#Call of the Storm Sorcerer

[lelianaslefthand]

uh oh sisters...... i just wanted to play with my fantasy virtual dolls and now im a little attached....

[xavalav]

look at my blorbos Now

[alygator77]

꧁ unwrapping you ꧂

❥・pairing. satoru gojo x fem! reader

❥・summary. it’s satoru’s birthday, but tonight, you’re the one giving the surprises. taking charge in a way he never saw coming, you leave the strongest man completely unraveled—and utterly yours.

❥・tags/warnings. nsfw 18+, smut, fluff, established relationship, you're both sorcerers, satoru's a dom but you switch on him, feral satoru, needy satoru, praise, blowjob, penetration, creampie

❥・wc. 4.7k

❥・a/n. happy bday to pookie. i wanted this out yesterday, but better late than never~

Clue #1: Not even Six Eyes can see where this hunt will take you~ Let’s test that vision, birthday boy ♡

Perched atop a box of his favorite candy, the first clue card leaned casually—daring him to dive in.

Taking a step back, you scan the setup one last time—adjusting the candy box perfectly against the coffee table, trying to get it right.

Everything had to be perfect. Were you a bit over the top? Maybe.

But with Satoru, drama was practically a love language—one you were willing to indulge for your strongest sorcerer.

As you step back one last time, a familiar tingle runs down your spine—a whisper of energy brushing against your senses.

His cursed energy. He was close.

Exhaling softly, you dart toward the hallway, slipping just out of view. The faint buzz of his presence grows stronger, steady and sure, like the hum of electricity before a storm—both a beacon of his immense power and an anchor of comfort.

Pressing your back against the wall, you bite back a grin. Timing this just right was everything—you want to spoil him today.

As the front door creaked open, his voice rang through the silence.

"Babe? I’m home!"

His tone carries that familiar playfulness—though there’s a faint edge to it, a tiredness that only you can catch.

Oh, Satoru.

You’d spent half the morning trying to talk him into staying home, coaxing him to let himself off the hook for just one day. But, in true Satoru fashion, he had only laughed, brushing you off with a wink and that infuriatingly charming grin.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he’d said, adjusting his blindfold like he was gearing up for battle. “The strongest doesn’t get days off. Besides, they’d be lost without me.”

It was a line he loved to repeat—part pride, part persona, but you knew better.

Beneath the confidence and swagger was someone who carried more weight than he’d ever admit—a man who wouldn’t let himself slow down, even when the exhaustion clung to him like a second shadow.

Stepping inside, his long frame stretched ever so slightly as he leaned against the doorframe for a moment. His snowy hair catches the dim light, strands framing his sharp features, and a soft sigh escapes his lips—quiet but telling.

With an almost lazy motion, he toes off his shoes, the soft thud echoing through the entryway. He stood for a beat, rolling his neck as if shaking off the day before reaching up to tug off his blindfold. As the fabric slips through his fingers, he absently ruffles his hair.

“Sweetheart?” he calls again, a little softer now, curiosity threading through his tone.

His gaze sweeps the room, sharp and calculating, lingering on the quiet corners as if he could sense you hiding just out of view.

And let’s face it, he probably could—nothing gets past those eyes. But you hope, no pray that your cursed veil keeps you concealed. Just this once. You’ve been practicing, trying to catch up to him.

Your heart races as you watched him settle, and the moment his eyes land on the candy box perched on the coffee table, his head tilts slightly—a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he plucks the card from the box.

“What’s this?” he muses, lifting the card as he holds it up into the light. “Not even Six Eyes can see where this hunt will take you… let’s test that vision, birthday boy… oho, really now?” he smirks.

Flipping the card over, his grin grows as his eyes scan the back.

“A clue?” he murmurs, tilting his head as he reads the next message. "Start where we share quiet mornings, and you always steal the last sip," he quotes, carrying an affectionate lilt. His grin widens as his fingers tap the card lightly against his chin. “Sooo… the kitchen then?”

Glancing toward the kitchen, Satoru smirks, muttering to himself “Alright, let’s play.”

Peeking out from your hiding spot, your grin grows as you watch him step through the doorway.

Got him.

The moment he enters the kitchen, he pauses by the counter, and his sharp blue eyes narrow slightly, sweeping over the surfaces. His fingers brush against a stray mug, and his grin grows wider, realization flickering across his face.

"Stealing the last sip… huh?” he murmurs to himself, the phrase clicking into place.

Of course. How many times had Satoru leaned over your shoulder, stealing the final taste of your coffee with that maddening smirk, knowing full well he’d get a playful swat in return?

Moving towards the coffee machine, his long legs carry him in unhurried strides, before his gaze lands on the next clue—nestled beside the machine on a small tray.

Sitting against the counter, the tray held perfectly arranged kikifuku mochi—a chilled bottle of melon soda alongside it—its condensation gathering in lazy droplets, catching the light.

Oh, he’s pleased—his favorite indulgences. With a soft grin, he leans against the counter, plucking one of the mochi off the plate.

“You know me too well…” he sighs.

Holding up the mochi, he inspects it with mock seriousness, before plopping it into his mouth with a satisfied hum.

“Mm, perfect as always,” he mutters to himself, savoring the sweetness spreading across his tongue as he reaches for the melon soda next—twisting off the cap with an easy flick and taking a small sip.

“Alright…” he sighs contentedly, placing the soda down. “You’re spoiling me now, sweetheart. But where are you? I wanna properly thank you.”

He pauses for a moment, waiting for you to reveal yourself, but then, his gaze flicks to the card nestled beside the tray.

Picking it up, a slow grin breaks across his face as he begins reading it.

“More? Let’s see what’s next…”

Clue #2: A little sweetness to keep you going—because even the strongest needs a sugar boost. Happy Birthday, my favorite mochi thief!

With a quiet laugh, Satoru shakes his head, flipping the card over to reveal the next clue.

Clue #2: Your next clue waits where the fog clears and your ego shines brightest—my handsome birthday boy.

Satoru hums, an eyebrow raising.

“Ohhh, I see how it is… butter me up with mochi, and then call me out. And during my own birthday scavenger hunt? Rude.”

Placing the card down, he opts to plop another mochi into his mouth—humming contently as the sweetness melts on his tongue.

"Alright, alright… the bathroom mirror must be next,” he sighs, grinning as he pushes himself off the counter. “Let’s see what you’ve got waiting for me there.”

Stepping into the bathroom, his sharp eyes immediately catch sight of the bold, glossy red lipstick, pressed in a kiss against the mirror. Below it, a small note is taped to the glass, written in your familiar handwriting:

💋 A kiss for the handsomest birthday boy—don’t worry though, I left room for you to admire yourself too♡

His lips curve into a wide grin, and leaning in closer, he tilts his head—studying the lipstick mark with mock seriousness. As his fingers brush the edge of the note, he lets out an exaggerated sigh.

"Tch… a kiss and a roast, all in one. Wow. Classic you…" he mutters with a dramatic pout. Staring at the mirror for a beat longer, he groans, letting out a soft whine. "But where are my real kisses, sweetheart? You can’t just leave me hanging like this on my birthday."

He waits again—ready for you to reveal yourself, but nothing. Then, his gaze drops, and he notices a sleek bottle of cologne sitting neatly on the counter—a second card propped beside it.

Picking it up, he turns the bottle over, inspecting it in one hand before plucking the card from its resting place with his other.

Clue #3: A spritz of this and you’ll be even harder to resist. Hehe. Not that I needed any convincing~

A wicked grin breaks across his face as he chuckles, uncapping the bottle.

“You’re really going all out, aren’t you?” he murmurs, spraying the cologne lightly onto his neck and wrist—his head tilting as the scent unfurls around him. “Mmm, well… my girl always has good taste…”

His fingers linger on the bottle for a moment before setting it down, but then, he blinks—his eyes growing wide as he flips the card—reading what’s on the back.

Clue #3: Your final present is where all good nights begin… and some even better ones end. Don’t keep me waiting, birthday boy ♡

・❥・

As Satoru creeks the bedroom door open, the room is bathed in a warm flickering candlelight—dancing along the walls with playful shadows, shifting with every subtle movement.

His cerulean eyes scan the dimly lit space, snowy lashes fluttering as he searches for you—where are you? The faint scent of vanilla and something sweeter—undeniably you—lingers in the air.

“Alright…” he drawls softly, “Darling, where, and how, are you hiding from me?”

He turns around to close the door softly behind him, but as he shifts back, before he can take another step, movement catches his eyes—you—revealed like a secret unveiled.

His breath catches audibly and he is momentarily frozen as you step forward from behind the door—delicate lace clinging against your curves, the intricate patterns of your elegant lingerie teasing him with glimpses of your supple skin.

This wasn’t like you. Not completely. The confident tilt of your head, the way you step toward him with deliberate, measured grace—it’s a side of you he doesn’t see often, and it stirs something deep within him.

For weeks, you’d been planning this moment, turning the idea over in your mind, wavering between uncertainty and resolve. But now, standing here under his gaze, you feel no hesitation. The roles were shifting, and the change sends a delicious thrill coursing through his veins.

His silence bolsters your resolve, and tilting your head slightly, a slow, knowing smile spreads across your lips.

“Hey, welcome home. Happy birthday, Satoru.”

His lips part, a sharp exhale slipping past them before he regains his composure. His eyes—darkened now with a heat that’s growing deep between his legs—sweep over you once more before flicking back up to meet yours.

“Well… hello," his voice is low, edged with restraint, and there’s a flicker of a grin on his lips—lazy and teasing—but it falters briefly as his gaze dips again.

“I don’t know if I want to worship you, or ruin you…"

As his grin grows, sharper now, he leans his weight slightly against the doorframe. Tilting his head, his white tousled hair falls into his eyes as he looks at you—like you’ve hung the stars in the sky.

“Maybe both… definitely both.”

Stepping closer, your fingers reach for him, trailing lightly up his chest.

"Enjoying the view?" you trace the lines of his shirt with teasing precision. "Or… do you need a closer look, birthday boy?"

The corner of his mouth twitches into a grin as your hands begin brushing over his shoulders—sliding down his arms. His hand rises, catching yours as his fingers curl gently around it.

“My, my, princess,” he drawls, gaze flicking across your body approvingly. “Is this what you were planning while I was out saving the world? Remind me to never leave you alone again.”

Before you can counter, his other hand slides to your waist, pulling you flush against him and his growing erection.

“I think I need a very… very close look indeed, gorgeous,” his lips brush against the shell of your ear before giving it a gentle nip. “But first… let me have a taste of you.”

The moment the words leave his lips, his mouth captures yours in a kiss that steals the air from your very lungs. He was hungry for you—something wild snapping within him as your fingers tangle in his silky hair, humming softly against his lips.

He growls, consuming you as his tongue teases the seam of your lips, coaxing them apart—and of course, you surrender to him. The kiss becomes electric—his hands sliding down to your ass, pulling you insistently against him as he kneads your curves desperately.

"Mmm," he hums, breaking the kiss just enough to murmur against your lips. “Yes… fuck, you’re perfect…” he grins, nudging you back towards the bed, unhurried but insistent as he murmurs, “happy birthday to me…”

He swallows your laugh, continuing to kiss you breathlessly as his hands caress you, but you gasp into his mouth the moment the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress.

As your body bounces against the bed, his weight follows immediately—sliding his knee between your legs, nudging them apart. The heat radiating from him is intoxicating, and the world outside ceases to exist as he leans over you—white hair falling like a curtain around you both.

Ah… but wait… this is your day to be in control.

Before he can take full command, you grin against his lips, shifting your weight underneath him.

“Oh, Satoru…” you push him back, flipping your positions as you force him onto his back. “Who said I was done with you?”

The moment he hits the mattress, a soft huff of surprise escapes him as you climb over him—straddling his hips with a grin that’s equal parts playful and wicked.

“Wha—”

He blinks up at you, his sharp blue eyes wide for a fraction of a second before they darken with interest. Then, a slow, lazy grin spreads across his face as his hands settle on your thighs—both possessive yet gentle.

“Well, well…” his thumbs draw slow, lazy circles against your skin. “Look who’s taking charge…”

Leaning forward, you caress the curve of his jaw—your lips hovering just over his. He groans as his fingers tighten on your thighs.

“You’re always so quick to take control…” your lips brush against his in a feather-light tease, leaving him chasing after you as you pull back. “Buuut… it’s your birthday, Satoru. Today, let me spoil you.”

His breath hitches as your fingers trail down his chest—toying with the buttons of his shirt—one by one, unfastening them, slowly and deliberately.

As the fabric draws apart, the pale expanse of his chest is revealed, and your hands begin mapping out his muscles. You feel him grow underneath you, spurring you on.

��F-Fuck—,” he groans as your lips find the curve of his neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses down the hollow of his throat.

Tilting hit head back, his snowy hair splays like a halo around him as he bares more of his throat to you—a surrender, yet the way his hands flex against your thighs tells you how close he is to snapping.

You know he wants to flip you beneath him and take what he wants.

As his cock stiffens under you, you smirk against his skin, rolling your hips against him slowly, deliberately—pulling a hoarse sound from his throat as his breath stutters.

“Damn it,” he groans, hands caressing your hips, “you’re driving me fucking insane, you know that?”

You hum in amusement, your kisses trailing lower, following your hands as they map the hard planes of his chest, the taut lines of his stomach. Shifting yourself lower, you reach the waistband of his pants, and your fingers lightly graze the fabric, teasing him with the barest hint of pressure.

His mouth drops open and his hips buck slightly beneath you—a groan escaping him, low and desperate. “Ah—baby…” he breathes, a plea and a prayer, desperate for friction.

Your lips hover just above his stomach, and your fingers dip just beneath the waistband of his pants without going further. The heat of him is palpable, and his hands flex beside him as he watches you through half-lidded eyes.

“What’s wrong, Satoru?” you murmur, light and teasing. “You’re not losing control already… are you? I thought you were the strongest.”

His sharp blue eyes snap open, dark and hooded as they lock onto yours. For a second, he looks torn—caught between letting you lead and giving in to the all-consuming need to dominate.

“Careful sweetheart,” he warns, a growl threading through each word, “or I’ll remind you who’s really in charge.”

The threat is intoxicating, but you don’t falter. You know that if you pushed him just a little further, he’d flip you beneath him and pin you to this bed.

But tonight? Tonight is different. You’re in control, and you’re not letting him take it back—not yet, at least.

“Maybe you’re not as in control as you think you are, birthday boy.”

With a wicked grin, you press your palm lightly against the outline of his erection—a strangled whine tearing through his throat as it throbs eagerly against your hand.

“Fuck,” he hisses through gritted teeth, his head tipping back against the pillow as his hands tighten into fists at his sides. “Just… fucking touch me already…”

“Impatient, aren’t you?” you tease, dragging your palm over his length in a slow, deliberate stroke that has his chest heaving. “You’re really not used to this, are you? Being the one who has to wait…”

His eyes snap back to yours, and the frustration flickering in their depths is delicious.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he mutters.

“Oh, I am,” you admit shamelessly as your fingers finally work at the button of his pants. “And judging by how hard you are…” you drag the zipper down with an excruciating slowness, tracing the prominent outline of his cock with your fingers, “…you don’t seem to mind all that much.”

“Fuck, princess… you…”

As your hand wraps around him through the fabric, your thumb brushes over the damp spot forming at the tip, and the sound that escapes him—half moan, half plea—is utterly sinful.

“Baby, please,” he pants, voice breaking as his hands clutch the sheets. “Touch me… fuck, I need—”

His plea dissolves into a low, aching moan as your fingers finally slip beneath the waistband of his pants, brushing against his bare skin. His cock springs free, hard and heavy, and the sharp exhale he releases—half relief, half desperation—makes your cunt drip in exhilaration.

A bead of precum glistens at the tip, and your thumb smears it slowly, deliberately, as you look up at him through your lashes. His lips part in a silent moan, his chest heaving as his hips jerk toward you again, seeking more of the pleasure you so teasingly deny.

But this time, you don’t deny him.

Your tongue flicks out, tracing a line along his length, allowing the salty tang of his precum to spread in your mouth. As your lips close around the tip, you take him in slowly, your cheeks hollowing as you draw him deeper, inch by inch.

He falls apart.

“Haaa—pretty girl…” his hips snap upward, “so fucking good…” he’s desperate, “just like that… don’t stop.”

And you let him take what he needs—your lips and tongue working in tandem—each broken moan falling from his lips as he loses himself in the wet heat of your mouth.

“hnngh… take it…” his voice is wrecked as his head falls back against the pillow, exposing the long column of his throat. His abs tighten under your hands as his hips roll, pushing deeper, “haaa—fuck… good fucking girl… love that mouth of yours.”

The praise makes heat pool between your legs as you hum softly around him—the filthy, debauched sounds falling from his lips encouraging you further.

But you’re not done teasing him. Not yet.

Just as he’s on the verge of falling apart, you pull back, your lips leaving him with a soft, wet pop—making him groan in frustration. His cock twitches in the cool air—slick with your spit—and the desperation in his eyes when you glance up at him is utterly delicious.

“You’re so easy to unravel Satoru…” your tongue flicks out again and your eyes darken with mischief. “For someone who’s supposed to be the strongest, you really—”

Oh, you’ve done it now.

His hands are on you, gripping your waist as he flips you onto your back, making your head spin. The sudden shift has you gasping, and the wicked grin that spreads across his face is nothing short of feral.

“You’re done,” his fingers hook into the delicate lace of your lingerie, and with a sharp tug, the audible rip makes your eyes widen. “My turn.”

“S-Satoru!” you stare up at him.

“Sorry…” he murmurs, though the grin curling upon his lips is anything but apologetic. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you open as he settles between them. “Just wanted to unwrap my gift.”

The heat of his thick, flushed head presses against your entrance—making your head tilt back, a whimper slipping past your lips as you anticipate what’s to come.

But he doesn’t ease into you. No. Not Satoru.

With a singular thrust, he buries himself to the hilt with a force so intense, it makes your back arch off the bed. The stretch is overwhelming, delicious—every inch of him filling you completely.

You pant, keening, and he stills for a moment, letting you adjust—but… only for a moment. Satoru’s patience doesn’t last long. Not with the way your walls clench around him so intoxicatingly so.

“There we go… that’s it…” he chuckles wickedly as he leans over you, his forehead brushing against yours. His hands grip your hips, holding you in place as he pulls back slightly. “Fucking take it,” his hips snap forward, harder this time. “This what you wanted?”

Your gasp turns into a strangled wine as he sets a brutal pace, his cock driving into your cunt, slamming into you with reckless abandon. The smack of your skin mixes with your broken cries as he takes what he needs.

“Such a tease,” his teeth nip at your neck, drawing a whimper from your lips as he bites down, leaving his mark. “Let’s see how confident you are when you’re screaming my name.”

“S-Satoru—” His name spills from your lips in a broken cry as your nails dig into his biceps, struggling to keep up with his sheer force.

“Yes, my pretty girl?” he coos tauntingly, lips curving into a wicked grin. “Haaa—look at you… falling apart just for me… so fucking tight—God you feel so good.”

He shifts the angle, pulling your legs higher as he sinks deeper—his dick splitting you open, making you see stars. The pressure is maddening, and your thighs tremble as you squirm beneath him.

But he’s relentless.

His hands slide up to catch your wrists, pinning them above your head as he leans over you.

“You’re mine,” his pace grows rougher, harder, the bed shaking underneath you. “Fucking mine. Hear me? Nnnngh… gonna fill you up—fuck, baby, you’re gonna take all of me.”

Your body arches into him, the coil of heat in your core tightening with every thrust until it’s unbearable, ready to snap.

And then it does.

The orgasm tears through you like a tidal wave, your walls clamping down on him in rhythmic pulses as you cry out—gripping him like a vice, pulsing rhythmically as pleasure explodes through your body.

It’s blinding, all-consuming, every nerve in your body alight with sensation as you come apart beneath him.

“Fuck—fuck, yes,” he groans, voice breaking as you tighten around him. His hips stutter, his cock throbbing inside you—the tight, wet heat of your cunt pushing him to his limit. “Shit—I can’t—m’ cuming.”

His body trembles above yours—thick, hot spurts of his cum spilling into you, flooding your core as his cock pulses through his climax.

He’s babbling now—lost in the haze of pleasure—his words tumbling, slurred and wrecked as he collapses against you.

“God, you’re perfect,” he rasps, hips rolling lazily, chasing the last aftershocks as he pushes his cum deeper. “So fucking perfect. Shit—fuck, I love you… love you so much, my good girl.”

For a moment, the room is quiet save for the sound of your uneven breaths and the lingering hum of pleasure coursing through your veins. His hands release your wrists, sliding down your arms to cup your face, brushing over your flushed cheeks as he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

When he pulls back, his forehead presses against yours, his ocean blue eyes heavy-lidded and filled with something softer now—something deeper.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs softly. A lopsided grin tugs at his lips as his fingers trace idle patterns along your jawline. “And sexy as hell, by the way… that little stunt of yours? Taking charge like that?” He chuckles softly, groaning. “Fuck… almost killed me.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, light and breathless as you run your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair.

“Almost? You’re the one who ripped my lingerie, Satoru,” you arch a brow at him. “You owe me a new set. No—make that two.”

His grin turns sheepish, though the mischievous glint in his eyes remains.

“Consider it done,” he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “I’ll always buy you whatever you want. Hell, I’ll buy you a whole drawer full if it means I get to rip it off you again.”

“Good lord,” you roll your eyes, feigning exasperation as you lightly swat his shoulder. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Lucky?” He quirks a brow, grin softening as he leans closer, murmuring against your lips, “Sweetheart… I’m the luckiest guy alive.”

His arms wrap around you, shifting slightly as he pulls you into his chest—rolling onto his side and taking you with him. The sticky warmth of his release drips between your thighs and his hand rubs soothing circles along your back.

“Seriously, though…” he murmurs quietly, eyes softening. “Thank you… for all of this. For you. For everything. I love you so damn much.”

The sincerity in his tone makes your chest tighten, and a slow smile spreads up your lips. You snuggle closer, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“I love you too, Satoru… happy birthday.”

He hums contentedly, and for a moment, you both linger there, bathed in the glow of candlelight—tangled together in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

But when you finally begin to shift, attempting to pull away, his arms tighten around you instantly, accompanied by a soft, petulant whine. His lips brush against your shoulder as he buries his face in the crook of your neck—soft tousles of his hair tickling your skin.

“No,” he mumbles, muffled but unmistakably pouty. “Stay. Like this. Just a little longer.”

“Satoru,” you chide, grinning as your fingers thread through his hair. “I need to get cleaned up honey.”

He pouts harder, his hold tightening as he buries his face further.

“Nope,” he declares stubbornly. “You’re staying right here. Forever.”

His childish protest pulls a laugh from you, light and airy.

“Come on birthday boy…” you wriggle slightly in his arms. “I have to clean up so I can prep your birthday cake.”

That gets his attention.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his sapphire eyes sparkling with playful mischief. A slow, cheeky grin spreads across his face, and you can practically see the wheels turning in his head.

“Why blow out my candles… when you can just blow me again?”

You blink at him, momentarily caught off guard, before your hand instinctively flies to his shoulder, delivering a light but reprimanding swat.

“S-Satoru!”

He bursts into laughter, warm and unrepentant as he tightens his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest once more.

“What?” he protests innocently, grin widening as he presses a kiss to your temple. “It is my birthday, after all.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, though the smile tugging at your lips betrays your exasperation.

His laughter softens into a contented hum as he nuzzles into your hair, his grip loosening just enough to let you breathe. Perhaps, for now, the world can wait—there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than here, wrapped up in him.

Your strongest sorcerer.

a/n. i just love him sm :') hbd to our beautifully, sweet & perfect blue eyed king.

[blkkizzat]

🗂️—𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝟶𝟶𝟸........... THE SORCERER KILLER ......filed under the that's not my jjk man series

visitor log: an extra toji fushiguro should be double the trouble and double the fun but neither likes to share, you know for sure which ones your toji—but do you really even care?

classifications: bratty!reader, brat taming, breeding, baby trapping, hair pulling, spit play + creampies, jealousy, grump!toji, daddy kink

incidents: 4.8k

*bam-bam*

Your favorite playlist pulses through the speakers as you occasionally stir the creamy mac and cheese simmering that’s almost ready for dinner, the rich aroma of melted cheddar and butter fills the kitchen.

Using the spatula as a microphone you’re filming a cute lil reel for all your IG followers. So absorbed in the tasks the unexpected knock at the door pulls you from your groove.

“Toji—Daddy, I’m still cooking. Can you get the door?”

Urgh, you’d have to edit this out.

*bam-bam*

“Baby, there’s someone at the door!”

*bam-bam*

“TOJI! ANSWER THE DAMN DOOR NOW!”

Irritated, you stop recording and storm out of the kitchen. 

To be honest you are already at your wits’ end as Toji had been gone all week and had promised to take you out tonight—quarantine be damned—after being stuck in the house for so long. However, he showed up much earlier than expected, looking like a stray dog who hadn’t seen shelter in days and grumbling about being hungry. 

He frankly didn’t look like he’d be in any condition to take you out later but you weren’t about to let him weasel out of this so easily. So you drew him a bath, sat him in front of the TV with some beers and were now cooking him food like the good little domesticated girlfriend you were proving to be—ensuring he had no excuse not to take you out tonight.

You wanted date night and new content to post after so long in isolation!

Stomping into the living room, ready to tell him off, you find Toji completely knocked out on the sofa, sound asleep snoring, with a UFC match playing on the TV.

“Ugh, you’re lucky you’re kinda cute when you sleep, old man…”

You shake your head, yet the pounding at the door interrupts your musings. 

*bam-bam-bam*

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming! Keep it in your pants.”

Rolling your eyes, you mumble the last part under your breath.

Wiping your hands on your apron, you peep through the window only to see that your impatient visitor was—huh?!

TOJI!? 

“Hey, been waitin’ out ‘ere forever doll, lower the barrier. C’mon, mamas.”

You freeze before slowly backing away from the door.

Fuck! A doppelgänger …? 

Or wait…surely your Toji is already inside, right?

RIGHT?!

Quietly, you creep back down the hall into the living room to find Toji still passed out on the couch. His head tilts back, mouth opened wide enough to catch flies as he continues to snore, legs sprawled out in a manspread. In one of Toji’s hands he holds a scratched-off lottery ticket (he won 2000 yen), while the other lazily scratches his balls in his sleep. 

Empty, crushed beer cans are scattered across your coffee table, while the crumbs from your brand new, yet now-demolished, bag of wasabi peas linger on his chest.

Yeah… *sighs* ...this was definitely your Toji alright. 

It also dawns on you that with his heavenly restriction, any barrier is pretty much nullified. 

Toji didn’t need you to lower it for him. He could waltz right in himself like it wasn’t there—like he’d done earlier too—completely surprising you as he didn’t even bother to knock or call ahead. 

Okay, well, yay—your first dopplegänger encounter and you correctly identified it. 

That was simple enough.

Now to actually deal with the doppelgänger  at your door was a different matter entirely. 

You sure as fuck weren’t letting them in. 

But you also weren’t so sure it would just go away on its own as they’ve been reported to be pretty persistent.

Tsk, should you wake Toji up then? 

You knew Toji to be a big grumpy ol’ man bear after a nap and you didn’t want to deal with that. Plus, you’d barely seen him all week with an increase in his contracts from Shiu due to the doppelgänger  appearances, it’s why he’s passed out so hard in the first place.

Toji would be even more disgruntled to see a doppelgänger  of himself of all people, effectively ruining the night you’ve been waiting all week for.

So you would just have to get rid of this fraud Toji yourself…somehow.

Easier said than done though as it’s not like you could kill the thing yourself, being the low grade sorcerer you are, especially if it mimicked Toji’s strength too.

You lightly chew your nail in contemplation, unsure of what to do exactly when you hear the knocking again, this time more urgent. 

*bam-bam-bam-bam-bam*

Shit at this rate the real Toji would wake up.

With a huff you return to the foyer. You were more quiet this time in your approach but the doppelgänger  curse senses you regardless as he speaks to you through the door. 

“C’mon on baby, I’m so sorry for not being around as much. Please lower the barrier, alrite? I’ll make it up t’ya mamas.”

Cautiously peeking out the window again you frown as doppelgänger Toji is still parked outside your door, clearly not going anywhere. The copy was pretty convincing too you have to admit, looking every bit as delectable as the real thing—maybe even a bit more—given the actual Toji’s current sloppy couch potato status.

BUT—’So sorry?!’  

Since when did Toji ever so willingly apologize for anything—and the ‘please’?! 

Yeah, please is right, as it’s something Toji would never say this easily—this creature was definitely not your Toji!

Even if you had been moved ever-so-slightly by the tinge of genuine contrition in its voice, this thing had Toji’s personality all wrong.

You had to admit it was a pretty good ploy though. 

The curse even sounded just like Toji and used similar lingo, it was almost flawless—but—the flaw it did have was huge. 

“Listen, I’m gonna level with you. It’s not worth it buddy, turn into someone else. He's sleeping now but he'll literally rip you apart if he wakes up and I don’t wanna deal with the ‘tude he’s gonna have after. It will ruin our whole date night and I never get date night!”

You harshly whispered through the door. 

Although, to be honest you were a little embarrassed you let that last part slip out like that. However your frustrations from the isolation were boiling over and this Toji looked just like the real one, you couldn’t help but take it out a little bit on them.

“Besides, I know for a fact you aren’t the real Toji.”

Pulling away from the window, you check the barrier again as you silently hope the doppelgänger  will just get the hint and leave. 

Standing in the foyer, you don’t hear anything for a minute and you think it might have actually left—although you wouldn’t know without looking again as the thing seemingly also mimicked heavenly restriction to a certain extent as you weren’t able to sense him either. However, thankfully the limitations of the fraud Toji appeared to be keeping it from freely passing through barriers apparently—one thing thankfully that could not be mimicked. 

“Ya know ma…I already know—that you know, that is. Tsk, wouldn't be hard to figure out, given his abilities alone.”

Toji’s smooth voice comes through the door. Well, not your Toji, Toji #2, the doppelgänger. 

You had a sassy remark ready to throw at him but the doppelgänger’s next words give you pause.

“But it wasn’t the abilities that gave me away, right? He doesn't apologize as much as he needs to, eh ma?” 

Silence.

“N’ ya really think y’er going out somewhere tonight, mamas? That old man ain’t waking up for a while.” 

You're not sure how exactly to respond to copycat Toji. 

Thoroughly stunned, you know his words ring true, yet they manage to sound just as condescending as the real Toji does sometimes when he's certain he's right.

Scoffing, you know you remaining quiet is an answer all on its own. 

“You know you don’t deserve that, mamas… You could do better. Someone who could actually be around more, eh?”

