but okay i must drop it here or else i'm going to keep editing it and losing my mind. despite my misgivings and all, i really had fun writing this and i hope you enjoy it! wc. 5k !

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

Some would say... marrying Gojo Satoru would be living the dream.

“Don't look that sour now, wife.”

“…sigh.”

A playful nudge at your side, a lighthearted voice— “You're going to make them question our veeery happy marriage, you know… We don't want that now, do we?”

But to you, it was more like nightmare dressed in a daydream.

It was peak comedy because why would you put marrying Gojo Satoru in your life plans? He was incorrigible, a child trapped in a man's body, and there was also the very fact that you hate him. His only redeeming trait was being born in the esteemed Gojo clan, and now held the title of the strongest.

You know you must have accumulated karma, but out of everything else, why must you end up in this predicament?

Hailing from the great clans of jujutsu society, both of you know well that marriage is the essence to make the clan greater. And when it involves the big three clans, its importance amplifies even further.

It was just that you two were too rebellious to follow it through, for one reason or another. Everyone knows Gojo Satoru was faithless to any woman, and you were not exactly thrilled with the idea of marriage as a whole.

He was the one who came to you, proposing this insane idea of a temporary marriage.

"Look at it this way," Satoru said with a wry grin, contrasting your puzzled frown on that fateful afternoon. "It's either me or Zen'in Naoya for you, isn't it? It's so clear which is the better man."

That was what grated you the most. You would be damned if you married the misogynist.

"What do you get from this arrangement, really?" you questioned begrudgingly.

His name would give you security, stop the harassment from your clan, and maybe even a better life, but you didn't quite get what he'd get from the offer he willingly extended to you.

Satoru flippantly shrugged. "Nah, you are not exactly my type, but you're still far better than the boring puppet my family have considered to be my wife."

"Who?"

"Don't remember her name. All she goes on about is that she'll be the good wife and mother of my child. Ew."

Seven hells. You scowled. Gojo Satoru and his penchant for chasing the thrill. Boring women would kill him before an actual curse would.

"And hey, for one," he shot you a smirk, visibly smug. "I can show you incredible things!"

"That's not the point! Gojo, do you even realize—" your voice rose, pulsating with righteous fury, "—how serious all of this is? My life, your life! We're going to be stuck—together!"

"Six months," he blurted, tilting his head slightly. His sunglasses slipped down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his sparkling eyes. "It's enough time to work through our shits, and by then if you have enough, we're through."

At that time, it seemed feasible. Both of you tolerating each other to avoid a much worse match.

. . .

BACK TO PRESENT—barely a week ever since you were paraded around as his wife, now you and Satoru were stiffly poised in the studio in your formal garbs, capturing your official wedding photos.

At that time, it seemed feasible, but now, it felt like a chore, as you realized that conversing with him either spiked your blood pressure so much that you wouldn't even be surprised if you ended up with hypertension or completely sapped your energy that you were left exhausted.

"Come on, show a smiiile," Satoru said in a sing-song voice, gesturing toward the camera as it flashed for the pictures. You were beyond appalled, shooting a glare in his direction.

"I am smiling, Gojo."

"Liar. You're pouting, wifey~"

Sigh… this really is going to be one hella of a ride, huh?

MONTH ONE, and you found out that Gojo Satoru is apparently as mad as people made him out to be.

"You've got to be kidding me!" you fumed, right after he hauled you into one of the rooms in his grand, traditional estate. Your glare pierced through him, a blood vessel ready to burst. "We never agreed on ‘consummating’ the marriage!"

You wrote him a goddamn contract. And the three conditions of this chaotic marriage are: one, it would only last six months; two, no personal feelings involved; and three, nothing borderline disturbing.

And this, you concluded, was the height of what could be called as disturbing.

"We will not," Satoru replied with a hint of disdain, grimacing, as if the notion didn't sit well with him either. The audacity! "We're just going to make it as if we are—"

"And why?! Why should I do that?!"

"Why else? Because my old fart believes that we indeed haven't done so."

"Then it's your fault? For failing to convince him? Why turn it into my problem!"

"Because, dear wife," he drawled, his tone taunting on the final note. "Now we're on the same page, in case you have forgotten."

Great clans and their hollow expectations spare no one, not even Gojo Satoru. They place importance in the most banal things, such as the continuity of sacred bloodlines and such.

The only alternative wasn't appealing either. Should you be found out that you married only to divorce... sigh, you didn't even want to know how big of a scandal it would be. One thing was certain: your clan would chop you to shreds.

You really had no choice, huh?

"Five minutes," you warned, glaring at him. "Make it loud. Make it so that no one wouldn't question this anymore."

Oh and sure he would. As Satoru pulled that shit-eating grin, you were in for another ride. You waited out until several maids were nearby, left the wooden door ajar, and began the show—

His hands wrapped around your waist—the feeling was peculiar, but you ignored it—and you let him pull you near that open door. He snuggled his face on your neck—his hair tickling you in the process, but you ignored that peculiarity again—as he started making suggestive noises. "Mm, you're so pretty, darling."

You could hear those maids gasp in surprise. And to add the flavor, you faked a moan.

This is... kinda fun? A twisted part of you suddenly found satisfaction in fooling the maids. A smile tugged at your lips as you shoved him away, and Satoru eyed you in surprise and irritation.

"Husband, you're... insatiable," you worded languidly, and he immediately caught on your act, grinning. "Anyone can walk by, you know."

"Oh? But that's the point." Satoru's bright blue eyes twinkled with utter mischief, and even you couldn't deny the exhilarating rush. "I want them to know."

And suddenly you got this very brilliant idea. You swiftly moved past him and sent the books and trinkets on his desk flying to the floor, causing questionable noises.

"Oh my!" a girlish voice exclaimed.

"The master! And the lady!"

Satoru shook his head, thoroughly entertained. And you rolled your eyes. Those nosy maids would finally have enough now, and this charade would end—

"What's happening here?"

The old fart. Both you and Satoru grunted in unison. You really thought you would leave it up to the maids to spread the word, but then you were taken by surprise when he wrapped his hands around you and flung the door open, slamming you against it—and damn it hurt!—offering everyone a front-row seat to your charade.

The maids squealed. His grandfather raised a righteous, demanding eyebrow. You wanted to scream.

"Hey, gramps," he greeted jovially, breathless, his grip on you tightening and you felt heat radiating from his palm. "Ah, sorry, opened it by accident—the wife here is feisty, you see."

Your veins felt ready to burst. Was this a part of his plan all along? How would you show your face before your grandfather-in-law now that he had seen this... atrocity?!

"So, yeah, we'll resume our business!" Satoru, the idiot, said it as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "See ya!"

With that the door slammed shut, but oh no, it was not the end.

"Mmmph!?" you protested, unintentionally loud and eyes widening in alarm when Satoru muffled your mouth with his hand.

The rotten bastard! You found it nearly impossible to breathe, shooting daggers at him. "Mmmrgh! Mmmrrgh!"

"Oh... so that boy really does it huh," you heard the elder mutter in thoughtful manner from outside—and you were in disbelief at how trusting he was—before rounding the stunned maids and barked, "What are all you doing here? Go!"

You nearly sagged with relief when Satoru loosened his grip slightly, allowing you to breathe, as his meddlesome grandpa finally stalked away. Done. This horrible act was over! But wait, why did he still had his hand on your mouth?

"That went splendidly!" he snickered, appearing rather pleased with what had unfolded. "Now, if only we work together like this more often—"

This is… my life now, you lamented the reality. The feeling of his calloused hand on you made you feel things, honestly speaking, but another emotion—and impulse—currently overpowered that.

Seething with resentment, you fiercely chomped down on his hand hard, causing him to swear and pull his hand out of you.

"You—you devil! You bit me!"

"Serves you right!"

Okay, he was bad. He was insufferable. But to be frank, sometimes it wasn't all chaos.

And what's more, by MONTH TWO, you realized that being married to Gojo Satoru also comes with several perks.

"Miss, please, you're trespassing—"

You looked at the police with the haughtiest look you could muster, unamused. "Don't you know who I am?"

"No, but it shouldn't—"

"I'm that man's wife," you declared regally, motioning towards a certain tall shuttlecock a few meters away. "Is that not clear enough for you?"

For one, no one can look down on you anymore, because should they try, you have the power to raise your chin high and declare yourself as the wife of the infamous sorcerer. The very moment you did, that nosy police stopped yapping, and let you through.

The cursed boy, Yuta and his classmate had just been trapped inside a barrier a curse user pulled down, and you were assigned to look into this case by the headquarters. As much as it boggled you—because certainly, the strongest sorcerer was enough to investigate this—you still had to do your job.

“What is this?” you asked Satoru, who was observing something far beyond what your measly ordinary eyes could see. “What happened here?”

He turned to you, all with bandaged eyes. “Hmm? Oh, you’re here too?”

“Don't act surprised. Answer my question, Gojo.”

"You’re too uptight, wifey," Satoru's lips curved upwards playfully. He had taken to addressing you with pet names as of late, if anything, only to get a rise out of you. "Isn't it the time for you to start calling me by my given name?"

You let out a weary exhale, exasperated. "I'm serious, did you find anything? Who is behind this?"

"Nah, nothing for you to worry about," Satoru waved his hand dismissively, grinning. "More importantly! Let's head back and have dinner! My treat!"

You weren't that oblivious. You noticed things too.

"What do you want tonight? Sukiyaki? Sushi?" he hummed nonchalantly. "Or shabu-shabu?"

You gave him the stink eye. "Is that all you think about? Food?"

"As a responsible husband, it's my duty to feed my wife, no?"

"News flash: temporary wife."

"But still my wife, regardless. I overheard you earlier. Being Mrs. Gojo is convenient, yeah?"

You ignored how a part of your jolted at the emphasis he placed on that word, grunting. "Nah, it's meh."

Call it a feeling or hypothesis. It was similar to how he treated his students. He always said the dumbest things, but it actually served to make them feel at ease.

Then it occurred to you, could this be actually his attempt to change the subject?

"You can't cheat your way out of this." You shot him a pointed look. "You know something. Tell me."

"Hmmm? And what would I get in return?"

"Don't make this difficult. I'm on this assignment too!"

"Nah, if you call me by my name, I might consider it."

Hah. You should really read a parenting book one of these days. Taking on your husband was more or less the same as facing a kid.

"Satoru," you tested, the name rolling out of your lips far easier than you thought. Somehow, using his given name felt like some sort of a leap of faith.

He stopped right in his tracks, turning to you. His glossy lips quirked into a meaningful smile, and you felt funny.

"Wasn't that difficult, was it?" he winked, and you covered the strange heat creeping onto your face by rolling your eyes and huffed.

Needless to say, he still didn't tell you even a clue. You finally gave up, thinking that if he insisted on not disclosing it, then so be it. You trusted him on this, even as he turned your help away, and you hated admitting it, because, well…

You’d trust him with your life. He knows how to handle this better than anyone.

Being a a woman in Kamo clan is, in fact, not any better than in Zen'in—you're regarded more as a commodity than a human being.

"When will you bear the child of the bearer of Six Eyes?" in your father's eyes, you were but a tool to tie the Gojo at his hip, and your worth probably wasn't even twice of Noritoshi's. You had known he would ask this when he summoned you to Kamo ancestral home, and you weren't that naive—you had asked Satoru to join you too. But your father had insisted him to stay at the foyer, while he dragged you into his chamber.

Just because you had seen it coming didn’t mean you liked it. "Is that all? Do you really make me come here just to ask me that?"

And what came next was like a crack of thunder.

"How insolent!"

You shuddered, hating how his voice still had control over you. You wanted to stay deviant, but you couldn't keep yourself from shaking. You thought you would have to endure this shit just like you did before, until—

"Now, now... That's my wife you're talking to. I'd watch your words, if I were you."

You had never whipped your head so fast.

There stood Gojo Satoru, your husband, in all his glory. He was smiling but it was clear that he was displeased, evident from his cutting remark, and most notably, how he had unveiled his striking cerulean eyes for all to see. Truth to be told, you didn't expect him to barge in here at all.

"Gojo-sama," your father bowed his head, displaying utter respect towards him, contrasting the blatant disrespect he showed towards you just now. Satoru paid him no heed, as took big strides towards you and seized your arm, prompting you to rise to your feet.

"What is this? Why are you yelling at her?" His voice lacked its usual hint of amusement or teasing, sending a chill down your spine.

"Gojo-sama, I apologize for my tone towards my daughter earlier. I was just trying to educate—"

“My wife. She is my wife now, and it would do you better to remember that,” Satoru asserted firmly, putting emphasis in the way he addressed you, his gaze hardening. "She is an adult. There's nothing left for you to educate her." Pausing, he added, "And the way I saw it, you were just unnecessarily rude."

"Gojo-sama, there were just certain things in our clan that—"

"Please, don't call on us again," Satoru interjected decisively with a light yet firm voice. You could swear your heart was somersaulting at the sight of him staring down your natural enemy. "I'm sure you're aware, but your daughter bears my name now, and she will get the respect she is due. I will have a word with anyone who fails to treat her accordingly."

Somehow or another, Satoru whisked you away from that hellhole, your hand tightly clasped in his. Your relieved sigh didn't go unnoticed by him, as he looked back to you.

"Have you gone soft?" he teased, eyeing you with a playful snort. "Did you forget who your husband is? You've got nothing to fear. Not even him."

"Thank you," you murmured. Your heart was still pounding and your mind blanked, rendering you unable to engage in your usual banters.

His clear blue eyes widened a touch, blinking at your display of vulnerability, Then, he wore the most innocent expression, even sporting a silly smirk—the hardness from earlier gone. "I was really cool, huh? Totally made you swoon I bet."

And in MONTH THREE, you realized, as he laced his fingers with yours, as his laughter filled the air, as calmness swelled on your chest, and as you loudly snorted at his remark, that—

You felt warm, so warm, in fact, and maybe—

"Pfft, you wish."

—maybe... being with him isn't so bad after all.

MONTH FOUR, and you finally found out that it was Geto Suguru.

Everyone knew that your husband and the criminal used to be the best of friends. You saw them during your high school days, and heck, you used to think that Geto was the better man.

You could only imagine what he must feel.

. . .

When he got back to your shared house after the whole ordeal—after he ended his best friend with his own hands, Satoru honestly didn't expect that you would be waiting for him.

"You okay?" you asked him, brows furrowed in concern. It was probably one of the very few times you had displayed emotions other than contempt towards him.

It felt strange because he was used to your jabs, and he was not sure what sort of expression he should pull now, because truthfully, now he felt empty. Blank. All he comprehended was that he had killed Suguru, that he was gone, and that was something he must do.

It would be just like any other day if hadn't just committed a murder. On someone he held dear.

"Of course, who do you think I am?" Satoru swiftly replied, sounding smug—or at least tried to. "I'm the strongest. I’m unscat—"

"No, not that." You frowned, meeting his gaze squarely. "After everything."

Satoru struggled to choose how he should react, partly because most of his energy had gone after walking Yuta back and reassuring him earlier, and by default, the two of you should be hellbent on hating each other and wishing for this contract to end soon.

"Aww, are you worried about me?" he quipped with a touch of sarcasm just because he had to, to show you that it wasn't enough to ruffle him.

Because he is still the strongest, even when alone. Especially when he is alone.

You let out a sigh, looking away. "Can't I?"

"Whoa, that's sweet of—"

"Don't fool yourself," you stated in straight-laced manner, meeting his gaze with a composed expression. "You're not okay. You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did."

You might be Gojo Satoru, but no one will be after doing what you just did.

Despite himself, his smile fell, and his chest burns. What is this? Were you sympathizing with him?

Does that mean that you don't see him as the entity... that was the strongest?

Before now, Satoru remembered you as the most uncooperative Kyoto girl he had ever met. Your first meeting in high school sealed your fate as the two of you could hardly get along. You didn't mince words, you didn't take shit from anyone else—heck, sometimes when he thought of you, what came up to mind was an impenetrable diamond.

Which was why he chose you. You were someone he could trust. You were pretty in the eyes and certainly wouldn't bore him either. His reasons were purely based on logic. And after four months with you, Satoru came to a conclusion that you indeed fulfilled all his expectations, if not more.

And he felt comfortable, or dare he say, secure even. He felt like he had gained a friend, who could see past his bravado and wouldn't judge him for it.

"You're..." you sighed, casting a sympathetic glance at him, your forehead slightly creased. At that moment, Satoru couldn't help but think you were incredibly endearing, fretting over him. "...an idiot."

"Heh." I really am, aren't I?

"I never knew him well..." you chose your words carefully, hesitant. "Did you try to convince him, before this?"

He barked a bitter laugh. "I did, we even made a scene in front of freaking KFC," he remarked with a scoff. "He didn't listen to me, until the very end."

You wanted to tell him “You have done everything you could” but the words faltered on your tongue. You couldn't bring yourself to say it when you saw the faint quiver of his lips, the slump of his shoulders—the very sight of a boy grieving the loss of his friend.

Your heart pricked too, somehow, seeing that expression on him. And you once again realized that your silly, exalted husband was just as human as anyone else who made him think he wasn’t.

"And you know what he said in the end?" Satoru's tone was flippant, as if asking the most normal thing around, but carried a trace of grief, evident in the slight drop in his tone if you squinted. "He said he didn't regret it, not even a bit."

"I'm sorry," was all you could manage.

Satoru's smile was lopsided. Now that he had finally accepted it, something inside him finally bleeds, and it freaking hurts. The pain gripped his chest like a swirling inferno.

But then, you boldly clasped his hand in yours, gently tracing soothing circles on its back.

"What?" he peered at you, feeling a ghost of a smile forming.

"Consider this emotional support."

And he chuckled softly. Despite the lingering ache, despite the gloom he was sure he would carry for the rest of his life, he felt the pain was more bearable with you by his side, somewhat.

How?

You blamed it on the alcohol, because it was MONTH FIVE and you were kissing Gojo Satoru, daringly.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you rasped between kisses, breathless, as your own sinful hands plucked the buttons off his shirt. The intoxication might have played a part, but the intense heat coursing through you made it hard to think straight.

Satoru crashed his lips against yours again, consumed by blind lust. "Yeah, we shouldn't," he replied in a rush. His breath was hot as he trailed his lips down your jaw and neck next, savoring the softness of your skin.

You two had attended a banquet for the elite, and you were unbelievably beautiful. Standing by his side as his wife, you drew admiring glances, with everyone marveling at what a remarkable couple you made. The Gojo heir who was born with the legendary Limitless and the Kamo heiress, as lovely as her clan's name was powerful.

His deft hands roamed the curves of your body, exploring every inch of you. The warmth of his hands tickled something inside you as you closed your eyes to sink into this very moment. Next you knew, his bare body was against yours and you were stripped out of your evening dress.

Lust flickered in his honored eyes, as he took in the sight of you in your undergarments.

"You're really pretty, you know," he whispered. The intensity with which his eyes scanned your form made you nearly squirm. "Shame we don't always get along."

"You're one to talk," you retorted, a hint of exasperation in your tone, as you willed all other thoughts away. Thoughts like what comes after this. Thoughts like—

Is it heaven or sin, if you feel both at once?

His thumb tenderly caressed your plush lips, a hint of a smirk on his beautiful face.

He has long been thinking about your body. He was but a man, after all. He just didn't expect that you wanted this too.

There was always this tension, only this time, neither of you could hold it back anymore. Perhaps it was impulse—hell, most certainly it is, but there was another thing, something more that even Gojo Satoru still didn't dare to say out loud.

"Eager, are we?" he taunted when you leaned in, yearning for the touch of his lips on yours again.

You huffed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks at the slip of those words. You were about to rectify it, taken aback by your own boldness, but then he drew you close, silencing any further protest with a gentle hush—

"Too late, sweetheart," his husky voice entered your ears, lips curling into the most wicked smile, and you were in a trance. And Satoru was once again convinced, that choosing you as his wife was the rightest thing there was.

If the two of you went with this, then there would be consequences. Things would become more complicated, harder to sort out.

But, he decided, as he captured your lips in another heated kiss, everything else can wait.

MONTH SIX, and you were dreading the day of your divorce.