Spot-on in his assessment, doppelgänger Toji doesn’t need to see you chewing on your lip to know he has you hooked. You are too caught up in your own head, left isolated for too long to think rationally at the moment. 

However, had you taken the time to peek out of the side window again, you would have seen the self-satisfied smirk on the clone’s face knowing he had slightly hooked you.

“Don’t think of me as a copy mamas—consider me an upgrade.”

ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩ᡣ𐭩

When Toji—the real Toji—finally wakes up, he’s practically ravenous. 

The wasabi peas did little to satisfy him, waiting for you to finish cooking your famous mac and cheese and drinking all that beer had amplified his hunger even more. 

Although overall, it had left him tired. He hadn’t been on this many jobs in literal years. Though he had turned down many contracts in the past out of disinterest or sheer laziness, the money these clowns were offering to eliminate wayward copies was pure insanity

Upwards of 150 million yen for some light-weight level one & two curses?

Toji would be a fool to turn down that easy money. 

And while certainly easy, the jobs had been tedious, feeling near endless. 

Nearly every bastard in Tokyo had a copy running around—if not multiple and after a week of non-stop work with barely any sleep, it finally caught up to Toji.

With a yawn more similar to a light roar, Toji looks around, cracking his stiff neck. He isn’t sure how much time has passed but he’s a little annoyed. Most of the lights are off and you are nowhere to be found, usually he’d hear you in the kitchen or you’d be curled up beside him, molded into his side body. 

His eyes briefly narrowing, Toji knows he was supposed to take you out tonight so you can finally get some air after being cooped up so long. But knowing how big a brat you could be, you’d better not have disobeyed him and gone outside yourself just because he’d overslept—it was still too dangerous.

Yet any remnants of sleep instantly dissipates when Toji hears your soft flirtatious laughter coming from the foyer. 

Rising up from his hibernation spot on your sofa and following the sound of your voice to the front of the house, Toji’s annoyance grows with every step. He can sense something’s off—his innate senses are screaming at him.

When Toji lays eyes on you he realizes there’s actually something that leaves him even more irritated than you speaking with your coworker, Gojo Satoru.

Much worse. 

You were talking, no—flirting with Toji’s own doppelgänger at that!

Not only had you made yourself comfortable, chatting with him through the screen door from a cozy chair while he sat on a stool he’d scooched over on the porch, but you’d even lowered the barrier long enough to give the lousy clone a plate of food—a plate Toji instantly recognized as the mac and cheese you were supposed to make for him.

You fed that fucker his food too?!

Toji’s patience dwindles rapidly as you fail to notice him right away—too deep in conversation, happily entertaining a version of Toji that, for once, actually listens to all the topics the real Toji dismisses as ‘girly shit.’ The clone lavishing praises of your dancing skills and how cute all your photos look as you show off your IG and TikTok. 

Even though you are genuinely clueless, it's apparent that his doppelgänger notices Toji. The subtle smirk and twitch of his clone's scarred lip mocks the real Toji as the doppelgänger leans into the barrier, trying to get closer to you. If Toji were the introspective type, he might have realized in that moment how insufferable he sometimes appeared to you, seeing as how much his own expression had just pissed him off—but the murderous intent boiling in his veins seared away any such thoughts.

“THE FUCK?!”

Hearing Toji’s roar starles you so bad you almost fall out of your chair. 

Snapping back to reality you had nearly forgotten you’d spent the last 3 hours or so chatting with DT—short Doppel Toji—as you dubbed him. Unlike your real block-headed oaf of a boyfriend you have, Doppel Toji was so easy to talk to—about anything! 

Wanting to learn more of human culture and customs, Doppel-Toji hung on to your every word as you explained the details of being a new breakout influencer and how hard it was seeing as the real Toji wanted you to block nearly every man who commented on any of your posts.  

“Oh, Toji, you’re finally up? It’s only been 3 hours and the restaurant is likely closing down by now!” 

You roll your eyes.

“Anyway while you were napping, Doppel-Toji, DT here, has been keeping me company.”

Doppel-Toji nodded in approval of the nickname, the same smarmy smirk on his face that the real Toji was itching to rip off.

You turn back to the real Toji, seemingly unaware of just how close he was to losing his entire shit. 

“Babe, these doppelgänger ’s aren’t that bad at all! Some, like DT here, just want to live normal lives as doubles! DT here wants to be a milkman, isn't that right?”

Doppel-Toji gives you a wide smile that reached into his eyes, one that creeped Toji out to see on his own face, especially as you were even smiling back at him foolishly not even realizing how the doppelgänger ’s gaze had since drifted onto your jiggly tits and then even lower to see how your dress had ridden damn near past your supple thighs. 

Wearing only your cute, thin, cotton-ribbed lil pj dress with cherries printed on it you were practically naked as the sheer material teases the color of your nipples and shows the outline of the thong straps digging into the swell of your thick hips.

Yeah, by the way his doppel is looking at you the real Toji is certain the only milkman job his freak of a doppel wants is to be one turning your succulent fat cunt into heavy cream.

Heh, over the Toji’s dead fucking body though—well the copy of it at least that's for sure.

“Mamas, c’mon you can’t be this bird-brained…”

The real Toji crossed his arms leaning on the wall trying to keep his cool so you'd realize on your own just how silly you were being but he unintentionally made you lose yours.

“A bird?! Did you just call me a fuckin’ bird Toji Fushiguro!?”

You turn back to Doppel-Toji, whose smirk shifts to an understanding expression by the time you meet his gaze again.

“See this is exactly what I was talking about!”

Pointing an accusing finger at the real Toji and DT nods sympathetically, shooting eyes over to the real Toji who didn’t need his enhanced senses of heavenly restrict to sniff-out this nice-guy act was all a fuckin’ farce from a mile away. 

Voicing your frustrations, you're still griping as you once again face the real Toji who was just about fuckin’ fed up with this stupid-ass charade. 

“Listen, Toji we need to talk… DT says you don’t appreciate me enough! You haven’t been around at all lately and I know you’ve been busy but you could at least call—”

The real Toji closes his eyes, unraveling his arms and cracking his neck as you continue to prattle on. He’s at his limit and he ain’t about to sit through a nagging lecture all while a phony ass version of himself sat there ridiculing him too.

Furthermore, despite there being truth to Toji not being around lately, he’d actually tried to make up for it the best he could. Toji had venmo’d you money to cover your groceries and bills—something he hadn’t done for a woman since his late wife!

Overindulging you, Toji even bought you the newly released iphone you wanted (even though you still have last year’s model and its working just fine). However, according to you— ‘you need the latest new camera for your reels! And what else were you supposed to do but take fire selfies for all your followers if you’re stuck inside all day!’ 

Rolling his eyes at the memory, Toji wasn’t exactly sure when you had domesticated him. Nevertheless, somehow he’d gone from asking you to ‘hold 4000 yen for the week’ to sending you large chunks of his payouts to keep you happy—all before he realized he’d cared enough about you to even go this far. 

If you being a materialistic attention-seeking slutty lil’ thing wasn’t enough, you were also greedy too—still not satisfied and pouting until he was home again to bend your legs back over your head while he ruined your greedy lil' pussy.

As a result of the real Toji spoiling you sour, you’d turned into the nag before him now. Acting like he cared nothing for you whenever you didn’t get your way exactly when and how you wanted it.

“—and that’s why DT says you better act right before you lose me!”

Heh…

Your clingy lil ass wasn’t going nowhere—you were a fuckin’ brat and Toji should have known it would come to this.

Opening his eyes with a chillingly murderous grin, Toji’s demeanor sends shivers down both you and the doppelgänger’s back. 

“S’that right ma?—Is that what he says, eh?”

From there it all happened so fast you weren’t sure what exactly even happened.

You think Toji had ripped the screen door off its hinges, destroying it and shattering the barrier while seemingly producing inverted spear of heaven out of thin air to take the doppelgänger's head right off his body. 

But you weren’t sure.

Where were you? Still in the foyer?

In fact, you can’t really be sure of anything at the moment as Toji has your nighty rolled up past your tits that bounce wildly in his face as his big brawny hands around forcibly slide you up and down on his girthy cock. 

You didn’t know where your panties had even gone, Toji likely tore them off, shredding them to bits, for all you know. 

Your thoughts and current timelines are utterly jumbled as Toji completely hollows out your insides, molding your poor abused hole to the shape of his cock. His brawny grip imprints into your flesh, slamming your hips flush to his while allowing his bulbous cockhead to roughly kiss your cervix with every breath-stopping thrust down on his length. Shivers furiously ripple through your body as your clit is continuously assaulted over and over by the unkept pubes at his base. 

The rough treatment—just how you like it—releases waves of sublime ecstasy sizzling in your brain. Toji is effectively lobotomizing you with his mean fat cock, the relentless drilling thrusts liquifying your consciousness.

Fuck…wait—um, what was your name again even? 

The only name, thing, place you can think of right now begins and ends with Toji as he continues to bully himself inside your body, rippling shockwaves through your cunt that shift your organs around just to his liking.

“Tojiiiiiii, d-dahddy puh-leaseeee!!”

Your slurs are near intelligible but Toji can still make out his name as drool spills over your lips almost as fast as your babbles, thoughts of his doppel completely wiped from your slutty lil’ head. 

Yet even with the now decapitated clone, it wasn’t fully dead just yet. It was a stronger one, near special grade, severing its body parts wouldn't be enough to destroy them. The effects of the inverted spear made RCT impossible for it though as it withered on the ground.

It lay helplessly, dying slowly as Toji fucked the dogshit out of you on the comfy chair you had once been in. Proving to you and the curse that no copy could ever hope to have you falling apart like this—completely dumb for his cock only.  

So easily getting cockdrunk anytime Toji stirs up your guts is why you don’t even register the raspy words Toji practically growls as you—

“You hear that, baby?”

Smacking your ass hard, your flesh ripples against Toji’s palm.

“Answer me slut!”

His insatiable plundering of your cunt as you so blissed-out that the sting of your sore redding ass startles you.

“T-T-Tojsshii!!!”

You whine, sobbing as tears pour down your face, soaking your nighty that was damn near pushed up to your neck now. Toji knowing how big he was usually let you have the reins while in cowgirl but not this time—this was your punishment for being such a bitchy lil’ brat thinking he could be swayed behind some empty fuckin' threats of being replaced.

“Nuh-uh, slutty mamas.”

Toji mercilessly delivers another opened palmed smack that sizzles the nerve ends on your reddening bottom.

“Ya fed that discount version of me my dinner—so I’mma have to make my own—mmm ya hear that?  My version of mac n’ cheese s’almost ready.” Of course, the mac and cheese Toji is referring to his none other than your ooey gooey cunt. Your pussy lips stretch to their limits, yet desperately swallowing his thick girth with a series of wet squelches, glops, and bubbles. The milky fluids that are pushed out of you make an awful mess, running down Toji’s heavy balls and soiling your expensive comfy velvet chair. 

“Now this—this is how you make mac n’ cheese ma, hear that creaminess? You thought that fuckin’ loser ass fake was gonna make a freak-nasty pussy like yours sing like this?”

You can only gasp in response, trying to hang onto him and your own sanity while you dig your nails into Toji’s biceps for leverage as he drills you down on him within an inch of your sanity—the acoustics of your cunt ringing salaciously in your ears. 

“Tsk, look at ya ma, actin’ like you can’t take it when this is what ya really fuckin' wanted all week.”

PLAP-PLAP-PLAP-PLAP!

You’re really going to have to speak up now to get Toji to hear you over the sordid sounds of your cheeks being clapped to hell and back. 

"HMPH! MMM—N-No! AHHH—I-I want… SHIIIIIIT S’GUD—ahhh ahhh—d-date!!”

Another slap stings your ass as you pathetically pout, making Toji smack your jiggly flesh once more for good measure. Your cute lil’ expressions only fuel his mean streak.

“Now mamas, ya know we were never gonna go on that date—n’ I know, ya know why.”

Blushing, you bite your lip, shaking your head as you feign ignorance. holding back your sobs—not wanting to own up to what you and Toji both already know to be facts.

“C’mon slut, don’t act all shy now. Ya know the reason why we never go on dates—because this filthy leaky cunt of yours can’t be ‘round me for too long without wanting to get filled up—at the movies *smack* —in the back of the bar *smack* —heh, didn’t ya even make me fuck ya horny lil ass dirty in the filthy-ass stall at the park? *smack* Bratty lil cunt not being able to wait the 5 minute drive home…”

Your pussy flutters tighter around Toji, answering for you as he continues to chuckle at your embarrassment. You were a shameless lil' whore for his dick, and you were at your worst level of brat when you didn’t get it for even a short period of time.

“Whaddya say then? Ya don’t think I appreciate ya ma? Even though I fuck ya, whenever and however your pretty pussy begs for it? Heh. Well then, let me show this pretty cunny how much she's appreciated.” 

Further sliding down the chair, Toji plants his feet firmly on the ground so he can pump himself into you harder. The new angle has his cock pounding deliciously against your g-spot. You bounce wildly for a few pumps before your core muscles, fatigued and screaming at you, have you falling forward onto him. Nuzzling your head into his well-sculpted chest to smother your wails, you're unable to do anything but just take it. 

“Ya hear that, mamas? That's your pussy saying thank you to my cock. She’s always so grateful t'me mamas, better behaved than you anyday.”

Biting into one of his large pectorals Toji chuckles at your feeble attempt to still rebel against him. Your bites feel more akin to a soft tickle—yet the indents your teeth leave spark a feral urge in Toji, who in turn, ramps up the voracity a few levels. 

Sliding his hands from your waist he grips your cheeks, spreading them while you sink down further a few millimeters that almost seemed impossible, already being so full of him. 

“I know she knows how much I care about ‘er by the way she’s gushin’ on me, squeezing me like she’s begging me make her cum, she deserves it even if ya don’t.”

Cheeks cracked-open wide, your puckered rear exposed, Toji smirks as he presses his middle finger against your ridges to toy with the entrance of your asshole. When Toji starts rimming the tight ring of muscle in a furious circular motion, the finger already so slick n’ sticky from your juices—you can already feel just how fuckin hard your about to cum.

“Tsk—shame that mouth of yours you always gettin’ her and your lil’ ass in trouble, eh?”

Soundless moans leave you, your throat raw from the straining of your vocals—that is until Toji sinks his burly finger deeper into your hole, hooking and pressing against the thin wall to the point he can feel how hard he is coring-out your cunt from even the tight insides of your ass.

OH FUCK! 

Too much! 

Too good!

The intrusive and unexpected assault on your back hole is what finally does it for you. Toes curling to the point of cramps your bision blacks out and you think you lost consciousness completely but its your own vocals croaking out cries as you cum—hard that grounds you back to reality. Shivers take over your body and your clenching around Toji so ferally he lets out his own string of curses and he bites into your neck, filling you up—his hefty load overstuffing your pussy as it squelches out and down the sides of his cock.

You don’t know how much time has passed but you’re still trembling in the afterglow of your orgasm. Weakly look up at Toji, all teary-eyed and dazed, in pout so adorable it only makes him want to ruin you more in the most animalistic way possible.

You honestly had him wrapped around your finger like no woman had before and he was going to fuck that knowledge into you, preventing this situation from happening again.

Better yet—Toji was gonna fuck a baby into you to prove it. 

Sear his cum directly into your walls, painting you with his scent and effectively turn your womb into a pretty lil' dump over n’ over—until he finally planted his kid in you.

You wouldn’t be able to complain to him about being lonely then and fuck knows how long this doppelgänger shit was gonna last. 

Fuck tho.

The thought of you fully pregnant and round with his child got his dick back up n’ jumpin’ just from picturing you n'your cute round lil' belly waddling around. So much so that when Toji pulls you off of him to manhandle you into the next position he doesn’t even notice your brand new phone on the ground next to his feet until— 

*CRUNCH*

“Tojiiii my new phone! I still have reels that haven’t been posted!!!”

You’re coughing out your complaints, dizzy and out of breath from being fucked so hard. Scanning the ground for your phone you can barely support yourself as you bend forward to access the damage, until you feel Toji snatch you back up.

“Heh, fuck that phone and fuck ya IG ma. I’mma about to give ya something to put on a sonogram instead—now drape ya fine self over the back of this chair n’ toot that pretty peach of an ass up.”

The slap to your backside this time is so loud the force causes your ears to ring along with the rest of your body to tingle, your tongue lolling out of your mouth drooling from the force rocking into your overstimmed cunt. 

“N’ m’not asking ya!”

You would have surely collapsed to the ground if Toji, fed up, hadn’t just taken matters into his own hands and positioned your limp, ragdoll-like body over the chair himself.

Ass up and out on display, Toji parts your swollen folds with his thumbs. Admiring his cum plugging your gaping slit, Toji gifts a wad of spit into your hole adding to the fluids before he rubs his dick, now even harder than before, through your ruined folds. 

Grabbing your hair and yanking your head back Toji’s words send shivers down your spine as he bullies himself into your core once more—all in one go, taking him in so nicely like a slutty lil glove.

“Listen ma, the only DT I ever wanna hear you say is ‘Daddy Toji’. Now scream it for me, baby. Loudly. Tell the whole neighborhood, eh? They're already lookin’. ”

Huh? What was he…Fuck, the front door was wide open this entire time?!?!

Struggling to keep your bleary eyes open, your body keenly jolts from the backshots Toji is ruthlessly gifting your cunt. Losing yourself to pleasure again you see another doppelgänger on the approaching from the street—

This time it’s a perfect copy of—you! 

However your copy freezes on the lawn once it catches sight of your state caused by the giant bear of a man recklessly pummeling into your limp body from behind and his nearly dead doppel, whose limbs still miraculously twitch while scattered over the porch. 

Your doppel’s face twists in horror before she quickly flees the scene, smart enough to have more self-preservation than Toji’s as she wisely decides against engaging in any of these fuckin’ problems.

......RESULT: FAILED. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚞 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛—𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎.

that's not my jjk man series (visit series page for full animation)

comment and reblog! next up geto, already finished posting 10/21.

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

[delulustateofmind]

Can My Friend Join?

Your boyfriend wants his murderer of a best friend to join your relationship. You'll do that for him, right?

Yan!SatoSugu x Reader

Part two

TW: Yandere Behaviors, dubcon/noncon?, Manipulation, SatoSugu, Potential grammatical/spelling errors, oral/fingering (f! receiving), Trapping/love bombing. MDNI

WC: 5.2k

You see, it wasn’t totally unlike your boyfriend to make crazy decisions.

Satoru was rash, impulsive, yet completely and utterly in love with you in a way that made it hard to say no to him. And he always knew how to work that to his advantage. You’d let him get away with just about anything—like buying a penthouse in Shibuya without even stepping foot in it, or whisking you off on spontaneous trips for “work” that had your boss threatening to fire you every time you gave him a last-minute call about your absence.

Crazy decisions were his specialty, after all. Including the craziest one of all: dating you, a non sorcerer, that was not a well-kept secret from his clan.

And now, his most recent decision was leaving you staring at him in stunned disbelief.

“Come on, baby, he’s going to therapy,” Satoru murmured into your ear, his arms snug around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. His voice was soft, almost coaxing, as he peppered gentle kisses along the curve of your neck. “You remember Sugu, right? You even mentioned you had a little crush on him before we started dating.”

Suguru Geto. The man who’d slaughtered a village, started a cult, and declared genocide on nonsorcerers like you.

But now, according to Satoru, he was “better.” Redeemed, even. Whatever that meant. He wasn’t a deranged cult leader anymore, apparently. Therapy had fixed him. Or at least, that’s what Satoru was claiming with his usual breezy confidence.

“My love,” you began softly, setting the tea you’d been preparing down to turn and face him. His cerulean eyes shone with that familiar affection, the corners crinkling slightly as he gazed down at you like you hung the moon. It made your chest ache. “I know you two… had a thing. But why does he need to be a part of our relationship?”

You tried to keep your tone gentle, like you were trying to reason with him. Because, honestly, you were.

Satoru tilted his head, his grin widening just enough to tell you he’d been prepared for this question. “Mmm, well,” he started, the teasing lilt of his voice softening. “You were there for me, weren’t you? You’ve kept me grounded—saved me, even.” He leaned in to nuzzle against your cheek. “I figured… maybe you could do the same for him. Help him down a better path, you know? Keep an eye on him.”

Your heart sank.

“And,” he added with a sheepish laugh, his blush deepening as his hand rubbed the back of his neck, “well, he was actually the one who suggested it.”

That had your stomach twisting uncomfortably. You searched his face for answers, for some sign that this wasn’t as serious as it sounded. But all you found was that lovesick smile of his.

And you knew.

Satoru still had feelings for Suguru. He’d never said it outright, but the signs were there. The way his voice softened when he spoke of him. The wistful, almost mournful glint in his eyes whenever Suguru’s name came up. And, of course, the times he’d accidentally murmured Suguru’s name in moments of intimacy with you.

Your throat felt tight.

“Satoru…” You struggled to find the words, to balance the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. Jealousy. Confusion. Heartbreak. And, strangely enough, pity.

“It won’t change anything between us,” he said quickly, like he could see your doubts forming. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing soothingly against your skin. “I promise. You’re my person—my love. I just… I can’t let him go again. Not like before.”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “And what if I can’t do this? What if I can’t… share you?”

Satoru’s expression softened, his usual playful confidence replaced with something raw and pleading. “Please,” he murmured, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. It wasn’t like him to plead. To beg. “Just think about it, okay? You won’t be home alone as much anymore when I’m out on missions. With Suguru back, there’ll be two strongest sorcerers. That means I won’t have to work or be on call as much. I’m thinking about us, baby.”

His words were so earnest, so filled with affection, that they pressed against your chest like a weight. You should’ve voiced your opinions, should’ve argued, but the guilt crept in before you could. Satoru had done so much for you—letting you live with him rent-free, covering your schooling, and showering you with a kind of love that had felt impossible in a world where you were so much weaker than him.

How could you say no to him? Not after everything.

So, what if you were allowing some murderer into your relationship? Satoru said he was better now. Satoru loved you. He wouldn’t steer you wrong… right?

You bit your lip, glancing away before nodding hesitantly. “Can we… take things slow, Toru?” Your voice was soft, almost unsure, as you sheepishly met his gaze.

Satoru’s face lit up with relief, his cerulean eyes shining so brightly it was almost blinding. “Oh, of course, baby. As slow as you need to. I know I can be a bit… eager, heh,” he said with a nervous laugh, his hands cupping your cheeks tenderly. Then, with a playful grin, he squished them together, molding your lips into silly fishy shapes.

“There it is! Cute as ever,” he teased, leaning closer, his voice softer now. “But I still love you. You know that, right?”

You nodded automatically, leaning into his touch despite the unease swirling in your stomach. Perhaps, you were overthinking this. Relationships need a bit of spice, right?

“I know,” you murmured, forcing a small smile. “I love you too.”

The words almost came automatically, yet your anxiety continued to ring alarming bells.

He grinned, his usual teasing confidence returning as he kissed your forehead. “That’s my baby. I knew you’d understand.”

And so, within a week, Suguru Geto moved in.

It was awkward at first. You weren’t sure how to act around him—this man who carried a dark, complicated history yet exuded a calm, almost disarming aura. Offering shy smiles felt like the extent of your bravery, and more often than not, you retreated to the sanctuary of your bedroom.

At least Suguru had the decency to move into the guest room initially. That small gesture was a relief in itself. And thankfully, with Satoru and Suguru being sorcerers, you were rarely alone with him. At least not yet.

But Suguru was... considerate. You couldn’t deny that. He had a quiet, almost effortless charm, and while you had your issues—big issues—you couldn’t ignore the fact that he was a handsome, beautiful man.

“Ah, do you need help?” Suguru asked one day, his deep voice breaking the silence as he spotted you reaching for the Christmas decorations tucked away on the highest shelf of the closet.

You froze for a moment, clutching at the edge of the shelf. “No, I’ll be alright… thank you,” you murmured, your voice almost too shy.

Suguru tilted his head, his dark eyes softening as he took a step closer. “It’s no trouble. Here.” Without waiting for permission, he reached up effortlessly, his height making quick work of retrieving the box.

You thanked him quietly, clutching the box as you avoided his gaze. His lips quirked into a faint smile, but he said nothing, stepping back to give you space.

Then there were the times he helped without hesitation, like during grocery trips.

Satoru would inevitably dart off down the aisles, hunting for sweets or whatever caught his attention. Suguru, on the other hand, stuck to your side, the picture of calm efficiency. He’d scan the list you held, nodding thoughtfully before reaching for items on the shelves—always grabbing your favorite brands without you needing to say a word.

“You cook often, don’t you?” he remarked once, glancing at the cart as he placed a box of your preferred pasta into it.

“Uh, yeah,” you replied, startled by how observant he was. “It’s… kind of relaxing.”

He hummed in agreement, his expression neutral but not unkind. “I can see that. I’ll have to try some of your cooking sometime.”

The comment left you flustered, unsure how to respond. Satoru would’ve teased you mercilessly, but Suguru simply kept moving, scanning the shelves like he wasn’t even aware of the small storm brewing in your chest.

It was moments like these—small, thoughtful gestures and quiet interactions—that left you unsettled. Suguru wasn’t what you expected. You’d braced yourself for someone dangerous, cold, someone you couldn’t trust. But instead, he was... kind. Maybe too kind.

And that was what unnerved you the most.

Because every time you caught his lingering gaze or noticed the way he seemed to effortlessly fit into your routines, you couldn’t help but wonder: Was he doing this for Satoru? Or was he doing it for you?

It started off slow. Like a light sprinkle before the storm. 

Satoru was still the same as ever—the fun-loving boyfriend, full of laughter and mischief. He’d press kisses to your cheek, wrap you in his arms, and tease you in that playful way that made your heart flutter. But lately, his words carried a strange edge, a hint of something you couldn’t quite place.

“Maybe start showing Sugu a bit of love,” he teased one evening, nuzzling against your neck as you brushed your teeth. “He’s trying, y’know. Don’t be difficult, baby.”

You froze for a moment, the brush stilling in your hand as you quickly spit out the toothpaste. That… hurt. His tone was light, but the implication stung. Was he disappointed in you?

Still, you managed a tight smile and nodded, swallowing your unease. “I’ll try.”

Satoru grinned, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “That’s my baby.”

But then Suguru began to be more… involved.

It wasn’t anything overt at first. He’d sit quietly in the living room while you watched TV, occasionally commenting on the plot like a polite guest. Not as the boyfriend he was supposed to be, that you didn’t want him to be. He’d help with household chores without being asked, his quiet competence a stark contrast to Satoru’s chaotic energy.

But there was something about the way his presence lingered—like a shadow stretching further than it should.

“Tired?” he asked one evening, his voice like honey as you struggled to keep your eyes open on the couch. You felt him sit down beside you, close enough that his warmth seeped into your side.

You nodded, your words slurring slightly. “Yeah… long day.”

Suguru reached out, his fingers brushing against your temple as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was gentle, almost tender, but his dark eyes… they hid something.

“You should rest more,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Satoru worries about you.”

You blinked, struggling to process his words. “He does?”

Suguru smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course. We both do.”

The way he said it—we—sent a strange chill down your spine.

As the days passed, the small, unsettling moments began to pile up.

Suguru had a way of always being there, always watching. When you left a room, you’d turn to find his gaze following you. When you spoke, he listened so intently it felt like he was dissecting your every word.

And Satoru, who’d always been possessive in his teasing way, started pushing boundaries in ways he hadn’t before.

One evening, as you tried to excuse yourself to your bedroom after dinner, Satoru caught your wrist, pulling you back to the living room where Suguru sat quietly.

“Don’t run off so quick,” he said, his grin wide but his grip firm. “We’re a family now, aren’t we? Stay with us for a bit.”

Suguru looked up from his tea, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Satoru’s right,” he said softly, his lips curving into a small, almost inviting smile. “It’s nice when we’re all together.”

The way they looked at you—Satoru’s bright gaze brimming with love, Suguru’s dark eyes filled with something deeper, darker—made you feel trapped.

And then, Satoru had to leave.

He was off to Kenya for a mission with a student, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the apartment felt… quieter. You’d thought, perhaps foolishly, that Suguru would be sent off somewhere too, leaving you to breathe for a moment, to process.

But no.

Suguru stayed.

The first few nights felt strange, the absence of Satoru’s boundless energy a sharp contrast to Suguru’s quiet, deliberate presence. He wasn’t pushy—if anything, he gave you more space than usual, offering soft smiles and polite conversation. But there was always something in the air, something unspoken, something that made the silence between you feel heavier than it should.

And then, one night, as you lay in what felt like a bed too big without Satoru’s warmth beside you, you felt it—a hand wrapping around your waist, firm yet gentle, pulling you back against a solid chest.

Your breath hitched as a woodsy, earthy scent filled your nose, inky dark hair brushing against your shoulders.

Your heart sank once again, something it’s been doing a little too much as of late. 

“You’re awake,” Suguru murmured softly, his voice warm and low, like he’d been waiting for you to notice. His lips ghosted against your cheek in a feather-light kiss, making your skin prickle. “Satoru said I should join you. Keep you safe.”

Safe? The word felt foreign, almost cruel, as if it was meant to comfort you when it did the exact opposite.

“Suguru,” you said, your voice trembling as you tried to pull away, but his arm around your waist tightened, holding you in place.

“Shh,” he soothed, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s okay. I know it feels strange, but Satoru trusts me to look after you. He said you get lonely when he’s away.”

Your stomach twisted. This wasn’t Satoru’s doing—at least, not entirely. This was Suguru, using Satoru’s words, his trust, to inch closer, to blur the lines you’d been desperately trying to hold onto.

“You don’t have to do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His hand moved, sliding up to rest lightly against your ribs, his touch slow and deliberate. “I want to,” he murmured. “You deserve someone to care for you, even when Satoru can’t. That’s what we agreed on, isn’t it?”

You froze. Agreed on?

The realization hit you like a wave, cold and suffocating. This wasn’t just Satoru’s idea. This wasn’t just about keeping you “safe” or “happy.” This was part of something bigger, something the two of them had decided for you, without you.

“I don’t think—” you started, but Suguru cut you off, his voice still maddeningly calm.

“You don’t have to think,” he said softly, almost kindly, as his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your head slightly so he could press a kiss to your temple. “Just go to sleep, yeah?”

But the way his grip on you remained firm, the way his body pressed so closely against yours, made it abundantly clear that this wasn’t a request.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic rhythm that you were sure he could feel where his arm wrapped around your waist. Go to sleep? How could you possibly sleep with this man lying so close, his breath steady against the back of your neck, his warmth invading every inch of your space?

Suguru shifted slightly, his arm pulling you tighter against him as though sensing your discomfort. “You’re tense,” he murmured, his tone carrying a strange gentleness. “It’s okay to relax. I’m here.”

His words sent shivers down your body and tendrils of anxiety in your mind, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to calm down. But how could you relax when your instincts screamed that something was wrong? That something about him, about this situation, was profoundly off?

You tried to focus on your breathing, hoping it would drown out the sound of your racing thoughts. But every inhale carried the faint, woodsy scent of him—so different from Satoru’s familiar, comforting smell. It was calming, yet suffocating all at once.

A small voice crept in your mind, you shouldn’t feel calm. 

Suguru hummed softly, a low, melodic sound that sent another wave of unease through you. “You smell nice,” he said, almost absentmindedly. His nose brushed against your hair, and you froze as he inhaled deeply. “Like home.”

The words were meant to be reassuring, you thought. But they felt wrong, invasive, like he was claiming a piece of you that wasn’t his to take.

You wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat. And in that silence, Suguru’s hand shifted, moving from your ribs to rest lightly against your stomach, the weight of it grounding and possessive.

“You’re safe with me,” he whispered, his voice softer now, almost tender. Almost loving. “I’ll keep you safe. Just sleep, okay?”

Your throat tightened, and your breathing came faster as you tried to steady yourself. Safe. He kept using that word, as though repeating it would make it true. As if he were tricking your mind into thinking it was true. 

But how could you feel safe when every instinct in your body screamed at you to run?

Suguru’s grip didn’t waver, and the steady rhythm of his breathing filled the silence, lulling you into a state of uneasy stillness. You didn’t know how long you lay there, rigid and wide-eyed, before exhaustion began to weigh on you.

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. Slowly, reluctantly, your eyes fluttered shut, and your breathing evened out.

You stirred awake to a sensation so surreal, so tender, that in your dreamlike haze, you convinced yourself it was Satoru.

The soft brush of hair between your thighs, a large, calloused hand rested on the fat of your thighs, keeping your legs open, as your eyes were slowly opening from sleep. 

You felt his tongue drift up you sopping slit, moving to circle around your bundle of nerves, a whine escaping your lips as you shifted a little only for a warm hand to press against your abdomen to keep you from moving as he continued to dive deep into your cunt, his tongue switching from spelling a name on your sensitive clit to fucking your tight dripping heat. You couldn’t help but muffle your moans by biting the sheets. 

“Toru…” You whimpered out in pathetic small breaths. “Feels…s’good” it wasn’t like Satoru to be this in-depth with eating you out. It felt like he was mapping out your entire insides as he slowly inserted a finger into your dripping mess. 

You felt a nip on your inner thigh, causing a whine and for you to finally open your eyes. 

“Wrong boyfriend,” Suguru murmured, his voice a low, velvety hum that sent a shiver rippling down your spine. His dark eyes gleamed with amusement as he hovered just above your pussy that clenched around his fat finger that curled in just the right spot, your gummy walls clenching, no, greedily sucking in. His lips curled into a faint, knowing smirk. 

He tilted his head, his inky hair brushing against your trembling thighs as he leaned back down, his movements deliberate, controlled, as though savoring every moment of your reaction. His breath ghosted over your poor pussy, slowly licking up the mess you were leaking as he pushed his finger knuckle deep inside you, before slowly, teasingly adding another one of his thick fingers inside. Compared to Satoru’s thin long fingers, his was different, it was almost mind-numbing as your poor cunny tightened at the sudden intrusion of another finger.  

“Suguru” You panted out. “I-” and a gasp left your lips as you felt him curl both his fingers. Hitting that sweet spot that made you see stars, no colors, all sorts of stars and colors, as he pried you open. Your mouth left agape as you tried to think of anything besides the pleasure and the sickening wet sounds that were filling the bedroom. 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. You mind sang to you. But god, did it feel so good. 

“Mmmm, such a sweet pussy” he said softly before lightly sucking on your nub, earning sweet moans and whispers from your lips “Want me to stop, pretty?”  he said softly as he released your poor abused little clit with a loud pop. Offering a small kitten lick as you were trying to form a coherent sentence. 

“Come on, baby girl, use your words f’me.” His fingers slipping out of your slickened folds that caused you to look down at him with half-lidded eyes and a pout. You were so fucked.  

“You need me don’t you? Need me to help you?” He said softly as he pulled away, his big warm hand cupping your heat as you bucked your hips, his thumb lightly grazing your clit, toying with it softly. His chin glistened with your juices as he moved close to your face. 

It didn’t help that he was so devastatingly attractive—so effortlessly pretty, yet undeniably handsome. Every sharp line of his jaw, every curve of his lips, and the way his dark eyes seemed to pierce straight through you made it impossible to look away, even when you wanted to. Even when you knew you should.

“Give me a kiss, just one little kiss, and then I’ll let you cum. Okay, pretty?” Suguru hummed softly, his gaze lingering on your plump, red lips, his voice almost syrupy in its coaxing. His dark eyes sparkled with amusement as he took in the teary-eyed expression you offered him. “Can you do that for me?”

You wanted to fight him. Wanted to kick him off, shove him away, bite that insufferable smirk right off his face.

But he made you feel so good.

You were warm, fuzzy, and completely disconnected from yourself. Every logical thought dissolved into the haze of pleasure he’d wrapped you in. Your body betrayed you, nodding mindlessly like some desperate, needy thing you hardly recognized.

“One kiss?” you murmured meekly, your voice trembling.

Suguru’s grin widened, predatory and oh-so smug. “Just one,” he purred, watching as your eyes flickered away from him.

That’s when you saw it.

The camera.

Nestled discreetly in the corner of the room, its cold, unblinking lens stared back at you. Your stomach dropped, the haze clearing just enough for panic to creep in.

Suguru followed your gaze, and when he saw what had caught your attention, he chuckled—a low, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Oh,” he said smoothly, as though you’d stumbled upon a delightful surprise. “You found the camera.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours, his voice a whisper now. “Say hi to Toru.”

Before you could react, his lips crashed against yours, the kiss fierce and consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle—it was possessive, demanding, a declaration that left no room for resistance. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as his tongue brushed against yours, coaxing a response you couldn’t deny.

Every fleeting thought of resistance melted under the heat of his touch, leaving you utterly at his mercy, the world narrowing to the overwhelming intensity of him.

That fuzzy, dreamlike feeling reeled in your mind, spinning you further into a haze. The high you were on didn’t feel natural—it was too consuming, too overwhelming. Even after you came for the nth time, your body still burned with need, craving more despite the exhaustion creeping into your limbs.

You glanced at Suguru through the haze, his expression soft, almost tender, as he leaned down to scoop you into his arms. His strength was effortless, and the gentle smile that tugged at his lips felt entirely out of place with the aching mess he’d left you in.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” he hummed softly, cradling you as though you weighed nothing.

Your body refused to cooperate, too spent and trembling to do anything but lay limply in his embrace. Resigning yourself to your inability to fight, you rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your cheek. It was almost comforting if not for the gnawing unease beneath the surface of your mind.

As he carried you to the bathroom, his voice broke the silence, low and soothing. “Satoru’s coming home today,” he said, his tone so calm, so casual, that it sent a chill down your spine. “He’s going to be so proud of the progress we made, yeah?”

The words hung in the air, their weight suffocating.

The day stretched on in a blur, and though Suguru remained by your side, tending to you with a gentleness that felt far too intimate, you couldn’t shake the words he’d spoken.

Satoru’s coming home today. He’s going to be so proud of the progress we made.

Each passing moment only tightened the knot in your stomach, the uneasy anticipation building to a crescendo by the time the front door opened with Satoru’s familiar sing-song call.

“My sweet sugar bears, I’m home!”

His voice echoed through the apartment, bright and teasing as always, but it carried a weight that hadn’t been there before. You stiffened, clutching the edges of the blanket Suguru had wrapped around you as you sat on the couch, your heart pounding in your chest.

Suguru, seated beside you with a calm, almost serene expression, stood and moved to greet him. “Welcome back,” he said, his tone warm and inviting.

Satoru appeared moments later, his bright cerulean eyes sweeping over the room before landing on you. His grin widened, mischievous and utterly unapologetic.

“There’s my girl,” he said, striding over and crouching in front of you. His hand reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “Missed you.”

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say as his gaze lingered on you, almost too intently.

Then he turned his attention to Suguru, who was now leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched the interaction unfold.

“And you,” Satoru said, his grin taking on a sharper edge. “You really outdid yourself this time, Sugu.”

Suguru inclined his head slightly, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m glad you think so. She was… responsive.”

Your stomach twisted at the way they spoke, as if you weren’t even there—or worse, as if you were some sort of project they’d been collaborating on.

Satoru’s attention flicked back to you, and his grin softened into something almost affectionate. “I loved the video,” he said, his voice low as he leaned closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “You looked so perfect for him, baby. It made me jealous.”

Your blood ran cold.

“The—video?” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling as your mind raced to catch up.

Satoru tilted his head, his grin widening again as he straightened. “Oh, come on, don’t play coy now,” he teased, reaching out to ruffle your hair like you were some pet he was fond of. “You knew about the camera, didn’t you? Suguru said you even looked right at it.”

Suguru’s chuckle was low, almost inaudible, but it caused your chest to tighten. Throat to clench up, you suddenly wanted to cry. 

“We’ll have to make more next time,” Satoru continued, his tone light, almost playful, like he was discussing something as mundane as dinner plans. His grin stretched wide, carefree, but his words carried a weight that left your chest tight. “But don’t worry—I’ll be in the next one. No way I’m missing out again.”

The floor beneath you might as well have disappeared. The weight of their words pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, and your heart hammered as panic welled in your chest.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling. “No, this isn’t… This isn’t right. You can’t just—”

Suguru stepped forward, his movements unhurried, deliberate. His dark eyes locked onto yours, unreadable yet brimming with a quiet intensity that made your skin prickle. He stopped just behind Satoru, his presence looming, steady.

“We’re a team, after all,” he said softly, his voice smooth and calm, like he was explaining something obvious. “It’s only fair we share.”

“No,” you said again, louder this time. The word came out sharp, cutting through the air like a blade, though your hands trembled as you clenched them into fists. “This isn’t fair. This isn’t normal, Satoru, Suguru—this isn’t love.”

For a moment, the room seemed to freeze, the weight of your words hanging in the tense silence.

Suguru’s lips curled into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Is that what you think?” he asked, his tone soft, almost disappointed. He tilted his head slightly, his dark hair spilling over his shoulder as he regarded you with something akin to pity. “You think this isn’t love?”

“Yes,” you said, though the tremor in your voice betrayed your confidence. “This isn’t right. You’re asking too much—this isn’t something I can give.”

Suguru took another step closer, his gaze unwavering. “And what do you think love is, then?” he asked, his voice low, coaxing. “Is it not trust? Devotion? Sacrifice?” He leaned in slightly, his presence suffocating as his words wrapped around you like a vice. “After everything Satoru and I have done for you, everything we’ve given you as of late—are you really saying we don’t deserve your love in return?”

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his words sinking into your chest like stones. You had to swallow back your tears. “That’s not what I—”

“But it is,” Suguru interrupted, his voice never rising, never breaking its calm, steady cadence. “You’re saying no to us. To him. To me. After everything we’ve done to keep you safe, to give you the life you have now.”

You’d be nothing without them. You almost owe your life to Satoru alone. 

His words twisted in your mind, sharp and cutting, making you question the thoughts you’d clung to just moments before. He stepped even closer, his dark eyes softening, his tone shifting to something almost tender. “Do you really think it’s fair to push us away when all we want is to love you? To care for you? To protect you?”

Your lips parted, but the words died in your throat.

Satoru crouched slightly to meet your gaze, his cerulean eyes wide and impossibly soft. “Don’t you love me?” he asked, his voice heartbreakingly gentle. “Because if you do, baby, then you can love us.”

Suguru nodded, his smile warming into something deceptively kind. “We’re not asking for much,” he murmured. “Just for you to trust us. To let us take care of you. Isn’t that what love is about?”

The room spun, their words swirling in your mind, drowning out the panic that had gripped you moments before. Their voices, so soothing, so insistent, chipped away at your resolve, making you question everything you thought you knew.

“Shh, you’re cryin’,” Satoru said softly, brushing his fingers against your cheek, his touch gentle as he wiped your hot frustrated tears. “Don’t overthink it, baby. Just let us love you. That’s all we want.”

Suguru’s hand came to rest lightly on your shoulder, his grip firm but not forceful, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You don’t want to disappoint us, do you? Satoru has given you everything. Don’t you think you owe us this much?”

The words struck deep, guilt twisting in your chest as you struggled to breathe.

They loved you. This is love, right?

[cats-lolmao]

Yandere Gojo Hc's

Gojo x Gn! Sorcerer Reader

Yandere Gojo who couldn't handle your rejection since he has never been rejected or told no before

Yandere Gojo who went home that day and cried himself thinking of ways to win you over

Yandere Gojo that comes into your house uninvited while singing daddys home

Yandere Gojo that gets jealous you were on a mission with yuta and just spawns in as you're about to get your arm blown off holding. He has a bouquet of flowers that are held together by a rose gold rolex. He's wearing the most crips tux you've ever seen looking freshly groomed and destroys the curse within milliseconds

Yandere Gojo forces you to go to a cafe with him, then tries to woo you "hm what's that right there?" He frowns, pointing behind you. "Where?" you fall for it turning your head. He light grabs your chin to look back and be met with his blue eyes just for you to speed walk out

Yandere Gojo that sneaks into your house and replaces your alarm with one that wakes you up to his voice instead

Yandere Gojo who can't focus on a thing but you when he notices that your arms are wrapped around another

Yandere Gojo got them suspended cause your only supposed to have eyes for him

Yandere Gojo yells "Dont let the door hit you on the way out" giggling and cheering like a highschool girl now that he can finally have what was rightfully his

Yandere Gojo who decided to take matters into his own hands when you were almost killed by a special grade curse.

Yandere Gojo who threatens to kill your whole family if you don't give up your place as a sorcerer and become his pretty little doll

Yandere Gojo that goes beserks and storms out when you call him delusional and tell him he doesn't have a chance

Yandere Gojo that remembers he's stronger than you and just kidnaps you

HIIII my requests are open btw byee🫶‼️

[gojosatorubrainrot]

Scars don't define you💫

Summary: Gojo starts to feel insecure about your love for him because of his scars

Feat: Gojo Satoru x reader

Content: fluff, mentions of Gojo vs Sukuna fight, reassuring, body insecurities, husband!Gojo x Wife!Reader. Ch 261 doesn't exist lol

Wc: 1121

Author's note: Hi!! I've never thought I will ever be doing this but here we are! Encouraged by my gojo friends in discord to continue this drabble🥰 Sorry in advanced for my poor grammar, English is not my first language 🫡

The Shinjuku incident meant a reborn for the the strongest sorcerer, and you, his wife as well. You almost lost the love of your life by the hands of the King of Curses. At first, you thought everything was over when you saw him laying down on the floor, his lifeless body starting to be covered by the heavy snow storm that had began to fall minutes earlier.

You felt useless, after all, you were a non sorcerer, so,as a civilian, you didn't to have another choice than staying where Shoko and the others were watching the battle being broadcasted.

But its been a long time since that jumpscare and you thanked every existent God and also Shoko for bringing your reason of living back to your arms.

Satoru and you both were laying in bed together, you are running your fingers along his scarred face; each fingertips of yours feeling every single injury of his skin.

As you continue with your doing,he closes his eyes at the softness of your sweet touch, at first, he enjoys it a lot, he always loved the way you did it, always being careful as if he was a glass meant to break, but fear set up on his mind;he thought you hated his scars, that you despise them and  those marks ruined his pretty face, that you wouldn't love him anymore and, eventually, you would leave him alone as everyone did during his life, but this time, he wouldn't have a reason of living because you are his everything.

He doesn't even want to think how a life without in it would be, how alone he would feel again just like he did after Suguru's departure.

When that event occurred, when he was ordered to kill his best friend, he has never felt so useless as a sorcerer, but most of all, as a human being, so that was the reason he chose to stay alone for the rest of his days, to prevent someone from getting hurt by the mere fact of being involved with him. That was his idea until he met you at his favorite kikufuku store. He didn't believe in love at the first sight until he met you nor how does it feel to be in love until you.

you, his everything

He was afraid of losing you again, but now it was because of his appearance, he hated those scars because that meant you won't call him pretty angel or pretty face ever again. On the other hand, they were his reminder of a second opportunity, an opportunity he would take advantage of. His second chance to make things right and spend as much time as he could with you: not spending nights working or on mission trips, only with you, his home.

Now he is debating if telling you or not about his insecurity with his scarred skin, because he thinks you would laugh at this and ignore him, but call him silly for thinking that.

As he thinks about that, he sits up, preparing to get his shirt on. You can see how the mood changed, how an intimate moment filled with love and adoration became one filled with insecurities and non spoken words. He is looking for his shirt to put it on and leave the bedroom towards the balcony, so he can spare his mind off a little bit.

You wonder why he was feeling troubled and why he decided to ignore you and not talking with you as he has always done before. You are hesitant about ask him or not, you always wanted to give Satoru his space, you always respected that because after some time, he will come to you and tell you everything between thousands and thousands sorry for not telling you before.

All you can see now is his scarred back, and your intuition is screaming at you to do something so he could open himself up to you. After few seconds, an idea popped up in your mind; while satoru has his head between his hands, you approached to him slowly trying to not get noticed.

Satoru, who was lost in thoughts, suddenly felt your plump and soft lips along his scared back, giving it small pecs and smooches, replacing your lips with your small fingers tracing every single scar. He didn't understand what you were doing so he let you do so. Suddenly,he feels something he has only felt with you and you only: loved, adored, cherished, he was seen as a human, not a pretty face as he has been called few times, the strongest weapon for the jujutsu society, he was Satoru Gojo for you, your Toru.

He turned his head to where you were tracing your fingers and stared at you: you were focused and determined to make him feel alive again.

His small chuckle made you look up and meet those blue eyes you fell in love with many years ago;

"Hi sweets" he whispered without looking away" What are you doing?"

"Hi Toru" you giggled at that nickname he gave you only when you both were in an intimate moment "Nothing, just admiring your beauty" you responded never looking away from his mesmerizing blue eyes.

"Nothing about me is beautiful, princess" he said defeated. "Look at me" he pointed at his scarred skin, despising it, hating it.

"I'm looking at you, Toru. I'm always looking at you and all I see it's the prettiest, the most caring, loving man that I've ever met" you said putting his face in between your hands "I love you,Toru. If you ever think those scars will stop me from loving you, I must tell you don't me well. These scars are telling me that you are here" you give him a kiss in the tip of his pinky nose "alive, with me in our home"

After yours words, Satoru’s eyes immediately fill with tears, but before you notice, he closes his eyes to stop them and leans his head to your warm and reassuring touch, a warm feeling inside his chest arises.

He feels so grateful with you, you are his everything.You stopped caressing him at the moment he opens his eyes, blue like the ocean itself "I love you, angel" he says at the same time you started caressing the scar across his cheek.

"I love you too, Satoru and remember that you can tell me any trouble or inconvenience you are living through, okay? I'll always love you until my last breath" you said finishing the sentence with a quick kiss, which is immediately reciprocated 

With this Satoru knew that he would never feel alone again.

[cumironi]

hi I see you want a request! hb some angst to comfort !drunkgojoxreader where he always shows up drunk confessing his feelings but then acts normal when he’s sobered up. Reader is tired of mixed signals and ends up going on a date with someone when gojo happens to visit sobered up

you can do whatever you want if u happen to be inspired! Hope this helps you get out of your funk

“OH, MY LOVER IS DRUNK” : GOJO SATORU

you and him, you were supposed to be best friends— supposed to. but neither you nor gojo can't keep the feeling of falling. he tries to deny the feeling so hard that he has to drown himself with alcohol, the thing he loves the least, just to forget the feeling, only to come back to you every time he is drunk.

w/c 4.5k

warning : drunk! gojo satoru, non-sorcerer gojo!, angst.

p.s thank you for giving me a chance to write you something, and I'm sorry it took me long enough to write this :'), but i hope you enjoy it! (i don't think i make this angst enough for my liking)

fanart credit to the owner.

it was a tranquil night, the moon casting a soft, ethereal glow through your apartment windows, bathing the room in a gentle light. though the clock read 3:00 AM, sleep eluded you, your mind too restless to find peace. lying on your cold bed, you stared at the ceiling, each pattern and shadow playing tricks on your eyes in the dim light. the blanket was draped neatly up to your stomach, its weight a comforting presence against the chill of the night.

your hands lay flat on top of the blanket, fingers nervously tapping the back of the other hand in a slow, rhythmic cadence. the silence of the night seemed to amplify every tiny sound: the soft rustle of the sheets, the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the apartment, the almost imperceptible hum of the city outside. despite the stillness, a storm of thoughts churned within you, each one keeping you wide awake and alert, as if anticipating something just beyond the horizon.

you were anticipating something, no— more likely, someone. that someone, neither your boyfriend nor your anything, he just likely is a more sinister thing, disguised as a best friend, unfortunately. sinister thing, you describe him, where a silver thread lies between you and him— a bright and bold, tale of your love, gojo satoru.

he is, my sinister thing’ you thought.

you were adrift, suspended in the air, with no destination, no specific place to call home. you existed in a state of limbo, neither firmly standing nor lying down, hovering in a liminal space. your presence was neither filled with love nor marked by the experience of being in love.

you were perpetually caught in a paradox, always existing in a state of “neither,” but never fully reaching a place of clarity or resolution. your existence was defined by an absence of definitive states or emotions, perpetually undefined and drifting, forever caught between the edges of presence and absence.

it was always waiting, waiting, and waiting.

just like how the night before, and before, and right now, waiting in your bed for him to knock— and when he does, you, mindlessly, like you're in ecstasy running a little by little in the middle of the night to open your door, without realizing there's another door you open— your heart.

stumbling, drowning in a sea of alcohol he hates, gojo satoru walks in. and you, like the idiot you are, guide him to your barely-fits-for-his-over-six-feet -ass couch, comfortably lying him there.

“careful,” you whisper through the night.

your warm hands meet with his cold ones, gripping you as if he's holding on for his dear life. you drape his body with a blanket, big enough for you to shield not only his physical form but also the emotions he holds for you, hidden beneath the warmth, hide his love for you, not that you need to know. gojo‘s blue eyes are warm, and dull as they indulge softly in the moonlight and gentle glow from your little lamp on the cover of your living room, appear soft and subdued.

you find yourself seated on the cold, hard floor, while gojo stretches out on your couch, facing you with a look of serene contentment. his handsome face is illuminated by a crooked yet mesmerizing smile, a testament to his charm even in his inebriated state. his hands, chilled and seeking, grip yours with a familiar desperation, yearning for the warmth you effortlessly provide.

this nightly ritual has become a part of your routine—gojo, drinking away his soul, stumbles through your door, his steps wavering yet purposeful. he collapses onto the couch, and you remain on the floor, the quiet observer of his vulnerable confessions. as he speaks of his love for you with a fervor that seems to swell with each passing moment, it’s as if he fears losing you with the break of dawn.

he loves like you’re the very essence of his existence, the heartbeat of his every moment. his affection is a force that shapes his world, a flame that burns eternally in his soul. to him, you are the embodiment of all his dreams and desires, the one who makes every day brighter and every night more meaningful. his love for you is not just a feeling but a profound truth that defines his very being.

when the alcohol fades and his clarity returns, he resumes his usual demeanor, leaving behind only the tender echo of his heartfelt declarations and the gentle imprint of his touch on your hands. he pretends, gojo satoru likes to pretend.

“always so beautiful,” he whispered, his smile fading as his eyes wandered over every contour of your face. he traced the delicate path of each freckle, every mole, and the subtle lines that marked the passage of time, memorizing every exquisite detail in his heart. his cold hand gently cupped your cheek, sending a chill across your skin that mingled with the warmth of his gaze, as if he were imprinting the essence of your beauty into his soul.

he draws your entwined hands closer to his chest, where his heart, in truth, has always belonged to you. from the very first moment you met, it was never his alone; it has been yours from the start. as your palm rests against his chest, you can feel the soft, steady beat of his yours heart, buried beneath his flesh—an intimate rhythm that pulses with calm and a tender, unselfish devotion.

a small smile graces your lips as you rest your chin on the couch, gazing deeply into his eyes and letting yourself be enveloped by their depth. “i’m in love with you,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with intoxicated. “so in love that i can’t remember a time when i wasn’t, as if my soul has adored you since the dawn of everything,” you listen to his heartfelt confession, witnessing the gradual collapse of his defenses, and your eyes shimmer, heart-shaped.

gojo chuckled softly, his voice thick with intoxication. “do you recall the first and last time we made love? your lips on my neck, since that day, your mouth has been nothing but heaven,” his words tumbled out in a drowsy, slurred cadence.

you, too, remember that day with crystal clarity; it is etched deeply in your mind, an indelible memory that clings to your thoughts like a cherished, haunting presence. each detail, every sensation, has become a permanent part of you, woven into the very fabric of your being. the memory of his touch and the sweetness of his kiss linger, a profound and enduring echo that remains with you always.

you still can feel his touch on your skin.

“of course you don’t know,” he whispered, his voice heavy with the weight of intoxication, as his thumb traced gentle patterns across your cheek. “and i’ll gladly take the blame for that,” he continued, his words slurred with inebriation, “i-i kissed your hair while you slept in the morning,” his giggle, light and childlike, bubbled up with a carefree delight. “i wonder if you ever knew.”

you shake your head gently, a small, small smile touching your lips, just a little. you wouldn't dare to open your mouth, oh, you wouldn't dare. to speak would risk breaking the spell of his drunken state, causing him to sober up and retract the love he has so freely and vulnerably shared. the thought of him withdrawing those tender confessions and retreating into the safety of his guarded heart is a fear too profound to bear. because at that time, it's all you have, his drunkenly confession.

so you remain silent, savoring the warmth of his affection as it envelops you, clinging to this fleeting intimacy as if it were a precious secret. afraid that when the dawn’s approach looms, threatening to sweep away the ephemeral beauty of his heartfelt revelations, leaving only the ghost of his love behind.

it's a frightening, haunting, spine-chilling sensation that grips you, filling you with an aching dread, so you remain silent. because maybe, in those three am confessions are your only salvation. just like a dark mirror to cinderella’s tale, your reality is sinking down from the ceiling, swallowing you whole when he sobers up when the sun hits your cheeks warm.

“oh, god, i love you so much. . .” he whispered, his voice laden with vulnerability as he clutched your hand tightly, pressing it against his chest. “this love i feel—it terrifies me. i'm scared for the love i have for you, it seems so powerful, like it could burn me alive or utterly ruin me. even so, i know that i’ll let it be, but fuck. . . i'm so scared.” his breath was uneven and strained, each gasp revealing the depth of his fear.

his eyes, gleaming with the weight of his emotions, flickered with a poignant brilliance before finally closing. as he drifted into unconsciousness, the full embrace of the alcohol took hold, and the tender confessions of his heart were swallowed by the enveloping darkness.

you remain in quiet contemplation, letting his heartfelt words gently seep into your thoughts. you extend your arm along the edge of the couch, laying your cheek softly against it as you gaze at gojo’s tranquil, slumbering face. his lips, tender and slightly swollen, and his cheeks, flushed a soft, rosy hue reminiscent of crushed cherries from the effects of the alcohol, form a serene portrait of vulnerability.

in the gentle light, his features are softened by the peacefulness of sleep, creating a stark contrast to the emotional intensity of his earlier confessions. the calmness of his face, so vulnerable and exposed in repose, contrasts beautifully with the passionate turmoil of his words.

as you watch him, the room seems to hold its breath, enveloping you both in a tender silence that honors the depth of the moment. the delicate interplay of light and shadow highlights the serene beauty of his sleep, allowing you to cherish the profound intimacy of this quiet, shared space.

when the morning comes, he'll sober up, and the alcohol will have faded from his system, washed away by the sunlight along with his love for you. he'll blame the alcohol in case he said anything foolish, and you? oh, you would find yourself blaming the moon, even the sun, because it's breath away the day for night to come, for casting hope into your soul, into your heart, and also crushing it at the same time in the harsh light of dawn. leaving you to grapple with the fragile hope that was both a blessing and a burden.

it was cruel, worse than cannibalism. you could have borne the agony of having your flesh consumed, but not the ravaging of your soul and heart, oh please, not my heart’ you would plead into the darkness as night falls. you were scared too, not because of loving gojo satoru, loving him is as natural as breathing, but because of the depth of your devotion— you are scared your devotion would turn violent. your devotion would make you believe him like a god, and he'll betray you like a man.

yet, despite the pain, you find yourself eternally awaiting the arrival of night, longing for those confessions whispered at 3:00 AM, even knowing they will leave you shattered by morning’s light. each dawn brings the same heartache, and today is no different.

you awaken to the insistent chime of your notification, your eyes fluttering open to the stark emptiness of your apartment. the couch where gojo once lay is now vacant, the space where he slept cold and unwelcoming. the blanket he used before now wrapped around you, carries no trace of his warmth. the comfort it once offered has dissipated, leaving behind only a hollow chill and the echo of his absence.

your grip tightens on your phone, the pressure biting into your hands, but it’s a mere shadow of the pain coursing through your heart. suddenly, the dam within you gives way, and a torrent of tears spills down your cheeks, cascading like a relentless river. the exhaustion of navigating gojo’s endless emotional games weighs heavily upon you, a suffocating burden that leaves you breathless.

you don't want anything, the only thing you want can't be bought with money. if i ask for your heart will you give it to me?’ you mock yourself. what a fucking loser.

“oh god. . .” you whisper, forehead touching the floor as you wailing in silence.

you feel foolish for clinging to the hope that, perhaps this time, he might remember, that he might repeat the tender words of the night before. yet, as each morning dawns with the same emptiness, your heart aches with the weary realization that your hopes have been in vain, leaving you to grapple with the sorrow of unfulfilled dreams.

the evening was settling into a serene quiet, your apartment softly illuminated by the warm glow of your lights. you were almost ready for your date, anticipation mingling with a sense of hope as you made final adjustments to your outfit. watching yourself in the mirror, you realize how dull your eyes are, losing their spark. after everything, you decided to bury your feelings beneath your flesh until only you know your love for gojo satoru.

a knock at the door disrupted your preparations, and when you opened it, gojo stood there, sober and uncharacteristically subdued. his eyes, usually brimming with playful energy, now reflected a deep, almost mournful sadness.

“hey,” he said, his voice softer just like always. he glanced around the room, his gaze lingering on the subtle details of your evening preparations—the carefully chosen attire, the delicate scent of perfume, and your eyes, those bright, beautiful eyes.

you moved through your bedroom, selecting accessories and adjusting your outfit, each motion a quiet ritual in the evening’s anticipation. gojo watched from the doorway, his gaze fixed on you with a deep, almost reverent intensity. his silence spoke volumes, a contrast to the usual banter that characterized your interactions.

gojo’s voice, tinged with an unexpected vulnerability, broke the silence. “where are you going?” he asked softly, his eyes searching yours with a mixture of concern and hurt.

you hesitated, caught between the desire to protect both his feelings and the truth. his gaze, usually so playful and intense, now bore a raw, wounded quality. the gravity of the question hung heavy in the air, and you could feel the weight of the decision you had to make.