You brought this upon yourself. Whenever you reminisced about that night, you wanted to smack yourself in the face and bang your head against the nearest wall.

This marriage has a time limit. And you were doing it out of convenience in the first place.

You weren't supposed to… goddammit—fall in love with him.

But what's done is done, there is no going back in time. Awkward exchanges and lingering stares had been gnawing at your insides these days, and you were sure Satoru too must have noticed them too. You two used to be more relaxed with each other, and he'd even flirt with you, but weeks ever since that night of drunken passion, you almost reverted back to your high school personas—ignoring each other.

This was tough. You didn't like this. And more than that, you were faced with a more pressuring matter...

Gojo Satoru, with everything he possessed, could have had any woman he wanted. This arrangement with you was temporary in the first place, soon he would forget you and flit to the next woman.

The thought made your heart ache, because you had involuntarily gave your heart away to him. Siiigh… What a predicament you put yourself into, huh?

With just a month left together, maybe you should just make the best of it.

. . .

If you thought that things were any better with Satoru, then you were sorely wrong because he too, was debating with himself often nowadays.

Days spent with you were fun and fulfilling. You irked expression somehow had made its mark in his heart. You were pretty, fit to be by his side publicly and preferably, behind the closed doors. With you, he didn't feel the need to carry this facade of being strong—he could be a clown tripping over his own trap and you would amuse him with your deadpan expression.

And ever since that night, he was constantly reminded by how soft your skin was against his. It almost drove him crazy now that he was deprived of it.

How was it the last month already? He wasn't ready to let you go yet.

When he got back home later after his class ended and found you in the dinner table setting the food, all he could muster was, "Hey. Haven't eaten?"

You whirled around to face him in surprise. "Oh... you're back. Just about to. Want to join me?"

Of course he would. And yet as the two of you sat down, it was so painfully awkward Satoru felt like he was dying inside.

Why couldn't he pull off a smart line or two? Where did his suaveness go? He was smoother than this, surely, with his colorful history. One night of passion was supposed to enhance the relationship, not to derail it. What happened to you both?

The salt was near his side when you reached to grab it and bumped into his hand. "Uh-oh."

Turning towards you, he found your spooked expression and your adorable eyes widening in surprise. "S-sorry..."

It was just freaking salt! Salt! Why on earth were you apologizing?!

Enough, he thought. This utter madness of being jumpy with each other. He'd start from his side.

Does he want you to keep being his wife even after all this ends? Yes.

Why? All reasons already listed above.

Does this mean he likes you? Apparently and supposedly, yes. Because if it isn't then he doesn't know what this funny feeling driving him mad is.

With that sorted out, then he only had one more thing to confirm. He put down his spoon and crossed his arms together. "Tell me the truth. Do you like living with me?"

His question obviously took you by surprise. "Huh? What brought this on?"

"Just give me an answer."

"You're so pushy," you grumbled, lips pursed, and he felt like you were finally back to your usual dynamics somewhat. Good.

"Sooo, the verdict? Do you enjoy being with me or not?"

Because to him, it was a resounding yes and more.

Ignoring the warmth that surged to your cheeks, you rolled your eyes. "Surprisingly, not bad, yeah," you admitted, mustering the courage to meet his gaze. "You're annoying, an idiot, a bit crazy—"

"Hey!"

"—but eventually you're still... manageable," you added, feeling your face truly start to sizzle. But covered it up by looking down and playing with your fingers as you still had more to go on. "What I want to say is... I'm glad that I agreed to this—with you—because I can’t imagine it with anyone else."

An unfamiliar tingling emotion rushed to his chest as his face too started to heat up, letting your words sink in. Is he blushing? Oh God. He sure is. And so did he feel hella giddy.

Then it’s sealed.

Suddenly he procured a piece of paper from his work uniform and showed it to you. You first saw his lazily scrawled signature before it dawned on you.

The contract. You almost forgot that you made him sign that looming piece of paper. You were almost dismayed, thinking that he would end this right then and there, but then—

“Well, then… I suppose we no longer need this.”

Riiip~

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when Gojo Satoru tore out your contract right in front of your face, the most brilliant of his devilish grin adorned his handsome face, as he took off his blindfold to see you far clearly than ever. Heavens, you are cute, he thought.

“Soooo~ seems like you’re stuck with me from now on!”

You gaped, awestruck at the blatant meaning of it all, feeling how your heartbeat started to pick up the pace, when he pulled the rag out of your feet once more by tilting his head to the side, looking at you with a winning smile.

“Let’s start over! What did they say again? Ah, yeah. Here’s to the first day of our lives!”

6K notes · View notes

sceletaflores · 5 months ago

Text

woo, my baby's got me all mixed up!

feat: logan howlett & wade wilson

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, swearing, a bastard doomed polycule, more of 'why have just one bf when you can two bf's and why have just two bf's when you can have two bf's that are also each other’s bf's???', p in v, double penetration, one (1) single use of daddy, creampie(s), fingering...kind of (fem!receiving), oral sex, face sitting, face fucking, straight up nasty porn w/ zero plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this is a shorter one-shot but i can't not format it like a full fic i have to or i'll get hives. this is also just pure freak nasty gross actually probably the filthiest thing i've ever written that i thought up off too much nyquil pm last night. kisses!

wade gets to whiskin’ (and logan's there too)…

"You're killing me babe," Wade groans lowly, cheek pressed to the slick skin of your inner thigh. "If my balls didn't feel like they just got the shit beat out of them in a back alley I'd be as hard as David Hasselhoff watching David Hasselhoff movies."

His hand is at work between your thighs, thick index finger slipped into your sensitive, puffy pussy.

It should gross you out that he loves doing this so much. It should make your stomach twist with all the unpleasant feelings a normal person might get.

It should, but it doesn't.

The familiar stretch is lost from taking Logan and Wade at the same time, a rare thing in your sex life because of how big they both are. But you were in a mood tonight.

Your pussy still clenches around him, trying in vain to tighten up, not used to feeling so empty.

The subtle pressure of Wade’s finger toes the line between pleasure and the sharp burn of 'almost too much' as it swirls along the sensitive walls of your pussy.

The first time he did it you were too fucked out of your mind to do anything other than ask what the hell he was doing.

"Gotta mix it up babe," was his reply, as easy as anything. "Don't want the baby batter to curdle, if you know what I mean."

Your heart stopped, flames lapping their way up your body as Wade scooped the thin line of come trickling from your abused hole to fuck it back in, back where it belonged.

It was so filthy, so depraved that it made you go liquid between your legs.

Your eyes almost immediately slid over to Logan, ready to see him shaking his head in irritation like he usually did whenever Wade ran his mouth in bed. You found nothing, no deep grimace or raised brow in sight.

There was an unmistakable heat in his gaze that matched your own, the inky black of his pupils blown so wide you could hardly see the hazel of his irises.

The casual raise of his right shoulder when he met your eye was undermined by the way his cock started to harden where it laid against his thigh, effectively tattling on him.

It told you all you needed to know about how he really felt watching Wade between your spread legs. That alone was enough to get you ready to go all over again.

It sort of became a thing after that.

"I'm not even doing anything..." you mumble breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't have to baby," Logan purrs from behind you, lips pressed to the top of your head. His hand skimming down the side of your body is enough to make goosebumps pebble along your skin, "Look perfect just like this."

It's been hours now, but they're still going. You're convinced that the two of them are the world's biggest horndogs, just once is never enough.

You lost track of tonight's rounds sometime after number five, not counting mouth and hand stuff of course. And it's starting to catch up to you, you’re tired, spent.

Wade curls his finger just right, brushing against the spot inside you that has a broken whine passing through your grit teeth. Your thighs start to tremble as a smug grin spreads across his face.

"Yeah, there it is," he teases, his voice low. He keeps the tip of his finger snug against that spot, rubbing firm circles over the sensitive nerves. "That's that spot ain't it, gorgeous."

"Wade," you mewl, hands fisting the sheets as you fight to keep still. You're worried too much squirming will make their come start dripping out around Wade's wrist, and you can't have that.

There’s a sudden silence to your right, the heaviness of it pulling at your attention. You shift slightly, catching the faintest rustle of movement from Logan.

His breath is warm against the crown of your skill, his strong chest still plastered to your back—but he's too quiet, too still. You tilt your head just enough to peek at him out of the corner of your eye, and the sight alone is almost enough to make you come on the spot.

Logan is leaning against the headboard lazily, arm that isn't circled around your waist snaking down his own with the hard length of his cock in his hand.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him, red and leaking pre-come all over his knuckles each time he twists his fist over the thick head. Your hips grind down unconsciously, a needy moan falling from your parted lips. The wet sound of it has your cheeks burning, eyes fixed on the way his heavy balls bounce with each rough tug, still so full.

"Fuck, that's it," Wade murmurs, slipping a second finger inside you while he presses a shit-eating grin to the soft skin of your lower stomach. "You like it when daddy jerks off while I'm knuckle deep in you?"

"Watch it," Logan mutters warningly, tone gone low and dark as spilled ink. His hand doesn't slow, the loose grip of his fist slipping up and down his dripping cock in time with the slick squelch of your pussy.

Your hips buck up against Wade’s hand, a loud whine tearing from your chest at the dirtiness of this whole thing. The familiar heat starts to stir in your belly, your pussy drooling more mess over his wrist the longer he plays with you.

Wade barely muffles his chuckle against your hip, dropping a quick kiss there before pulling his soaked fingers from your velvety warmth. You whine at the loss, but he doesn’t pay it any mind.

You’ll both get what you want soon enough.

"Alright, we should all know the drill by now people," he announces to you and Logan with a loud clap, pulling away from between your thighs to roll flat onto his back.

“Time to hop on the saddle, John Wayne,” he finishes, giving your ass a loving tap.

Logan snorts into your hair, dropping his cock to grab your hips and gently manhandle you until you’re situated directly over Wade’s face while Logan kneels in front of you. The jut of his cock bobbing inches away from your mouth.

Wade’s greedy fingers pry your swollen lips apart to watch the way his and Logan’s come starts to seep out from you, falling to drip onto his bare chest. He blows over the wet length of you, the cool air from his mouth has your hips twitching down in search of any friction you can get.

“Not so fast,” he scolds lightly, grinding his knuckle against the wet seam of you. Your nails dig crescent moons into his scarred shoulders, threatening to break the skin.

“You’ve gotta savor this moment, hot stuff,” he says slowly, leaning up to press a kiss directly over your throbbing clit. “You got the best seat in the house, don’t take it for granted–”

"Enough," Logan grunts, heavy hands falling on your shoulders to push you down on Wade's face, fully closing the gap. "Quit runnin' your damn mouth and make our girl feel good, red."

Wade's hands tighten their hold on your thighs, his hips bucking up off the mattress like he can't help it. His surprised moan rumbles against your clit, loud and shameless.

You cry out at the first drag of his tongue over your aching pussy, hot and wet as it slides through your dripping slit. You pitch forward, too caught up in pleasure to think clearly as you take Logan’s cock into your mouth. You take him all the way down to the root in one swift move, burying your nose in the dark hair surrounding the base.

"Fuck," Logan bites out, eyes twisting shut as he feels your warm throat enveloping him. He takes your hair in his fist gently, just holding it as you swallow around him.

Your hands move to rest on his thick thighs, nails scratching over the hair scattered along his skin. His breath shutters in his chest, his hips rolling forward ever so slightly, chasing the tight heat of your mouth.

The mix of your tongue tracing along the sensitive vein on the underside of his cock and the low, wet sounds of Wade devouring you has him pulsing in your mouth.

Your thighs shake on either side of Wade's head, the steady grip of his hands the only thing that keeps you from collapsing into a boneless heap on the mattress.

Your hips twitch the tiniest bit, rocking forward enough to grind your clit over the slope of his nose. He groans under you, squeezing the meat of your thighs in encouragement as he swirls his tongue through the mess dripping from your hole.

“That’s a good girl,” Logan praises gruffly, his hips speeding up. “Shut him up, baby. Make him fuckin’ eat it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, dragging your pussy along Wade’s mouth faster. You moan desperately around your mouthful, brain going hazy around the edges.

The frantic pace you set only makes their come leak from you faster, dripping down Wade’s face faster than he can keep up, and there's just so much.

A steady, thick stream of it that feels almost never ending thanks to Logan coming like he busted a pipe and absolutely flooding your insides every single time.

Wade doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest though, swirling his tongue along you with a new sense of urgency. His hands grip your hips tighter, his blunt nails digging into your skin deliciously as he slurps and sucks with unbridled enthusiasm, chasing every drop of come.

He’s sloppy with it, come sliding down his cheeks and chin in thin rivers of white.

Logan’s rough breath hitches above you, his fingers tightening in your hair as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks just the way he likes. His growl sends a thrill down your spine.

"C'mon, Wilson," Logan grunts, his hips speeding up. When you peer up at him, you can see the goading smile that just barely tugs the corner of his mouth up.

“Spitters are quitters, you know that."

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

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frenchkisstheabyss · 4 months ago

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♡ Softer, Softest ♡

♡ Pairing: mafia!boss!san x stripper!chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: smut/angst/fluff

♡ Summary: A fun night of stripping takes a turn when an encounter with a particularly unpleasant customer leaves you in tears, running to your boss seeking comfort and protection. Both things he’s more than willing to give.

♡ Word Count: 3.6k-ish

♡ Warnings: explores themes of body insecurities, reader has her arm grabbed (nothing violent but brutal violence against the person who grabbed it), mentions of blood/injuries (not yours, babes), kissing, heavy body worship, san’s obsessed with you, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), clit sucking, nipple pinching, a lil manhandling, hair pulling, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, low key mirror sex, pet names (baby, pretty).

♡ A/N: Hello my loves, I wrote this little fic for any of my chubby darlings out there who might not know or might need reminding that their bodies are gorgeous, worth loving, and desirable. I also really love myself a hot criminal and who better than San? K, let me shut up now. Just know I love you. Your body’s amazing. Never forget that ❤️

Midnight. Friday. The back alley of a strip club. The best in town. The strip club, not the alley. It’s a dark, starless night. The smell of fresh rain hangs in the air, the aftermath of a sudden downpour that left the ground slick with rain. Music from inside the club bleeds through the cracks of a heavy steel door. A neon red EXIT sign hangs overhead. The door creaks on its hinges as it swings open, sending the music blaring out into the night and with it comes a body. The blur of one at first, flying through the air, and then the weight of it. The heavy thud of bruised flesh and cracked bone colliding with the asphalt.

The man on the ground is unremarkable, nothing about him worth noting except the mangled nose that gushes blood down his face, leaking into the cavernous gash that is his busted lip. He said the wrong thing to the wrong person and now he can’t speak at all, only mumble. A brushed leather Dolce and Gabbana shoe collides with his cheek. His blood splashes scarlet against the pitch black soles, a horrible crack emitting from his jaw as more pressure’s applied. Now this man? He’s remarkable. He’s muscular, defined in every way so that, even through his black dress shirt, you can read the broadness of his shoulders. His features are sharp and intense. The kind you either fall for or fall victim to. There’s no in between. He’s a handsome devil but a devil all the same.

“You look like shit” San sighs, effortlessly kicking the man onto his back. He rolls his sleeves up, kneeling beside the man like a hunter inspecting its fallen prey. He stares down at him, emotionless, void of anything close to that thing we call remorse.

The man heaves in a breath of air before coughing it back out. “Mmm s-s-sorry” he croaks, “I didn’t know she was anyone fucking special.”

San grips the man’s face, grinning in a way that isn’t the least bit friendly. He squeezes tightly, forcing jagged teeth to press into the soft flesh of the man’s cheeks. “Well now you do.”

This is your boss and you, tucked away safe and warm in his office, are something special. But a part of you knew this already. You downplay it when the other girls point it out. You pretend not to notice the clear signs of favoritism but they’re there in even the smallest interaction between the two of you. Since day one San’s been your protector, your admirer. You’ve denied it a million times, convincing yourself you’re simply making more of things than what’s there. Still, after everything happened you couldn’t fathom running into the arms of anyone else.

You were dancing like any other night—working your section and getting your tips—when some asshole grabbed you by the arm, demanding your presence in one of the private rooms. Usually you could count on security to drag him out but on weekends the club gets packed and things slip through the cracks. Sadly tonight you were one of them so, like a proper lady, you told him to kiss your ass and sent the tip of your stiletto crashing into his balls. You might be a stripper but that doesn’t mean you’re some thing that men can treat however they wish. It’s a lesson he had to learn the hard way and you were happy to teach it to him. Two shots past drunk and embarrassed by your rejection he snapped, spewing the most vile things you’ve ever heard about yourself—about your body.

It isn’t news to you that you’re one of the bigger girls here. San says that’s what makes you special, why customers come in to blow a check on you and you alone. He’s right, your bank account says so. The customers love you, they eat up every inch of your plush body. By all means you should feel like the baddest bitch in this building, simply because you are, but in that moment his words had reduced you to nothing. A few seconds ago you were twirling around the pole like a goddess now you found yourself scurrying back to the dressing room with tears in your eyes.

At least that’s where you intended to go. Somewhere along the way you changed course, riding the velvet lined elevator to the third floor where San’s office sits at the end of a long hallway. At the time you hadn’t considered how much this might escalate the situation because, quite honestly, you didn’t care. More than feeling hurt, you were pissed the fuck off. Your tears were of anger and, whether you felt it at the time or not, you wanted that motherfucker to pay for it.

This place you work at. There’s more to it than what’s on the surface. It’s easy to get so distracted by the luxury and the lights and the pretty girls dancing that you miss the truth of it all. In fact, that’s the point, but you know a mafia front when you see one. You aren’t oblivious. You know what this is, who San is, and maybe that’s exactly why you were tapping at his door. A damsel in distress in black lace lingerie.

San’s heart dropped when he saw his favorite girl in tears. He stopped everything, sending his men away so he could place all of his focus on you. Resting his jacket over your shoulders, he gently cradled your cheeks, brushing the tears away to ask quite simply, “Who did it?”

You explained everything, how that asshole grabbed you and the things he said, and San’s anger grew quietly, simmering beneath a surface of calm. He took a seat at his desk, setting you down comfortably in his lap, and pulled up the security cameras. “Tell me when you see him, okay, baby?” he instructed sweetly, his palm massaging the smoothness of your thigh.

You nodded, struggling to focus on the screen with his hand on your thigh and him calling you “baby”. San touching you wasn’t a rare occasion but it was always something light. A hand on the small of your back or fingertips grazing your arm. Never this purposeful—this intimate. You couldn’t help imagining how it might feel if he gripped a little harder, moved a little higher. You felt your heart begin to race, your temperature rising the longer you sat there in his lap.

“That’s him” you sniffled, spotting that familiar face on the screen. San studied the screen a moment before turning back to you. “I’ll take care of it” he promised, his hand riding your thigh and coming to rest at the gentle curve of your hip. “And no more crying, baby. You’re too pretty to cry.” Too pretty to cry? Oh, but you were crying, absolutely weeping, only between your thighs this time.

San disappeared from the office, leaving you too lost in the lingering haze of his touch to even think about your insecurities, but that only lasted so long. Alone in the quiet of his office, the self doubt began to creep back in. You tried to distract yourself by exploring your surroundings—the impressive collection of vintage whiskey, the gorgeously framed art hanging from the walls—but nothing could distract you from how uncomfortable you’d become in your own skin. It didn’t help that the office was lined with mirrors, reflecting glimpses of your figure with every turn.

At last out of distractions, you turn to face the mirrored image of yourself, letting San’s jacket slip to the floor. You strike a pose, a half hearted copy of something cute you might do on stage, and watch the way the fat of your body squishes together here or there. You strike another then another then another but they’re there in every pose. Your face, your belly, your sides, your thighs. Your weight shows in all of them. Pinching your lower belly you think of how the other girls have had work done. Maybe if you got some done yourself…

“I left him out back. Clean him up before someone sees” San says, pushing through the door, his phone pressed to his ear.

You jump a bit at his arrival, scrambling to grab the jacket, but San slips in behind you, closing his arms around your waist before you can retrieve your safety blanket. You tense at first but find yourself settling into his embrace as if it’s the most natural place for you to be.