“i’m—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. you could see the hope flickering in his eyes, mingled with the pain of realization. you knew that this was more than just a casual question; it was a plea for understanding, for clarity amid his confusion.

he took a step closer, his usual nonchalance replaced by a genuine yearning to grasp the reality of the situation. “i just want to know,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper, “where you’re going. what’s tonight for you?”

you looked at him, your heart aching with the weight of his unspoken fears. the room felt charged with the intensity of the moment, every detail amplified by the quiet desperation in his voice.

“i’m going out with someone,” you finally admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “tonight is… it’s meant for someone else.”

the words hung in the air, their impact palpable. gojo’s face fell, the light in his eyes dimming as he took in the truth of your plans. he nodded slowly, the understanding settling over him with a heavy sadness.

“i see,” he said quietly, a bitter edge to his tone as he took a step back, giving you space. “i didn’t realize…” the finality of his words and the desolate look on his face were almost too much to bear.

you hesitated, unsure of how to respond, but before you could answer, his gaze wandered over you with a mixture of admiration and sadness. “you look…” he started, his voice faltering slightly as he struggled to find the right words. “you look really beautiful tonight.”

his eyes roamed over your outfit, the careful details you had chosen, and the way the light caught in your hair. there was a softness in his gaze that spoke of more than just physical appreciation— it was as though he was trying to hold onto every fleeting moment, every detail of this evening as if to etch it into his memory.

“you always look beautiful,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “but tonight. . .. tonight it’s different. you’re. . . breathtaking.” the sincerity in his words was palpable, mingling with the unspoken sadness in his eyes. he didn’t move, didn’t retreat from the moment. instead, he stood there, quietly observing, letting his admiration and affection fill the space between you.

“i didn’t mean to intrude,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving you. “i just wanted to see you one more time. before you go.”

the room felt heavy with the weight of his gaze, the emotional intensity of his words. you could feel the ache in his eyes, a mixture of admiration and longing, as he took in every detail of your appearance. the compliment, so genuine and heartfelt, seemed to hang in the air, a poignant reminder of the affection he still held for you.

“it's okay,” you nodded softly, gazing at him from your mirror with a little smile, kissing your lips. the date was meant to be an escape, a chance to move forward, but it felt like an endurance exercise.

your date was polite and engaged in conversation, but there was an undeniable disconnect. every word spoken seemed to drift past you, a mere backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts that consumed your mind. the laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the casual chatter all felt hollow, lacking the vibrancy you had hoped for.

as the evening progressed, the sparkle of the city lights and the charm of the venue did little to lift the weight on your shoulders. the conversations felt superficial, the moments fleeting and unremarkable. you smiled and nodded in response, but your thoughts were miles away, tangled in the memories and the lingering presence of gojo.

you couldn’t help but replay the images of that earlier moment—gojo’s earnest eyes, the softness of his compliments, and the way his gaze had followed you with such unspoken longing. his presence had imprinted on your heart so deeply that everything else seemed to fade in comparison. the way he had watched you, the tenderness in his voice, and the painful silence after he had left all resurfaced in your mind, casting a shadow over every interaction of the evening.

the date dragged on, each passing minute feeling like an eternity. you forced yourself to remain engaged, but the thought of gojo’s unspoken words and the gentle way he had looked at you overshadowed everything. you were caught in a cycle of longing and regret, unable to escape the grip of your own emotions.

as you stepped out of the restaurant, the cool night air was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the evening. your mind was still heavy with the weight of the date's emptiness, and the city lights seemed dimmer as you walked towards your car.

just outside, by the entrance of the restaurant, you noticed a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost. gojo stood there, his posture relaxed but his eyes scanning the crowd with a determined focus. as your gaze met his, his face softened, revealing a mix of relief and something deeper.

there you are, beautiful, mellow you. walking alone looking pretty in that silk dress that you should be wearing for him, not the other man, him. seeing you so breathtakingly beautiful makes gojo satoru want to crash into every piece of you, and fuck, he swears to god, that's how stars are born.

“hey,” he said softly, pushing himself off the lamppost and walking towards you. the usually playful tone in his voice was replaced by a sincere warmth. “i thought i might catch you before you left.” you stopped in your tracks, a flutter of surprise and emotion rising within you. “satoru, what are you doing here?”

you're in front of him, eyes glimmering under the lamppost and the moon. gojo wants to run, to bury himself under the ground, or just tell you to stop looking at him with those eyes. stop touching me with your eyes’ he thought.

“i-i. . .”

even so, his eyes never leave yours, shaken as he tries to swim into your orbs. how its color slightly changes under the lamppost makes it even harder for gojo to speak as if the ground is a new language for him, and suddenly, he forgets everything he knows about gravity.

“please love me. .” he whispered, throat dry.

for a brief, electrifying moment, your eyes widened in astonishment. your heart is pounded with a frantic rhythm, faster than the fall of distant stars, yearning to escape its confines and find its way into gojo’s hands. it ached with a longing so intense that it felt almost unbearable.

the pain of desiring something so profoundly—something you’ve never truly known—made you question why your heart should yearn for a home it has never experienced. yet, despite never having been there, it cried out with an ineffable need to be held by him.

it was always his and never been yours since day one, but he already holds onto your soul with an unrelenting grip and your heart— your only refuge, is all you ever had to keep living. you can't live your life if all you ever had is just merely flesh and bone.

“satoru, are you drunk?”

“no—” he shook his head, fast enough to hold both your hands and bring them closer against his chest, where his heart was beating faster, also begging to be handed to you. “i'm in love with you, y/n. i'm sorry i always pretend like i don't remember in the morning, but please. . . i don't dare to, maybe if i love you less it would be easier for me to talk, but fuck—”

he paused for a moment, and in that suspended breath, your only fear was the possibility of him retracting his heartfelt confession. the weight of his unspoken words hung in the air, and you found yourself dreading the loss of such a precious revelation. the thought of him pulling back, of his feelings fading into silence, was the only shadow that cast fear over your heart.

so you shook your head, “no, don't stop,” you plea.

gojo swallows his pride, he feels pathetic. but he would bear the life long of feeling pathetic if it is meant to have your eyes on him, to have your skins and bones knit with his then so be it. “i love you—oh god, i fucking love you, in the purest, chaste, most victorian sense,” he says, laughing softly. “even a mere glimpse of your ankle might be enough to drive me mad.” you can’t help but chuckle along with him.

his hands enveloped yours with a desperate intensity, holding them as if they were the very essence of his longing. “i love you,” he breathed softly, his voice mingling with the whisper of the night breeze. “i want every single one of your tomorrows.”

he guided your hands closer to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to your wrist, his touch both tender and reverent. his eyes locked with yours, revealing a depth of emotion that seemed to illuminate the darkness around you. the moment his lips left your skin, the faintest trace of coldness lingered, as if the warmth of his affection had left an indelible mark.

with a gentle but purposeful motion, his hands slid to your waist, drawing you nearer. his touch was both firm and delicate as he turned you around, guiding you until your back was nearly pressed against the lamppost. the soft glow of the streetlight bathed you both in a halo of light, casting long shadows and highlighting the closeness of your bodies.

in this intimate cocoon, the world seemed to fade away. the chill of the night, the warmth of his breath, and the quiet intensity of his gaze created a fragile moment of connection. his presence enveloped you, a promise whispered in the night air, as if he were claiming every future moment with you, even as the night deepened around you.

“please. . ..” he beg.

he leaned in, his face inches from yours, until his lips lightly brushed against your own. “please, love me,” he whispered once more, his voice tender and pleading. his warm breath caressing your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

the proximity of his lips, the softness of his words, and the gentle warmth of his breath all combined to create a moment of intimate vulnerability. his plea hung in the air, laden with the depth of his emotions, as he sought to bridge the gap between your hearts.

as the world around you seemed to slow, gojo’s gaze lingered on your lips with an intensity that made your heart race. his fingers, still resting on your waist, drew you even closer, the warmth of his body enveloping you. the soft glow of the streetlight cast a gentle halo around the two of you, accentuating the intimacy of the moment.

with a deliberate tenderness, he tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. the anticipation built like a quiet storm as his lips inched closer, brushing against yours with a delicate, almost reverent touch. the kiss was soft at first, a gentle exploration that spoke of deep longing and unspoken desires.

his lips moved with a slow, deliberate grace as if savoring every second of the connection. the initial softness gave way to a deeper intensity, his kiss growing more passionate as he pulled you even closer. the world outside seemed to dissolve, leaving only the sensation of his lips pressed firmly against yours. his hands cradled your face, his touch gentle yet insistent, guiding the kiss with a blend of affection and need.

the warmth of his kiss seemed to infuse every part of you, a melding of hearts and souls that transcended words. when he finally pulled away, his eyes still locked onto yours, there was a look of profound contentment and vulnerability. the kiss lingered in the air between you, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the fragile, beautiful connection that bound you together.

as you slowly pull away from the kiss, your lips linger near his, you meet his gaze with a fierce resolve. “if you ever mock me or play with me,” you say, your voice steady yet charged with intensity, “i swear to god, satoru, i’ll fucking hunt you down.” the words hang between you, your breath mingling with his, a silent promise of the depth of your commitment.

gojo’s eyes spark with a playful glint as he hears your words. with a mischievous smile, he leans in, giving your lips a series of soft, teasing pecks. “i won’t,” he replies, his tone light and teasing, but with an undercurrent of sincerity. “i promise.” his playful demeanor contrasts with the intensity of your threat, yet his gentle touches and warm gaze convey a deeper assurance.

[phyrestartr]

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.1)

W/C: 3.5k #full is NSFW, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, mentions of abuse, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, sukuna has FEELINGS but is BAD AT FEELINGS, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, dubcon elements, soz if anything is clunky asdkjf; i can only reread the same fic so many times for editing sadge

A/N: Decided to separate this into parts since I'm dying to post some of it lol I've held it in a chokehold in the shadows of my WIPs for too long, some of it has to come out before I explode o(--( there is more to come!

tag: @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9

The scripture was incomplete, worn away by age.

…herein lays the God...imprisoned...by...Disgraced One…

Yet the society felt this, the coffin uncovered decades ago, could be an invaluable asset. The vessel was decrepit and ancient, yet still stood strong against the test of time and the wear of nature. Seal papers, no doubt left by a monk of sorts, covered the entirety of its surface, hiding away rotting wood and rusted bands of metal from modern sorcerer's curious eyes.

Few knew why the higher ups kept the vessel under lock and key. Fewer knew why they kept it at all; however, those few understood the importance of such a relic. They'd been the ones to seek it out, to steal it away before malicious forces took it for themselves, warping the supposed deity inside for their own, malevolent purpose, whatever that may be.

And with Ryoumen Sukuna's fingers being found one by one, they could not allow anyone to possess humanity's failsafe: you. A great being imprisoned by the devil.

“Anything?” Gojo trilled, patting Yuuji’s shoulders frantically as he stood behind him and beheld the wooden tub covered in sigils. 

“Uh…” Yuuji tried to focus on Sukuna’s presence inside of him. He didn’t seem intrigued or frightened, nor did he seem too bothered with the idea of them trying to smite him down with a sealed god–he was, however, annoyed that Yuuji continued to poke and prod at him. 

Piss off, runt. 

“Yep. Nope. Sukuna doesn't care,” Yuuji sighed. “He's getting all pissy now that I'm bothering him, though.” 

Gojo laughed and patted Yuuji's shoulders a few more times before all but twirling towards the bound box. “Well, that's a pretty good sign that he's not the one that did this, then! In that case,” he started, walking up to the seal papers keeping everything locked down, “let's pop ‘er open.” 

Before Yuuji could even wonder if that was a good idea, the white-haired witch used an overzealous amount of cursed energy and disintegrated every scrap of seal paper. 

Yuuji braced for impact. Surely something terrible like a bankai or a spirit bomb would send them flying once the coffin came undone. Surely they'd pay for this, for unleashing whatever godly spirit laid locked up for far too long, only to release it back into the modern age and–

“Huh. Weird.”

Yuuji cracked open an eye and saw the dull shine of tattered onyx fur, and his control slipped with a blitz of vertigo. 

Markings flared across his skin as he stormed toward the coffin, heart howling with thoughts and memories crashing through a shared mind; a face he didn't know but knew so well bloomed at the forefront of it all, eyes framed in pointed scarlet, skin bathed in ancient, dappled sunlight.

They reached the edge of the coffin and gripped the edges, splintering the wood as they took in the sight; crimson and curse decay pooled around a figure, curled up and half-submerged. Several black, tattered tails spilled free from the tub, no longer crushed from the force of the lid sealing them inside, but they were bent awkwardly and matted with whatever tincture lay at the bottom.

Then there was the so-called god in the middle of it all–you. Still. Quiet. Curled up in a haori far too big for you. Eyes closed. Almost peaceful.

Confusion tore at Sukuna while nausea ripped through Yuuji; he couldn't bear to look at such a morose scene.

So, Sukuna pushed him aside.

[Heian Era]

You were never supposed to be anything more than a trinket. 

You were a gift from some family trying to show off for Sukuna, so much so that they offered him a delicacy, something he surely didn't have yet–a yokai. A kitsune, to be more exact. One with peculiar black tails. 

Sukuna found it interesting, and similarly desperate, to be brought such a creature as tribute. Certainly, it was meant to be seen as a high honour, yet somehow it felt…off. Why would humans give up something so powerful? 

Unexpectedly, it'd be you who told him. 

They submit me for the sake of convenience and mockery, your withering voice whispered where no one else could hear. You sounded weak. Tired. Maybe afraid, yet brave enough to reach towards the king and unveil the intentions of the men who brought you before him. 

Sukuna's eyes flicked to you, his feigned interest in what the sorcerers said falling straight into dismissal. You were much more intriguing. 

“Oh?” Sukuna asked, a smile creeping onto his face. The speakers ceased their jabbering and stared at your back with fierce intensity. Sukuna grinned wider. Oh, how he loved the way fear twisted mortal faces. 

You didn't shift or crumple into yourself under the eyes of so many, however. You pushed on with what little energy and life you had, so intent on dragging that clan through the mud. 

What I say is true, you assured simply. I expect to die today–

“Speak so everyone hears you, fox,” Sukuna commanded.

“--so I–I–” you coughed and cleared your throat, trying to rid your voice of the scratchy, weakness it struggled through. “I wish to not die with regrets.

"They have rendered me ill and unable to produce children, they see the black of my tails and regard me as an ill omen; yet they bring me to you, daring to spin sweet tales about the value of such an offering. But they lie,” You hissed. Your eyes glinted with molten malice, and Sukuna fell captivated.

“They throw me to you as they would diseased meat to dogs.” 

The courtyard fell silent, and Sukuna basked in it. You really were such a little troublemaker. A quietly chaotic force of nature. 

The king stood, rolling his shoulders as he did, and his pride flared as you dropped to your knees before him in respect. He walked to you and patted your head as one might a child's before appraising the sorcerers stood before him. 

“What a disappointment,” Sukuna sighed, raising another hand. The couple took up position, pooling their cursed energy in hopes of fending off the monster standing before them. The effort was quite cute. “Here I thought your clan might actually earn my mercy.” His hand dropped as the two lunged. Then, the two clansmen fell, too, both in neat, vertical halves. Quite overkill, yes, but he had a point to make. 

Where he expected a reaction from you, he got nothing. Only panting and poorly-stifled coughs came from you, racking through the entirety of your skin and bones frame. Sukuna could see it up close now, the way your body trembled from fatigue, the sickly greying of your skin, the scent of disease clinging to you. 

That wouldn't do. Sukuna liked his things to be in good shape. 

“Uraume,” Sukuna droned as he stared down at you, “fix this.”

It took some time, but you managed to recover. It was an unnerving experience, with the way Uraume tended to you with sincerity. Perhaps it was genuinity born from their devotion to Ryoumen Sukuna, but you greedily soaked it in, filling your stomach with the care they offered you. 

Sukuna didn't bother much with you, not that you really minded; you were much more content to be fed and forgotten than hunted down by the creature that supposedly took ownership of you without enforcing it. If he didn't cause harm or good, if he simply existed somewhere else and forgot you breathed the same air as him, you'd still be at peace. 

But he was more intrigued than you gave him credit for. 

“Ho? So this is where you scamper off to,” Sukuna hummed, leaning over you as you dozed in the nice little spot you'd made for yourself in the garden, right under the crimson cover of a maple tree. You jumped the slightest bit, your daydreams and sunbathing interrupted by the brute’s silhouette eclipsing the sun, but you settled again quickly. The beast of a man wasn't a cause for panic in your little world, after all. 

“Does it displease you?” You inquired, fixing your hair and straightening out your robes. 

Sukuna held onto an overhead branch of the tree as he looked down at you. “Pets are supposed to play in the yard, aren't they?” He smirked as you pursed your lips and flicked your tail before calming it with hasty pets. “What, you don't like being my pet?” 

“I would not refer to myself as a pet,” you countered as the man sat down with you and leaned against the tree. The king's presence calmed you. With him, you knew you were invincible. 

“Pft. Then pray tell what your damn role is around here.” One set of arms folded behind his head while the other set crossed over his chest. “Pets are freeloaders. Pretty sure that's exactly what you are.”

You huffed. “Freeloader. Tch. How rude.” 

“Lookit that. You're copping an attitude now that you're fat and fed. Used to be so much more polite.” 

“Fat and–I am not fat.” You headbutted his side lightly, something that would make more sense had you been in your fox form. You grinding your forehead against him suggested this was more of a human move, however. “I am perfectly normal now. I was brittle and nonexistent prior to now. This is a grand improvement.”

Sukuna scoffed a laugh and looked down at your head pressed up against his side. “Thanks to me,” he boasted. 

“Yes,” you agreed. You held onto his haori and looked up at him, placid and intense. “It is thanks to you. I would not be here if not for your mercy and intervention.” 

Sukuna raised a brow as he regarded you. “Hm. And what will you do to repay me?” 

“My very presence grants you luck, good fortune and fertility.” You tilted your head. “I already repay you by being here.”

Tch. But the gardens and surrounding lands did look more lush and lively since your arrival, he couldn't deny that fact. But he was a king; he could always ask for more and expect to get it. 

“What more?” He prodded.

Your tail flicked as you thought. “What would you ask of me?” 

“Something you haven't given another,” Sukuna replied. Ugh, your flowery, poetry-y, bullshit speak was rubbing off on him. 

You stared at him, gemstone eyes glinting with earthen hues and shards of gold in the yawning afternoon sun. The leaves bristled just perfectly, letting in dapples of citrus sunlight as if trying to make this moment something special, as if to burn your ethereal presence into history for all eternity. All this, just while you thought of what to give him. Perhaps a riddle is what you wanted. Perhaps purple prose suited your fancy. Perhaps it was something else. 

You sat up, carefully raising yourself onto your knees before leaning up towards the hulking king. He turned his face to you in interest, feeling a sort of natural energy begin to pool around the both of you, reaching from the far depths of the earth and the wide stretch of the sky to converge on your existence as you framed his face with gentle hands, and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

It lasted only a second. But a second was long enough to catch the scent of petrichor and petals on your skin, to indulge in the heat of wildfires raging in your soul, to feel the blasphemy of you against him; then, you parted. 

“For now,” you murmured, and Sukuna swore he saw your single tail fan out into nine, “I give you my divine favor, Ryoumen Sukuna.”

You wondered if your favor was enough. He'd been gone some time, off to accept a duel from the snotty shitheads Sukuna had received you from. Apparently, having two of the eldest boys murdered rubbed them the wrong way. Sukuna was glad for it, you knew–the man lived and breathed for a fight. 

Of course, you stayed put. Uraume assured you'd be fine on your own, and Sukuna reminded his staff they'd all be eaten alive by the king himself if anything uncouth were to take place in his absence. It was more so that Sukuna didn't like the idea of idiots touching his stuff than it was the notion you were important to him, from your understanding. 

Regardless, the time alone left you restless. That king made you invincible. Without him, you were nothing more than the scared kit locked away in darkness, never to emerge lest your stubbornness trick them. But things were different here. Everyday was filled with unknowns and uncertainties when the two you'd forged fragile bonds with fell absent. 

So, you thought of how to repay Sukuna. Your divine favor would only do so much, after all–you didn't think a man like that really needed the extra luck, but he seemed more than intrigued by the manner of delivering the blessing; you remembered how he looked at you, eyes half-lidded, shielding you from the inferno burning out of control. He grumbled something low in his chest, just loud enough that you heard: 

You better be here when I get back.

“Ah–” The thrill those catastrophic words gave you nearly led to stabbing yourself with the needle. You tutted and regained focus, continuing to carefully embroider the sleeves of one of Sukuna's many plain black haori.

You learned how to sew and embroider from watching an elder from that clan work her magic on old, tattered clothes. She never spoke to you nor regarded you, but she never turned you away the rare times you watched her fix garments; you thought it was beautiful–the art of turning something mundane into something meaningful.

Though you wondered if Ryoumen Sukuna, the most powerful sorcerer, the most feared man alive, had a desire for anything useless and meaningful. 

The answer came quickly. You'd found yourself void of confidence when the monarch returned to his palace after (obviously) winning whatever duel he'd agreed to; you weren't sure if you were to congratulate him, celebrate him or something more. On top of that, he'd eventually find that haori you'd slaved over for days, and you weren't sure you could take the heartbreak of dismissal. 

However, those fears were quashed when, from a new little secret garden hovel, you spied the man donning the very haori you slaved over; it wasn't a flashy piece, you didn't want to subtract from the marvel that was the king of curses, so you opted for using black, shimmery thread to weave intricate twisting trees and blackened blooms along the sleeve. Only if the design caught the light would one be able to notice it. 

But that was enough for you. Knowing he accepted such a meaningless gift was reassuring of your place in his world. 

So, you finally let Uraume convince you to stay in the room they'd prepared for you. 

“No need to be nervous,” you hummed, that undying urge inside you to take care of something helping you soothe the young woman's nerves. You fixed her hair, your deft fingers carefully slipping strands into place before sliding a decorative pin in to hold it all together. You took a step back to appraise her, Sukuna's latest concubine. 

“I–thank you.” Sachiko blushed fiercely and bowed the slightest bit, not risking a deep bow for the fear of her hair falling loose. “I can see why all the girls love you.” 

You laughed, low and warm. “Well, it's hard not to love someone who takes care of you, no?” Gently, you tilted her chin up and leaned in, carefully examining the red lacquer staining her lips. The colour matched her kimono and the gems in that exquisite hairpin keeping dark locks at bay. “But I'm glad. I know it's difficult to find respite in these times.” 

Sachiko held her breath as she looked over the natural paint of crimson adorning your eyes. “I-I, um–yes, I do agree.” 

You hummed and carefully fixed the smallest smudge on the corner of her mouth. “Mh. So I hope you do your best to please him.” 

“I will!” Sachiko promised. “But–I wish to–may I give you something?” 

“Of course.” 

She gathered her kimono up in her hands and leaned up toward you. You leaned down, expecting a secret or hushed words, but perfect red lips pressed against your skin instead. And you were dumbfounded; you'd never been kissed before. You'd never had a lady show that interest in you. 

Sachiko got down from her tiptoes and hid her mouth with her sleeve. “Just for good luck!” She squeaked before bowing and hastily running through the doors where Sukuna would no doubt be waiting for his woman for the evening’s events. 

You looked at the doors sliding closed and caught a glimpse of Sukuna stood before the young woman, his frame swallowing hers as you looked on. And you caught a glimpse of his eyes, his stare of shock and utter vexation–clearly, he'd seen the short woman give you a kiss for good luck. 

You turned away, choosing to abandon the girl to her demise as your fingers ghosted against your lips in wonder. 

He showed up in your chambers later that night. You were still awake, quietly embroidering another haori; this time, it was for Uraume. They insisted they didn't want to burden you, but they crumbled under your more insistent insistence, and accepted the offer on the condition it looked subtle and muted. 

Sukuna padded toward you, hardly bothering to announce himself or ask to join you (ugh, how annoying) before plopping himself onto the futon beside you, sighing as he laid down. 

“I see you finished early,” you commented, jumping the littlest bit when large hands caught your flickering tails. He didn't hurt you, no; he was simply an overgrown toddler with a penchant for examining whatever wiggled before him. 

“That woman kissed you,” Sukuna answered, unhelpful. “Ruined it.” 

“Ah. Well. I didn't expect it either.” You cleared your throat, feeling an unexpected bubble of embarrassment rise in your chest. “I have…I've never been given a kiss before. Not from what I can recall, at the very least.” 

“The hell are you talking about?” Sukuna grouched. “You planted one on me in the gardens.” 

“Giving is not receiving,” you corrected, flicking your tail so as to hit his face. “I've never given a kiss on another's lips, regardless. Though I find myself wondering why I–” 

You yowled when he yanked your tail like he meant to rip the thing off, and you whirled on him, eyes drawn into slits and chunky fangs bared as you dug your nails into his wrist in an effort to make him let go.

Yet the king looked unfazed. He sat up and  tugged you closer by your tail, yank after yank, ripping an impressive collection of vexed noises from you until his broad hand caught you by the throat. You clawed at his wrist and forearm, scrambling to find purchase, idly wondering if he'd finally had enough of you and sought to put you down after dirtying one of his concubines–

But he kissed you instead. His lips were warm and dry, not quite soft yet not unwelcoming. Sukuna knew what he was doing, too; his tongue licked at your bottom lip before pushing inside to finally taste you and taint you from within just a little bit. 

Your grip on him laxed the slightest bit, and you even eased into his hold as he, too, refused to harm you further. If you weren't aware of his malevolent spirit, you might've thought him gentle in that long, simple moment–a special brand of “gentle” that was wholly Sukuna's. Kind, but jagged around the edges. 

He started pulling back, though, and you followed after his touch like a bewitched maiden chasing after the lips of a lover. You nipped at the air like that'd do something for you, but soon settled on leaning into the hand holding you still, even if your throat scratched and ached because of it. 

You found Sukuna's calm stare watching you when you opened your eyes a crack. For once, you thought he looked content; the cruel, mocking lines of his face had smoothed and relaxed, and that annoying, cocky smirk he'd been born sporting had been replaced with a placid, normal lilt. Even the inferno blazing in crimson depths eased into pools of yawning embers–warm and spirited, yet contained. 

The sight relaxed you despite the confusion it brought to your rationale. 

“That,” Sukuna said, so odd and quiet, but powerful and judicial. “Is your first.” His thumb stroked against the side of your neck, pausing to feel the pitter patter of your heart thrumming under his mercy. “It'd serve you to remember that.” 

You nodded shallowly. “Of course.” 

Pleased, he let go of your quite breakable neck and moved like he was about to get up. You grabbed at his hand and pressed his palm to the side of your face like he was cupping your cheek. Your insistence on touching gave the beast pause, but he settled again, content to let you keep him hostage for as long as you wanted.

And you indulged in the simple favour. You nuzzled into his palm with a very fox-like chitter as a bassy, quiet trill of a purr lazily rolled through your chest, eventually reaching Sukuna himself. It somehow had him feeling content. Relaxed. Like he was basking in the warmth of the sun. 

“I request another,” you chirped, and Sukuna quirked a brow. 

“Another?” 

“Kiss.” 

Sukuna twitched a smirk. “It'll cost ya.” 

“Oh?” 

“Give me another blessing.”

And you agreed.

[satorusugurugurl]

This is kinda angsty angst. But what about one where reader got into an argument with jjk boy (maybe either satosogu, nanami, or choso) and they stop functioning or start getting reckless during missions and get really hurt. And they have a lil soft smutty smut to show reader that they love them and want them to stay on this planet.

Maybe I Should!

Pairing: Nanami Kento x FAB!Reader

Warnings: Yelling, fighting, blood, near-death experience, makeup, soft sex, fluff at the end, romance,

Word Count: 3,179

A/N: When I got this request, Nanami was the first to come to mind! I love him so much this request was made for him.

“You cannot take this mission!” Nanami snapped, cornering you against a wall. “It's too dangerous!”

“It's a grade-one curse! I'm a grade-one sorcerer; it’s an even match!” You shot back, ducking under his arm, reaching for your bags. “I’m not some fragile flower for you to protect.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose, following behind you with a scowl. “This is not about me treating you like you’re fragile! I’ve read the case files! I’ve seen the damage that curse had done! This is way out of your league.” The room grew hotter with your growing rage.

“I can handle this!”

“No, you can’t!”

“Yes, I can!”

Nanami’s hand snapped forward, the veins in his arms and wrist flexed as he held onto you firmly. His touch wasn’t painful or too rough; it was gentle, allowing you to pull away at any given moment. For the first time since he told you you shouldn’t go, you stopped, turning to glance up at him. You were expecting to meet pleading eyes begging you not to go, to stay here. That gaze was nowhere to be found. Instead, you were met with a stern, cold look. One that just ticked you off even more.

You looked away as you yanked your wrist from his grasp. “I’m going; I can handle this on my own.” Your boyfriend remained silent. “I’m not one of the children at the high school.” A lump formed in your throat as you tilted your chin to give him a severe glare. “You tend to forget how strong I am. You look at me like I’m some pretty little weak housewife. I’m not!” Nanami scoffed; it was full of annoyance as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yes, I am aware; if you were my housewife, you would have the decency to at least listen to what I have to say!”

“If that’s what you fuckin’ want, maybe you should go out and find yourself a girl like that!”

“Maybe I should!!”

His words were like an ice pick to your gut. Those three words stole the breath from your lungs, rendering you speechless. Nanami’s honey-brown eyes didn’t meet yours; they glared down at the floor as he clenched his jaw so tight you could see the muscles in his neck twitch. You felt tears burning in your eyes; you struggled to find the words to say.

What was there to say? He had said enough. Maybe the two of you had grown apart from the missions you both kept taking. Perhaps this fight was the end of you and him.

“Love, I didn’t mean—“

“You did.” His eyes finally met yours; they were wide, full of confusion and regret. “You meant every word.” Tears blurred your vision as you wiped angrily at your eyes. “I have a plane to catch; let’s put a pin in—“ you motioned between the two of you. “us ending our relationship right now. I can’t focus on it when I have a mission.”

“Wait!” Nanami called out your name before you stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door.

The conversation, well, the fight, plagued your mind the entire way to Okinawa. His words, the anger that twisted over his face. Thinking of his reaction was a bundled mess of doubt and heartache that sat upon your chest and clouded your mind.

‘Maybe I should!’