“So, what was that?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder. His breath tickles your neck as he inhales your perfume and the sweet scent of honey and jasmine fills his lungs. You smell as beautiful as you are, as beautiful as everything about you is.

“How’d everything go?” you press, quick to change the subject. Noticing a series of tiny red scrapes on the knuckles of his right hand, you carefully take it into yours, assessing the damage.

San shrugs it off like it’s nothing. It still stings but it’s far from the worst pain he’s ever felt. “I said I’d take care of it. It’s been taken care of.”

You giggle at the contrast of something so menacing being spoken by someone so regal. “San, you make it sound like you killed him.”

He leans into your neck, his lips grazing your skin on their way up to your ear. You shiver at the contact and his hold on you tightens, your bodies pressed flush against each other so that you can feel his bulge pressed into the plush of your ass.

“Killed him? Almost” he whispers, “I answered your question so it’s only fair you answer mine, isn’t it? What were you doing? I came in and you were…” San pinches your belly, his fingertips planting adoration where there was once doubt.

“I…uh…I was…” you stutter, searching your brain for a believable lie but you can’t find a single one.“There’s this doctor, a few of the girls have gone to him to get some work done, and I was just thinking, I don’t know, maybe...why am I even telling you this? You don’t care and anyway, it’s silly.”

“It is silly” he agrees, notes of that quiet, controlled anger you witnessed earlier resurfacing, “But you’re wrong to say that I don’t care. I care about how you feel about yourself, I care about you. You must know that.”

“I mean, I know you care about me. You care about all of the girls” you say, hesitant to accept this as a profession of anything in particular.

San spins you around, pinning you between the warmth of his body and the cool mahogany of the desk. “I don’t care for any other woman the way I do you.”

There it is, a profession of something very particular. He’d hoped that you’d seen it by now. He wonders if he didn’t do a good enough job of showing you. It’s been so long before you, years even, that he had feelings like this for anyone. The world he operates in doesn’t allow for soft spots. Soft spots are how you make mistakes and when mistakes are life or death you can’t afford to make them but he couldn’t help himself with you. You caught his eye the day you walked in for your audition and you’re all he’s been able to see since. You’re so delicate, so beautiful, a perfect contrast to the toughness of his life. It’s why he protects you—why he always will.

“Your body…” he says, his palms racing up and down your curves, “It’s perfect. There’s nothing about it that needs fixing. If you let that doctor touch you I’ll break both of his hands.” San’s gaze is heavy with lust, months of longing just begging to be satisfied. It burns him up inside, sets fire to his very being, and being kissed by the flames of that need is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

“Is that the way you romance women? With threats of violence?” you tease, draping your arms across his shoulders.

“Sometimes but usually it’s like this” he whispers, pressing his lips to yours. His tongue parts your lips, twining around yours to deepen the kiss. His movements are careful and deliberate. The kiss intoxicatingly slow.

San grabs you by the hips, lifting you onto the desk and you let out a little squeak of surprise as he sets you down. “You’re so fucking cute” he grins, spreading your thighs to fit perfectly between them.

“You think so?” you say so innocently it only makes him want to ravage you more.

Tangling his fingers in your hair, he tilts your head to look back at the mirror, “Don’t you?”

An unexpected wetness soaks the lace of your panties at the sight of your shared reflection. Nothing has changed about your body. It’s the same one you were picking apart, the same one you were doubting, and San loves everything about it. He praises it with his hands, with his fingertips, with whispered confessions of everything your body needs to hear.

”I watch you sometimes when you’re dancing” he says, effortlessly doing away with your bra, “I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help myself when you look the way you do. It’s like you’ve put a spell on me. My little witch.”

San captures one of your breasts, kneading the plump flesh in the palm of his hand. He pinches your bud between his fingers, tugging at it just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

“But I don’t have any magic” you whimper, tugging at the buttons of his shirt. They pop open one by one, revealing a body that had to be sculpted by some divine feminine deity. You push the fabric away, your fingertips delighting in the perfection of her creation.

San’s free hand reaches between you, stroking your clit through your panties. He groans at how soaked you are, your juices leaking through the lace to coat his fingers in your juices. “You do have magic, baby” he whispers, tucking your panties to the side, “It’s right here.”

“Aah, Sannie” you moan, your hands sliding down his abs as his fingers stretch you open.

Your body falls back, a sharp chill coursing through you as your bare back hits the desk. San sinks his fingers deeper into your core, his cock stiffening at the sight of your body moving as hypnotically as it does on the pole. Only now it’s for him and only him. This is how San likes it, how he’s always wanted it to be. Him with his fingers buried deep into the warmth of your pussy, your walls greedily clenching around them, and you spread out across his desk, your gorgeous body on full display and your lips spilling out moans meant for his ears alone.

Kneeling between your legs he pulls your panties aside harder this time, nearly tearing the fabric as he knots it in his fist. He brings his thumb to your clit, toying with it just to see how your body twitches with every touch. “How can a girl be this perfect?” he says, nearly salivating, “Even your pussy’s gorgeous.” There’s an audible wet sound, another sweet whimper escaping your throat, as his fingers slip out of your core and his tongue takes its place.

“San, wait…” you beg, grabbing at his hair, but you’re too late. Your attempt at pacing yourself is useless. His tongue’s already filling the space between your walls, wiggling and curling against your sweet spot. His dark hair knots around your fingers, your hips raising to ride every wave his tongue sends washing over you.

San drags his tongue up through your petal soft folds, swirling it around your clit before diving into you again. He suckles at your clit, gently at first then faster, more ravenous. His gaze flicks up to you, taking in the way your belly jiggles and your breasts bounce. He’s drunk on your juices, already addicted to the way you coat his tongue. You taste like heaven and look like it too. It takes all of the self control he has to pry his mouth free of your pussy, snatching your panties down as he does.

Standing back up, he grips your thighs, spreading you open to watch the arousal drip from your pussy, leaving pretty little drops on his desk. Your eyes are glued to him as he unzips his pants, letting his cock fall right between your legs. The swollen tip throbs against your lower belly, leaking precum, warm and sticky, on your skin. You rock your hips, clenching around air, craving friction from that deliciously veiny cock of his.

“You want it, baby?” San teases, tapping the head of his cock against your clit. His length slips between your folds. They’re so smooth, so slick. Toying with your pussy’s like splashing in a lake. You’re wet enough to drown in.

“I want it, Sannie, aah, fuck…” you moan, your eyes widening at the realization that his tip’s pressed to your entrance now, stretching you the faintest bit.

“Then tell me how perfect your body is. Tell me you love it.” He pushes in an inch more, stopping to leave your hole spread wide around his cock, still needy and deprived.

The stretch has the room spinning, a single taste of him already making you want more. “My body’s, mmph, beautiful” you manage as he gradually feeds you more of him, “I love it.”

“Don’t stop. Keep telling me. Make me believe you” San demands, thrusting into you so hard that he bottoms out.

You cry out at the force of the thrust, your lashes fluttering away tears, “I love, aah, my body. I love my body. It’s beautiful. It’s…it’s…”

Tucking his hands behind your knees, San pushes them to your chest, snapping his hips against you hard enough that your thighs jiggle around him. All of you does. Every stroke of his cock makes you tremble and he’s hardly able to keep still himself. You’re so tightly wound around his cock that he can feel all the finer details of your walls. They’re glued to him, sucking him in every time he even thinks about pulling back.

Through heavy lids you watch the man you’ve only ever known to be a mountain crumble to pieces all because of you. San’s muscles are slick with sweat and a glossy haze dances over his eyes. His fingers are digging into your thighs, completely devouring them. He does what he can to swallow his moans but it’s impossible when you’re making him feel like his entire soul’s being snatched from his body.

“You feel so fucking good” he grunts, planting breathless kisses up your leg, “Come here.”

San props your ankles up on his shoulders, hooking an arm around you and sitting you up so that you’re close enough to kiss. He grinds against your sweet spot, forcing his tongue down your throat so that every moan you set free echoes between his cheeks. Gripping the back of your neck, he slams into you, harder, faster, forcing your body to give into him. He fucks you until your eyes are rolling back, your mind too blank to recall anything that happened before this moment. There’s no thought of the incident, no thought of your insecurities. High on euphoria, your body feels beautiful, every inch of it.

“S-San…” you whine, a familiar pressure building behind your belly. Your fingers begin to tingle as they cling to his muscles, searching for any stability they can reach.

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” he coos, not letting up on you, not even for a second.

Pulling his arm away he lets you fall back on the desk. With one hand cupping your breast and the other circling your clit, he watches you fall apart in the palms of his hands. For so long he’s had to watch you from afar, pretending that he wasn’t utterly obsessed with you, but now you’re all his. His pretty, moaning, teary eyed girl pouring your cum down his cock while you repeat his name like it’s the only word you know. He’s so singularly focused on watching you hit your high that his own takes him by surprise.

Grabbing him by the wrist, you lock eyes, a weak smile forming on your lips. “Fill me up, Sannie” you whisper, your voice sexy even in its brokenness.

San’s body shudders and you feel a new fullness inside of you. The warmth pools deep within you at first, cascading down your walls the more he empties himself into you. “Fuck, baby” he pants, catching himself before his body doubles over. He came so hard his ears are ringing and holding onto you is all he can do not to fall. You sit up to stroke his cheek and he kisses your wrist lovingly. You stare into each other’s eyes for a minute that lasts an eternity, letting yourselves get lost in one another’s gaze.

San breaks the trance with a kiss, holding you like one would the most precious thing they own. “Tell me, baby, how do you feel now?”

You contemplate his question, your attention drifting back to the reflection in the mirror. It’s all there. Your face, your belly, your sides, your thighs, and San looking at you like you’re the prettiest girl in the world. You turn back to him with a smile, “Beautiful.”

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez angst #ateez x female reader #choi san x you #choi san smut #choi san angst #choi san x reader #choi san fluff #chubby reader #plus size reader #ateez x chubby reader

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sturnsdoll · 10 months ago

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𝘚𝘛𝘈𝘠𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘖𝘝𝘌𝘙 -`♡´- - c.s & t.y x reader

inspired by THIS

pairing: chris x tara x reader.

summary: two of your bestfriends stay over after a party. your friend tara's flirting quickly escalates the night into something much less innocent than a little sleepover.

warnings: smut, threesome, face sitting, dom!chris, switch!tara, sub!reader, dirty talk, p in v, oral (f & m recieving), praise, overstimulation, fingering, no protection (it's fiction. don't be dumb.), probably forgot some sorry!

authors note: omg y'all been on my ass to finish writing thiss <3 i did write and edit this while sleepy so (i really hope not) BUT if there's mistakes or lack of detail i'm really sorry!

"pink" = reader speaking "purple" = tara speaking "orange" = chris speaking

the time on your phone read 3:04am.

with a sigh you searched your surroundings impatiently. you'd been stood outside on the lawn of this stupid giant house for 4 minutes too long. the dampness on you from light raindroplets coming down just made the experience all the more unpleasent.

the mansion behind you was a mututal friends. inside, music blared so loud that it was seeping out through the windows. despite the absaloutely absurd hour of the night it was still bustling with people inside. sometimes in LA it felt like the parties just never died out. to be fair though, the number had signifincantly decreased from the start of the night when there must have been at least 100 people on the property.

"hey, sorry! i got caught up in yappin while trying to say goodbye to people" tara's familiar voice instantly made your tense shoulders drop. you turned to face her with a smile "it's alright. seen chris around yet?" your eyes scanned behind her to see if he was coming even though you didn't expect him to be. and he wasn't. "maybe we should text him?" tara suggested as she also looked behind her, as if it would make him appear faster. you pulled out your phone to send him a message.

3:07. they were both told to meet out here at 3:00. 7 minutes still wasn't terribly late.

tara's voice took you from your screen "we've been out here freezing, loser" you stop typing your text message to look up at whoever she was talking too. you were met with the sight of chris holding his jacket over his head to block from the rain falling down on him. "my bad, i got lost in the house.." he admitted as he got right up to the two of you and held his jacket out a little further to invite you both beneath it's shelter. "but i already called the uber so it should be here soon." he said re-assuringly. you both stepped beneath the coverage of his jacket. it didn't completely block the rain but it was something.

tara was staying over tonight because the two of you almost always stay at one anothers after parties. chris however, was coming along because neither matt or nick wanted to come to the party so you had taken him here, as well as offered to take him home the next day. he could have just ubered home tonight but, you and tara insisted that he come over to hang out after. what was he gonna do? say no to a fun innocent little sleepover with his friends??

the three of you walked in unison in order to keep your place under the shelter of chris' jacket. the whole way off the property the music faded and tara's heels clicking mixed with the rain's intensity picking up became all that was heard.

the close proximity of the three of you should have been uncomfortable but you had absaloutely no issue being this close to tara and chris- probably because they were both very outgoing and touchy people so they were comfortable as well, giggling the whole way down the lawn about who knows what. the smell of rain and chris' dior cologne filled your senses up the whole walk until finally, you all made it to the sidewalk and the uber was right there across the street.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

the ride home, you had all sat in the back together. you sat in the middle, head on chris's shoulder and one leg swung over tara's lap as you and tara yapped away almost the entire time. this wasn't weird because tara, you and chris were all naturally touchy people. and the alcohol hadn't completely left yours or taras systems quite yet.

opening your front door now, you instantly removed the heels that had been abusing your feet for hours. "i'm gonna get comfy clothes, you two can make yourselves comfortable" you told your friends as you locked your door securely. "could i borrow a shirt or something?" tara questioned with a sweet pleading smile as she slid off her heels and coat. "of course! come on" you enthused, leading her toward your laundry room since you hadn't had time to put any of your clothes away earlier before the party.

chris watched as you lead tara away. he had already made himself at home on your couch. he had been here before so it didn't take him long to figure out the tv remote either.

tara eventually picked out a t-shirt of yours to wear. you had chosen a matching tank and shorts pj set. as you were sliding your shorts on under your dress, you caught sight of tara sliding her dress down her shoulders. slowly her tits peaked over her dress, little by little till they were completely exposed.

you were in awe of how perfect they sat. how pretty. you were so mesmerized that you didn't even realize she had completely removed her dress and caught your hungry gaze. a typical tara giggle escaped her, snapping you out of your haze.

your eyes shot up to hers and you look petrified. "i'm so sorr-" "no no, it's okay" you could tell by the smile on her face that she was genuine. she slid your shirt over her head, covering her body back up again. "you want help unzipping your dress?" she asked. you were still so stuck on what had just happened that the question caught you off gaurd. why not though? god knows it'd be a nightmare to unzip it yourself. so, you nodded with an embarassed "sure".

tara made her way behind you, she stepped just a little closer than necessary and her painted fingernails found your zipper to slide it down. you could feel her breath on your neck, making your spine shiver. she slowly slid the straps of your dress down your shoulders, letting your dress fall down near your stomach.

she came right behind you, head on your shoulder. she looked down at your chest VERY obviously observing you with her gaze. "gorgeous" she complimented, her mischevious smile contradicting her sweet and casual tone. she gave a quick kiss to your shoulder before abruptly leaving the room to go find chris like it was nothing.

you stood completely dumbfounded. you and tara were extremely close but that was weird, right? after a couple minutes of collecting your thoughts, you chalked it up to her flirty personality just being fed a little too much liquid courage tonight.

after getting your clothes on you made your way to the living room where chris and tara were talking away. they were sitting surprisingly close but, spacial awarness wasn't always tara's specialty. chris didn't seem to mind.

"heyy me and chris are deciding what we want to eat, what do you want?" she questioned excitedly with uber eats already open on her phone.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

you all had made your decisions on food as well as a movie and you instructed that everyone watched it in your room to be more comfy so here the three of you were now..

chris laid with his back against your headboard while you and tara sat next to him on either side. chris and tara were talking over the movie that was nearly over now. waterbottles and empty fast food containers filled the space on your side table. you and tara had completely sobered up about an hour ago after having had some food.

"right? like wear what you want i guess but like WOW i just.." you had no clue what chris was talking about and you didn't care, as your eyes fixated on the tv screen you drowned out your two friends voices. reaching into your bedside tables drawer, you removed a vanilla chapstick sorry spacecamp to fix the dryness that earliers alcohol had cursed you with.

the scent of it was super strong. chris had subconciously switched his attention from what he was saying to your lips as the scent you were applying filled his nose and senses. he watched as you drug it across your perfect, round and now smooth, lips. he realized he was staring and quickly looked away. now that his attention had been drawn to you, he realized that you hadn't really talked to him or tara much for the past hour.

"what is that? cake or some shit?" he said, more so as a reason to include you in conversation than out of actual curiousity. you went to put the cap back on the vanilla lipbalm "can i try?" tara asked before you could even answer chris. you went to hand her the tube but she stopped you by grabbing your wrist gently "why waste it when we could share?" she asked. you were confused for a second until a playful glint in her eyes told you what she meant.

so earlier she was flirting? you thought to yourself. your expression mirrored hers with a smirk as you casually responded "of course you can try it". she begins to move forward so you do too. the both of you are leaning over chris when your lips connect in a gentle peck. chris has no idea how to react. his lips are parted, eyes glossy with a growing desire as he watches his two friends infront of him.

your lips hover one anothers for a moment but nobodies pulling away so you connect mouths again. this time there's a passion, lust, to the kiss. your the first to add tongue and tara's more than welcoming about it, her tongue fighting back against yours for dominance. you lean into the kiss more and with that same surge of confidence, you make a split second decision to "accidentally" steady yourself by pressing your hand ontop of the blanket.. right over where chris' dick is located.

an unexpectful grunt slips his lips. you pull back from tara just a little to gage chris's reaction. he doesn't seem to mind but for your own good-concious you need to make sure. "this okay?" you ask as your palm gently starts rubbing onto the tent in the blanket. he nods confirmingly, a quiet "yeah" before his lips eagerly meet yours. tara backs up just slightly so she can adjust herself to place a kiss below chris's jaw. his hand rests onto her knee and he rubs his thumb lightly as a show of approval.

with that, she opens her mouth and begins lightly nipping at his neck. tara takes his hand that's on her knee and grabs it to guide it toward you, silently telling him to give you the attention instead right now. chris smirks into the kiss but you don't know why until his hand goes to toy the waist band of your shorts, making you flinch a little at the cold touch of his fingertips.

tara's lips leave chris's neck. she shuffling around the bed so you try to pull away to see what she's doing. chris's hand comes to the back of your head, forcing you back onto his lips. that doesn't last long though because next thing you know, tara's grabbing your shoulders to pull you to lay down on your back, head toward the end of the bed. your legs naturally go on either side of chris. he's still seated with his back against the headboard.

"you wanna make me feel good babe?" the tone of tara's voice makes your stomach flutter. you respond by nodding eagerly. tara giggles mischeviously in response as she stands to remove her black lace panties. chris eyes catch onto her. both of you watch as she bends over to slide them off, momentarily revealing her glistening pussy.

his attentions pulls away when you subconciously buck your hips up for attention. chris' long fingers slide into the waistband of your shorts to slide them off your legs. you allow him, lifting your hips to help. now you lift your head to watch what chris is up to. you feel tara's weight consume the bed next to your head but keep your eyes trained on the man between your legs. chris tosses your shorts aside before his hands find your thighs. painstakingly slow, his palms run up and down them, always close but never quite touching your aching cunt.

you begin to get impatient "chris. pl-" you're cut off by tara lightly grabbing your jaw and forcing your head back down against the bed. "shh. let him take his time honey" as she speaks she raises herself over your face, thighs now on either sides of your head. you open your mouth to argue but instead you're silenced by tara's folds pressing onto your lips.

well, you for sure weren't gonna argue with that. you forget about chris for now, wanting tara's taste in your mouth. your tongue darts out to experimentaly flick at her clit once before you completely dive in to suck on her needy bud.

tara whines from the lack of build up. she looks down at you admirably as your tongue works her "so good honey." she praises you. it hasn't even been a minute and your pussy drunk, you wanna make her keep telling you how good your doing, wanna pull more pretty noises. you're so completely consumed with her that you hadn't even noticed chris pulled your panties to the side until his fingers unexpectedly ran through your folds.

"so fucking soaked." chris states, admiring your soaked cunt. "yeah? you like being buried in me that much?" tara teases, staring down at you. to answer her, your tongue slips into her hole, nose stimulating her clit now. "orr she just wants to be touched, hm?" chris says with slight competitivness, his pointer finger just barely grazes over your clit. you buck your hips toward him for more but he uses his free arm to hold your waist to the bed.

tara scoffs, rolling her eyes even though neither of you can see it. "yeah sure" she mutters quietly in response to chris. he catches it though, "i'd watch your tone" chris warns her. before tara can respond, he thrusts his middle and ring fingers into you, elicting a moan. the vibrations of your moan travel straight into taras cunt, making her whine loudly.

chris watches with satisfaction at having affected both of you at the same time. although his cock is throbbing, he's more than happy to watch the sight infront of him and continue to toy and play with you. or both of you. his fingers are as deep as they go when he curls them upwards. you cry out, grabbing tara's hand with one of yours and her thigh with your other.

your tongue is still fucking her closer and closer to the edge. everytime chris forces out all your pretty little noises, they go straight into tara's cunt again and again.

her thighs begin suffocating the sides of your head. you don't mind at all. she rocks her cunt right into your face, whines spilling out of her. "i'm close" she voices, her thighs beginning to shake. "not yet, get off of her" chris demands. tara turns her head as far as it goes to look back at chris. "excuse me?" she questions him . chris's fingers pull out of you. you try to complain but it's muffled. they continue the conversation without you. "you're not cumming yet." he tells her. tara looks... offended? baffeled? she opens her mouth to complain but chris rolls his eyes and raises to his knee's so he can grab taras hips, lifting her off you.

you immedietly sit up, confused. tara's juices coat your chin and chris motions for you to come to him. "what. the. fuck?" you finally complain, looking between the two of them. "what she said" tara chimes in. chris turns tara to face him and lays back. he looks at tara then nods toward his lap. the sour look leaves her face and she smirks knowingly as she straddles his hips, already working at his belt.

chris's attention switches to you. "you wanna feel good again? hm?" he asks you with a slightly cocky smile. you nod. "cm'ere" he lures you over to sit on his face. while tara unbuttons and removes chris' pants.. you nervously place your thighs on either side of your friends face.

his middle and ring fingers return back to your aching hole to tease you again. he can sense your nervousness to lower yourself onto his mouth. "cm'on let me taste you" chris says, telling not asking as he looks up at you. you're looking anywhere but him. he groans frustratedly and decides to take matters into his own hands. he uses his free arm to wrap it around your thigh and pull you right down to his tongue. he wastes no time flicking the tip of his tongue up and down your clit rapidly. as if that wasn't enough, his fingers fill you right back up. you almost jump at the unsuspected and sudden pleasure. you push your cunt further onto his mouth for more. you look down to see his blue lustful gaze staring right back up at you while he smirks into your sopping cunt. you clench around his fingers just at the sight.

meanwhile, tara's teasingly pulling his boxers toward his thighs.

tara wants nothing more than to ride him like he had implied however, tara figured someone might as well return the favour that he's giving to you right now. she leans down and her hand wraps around his base at the same time her lips enclose his tip.

a whiny moan slips chris lips that makes tara amusedly giggle around his cock, causing him to let another noise slip. both of these go right to your clit. you grip chris' hair for support and in return he curls his fingers right up into your g-spot.

you throw your head back and begin attempting to rock your hips into chris' face. the arm that's around your thigh holds you still though and he begins curling his fingers the same way over and over, again and again. you whine and moan as your body tries again and again to rock against his grip on you. chris lips wrap around your clit now, nipping and sucking. your stomach twists with pleasure, you know what's coming if he keeps this up.

tara's mouth slides down his length, taking him in almost completetely. chris's teeth bite down on your clit in reaction. it's not hard enough to truly hurt but enough to shock you and almost tip you right over the edge.

chris releases your clit with a pop. his voice is shakier than he anticipated. "y-you wanna cum baby?" your friend asks as he looks up at you, your juices on his face with pussy drunk eyes. "mm- mhm" is all you manage. he gently slaps your thigh, making you whine. "lemme hear you say it" his fingers continue to curl into you.

"i w-wanna cum chris mm please" you beg him desperately as you clench around his fingers. there's a few seconds of silence that makes tears fill the corner of your eyes. "good girl. g-go ahead" he struggled to speak as the pleasure tara's tongue gave him was almost too much.

the 'good girl' was more than enough for you. you practically fold over, you would have if your headboard wasn't there to grab onto. your legs shake and your walls squeeze his fingers, your orgasm is already coming over you but then on top of it chris adds his mouth back to the mix, latching it back to your clit. "chris!" his name comes out high pitched. stars cloud your vision as you coat his fingers completely.

tara's mouth release's chris' cock. the bed shifts for a couple seconds and before he can process it, the warm walls of her cunt envelope him, sinking all the way to his pubic bone. chris moans into you again but this time it feels like too much. you tried to lift your hips off of him but he only pulls your pretty pussy right back to him. his fingers leave you but his tongue flattens against your hole, licking a long stripe from there till your clit.

"fuck chris!""fuck!" you and tara both whine out. your pleasure's from the overstimulation, hers from the way his cock hits all the right spots when she rocks on it. his dick twitching inside of her at the sound of both your pretty cries. when tara begins a steady and fast pace, chris couldn't help but subconciously try and fuck up into her. she leans back, her hands on his thighs to steady herself as her rythym became faster. both chris and tara let out noises. hers whiny and desperate, his lower and less often.

you couldn't hear either of them over the ringing in your ears from every muscle in your body shaking. because of your last orgasm, you were still very sensitive. this time all it took was chris's mouth sucking on your clit for and you were almost there again.

tara was finding friction for her clit from rocking it into chris' pelvis everytime her hips moved. her mouth was slack and she was hardly even moaning anymore. heavy breaths coming as her chest heaved. "fuck- i'm so close" tara mutters mostly to herself. you took a hand off the headboard to reach behind you, your hand reaching out behind you and she takes the hint, grabbing it. you both squeezed one anothers hands for support.

you guys weren't the only one's close. chris's dick was twitching inside your bestfriend and his hips start to stutter.

tara pushes her hips down harder onto her friend and the feeling was enough for the coil in her stomach to release. she cried out breathlessly and at the same time, your thighs squeeze chris's head as you dig your nails into tara's hand. your mind goes completely blank.

you remove yourself from chris's face, completely overstimulated. tara leaves his cock at the same time, red and leaking precum. chris looked at tara confused.. until she looks at you, then back to him.

you didn't notice this, you were sat next to chris, chest heaving while you catch your breath. "think you can take one more, babe?" tara speaks up but her voice is strained and raspy from all the gorgeous noises she had emitted just moments ago.

you looked at chris who was already looking at you. he looked pretty, sweat causing a few of his brown strands to cling to his forehead. despite looking a little fucked out, he still had an eagerness to him probably because he hadn't cum yet.

he got up into a seated position and reached out, hand going into your hair to pull you into him. his lips collided with yours feverishly whilst tara's fingertips teasingly graze his tip. he instantly swatted her hand away. she let him because they both knew he had other plans.

chris turned you around, positioning you on your knee's infront of him. your back pressed against his chest.

he used his knee's to seperate yours, shuffling them apart. tara came infront of you, on her knee's as well. she attatched her lips with yours while chris was positioning himself. your arm came around the back of her neck and the other reached behind you to go to the back of chris's neck as well.

chris brushes his tip against your clit. you instantly jerked your hips away from his from the overstimulating feeling. he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you back. you whine but he shushes you. "jus one more, yeah?" he assured right before his cock entered you, filling you up completely.

your lips left tara's to let out what was practically a scream. "shh honey" enphasizing her words, tara's hand clasps over your mouth. she lowered her head level to your tits before taking a nipple into her mouth. this makes you whine again, then again when chris's tip abuses your cervix without warning.

you're already so sensitive from his tongue and fingers just moments ago, his cock feels like too much but so good at the same time. "so good for us" chris praises before slamming into you again, making you scream into tara's hand. her other hand lands a light slap to your sensitive clit, making your hips jerk. you don't go far against chris' firm hold on you. "mm- g- cmm" even with taras hand shutting you up, they both know what you're saying.

chris mouth is now right next to your ear "not yet. you're gonna cum with me" he mutters to you. you shake your head, not thinking you're gonna last. "either you can fuckin wait for me or- fuck- or i'll make you take a fourth o-one" he threatens you. you shake your head in momentary panic. there's no way you're gonna cum for a fourth after this but if he makes you wait much longer to cum you aren't gonna have a choice but to finish before he allows you to.

tara continues to swirl her tongue around your nipple fiercly and as if you weren't already fucked dumb, her middle finger makes sudden contact with your clit, rubbing fast circles.

now you know that they're both just trying to fucking ruin you.

now you speak nonsense into her hand, making her smirk with amusement. "what's wrong honey, too much?" tara asks you with a faux-sympathetic pout. you aggresively nod your head. responding for tara, chris pulls you impossibly tighter against him, hips slamming harder into you. you yell into her hand and both of them smirk. "want us to stop?" she says teasingly, already knowing the answer but wanting to make sure. you instantly shake your head no.

her fingers still toy your clit and chris's pace slowly starts to falter. you can feel his breath on your neck becoming un-even. tara circles your sensitive bundle of nerves faster and you're sure your gonna be cumming before you're allowed.

luckily for you, the way chris holds your body tighter and his forehead drops to your shoulder says otherwise. "you gonna cum with me?" his voice is all low fucked out and it makes your walls squeeze him harder than ever. you nod, unable to speak for more than one reason. "go on then" he encourages along with a harsh slam of his hips. the second "go" left his lips your vision went white.

the next thing you were aware of was about 20 seconds after when his seed was spilling up into you to coat your walls. his forehead rested on your shoulder while he praised you on how good you were for him. "did so well" he said before gently kissing your shoulder while tara's fingers left your clit at the same time chris pulled out of you.

chris reached down next to your bed to retrieve everyones clothing for them. you had two bathrooms so you and tara headed off to one for a shower. chris to the other bathroom for the same reason.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

you all returned to your room after, clean and in new clean clothes. (lucky for chris, nick hangs out here often and you love to steal his shit to wear for comfort.)

chris had entered just as you finished making your bed with fresh sheets. "better not have been fucking in there without me" chris joked as he made himself comfortable laying on your bed. you and tara both simultaniously rolled your eyes at him, scoffing. you both joined him on the bed to lie down.

you were in the middle of them. chris spooned you and you spooned tara, cuddling one another comfortbly way past awkwardness at this point. chris rubbed a relaxing hand up and down your side and you played with your other friends hair relaxingly. you should know better though, comfortable silence doesn't exist with chris around...

"guess what?"

you audibly sighed. "what?" tara and you groaned knowingly in unison.

there's a little grin on his face that neither of you can see, but nonetheless you both sense the ridiculousness. "i saw both your boobies" he says in a childish sing-song tone.

"oh my god" "are you fucking kidding me?"

i really hope y'all enjoyed. ᥫ᭡

tags: @daddyslilchickenfingers @fratbrochrisgf @mattsrod @sturncakez @sturniololovesss @sturniccc

#chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #tara yummy smut #sturnsdoll #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets fanfic #tara yummy #tara yummy fanfic #tara yummy x reader #sturniolo smut

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luvjunie · 2 years ago

Note

heyyy, idk if your request or open atm but could you write about miles (e-42) sneaking into the readers house at night, to hangout 🤗 nothing nasty LMFAOOO but like a cute lil moment

— 2:00 AM

pairing: e-42!miles x fem!reader

contains: fluff, miles being a big baby because yes

summary: miles has a hard time falling asleep when you’re not next to him. wc: 1,205

a/n: i loveee soft 42!miles omfg 😭 also i realized i changed up the plot a little after i’d already written it and came back to find the request, so i hope you still like it <3

Tossing and turning instead of getting a full night’s rest seemed to be the norm for Miles as of late.

He laid on his back with an irked sigh, hands scrubbing down his face as he lightly groaned into them. There was no need for him to check the time, he already had a pretty accurate guess seeing as he’d been checking his phone every twenty minutes when his eyes would spring back open after another failed attempt to fall asleep.

He missed you. That he couldn’t deny. He’d made the mistake of falling asleep with you one night, and he’s found himself suffering through the same old routine ever since. He’d never slept as peacefully as he did than when he was next to you, and his mind craved your presence more than it craved sleep apparently. The both of you could’ve slept on concrete and he still would‘ve sworn it was more comfortable than his own bed.

It was a stupid idea, and had he not been desperate for a solution he would’ve realized that. But there was no one to talk him out of it as he got up from his bed and fished around in his dimly lit room for his jacket and a pair of nike slides, so it looked like he’d be going through with it anyway.

He scribbled a quick note for his mom onto a post-it note, stuck it to the fridge for her to find after her shift and left their apartment without another thought, making sure to lock the door behind him.

Night walks through Brooklyn didn’t scare him, in fact they calmed him. Everything was quieter at this time, slower— and he knew these streets like the back of his hand. And even if he didn’t, he was pretty good with the switchblade he kept in his pocket at all times. Your place was only a few blocks away, and even through the slight haze casted over him from his lack of rest, he was still vigilant as ever.

He climbed the fire escape just three stories up until he got to your window, using both his hands to hoist him over the steel railing, his feet landing on the old metal as quiet as he could make them.

He hoped that you still kept it unlocked for him, that your offer stood firm when you told him he was welcome anytime. He whispered a plea before he curled his fingers under the edge, sighing in relief when the window lifted open, though the unpleasant squealing due to the age of the pane made him wince.

The last thing he wanted to do was wake you, so he only lifted it halfway, ducking down and stepping into your room and out of the cold. He glanced over to see your cheek still smushed against your pillow, your legs probably tucked into the fetal position with the way your blankets were swaddled around you.

He managed to close the window without making a sound, but on his way over to your bed he accidentally bumped into your dresser, causing a bottle of perfume to clatter into the other objects you had up there.

“Fuck—“ he hissed quietly, twin braids following the act of his head whipping in your direction when you stirred.

You weren’t the lightest sleeper, but the noise had been enough to startle you awake. Lifting your head from the pillow, you sat up quickly, eyes adjusting to make out who the hunched figure was. The two of you had said goodnight just a few hours ago, and now here he was, in your room.

”Miles?” There was a slight rasp to your voice.

“Hey, ma…” he responded, hands nervously hovering over the mess he’d unintentionally created. He fixed it to the best of his ability, but it definitely wasn’t the way you had it before.

You reached over and turned your clock towards you, the bright white numbers making you screw an eye shut.

“Miles, baby, it’s two am in the morning,” you grumbled sleepily, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands and yawning. “What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

Blinking the sleep from your sight, you took in his slightly slouched disposition. He looked exhausted, annoyance from his sleepless night evident in the way he sighed.

”Nah, nah,” he shifted from foot to foot, hand hesitantly raising to scratch his head. His idea seemed sensible at first. He was willing to do anything to get some shut eye, and to see you again, but now he just felt silly for waking you up for no good reason.

“Nothing happened, but I—I couldn’t sleep for shit. So I just thought—“ he rubbed his brow and gave a halfhearted shrug. “I don’t know, it’s stupid. I wasn’t thinkin’ straight and I just wanna be laid up with you. I really didn’t mean to wake you up and I can leave if—“

“It’s okay! It’s okay,” you cut his rambling short and opened up your blankets, scooting over to make room for him. “Come on.” Even in your drowsy state you could tell he was getting flustered trying to explain himself.

“Oh thank God,” he said beneath a breath as he shuffled his jacket and shoes off, eagerly slipping into your bed beside you.

You shifted back onto your side like you were before and pulled the blankets over the both of you, his arm instantly slinking around your waist to pull your body into his, your back against his chest.

“I love you so much.” he sighed tiredly.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath in through his nose just as your hand came up behind you to caress the top of his head. His behavior made it seem as if he hadn’t seen you in weeks; like he was trying to refresh his mind of every aspect of you.

“I love you too… Miles, are you sure you’re alright?” you asked, not yet all the way convinced.

“Mhm. Just needed to be with you.” he hummed, his words muffled as he pulled you closer.

“What about your mom? I don’t want her to be worried.”

He grunted at that, his response slurred and barely audible. “She know where I’m at.”

His fingers slipped under the waistband of your cotton sleep-shorts, hand traveling to the round of your lower stomach and resting over it. Why guys were so obsessed with the extra weight girls held there was still an anomaly to you. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it, but he always threw a fit if you didn’t let him hold you like that so you allowed it.

“Goodnight, Miles.” You murmured into the stillness of your room.

Your eyes opened after receiving no response from him, and you were barely able to turn your head to look over your shoulder since his own was occupying the space there.

“Miles?” you questioned gently.

Your answer came in the form of faint snores and slowed breathing from the boy who was knocked out behind you, a smile inching onto your lips at how quickly he dozed off. You let your eyes flutter to a close, ready to fall asleep again, but this time in the arms of your favorite person.

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#across the spiderverse fanfiction #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles fluff #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #miles morales x reader #miles morales fanfiction #miles 42 x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv fluff #miles g morales x reader

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jo-com · 7 months ago

Text

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚ ➛ A way to a dog lover’s heart

Lando Norris x Fem!reader

Summary: Despite his personal problem with dogs; Lando took it upon himself to study more about dogs and how to win their favor so that he can win yours.

Genre: Fluff, wholesome moments, Dog lover reader (Let’s pretend that Lando dislikes dogs)

Note: there are some grammatical errors and that this is not proofread, hope you enjoy tho!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ➛ My Masterlist

─────── ─ ⋆🍨｡𖦹 °✩ ─ ───────

Ever since his childhood days, Lando had some personal issues with dogs— it was an unpleasant memory that he wishes to forget. For him it was a gruesome event that marked his fear of dogs forever. It made him scared to the point that being approached by them make his instincts act up and run away.

The so called ‘gruesome event’ he was talking about was, Lando getting bit in the ass by a small dog. So terrifying.

People find it funny, hilarious even, but for him it was an “Traumatic experience.” Well so he says.

He vowed to never touch an inch of them, but upon finding out that you were a dog enthusiast— even his fear of dog won’t get in the way of winning your heart.

…

“I am so happy that you also like dogs, it’s hard to meet people that are inlove with them, like i am”

Lando let out a lengthy cough, “yeah uhm i love dogs so much its crazy.”

Your face lit up at his words, feeling your heart content with the same love you guys shared for dogs. Never have you ever met someone like him, he is so different.

“Sooo, would you like to visit me sometimes? I’d love for you to meet my babies.”

Lando licked and puckered his lips, releasing it with a pop— his demeanor shifted into a uncertain one. You could sense hesitancy from the way he moved.

You then picked up on his action and your once smiling lips were now pulling into a frown. Does he not want to meet them? Or does he not want to be bothered by going?

His eyes flickered back to your almost pouting face. The look in your eyes clearly screams, ‘slowly loosing interest’, he became wary of your expression and quickly lightened the mood by blurting out his response.

“YES, I would love to meet them” he slightly yelled, his voice even cracking a little.

You giggled at his anxious face, “sure, it’s another date then.”

Lando sighed contentedly, seeing your face warm up to him once again. His pupils dilated into a heart shaped as he stared more at your breathtaking appearance— if that’s even possible? Nonetheless lando was both stoked and afraid at the same time. But it’ll all be worth it when he makes you his.

…

Lando’s heart skipped a beat as he contemplated whether or not to ring your doorbell; he has been standing there for like 30 minutes now and was so scared at the thought of being pounced by your hell hound. Only staring at your front door and doing nothing.

“Lando? What are you doing just standing there?” You asked, your eyes narrowed at his standing figure.

With your sudden voice, he was quick to go back to his senses and compose himself in front of you.

“Oh uhm… you see.. ah i was just taking in this beautiful house of yours.” Lando answered, showing some of his teeth with an awkward smile.

You looked at him skeptically but soon shrugged it off and gestured for him to come inside, to which he happily obliged.

His chest began to shake once again, waiting for your dog to come at him and do the same thing the dog from his childhood had done.

He stiffly walked towards your living room. Taking in the interior and design that you’ve come to a liking. Mentally noting the things you’d love and prefer.