Anger fumed within the deepest part of your soul as you lowered a veil around the abandoned shrine you were sent to cleanse. Maybe he should pull his head out of his ass! You weren’t that same high schooler that was a year younger than him! You didn’t run off to be a businessman! You stuck it out and got more scars than you could count! So maybe he should realize you could take care of yourself!

Your fuming anger blinded you as you walked through the halls, glaring around corners, trying to sense the energy of this stupid curse. But Nanami’s stupid face, the rage, regret, the sorrowfulness in his eyes when he said, ‘Maybe I should,’ left his lips crossed your mind. He turned pale when you told him you would discuss ending your relationship. Thinking about him, about what was to come for the two of you, had you stopping in your tracks.

Ending things with Nanami was the last thing you wanted to do. But he needed to come to terms with the fact that you weren’t as weak as he thought. You were as strong as him; you could handle missions independently—even grade-one curses.

A grade-one curse that came out of nowhere and slammed you against the wall so hard you saw black spots. A wheezed, pained gasp escaped you as your eyes widened in shock. It is a curse made out of thick thorns, garbling and swaying. You moved as fast as your body would allow, a thorny arm slashing over your back, causing a wretched scream to crawl up your throat as you ducked and rolled behind a pillar.

Blood soaks into your shirt, coating the fabric as you pull out your talisman paper. Using blood from your cheek, you scribble out ‘purify’ over the parchment before embedding your cursed energy into it. Blue energy flowed around it as you rolled out from behind the pillar, tossing it towards the cursed spirit. Despite the fact the talisman was written on paper, your cursed technique made all your talismans hit your targets like daggers.

As your talisman struck the curse in the center of the face, it screamed in pain before it dissipated into black smoke, fading away. You let out a pained whine as you limped forward, glaring down at its fading form. But as its mouth began to fade, it laughed. It was a laugh that made your skin crawl and goosebumps rise over your skin. Something wasn’t right about this.

Whirling around, you were met face-to-face with another thorn-cursed spirit. This one was larger and stronger than the last. Nanami’s words from earlier ran through your veins like ice.

‘I’ve read the case files! I’ve seen the damage this curse has done!’

Little did the both of you know, this curse turned out to be curses—two of them, both grade one. The first one was strong, but this one, this one was crazy stupid strong. If you didn't move, you'd be killed. You rushed forward, reaching for more paper in your pocket, only to be thrown across the floor, your head hitting the floor with a heavy crack!

With blurry vision, you slowly sat up before collapsing forward as the curse rushed towards you. Thorn-covered limbs and vines wrapped around your legs, yanking you towards it. Its mouth opened, and a large tongue lolled out as you hit the ground with every yank. You screamed in defiance, kicking and screaming, tearing your flesh on the thorns, fighting to grab a piece of parchment out. The curse only seemed to enjoy your pitiful wails as you wrapped around you tighter, its tongue slowly sliding up your back as you drew closer towards its mouth.

That was its first mistake; as it brought inches near its open mouth, you roared, slamming a talisman onto its tongue. The paper burned with cursed energy before the kanji ‘purification flames’ lit up, engulfing the curse in blue fire. As it burned, its grip on you loosened, freeing and allowing you to crawl back, watching it thrash and scream.

You stared into the flames, wheezing roughly as you groaned. A see-through version of Nanami stood there, glaring down at you in disapproval as you struggled to stand. The Nanami said nothing as you gripped your side with a weak chuckle.

“S-See, I was f-fine.” you limped forward, “I could handle it.” Nanami shook his head. “Dead as a doorna-Gaaahk!” Blood spurted from your mouth as a stabbing pain shot through your stomach. Stumbling, you looked down with blurry vision at a large blackthorn emerging from your abdomen. Your blood dripped onto the ground as the throne turned to ash.

‘You were reckless.’ The Nanami before you watched as you fell to your knees, your hands clasped firmly over your bleeding wound. ‘Reckless, weak, not even worthy of being a housewife.’

Either his words or the pain had you collapsing onto your side, blood bubbling out of your mouth. Nanami, your Nanami would never say that. Iron flooded your taste and smell as you watched Nanami fade. Nita came rushing in, falling to her knees and shaking you as you stared weakly into the distance.

Perhaps you should have listened to him instead of fighting with him. He was only looking out for you, trying to keep you safe. But you had taken his adoration and concern for you as him seeing you incapable of taking this dangerous mission on. A weak laugh escaped you as you felt Nita dragging you, screaming into a phone.

Maybe being a housewife wouldn't be that bad. It might have been fun. But you would never get to experience that. Your body was too cold as blood seeped out through your fingers as someone pulled you into a car. Your name turned into humming as you shut your eyes.

“Darling,”

“Hm?” You asked, opening your eyes before shifting slightly against the warm body you were snuggling.

“Hi,” Kento reached down, stroking your cheek with one hand while he held a book in the other. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mhmm.” you snuggled into his side, breathing in the smell of salt water. “I had a terrible nightmare. I almost died.”

Kento’s warm hand brushed gently over your cheek. “It’s a good thing it was only a dream.” He whispered, bring your face up to him. “I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, love.”

“Mhm, I love you, Kento.”

“And I love you.”

Slowly lifting your head, you grinned at him as he kissed you deeply. He was sitting on a beach towel under an umbrella. The sound of ocean waves crashing over the shore had you fading further into the reality you had made. Where you and Nanami finally got out of Japan and made a life on a tiny island somewhere far away.

A beach somewhere far away, where you could spend your days walking the shore, enjoying the sweet ocean air. This was a place where Nanami could be free. Somewhere far, far away from all the blood and death the two of you had faced—a little slice of heaven.

And it was a reality that didn't exist.

Blinking in your summer oasis, your vision became clearer. Ocean waves turned into the chirping of medical machines and heavy snoring. The warmth of the sand was the warmth of blankets covering you. And the smell of Nanami was because your boyfriend was sleeping in a chair beside your hospital bed.

Disorientation overcame you as you sat up, wincing at the stiffness of muscles and pain in your stomach. Your mouth was too dry, and your head was pounding. What had happened? Where were you? How long have you been out?

“Ken?” your voice was hoarse and broken, but the man next to you jolted.

Dark circles had formed under his eyes as he jumped out of his chair, his hands cupping your face. His honey-brown eyes, which had been filled with anger the last time you saw him, were now filled with utter relief. He pulled you into his chest, his hands gently stroking your hair back as you shuddered, a sob working his way up his throat.

“I thought I lost you.” He whispered, his voice broken. “I almost fuckin’ lost you.”

His relief was contagious; you felt yourself easing into him, crying softly into his chest as he crawled into the bed with you. His arms gently wrap around you, cradling you into his body. No words needed to be spoken; the touch and sobs you both shared conveyed every regret and emotion you both had been feeling.

You were lucky to be alive, thanks to Nita’s quick work and the work of the doctors at the local hospital. They kept you in a stable condition long enough for Shoko and Nanami to take the soonest plane to Okinawa. Shoko helped speed up the healing process, and you were released three days later. During those three days, neither you nor Nanami brought up the previous fight. Which you were grateful for until he helped you into your shared apartment. As he shut the door, placing your bags in the living room, you sighed.

“Kento, we need to talk.”

“Yes, we do.” he agreed, following you into the bedroom, where the two of you sat on the bed. “I would like to—”

“No, I'm going to start.” You interrupted, placing a hand on his chest. “Kento, I-I’m so sorry I acted as I did. I was frustrated and angry, and—” You swallowed hard, “I realized you were only looking out for me, and instead of taking your words to heart, I twisted them into something they weren't. S-So if you want to end this, to find a more ideal partner, I understand.”

Nanami gently interlaced his fingers with yours. “I said some terrible things myself. I know you're strong, love, and capable of going on missions and taking care of yourself. But I will always tell you the truth. If something looks difficult to me, that says a lot.” The truth hurts as you nod, swallowing even harder. “That being said, my agreement to find a more suitable housewife was immature and moronic of me. You're the only wife I want in my life.”

He cupped your cheeks, kissing you as softly as he could. “K-Kento? You mean that?” The words came out as a blubbering mess as he laid you down on the bed, fingers grazing under your shirt.

“Every single word, I love you; you're the only wife I want.”

“I-I love you too, Kento.”

Nanami gently pushed you back against the bed, his lips trailing down your neck as his hands gently ran up and down your sides. “I want to worship every part of your body.” Hands slid under your shirt, gently grabbing the fabric, tugging it up and over your head. “You're such a beautiful love. I adore you; you're the best thing that ever happened to me.”

You shivered as his hands trailed over the large scar on your stomach, gently caressing it. “K-Kento~” He sat back, allowing you to remove his shirt before he trailed kisses over every single inch of exposed skin.

“I want to make love to you. I need to caress you,

Feel you, and adore you.”

Nanami trailed kisses over your shoulders as he slotted himself between your legs with a groan. Seeing the arch you squirmed and arched against him was all the encouragement Nanami needed to keep going. He slid his hand into your panties, gently rubbing circles around your clit, making you buck against his hand.

“I can't lose you; I need you in my life.” His sweet words had you moaning louder than his fingers plunging inside of you. “It’s you; it’ll always be you, baby.”

Nanami was true to his words. He worshiped you with his tongue, fingers, and lips. Bringing you over the edge countless times before he finally began passing his thick girthy cock into you with a groan. Once the tip is inside, you both inhale sharply. Your eyes were boring into each other, fingers interlacing.

The air is thick with lust and passion as Nanami slowly sets a steady pace. He was continuing to slide into you before he finally bottomed out. His back muscles twitched as he groaned against your lips, staying buried inside of you as you lazily kissed each other.

“B-Babbyy~”

“Y-You feel so good inside of me, Kento~”

“And you feel fucking perfect wrapped around me, my love.” His lips find yours, slotting against yours in a deep passionate kiss; the sweet lingering fast of coffee and sweetbreads flood your mouth as he starts thrusting deeply into your tight pussy with a grunt.

Nanami is slowly and sensually fucking into you. His mouth against yours, both your whines and moans getting lost in the other's mouth: you had made life countless times before, but this time was different. It was different because Nanami put his entire heart and soul into each kiss and thrust. He was cautious of how tight he squeezed your fingers while paying attention to the quest your body gave him. The man was putting his everything into his movements.

And you could taste it, god, it was so sweet. The gentleness, the softness in his groans as he gently rocked into you. While his hands gently caressed you. This was perfect; it was the literal embodiment of true love. A love that you would never in a million years let slip away.

“K-Kento~ I-Im not going to last m-much longer.”

“Me neither.” he gasped against your mouth as his hips bucked faster, the bed creaking under the two of you with his thrusts. “Cum with me~ I need to feel you cum around my cock~ I need to feel it~ please love, please~”

“K-Ken~! Ken~!” You cried out in-between kisses as he fucked you into an intense orgasm. He gritted his teeth as your walls pulsated around him, drawing him over the edge with you. Your name left his lips like a prayer as he filled you with his cum fucking it as deep as your body would allow.

Kenton only stopped when you both were a sweaty heap of entangled limbs. “M-Mmm, fuck, I love you,” Kento whispered, pushing strands of your hair out of your face. “I love you so damn much~ please don't ever leave me.” he pressed his head against yours, breathing in every breath you exhaled as you both came down from your orgasmic bliss.

“I-I won't.” You whispered against his lips as he moved, grabbing your left hand. “I swear, Nanami.”

He shifted, reaching for something under his pillow. Your heart lurched as you felt him slide a ring onto your finger. Glancing down at it, you choked on your gasp as a glittering diamond ring shone on your finger.

“Say it again.”

“I swear I'll never leave you.” you kissed him deeply. “I love you~ I love you so much~!”

“I love you too, god I love you.” Nanami kissed you, his future wife, as hard as possible without hurting you. “We’ll be together forever.” His hips rocked gently into you.

You made love all day. Gently kissing each other until you both finally laid down to rest in the last afternoon. Nanami softly snored as he held you, and you just laid there, basking in the afterglow of sex and the elation of being engaged. Your diamond ring glittered in the sunlight shining through the window before you curled into Nanami’s chest, sighing happily.

Being with him like this, was your own personal paradise that you never wanted to leave.

[vnti-vnxiety-recs]

Serenade of the Damned (M)

★ PAIRING: Pied Piper! Haechan x Little Red! Reader

☆ WORD COUNT: 10k

★ GENRE(S): Dark fantasy AU, Dark Fairy Tale AU. Magic. Smut, enemies to ??

☆ SUMMARY: The Pied Pier was one of the most feared folk legends of your time. Little did you know he was real and was coming to take your life. You, who was known as the wolfhunter, realized that the hunter had become the hunted.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: mature themes. Minor character death, knifes, blood, violence, alcohol, unprotected sex, gangs, threats, killing, 18+, MDNI

☆★ NOTES: Hallo! This is something that is totally different from my usual writing style, so im a little nervous to debut this, but im so excited because this concept was so freaking cool. I've been sitting on this for a while, but I thought it would be best to post in oct to fit the Halloween spirit. See the request that inspired it here.

Glossary Changelings- a shapeshifting race of beings that are related to the fey Tiefling- a humanoid race with devilish ancestry. They are known for their large horns, extravagant appearance, and carefree attitude Halfling- A halfling isn't a half-breed in that sense. They are their own separate race. They're called halfling because they're about half the size of a human. Half-Elf- A race that has a mix of human and elf traits Half-Orc- A race that has a mix of human and orc traits Harengon- race of rabbit-like humanoids Half-Harengon- A race that has a mix of human and harengon traits

In a quaint, shadowy town, where cobblestones whispered secrets and fog clung to alleyways, the figure of the Pied Piper emerged like a ghost from the depths of folklore. Clad in a tattered cloak, his features were obscured by the dim light of the moon, but the shimmer in his brown eyes betrayed a glimmer of mischief. To the townsfolk, he was more legend than man; a cunning sorcerer with the rare gift of crafting melodies so mesmerizing that they can lure even the most elusive creatures from the depths of their dens.

But behind his charisma lay a tale steeped in darkness—a story of pain that turned sweet melodies into lethal harmonies. The legend goes that the Piper had once been a simple musician, beloved for his ability to summon the gentle creatures of the forest with a mere note. But after tragedy left him scarred, his music dulled into a haunting echo of vengeance. Now, he used it to lure unsuspecting victims to their brutal demise.

He made his way toward the shadows of the town, the air thick with the anticipation of a storm. His target tonight was none other than the famed wolf hunter, Little Red. Much like him, numerous tales whispered through the streets about this legendary wolf slayer. He didn’t care; all he knew was that someone wanted you dead and was willing to pay a pretty penny for it. With each step, he breathed in the electric air, a smirk playing on his lips, ready for the deadly dance that awaited. 

Once upon a time…

There was a girl raised with cruelty. Some say she was raised by wolves. She knew nothing but brutality and lies as she grew up. Her family was ruthless and cold.

At a young age, she didn’t grasp the true nature of their business, but she sensed it was far from safe. Whispers of peddling girls and dirty money surrounded her family’s name, wrapping around it like a dark shroud, leaving a bitter taste in the mouths of those who spoke of them.

That girl was you.

You would come to learn that your parents were merely puppets, with someone behind them pulling the strings of their misdeeds. Like a fool, you were a puppet's puppet. You ran their errands, cleaned up their messes, and shouldered their burdens, enduring their brutal beatings when something went wrong.

One day, everything changed. 

You came home to an empty house, silence swallowing you whole. They had abandoned you, cutting their strings and fleeing with their puppeteers' money, leaving you behind in a world that was already merciless enough.

It wasn’t long before your grandmother found you, just before the bruisers came looking for you and your parents. Your grandmother was harsh, but you always thought she loved you in her own way. The forest was your new playground, a wild expanse where you learned to fight, to survive, and to become something more than a victim. Her love was implicit in the hours she forced you to spend deep in the woods, stalking prey, learning to hunt, and discovering how to protect yourself. You braved the harshest weather and the most unforgiving conditions, and though she never spoke loving words, you told yourself that this was better than the life you had before. 

You grew stronger, sharper, and more cunning. Each scrape and bruise taught you resilience, and every moment of solitude in the forest became a lesson in self-reliance. In time, you transformed from a puppet to a predator in your own right.

But soon, new whispers would begin to follow you.

You grew older, you could stand on your own two feet and you didn't need anyone but yourself.

Working at the nearby tavern, you earned a meager living delivering food to families in the area. You tucked delicious meals into your picnic basket and pulled your red hood high over your head.

Your grandmother had insisted you wore a hood in the city—she always said, "Wolves never forget." It had been years since your parents had run off with their tainted money. The Wolf Gang, a notorious bandit group that terrorized the townsfolk and threatened the crown with their ruthless dealings. They had once pulled the strings of your parents, and now they were still searching for you and your family.

As the end of your shift neared, you gathered your cloak tightly around you, seeking warmth against the biting chill of the approaching evening. After finishing your last delivery, all you wanted was to sink into the comfort of your humble home.

You entered the crowded tavern, your red cloak immediately drawing attention. The tavern master, a burly man with a thick beard, called out from behind the bar, his jovial tone slicing through the lively atmosphere of clinking mugs and laughter. “Heading out, little Red?” he teased, a grin spreading across his face as patrons turned to see who had just come in.

“Don’t call me that,” you replied, making your way to the bar.

“Oh, come on, Red. You won’t even tell us your name. What else are we to call you?” a half-elf named Renjun chimed in, leaning against the bar with a playful smirk.

“Faye,” you offered back, your voice laced with indifference. “Or Edith. What about Celeste? Do any of those names suit me?”

The tavern master chuckled, shaking his head.

Another voice chimed in.  “Oh come on, Renjun, we all know she can’t give us her name 'cause the wolves are after her,” a drunken half-orc named Hendery piped up, slurring his words as laughter bubbled up around him.

“Our little Red? Yeah, maybe when the Great Oak grows wings,” your boss added, his laughter infectious. "I do hear whispers of The Wolf Gang creeping closer to town. Just be careful out there." His expression turned serious for a moment, eyes scanning the room to ensure no unwanted ears were listening.

“I can handle myself,” a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. You understood the truth that lurked too close to the surface, the gnarled roots of your past intertwining with your present. The jokes and jests may been harmless to them, but the threat was all too real for you—a shadow that loomed ever closer.

With a wave, you turned to leave, the laughter of the tavern fading behind you, each step taking you deeper into the night. The forest beckoned; it was a sanctuary you understood better than the city. This is where you resided with your grandmother; she had less influence over you now but she was still as cold as ice. 

As you approach your cottage your human eyes struggled to perceive much in the darkness, the moonlight offering only a faint glimmer of clarity about the situation before you. The window to your cottage lay shattered, and the door hung limply off its hinges. At first, an icy fear gripped you—had a pack of wild animals broken in? But as you stepped through the threshold and took in the scene, you realized you were only half right.

A wolf towers over your grandmother's body, her ragged breaths shuddering in her chest. Its long, gangly limbs covered in fur and its ferocious muzzle are coupled with an unsettlingly humanoid shape. It looks like a nightmarish wolf, standing unnaturally on bent back legs. It's a perverse mockery of both wolf and man. These wolves were changelings, creatures that often adopt grotesque forms. Changelings can transform into whatever they desire. In a bid to evoke fear throughout the town, their gang had chosen a form that is both terrifying and unnatural.

"Get away from her!" you cry out, drawing a long hunting knife from your cloak. It may not be the ideal throwing knife, but it’s all you have in this moment of desperation. With precision, you hurl it at the creature. The creature howled in pain, a guttural sound that echoed through the silence of the night. It staggered back, the blade lodged deep in its shoulder, before bolting through the back doorway and disappearing into the darkness beyond. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline surged through your veins.

You rush to your grandmother, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over you. A part of you still harbored resentment, but she was all you had left. Kneeling beside her still body, you fought to steady your breath.

“Don’t fret, child. All will be well soon,” she rasps.

“Save your breath; I’ll find help,” you insist, tearing off a strip from your ragged dress to staunch the flow of her blood.

“There’s no time. Just promise me this: you will seek revenge. He wont just forget he saw you here. You must slay him before he tells the pack.”

In her final moments, she doesn’t utter words of love or comfort, but instead urges you to finish the job. It feels as if the last remnants of your heart shrivel and die alongside her, leaving a hollow void.

You stand up, your resolve hardening as you retrieve your knives from the secret spot beneath the loose floorboard. With a determined breath, you slip out the back door, embracing the darkness of the night.

He was wounded. He didn't get far when you found him. You weren't a puppet anymore; you were a hunter, and that night you killed your first wolf.

Any hope for a normal life died that night. She had thrust this burden upon you, and you could almost hear her voice echoing through the darkness, pushing you into a path you never wanted to tread. You didn’t want to kill that wolf. You wanted to run, you knew they would chase you but you were tired of fighting.

When the weight of his lifeless body slipped from your grip and sank into the murky depths of the sea, a pang of regret twisted in your gut. Days later, the waves returned him to the shore, a grim reminder of your actions. You realized then that you couldn’t simply wash this away.

With each report of the recovery, the whispers in the village grew louder, the shadows seemed to close in on you, and you found yourself a target. You didn't want to have to go further into hiding and you definitely didn't want the bounty that was put on your head.

The red hood, once a cherished gift from your grandmother, had become a symbol of something far darker. It hung around your shoulders like a curse, a silent testament to the blood that stained your hands and followed your name like a whispered sin. 

Then why do it? You had no choice. It was her dying words.

In this world, dying words carry some of the strongest magic imbued within them. They possess the power to curse, bless, or even command. When someone hears the dying words of another, they are bound by an unbreakable pact—compelled to fulfill the deceased’s last wish or face dire consequences. So, not only did your grandmother use her final breath to send you on a path of violence, but she also wove a curse around your fate, ensuring that if you failed to see her wishes fulfilled, you would bear the weight of her wrath.

Three cheers for family.

Your life was never comfortable, but you had grown accustomed to it. Working at the tavern provided easy coin, and you were frequently rewarded with free meals that warmed your belly and warded off the chill. The camaraderie of the patrons offered a fleeting sense of belonging, a brief escape from the harshness of your reality. But now, you stay hidden deep in the woods, very rarely do you go into town.

With winter just around the corner, the familiar game you hunted had grown scarce as the animals retreated into their dens. You were forced to broaden your field. You became a shadow among shadows, relying on your nimble fingers and quick wits to steal and swindle whatever you could in the city to put food on the table.

Tonight you were on a small heist, targeting a goblin who operated a brothel in the seedy pleasure district. He was known for his shady dealings and had amassed enough enemies that you weren’t particularly concerned about the theft tracing back to you.

You slipped through the winding, dimly lit alleys when you heard it—a sound unlike anything you had ever heard. It wrapped around you like a warm embrace, soothing your frostbitten ears and igniting a spark of warmth in your chilled body. Mesmerized, you followed the music, feeling an overwhelming urge to shed your clothes and dance, to lose yourself in the heat of the melody.

Your mind was clouded as you pursued the sound, unsure of where you were headed until you rounded a corner and spotted a figure. There, perched atop a barrel in a dark alleyway near the port where the wolf’s body had washed ashore, sat a man.

“Come to me, bring me the one who spilled blood,” he whispered, his voice carried softly on the wind. At first, you almost missed it, caught up in the resonant tune still echoing in your head, but as you stepped closer, the music faded. Rooted in place, you could only stare at the man—or perhaps the creature—before you.

He seemed human enough, but you knew better than to assume. Some beings intentionally concealed their otherworldly traits, opting to project an image of weakness—patiently waiting for the moment they had the upper hand to unveil their true selves.

“Who are you?” You asked, your back ramrod straight, unable to relax even a single muscle.

“Most call me the Pied Piper; some call me Haechan. But those who do rarely live long enough to share the name.” 

The chill of his words seeped deep into your bones at the realization that the Pied Piper was after you. You had always thought of him as a mere childish legend—tales spun to keep children in line, cautionary fables whispered at bedtime. Yet here he was, very much real, standing before you and setting off every warning bell in your body. 

He hops down from his seated position, setting his flute down on the barrel where he once sat. As he steps into the moonlight, he looks breathtakingly beautiful. He appears no older than you, soft brown hair tousling in the breeze, and delicate features that he likely uses to make his enemies underestimate him. But you’re no fool; you see right through him, right to the wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

He smiles at you, a disingenuous smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, as he closes the distance between you. Leaning down until your faces are inches apart, he distracts you, ensuring that all you can see is his face—the last sight you might have before your demise. You catch a glimpse of his deft hand reaching into his cloak, expecting something deadly. But instead, you’re taken aback when he places a gentle kiss against your lips.

Kiss of death.

Your grunt is muffled against his lips as a sharp pain lances through your side. He had stabbed you, just as you thought he would.

In one fluid motion, he withdraws his knife from your flesh just as he pulls his lips away from yours. The sudden pain breaks whatever trance he has on you. You jolt into action; he clearly didn’t expect you to be a skilled fighter. Maybe he thought you’d simply lie down and bleed out. But whatever he anticipated, it certainly wasn’t the swift kick to his chest that sends him reeling backwards. 

Seizing the moment, you sprint away, adrenaline coursing through your veins, fueling your escape as you leave him momentarily off balance.

You clutch your wound and don’t look back, sprinting through the dimly lit streets until you find yourself standing before the only place you know that might offer some help. The tavern looms before you, its wooden sign creaking in the breeze, the faint flicker of lantern light spilling from the windows.

You slip through the back entrance. The tavern has closed for the night, but you knew that the staff often linger for a drink or two. The sounds of laughter and clinking mugs filter through the air, guiding you like a beacon. Stumbling toward the main room, you knock over a few pails and brooms in your haste, the noises echoing in the silence of the empty halls.

“Red?” your boss calls from the dimly lit main room.

The last thing you see before darkness overtakes you is the sight of everyone jumping to their feet, concern etched on their faces as they rush to your side.

When you regain consciousness, you find yourself sprawled across a large wooden table in the center of the tavern, the surface sticky from spilled mead. Your cloak has been pulled aside, revealing the bandages wrapped around your wounds. A soft glow of magic hovers just above the injuries as Mark, the town’s cleric, administers a healing touch.

“Leave it to you to abandon your work and come crawling back half-dead,” Ten, a tiefling who worked alongside you, grumbles with a sigh.

“You’re just mad you had to pick up her shifts,” Lia, the only other human in the tavern, replies with a playful smirk.

“Will you all quiet down?” your boss interjects, his voice firm. “These doors turn away no friend.” He meets your gaze with a comforting smile, and you wonder if this is what a father’s love feels like.

As Mark’s magic dims, he gently removes his hands from your body. “You’re healed, but you might still feel some minor discomfort in this area,” he says, clasping his hands together. He must have been summoned in the dead of night to tend to you. You want to express your gratitude, but all that escapes your lips is a low groan as you try to sit up.

“Easy, you’re still sore,” Doyoung, a half-harengon with rabbit ears standing alert in worry, cautions you. You’ve always appreciated Doyoung; his expressive ears always reveal his emotions, making him a refreshing constant in a town shrouded in secrecy. He’s likely the closest friend you have.

Lia brings you over a glass. "Drink this, I mixed in a potion that should have you feeling a little better"

Gratefully, you take the cup and down it in one go. The warmth of the potion flows through you, easing the aches as you exhale a sigh of relief.

“Sorry for the intrusion; I didn’t mean to bring any trouble. I should be going now,” you say, attempting to pull yourself to your feet.

“No trouble at all, my dear,” your boss replies, his tone warm. “I’m not sure what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into, but if you ever need sanctuary, these doors are always open.”

“A little heads-up would’ve been nice if you were just going to disappear,” Ten chimes in.

“He just misses you—ignore him,” Lia laughs, her voice lightening the mood.

You look at them, a genuine smile creeping onto your face. Maybe you weren’t so alone after all.

The Pied Piper was real, and you were on his hit list. Rumors and legends shrouded his name, leaving you unsure of what parts were true and what wasn't. The one thing you were certain of was that his music did possess the power to enchant. You needed to discover his weaknesses—was it the pipe that held the magic? Or perhaps it wasn’t the pipe at all; maybe the true magic lay in the breath he blew into the instrument. 

You had to find him; you couldn’t just wait for him to show up again and gain the upper hand. Once he had his sights set on you, there was no stopping him from finishing the job. He didn’t chase you that night; he didn’t have to. With just a simple call from his flute, he could lure you out whenever he wanted. He was the cat and you were the mouse. You figured he liked to play with his food.

You had to find him and get some answers. Rumors spread as easily as the plague through the cobblestone streets of this city, and it wasn’t long before his name surfaced again. Tracking his movements was difficult; you had to sift through rumors to find the truth. It was like chasing a ghost but soon you had a lead.

His dark cloak enveloped him like a cloud of smog, and his steps were light as you followed his figure into the woods. You weren’t nervous. This was your hunting ground. You stalked him like a silent panther tracking its prey. 

As you ventured further into the woods, you came upon a rundown cottage with a thick thatched roof. You hid behind a tree as he entered the dwelling. After a few moments, a soft, warm candlelight flickered to life inside, casting shadows as you observed his movements. Carefully, you circled around the house, determining that the best way in was through the back. 

You waited until he moved to the front of the cottage before making your move. Slipping a knife through the crack in the back door, you lifted the rusty latch used to secure it. You entered quietly and shut the door behind you, holding your breath as you listened for his footsteps. The house was eerily quiet. 

Slinking along the wall, you made your way through the dimly lit house. The back door had led you into a small, cluttered kitchen. The air thick with the smells of old spices and something sweet that had long since gone stale. Haphazardly stacked dishes piled in the sink, their surfaces dotted with remnants of food that had dried and congealed.

Peeking around the corner into the front room, you took in the scene: a large desk was strewn with crumpled papers and half-filled bottles of ink. In the corner sat an old chest, its surface marred with scratches and mysterious stains, hinting at secrets long kept. A simple chair and a cushioned bench offered a rare spot of comfort in the otherwise bare space.

The room felt almost empty, save for the creaking floorboards that echoed with your every step, but the atmosphere was charged with an unsettling tension. A single door across the room caught your eye, and you assumed it led to the bedroom.

Just as you were about to move toward that room, you felt a knife pressed against your throat.

“I should thank you for making my job a lot easier, you know,” he says.

You freeze in your tracks, the cool blade pressing against your skin. You try to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye. Raising your hands, you attempt to project confidence despite your precarious situation. “I always thought you were just a legend, but here you are. Tell me, who do I have to thank for sending a mere mice charmer to try to kill me?” You smirk, hoping to buy yourself some time and distract him just long enough to disarm him.

“A mice charmer? What are you, then, to have fallen into my trap?” he retorts.

Seizing the moment, you grip the arm that holds the knife and pull it down toward your chest, away from your throat. With a swift twist, you slip out of his hold. Maintaining your grip on his wrist, you twist it harder. The knife clatters loudly to the ground as you kick it away. Grabbing his shoulder, you pull him forward and drive your knee into his stomach. He doubles over in pain, and you quickly pin him down with a knee to his back.