He was then interrupted when he saw the biggest golden retriever that he had ever seen run across the other room to where Lando was now currently standing. His eyes widened at it’s sudden appearance— his whole body shaking in fear at it’s sight.

Once you saw your dog, you were quick to run towards her and ruffle it’s fur; feeling her tender fur rub against your palms, “Hi my baby, did you miss me? God you’re so adorable like always, yes you are” you spoke in a childish manner while kissing her nuzzle.

Lando stood awkwardly at the side. He gulp down the saliva that was forming inside his mouth. He didn’t know what to do at this point, he was scared shitless at your dog.

You stopped what you were doing and momentarily glared back at lando, “come meet my baby, isn’t she so cute?”

He bit down his lower lip— sighing heavily to muster up his strength and atleast show that he’s interested. Even if it was forced.

Lando then lowered himself and took a knee by your side. He was now face to face with the so called beast and was clearly rethinking the whole situation he’s in.

“Come on now, pet her she doesn’t bite, trust me.”

He nodded slightly, “yeah..she’s just a little ball of…cuteness?” With shaking hands, he finally laid his hand in her head— stroking them stiffly as his fear still resides in his mind.

His heart pounded inside his chest when your dog swiftly licked his hand. “Ohh i think she likes you.”

The sweat that formed in his forehead were now crashing down his face— what has he gotten himself into?

…

“I am not ready tho, will it be okay for you to wait?” You asked, your tone laced with sweetness.

Lando nodded his head, “Yeah, it’s okay. I mean i can walk your dog while you finish up.”

Your whole demeanor lit up as he uttered those words— feeling a sense of closeness forming around you two. You were speechless at his suggestion; not one single guy you’ve ever dated asked you that. Ever!

Meanwhile..

On the outside Lando looked cool as hell when he said that but on the inside well… he was shaking in fear, he didn’t even know why he said that. Why would he? When he’s scared of them. Even touching them triggers his anxiety. But if it’s for you..

“Yeah sure, if it’s alright with you to spend time with her?”

He shrugged, “what do you mean? I love dogs!”

…

“I FUCKING HATE DOGS” Lando screamed— his whole body shaking and numb from running.

You see, when lando took her out it was all going great…. not until two dogs showed up and started chasing them.

His breathing became uneven while the two dogs kept following them and barking out loud, not louder than Lando’s screaming voice though.

Even the whole neighborhood could hear him and looking at him with pure judgment. Whispering amongst themselves and enjoying the free entertainment that lando had put out.

…

“So how was the run?”

“Uh it was amazing, she was…great, nothing happened at all it was so peaceful” Lando spoke, his voice trembled from being out of breath earlier.

You then grabbed her leash and escorted the two inside— taking it off her sooner as she stepped in your floorboards.

A smile formed in your lips, seeing your dog run with glee and then back at The driver in front of you, “thank you, really. I hope she wasn’t a bother.”

Lando stared blankly at you, his mind wandering at the events that happened earlier. “Like i said, she was amazing, i hope to do it again next time!.”

Like hell he will.

…

I am back y’all😜

627 notes · View notes

mochiwonz · 2 months ago

Text

─── SMILEY EYES ୨୧

PAIRING. fem!reader x jake sim CONTENT. strangers to lovers , fluff <3 , cursing , vv cute :3 NOTE. jake's smile is so so beautiful but what always stands out to me is the way his eyes also smile when he is really smiling > < so ofc, i had to make thisss !!

[ 💬 ] ... ️ when you're in love with the stranger that always comes to the cafe !

7:45 am. Monday. The start of another long, tiring, and boring week.

Yes, you hung out with your friends sometimes, but you spent most of your time working at the cafe. Working at the cafe has always been unpleasant, however there was one amazing benefit.

You always got to see him, that cute smiley guy with his even cuter smiley eyes.

lt may seem silly to say this, but he was the sole reason you hadn't quit yet. Your manager sucked, your co-workers did basically nothing, and you had to do most of the work.

You memorized everything that you could about this cute smiley guy. He always arrives 10am and orders an iced americano or a vanilla latte with half sweetness. He had an accent, one that you would assume was an australian accent. He also has a habit of biting his lip and tends to smile with his eyes a lot. That was something that you adored about him.

One problem though, you didn't know his name.

Whenever you ask for the name for his order, he always says "J". Like, literally just "J".

You secretly hoped that one day he would give you his name, or even his number. You definitely wouldn't complain.

Today the weather was gloomy and cold, 69 degrees. What a great start to the day!

On the way to work, you spotted a couple sitting on a bench with their dog. They were just cuddling. They looked so full of warmth on this cold day.

Finally, you arrive at the cafe. Your shift starts at around 8:30am, so you have some time to kill. But instead of doing something useful, you ended up daydreaming about all the possible scenarios with him, cute smiley guy.

The sound of bells is what wakes you up from your daydreaming and oh shit. It's already 8:32.

The first customer arrives and then the second, and then the third. You're really just waiting for him to arrive.

Luckily, you hadn't had a grumpy customer yet- thank god.

You don't know exactly why you feel so attracted to him. It's like he has this energy that literally makes you feel so much happier, especially when he smiles.

You feel your heart literally melt into mush every time you catch a glimpse of him smiling. The way his eyes also smile makes you want to sob. You've truly never seen such a beautiful and radiant smile.

9:50am, ten more minutes until he would usually be arriving. You could already feel your excitement.

He came every single day of the week, and this made getting through work so much easier for you. Of course he didn't know that but you're very very thankful.

"okay, your order will be out shortly! feel free to take a seat anywhere you'd like" you tell a customer while looking at the time.

9:58, two more minutes.

In those two minutes, you spend your time making a matcha latte for a customer and excitedly daydreaming about him.

"order 56 for ____!" you call out, and hand the drink to the customer.

You quickly drink some water and nervously wipe the sweat off of your hands.

*Ding!*

He's here.

You look over at the front door and not to your surprise, it's smiley guy. Sometimes he'd come with his friends, but today he was alone. He looked so good today, his hair was fluffy and he was wearing a navy blue hoodie with a white shirt underneath and some baggy jeans. God, you could already feel the hearts forming in your eyes.

pull yourself together.

"goodmorning! please take your time and let me know when you're ready to order" you say, trying not to sound awkward or nervous.

He nods and smiles at you in response, still looking at the menu.

No, why did he have to smile?

You felt your heart melt and your palms start to get sweaty. You were definitely going to embarrass yourself now, fuck.

"can i get an iced americano, large, with matcha cold foam on top?" he asks while looking at you, holding eye contact.

Of course, there was no way you could hold eye contact with him. You'd probably shit yourself.

So, you just nod and put his order in the tablet.

He giggles and fuck, he definitely noticed that you couldn't hold eye contact with him. You were so fucked.

"anything else for you today?" you ask while nervously smiling, still not looking up at him.

"yeah, just one more thing" he says.

"okay, what would that be?" you respond.

"your number perhaps..?"

Was the daydreaming taking a toll on you or did smiley guy just ask you for your number?

"wait- what, huh? you want my number???" you say, obviously sounding a bit confused.

"mhm!" he says while nodding and flashing you his cute smile.

You can't help but just stand there and stare at him. You might just vomit due to how confused, nervous, and overwhelmed you are right now.

This beautiful man that looked like he was a model, was asking you- an average cafe worker, for your number?

"uhm yeah of course, here-" you finally say in response while writing down your number on his receipt. "here's my number and oh, i need your name for your order?"

"the name's jake" he says while smiling, but this time with his cute smiley eyes, too.

You can't tell if you're red or glistening from your sweat, but you nod and write down his name.

"what's yours? i've just been calling you pretty girl in my head but uh, yeah, what's your name?" he asks, and yeah- you're definitely red now. he found you pretty?

"i'm y/n" you tell him shyly while grabbing his drink and handing it to him.

"okay well then y/n, i'll text you soon!" he says happily while walking away, and you're still in shock.

Maybe deciding to work at the cafe was the best decision you'd ever made.

pls reblog if you enjoyed :D my other works here if you want to check them out <3

#jake sim #jake imagines #sim jaeyun #sim jake #enha x reader #enha imagines #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enha #jake enha #jake enhypen #fluff #enhypen fluff #enha scenarios #jake x reader #jaeyun #enhypen jake #── mochiwonz ୨୧

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andvys · 1 year ago

Text

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter two ⭐︎ I want you to notice, when I'm not around

Warnings: angst! mean!Steve, unrequited feelings, one sided feelings, mentions of Steve being in love with Nancy, mentions of death, allusions to suicidal thoughts, mentions of weed and alcohol

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 4k

Author's note: I promise, it's gonna get so much better soon, get ready for some much more angst in the next chapter, it's gonna hurt. @hellfire--cult thank you for helping me as always, you're the bestest!!!

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next chapter

♡

The living room is crowded, at least it seems that way to you. You aren’t used to being around so many people. You didn’t want to come here, but you had no choice when both Eddie and Robin had showed up at your house earlier today and practically forced you out of the house.

Now you sit here, sinking deeper and deeper into Steve Harrington’s couch, feeling uncomfortable and out of place. You’re playing with the loose string on the hem of your shirt as you look around the room. Robin is snacking on the m&m’s Eddie had brought as she’s looking through the pictures Jonathan had taken of her and Nancy just now. Eddie is out on the patio, smoking a cigarette and talking to Argyle who will leave for California in two days. Jonathan is staring at the screen watching some music video that is playing on the MTV channel, his pupils are blown and his eyes seem heavy, he is high out of his mind and for once, Nancy doesn’t seem to care, with her legs thrown over his thigh, she’s sipping on the beer that Steve handed to her a few minutes back, she is talking to Robin, unaware of the set of eyes on her.

You restrain the eye roll as you look at him.

Steve is sitting on the same couch you do, though with a big distance, you sit at one end and he on the other, far far away from you. You know he doesn’t want you here, you saw the look on his face when Eddie had dragged you into his house, a wave of something had washed over his face, something unpleasant, like he wanted to scrunch his face up in disgust at the sight of you – his mind had already erased your little moment at the Sinclair house, last week. Now you are back to normal. He made a comment, you made a comment and now you both sit there, avoiding each other like the plague.

Secretly, you watch him though.

Like you always do.

And what you are seeing now, only fuels your annoyance and your wish to go home.

The smile on his face that could never be directed at you, is directed at her. The love and the longing in his eyes that always lingers when she is around. She who had stolen his heart from the very first moment they saw each other. She who had always kept his heart even when she left him for the one she is smiling at now. She who will always be the one he will look at.

You thought that he was over it, you thought that he was over her. But you were a little blind and maybe he was too when he told Robin that he was over her. He never was, he never will be. You saw the way he looked at her when she patched him up after he was attacked. You saw the way he looked at her in the RV. You heard the things he said to her, how he talked about his dreams that he surely saw her in by his side.

You also heard the things he said about you when he thought that you were sleeping. You still remember how gut wrenching it felt to hear him say things about you to his ex-girlfriend.

You huff in silence when his lips curl into a smile and his eyes light up when Nancy throws her head back in laughter.

God, why are you even here?

Eddie falls into the seat next to you, throwing his arm around your shoulder. It feels as though a cloud of smoke had followed him because suddenly, the smell of snacks, fresh air and beer is replaced by it, along with the smell of his cologne.

Right. You’re here because of him. You don’t know why he feels the urge to drag you along to every group hang out. No one wants you around, you don’t even think that Robin wants you here, she barely talked to you since you came here. And the longer you sit in Steve’s living room, with an untouched can of coke on the table in front of you, surrounded by people who most likely cannot stand you or your presence, you wish more and more that Jason should have dragged you down with him.

You don’t belong here, you don’t belong anywhere.

Eddie takes a look around before he turns to you, the smile still lingering, though turning into a softer one when he notices the frown on your face.

“What’s wrong, sweets?”

You shake your head a little, trying to give him a smile, “nothing.”

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks, whispering.

You wonder if that is the reason why he always wants you around, so he can keep checking up on you, so he can make sure that you are okay, that you are still alive and not lying in some ditch after pushing yourself a little too hard while still recovering from surgery.

Does he care so much because he knows that no one else would?

Or does he feel like he owes you something because you helped him when it wasn’t even asked of you?

You nod, “yeah, I just don’t know why I’m here,” you whisper to him, subtly gesturing to this tight friend group that you don’t fit into.

Eddie is new to this as well, but unlike you, he’s open and friendly with everyone. He surely isn’t as cheerful as he was weeks back. Just like you, he is still recovering, hiding his inner scars from the face of the earth but still, he is trying. Trying to fit into this, and for him, it’s working, for you? Not so much.

“Well, you’re here because of me,” he grins, tapping your shoulder.

You huff but smile, looking down at your hands.

Yeah, you wouldn’t be here otherwise.

Had you not gone on a walk that one afternoon a few weeks back, you would have never ran into him. Eddie who had been a wanted man at that time, Eddie who was hiding at skull rock, in drenched clothes and with clattering teeth as he shivered like crazy. You remember how scared he looked when you saw him, how he thought that you would rat him out because at that time, you were nothing but acquaintances to each other. – You bought from him a few times but that was all. He always tried to make small talk, throw a few jokes at you, but at that time, he barely got you to laugh.

You didn’t believe the rumors on the news, not even for a second, not even when Chrissy used to be a close friend of yours.

You decided to help him, not knowing what else you were getting yourself into, not knowing that it wasn’t just him involved in a world you hadn’t known of yet, at that time. You got him dry clothes, food and the walkie talkie he had begged you for.

You never expected Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson to show up moments later, though. And least of all, you hadn’t expected Max there. It felt like a surreal dream the moment they started explaining everything to you. The moment you found out the truth about Starcourt, about all the deaths in this town, about the lab, about Henry.

You had only been allowed to be a part of it because of Max, because of your friendship with the girl you had grown protective of, because she let you help.

The night in the upside down, the night at the Creel house led you here, into this friend group, into Steve’s house where you certainly don’t belong.

You don’t know what that nagging yet empty feeling in your chest is, if it’s the trauma that is slowly catching up to you or if it’s from watching him watch her, or if you’re just simply having a bad day but it’s making you feel sick and restless, you want the ground to swallow you up.

You muster up your greatest smile and flash it at Eddie, “yeah, cause you’re my very best friend.”

He snorts at you, hearing the sarcasm in your voice.

“Your only best friend is Red.”

You smile at his nickname for Max.

“Hey Chica, do you wanna smoke this with me?”

You don’t even pay attention or look up, not until Eddie chuckles and nudges your shoulder, raising his eyebrows at you to look up and when you do, you find Argyle looking at you with a dopey smile on his face as he holds up a blunt to you.

Without thinking, you get up with a smile on your lips, “is that even a question?”

It’s been a long time since you have had anything other than medication in your system, you are in dire need of something that will ease your mind and make you feel more than what you are feeling today.

You fail to notice the disapproving look on Steve’s face, the way he tensely straightens up, slowly getting up as his brows knit together, more and more, watching in disbelief how you make your way over to Argyle.

“What the hell, Blondie!?”

His raised voice startles everyone in the room. Robin looks up from the polaroids in her hands, glancing up at her best friend who is staring at you with angry eyes. Nancy and Jonathan turn to look at Steve before they turn to look at what he is glaring at – or who he is glaring at.

Argyle and Eddie turn to Steve with confusion on their faces.

And you, you halt in your tracks, and turn back slowly. Caught off guard by the intense look on his face, you freeze.

“Are you crazy?”

You open your mouth to speak, though you shut your mouth again when you realize that these words aren’t directed at you, they’re directed at Argyle.

“She can’t smoke or drink! Her doctor said it loud and clear, and I warned you before!” He points at him.

You’re taken aback by his anger, by his words. The fact that he remembered when even you, yourself have forgotten about it. You hate the way your heart flutters at that, you hate the way it makes your stomach feel all tingly. You know that it doesn’t mean anything, just because he remembered.

You see the way Argyle’s face drops and the way he smacks himself on his forehead, “I forgot, I’m sorry, man,” he looks at you, pulling away the blunt he was just about to give to you. “Sorry, he told me… I wasn’t thinking.” He whispers, a little uncomfortably as a funny look takes over his face.

Steve warned him?

“Dude, I forgot too, don’t worry about it,” you pat his arm, giving him an apologetic smile. “Don’t mind mother hen over there, he’s overreacting as always.” You say as though you don’t feel your heart racing over Steve’s outburst.

“And you.”

You instantly turn to face him, just like everyone else in the room who watches the scene unfold with curiosity and confusion on their faces.

You meet his hazel eyes, the ones that are still raging.

“Stop being so fucking careless!” He snaps, pointing his finger at you now. “You’re getting on my goddamn nerves.”

He places his hands back on his hips, huffing loudly.

Your cheeks flush under his gaze, you can feel them burning, your heart beating faster and faster. You don’t know how to feel but all you can think about now is the look in his eyes when he realized that he hurt you back at Lucas’s place the other day, the words he had said to you.

Despite the giddiness inside of you, you hide your feelings behind a smirk.

“Wow, you do worry about me, Harrington. You weren’t lying.”

He squints his eyes at you, nodding at your words with another huff. He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

Everyone is looking between the two of you, waiting for the bickering to start, the way it always does, but Steve manages to bite his tongue.

And you surprise the others by holding back your little remarks.

“And fucking relax, leave Argyle alone, he isn’t responsible for me and neither are you, Lego head. Go and get high, you need to calm down.”

Jonathan snorts at the nickname, he throws his head back, chuckling loudly as he mumbles ‘Lego head’. Argyle, who already had one too many drags of the blunt he passed around before, is barely holding himself together, threatening to burst into laughter too.

Steve shoots Jonathan a glare, pointing at him to shut up.

Nancy looks down, pressing her lips together with an amused look in her eyes.

Eddie drinks his beer, hiding the smirk behind the can, scratching the back of his neck.

“Sit your ass down, Blondie and drink your goddamn coke, don’t even think about weed or–”

“No weed, no beer, just fucking coca cola, got it, mom,” you roll your eyes at him and slump back in your previous seat, crossing your arms over your chest.

He sighs loudly, sitting back down as well, he crosses his legs, giving you the side eye.

“Goddamn brat,” he mumbles under his breath.

“I heard that.”

“Good,” he snaps at you.

There is no tension in the room, not even awkwardness after this weird moment. If anything, everyone is still amused.

“Always bickering like an old married couple,” Eddie snickers.

Steve glares at him, and you, you would have dug your elbow into his side, but he is wounded and still healing. The band aids on his neck are the evidence that they are still bad. He is hiding him, and you wonder if he always will, you ask yourself if he will hide his pain the way you hide yours.

You don’t even notice that Robin left the room, only when everyone moves on from what just happened and chatter fills the space again, do you take a look around. You furrow your brows when you find her spot empty.

Argyle and Jonathan leave the room, stepping out into the garden with Nancy following close behind.

“Are you still in for tomorrow?” You hear Eddie, directing his question at Steve.

“Yeah, sure.”

You don’t bother to ask and find out what their plans are.

Robin walks back into her room, with something in her hand. Her eyes are aimed at you, a smile on her lips when she walks towards you. She hands you a drink, a diet pepsi.

“Here.”

Your lips part as you stare at the can for a long moment, blinking. You tilt your chin up, looking up at her with big eyes.

Her smile falls and a frown takes over, “shit, I thought you liked diet pepsi? Was it original?”

You shake your head at her, taking the can from her hand, “n-no, it’s diet pepsi.”

She paid attention to you.

She smiles at you.

She felt bad watching you sit there and being unable to drink beer or smoke weed with the others. And she remembers that you always asked for pepsi when you were still in the hospital, you hated the teas there and despised the fact that you were only allowed water.

“I thought you liked coke, Blondie.”

Robin rolls her eyes at Steve.

“It’s not my favorite,” you shrug, turning to look at him. “I prefer pepsi.”

He squints his eyes at you, “so when you stole my coke the other day, you did it just to–”

“Get back at you, yeah. Cause you stole my coffee.”

“When did he steal your coffee?” Robin asks.

“When I came to family video to rent a movie–”

“Oh, you little liar,” Steve scoffs at you, “she did not rent a movie, she didn’t even come to look for one.”

A smirk tugs at your lips, if there’s something that you love more than the drink in your hand, it’s to get on his nerves.

“Says who? I really wanted one but the customer service sucks when this one isn’t around,” you point at Robin.

Eddie chuckles, turning to look at Steve who is glaring at you, before a smirk appears on his face, his hazel eyes twinkling with smugness.

“You and I both know that you didn’t want to rent a movie, honey. You were there because you wanted to see me,” he says, cockily as he lets his eyes move from your face, down to your body and back up to meet your eyes.

Your breath gets caught in your throat at the way he just looked at you. You don’t squirm in your seat, but you surely would if the others weren’t around. You grow flustered beneath his stare but you have come to learn how to hide it – Steve Harrington will never see you blushing over him.

Maybe he was right, maybe you did just want to see him, because you always do, you always want to see him. No matter how much he hates you, no matter how much he despises you, you can’t help but want him, even if you continue to lie about it to yourself to stay sane.

Steve Harrington had always been your demise – from the first glance.

You couldn’t help but grow fascinated with him, watching him from afar with eyes the shape of your favorite sunglasses. You couldn’t help but care for him, even when he couldn’t stand you.

Sometimes you feel like a creep, watching him and adoring everything about him, from his sun kissed skin, to his beautiful eyes, to his perfect hair, to that one smile that he blesses only those around him that he cares about – something that you will never get.

Sometimes it’s hard to look into his eyes because every time you do look for a little too long, you feel like dying because suddenly, you see the world with different eyes, you see something beautiful, because he is in it and when you look away, when he is gone, it feels anything but.

Steve wouldn’t even bat an eye if you were gone. He wouldn’t even notice if you weren’t around.

Suddenly, you feel overwhelmed by the way he looks at you, by his presence, by all of this. You are in his space, you are invading, his home, his friend group, his safe place. The reminder of it, that you don’t belong here, lies heavy on your heart and you feel the urge to run away but you cannot give yourself away so easily, knowing that it would be awfully noticeable if you suddenly left after what he just said.

So you put on a mask, the way you always do.

“If that helps you sleep at night,” you smirk, tilting your head at him, “I mean no one else would come to see you, I took pity on you.”

He clenches his jaw, his smirk falling into a frown.

“Keep your pity to yourself, Blondie. I’d rather never see you again than see you when I don’t have to.”

You know how he feels about you, you know what he thinks of you, yet every single insult, every jab at you feels like a punch to your gut. But this, this was a punch to your heart.

You know he wouldn’t grieve you if you died at the Creel house, but to know that he might have felt relieved to never having to see you again, hurts you more than you want to admit.

“What the hell, man?” Eddie snaps at him as his brown eyes fill with anger at his words.

Robin rolls her eyes, shaking her head at Steve in disappointment.

But he keeps his eyes on you, struggling to read you, struggling to look past that smirk that is still going strong.

“Well, I’ll put you out of your misery, Lego head,” you say as you place the drink on the table before you get up.

Robin furrows her brows, looking you up and down, “what are you doing?”

“I’m leaving.” You try not to sound bitter or hurt. “I’m getting tired and I forgot my meds at home.”

Steve looks away from you, feeling a rush of guilt.

“I’ll drive you–”

You cut Eddie off, shaking your head at him, “no, I’m gonna walk, I need some fresh air.”

Eddie looks at you worriedly, “sweets, I don’t want you to walk by yourself.”

“Eddie, I’m okay, I don’t get dizzy anymore,” you say, trying to smile at him. “I promise, I’ll call you later tonight.”

He still looks unsure, not wanting to let you go like this.

But he can tell that you want to be alone, right now, so despite his worry, he leans back again and nods begrudgingly.

“Okay..”

You walk out of the room, biting back the bitterness on your tongue, trying to swallow down the pain. You rush through the hallway and open the door, you only manage to take one step out before you hear footsteps behind you.

You roll your eyes, knowing that Eddie being the stubborn guy that he is will try to convince you to stay, but when you turn around, it’s not Eddie’s brown eyes that you find yourself looking into, it’s Steve’s and it catches you off guard a little.

He stops in front of you, his eyes scan your face and he huffs a little when he runs his fingers through his hair.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’s guilt and worry in his eyes.

You hold onto the door, ready to escape whatever pain he will put you through again.

“Listen uh, that was mean,” he starts, now struggling to look into your eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, tugging at his hair. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

You blink.

You swallow as you keep on looking at him with smugness, to hide the pain.

“It’s okay, no need to hide the truth from me, you were just saying what you were feeling, right?”

He opens his eyes and when he faces you again, he looks at you, really looks at you. He tries to find a hint of pain in your features or hurt in your eyes, but there is nothing. All he can see is the coldness in them.

Nothing he could ever do or say would hurt you – at least, that is what he believes, what he always believed.

“Right.”

You bite the insides of your cheeks.

“Good,” you nod and you tear your eyes away from him, unable to look at him any longer as you feel your heart cracking more and more.

“Y-You don’t have to go, Blondie.” He stops you once again, holding himself back from taking your hand.

You slowly turn around and he still struggles to read you, even when you stop smirking, even when you only look at him with a straight face, not saying anything back.

“But if you want to leave, no one’s gonna stop you.”

You see the indifference in his eyes, the coldness that is only there when he looks at you.

Yeah, you know no one would.

How can you care so much about someone that cares so little about you?

How can you want him so bad when all he wants for you is to disappear?

How can he worry one second and hate you in the other?

How can you long for him after every hurtful thing that he said to you?

You take a step away from him, blinking as you feel your eyes starting to burn.

“Bye, Steve.”

You turn around before he can even open his mouth, and you slam the door shut behind you because you don’t want to hear his voice.

You walk away with tears in your eyes.

You wish you didn’t come here today, every moment spent with him makes you want him even more, makes you hate yourself even more.

You don’t go home, no, you can’t stand to be in a house that resembles nothing but loss.

You turn the other way, towards Hawkins cemetery.

You just need to vent.

Even if only into the void.

♡

tagging only friends & mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @livosssblog

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #stranger things angst

1K notes · View notes

flowerandblood · 7 months ago

Text

White Marriage (2)

[ Kingdom of Heaven • King Baldwin x female ]

[ warnings: fingering, virginity loss, sex content, poetic smut, angst, a detailed description of the deadly disease and the unpleasant symptoms associated with it ]

[ description: After their nuptials, the court becomes even more divided. The King, however, wishes to spend the last years of his life experiencing the joys he finds in the closeness of his wife. His bride was never to lose her maidenhood, however, is what the King has proclaimed to his subjects what he really craves? ]

Author’s Note: After the warm reception of the first part, which I didn't expect at all, here is the second part of their story! I have to admit that I had a great time writing it and I love them. I tried to leave some realism and not forget about his illness and the fact that it is contagious.

Part Two of Paradise Fruit. Can be read as a standalone story.

Word count: 4.600

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Their nuptials were humble – apart from the Archbishop, who gave them his blessing, uniting them for eternity, they were accompanied only by Sibylla and her husband, enraged, thinking that the King was just fulfilling his sneaky plan.

He truly believed that he would have exposed her to such danger, condemning her to the cruel disease that tormented his members to try to beget an heir.

She was grateful to her Princess for lending her one of her beautiful, gold-embellished robes that day – Sibylla knew what purpose this marriage was intended to serve and that it would not change the order of succession.

She was to be his comfort, a moment of relief and solace, nothing more.

Nevertheless, she smiled, feeling happiness filling her heart, her king's gaze tender and full of affection, from which she felt warmth in her chest.

She thought that she had fallen in love with him.

Their marriage was announced to all and sundry, and she became a king's wife, but not a queen.

She was not bothered by this.

She was assigned a chamber right next to his – she could now visit him whenever she wished and did not have to worry about the King's honour.

As she walked into his quarters, clad only in a thin night robe, a smile of happiness adorned her face. Baldwin, though tired, also seemed pleased and rose at the sight of her.

"Wife." He said, entwining his hands behind his back.

His figure was all clad in white as usual, though the material of his wardrobe seemed thicker to her, a silver mask on his face.

To her surprise she noticed that his gloves were black, apparently made of leather.

She bowed to him, recognising that she was not intending to think about it now.

"My King. My husband. You are the man of your word." She whispered warmly, looking up at him from above her long lashes, feeling a pleasant tickle in her lower abdomen meeting his gaze, hot and dark.

"I am." He replied. "I couldn't deny myself this pleasure. It was an act of my selfishness, not my greatness."

She blinked, cocking her head, feeling for some reason amused by his words.

"Does it matter now?" She asked lightly – something flashed across his gaze, she thought he smiled.

"No. Not in the slightest."

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for his orders – he had announced that because of his disease he would not take her maidenhood and their marriage would be white, however, after what had gone on between them earlier, she did not think her husband would want to remain an ascetic in every aspect.

"Let me see you." He said finally, his voice like a sigh.

She knew what he meant, she knew what he wanted – she could see it in his gaze. Her hands rose to the small knot above her breasts, untying it, slipping the thin material of her nightgown off her shoulders in a light, gentle motion, remaining bare before him.

She shuddered, feeling the chill of the chamber surround her body despite the flames burning in the fireplace beside her, her lips parted as she noticed her king's gaze shift, misty and filled with a familiar, hot desire.

For a moment he looked at her with his head tilted, as if he was simply admiring her, nothing more.

"My physicians have said that the leather material, as opposed to linen, will ensure that you are protected from the touch of my bare skin and what it may cause." He said, tentatively extending his hand to her, and she felt her heart thump harder in her chest with joy.

She could touch him.

They both drew in a loud breath as she placed her fingers on his palm, letting him pull her a little closer, the spot between her thighs all swollen with desire, slowly growing moist with her wetness.

Her lips parted with her gasp of surprise as his other hand touched her cheek – she snuggled her face into it, placing affectionate kisses of her lips on it.

"I would give all the treasures of this chamber, my possessions and my gold coins to feel the taste of your lips on mine." He gasped, looking at her as if she were a precious jewel, a spring water that quenches thirst, an olive tree that feeds whole nations.

She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the sizzling fire and their hitched breaths as his thumb ran over her full, lower lip. She parted it before him and let him slide it deeper, between her teeth. Her lips clamped slowly around his finger, looking up at him with desire as she began to suck.

A low groan escaped his throat at the sight, clearly imagining that he was forcing something completely different down her throat.

He placed his other hand on her back, at the same time pulling her closer and holding her at arm's length, apparently afraid that even his breath was dangerous to her, possibly dooming her to his fate.

She moaned when he gave in, when his mask pressed against her forehead, his eyelids all red around his bright pupils.

"– forgive me –"

She didn't know why his words, filled with so much sadness and desire, made her throw her hands on his shoulders, her lips clinging greedily to the unpleasantly cold, silver structure of his mask.

She closed her eyes, hearing his gasp of surprise, placing lingering, hot kisses full of her saliva and tongue on the surface of it, imagining he was able to feel it, his hands sinking into her hair.

"– touch me, husband – I crave you –" She mewled helplessly, running her hands over the material beneath which was his head, his hair, his jaw and neck.

She squealed when he lifted her suddenly by her buttocks, the quiet hiss that escaped his lips made her understand that this sudden movement must have caused him pain.

She stroked the back of his head as he moved towards his bed with his face nestled between her breasts, not wanting to show him any sympathy now that he wanted to be a strong man in her eyes.

He let out a breath as he laid her down on the soft sheets, his gaze full of tenderness as he looked at her face.

"– lie on your stomach and spread your thighs –" He said calmly and gently, however, something in his words and their undertone made her feel a heat in her lower abdomen and a wonderful tickling sensation.

She obeyed his command immediately, feeling her legs become stiff as he caught her around the waist and lifted her hips, forcing her to buck her buttocks in front of him in a shameless manner.

She heard his heavy breath as he positioned himself behind her on his knees, running his leather-gloved hands over the soft skin of her buttocks, herself panting hard, knowing where he was looking now.

"– the reason why Paris abducted Helen of Troy – the cause of the downfall and delight of all mankind locked deep between my wife's thighs –" He whispered in such a sensual way that she moaned pathetically, clenching her eyelids as his thumb ran over her leaking, throbbing womanhood.

Apparently he liked the sound she made, because one of his hands slid into her hair, holding her in place, reassuring him that she wouldn't take advantage of his weakness and try to expose him in an act of pleasure, endangering him and herself.

"– lie still – shhhh, my love –" He whispered, hearing her innocent cry of desperation as his fingers began to trail around her oversensitive, swollen bud, waves of tingling and tickling sensations spreading through her body dulling her mind, causing her to emit uncontrollable sounds.

She could hear him panting as she watched what he was doing to her, his fingers digging into her delicate folds with a loud click of her wetness, barely teasing her – her hips began to roll back and forth, responding to his treatments, trying to find a better source of rubbing.

"– have mercy on me –" She mumbled with difficulty, her lips parted wide in a girlish moan when, at her request, the tip of his middle finger burst into her fleshy, hot interior.

The experience was at once full of discomfort and delight – at first the material of his glove was cold, but in time her body temperature enveloped him with its heat.

"– God – so warm –" He whispered in a voice trembling with emotion, in some involuntary, primitive reflex forcing her to take his finger deeper inside her, meeting resistance.

"– yes or no –" He breathed out, making her gasp.

Yes or no.

She froze, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad, knowing that he had lied: he had only declared their marriage as white so that after his death his sister's husband would not attempt to kill her out of fear that she might be carrying his heir.

The future King.

"– yes –"

Her fingers clenched on the fabric of the sheet beneath her as he pierced something inside her in one aggressive motion, along with her squeal taking her maidenhood.

She began to wriggle under him with sweet whimpers of delight as his first finger was joined by a second, opening her wide for him only to fuck her before his eyes.

Tears of pleasure and shock ran down her cheeks as she moaned like a mere whore, spreading her thighs wider, his fingers thicker and longer than hers, stretching her so wonderfully.

"– please –" She whimpered, responding with her hips to each thrust of his hand, the tips of his fingers hitting the sweet spot deep inside her with startling precision again and again, while his thumb teased her little pearl between her folds with reluctance.

She bucked up more, panting loudly along with him, feeling the drops of her own wetness begin to run down her thighs one by one, soaking his hand, the fingers of his free palm clenched in her hair.

"– go on – please your King –" He commanded in a low voice from which her weeping cunt clenched around his fingers in convulsions of ecstasy, the sweet, stupefying pleasure making her cry out loudly, her legs bent at the knees quivering all over from the exertion.

"– a-ah –" She mumbled out, her face red with emotion as her body shook with a fulfilment so strong that her leaking, hot walls began to simply suck him inside. He felt it and moaned in a boyish manner, stopping moving, keeping his two fingers slipped deep into her body, just wanting to feel how it pulsed around them.

"– yes – just like that – easy now – easy –" He praised her, slowly sliding them out of her, and she swallowed hard, letting her body fall back onto the bed, panting loudly.

She sighed as he turned her onto her back and spread her thighs, looking at her with eyes black with desire, his hand slipped under the material of his robe.

Only then did she notice that his garment had a slit in the area underneath where his manhood was.

Although he had not allowed her to look at it then, now that he had grasped it in his hand and directed it at her throbbing womanhood, she saw the fat, pink head of it, dripping with his desire.

His hand clamped down on her soft breast, careful, however, not to cause her pain as he began to squeeze his swollen erection in his palm, with sharp, aggressive strokes from the very base to the tip chasing his fulfilment.

She moaned innocently, surprised, tilting her head back as his thumb ran over her hard, sensitive nipple, playing with it, something like satisfaction flashed through his gaze when he saw that this kind of touch was giving her pleasure.

"– my wife is so eager – so devoted to her poor husband – hm? –" He gasped, his breathing heavy as he accelerated, already squeezing only the base of his manhood, rocking his hips back and forth, struggling to restrain himself from opening her up, from sinking into her, from feeling her.

She rolled her hips forward encouragingly, rubbing her moist cunt against the thick head of his erection, drawing a low, almost animalistic groan from his throat, his silhouette moving slightly away.

"– no –" He growled with pain and anger, involuntarily returning again and again to her warmth, letting the tip of it push against her swollen, thirsty slit.

"– please, my King – put inside me –" She begged, but he shook his head and simply came with a loud moan of pleasure, his pearly, sticky spend spewing onto her womanhood.

He stared at this shameless sight, his head bowed low, his breath heavy as if he had just accomplished some heroic feat.

"– you need to bathe in hot water – immediately – dress yourself, I'll call the servants –" He exclaimed, rising abruptly from the bed, covering his manhood back with his robe, wiping his hand sticky with her wetness into its material.

She stood up quickly, horrified that he was surely angry with her for not listening to him, hastily dressing her nightgown over her shoulders, bursting into sobs.

"– forgive me, my King – forgive me, do not send me away –" She begged, but he did not listen to her, ordering his servant to immediately bring the tub into his chamber and fill it with hot water.

Although it slightly burned her skin when she stepped inside, her husband-king explained that the heat killed whatever was spreading his disease, and the oils and herbs that were thrown in were to prevent any other infections.

She looked at him with big eyes as he sat beside her, dipping his leather-gloved hand into the water along with a piece of cloth, sinking it then between her thighs, making sure not a single drop of his seed remained on it.

"– will you forgive me, my beloved? –" She muttered pleadingly, watching his face. He looked at her with a chastising look and sighed heavily.

"– it is I who should beg your forgiveness – I have allowed myself to be carried away by my desires, which have suppressed my reason – do not fear, it will not happen again – after your bath you will return to your chamber and will no longer visit me in the evenings –" He said calmly, looking away.

Her heart stopped in her throat, her brow arching in pain and disbelief at his words.

"Are you sending me away?" She muttered with difficulty. He looked at her, surprised apparently by her question and reaction, his hand froze in mid-motion.

"You can't sleep here because I am here. My breath, my proximity are deadly. I am exposing you even now. Before sleep, my physicians pull off most of the fabric that covers my body. I will never let you see this." He said and swallowed hard, seeing as tears one by one began to run down her cheeks.

"You break my heart. At least let my bed be placed next to yours. Drape it with curtains so that I may not see you or your body at night, but that I may at least hear your voice, hear your presence in the same chamber." She said pleadingly, touching his beautiful silver mask with her hand, his gaze tired and sad, filled with pain.

He hesitated.

"The chamber is not locked. Place my bed by the windows, by the fresh air. Do not condemn me to solitude, show me mercy, my King." She whispered, once again placing a kiss on his mask, on his cold, silver lips, his sigh testifying that he pressed his lips on the other side, reciprocating her caress.

"You are my doom."

At his command, her bed was moved to his chamber, raising voices full of resentment from some of the monks and priests, commenting on the fact that her maidenhood might be called into question.

"White marriage, to my knowledge, does not mean that husband and wife live separately. On the contrary, we should indulge in prayers together and be each other's comfort by day and night."

Honour Knights and Lords were concerned about what kind of comfort his little wife was to him.

Each day, the physicians sent by King Saladin checked the condition of her body and whether there were any signs of infection – her husband watched it from the sidelines in horror, relief in his gaze each time he heard from their lips that his wife was in good health.

However, taking advantage of the fact that the King had left the chamber after her examination, returning to his duties, one of his medics approached her, pale.

"My Lady. Spending so much time in the King's company, you will certainly contract his disease. Often its first symptoms do not appear until years after infection. It is possible that it is already too late." He muttered, bowing before her.

She swallowed loudly, looking at him calmly, feeling discomfort in her stomach.

"Would my husband live to see the time when the first symptoms could be apparent? If it turned out I was infected." She mumbled, and he shook his head.

"No, my Lady."

She smiled at his words and nodded.

"Thank you. Assure my King that I am well and can abide with him as before."

The man looked at her, in his eyes disbelief but at the same time a kind of admiration, compassion and warmth from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.

"My Lady."

The days in Jerusalem were often sunny and hot, and as her husband rejoiced at the sight of her bare body, she walked around his chambers naked, feeling like a Greek goddess, Aphrodite or Artemis.

She would read old volumes, play the lute or embroider while spreading out comfortably on large cushions so that he could see her, and he would admire her from afar like a nymph.