You slip out your own blade and press it to the soft skin of his cheek. “Don’t move. Lay flat on the ground, and if you move even a muscle, I will hurt you.” You sense he isn’t quite the fighter he appears to be; he likely lets his magic do the heavy lifting for him.

He flattens his body against the rotten wood of the cottage and nods reluctantly. You slowly rise, keeping your knife steady, and make your way to the cloth you noticed earlier lying on the ground. You rip off a substantial piece and return to him, using it as a makeshift rope to bind his hands. 

With a swift motion, you pull him up and sit him in the chair in the corner of the room, making sure he can’t easily escape. 

“A mice charmer is nothing without his flute and enchantments, huh?” you sneer, looking him over with a mix of curiosity and derision.

“What do you want? Clearly, if you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now,” he retorts, glaring at you with a fierce intensity

You look at him under the flickering candlelight of the room. His cloak is missing, leaving him in little more than a simple white tunic and black breeches. A chain is tucked into the neckline of his shirt—probably a keepsake or a charm, something that hints at his connection to whatever magic he wields. You stride forward, seize the chain, and yank it, pulling him abruptly forward.

“Watch your tone, or did you forget I’m the one with the knife?” you warn, leaning in closer, your voice low and threatening.

His burning gaze doesn’t falter for a second, revealing the calm resolve of a man who isn’t new to the concept of death. His hands are probably as bloody as yours, if not more so. He’s been captured, but he’s not broken, and that only makes you angrier.

“Who sent you to kill me?” you demand, your patience thinning.

He chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating through the tension of the room. “With how you treat people in their own homes, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had more enemies than you could keep track of,” he replies, a cruel smile curling his lips. “But we both know who wants you dead.”

You push him back into his chair with force, and he grunts as his back collides with the wooden seat. “You better kill me, because if I get free, you’re dead,” he warns, his brows furrowing in a glare that could cut glass.

His confidence is infuriating, and you feel your grip tighten around the hilt of your knife. “You really think you can scare me with threats?” you say, your voice low and steady. "You're in no position to make demands."

He leans forward slightly, the chains around his neck jingling softly. “You may hold the knife, but you’re still desperate for answers,” he counters, a glint of malice in his eyes. 

You ignore his outburst, your thoughts racing as you assess your next move. You had suspected the wolves sent him, but confirming it wouldn’t hurt; you needed to know what you were truly up against. Weighing your options, you realize that killing him could lead to the same disastrous situation you found yourself in before. On the other hand, leaving him tied up while you made your escape was hardly a safe bet. How many times could you flirt with death before it inevitably caught up with you?

"You overestimate your importance," you say, stepping back from him. "I used to think you were some mythical creature that dragged children from their sleep with haunting melodies when they misbehaved. But you’re just a dim-witted knave with a flute." He bares his teeth and struggles against his restraints, but you remain unfazed. "You don’t frighten me, and slaying you would be a bore."

“If you leave me here, you will regret it,” he growls as you turn to leave.

“If I leave you here, you will owe me for sparing your life—don’t forget that,” you reply coolly before stepping out of the cottage.

Each night that has followed that encounter has been nothing but fitful bouts of sleep. You toss and turn, haunted by the shadows of uncertainty, constantly looking over your shoulder, and darting your gaze at every creak that disturbs the silence. Had he seen you? Would he come for you? You knew he would call your bluff if he could see you now, taunting you with the knowledge that you were not nearly as unfazed as you would have liked to pretend. 

You just needed a few more days to gather some coin and collect your belongings before making your escape. This was long overdue. There was nothing left in this town for you, and you had no desire to fight for a place that felt more like a trap than a home. The memories that lingered here were a weight upon your heart, but the thought of remaining any longer made your skin crawl with discomfort. 

If the wolves wanted this shithole, then they could have it, you had no intention of being among them when they claimed it.

It was your last night in this wretched town, and the anticipation of freedom coursed through your veins. You had already saddled the horse you had bartered for, packing all your belongings tightly—everything you could carry and nothing more. Now, all that remained was to wait for the first light of dawn to break over the horizon. 

Traveling under the cover of night felt far too risky; the shadows held too many unknowns, and you were no skilled rider. You knew you needed the gentle light of day to navigate the forest safely on horseback. The thought of losing your way or stumbling into danger sent a shiver down your spine. 

You were deep in sleep when a noise startled your horse outside. Exhausted from a long day of packing, you stirred slightly but let sleep pull you back under. 

You barely registered the creaking floorboards as someone entered your room. Your body was too tense and sluggish from the day’s work to react quickly. As you fumbled for your knife, a figure lunged at you, pressing a hand against your mouth and silencing you. 

A cold blade pressed against your throat, paralyzing you with fear. You lay stiff in bed, heart pounding, knowing no one would hear you scream in the darkness of the forest.

“I warned you, didn’t I? There’s a bounty on that pretty little head of yours that I have to collect,” he coos, his voice chillingly close as his body pins you to the mattress.

The knife presses deeper into your skin, a sharp reminder of your predicament. You mumble against his palm, and he lifts it slightly, allowing you to speak. “If it’s money you want, I can get it for you.”

“I don’t think you know just how much you’re worth,” he replies, chuckling as he grips your cheeks, squeezing them.

“The king of wolves is worth more,” you say, summoning as much confidence as you can.

His smile vanishes. “What a sweet talker you are. If you think I’m foolish enough to believe you could get the bounty from the king of wolves, you’re insane.”

“I can kill the king of wolves.”

“You’re a liar and a thief. Now give it back.”

The charm from his necklace—the very piece you had swiped the last time you were with him—was the key to his power. You had suspected that taking it would render him powerless, and now, faced with the reality of his desperation, you confirmed that he truly needed it to imbue magic into his flute. Without it, he was helpless. You only took it to buy yourself time; if he could lure you out with just a note again, you knew you would be doomed  from the start.

“Only if you agree to let me up. You won’t find it if you don’t let me get it for you.”

“You insolent little—”

“Ah ah,” you warn him with a smile, feeling the power shift in your favor. He steps back to the center of the room but keeps his knife pointed in your direction.

“Find it, now,” he growls.

“I can slay the king of wolves; grant me but a moment. This bounty is surely tenfold that of mine. The queen herself placed it upon his head; she would give us whatever we desire for his life,” you counter, your words dripping with allure.

“Charm, then we can discuss further,” he reminds you, his eyes narrowing.

You huff and roll your eyes, rising from the bed. The silk nightgown clings to your body, its delicate fabric highlighting your curves while the hem flutters just above your knees. The thin straps slide off your shoulders, exuding both elegance and vulnerability.

You notice a blush rising in his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and something else. His gaze lingers on you longer than it should before he looks away, but not before you catch the flicker of desire in his eyes.

You slyly retrieve your hidden knife while he isn’t looking. Your heart races and as you pull out the charm from your brassiere, holding it up like bait. He takes a step closer, intrigue evident on his face, but you raise your weapon, warning him to stop.

“Stay where you are,” you command, brandishing the knife. The blade glints in the light, and the tension between you grows thick, hanging in the air like a charged storm.

“You shall not claim my life, for I possess a greater offer in exchange for it,” you declare, your tone resolute and laced with the bravado of a champion, your heart racing.

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “How do you figure you will kill the king of wolves?” 

“I’ve evaded you three times now, and you’re the ever-so-feared Pied Piper. Give me some credit,” you reply lightly, hoping to shift the mood.

He responds with a sly smile. “Impressive, I’ll grant you that, but it’s still not enough.”

“You're going to help me enchant him, and then I’ll take him down. Simple as that,” you say. Under different circumstances, you’d have dressed it up with more flair, but fatigue still linger.

“And why would I help you?” he asks, skepticism etched on his face.

“Because I know more about you than you think. My bounty won’t even cover half of what you need, but a wolf’s bounty…” you whistle, letting the weight of the impressive figure hang in the air, “that will cover everything and more.”

His expression hardens, and a flicker of unease crosses your mind. You wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake by bringing up his debt. 

“Careful where you tread,” he warns, his voice low and edged with threat. 

“You help me take down the king, and we both get what we want. Think about it.” 

He studies you for a long moment, weighing the risks against the potential reward, and you can almost see the gears turning in his mind. The tension thickens, but you know you’ve struck a chord.

“Two days. That’s all you get,” he says, his voice icy and firm. “I’ll be back tomorrow to go over the details. If you try to run, I’ll find you and kill you before you can even plead for your pathetic life.”

“Deal,” you reply, tossing him the charm. You assume he needs his flute to use it, and since you don’t see it on him, you figure it’s safe to hand it over.

With that, he vanishes like a wisp of smoke, a true phantom of the night.

The silence that follows fills the air like a heavy shroud, and you take a moment to steady your racing heart. The confrontation has left you on edge. You run your fingers through your hair, exhaling deeply. Two days. You have that long to devise a plan, gather what you need, and prepare for the next inevitable encounter. 

As the darkness settles around you, the weight of your situation becomes clearer. To kill the king of wolves, you’ll need more than just a tongue-in-cheek plan. You’ll need finesse, strategy, and perhaps a little bit of luck. 

And maybe, just maybe, a deeper understanding of the man you're working with.

This time, when he arrives, you're clad in your red hood and more prepared than before—but so is he. As he enters your cottage, you notice the flute strapped to his back and charm hanging around his neck.

“Neutral territory,” he states. “You’ll find I’m quite formidable with my magic,” he warns.

“Only a fool would think otherwise,” you reply with a smile.

You invite him to sit in your front room and make tea for both of you. He watches you take the first sip before drinking from his own cup.

“You know you're ruining my reputation, right?” he calls out, a teasing edge to his voice. “You're supposed to be dead and the wolves are impatient.”

“Don’t worry, I have a plan for that too,” you respond, your tone steady.

You pull off your red hood and hold it out to him. “With this, you'll claim my bounty, and that should be enough to keep your skin in the game.”

“You really want to kill the King of Wolves?” he asks, raising an arched brow over his cup of tea.

You let out a long sigh. “I could run, but wolves never forget. They will just track me down again. No more running.”

You lay out your plan in detail, and though he appears skeptical, he ultimately agrees to go along with it. A hush falls over the room as you both sit in the weight of your scheme, each of you reflecting on your respective roles in this dangerous game.

“Permission to ask a question?” you ask with a small smile.

He glares at you, annoyance clear in his eyes. “Somehow, whenever you start running your mouth, it pisses me off.”

“Is it true, the reason for your debt?” you ask anyway, intrigued.

He grips his teacup harder, his knuckles whitening. Not many people knew much about the Pied Piper; the legend loomed large, but even fewer knew the man behind the title—Haechan, with his soft features and heavy burdens.

“Yes, I went into debt to save my sick mother. As you can see It was all for nothing, given the fact that I'm here and she's not. I take on these jobs to earn money. Any other invasive questions, Red? How about I ask one—why are the wolves after you, and how do you get a silly name like Little Red Riding Hood?”

“My name isn’t Red; it’s Y/N,” you reply, bold in your assertion. You’ve never shared your real name with anyone before, but you figured it was time to even the playing field.

“And the wolves?” he presses further, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“My parents stole away with some of their money. They want revenge,” you say with a shrug. “They got it when they killed my grandma."

As the gravity of your shared burdens swirls in the air between you, you realize that beneath the legends and whispers, Haechan was just a man, and you were more than a mere tale woven into the fabric of the woods. The truth hung heavy, intertwining your fates tighter with each revelation.

“And then you killed one of theirs,” he finishes for you, piecing it all together. “So it looks like we both have had our fair share of tragedy. Now look at us.” He shakes his head, a mixture of disbelief and resignation in his tone.

You had never thought of it that way—how similar your paths had been. Maybe out of everyone, he would understand you the best. Looking at him was like gazing into a mirror that reflected not just your struggles but also the shadows of loss and revenge.

Haechan was handsome, his lips plump and cheeks soft, giving him an almost innocent appearance. Yet, his eyes—oh, those eyes were hard and cold; they spoke of the dark secrets he carried, secrets that were all too familiar to you.

“Tell me more about your mom,” you say, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air.

Haechan's expression shifts; a warmth creeps into his features as he recounts memories of his mother. He speaks of her laughter, of the stories she told, of how she would comfort him during storms and the way her love enveloped him like a soft blanket. Each word is laced with nostalgia, and you can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the warmth these memories hold. He was loved.

“She sounds like someone who could light up the darkest paths.”

He meets your gaze, and for a fleeting moment, the facade of the Pied Piper slips away. In that instant, all that remains is Haechan, the boy behind the legend.

“Tell me about your grandma,” Haechan says, curiosity in his eyes.

You take a deep breath and recount your upbringing. Your words are cold and empty as you speak of her harshness, how she cursed you and left you no choice but to kill the wolf that started all of this. 

“She never cared about me,” you finish, feeling the weight of your memories.

Haechan’s brow furrows. “Sounds like she was trying to protect you. If that wolf had escaped, you would have been in danger either way.”

You consider his words, the soft glow of candlelight flickering around you. Maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t change how cruel she was. “It’s too late to redeem her,” you say. “Her protection crushed any chance I had at love or hope.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not defined by her actions.” 

“But am I not defined by her cruelty? To learn is to experience. How can I know love if I’ve never truly felt it? I might just perish tomorrow,” you say, a bitter laugh escaping.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” he replies gently, his gaze steady. “I still owe you for sparing my life back at my cottage. I can show you what love looks like.”

You narrow your eyes, skepticism creeping in. “And how would you do that if we don’t feel love for each other?”

He leans closer, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “We can pretend, just for this one night. I can show you how I would love you.”

A rush of emotions swirls within you—fear, curiosity, and a flicker of hope. “What do you mean?”

Haechan's voice is soft yet earnest. “Let’s create a moment together, something to hold onto, just in case tomorrow doesn’t come.” 

You hesitate, heart pounding, caught between the pain of your past and the promise of something new.

“Come,” he calls to you, as he stands. His hand outstretched, inviting yet unsettling. You’ve never felt this exposed with anyone before.

You know you’re being reckless, but what does it matter? Life could slip away from you at any moment—what have you to lose? You grasp his hand, and he leads you into your bedroom. 

He closes the door behind you, sealing off the world, and presses you against it, his arms creating a cage around you. 

“At any moment,” he says, his voice low and steady, “if you wish to stop, you have but to hit me.”

You manage a smile, trying to ease the tension coiling in your stomach. “That sounds quite tempting.”

His hands brush up against your cheek, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Once you feel my hands on you, you won’t want to let go.”

Your cheeks flush at his promise, and your heart races. His touch is gentle, as if you were a delicate doll, something precious that he couldn't bear to break. 

He leans in and captures your lips in a soft kiss, a sensation even more tender than you had imagined. His fingers glide over your face before trailing down to your neck, drawing you closer and pressing your body against his. The warmth of him enveloping you is just like the music that filled the air the night you first met by the docks. A sound escapes you—a breathless gasp—one you had never made before.

You can feel Haechan's smile against your lips before he begins to shed the layers of your clothing. Naked and vulnerable, you stand before him, yet your mind races too fast to truly register your defenselessness. His lips find your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses and gentle nips, igniting a shiver of sensation. You moan softly, your body writhing under his tender yet possessive hold. You were completely at his mercy.

"Like music to my ears, my love," was a low murmur against your skin. His gaze clouded. His eyes swam with emotion you didn't recognize. A heady, intoxicating blend of longing and something else, something wilder. It was as if the taste of you, the sweetness of your mouth, had intoxicated him, leaving him drunk on desire alone. He trailed kisses down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of damp heat against your collarbone and shoulder blades. His hands roam over your body, mapping out every curve before they find their way to your breasts, soft mounds yielding under his touch. With a gentle yet firm grip, he kneads them, pinching and tugging softly, drawing out more moans that escape from your lips.

The old, wooden door groaned under your weight as you leaned against it, your breath catching in your throat. His lips, soft yet insistent, found their way to your nipple, a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. You felt yourself drowning in his touch, in the way he made you feel utterly adored.

His gaze, dark and intense, met yours, the kohl lining his eyes like a smudge of night against the tan canvas of his skin. His tongue flicked playfully, a teasing caress that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. Each movement was deliberate; each touch a whispered promise.

He shifted his attention to your other breast, his deft hands working in perfect harmony with his mouth. You couldn't help but arch your back, your body instinctively seeking more of the exquisite torture. The rough wood of the door dug into your skin, a stark contrast to the velvety softness of his lips and the warmth of his hands.

His touch was an orchestra of sensation, a dance of pleasure that stirred something deep within you. It was a raw, primal connection, a language spoken without words, understood in the depths of your soul. The world narrowed, fading into a blur of color and sound, leaving only the intoxicating presence of him, his touch, his gaze, and the overwhelming sensation of pleasure that threatened to consume you entirely.

“I want you to feel everything,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear, making you shudder with anticipation. 

He falls to his knees, a look of hunger in his dark eyes. With a swift movement, he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and presses his mouth against your most intimate parts. A jolt of heat surges through your body as you try to squirm away from his eager touch, but his grip tightens, keeping you firmly in place. Your mind races with desire as you yelp out, your hands instinctively reaching for his thick, dark brown locks, tangling in your grasp. The intensity of the moment overwhelms you as you give in to his fervent passion.

“Hae—Haechan!” you gasp, his name feeling foreign yet perfectly right against your tongue. Each syllable feels like a spell, causing a desperate moan to escape from him as he feverishly licks at you. His grip on your hips is tight and bruising, but you welcome the pain as it fuels your desire for him. You grind your hips against his tongue, unable to control yourself as he dominates you with his mouth. He pants against your heat, driven by pure impulse as he closes his eyes and savors every delicious taste of you.

His lips and tongue move with wild abandon as he sucks on you, filling the small cottage with shameful groans and wet smacking sounds. Your legs start to tremble, but he shows no signs of stopping. You cry out and your head falls back, hitting the door behind you as you convulse in his grasp. A powerful sensation washes over you, causing a tightness in your gut before it finally releases. Haechan eagerly licks you up, cleaning away the evidence that you left all over yourself and on his face.

Your breaths slow down and meld together, as if in perfect harmony. The gentle rise and fall of your chests echoes in the quiet room. "I lost myself for a moment," he says softly, with a hint of apology laced in his words. It's almost as if he didn't intend to take you on this journey to the 12th gate of heaven, but couldn't resist the pull either.

He sets your leg down gently, and  he helps you right yourself.  He guides you to the edge of the mattress, and as he lays you down, there’s a palpable shift in the air. You watch as he stands before you, the heavy cloak slipping away to reveal more of him, piece by piece. The sight of him in his white tunic and dark breeches sends your heart racing, and when he sheds those as well, leaving only his undergarments and the silver charm necklace you once stole from him, your breath catches in your throat. 

You instinctively look away, your cheeks flushing.  Your body betrays you, reacting in ways you never anticipated, aching for connection. There’s a pull within you, a desire to close the distance and feel the warmth of his skin against yours. 

This man who had once threatened your life now stands before you, igniting a raw, undeniable longing that makes your heart race. You grapple with the gravity of the moment, torn between fear and desire.

He used to be your prey, but as he leans down and crawls onto the mattress, you start to see him in a different light. He presses his lips against yours once more, humming a tune that sends shivers down your spine. Your body melts into relaxation, and your senses are heightened even more than before.

“It's not the flute, is it?” You struggle to speak between kisses.

"I don't think I want to reveal any more secrets to you tonight." he responds with a playful smirk.

You surrender to the sensation as it consumes you. He was right - you had never experienced anything like his touch before. Your eyes follow him as he removes his undergarments, and you become slick at the sight.

“This might hurt; just relax and focus on the melody,” he says with a soft caress of your face.

You nod, realizing now that you trust him more than you initially thought. He coats himself in you and you moan at the lewdness of the act. He was coated in your arousal and soon he was slipping inside of you. He hums a beautiful note, one imbued with magic, easing any discomfort.

“It's beautiful,” you say, captivated by the sound.

His eyes shine at the compliment, and he kisses you.  It was strange to think that this love was all an act, because if this is what pretend love felt like, you could only imagine the intensity of real love. 

His hips sway to a rhythm that you can't quite hear, but you feel it pulsating through your body. His movements are fluid, like the  waves in an ocean. The chain around his neck, swinging in time with his thrusts. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, clinging to him as if he were the only life raft in the midst of a raging storm. With every thrust, he fills you up with his love, overwhelming you with intense pleasure and making you feel alive. In that moment, it's as if you couldn't survive without him, and he knows it. He pours his love into you, determined to fill every empty space so that you never have to feel alone again.

His movements quicken, the rhythm growing more urgent as passion overtakes you both.  Haechan's eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense. 

"You're a symphony," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. His fingers trace delicate patterns across your skin, leaving trails of tingling warmth in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more. 

Moonlight streams through the window, bathing your entwined bodies in an ethereal glow. The air is thick with the scent of arousal and magic. 

You run your hands along the planes of Haechan back and you cling to him as your overtaken by that feeling again. The release makes your limbs weak and mind numb.

Your muscles clench and release around him in a tidal wave of pleasure, pulling him deeper into you with each thrust. He finally withdraws, his body trembling as he releases on your stomach, The air is thick with tension and the scent of sex, but as Haechan's magic fades, all that remains is the sound of your rapid breaths.

As he settles beside you, the silence encases you both, thick with unspoken words and emotions. Your mind races, trying to make sense of how the events had unfolded so drastically. 

You glance sideways at him, marveling at the stark contrast of your feelings—a sudden urge to survive, to revel in this newfound complexity. It was almost surreal: one moment you were in peril, and now, here you were, yearning for the warmth of his presence. 

Determination courses through your veins; you refuse to succumb to the fate that looms ahead. If this is what Haechan's love felt like—the intoxicating blend of danger and allure—then you would indeed fight tooth and nail for every moment you could grasp. 

Working alongside Haechan had become a bit awkward, but you pushed the tension aside as you both raced through the labyrinthine alleyways of the town. The urgency of the mission overshadowed any lingering emotions between you. You had received a promising lead on the elusive King of Wolves; a halfling informant had mentioned spotting him stumbling out of a tavern, drunk and vulnerable. 

The king was never without his entourage, a handful of ruffian wolves who surrounded him like shadows. Despite them believing you to be dead, you understood that you still needed to be cautious. The element of surprise was in your favor, but luring him out would require a careful strategy.

Everything was going according to plan so far. If the informant was correct, then Ten had successfully slipped something extra into the king's drink.

As you maneuvered through the narrow streets, your mind raced with possibilities. You would have to bait the king, drawing him away from his pack. That's where Haechan came in. Haechan kept pace with you, his presence a steady reminder that you weren't alone.

Haechan maintained a watchful eye on the pack from over your shoulder as you both tracked the wolves ahead. The night was quiet and chilly, with a biting wind that whipped through the alleyways, assaulting your exposed skin. You cursed yourself for having given away your hood.

You waited patiently, your heart racing as you scanned the scene for the right opportunity. Though Haechan remained silent, the melody of his flute echoed in your mind—a lullaby only the chosen victim could hear. He knew that timing was crucial; if anyone interrupted or stopped the target, the trance could easily be shattered. Every second felt like an eternity as you both prepared to strike when the moment was just right.

The pack was a grotesque sight, with elongated frames, snarling muzzles, and bent, crooked limbs. Their figures resembled a tall, slender man who had forced his way into the mouth of a wolf, wearing the creature’s body like a horrid costume. They looked sickly and unnatural, and it came as no surprise that they struck fear into the hearts of the townsfolk. 

While trolls, goblins, dwarves, and other creatures managed to coexist with humans, these beings were unlike any you had encountered before. They had made a conscious choice to adopt such a horrifying appearance. They were changelings—shapeshifters capable of assuming any form they desired. They had chosen to embrace the guise of ghouls and monsters that haunted the night.

As the pack slinked past an alleyway, the King stumbled in, his steps unsteady from drink and poison. He leaned against a cobblestone wall to steady himself, his gang too intoxicated and merry to notice him faltering behind as they continued forward. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Haechan lifted his flute to his lips and began to play a silent composition. Almost instantly, the King's body straightened, moving as if pulled by invisible strings, like a toy soldier suddenly animated. He began to march further  into the alleyway, drawn by the haunting melody, oblivious to the world around him.

You wait a few seconds, holding your breath as the pack continues down the road, their grotesque figures just out of sight. Haechan remains vigilant, his eyes locked on the pack, ready to act if they turn. You know that time is of the essence; you can’t afford to let them discover the King’s absence.

With a swift movement, you push yourself off the wall and follow the King into the alleyway. Haechan’s silent melody fills the air like a ghostly whisper, and you can feel the tension building as the King’s contorted form glides deeper into the darkness. Your knives are unsheathed, gleaming under the faint light, ready to strike. 

A few feet behind him, he suddenly halts. You hold your breath as you witness his body crumple, a howl of confusion escaping his lips. For a moment, it seems he’s still lost in the depths of the enchantment—but then he stumbles, regaining control. 

Realization dawns on you: Haechan must have shifted his focus to the pack once they noticed their missing king. Haechan's magic is now redirected, enchanting the pack that seeks out their leader—perhaps to coax them away from the alley and give you precious moments to act.

You watch as the King sways unsteadily, his eyes flickering with awareness. He glances around, scanning the alleyway for any sign of his gang, oblivious to the danger lurking just behind him. You know you can’t wait any longer; it’s time to make your move. 

He's drunk. He's an easy target. Take him out. The mantra echoes in your mind as you silently slip out of the shadows, your heart pounding in your chest.

With lightning speed, you dart forward, knives glinting in the low light as you approach the swaying figure of the King. He doesn’t see you coming; his bleary eyes are still scanning the alley, lost in confusion and intoxication. 

In one fluid motion, you bring your blades up, the metal shining with intent. Before he can react, before he can summon the last remnants of his senses, you strike with precision. The cut is clean; a swift arc of steel, and his head rolls away from his body, the wolfish features contorted in a final grimace of surprise.

You expect his body to crumple into a lifeless heap, but it doesn't. The headless form sways for a moment, arms reaching up as if searching for its lost head.

“Shit!”

You manage to slip away while he’s still floundering in his confusion. You sprint, heart racing, hoping that Haechan can hold off the other cronies for as long as possible. You may have lost him for now, but you know he has your scent and will find you soon. Your feet carry you through back alleyways and down dark streets until you're bursting into the crowded tavern. You’re met with laughter and cheers that erupt around you as you stumble inside.

“Aye, look, it’s Red!” the patrons call out in greeting. You have no time for pleasantries. Ten gives you a startled look from behind the counter, aware that something has gone awry. You send him a quick, urgent glance and head toward the back of the house. Ten excuses himself and pulls a bewildered Doyoung along with him.

“Well? What happened?” Ten whispers, barely able to contain his surprise.

“I killed him. Well, I thought I did. I cut off his head, but he’s not dead,” you reply, arms crossed and brow furrowed in confusion. “We don’t have much time. I need your help.”

“No way! I already poisoned him on your behalf,” Ten exclaims, raising his hands in exasperation.

“You poisoned the King of Wolves!” Doyoung gasps, his rabbit ears flattening against his head in fright.

“Keep it down!” you hiss, casting a wary glance around. You regretted not filling Doyoung in on your plan earlier, but you didn’t want him caught up in this mess

“What’s going on back here? Red, is that you?” Lia calls as she approaches the small circle where you all huddle.

“Look, guys, I don’t have time to explain, and I’m sorry to drag you into this mess but If word gets out that the King of Wolves was poisoned at this tavern, you will all be on his hit list. So you might want to help me!”

“Who poisons the King of Wolves!?” Lia gasps in shock.

Doyoung points an accusatory finger at Ten, who shoots him a glare in response.

“Guys, focus! There’s a headless wolf after me, and if I don’t leave soon, they’ll come after you too,” you remind them. “Any ideas on how to take him down?”

“Aren’t the wolves changelings?” Lia asks.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Doyoung confirms. “I read once that if you light them on fire, they burn to ash.”

“I heard that if you show them their reflection, they cower,” Ten adds.

“Well, he doesn’t have a head right now, so that’s out of the question.” You say.

You hear distant howling. That cant be good and your thoughts flicker back to Haechan—where is he? Did he manage to shake off the wolves? The cold grip of worry squeezes your chest as the distant howling amplifies

“I have to go now. Don’t worry; just keep your heads down. If anyone asks, the King of Wolves never stepped through those doors.”

“Where are you going?” Lia asks, concern etched on her face.

“I need to finish this.” You grab a candle lantern from the wall and head out through the back door.

You sprint toward the docks, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you push your body to its limits. Haechan had agreed to meet you there if anything went wrong. The gravel underfoot shifts with each hurried step, but the sound of your heartbeat drowns out the crunching noise. You can feel the rush of impending danger creeping up behind you, reminding you that time is not on your side.

The alleyways give way to a wider street, and you navigate around groups of townsfolk enjoying their evening, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding just moments away. Their laughter and loud conversations contrast sharply with the urgency of your mission. You dodge around a cluster of patrons who block the path, their jovial cheers fading into the background as you push through the throng. The crowd thins as you approach the water, and soon you find yourself alone. The air is thick with salty brine, and the sounds of waves lapping against the shore become the only company you have left.

But before you can take a breath of relief, a razor-sharp slash rakes across your back. Pain erupts, and you stumble forward, the lantern slipping from your grasp and extinguishing itself in the dirt with a soft hiss. Darkness envelops you momentarily, panic bubbling up as you realize who had struck you.

“lɹᴉƃ uɐɯnɥ ʎllᴉs,” an ancient voice rumbles behind you, low and mocking. He had no mouth yet you could hear him.

Struggling to gather your bearings, you force yourself to turn and face him—the King of Wolves. The sight of him sends a jolt of dread through you. His haunting figure looms over you. You can feel the fresh blood seeping through your clothes, and your back aches with a pain that warns you of the severity of the wounds. Even with magic, you know it will take days to fully recover from cuts this deep.

You force yourself to stand tall, despite the agony radiating through you. The howling you heard earlier echoes in your mind, a haunting reminder that you’re not alone. Panic flares anew as you realize that his cronies could emerge at any moment. You hope Haechan can fend them off a little longer. you have to think fast.

"ʞɐǝʍ ǝɹ'no⅄ ˙puᴉɥǝq ɯoɹɟ ƃuᴉɥɔɐoɹddɐ 'ǝɔᴉpɹɐʍoɔ ɥɔns oʇ ʇɹosǝɹ no⅄" he snarls, the effects of the poison and booze long gone.

"I'm not afraid to use underhanded tactics on scum like you." You shot back, circling around him, both of you sizing each other up.

He lunged, and you barely dodged his claws. Your body was tired, aching all over, but you were determined to stay on your feet. You threw a knife, but your aim was off, and he sidestepped with ease. It was frustrating; your eyelids felt heavy, and you could hardly focus.

Then, you heard a melody—a familiar tune that made your heart race. Suddenly, energy surged through you, making you feel lighter and stronger. You didn’t need to look around to know who it was. Revived, you fought back, pushing the king back for once. He swung at your ankles, but you rolled away just in time. You were on slightly equal footing, but you needed to gain the upper hand before he wore you down again.

Footsteps approached, and hope flickered inside you.

"Red!" Lia shouted. She was with Ten and Doyoung, and relief washed over you.

"Stay back! It’s too dangerous!" you warned, trying to keep the king's attention on you.

"Don’t be a hero!" Ten yelled, annoyance clear in his voice. "You can’t win without us!"

You exchanged blows with the king, your heart racing as you saw Doyoung preparing an arrow. You held the king off while Lia lit the arrow's tip. In one fluid motion, Doyoung let it fly, and the king of wolves erupted into flames. You all stepped back, eyes wide, as you watched him burn to ash.

Just then, Haechan appeared around the corner, flute in hand, playing that energizing melody that made you feel like you could take on the world. It was the last thing you heard before the music faded and everything began to blur around the edges.

It had been a week since that fateful night. The echoes of that ancient voice still haunt you, but you pushed the memories aside as you stood before the queen, the severed head of the wolf king resting ominously on a velvet cloth. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of approval and intrigue as she took in the sight.

“You have done well,” she proclaimed, her voice a soft yet commanding presence in the throne room. “In ridding us of this beast, you’ve secured not just our safety, but your own place in history.” With a graceful wave of her hand, she summoned her guards, who strode forward bearing an opulent chest. 

As they opened it, a dazzling array of rubies, emeralds, and sapphires spilled forth, glimmering like stars in the dim light. Gold coins cascaded down in a shimmering waterfall, their clinking a symphony of wealth

The sheer abundance of treasure left you momentarily speechless, and you could hardly believe the magnitude of your reward. You accepted gratefully but your mind lingered on Haechan. He had chosen not to attend the queen’s audience, cloistering himself away as he still relied on the myth of his existence as a shadow. He preferred to operate in secrecy, a specter amongst the whispers of the realm.

You stroll into the tavern, the warmth and chatter wrapping around you like a cozy blanket. You’ve brought some gifts and treasures, a little token of thanks for the friends who stood by you in that crazy battle. It just felt right.

"Drink up, fellas! Drinks are on Red tonight!" your former boss shouts, raising his mug high and getting everyone's attention.

You wince at the name. "Would you stop calling me that already?" you groan, rolling your eyes.

Lia smirks, leaning against the bar. "What do you want us to call you, then?"

"Just call me Y/N," you reply, finally giving them the name you’ve always wanted them to use.

"Y/N, huh? It suits you," Ten says, pouring a mug of mead for a troll at the bar, who looks way too eager to drink it.

"Was that a compliment?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

"Don’t push it," he shoots back, giving you a mock glare, but you can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Laughter echoes through the tavern as everyone raises their mugs in salute. The atmosphere feels electric, and in that moment, you know you’ve found your people.

As twilight deepened, you made your way to a familiar cottage, navigating through the dense woods that wrapped around the kingdom like a protective shroud. 

Rubies and a dazzling array of gems spilled forth as you toppled over the chest, the treasures scattering against the old, rickety floorboards of Haechan’s hideout. The glint of gold caught the flickering light of the lantern, creating a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors that danced across the dim space.

Haechan leaned back against the wall, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “So your word truly holds value, huh?” he teased, walking up to the trove. His fingers sifting through the precious stones as he reveled in his unexpected fortune. “Now, what’s your next move? I can’t imagine the pack isn’t hunting for the one who took down their king.”

You shrugged, a casual air masking the weight of your adventure. “They’re pretty useless without their leader. The royal guard has rounded up most of them, and for any stragglers, they’re probably getting out of town as fast as they can.”

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of hope creeping into his tone. “Are you planning to stay, then?”

“Never did I claim that,” you replied, glancing around the haphazard room. “There’s nothing for me here. I can’t spend all this gold in the slums anyway; I’ve got to see the world.” You stretched with a bored yawn, letting the wild possibilities of adventure wash over you. “But it would be a trifle dull to travel alone,” you hinted, letting a coy smile dance on your lips.

“If only you had a companion,” he shot back with a grin, earnestness hidden beneath the teasing.

“I know, it’s quite sad, really.” You turned toward the exit, pretending to be disinterested. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

“Y/N.” The sound of your name, spoken for the first time, stopped you in your tracks, resonating in the air and binding you to the moment.

You looked over your shoulder, curiosity piqued and a smile still lingering. “Yes?”

Haechan shifted, his gaze steady and sincere. “You don’t have to go alone, you know.”

For a heartbeat, you considered the weight of that offer. Freedom beckoned ahead, yet the idea of shared adventure was equally tempting. You felt a connection forming, a spark of possibility that ignited your imagination. The world awaited, filled with danger and excitement, and perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if Haechan journeyed alongside you.

“What do you say then?” you replied, a playful challenge in your tone. “Are you ready to step out of the shadows and into the light with me?”

Note: I might expand this world more for other members in the future so if you guys have any cool ideas that would work in this setting, lmk and i may incorporate them into a work in the future (far future cause i need to finish my other wips lol)

[starsinmylatte]

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Living in Japan, you were used to people’s negative perceptions of your tattoos. An old man giving you a world-class stink-eye was more common than rain on a cloudy day, and those views were only compounded by the insular Jujutsu Sorcerer society you found yourself working in….. But what would the famous 7:3 Sorcerer think?

Pairing: Nanami Kento x afab!reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ minors DNI)

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Brief canon-typical violence, brief hurt/comfort, smut, inappropriate use of a cursed technique, you know what you're here for

A/N: Major thanks to @pseudowho for being so wonderful and encouraging. You should all go read her brilliant fics if you haven't yet!!

Click here to join my re-vamped taglist!

You hadn’t officially met the 7:3 Sorcerer until you were assigned a very lengthy mission together. Still, as soon as you started to learn about him from others at Jujutsu High, you knew your tattoos had to stay hidden at all costs. 

Gojo, a man world-famous for understating things, had described Nanami as “a bit of a grump sometimes,” and you had even seen poor Ijichi nearly in tears at the thought of disappointing the severe blonde. So, in other words, you were right fucked. At the very least, you planned to hide the tattoos so you could make it through the next few weeks without aggravating your partner every time he laid eyes on you.  

You saw Nanami briefly on the day before your mission, and the suited man cut such a clean, no-nonsense figure that you were certain of two things. First, he would absolutely hate the ink on your skin. Second, you’d simply pass away from embarrassment if the achingly handsome man ever had a negative remark about the sentimental art. 

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t even bat an eye at someone’s poor opinion of you- actually, you’d probably respond with a cheeky grin and a crude gesture- but Nanami was different. He was respected and loved by so many other sorcerers despite his serious nature, and he was infuriatingly attractive. No man had ever been more your type; at some point, you considered going to a shrine to interrogate the gods about when they read your grade-school diary because Kento was the golden-haired prince of your dreams.  

Thankfully, it was the middle of winter, and all the forecasts called for was endless snow. 

“Even the weather is on my side,” you murmured cheerfully as you packed for the mission, dutifully shoving every long-sleeved shirt and pair of pants you owned into your small suitcase. Everything was in place, and you had accounted for every possibility… or so you thought. 

– (time skip) –

The driving, snow-laden wind stung your face as you sprinted toward the last curse, sword in hand. You could barely feel your lips or fingers, chilled to the bone and beyond exhausted, but this was the last one. The pitiful creature that skittered across the snow in front of you was the only curse left standing. It kept you from a warm bath and a strong drink back at the hotel, and if you let it get away now, you’d never catch up to it again after the storm. 

“C’mon… just a little bit more,” you bargained with your aching body, groaning inwardly as the curse seemed to gain more ground. 

The heavy snowfall muffled every sound and drastically reduced your visibility. Some small voice in your head screamed for caution, for you to go slower, but it was wholly overshadowed by your need to be warm again as fast as possible. Weirdly enough, that small voice sounded exactly like Nanami’s. 

Suddenly, the curse tripped with a yelp, and you pounced on it with feline grace, ready to finish it off. A sickening crack rang through the air the instant you sank your blade into its body. You looked in horror as the ice underneath the curse shattered, revealing a roiling abyss of water below. 

“Shit!” You screamed and dropped your sword, latching onto the ice's edge as the curse sank in a silent struggle.

It fell out of sight as your gloved hands slid on the ice, the loss of purchase sending your body further into the glacial water. You whimpered in pain, almost daring to believe that any second help would arrive- that Nanami would be next to you. Darkness swam in your vision, and your pain seemed to dull. You fought to keep awake, dimly aware that sleep meant never waking up again. 

“N-Nanami, p-please… Help...” You begged into the uncaring snow. 

Suddenly, a strong force grabbed your arm and hauled you out of the frosty water, picking you up almost effortlessly. You instinctively buried your face into your savior’s warmth and were rewarded with the deep, spiced notes of Nanami’s cologne. 

You tried to mumble something, but the blonde sorcerer quickly hushed you, “No, save your strength. You have to stay awake. Promise me that you’ll stay awake.” 

You couldn’t miss the panic in his voice as your eyes fluttered shut. 

– 

*Warm…. Content… Safe….* 

It felt like liquid sunshine had been poured into your veins, thawing every inch of your frozen body. You were curled against something large and warm… Something that smelled wonderful. 

Nanami’s hushed voice washed over you, thick and slow like warm honey, “How are you feeling?” 

You slowly opened your eyes, and your heart immediately jumped into your throat. Your body was pressed against Nanami’s, your head tucked into the soft crook of his neck as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His bare, muscular chest was pushed directly against your plush breasts, his skin radiating pure warmth as the scent of his cologne made your head fuzzy. 

With that image now firmly seared into your brain, it took another second for the rest of your thoughts to process. The first was good news: you were alive unless the afterlife was identical to your hotel room. But the second…. Well, maybe drowning wouldn’t have been too bad because you couldn’t feel that you had any clothes on.

“Nanami?” As you spoke, your voice sounded panicked and far away, almost distorted to your ears. “Where are my- what happened?” 

His head shifted slightly against yours. You couldn’t see his face, but Nanami sounded as uncomfortable as you felt. “I needed to get your body temperature back up… Shoko once told me that skin-to-skin contact was the best way to prevent hypothermia.”

You weren’t sure if you should slap the Doctor or send her a bottle of liquor as he continued, “I did my best to respect your privacy, but it was necessary. I apologize.” 

Nanami’s apology sounded so blunt and detached that it stung. Your face burned at the thought of him undressing you, immediately replaced with a feeling of growing horror. Surely, he couldn’t have missed all the tattoos as he removed your clothes? 

“Oh god… He must think I’m disgusting.” 

Your thoughts and insecurities began to pile up as you lay in his arms, silent and stewing in your mortification. The two of you had grown vaguely close in the past two weeks- close enough to have dropped most honorifics and pretenses with each other. Outside the mission, the two of you had spent time idly chatting about life, and you’d developed a comfortable routine around each other. You had even almost worked up the courage to ask him out for coffee when the mission was over.

Nanami spoke again, disrupting your thoughts, his voice tentative beneath a forced layer of calm. “I can close my eyes and let you dress if you feel up to it.” 

You could only nod worldlessly as your face burned red in embarrassment. His arms dropped away from your back to untangle the layers of blankets that sandwiched you two together, and you bit back a groan of protest. 

“Alright, you’re good to get up.” 

Nanami rolled over, facing the opposite wall. You winced at the sting of cold air as you slipped out of bed and away from him, quickly noticing that the only light in the room was from two large candles and the fireplace. Another groan fell from your lips, “Don’t tell me the power is out.” 

“Unfortunately,” came the curt reply. “The storm dropped enough snow to block the roads and cut off the power. 

“We better get some fucking hazard pay for this,” you swore quietly. 

Nanami was silent for another minute; under any other circumstance, your comment might’ve made him chuckle, “I set out some clothes for you. They’re thicker than the ones you brought.”

You opened your mouth to argue but instantly shut it. You knew he was right. The black pajama set you favored was cute and long-sleeved but made of thin material.

“If you’re sure.” You sighed in resignation as you dug through your own bag for socks and underwear. The only two things you had left were a cotton thong and a pair of thick winter socks with bears stitched on them. You committed to your fate, slipping on the sweatpants and blue thermal shirt Nanami had set to the side before turning back around. 

As soon as you did, another image permanently seared itself into your brain. Nanami lay on his side, hair mussed from its usual neat style, and you were treated to a mouthwatering view of his muscular back. His skin glistened, reflecting the flickering firelight, and your mouth went dry. It was all too easy to think about him looking like this after a more intimate activity.

“W-what will you wear?” You managed to force the sentence out. 

“I have the pair of pants I’m currently wearing, but you have my last shirt.” Nanami paused momentarily. The usually self-assured sorcerer was oddly hesitant as he spoke again, more quietly this time. “I hope it won’t bother you.” 

You stared at the back of his head incredulously. “You? Bothering me? Nanami, you just held my naked body for I don’t even know how long to keep me from freezing to death. You’ve seen what’s all over my skin. I probably disgust you now, and you’re worried about bothering me?”

Nanami froze mid-breath, turning to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. You couldn’t see the expression on his face in the low light, but you could feel intensity rolling off him in waves. “You really think that I’m disgusted by you?” 

You clap a hand over your mouth, cursing yourself for letting that slip. “I-I don’t- I mean, I don’t want you to be…”

Your voice felt thick, your mouth dry like it had been stuffed with cotton as you covered your eyes and wished you could magically disappear into the ground. You were so distracted that you didn’t notice Nanami slide out of bed and cross the room.  

A gentle pressure suddenly appeared on your shoulder, and you looked up, jumping slightly as Nanami’s warm coffee-colored eyes gazed into yours, his hand firmly gripping your shoulder. 

“I’m not.” His voice was rough and strained. “I could never be…. Fuck, you have no idea, do you?”

You blinked slowly, the look on your face akin to a deer caught in the headlights. Nanami squeezed your shoulder to emphasize his next point, “I have spent the last few hours pointedly trying to ignore how beautiful I think you are.”

“But…”

Nanami held up a single finger, a motion for you to wait. He removed his hand from your shoulder and extended his arm for you to see the black ink nestled against his inner bicep. “Believe me more now?” 

Your gaze washed over the neat, tidy lettering. The tattoo was Roman numerals- a date? You raised your hand slowly, gently tracing your fingertips along the lines as if entranced. Nanami shuddered at your touch.

 “Careful, now.” He warned. “I can’t do much more of this.”

“Hm?” You stepped back to give him a bit more space, but your eyes were instantly drawn to the massive bulge in his sweatpants, the outline of his erection clear against the fabric. 

“I have been trying to be a good man. I have been trying to be a considerate mission partner.” Nanami sighed tersely, his muscles flexing in the dim light as he reached up to push his golden hair away from his face. “I told myself that having a- a crush on a mission partner was juvenile and unprofessional…”

A slight blush crossed the usually stern man’s face. “I wanted to ask you to dinner after we returned- to do this properly…. but when I started taking off your clothes and found…” 

His sentence trailed off as he gestured up and down your body, and your heart lurched. 

“You found?” You questioned softly, almost not daring to believe your ears. 

“You’re a work of art,” Nanami murmured. “I need to know if I’m making you uncomfortable… the last thing I want is for you to feel forced into anyth-” 

He didn’t get to finish before your soft lips collided with his. Your eyes fluttered shut at the taste of him, savoring it. Nanami’s hands instantly returned to your body to pull you in even closer. He held you closely as if you were the most important thing in the world, and you melted against him, sighing gently.  

“No, you’re not.” You whispered against his lips. “I feel the same way about you.” 

His large, battle-calloused hand cupped your face with heartwrenching tenderness. Nanami’s thumb caressed the swell of your lower lip before he tilted your head back so he could look into your eyes. The tender, intimate gesture pulled a quiet sigh from you, and Nanami chuckled, a low, rich sound you felt in your bones.

“What do you want from me right now, beautiful girl?” 

His gaze was intense and magnetic as it drew you in, causing desire to blossom in your lower body. Its electric tendrils wound throughout your veins at the sound of Nanami’s rich voice. You were usually so outspoken and confident, but this damned man made your head swim. 

He stroked your cheek again, “I need you to use your words. Can you do that for me?” 

Another sharp pang of arousal pierced your heart and fell straight through your core like a shooting star. “I want you, Nanami. I-I want to have sex with you. I want more than that, but right now…..please.” 

You trailed off, acutely aware of how your pussy subtly ached and fluttered at your own words. It begged for attention, the small scrap of cotton underwear you wore already damp with arousal. Nanami’s small smile turned into a rather roguish grin, voice rough and low. “Good girl. Let me take care of you.”

Nanami’s praise forced another whimper from your lips as he pulled you flush against him. One of your hands splayed against his chest, the other tangled into his fine hair. He captured your lips in a searing kiss; you felt the thick strain of his erection press against you so insistently, even through the layers of fabric you both still wore. 

With one swift motion, Nanami swept you up and off your feet. You wrapped your legs around his waist, keening as you rocked your aching pussy against his cock, forcing a hiss from the usually stoic man. 

“Too many clothes,” you whined, drawing another short laugh from your lover. 

“As much as I want to see more of your lovely body, we’ve gotta keep you warm, pretty girl.” Nanami cooed, nipping at your bottom lip. He pressed kisses down the column of your neck as he pulled your hips down, encouraging you to grind against him again. “Fuck, that’s it.” 

You swore you could cum just like this, humping his clothed cock like a desperate schoolgirl eager for her first fuck. The friction between your bodies moved the seam of your panties against your swollen clit, making you cry out. His lips returned to devour your cries of pleasure, your kiss becoming desperate, filled with tongue and teeth. 

“‘Nami, please…. not like this. Wanna cum on your fingers.” you beg, unable to stop yourself from chasing your rapidly approaching orgasm, despite your plea. 

Nanami growled, swiftly crossing the room to deposit you on the edge of the bed. “No, I’m going to taste you first. You’re going to cum on my tongue.” 

You sobbed, both from his sinful words and from the loss of his body against yours, as Nanami hooked a finger into the waistband of your sweats. He slid them down and threw them across the room unceremoniously, causing you to giggle. 

That same giggle quickly turned into a wanton moan as his thick finger reached down to ghost over the scrap of cotton that barely covered your pussy from his gaze. Your legs fell open, begging him for more, and Nanami tsk’d softly, his legendary impatience flaring to life. 

Through the heady haze of your lust, you felt Nanami’s fingers hook through your underwear in two different spots. His cursed energy flashed, and his fingers tore through the material like it wasn’t ever there. 

“Nanami Kent-!” You didn’t get the chance to finish chastising him before he knelt with predatory grace, cupped either side of your hips, and pulled your hips closer. He licked a fat stripe through your glistening folds, and your head fell back against the bedsheets; the last syllable of his name instantly turned to a cry of ecstasy. 

He chuckled again, lazily dragging his tongue along the same path before pressing a light kiss to your clit, “I’ll buy you more,” he murmured, “Needed to taste you.” 

You whined as Nanami grazed your clit, the pressure enough to tease but not enough for true satisfaction. He spread you open with his fingers and watched in desperate fascination as your pussy seemed to beg for him, soaked and clenching around nothing. Your back arched off the bed as Nanami took the small bud between his lips and sucked. 

He growled in approval, the sensual timbre of his voice traveling through your body and causing your cunt to clench again, “So perfect.”

Nanami held you firmly in place with his arms as he continued his blissfully torturous assault on your body. He alternated between sucking your clit and thrusting his tongue into your core, feasting on you with abandon like he needed your taste to live. Every so often, his nose tapped against your swollen clit, and you saw stars. 

You moaned his name as Nanami’s clever fingers traced your opening, and you nearly cried as one thick digit fully slipped inside. He moved the finger experimentally, completely entranced by the way your velvet walls fluttered around him, begging him to stay inside you.

“Need to cum…. please.�� You sob, desperately trying not to wrap your legs around his head and hold him in place forever.

“You’re doing so well for me- so fucking beautiful.” Nanami praised roughly and slipped another finger into you, scissoring them and stretching your walls experimentally. Your back arched off the bed again as he leaned down to tongue your clit at the same time. His fingers caressed your g-spot insistently; stars danced in your vision, and the arousal in your body all coalesced into one aching, burning knot. 

“It- it’s too much… Nanami, nnnnguh ‘m gonna-” 

Your sentence broke off into a desperate, airy whine as Nanami sucked your swollen clit between his lips once more, sending you over the edge of a mind-shattering orgasm. His hands stroked the inked skin of your hips, and you sobbed his name as he greedily lapped up the cum from your soaked folds. You gazed between your legs and watched, enraptured, as Nanami slowly stood and licked your cum off of his fingers. 

“Absolutely delicious,” He groaned appreciatively at the taste, and you whimpered in response; the sight was easily one of the most arousing things you’d ever seen. You rubbed your thighs together, wholly lost to desire, the movement shifting the blue thermal you still wore even higher up your body. The fabric moved against your pert nipples, giving them enough friction to tease.

You tipped your head back as you rolled one of your nipples between your fingers with a practiced flourish, and Nanami’s impossibly hard cock twitched at the sight. If you were more lucid, you’d have seen that he was just as affected by the show you put on. The sight of you toying with your plush breasts, wearing only his shirt, half your tattoos clearly visible, and nipples strained against the fabric … If he were a weaker man, he’d have already cum while still in his pants. 

“You put on such a pretty show ‘f me,” Nanami murmured as he slipped a hand into the band of his sweatpants, his gaze heavy-lidded, content to watch you play for a moment. However, you had other ideas. You flashed a coy, lust-addled smile and reached your foot out, tucking it next to his hand to gently tug at the waistband, a clear signal for the pants to come off. 

“So impatient,” He chuckled roughly, instantly complying with your demand. Finally, you were treated to the view you’d been dreaming about. Nanami stood before you, completely nude and almost painfully aroused. A trail of neatly groomed, honey-blonde hair led down his toned abdomen, guiding your eyes to his deliciously hard cock. It was long, with a prominent vein that ran down the side to disappear before it met the thick, swollen tip. 

You spread your legs invitingly, and Nanami crawled between them, the bed dipping under his added weight. He stroked his cock experimentally, hissing as he traced the tip through your warm folds before kissing the tip to your clit. You whimpered at the lewd, wet sounds, your pussy fluttering desperately every time his swollen tip circled your entrance. 

“Please, Nanami….” You meweled, hips rocking involuntarily against him. He needed no further encouragement to slide into your warmth; Nanami hissed and groaned, slowly pushing into you, fighting the urge to just slam his cock inside your core. You took him in deeper, inch by agonizing inch, until his swollen cockhead kissed your cervix, and you sobbed in ecstasy. 

With another low growl, Nanami rocked his hips slowly, watching you fall apart at the unhurried drag of his cock against your velvet walls. “Like that, pretty girl?”

You babbled and whined complete nonsense, biting and kissing into his shoulder as Nanami began to thrust his hips at a faster pace, enraptured by the pearly ring of your combined fluids that coated the base of his cock. In mere moments, he was drilling into you with ruthless efficiency, the room filled with the pornographic sounds of your lovemaking. 

Every one of Nanami’s thrusts sent an electric shockwave of pleasure through your body, and you rocked your hips against him, desperately chasing another orgasm. You wrapped your legs up and around his waist, shifting your hips slightly, and his cock hit even deeper. 

“Good girl… Good fucking girl,” he growled as your hips ground against each other. “Taking me so well... Cum for me one more time- shit, I need to feel you cum on my cock.” 

Your nails dug into his back and arms desperately as the tight coil inside you built and built until it shattered completely. Sparks of blinding white flashed in your vision as your orgasm burned through like wildfire, and your pussy clenched around him desperately. Moments later, Nanami came with a look of sheer bliss on his face. Ropes of his warm cum coated your walls, stuffing you and giving you a feeling of delicious fullness.

A few minutes passed in blissful silence as you both caught your breath. Nanami made no real move to pull out, and you weren't complaining. Instead, he simply maneuvered into a lying position, pulling you close with his cock still buried deep inside you.

 “It’ll help you stay warm tonight,” he murmured lovingly, tucking all the blankets back into place around your intertwined bodies.

Tagging some friends: @saradika, @thefact0rygirl, @babygirl-leon-kennedy, @hereforthesunrise, @ashotofspotchka, @ironandglass, @amyroswell, @cassandrablacker, @lady-valtieri, @justanothersadperson93

Click here to join my taglist!

[chaos-in-deepspace]

Dragon Sylus: Second Chances | Prologue

Soooooo this is mainly just for fun. It's a crack fic, it's supposed to be funny but also it'll be crack taken seriously. I just needed something fun after the whole...myth thing. This will probably turn out to be about 9 chapters (not counting the prologue) to go with all chapters of the myth, however there will be a lot of changes to that story because this MC is like a honey badger, they don't give a shit.

Also calling MC a Sorcerer instead of Sorceress because it's more gender neutral.

⚔ Parings: Sylus x Reader ⚔ Warnings: Graphic Death, Car Crashes, Isekai, Vulgar Language, GN MC ⚔ Word Count: 1.6k

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

“We must burn the Sorcerer!” One of the voices beckoned below. You stared down at the crowd surrounding you at the moment, everything around you was burning, the flames licking at your skin.

“The Sorcerer has been judged! Greed and evil shall perish so long as His Majesty and the Sacred Judicator protect Philo for all eternity!” The Arbiter shouted at you next.

The abyss. That’s where you found yourself in, as everyone was there to judge your "sins".

“His Majesty can suck my giant fucking dick while the Sacred Judicators can be the little cucks they are and watch!” you shouted out at them. You swear…all this over a stupid fucking dragon hoodie.

—————————

It had been an average day for you. Nothing exciting was happening, which honestly was how you preferred it. Nothing exciting meant nothing unexpected and bad happening in your life.

The peace was always nice. All you wanted to do was get home from work and curl up with a video game or stupid show for the night, so you could repeat the process the next day. Simplicity.

You had just finished all the closing duties you had at your store and you looked outside, noticing how cold it was. The sky was dark and there was some subtle rainfall already, and you knew it would only get worse as the night progressed. It was expected to be storming in the next half hour, not something you were excited to drive in so you were hoping to make it home before that happened.

“Where’s your jacket?” you heard from behind you. It was one of your coworkers, Ben, who was also the one closing with you tonight.

“Take a wild guess.” You said as you looked across the parking lot where you had parked your car.

“It’s in your car.” He deduced and you only nodded in confirmation. Oh the annoyance that was weather changes. It had been so nice and sunny in the morning. Still bitter cold from the winter, but at least the sun was out, “Here, hold up.” He said, disappearing deeper into the shop.

He soon emerged with a hoodie in his arms, primarily black with a logo and some words on the front, “Take this.”

“It’s legit like a quick walk to my car…” As soon as you said the words a crack of thunder was heard and you watched the light rain turn into a downpour. You looked out at it for a few moments before sighing and taking the hoodie from Ben, “Thank you…”

“You’re welcome. Next time listen to your elders.” He said with a chuckle.

“You’re only fifty bro, you’re not that old.” You remind him as you put on the hoodie. Thankfully it smelled clean, it was probably one of his impulse purchases that he brought to work one time and kept in his locker after wearing it once.

“I’m fifty two for the record. Anyways, make sure you drive safe. Text me when you make it home.” Ben said as he opened the door. You two made your way out after you pulled the hood over your head, and after quickly making sure the door was actually locked, you were set.

You ran to your car as fast as you could, unlocking it, and hopping in. The moment you were inside you were turning on the heater and putting it on full blast, already shivering slightly from the dampness of the hoodie and cold wind that was assaulting you out there.

You were eager to go home since it was already late. The town you lived in was silent at this time of day, most people having already gone home. So you backed out of the parking lot and began making your way back to your beautiful home, your windshield wipers going haywire to keep up with the downpour on it.

Now you don’t know who exactly was at fault for it. The roads were dark since you always went the back road that didn’t have streetlights. You had your brights on, sure, but it didn’t help much with visibility.

Perhaps you had been the one to slam into the other car, or perhaps they hadn’t payed attention and hit you instead. It all happened so fast you didn’t even register it as your car spun where it was, tipping over to the side and slamming into a tree by the road.

The crunch of metal was deafening as you tried figuring out what had happened. The shock of it all made your brain go numb alongside your body. You couldn’t even register the piece of metal that had gone through you. You hadn’t even seen it.

You could taste copper though, which was never a good sign in your books. A wave of dizziness overtaking you and you felt so damn tired out of nowhere. You knew logically that if you fell asleep, there would be no turning back.

In that moment though, it was all your body wanted. How long you had been in that limbo phase was unknown to you. It was long enough for you to hear muffled sirens approaching the scene, to hear more metal breaking and bending as people tried to pry you from the wreckage.

The loud noises of a helicopter was nearby as you were being loaded up, but you knew it was already too late for you. If you managed to somehow survive this, then you’d be needing to buy a lottery ticket once you recovered.

So you decided to have mercy on yourself. To close your eyes one final time and embrace an eternal rest. Whatever came after wasn’t a concern for you at the time. You couldn’t change your outcome when you were already at the finish line.

As soon as you thought everything was over, your world shifted. It felt like you were spat out of something as you then found yourself plummeting downwards.

Your eyes instinctively shot open. All the pain and fatigue from before was replaced by sheer panic. You could see the night sky, but this time it was clear with stars shining above you. The wind whipping past your ears.

‘Did the fucking helicopter drop my ass?’ was your first line of thought, that was until you hit a watery surface and got plunged underneath it. It was frigid and your limbs felt like they were frozen solid as you tried flailing to get back to the surface.

Hands, you could see hands at the water’s edge. You weakly reached up, taking one of them and was pulled out of a possible second grave for the night. You were coughing and hacking up water as the hand began patting your back, helping you get it all up.

They were speaking but you couldn’t understand it. It was like gibberish, but the more they spoke, the more you were starting to understand oddly enough. It was foreign, but they were making sense.

“Are...okay?” you managed to finally make out from one of the men. They held torches and were dressed oddly, almost like you had stepped into some high fantasy world.

“I’m…decent.” You finally coughed out, surprised to realize your mouth had worked to form a foreign language without even knowing it. Your mind was trying to connect the dots as to what happened.

Did you die? Maybe? Was this hell? You don’t think hell would have such a pretty starry sky though.

“Help?” The man spoke again, most words being gibberish to you still, but you managed to make out that one word.

“Yes, please help me. Where am I?” you asked as the man held out his hand again to help you stand. As soon as you were standing it’s like something shifted in the air between you and the three other people.

“Dragon?” one whispered.

“A sorcerer!” the other responded bitterly.