"– my wife is like a fruit of paradise – like a goddess born of the sea foam –" He murmured, looking at her contentedly, bent over the dozens of parchments spread out on his table.

The servants knew that they could not enter his quarters without permission, for although he was gentle and affectionate in his manner, he did not wish to share this shameless sight with anyone.

However, what most of their days consisted of were conversations.

Her husband was a great speaker – they were discussing the Bible, faith, philosophy, poetry, art, war and history for long hours.

At nights, when he couldn't sleep from his pain, hearing his sighs and quiet moans that he tried to suppress for her sake, she would ask him questions.

She couldn't touch his hands or embrace him – his body needed rest, to breathe to keep from rotting and for at least a few hours a day it was supposed to be uncovered.

"Christ says to the adulteress: go and sin no more. However, he knows, as God incarnate, that this is not his command, but a recommendation. Sin is the fatal disease of every human being and we all sin in thought, in speech, in deed, in neglect. This is no reason to be sad. Christ is merely saying: live in such a way as not to cause yourself or others suffering, try to live with dignity, in harmony with yourself and your Father in Heaven."

"Is it known what happened to her afterwards?" She asked quietly, looking at his silhouette, seeing only its outline on the other side of his bed.

"Some identify her with Mary Magdalene or Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus. But it could also have been a person not mentioned by name in the Gospel. She certainly followed Christ and became one of his disciples." He said, his voice clearer without his mask, calm and soft.

"Do you think God considers me an adulteress?" She asked in a trembling voice and heard him shift restlessly in his bed.

"Why should such an unjust and harsh judgment fall on my wife? Because she is devoted to me with her soul, heart and body? Haven't you done everything I asked of you and even more? You are as pure as the sheet I lie on, as the delicate fabrics I wear on my skin. Your beauty makes me even more aware of my ugliness." He whispered with pain that made her swallow hard, shocked by his words.

"To me, you are the most beautiful of men. Before I met you, I swore to God that I would never marry, that I would not share Sibylla's fate. He showed me mercy, filling my heart with a burning feeling for you, my beloved."

He was silent, but she heard him exhale loudly, his trembling sigh full of suffering.

He cried.

"If only you could look at my face, see what a disgusting caricature of a human I am, you would understand what a great mistake you made." He howled, choking on his own tears, clearly letting out what had been weighing on his heart for weeks.

The fear that if she accidentally saw his face, she would scream in terror and run away.

"Is your faith in me so weak? I hoped you think of me with respect." She mumbled, heartbroken, feeling a squeeze in her throat.

She heard him swallow hard at her words, clearly terrified that he had offended her.

"I do, my love. Forgive me."

"I fell in love with a human, not an earthly shell." She said, but he didn't answer her.

She watched the silhouette of her husband and his physicians each evening through the curtains, seeing them only as through a fog in the candlelight, their shadows dancing around her.

She could hear his hisses and cries of pain as they treated his wounds, see the outline of his head, always with his back turned to her.

When they were finally left alone and he lay down on his bed, she heard his sigh of relief, his face, though she couldn't see it, turned towards her.

"My sweetest?" He whispered, and she smiled warmly, feeling a wonderful delight in her heart every time he called her that.

"I'm here, my love." She murmured, twisting comfortably in her bed.

"I desire you."

She swallowed hard, feeling her warm womanhood throb around nothing.

"I desire you too, my beloved."

They were both silent for a long moment, the tension around them palpable in the air.

"– one of my physicians –" He began in a trembling voice. "– at my request, he created something that I can – put on my length so as not to touch you directly – from what I understand, he made it from the intestine of some animal and disinfected it – he assured me that it would be safe for both of us, but –"

"– yes –" She muttered, feeling her heart begin to pound like crazy at the thought that he wanted to do this to her.

"– you know it's a risk –" He said, his voice quivering with longing, the shadow of his silhouette turned towards her.

"– I knew it from the very beginning – I don't care what happens to my body – I just want to feel my beloved husband inside me –" She whispered with embarrassment and that seemed to be enough for him.

She heard him stand up, quickly putting the cloth and mask over his head as he appeared on the other side, beside her bed, looking as he usually did – the same black leather gloves on his hands, his fingers clenched on a small wooden box.

"– undress –" He commanded, and she did so, literally ripping off herself her nightgown, laying down on her stomach.

His silhouette was instantly next her, kneeling behind her buttocks, his breath hitched and quickened when she heard the rustling of something and another strange, sticky sound.

After a moment, his fingers tentatively and gently ran over her swollen, pink folds, collecting her wetness, which had already managed to trickle down her thigh.

"– no other treatments are needed – my sweet wife is leaking like a forest stream –" He hummed with delight and admiration, she felt her cheeks blush with embarrassment.

They both sighed as she felt something thick and hard begin to push against her puffy slit, opening her wide – despite her lack of preparation her cunt pulsed in delight, moist with desire.

The feeling of him deep inside her, so intense and definitive, of how hard his long, thick erection stretched her fleshy walls was shockingly pleasurable and terrifying at the same time, as if her body no longer belonged to her.

"– yes, yes, yes –" She mewled as she felt his hands clamp down on her buttocks, spreading them apart as if he were tearing a piece of fruit, another determined thrust of his hips sinking him completely into her hot core with their moans of pleasure.

"– fuck –"

She wasn't sure if he had ever cursed before, but then, as his hips immediately began to pound into her with loud slaps, nothing more than their panting, grunts and words insulting to God left his mouth.

"– we'll do it frequently – so that you can remember this feeling well – your husband deep inside your warmth –" He exhaled in a way from which her little cunt began to squeeze him greedily, sucking his erection inside, her lips parted wide in a loud, helpless whines of pleasure so strong that she had to close her eyes, her hands clenched on the bedding.

His gloved fingers dug into the delicate structure of her hips, imposing a more aggressive pace on her, his fat manhood bursting deep between her fleshy walls without slipping out of her, hitting again and again her sweet little spot.

"– yes – yes, I love you, I love you, I love you, please –" She cried out, feeling the tension in her silky womanhood reach its zenith, the pleasant tingling in her belly testifying to the fact that she was about to reach her peak with him and dreamed of nothing else.

He moaned low, slamming into her like mad, feeling her weeping core clench around his twitching length more and more, his manhood hard as a rock with desire.

"– G-God – oh, fuck, yes, yes, my sweetest, let me, ah –" He gasped in delight, coming deep inside her, filling the thin material overlying his manhood with his release.

Her eyes closed and her mouth parted wide as her peak came down on her like a thunderbolt, shaking her body with convulsions of delicious delight.

They both moaned and panted, rocking their hips for a moment more with the loud click of her slick cunt, his hands soothingly kneading the skin of her buttocks.

"– I will order more of this to be prepared – so that I can fulfil my marital duty every night –" He sighed with satisfaction.

She involuntarily smiled under her breath, looking up at him over her shoulder, the moonlight shining outside the window reflected in his mask.

"– what kind of white marriage is this? –" She asked teasingly, rolling her hips, feeling his half-soft manhood pulsate inside her again.

"– our kind – do not fret – I will explain it to God once I am before him – I will tell him that I loved my wife too much –"

_____

Author's note: Between their wedding day and this next act, weeks actually pass during which he doesn't touch her (she mentions the days spent in his company and how she is examined every day, how he watches her naked, but apart from that nothing happens between them). He is afraid that if he tries to touch her again, he won't hold back (he had already had difficulty not taking her on their wedding night), so he tried to think of something so as not to touch her directly with his manhood. Their intimacy is an act of their desperation, the pain of knowing that their marriage will last a year or two at most. The desire to touch her and feel her is as strong in him as the desire to protect her and push her away. Their love is tragic and complete to me, and she knows what she is risking (she knew from the very beginning).

957 notes · View notes

admiringlove · 11 days ago

Text

➵ pairing. gojo satoru x fem! reader.

➵ summary. gojo satoru was a slytherin through and through—cunning, clever, and infuriatingly charming, with a reputation as both a prodigy and a troublemaker. you, a gryffindor prefect, couldn't be more different—fearless, fiercely principled, and far too stubborn to let someone like him get under your skin. or so you thought. by day, the two of you bicker and clash, bound only by your shared duty, but by night, within the room of requirement, you're partners in something far greater—a secret operation known as the marauders, granting the whispered wishes of hogwarts students.

➵ warnings. gojo being gojo; mentions of unforgivable curses; mentions of strangling someone (gojo); mentions of injury; slytherins being called anarchists; snape; mentions of hexing a cat (i think that counts as animal cruelty but idk for sure); profanity; slight timeline inaccuracy bc i like professor fig so i kept him in the fic w the others; etc.

➵ genre. wizarding world au; academic rivals to lovers; enemies to lovers; angst; fluff; adventure; etc.

➵ word count. 6.6k.

➵ author's note. so so excited to introduce you guys to mischief managed! big thanks to @gojofile for proofreading. have fun reading, and i hope slytherin prefect gojo warms your hearts <3 also also, taglist is still open!

➵ navigation. masterlist, next.

Gojo Satoru.

The mere mention of his name was enough to stir an unpleasant bitterness in your mouth—like biting into a sour Acid Pop, sharp and unforgiving. He leaned casually against one of the stone pillars near the corridor leading to the Great Hall, his posture so relaxed it was almost infuriating. You, however, stood at the top of the steps leading down to the bustling crowd of prefects below, arms crossed tightly over your chest, waiting. It was the sort of wait that carried the weight of years—years of dealing with him, with this. You had, like the others, arrived promptly, but unlike them, you had been watching the clock tick away in growing frustration, the minutes wasted under the strain of his absence.

With every second that passed, the sour taste in your mouth grew. You were no stranger to his arrogance, no stranger to the fact that Gojo Satoru never seemed to care about anyone else’s time but his own. How predictable, how utterly insufferable. He had this remarkable ability to ruin an entire evening simply by being late, the kind of late that stretched from a few minutes into an eternity. The others, however, had long since forgiven his transgressions, accepting the lack of discipline as some sort of unavoidable part of his charm.

You didn’t share that sentiment.

He walked up to the group then, casually slipping past the other prefects who all, unsurprisingly, seemed more than willing to let his tardiness slide. His lips curled into that infuriatingly charming, carefree smile, and the first few apologies that spilled from his mouth were as hollow as they were insincere. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking entirely too pleased with himself. If there was one thing you had to give him credit for, it was his ability to navigate the world with a confidence so blinding it nearly rendered everyone around him incapable of holding a grudge.

Except, of course, for you.

You could feel the weight of your own gaze burning into his back as he spoke. He was an impossible contradiction—infuriating, selfish, and absurdly arrogant, and yet, undeniably captivating. Even with all his faults, there was something magnetic about him. Those piercing blue eyes of his, so impossibly bright, and the soft curve of his lips, perpetually tipped upwards in a self-assured grin, had a power over people that you could not quite ignore. You’d seen it yourself—the way his presence could make entire groups of students lose their composure, how even the toughest of professors faltered under his gaze.

But not you.

You couldn’t care less for his entrancing gaze, nor for the way his words slipped from his lips like honey, perfectly crafted to disarm and beguile. His blue eyes, though striking, could not erase the irritable taste of his disregard. And his smile? It only made your stomach churn. You had learned long ago to keep your distance, to shield yourself from the charms that so effortlessly ensnared the rest. You were no fool.

"Alright, round up," calls the Head Girl, her voice slicing through the hum of conversation like a well-aimed hex. You sigh, already weary, and stand as she begins to rattle off the night’s patrol assignments. Your fingers toyed absently with the sleeve of your robe while you listened, half-attentive, until the sound of his name snapped you into focus.

Your gaze found him instinctively, as if drawn by some unseen force you hated to acknowledge. He was leaning back against the wall, all easy confidence, that maddening smirk tugging at his lips. Those pink lips, which were far too perfect for a boy who never seemed to put in any effort at all.

“[L/N], you’re with Gojo. Astronomy Tower and the North Wing.”

You exhaled sharply, the sound almost lost in the shuffle of murmurs and groans from the other prefects. Of course. Of course. You could practically feel his satisfaction radiating across the room without even looking at him. But you couldn’t resist. Your eyes flicked back to his, catching the faint tilt of his head, the knowing gleam in his irises. That smirk had only grown wider, as though he knew exactly how much this would infuriate you.

He always did.

You brushed past him on your way out, your shoulder caught the edge of his robe in a deliberate slight. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, only watched you with that insufferable grin as though you amused him beyond words. You ignored him—pointedly, completely. He wasn’t worth your breath tonight.

There was too much at stake. You had an hour of patrol to endure before you could finally collapse into bed, and an early Potions lesson tomorrow morning with Snape waiting to shred your dignity into pieces. Snape adored Gojo, of course. He always found reasons to praise him, whether for his technique or his "sharp mind," as if the boy ever cared about rules or discipline. You, on the other hand, weren’t so lucky.

You could still feel the sting from the first day back, the dull thud of Snape’s heavy Potions tome cracking against the back of your skull because you’d dared to yawn during his lecture. Gojo, meanwhile, had been sprawled at the back of the class, sound asleep, the faint rise and fall of his chest utterly unbothered. Snape hadn’t said a word to him. Not one.

As you stepped out of the eastern wing and into the cool, open air, the castle loomed behind you, its shadow stretching long and dark across the grounds. Your footsteps echoed faintly against the cobblestones, their rhythm unsteady, almost reluctant. You yawned, stifling the sound with the back of your hand, though the ache of it lingered in your jaw. It had been a day—a week, really. The first week of your sixth year at Hogwarts, and already it felt like you’d lived through months.

The Astronomy Tower rose ahead, its silhouette sharp against the star-flecked sky. The air was crisp, biting against your skin as you fought to keep your eyes open. Another yawn threatened to escape, but you forced it down.

“A little tired, are we?”

His voice cut through the quiet, smooth and sharp, his steps falling in perfect cadence with yours. The click of his boots on the stone floor reminded you of a metronome, steady and deliberate, as if the universe itself aligned to his whims. You didn’t look back, didn’t even bother to reply. A hum escaped your lips instead, low and dismissive, but you knew it wouldn’t deter him.

“You know,” he continued, unperturbed, “I didn’t see you at dinner tonight, Fawkes Junior.”

The nickname landed with its usual weight, heavy but familiar, like a coat you’d grown used to wearing despite its ill fit. It wasn’t the “Fawkes” that bothered you anymore—not after you’d finally experienced the beauty of the bird last year. The phoenix was a marvel, even more luminous than you’d imagined, its plumage shimmering with an otherworldly glow. No, it was the “Junior” that still irked you, the diminutive edge of it, the implication that you were less than.

You remembered that moment in Dumbledore’s office, the phoenix rising from its ashes with a blaze of light so blinding it had brought tears to your eyes. Dumbledore had watched you closely, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he recited the same words he’d spoken countless times before. A phoenix, he’d told you, could carry the heaviest of burdens, its tears more potent than any potion. He’d winked then, a gesture that felt both knowing and unnervingly intimate. You’d laughed it off, of course. What else could you do?

Shaking the thought from your mind, you replied curtly, “I was in the library. Something about Quidditch. McGonagall wanted me to look over the first-years’ picks.”

“Ah.” His voice curled around the word, drawn out and laden with that peculiar tone he used when he wanted to draw people in. You hated that tone, the way it made you feel like a moth fluttering dangerously close to a flame. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to up my game, then. Can’t let you Gryffindors get too comfortable. The House Cup is ours this year.”

You glanced at him then, just long enough to catch the glint of mischief in his eyes, the faint tilt of his lips. “You and I both know we won last year fair and square,” you said, your voice tinged with accusation. “Not that you didn’t try to hex our Seeker into food poisoning before the match.”

He laughed, a low, melodic sound that set your teeth on edge. “And you caught me. Hexed me right back, if I recall.”

“It was deserved.”

“I’m still the best Seeker Hogwarts has seen in our generation,” he said, his tone mockingly self-assured.

You arched a brow as you ascended the final steps to the Astronomy Tower. His claim was, unfortunately, true, but you’d never admit it—not to him, not to anyone. Instead, you let silence answer for you, the faintest quirk of your lips the only acknowledgment of his words.

The door to the tower creaked open, the chill of the night air spilling over your skin. He stepped ahead, turning to face you with that same infuriating grin, as if he’d already won whatever battle was brewing between you.

It was the first week of September, and the air already carried a bite to it—sharp and unwelcome for the Quidditch players who would soon be out on the pitch. You pulled your cloak a little tighter around yourself, biting back the impulse to complain about the chill, but it slipped out anyway. "Bloody hell," you muttered under your breath, though the frustration wasn’t entirely with the weather. "Not that I mind it, really. I quite like it. It’s just—"

"—going to be a bummer while we’re playing Quidditch," he finished for you, his voice light, teasing, like always. You didn’t even look at him when you said it, but you knew he'd be grinning that absurd grin of his, the one that seemed capable of disarming entire rooms with nothing more than a flash of teeth.

"Right. And you try to find a new way to cheat. Again," you added, rolling your eyes at the inevitable.

He chuckled, a low, amused sound that seemed to vibrate through the very air between you. "I say we stay here for the hour," he proposed, his tone one that would’ve convinced anyone else in the world. But not you. "Not like anyone gives a damn. Nobody’s going to be out in the North Wing at this time, except for us. Not when the dungeons lead directly to the Room—"

You could feel the weight of his words, could almost see the exact way his eyes would be sparkling with the promise of mischief, the way his mind was already working out the logistics of evading anyone who might ruin his latest scheme. He was clever, yes—brilliant, even. But it was always something else. That glint in his eye, that knowing smirk, the feeling like there was more behind every word and every movement. He was a bloody narcissist, but you could admit it: he made it look like an art.

You shook your head, muttering a small "Shut up," with a stern tone, eyes fixed ahead, refusing to even glance in his direction. As you brushed past him, your shoulder nudged his as a small warning, the smallest of touches, but enough to tell him that you weren’t in the mood for whatever else was about to come out of his mouth.

"You’re such a bore," he muttered, his voice dripping with mockery as he rolled his eyes. You huffed, the sound escaping you before you could fully hold it in, and made your way toward one of the arches. The cool wind rushed against your face, teasing the strands of hair that had escaped your ponytail, and you felt a warmth rise to your cheeks. The Black Lake stretched before you, vast and murky, the Forbidden Forest just beyond it, a dark, intimidating blur. The rustle of leaves whispered to you on the breeze, and the air itself smelled fresh, clean. It was almost peaceful—if not for his insufferable presence.

"I'm only doing what's asked of me, Gojo," you said, voice cutting through the silence between you. Your eyes flicked to him, and you almost wished you hadn’t. He was leaning casually against the stone, an impossibly carefree smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "If you can’t do your job, maybe you shouldn’t be a prefect. You’re not fit for it anyway."

"I know," he said, his tone suddenly so dramatically solemn it made you want to roll your eyes in return. "I’m only fit to be the most marvelous person at this school, unfortunately. Everyone else is... well, they’re just ordinary, and that bothers me. Except for you. And Suguru. Maybe Shoko." His gaze flickered to you, challenging you to disagree, but you remained silent, too exhausted to indulge him.

"I thought I was a bore," you said, raising an eyebrow as you turned to face him, arms folded loosely across your chest. He chuckled low, the sound rich and almost taunting.

"Oh yes," he agreed easily, “You are a bore. You're sort of filthy, too, really. I get this weird, uncomfortable feeling whenever I see you—like a cockroach."

You didn’t have to look at him to know the grin that must have spread across his face at his own words. You could feel it in the tone of his voice, could practically see the smugness radiating from him. You twisted away, sharply, walking back toward the stone staircase that led down. “This cockroach,” you muttered, “will hex you to fall out of the tower to your death.”

"Ah, threatening me again," he said, a laugh in his voice as he followed, always too close behind. "You really should be careful. I wouldn’t want to be the one to give you an excuse to use that hex."

"Come along," you snapped, the patience draining from you. "I suggest we finish our patrol soon so I can actually get some sleep."

"And I," he replied without missing a beat, his voice light, "shall nap in Snape’s class tomorrow. We’re learning about the Blood-Replenishing Serum anyway. I did it last year—privately, of course. I’ll probably just wait until we actually have to brew it to pay attention."

"Self-absorbed prick," you muttered under your breath, but he heard it, as always. His grin widened, as if he had just received the highest form of praise, and his eyes sparkled with mock admiration.

"Pitiful nag," he retorted, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t even have to try to sound smug. It was just part of who he was. And the worst part was, you couldn’t help but be aware of how much it irked you. And, somehow, how much you... didn’t mind it at all.

The next morning, Snape’s voice droned on like a monotonous hum, the same lecture about the Blood-Replenishing Serum that Satoru had so carelessly mentioned the night before. You sighed quietly, your quill scraping against the parchment as your thoughts drifted, mind half on the lesson and half on the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you. Every so often, you glanced up, only to see Gojo doing exactly what he'd said he would do: napping.

His head was cradled in his arms, the silky white strands of hair fanning out around him like some sort of halo, and his chest rose and fell with each slow, rhythmic breath. You scoffed under your breath. Typical.

Turning your attention back to Snape, you could feel the tension build in the pit of your stomach. The silence in the room lingered longer than usual, and when his eyes met yours, it hit you like a punch to the gut.

Shit.

"[L/N], would you care to enlighten us?" Snape's voice was smooth, deliberate. "What exactly seems to be distracting you from this crucial lesson in the very field you have expressed an interest in pursuing upon graduation? Do you or do you not want to go to St. Mungo’s?"

You blinked, the weight of the question settling over you as you rose from your seat. There was no use in pretending; he saw right through you, as usual. "Sorry, sir," you mumbled, staring down at your notes with a sudden sense of urgency.

He didn't buy it. You could feel his presence looming over you as he approached your desk, the air thick with expectation. "Without consulting your notes," he said coldly, his eyes narrowing, "name five ingredients required to make this serum work effectively. Without fail."

Your stomach twisted, but you met his gaze. The whispers of your classmates buzzed at the edges of your hearing, but they didn’t matter. You had been listening—despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on you—and now it was time to prove it.

"Powdered unicorn horn, sir," you said, voice steady, making sure to pause, "for its restorative and revitalizing properties. Knotgrass. Ginseng Root. Phoenix feathers. And Essence of Dittany."

There was a long pause, his gaze unrelenting, studying you like a hawk eyeing its prey. For a moment, you thought your heart might beat out of your chest. Then, finally, he let out a low hum, almost as if he were impressed but refused to let it show.

Without another word, he turned, striding back to the front of the room, leaving a tense silence in his wake. You slowly exhaled, unaware that you’d been holding your breath. The weight on your shoulders lifted slightly, and you sank back into your seat, your quill still hovering over the paper.

You turned your head, drawn by the weight of his gaze. Gojo Satoru watched you, his expression unreadable, a kind of casual indifference that masked something deeper, something you couldn’t name. He didn’t look away, not at first, just met your eyes for a long, deliberate moment before letting his head slump down again, a silent punctuation to whatever this unspoken exchange had been. You rolled your eyes and forced your attention back to the lesson, willing your pulse to even out.

By the time you emerged from the classroom, booksack slung over one shoulder, he was waiting, as though he had planned it all along. He fell into step beside you, grinning the grin that always made you question why the universe bothered with him at all.

“Looks like you’ve been brushing up on Potions,” he said breezily. “I might actually have competition now.”

“You’re not all that great, Gojo,” you replied, voice flat with practiced disinterest. You waved a quick goodbye to Utahime and Nanami, your friends already slipping into the tide of students heading toward their next class.

“Besides,” you continued, “don’t you have Suguru to bother?”

He groaned theatrically. “Him and Shoko don’t have Potions with us first period this year. Absolute tragedy. If Suguru did, I wouldn’t have to spend every lecture napping.”

“You’re insufferable,” you said, scoffing. “How can you even—”

“Ask me anything,” he interrupted, hands tucked casually in his robe pockets, his tone too smug for someone talking about Potions theory. “Anything we learned today. Go on.”

You stared at him, wishing—for perhaps the hundredth time—that there weren’t rules against strangling your classmates. The image of your hands wrapped around his neck, his perfect jawline slackening, his too-blue eyes dimming, was fleeting but satisfying. Instead, you sighed, letting the moment pass.

“You’re a bastard,” you said, shaking your head. “I don’t have time for this. We’ve got Defense Against the Dark Arts now, and unlike you, I actually care about passing.”

“Ah, DADA. Another subject you just happen to excel at,” he drawled, his voice laced with mock admiration.

“I excel because I work for it, not because I’ve got daddy’s money and a legacy to coast on.”

“Convenient how you keep forgetting I’m better than you at everything,” he said, the grin widening.

“Not everything.”

“Oh, right. Because you’re the dueling queen now. We both remember what happened to that poor third-year's cat last year,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“And yet, I’ve beaten you. Twice.” You smirked, savoring the memory of those duels. “I am Head of the Dueling Club, remember?”

“Because you’re unbearable?”

“No. Because I’m better.”

“You still can’t get the Patron—”

“Gojo Satoru and [L/N] [Y/N].”

The voice was sharp and clipped, and you both turned as one. Professor McGonagall stood in the corridor, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

“I trust,” she began, striding toward you with the air of someone who had better things to do than reprimand wayward students, “the two of you are maintaining decorum this year.”

You winced, the memory flaring sharp and uncomfortably vivid. Last year, an argument between you and Gojo had spiraled into chaos in the courtyard. Wands raised, tempers hot, and spells flying—until yours, a hex meant for Gojo, ricocheted off a stray shield charm and struck someone’s cat instead. The poor creature froze mid-leap, rigid and unblinking, to the horror of its owner and the delight of a small crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle. McGonagall had arrived moments later, her reprimand as swift and merciless as her counter-curse. The scolding had burned itself into your memory, along with the mortifying sight of the cat limping off, thoroughly unimpressed. You'd received detention for the first time that year.

“Yes, Professor,” you said, your voice meek in comparison to how you’d spoken to Gojo moments earlier. “We were just heading to class.”

“Good.” Her sharp gaze flicked to Gojo, who suddenly seemed far less amused. “And I trust Mr. Gojo hasn’t been neglecting his responsibilities. If I find you late for your rounds again tonight, you’ll no longer be in contention for Captaincy of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Madam Hooch and Professor Snape will see to that. Do I make myself clear?”

Gojo swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, his voice devoid of its usual bravado.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, quickly masked behind your Potions textbook. His humiliation was rare, and you intended to savor every moment of it.

As you walked away from the corridor and towards DADA, your smile only widens. This year might just turn out to be more interesting than the last after all.

When you entered the Great Hall for dinner that night, you spotted Gojo immediately. He’s at the Slytherin table, a loose sprawl of limbs, his laughter a little too loud, his hair catching the light like spun silver. You glanced away before he hooked you in, too. It's a small, bitter truth: you would have liked to sit with Shoko tonight. But she was at the Slytherin table, and the social architecture of Hogwarts had always been unkind to cross-house friendships.

You settled instead next to Utahime, who is demolishing her plate with a ferocity that suggests starvation, and across from Nanami, who has arranged his roasted parsnips into orderly lines. You helped yourself to a pasty and let the quiet chaos of dinner roll around you.

“Do you have rounds tonight?” Nanami asks. His voice is steady, his gaze as deliberate as his movements. Everything about him measured, careful. A newly minted Prefect, he wore the title like it was a chore he knew he’d never be allowed to set down.

“No,” you said, reaching for another pasty. “Iori might.”

Both of you turned to Utahime, who paused her assault on a piece of roast lamb long enough to let out an exhausted sigh. “Of course I do,” she said. “I have rounds, I have Quidditch, I have first-years practically dangling off me like flobberworms. Did you know McGonagall’s been having me run drills with Itadori? That kid’s a menace. Eleven years old and flying like he was born with a broom in his hand. Eleven! At that age, I could barely manage not to knock myself out midair.”

“You got scouted at the end of first year,” you pointed out, narrowing your eyes at her.

“Because I broke half the bones in my body trying to,” she shot back, grabbing what looks like a slice of shepherd’s pie—or maybe baked potatoes. It was hard to tell anymore, the table a patchwork of dishes, all melting into each other. “Itadori didn’t even have to try. Just showed up and decided to be brilliant. No learning curve. No effort. Nothing.” She shakes her head as if personally offended. “I hate people like that.”

Nanami nodded solemnly, as if Itadori’s existence were a philosophical tragedy. You scarfed down a Yorkshire pudding, barely tasted it, and pushed your plate aside. “Going somewhere?” Utahime asked, raising an eyebrow. “You were eating like you had somewhere to be.” “Snape,” you lied smoothly, leaning back in your seat. “I had some errands from today’s class.” She snorted. “I heard what happened today. Good luck trying to appease that sourpuss.” You laughed, the sound light, harmless. It was an easy lie, so practiced that it slipped off your tongue without weight. Let her think it was Snape. Let her think it was anything but the truth.

The truth, as you glanced toward the Slytherin table, was waiting. Shoko caught your eye first, and you gave her a small wave and an exaggerated grin that she returned. She turned back to something Suguru was saying, and then, just for a moment, Gojo’s gaze found yours.

It was quick—imperceptible to anyone else, but it was there. A look. A nod. That was all it took.

He stood, his departure casual enough to be an afterthought, though you knew better. You watched him slip through the Great Hall doors, his frame momentarily silhouetted against the darkened corridor before he was gone.

You reached for dessert—chocolate gateau, custard—but left the ice cream untouched. No time tonight.

Something, or someone, awaited you. Both, perhaps.

“I’m heading up,” you murmured, pushing back your chair. “I’ll see you at breakfast, yeah?”

Utahime barely glanced up. Nanami nodded, distracted. No one questioned it. Why would they? You gathered your things and stood, your resolve quiet but purposeful.

The lie had been effortless. The truth, however, was already starting to make its demands.

You stood, smoothing the creases of your robes with deliberate care, before slipping quietly out of the Great Hall. The buzz of conversation receded behind you, replaced by the low hum of torchlight flickering against stone walls. You moved quickly but not hurriedly, your eyes darting to the shadows, tracking movement that wasn’t there. You were certain the white-haired idiot had taken the quickest route—through Professor Fig’s classroom, perhaps ducking into the dungeons if he had been feeling bold. Typical Gojo, always choosing chaos and convenience in equal measure. You, of course, were left with the scenic route.

A sigh escaped your lips, soft as a feather, as you veered left down a quieter corridor. It was second nature by now, mapping out where Filch would be at this hour. Filch was predictable. His blasted cat, however, was not.

Rounding the corner, you stopped short. Mrs. Norris. The yellow-eyed menace herself. She sat planted in the middle of the corridor like a gargoyle come to life, her tail flicking languidly against the flagstone floor. Those unnervingly bulbous eyes fixated on you, unblinking, as though she had been expecting you all along.

You froze, your hand instinctively twitching toward your pocket—not for your wand, no, but for something far more effective. You had learned her ways, after all. It had taken a few unfortunate encounters, a near-miss with Filch, and a fair bit of trial and error, but you had cracked her code.

Fish pie. Trout. Even a sliver of smoked salmon would do. You had kept a stash since fourth year, just for occasions like this. Slowly, deliberately, you pulled a neatly wrapped morsel from your pocket and held it out. Her ears perked up, and for the briefest moment, you swore her sharp features softened. She approached, silent as a ghost, her eyes darting from you to the bribe.

You crouched, placing the offering on the stone. She sniffed once, twice, then devoured it with alarming efficiency. Satisfied, she gave you a look that felt almost approving, before slinking away into the shadows.

You exhaled, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you straightened up. Mrs. Norris might have been Filch’s enforcer, but even she had her price. You glanced down the corridor, the way clear now, and continued on your path. What awaited you at the end of this journey—well, that was a secret you intended to keep.

The Hospital Wing loomed just ahead, its faintly glowing windows casting soft squares of light onto the cold stone floor. You kept close to the shadows, your footsteps light as a whisper, your gaze flicking toward the open door. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight, but you knew better than to trust the stillness. She had an uncanny way of appearing precisely when students would have preferred her not to.

Your hand brushed the cool banister of the staircase as you ascended, the air shifting subtly, growing cooler and quieter with every step. The torches along the corridor flickered faintly, their light wavering as if uncertain whether to welcome or warn you. You glanced back once, twice, the hush of the castle wrapping itself around you like a cloak. You were close now. Close enough to feel the familiar pull in your chest, an inexplicable certainty that drew you forward.

The corridor narrowed, the stones beneath your feet vibrating faintly, like the heartbeat of the castle itself. You reached out, your fingers grazing the smooth curve of a pillar, and paused. The walls ahead began to shift. Slowly, subtly, they rippled like water disturbed by a single drop. Then, as if answering an unspoken request, the stones crackled and ground against each other, carving themselves into something new.

The outline of a door emerged, its edges glowing faintly before darkening into a deep, obsidian black. The transformation was seamless, almost elegant in its inevitability. A smile tugged at your lips, small and triumphant. The Room always answered, but the spectacle never failed to enchant.

You pressed your palm against the cool surface of the door, letting it ground you for a moment. The world felt impossibly quiet now, the weight of secrecy pressing against your ribs. One more glance over your shoulder, a final check to ensure you were alone. The corridor was empty, the castle asleep in its ancient stillness.

With a deep breath, you pushed the door open. It glided inward without resistance, revealing the familiar expanse beyond.

The Room of Requirement greeted you with its usual, maddening perfection. The cavernous ceiling stretched high above, shrouded in shadow, while bookshelves lined the walls in neat, endless rows. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the cozy seating arranged nearby. Round tables dotted the space, their surfaces scattered with parchment and ink. On the far side, a collection of training dummies stood silently, their worn surfaces gleaming faintly in the firelight. The space was vast and intimate all at once, a sanctuary conjured just for you.

But then your eyes landed on him.

Standing near the corner, his white hair catching the golden light like a beacon, was Gojo Satoru. He leans against a bookshelf with his usual infuriating ease, a smirk playing across his lips. His eyes, those unnervingly sharp blues, found yours immediately, and for a moment, you swore he’d been waiting here all along.

“Welcome back, Fawkes Junior,” he drawled, his voice breaking the spell of the room, his smirk deepening as he took in your expression. “You’re late.”

“No matter.” You shrugged, brushing past him and making your way to the sprawling pinboard that dominated the far wall. Tacked to it were parchment scraps and intricately scrawled maps of the castle, the grounds, even the surrounding Forbidden Forest. The parchment looked well-used, edges curling and stained with ink spills and hurried fingers. Across the room, a long table was strewn with yet more parchment, quills, and ink bottles. A small lantern burned low at its center, casting flickering shadows across the walls. Gojo had, at least, taken the liberty of setting up the space for that night’s work. Small mercies.

You shrugged your robe off, tossing it carelessly over a chair as you approached the table. “Let’s get started. How many requests so far?”

“Four,” Gojo replied, lounging lazily against the table with that infuriating grin of his. He tapped his finger against a short list he'd scribbled onto a scrap of parchment. “All from different drop points. I checked the rest last night, after rounds. Nothing new since.”

You leaned over the table, your eyes scanning the list. One particular entry caught your attention—a hastily written note, its ink smudged and nearly illegible. You tapped it with your finger. “Is this one from Reynard Willis? That new fifth-year transfer from Ilvermorny?”

Gojo smirked, his white hair catching the light in a way that made you want to throttle him. “The very same. Apparently, he was in desperate need of a Time-Turner. Got himself into some… personal entanglements he’d like to sort out.”

You let out a sharp laugh. “A Time-Turner? Is he insane? How does he even know about us?”

“Word gets around,” Gojo said with a shrug, though his grin widened. “Shall we indulge him?”

“Absolutely not,” you said firmly, shaking your head. “From what I’ve heard, he’s the type to lose his own wand, let alone keep something like that safe. No. Too risky. Reject it and take up this one instead.” You pointed to another request, this one penned in neat, precise handwriting. “Partridge Locks, seventh year. Wants her Charms grades adjusted from a pop quiz. Harmless enough. We won’t even have to touch her professors’ files—just a quick charm on the grade book.”

“Boring,” Gojo groaned. “Though you’re right. Getting caught stealing Time-Turners from McGonagall’s office would be catastrophic. You’re lucky you already have one. You get to parade around with something so precious while I—”

“I use it to attend all my classes,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes. “History of Magic and Ancient Runes are scheduled at the same time this year, and I wasn’t about to choose between them. Believe me, it’s hardly glamorous.”

“Still not fair,” he muttered, pouting. “Alright, fine. I’ll handle Locks. If I time it right, I can slip into Flitwick’s classroom through the dungeons.” He leaned over the map, tracing a path from the Hospital Wing to the Astronomy Tower. “Exit here, loop back toward the Great Hall, and no one will even notice.”

You crossed your arms, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Is there one for me? These other two seem simple enough. What’s this one about sneaking a love potion into the Ravenclaw Tower?” You plucked the parchment from the pile, scanning it. “Ooh, to Higuruma? Interesting. That could be fun. Though he’s clever—he probably wouldn’t drink it.”

Gojo snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Clever? Please. He’s a Prefect, not a genius. You could slip it into his breakfast tomorrow morning, and he’d down it without a second thought. Besides,” he added with a dramatic wave of his hand, “I hate sneaking into the Ravenclaw Tower. Riddles to get inside? Who has the patience for that?”

You laughed, a quiet, mischievous sound that echoed softly in the dim room. “Fine. I’ll take care of it. But if he figures it out, I’m blaming you.”

“No one even knows who the Marauders are,” he said, leaning back in his chair with an air of smug satisfaction. “For all they know, we could be an underground organization—some shadowy network pulling strings behind the scenes. It’s kind of brilliant if you think about it. Nobody suspects it’s just two bored students who stumbled across the Room of Requirement and thought it’d be fun to enchant parts of the castle to take requests.”

His grin widened, and you hated how infuriatingly infectious it was. “Come on, Fawkes, loosen up a little.”

“Loosen up?” You shot him a pointed look, then crossed your arms, leaning against the table. “You almost revealed to the entire Potions corridor that we can conjure Patronuses. Patronuses, Gojo. Do you even comprehend how much trouble we’d be in if McGonagall overheard? Let alone Snape. Although, knowing him, he’d probably let you off the hook and come after me instead. I’d be expelled before you could blink.”

You shuddered at the thought, and he snorted. “You’re such a goody-two-shoes. It’s honestly painful.”

“And yet, somehow, I still don’t know what your Patronus is,” you grumbled, narrowing your eyes at him. “The one thing I’m actually curious about, and you keep it locked up like some great clan secret.”

“It was all part of the mystery,” he said, his lips curling into that insufferable smirk. “Anyway, I’ve been working on something. A little… project. Something that might help us out.”

“What kind of project?” you asked, one brow arching.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” He clicked his tongue, wagging a finger at you. “You think I’m just going to tell you? Please. You’ll see it when it’s done. Next week, maybe. Until then, you’ll just have to suffer in suspense.”

You rolled your eyes, exhaling dramatically. “I hate you, you know that?”

He grinned, all teeth and mischief, as though he’d won some unspoken game. You grabbed another parchment from the pile on the table and scanned it, a frown tugging at your lips. “Take this one, too,” you said, sliding it toward him. “A Quidditch request. Someone—oh, of course, it’s a Slytherin—wants us to hex a Bludger for next week’s Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw match. Anarchists, the lot of you. Just want to watch the world burn.”

He laughed, the sound reverberating off the high stone walls. “What can I say? Chaos is entertaining.”

You dropped into the chair where your robe was slung, your posture dissolving into a practiced slouch. “This year better be fun,” you muttered, your voice edged with a hint of boredom. “These requests have been so dull. Remember last year, when someone asked us to enchant everyone’s quills during the O.W.L.s? Now that was creative. I want more of that. Something… exciting.”

Gojo leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his gaze gleaming with intrigue. “Patience, Fawkes. You never know what the castle might throw our way.”

You sighed, letting your head tilt back against the chair, the flickering torchlight casting strange, restless shadows across the room. Despite the monotony of the tasks before you, there was an undeniable thrill in the secrecy, the subterfuge, the strange magic that bound you and Gojo to the whispers of the castle.

And somewhere, deep down, you knew this was only the beginning.

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