“We must-“ more gibberish, “Sacred Judicator.” You got out of the words. Dragon? Sorcerer?

You were suddenly yanked forward and you let out a startled yelp. They had seemed so kind five seconds ago, and now you had no idea what was going on.

Next thing you knew, you were placed in a cell, told to await judgment. Chains were around your ankles as you looked at the wet cell. They had pointed at the ‘strange clothes’ you wore, saying it wasn’t from here. There was a dragon on it, which meant you worshiped the creatures. You wanted to bring upon the end times apparently.

When they had pointed at the dragon on your hoodie you wanted to groan. Ben had given you a Skyrim hoodie, with the logo right front and center. Wherever you had ended up must’ve been petrified of dragons if they saw it on clothing and assumed you were now the devil himself.

That’s how you ended up there, in front of the “Sacred Judicators” as you awaited judgment, which was a fancy way of saying they were going to execute you. You had been brought to an Abyssal area, another place you didn’t understand, but it did seem more hellish.

Still, it didn’t sit right with you. You had died, then brought to a place called Philos. It was a second chance for life since yours had been cut far too short. This was a chance to live without the constant pressures of your job. Without worrying about rent, work schedules, coworkers, all the stress was gone.

Yet here you were, about to be executed. Over a fucking Skyrim hoodie.

Like hell you’d let your second chance end so pathetically.

People asked to be tagged so here we go: @mangooes @athanasia-day

[powdermelonkeg]

Archwizard Gale lore???

Okay, SO! My personal headcanons for Gale's powers, both as archwizard and Chosen of Mystra, are based upon the following:

D&D makes a distinction between "archmage" and "archwizard," with the former being a spellcaster dedicated to the arcane arts and either: the counsel of royalty, a lich tyrant, or a reclusive hermit, all with multiple apprentices, and the latter being "an arcane spellcaster of extremely high power who successfully claimed a floating enclave," that specification coming from the time of Netheril.

Gale is NOT royal counsel, NOT pursuing lichdom, NOT a hermit (willingly), does NOT have apprentices when he first makes the claim, and does NOT have a floating enclave.

Despite these, he still claims "archwizard" as a title. This is significant, especially from Waterdeep, where the most powerful wizards in the world gather, including Laeral Silverhand (another of Mystra's Chosen, immortal to a degree, and Open Lord of Waterdeep) and Vajra Safahr (current Blackstaff and Archmage of Waterdeep).

Bonus points for his significance, he is Gale of Waterdeep. His personally chosen moniker marks him as outstanding among Waterdhavians. There might be a handful of people named Gale in Waterdeep, but there is only one Gale of Waterdeep. This is further backed up by Lorroakan recognizing him, with his only reason for Gale being lesser than someone who supposedly figured out immortality being that Gale was Mystra's discarded lapdog.

Gale is skilled in all manner of magic. This is confirmed directly in his epilogue, where you can question him about his choice teaching the School of Illusion, and he says that he wanted to teach ALL the classes there, but the staff told him no. That includes schools you wouldn't normally associate with him, like Divination and Necromancy.

Based on all of that, I've decided that "archwizard," as Gale means it, is a term referring to a wizard who's multiclassed into all their subclasses.

Does this make him overpowered? Yes. But he's an archwizard, prodigy, and Chosen, he's MEANT to be within the bounds of his own lore.

In addition, I also believe him to be an untrained Storm Sorcerer, based upon the following:

Sorcerers and wizards differ in that sorcerers know magic intrinsically, while wizards study it to use it.

When talking to Halsin as Origin Gale, you can tell him that as a baby, you summoned a whole pack of rabbits. Presumably, baby Gale was NOT reading and comprehending arcane textbooks.

Gale has an intrinsic understanding of the Weave, by his own admission, saying he could compose it rather than just control it. He was also casting third level spells like Fireball at eight years old.

Gale's theme is all about storms: his name is Gale, he occasionally says "A rough tempest I will raise" in combat, almost all his official art has him controlling lightning, and his robe is thunder purple. This continues into God!Gale's design, where he has literal glowing lightning bolts framing his eyes, and his outfit is lightning blue.

K'ha'ssji'trach'ash: On his own, the mephit is pretty self-contained; it's a magma mephit capable of revealing the true form of a True Ressurection scroll. However, the key to getting him to do this is to respond to the question "what is my name" in Ignan with the correct answer. After which, K'ha'ssji'trach'ash says "T'i n'uthrantha m'ahthra Gale." We don't know what this means, but it's clear that he's talking to us, about Gale, possibly thanking us or asking us to pass a message along. This implies that he doesn't speak Common, or else he would, because we answered correctly. Why do I bring this up? Storm Sorcerers have an innate ability called Wind Speaker, which allows them to speak Primordial (including Aquan, Auran, Ignan, and Terran). Thus, Gale can speak to/understand K'ha'ssji'trach'ash, despite his known/studied languages being Common, Celestial, Giant, and Draconic.

Because he's untrained, and rather than Storm Sorcery being just a Lv1 flavor bit that does little, I've decided that Gale has access to the class features of Storm Sorcery without access to its spell slots or Metamagic, that way it's reflective of his power without training.

With both of these conclusions, both archwizard and sorcerer, I've decided to pick and choose which class features are from which iteration of both classes, because BG3 and official D&D have a few key differences that were mostly changed for gameplay reasons. I've then taken those and added more flavor to them, based on the already-given flavor of D&D and effects of BG3, doing away with the mechanical side of things for storytelling reasons.

On top of this, because the maximum level you can reach in BG3 is Lv12, and we know that the Orb consumes "the greatest of [his] talents," I've decided that the Orb consumes any ability beyond Lv12 until its removal.

That being said, beyond whatever spells and slots you care to give him, the powers I think Gale has pre-tadpole are:

Abjuration

Arcane Ward: When Gale casts Abjuration spells, residual magic shields him from the worst of incoming hits

Projected Ward: Gale can extend Arcane Ward to someone nearby instead of himself

Improved Abjuration: On short rest, Gale can strengthen Arcane Ward to sustain itself beyond a single hit

Evocation

Sculpt Spells: Gale can control his Evocation spells and keep them from harming allies

Potent Cantrip: Gale can force enemies that resist his cantrips to take half damage from them anyways

Empowered Evocation: Gale's Evocation spells are particularly deadly (based on +INT modifier to damage rolls)

Necromancy

Grim Harvest: Gale can harness the power released when a spell kills a creature to heal himself, UNLESS it's undead or a construct

Undead Thralls: Animate Dead: Gale can reanimate a corpse

UT: Additional Undead: Gale can efficiently harness the power it would take to reanimate one corpse to reanimate two corpses with Animate Dead

UT: Better Summons: Gale's reanimated dead can take more of a beating than others' dead

Inured to Undeath: Gale's been exposed to necromancy enough that he's resistant to necrotic damage, and his life force capacity can't be reduced (this one in particular helps with the "Netherese bile" flowing through his veins)

Conjuration

Create Water: Gale can call forth rain at will (BG3's feature over D&D's to align more with storm sorcery)

Benign Transposition: Teleport: Gale can teleport up to 30ft, and can use that to swap places with an ally

Focused Conjuration: Gale's concentration on conjuration spells can't break due to pain

Enchantment

Hypnotic Gaze: So long as Gale holds eye contact with someone, he can charm them into stopping everything they're doing and staring at him in a daze

Instinctive Charm: Reflexively, Gale can make a split-second charm attempt to redirect an attack at someone directly nearby

Split Enchantment: Gale can efficiently harness the power it would take to enchant one person and instead enchant two targets at once

Divination

Portent: Gale can focus and gain split-second glimpses into the immediate future (such as the next blow about to be thrown in a fight)

Expert Divination: Casting divination comes naturally enough to Gale that he can cast divination spells using a lower spell slot

Third Eye: Gale can increase his powers of perception and gain a very limited Darkvision/Ethereal vision at will, as well as read any language

Illusion

Improved Minor Illusion: Gale can cast illusory effects with incredible ease

See Invisibility: Gale's experience with illusions lets him detect invisibility spells at work, focus on them, and see through them

Illusory Self: Gale can create an identical double of himself reflexively to confuse opponents

Transmutation

Experimental Alchemy: Using transmutation magic, Gale can more efficiently refine potion ingredients, occasionally enough to create a second potion

Transmuter's Stone: Gale can lock some of his transmutation magic into a stone, granting whoever holds it an effect of his choice from the following: Constitution proficiency, Darkvision, extra speed, resistance to acid/cold/fire/lightning/thunder damage

Shapechanger: Gale can polymorph himself once a day without consuming a spell slot (only into beasts with a CR of 1 or less)

Storm Sorcery

Wind Speaker: Gale can speak, read, and write Primordial (Aquan, Auran, Ignan, and Terran)

Tempestuous Magic: Gale can summon gusts of wind around him immediately after casting a spell greater than a cantrip. These winds are strong enough to propel him in flight for ten feet

Heart of the Storm: Gale has resistance to lightning and thunder damage. In addition, whenever he casts a spell that deals lightning or thunder damage, the magic that erupts is stormy and more powerful than other kinds of magic at equal level

Storm Guide: Gale can subtly control the weather around him, causing rain to stop falling in a 20 foot sphere centered on him, or wind to blow in a different direction in a 100 foot sphere centered on him

Feats

These are based on what I, personally, think make the most sense for him pre-tadpole:

Ability Increase: +2 to INT score

Elemental Adept: Thunder: Spells/attacks ignore resistance to thunder, and when a spell he casts causes thunder damage, it can't critically fail

Elemental Adept: Lightning: Spells/attacks ignore resistance to lightning, and when a spell he casts causes lightning damage, it can't critically fail

Okay, so Gale's crazy powerful, right? What could he have possibly lost that's greater than all this?

Well...

Abjuration: Spell Resistance: Gale was in tune enough with the Weave that he could resist spells (as well as gaining advantage on saving throws against them)

Evocation: Overchannel: Gale could deal maximum damage on a 1-5 level spell without ill effect on first cast, but suffered unresisted necrotic damage when using it again

Necromancy: Command Undead: Gale could bring undead made by other wizards under his control

Conjuration: Durable Summons: Gale could give anything he summoned a temporary shield against damage (30 temp HP)

Enchantment: Alter Memories: Gale could make someone unaware they were charmed by him, as well as make them forget something that happened during that charmed period

Divination: Greater Portent: Gale used to be able to predict more split second decisions ahead with ease

Illusion: Illusory Reality: Gale used to be able to pull shadow magic together into illusions and make them, temporarily, real. He can still do a limited version of this, but only via concentration to keep the threads together (hence the "anatomically correct" illusory wizard in the Drow twins scene; shadow magic is NOT the same as the Shadow Weave)

Transmutation: Master Transmuter: Gale could consume magic stored in his transmuter's stone in one go, using it to transmute one object into another, remove curses, diseases, and poisons, raise the dead, or reduce a creature's apparent age by up to 30 years

Storm Sorcery: Storm's Fury: Gale could react with lightning damage when struck physically Wind Soul: Gale was immune to lightning and thunder damage, could fly at a speed of 60 feet, and could reduce his flying speed to 30 feet for 1 hour to make four additional people fly

Yeah. Ouch. And that's not even including his former Chosen abilities.

Gale's Chosen abilities

Silver Fire: Gale could command pure energy of the Weave in the form of silver-white flame, which, at his command, could destroy anything in its path, banish dead magic areas, restore torn Weave, purge external magic and psionic effects from his own body, teleport without error to the last location he used the ability at, or cast spells without verbal, somatic, or material components

Mantle: Gale could cast the dangerous Mantle spell without suffering any ill effects, while other wizards casting the spell would suffer a drain of life force as long as it persisted

Weave Detection: Gale could detect magic's presence without the use of a spell

Weave Tapping: Gale could cast high level spells repeatedly without losing a spell slot, although this was discouraged by Mystra

On the page for Mystra's Chosen abilities, it says that sometimes her Chosen gained an immunity to magic, as well as disease and poison. I don't think Gale was so lucky, however; in the House of Healing, he mentions that he once turned himself in to a hospice in Waterdeep for a "bout of ruddy pox." Him having turned himself in implies he was an adult at the time, and should, therefore, already be Mystra's Chosen.

All that to say: behold, Gale of Waterdeep, in his original splendor. How the mighty have fallen.

[xhyjin]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ geto suguru x reader

| a/n: if those does well i will do a pt 2 😓

you never expected to find yourself in this position: standing in front of the temple with sweaty palms, trying to convince yourself that what you’re doing is right—that you are sane for even thinking a powerful sorcerer like suguru geto would look your way, let alone accept your love for him.

it happened to be a rainy day, your pink kimono now a pale pink, matching the shade of your lips as you nervously nibbled on them. you had heard a lot about geto—how he despised those who weren’t powerful, sorcerers like him, those he referred to as monkeys. you heard everything and anything you could pick up, often finding yourself eavesdropping while pretending to pray at the temple. at least he was generous enough to let a “monkey” like you use his temple, let alone step inside it.

you bowed in front of the buddha statue, praying to whichever god was listening to let things go your way for once in your life—to let suguru geto become yours, even if it meant enduring pain or suffering to make it happen.

“what is this monkey doing in my temple?” a snarky yet stern voice called from behind you, making you freeze in place. trembling, you hesitantly turned around, your fearful eyes meeting a pair of cold, piercing purple ones.

“i’m sorry for bothering you,” you said quickly, bowing twice in desperation. you had heard the stories—how merciless he could be with monkeys, how he often killed them on the spot for his own amusement. but you were different. you had to be. that’s why he let you in, why he allowed you to step foot inside his temple, why he permitted you to breathe the same air as him. it was because you were you.

but he couldn’t let you know that. no, it would not only crush his image but also his ego, which was longer than his black hair. he hated how you made him feel weak in the knees with your mere presence, how his heart fluttered every time you nervously fiddled with the sleeves of your kimono, how you never dared to meet his gaze no matter how flustered you were. he hated how much he wanted—no, needed you.

“you’re here quite often, are you not?” his tone was laced with mockery as he approached, his presence overwhelming. leaning down to your height, he left just enough space between you that you could feel the weight of his gaze, and yet you swore he could hear your heartbeat if he moved even an inch closer.

“i come here to pray, my lord,” you stammered. my lord? why had you called him that? it was too late to take it back now. through the corner of your eye, you caught the grin that spread across his face—a grin far too wide, too pleased—as he straightened back up.

“my lord, hm?” he repeated, amusement dripping from his voice. “and what is it that you pray for so often, that you end up here almost every hour of the day?”

he began circling you, his eyes shamelessly raking over your form. the slight trembling of your hands didn’t escape his notice, and it only intrigued him more. who would have thought a mere monkey could make him feel something other than hatred? yet here he was, drawn in by the sight of you—by the way your fear mixed so beautifully with something he couldn’t quite name, something that made his blood run hot.

"i pray for you, my lord," you said truthfully, using the title once more. for the first time since you stumbled upon this temple, you met his gaze, steady and unyielding despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

"for me?" he scoffed, a hint of incredulity lacing his voice. "now, why would i need a monkey's prayer, hm?" his hand rested on his hip as he maintained eye contact, his sharp eyes daring you to look away, to crumble under his gaze.

"i pray that one day you love me like i love you," you blurted out, your voice trembling but resolute. shit. the words were out before you could stop them—a confession laid bare before him. yet, instead of running, instead of succumbing to regret, you found yourself stepping closer to him, your heart racing louder with every step.

"i pray that we could be something," you continued, now standing inches away from him. "i pray that i could be more than just a ‘monkey’ to you," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you craned your neck to look up at him, your vulnerability on full display.

"my, my," geto muttered, a smirk curling at the corners of his lips. "you have some nerve, don't you?"

he had never been confessed to by a weakling like you. and yet, instead of feeling annoyance, he felt something far more dangerous stirring inside him. before you could even comprehend the moment, his hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. his lips crashed onto yours, fierce and unrelenting, leaving no room for hesitation or thought.

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ (you were good to me) | nanami kento

wc: 2.8k

summary: nanami counts his chances and bets on this last one.

contains: implied f!reader but no mention of pronouns, canon-adjacent, exes, mentions of alcohol, swears, mentions of drunk calls, pov switching, angst, c.death

a/n: another brainchild from me and @augustinewrites, with song inspos: you were good to me, tequila, bourbon, already gone, all i want, and something in the orange

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: waiting for that call you know won't come

part 1 <- you are here

October 31, 2018.

Your company halloween party isn’t all that fun when you think about it. 

The optional suggestion from HR to wear a costume has always been promptly ignored for as long as you can remember, pressed suits in dark neutrals coloring the celebration instead. Nothing exciting about it at all. 

It used to be though, when you had Nanami to spend it with. 

Liquid pools by the sides of your fingertips, condensation dripping down your glass of bourbon. One of the perks of being in a financial firm’s halloween party is that the alcohol is good, expensive to match the tastes and budget the partners can afford. 

Calling it a party is overhyping it, if you’re being honest. It’s just another day at work, except without the alcohol restrictions; your coworkers still check the markets every five minutes (you do too, out of habit), and directors still ask for summary reports while attending to a phone call or two—one hand on a tablet and another on a drink, earbud slotted securely in one ear. 

You and Nanami used to hide, even just for a few minutes, by the break room at the back, inside the pantry—a place now foreign but still filled with all your memories; you haven’t stepped foot in it since he broke it off. 

It's a common notion amongst your peers that workplace romance is dead—it always has been (at least, outwardly). HR would have cut either of you out of the next payment cycle if they had caught wind of your mingling. 

Workplace romance is dead, they say, but what you had with Nanami was alive, beating with every giggle muffled by the palm of your hand. No one would ever consider him a funny guy, but you did—all his snide remarks, comments unapologetically deadpan in a way so bluntly his. 

The gray curtain separating you two from the rest of the office kitchen was thin, but it held every weighted moment you snuck with him—secret confessions a little before midnight, a hand or two you couldn’t possibly resist, sobs hushed down, bitten between your teeth with you tucked into him. 

Workplace romance is dead—it’s supposed to be, but a few desks down and a sharp left turn from yours, it haunts you, still. 

You take a sip. 

.

Nanami has a sense for these things. 

It’s always when something doesn’t feel right that the numbers start to click. 

Clusters of sorcerers have been grouped to surround the vicinity, his own trio comprising of himself, Fushiguro, and Ino. The instructions are simple: to be on standby in case anything happens. The wait time should be a good sign; it’s highly unlikely that anyone can match up to Gojo, after all. 

He checks his watch, each second ticking agonizingly slowly. It feels unsettling, like the calm before the storm—a deep unrest simmering. Unsafe is the first thought that comes to mind, then you second; it prompts him to call you, his fingers slightly trembling. 

Your contact is still marked with a star, filed under his favorites (he knows he probably should have moved it).

One ring. Two rings. Three. A ‘toot’ at the end of the line—it makes him antsy. 

Then, the veils go down. 

The action is alarming; these opponents move themselves like chess pieces, he knows this much—all part of a bigger plan, always with an underlying motive.

His thumb hovers over the call button again, thinking. The expression on his face remains impassive, sharp angles and straight lines concealing the weight of each worry. 

“Nanami-san,” Ino calls. 

Fushiguro’s already started theorizing, rationalizing some sort of ploy behind this occurrence—all highly plausible, all probably true; it’s some sick play that the moment the calculations click, there isn’t enough time to call you. 

“That’s why we’ve stopped standing by and started to act,” Nanami interjects, shrugging off his blazer, khaki cotton falling off his shoulders as he slips his phone in his pant pocket. 

.

If anything, you should probably do your best to enjoy whatever you can from this year’s Halloween party—after all, it’ll be your last in this company. You handed in your resignation papers last week, and though your boss has pulled you aside for the nth time tonight, disguising pleas as empty promises, you know better than to believe it.

It doesn’t matter to you anymore; you’ve made up your mind. 

The bartender mixes you another drink: 2 ounces of bourbon for a ball of ice, the same one you’ve been having the entire night. 

A White Russian is your usual pick—a spiked latte as you call it. Nanami’s claimed that Bourbon On The Rocks is like its older, more mature cousin, and you’re afraid he’s right. He always is.

The hints of vanilla and caramel remind you of your morning pick-me-up, part because of the drink and part because of the man you used to spend it with. 

Your phone vibrates from your inner pocket, but you don’t feel it, the alcohol dulling your senses. 

.

“Na-na-na-na-na-na-min!” 

For this reason, he thinks, it’s good that the nickname has stuck; a perfect identifier for whom and where it’s coming from. 

Echoes of Itadori’s voice lead them straight to a rooftop, Fushiguro catching the boy’s attention to ask for the run-down. Mechamaru warns that it’s pandemonium deep within the station, curses of all grades mixed with scattered transfigured humans. There’s only one thing he knows can be responsible for that. 

Nanami doesn’t do jokes, but he secretly wishes this is just a really bad one, because—

Gojo’s been sealed. 

—the punch line isn’t funny at all. 

Sorcery has prepared Nanami for anything, but this possibility lies in his 0.01%—if this has happened, it’s free game. 

It makes sense now, why this unease has slowly been surfacing. 

Keep people safe and survive—the single thought at the forefront of his mind. 

He moves quickly, devising a plan for maximum efficiency; Ino is to stay with Fushiguro and Itadori inside this veil while he meets up with Ijichi to put down the other one. Time is running short, options even more so—there are only a handful of people who can do certain requests and being a first-grade qualifies him as one of them. 

Eerie silence greets him as he steps out on the sidewalk, the streets practically swept. It’s instinct when his hand reaches in his pant pocket, fingers moving in memorized pattern as he calls you again.

You don’t pick up for the second time.

.

One of your co-workers almost trips down the steps to the taxi, your arm stretched out to catch her should she fall forward completely. Cool air nips at your cheeks; you’ve had more to drink but you handle liquor well—if managing to keep up with Nanami means anything. 

The vibrations of your phone get lost in the commotion. You haul your co-worker into the cab and tell the driver her address, asking if he can drive you to yours soon after. 

.

It’s shit.

Climbing up the steps to the overpass fills him with a sense of foreboding. A sickening dread. On the way here, he spotted four managers, dead. 

The sight before him angers him more than anything—blood pooling around Ijichi’s frame, crumpled on the ground. He steps closer, crouching low to check for a pulse; it’s faint, but it’s there, accompanying the man’s shallow breathing. 

He does quick work bringing Ijichi to the rescue team, hopefully fast enough to make it back to Shoko where she can fix him. 

The casualties are rising. 

It isn’t safe anymore. The radius of collateral damage is widening and this is just the beginning.

What will happen to you? If the events in here break containment? 

How can he keep you safe if jujutsu society falls? 

He crunches the numbers, sorting through each possibility; the phone in his pocket feels heavy, sinking with each step he takes on concrete. It’s not often that Nanami runs out of options—there’s always an answer to anything; but this, he thinks, has never made him feel more desperate.

His fingers hover over your contact again. 

There’s not enough time—this is the only way. 

He needs to get you out of here. 

. 

You’re left with a voicemail. 

The key slips from your hand, falling to the ground again, like the many times it has before. You step inside your apartment, swiping through your notifications to find two missed calls and an email. 

It’s confusing enough getting calls from the ex you drunk dial once a week; receiving a flight notice set to depart later tonight with a ticket under your name doesn’t make things any clearer. 

You tap your screen, odd anticipation and nerves coiling in your belly. 

“Hello,” the audio starts, “I’m assuming you received the email.” 

His voice sounds different when you’re a little more sober; you’re not sure if that’s a good thing—if it’s worse or better, just that it aches the more you hear him clearly. You kick off your heels, letting the audio play as you pour yourself a glass of water. 

Your ticket details stare at you from your screen. 

(Shouting isn’t a quiet man’s usual and his throat hurts from the overexhaustion. His voice echoes across the sea, calling for everyone to hurry over. There’s only so much Fushiguro can take from beside him, holding open the simple domain for everyone to slip through simultaneously.

He supposes, this isn’t the first time he’s done something out of character today—moving your flight and hoping you get on it is the most reckless thing he’s ever done.)

“I’m sorry this is so sudden, I understand if you’re confused. I know most of our conversations have been unideal lately.”

Metal clinks in the recording, a sound so familiar to you—the links of his watch band hitting. Nanami has a habit of shaking his wrist when he’s uneasy about something, and you can almost hear it from the small breaths he takes before each sentence. 

It should embarrass you, the amount of times you’ve drunk-called him, but you have reason to believe he doesn’t find it all that off-putting. 

(He wonders if he’ll get another chance to sit through one more unideal conversation with you. 

Blood drips down the side of his head, his shoulder slashed through his shirt. Adrenaline moves every muscle he barely has the energy to.)  

“Do you… do you remember that vacation we planned?” he breathes out from the other end, a hesitancy uncommonly heard from him, “To Kuantan?” 

You do, very vividly—a trip discussed some time ago with your head on his chest, scrolling through flight promos on your phone. Nanami’s dream has always been to be free by the sea; you don’t expect it from a man turned jaded, but it feels like a secret spoken truthfully. 

So you take it and run, booking a flight two years down the line—a ‘when we have the time’ flexible enough to move and transfer whenever either of you would like. 

(In a flash, he’s flushed along with the current, waves engulfing him as he’s washed out of the domain.) 

“I’ve thought about it and believe now would be a good time,” his voice continues, “with your resignation and things. ” 

The spray sunblock on your dresser is barely used, but you grab it knowingly. Nanami is pale and—

(—when he burns, he thinks of the Kuantan sun—how nice it would be to be under it, bathed in the deep orange afterglow next to you.)  

“I…” Nanami rarely stutters, but you hear a slight shake to his timbre, “I know this is a tough ask, especially when I’ve been unfair to you. But…” 

You can picture him clearly—hand running through his hair as he adjusts his lenses; he pinches the bridge of his nose before shaking his wrist, that familiar metal clinking. 

It almost sounds pained, his acknowledgment of it, as if he’s long since regretted treating you any less than you deserve. Does it make you stupid? Or sad? That you still hang on to every word he says, that the spaces between your fingers still miss the way he used to fill them. 

You drag the zipper of your bag shut, patting it down to flatten.

“...I hope you know the reason I left isn’t because of something you did.”

The Nanami you know speaks nothing but the truth, and you believe him each time. 

It’s a contradicting mix of comfort and anxiety, like he’s freed you from the guilt that used to weigh on you heavily. If it isn’t because of you though, you don’t know what else it could be. 

You sigh, pushing down on the door handle as you take one last look to make sure you didn’t leave anything. 

(It’s a lie when he tells himself he can’t feel anything; the left side of his body is burned, charred down to his sinews—it's a surprise he can still move. The damage should have been enough to numb him, but it still hurts when he thinks of you. 

Did you receive his voicemail? Are you on your way now?

Time moves slowly as he drags his feet across the station floor.) 

“I’ll… explain myself more when I see you in a few hours.” 

Your stomach starts feeling funny when you get in the taxi—the pauses in his recording are obvious. 

You wonder what’s going on in his head. 

(This is cruel, he knows, concealing the truth and feeding you false hope. He’s a liar, but there’s no other way. There’s no time to explain everything to you. 

If this is what gets you out of here—) 

Silence. 

You hear his footsteps through the recording, the sound of his feet shuffling, contemplating. 

He speaks again, hesitancy tinged with sadness you can’t decipher, “I apologize, if this is out of nowhere,” a  breath, “but I hope I was good to you in the time we had.” 

You shift in your seat, fiddling with your fingers. There’s a finality to his tone that you find oddly misplaced—the sound of a goodbye more than a second try. 

It is wholly unlike him to be this sentimental. 

Tears well up in your lash line as you think back to everything: how he used to wait for you after work despite it being past midnight, how weekends were filled with nothing but love, massaged into the soles of your feet; how he’d buy your favorite breakfast sandwich even though he’s a snob about the ingredients in it. He drove you anywhere as long as you had music control. 

Nanami is an old soul, and you indulged him by buying records for that vintage record player he has. Songs from the 50’s, 60’s, maybe a bit of jazz from the 70’s and 80’s too—for a man so stiff, he sways smoothly to its melodies, holding you closely each time. 

He has only ever touched you gently, attentive to every need you express lovingly; his kisses always form a line straight to your heart—from the top of your head to your forehead, down between your eyebrows to the slope of your nose. His lips are soft against yours, ticklish as they drag down your neck to your collarbones. 

A patient and tender lover, the most wonderful man for the greatest years of your life. 

He was more than good to you—you couldn’t have asked for any better. 

(A mess of curses greet him on the floor—transfigured humans he has no choice but to take the lives of. 

He’s exhausted. 

His blade swooshes to the right, body following the path it glides to. He allows himself a glimpse of rest, to think of how it must feel to dance by the glistening seaside with you.) 

“You were the best thing to happen to me in that shitty place.”

His honesty rings loudly in your ears, resounding even as you pull up your luggage to the check-in counter. 

Oftentimes, Nanami would say things and they’d sound a lot like ‘I love you’.

“I hope I can be good to you now, too.”

(Saying it would have been selfish—it’s good he didn’t, even though he wanted to. Those 3 words mean nothing if there’s no guarantee he’ll be alive to prove it to you.

A hand presses against his back; a crack in his soul.) 

“The details are in the email, I’ll be there when you land.” he pauses; it takes a beat before he continues again, “See you then.”

You’re half-nervous and half-excited as you board the plane. The voicemail sounds suspicious, his actions even moreso, but if what he’s saying is true—

(It flashes before him, too fast and too slow; Haibara smiling, the life he couldn’t save. Yuuji calling him from the corner, a ‘Nanamin’ one last time. 

Then there’s you. Just as he’s about to give in to it all—the beach. How pretty you’d look, beaming up at him, pointing towards the sun as it sets into the endless sea.)

“Don’t forget to turn off the lights.” he says softly, like a reminder to be cradled safely. 

You settle into your seat, the captain speaking over the announcement system. 

“Flight MH 1730 to Kuantan, Malaysia from Tokyo, Japan. Departure time is 11:16 p.m. Estimated arrival…”

—you can’t wait. 

(At least he’ll get to save your life, right?

Nanami Kento. Time of death: 11:17 p.m.)

a/n: writing this was really tough (because it absolutely gutted me), but it was a good challenge! a few info bits: partners = high ranking roles in the company; white russian = vodka, coffee liqueur, & cream + ice; the flight details are not real; the pov switching is real time, except for the voicemail, which acts as a voiceover to the events concurring between nanami and you.

thank you notes: to @augustinewrites OF COURSE. what would i do without you fr. this has plagued us for the longest time and we have been way too sad for too damn long bc of it 😭 thank you for half-mothering this, where would i be without your sad songs 🥹 + @mysugu and @soumies for running through this idea & the voicemail dialogue with me 🥺 very important opinions from very important people indeed 🥺 + @stellamancer for helping me with my grammar doubts 😭

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