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suguwu · 2 months ago

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WOULD THAT I: PROLOGUE

The Gojo boy doesn't have a soulmate.

When you're both children, you overhear him being referred to as inhuman, between his power and his lack of a mark. The next time you see him, you use a marker to write your name on his skin, too young to understand what it means.

You forget, but Gojo—

Gojo never does.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

masterlist

pairing: gn!reader x gojo

wc: 2.6k

notes: thank you to my beta, as always! especially for putting up with my bratty ass and reading this early so i could post it earlier. this has been a fun fic to get started and i hope you enjoy the prologue!

content warnings: none. see masterlist for series content warnings.

The Gojo boy doesn’t have a soulmate.

You don’t think you’re supposed to know; it’s only ever talked about in hushed voices. The clans all speak like that, sometimes, each word a butterfly’s wing as it flutters from their mouths.

The servants, however, are louder.

One of them has a voice like a lark, a sweet, trilling song. It carries. You learn to hear her coming, to recognize her shadow against the shoji. You know the edges of her by heart. Sometimes she spreads her arms out as she makes her way through the hallway; her kimono sleeves flare out behind her like wings.

“There’s something wrong with the Gojo heir,�� she sings one afternoon, her fluting voice half-muffled by the shoji. “Those eyes of his—it’s like he can see right through you. And Fujioka says he doesn’t have a soulmark.”

Another servant hushes her. “Don’t gossip,” she chides.

“It’s true, though!”

“That doesn’t mean you should repeat it.”

She huffs, grumbling something too soft for you to hear anything aside from the melody of it. The other servant laughs quietly before chivvying her forward. You watch until their shadows disappear, leaving only the hallway light to filter golden through the shoji.

You return to your coloring book.

The Gojo boy doesn’t have a soulmate, but that doesn’t mean anything to you.

Not yet.

—

There’s a boy in the courtyard.

He’s hopping from stone to stone in the koi pond, his snow-white hair glittering under the morning sun. He moves like a dancer, each step sure and swift, never once slipping on the wet rock. When he gets to the biggest rock in the pond, he crouches down, his back to you, and drags his fingers over the surface of the water. The koi rise to meet him, firework scales flashing in the sun.

You watch him from the engawa, peeking out at him from behind one of the columns. You’ve never seen him before, and you’d remember him, with his starlight hair.

“Who’re you?” he asks, not turning around.

You stay quiet.

“I know you’re there,” he says. “You can’t hide from me.”

He glances over his shoulder and the world goes blue.

It’s the cold burn of a comet’s tail streaking through the velvet night. It’s oceantide, relentless and unyielding. It’s a slice of the sky brought down to earth, heaven devoured.

Then he blinks, and he’s just a boy again.

“Who’re you?” you ask, stepping to the edge of the engawa.

He lifts his chin. “I asked you first.”

You introduce yourself the way your mother taught you, bowing to him shallowly.

He scoffs. “You’re not even from the main clan.”

“Are you?”

“I’m not part of your stupid clan.”

“Oh.”

He stares at you, his crystalline eyes sharp-edged, all prismatic ice. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Nope.”

He rises to his full height, unfolding like an elegant crane. “I’m Gojo Satoru.”

You tilt your head. The servants’ humming gossip made the Gojo heir sound ethereal, a fallen star that had burned away into human form as it plummeted through the heavens. His eyes are otherworldly, and you can feel the power rippling out from his lean form, as unstoppable as the tides, but—

“You’re just a boy,” you say.

He scowls. “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” he says again, deeper this time, an intonation, a promise, a curse. His eyes flash, St. Elmo’s fire, a lightning strike of blue. “I have the Limitless and the Six Eyes. I’m not just a boy.”

You would believe him, but the last bit sounded more sulky than anything else. You’re about to tell him so when someone calls your name. You glance over your shoulder, but there are no shadows against the shoji yet.

When you turn back around, there are wet patches shining on the stones in the koi pond, an imprint of the past, but nothing else.

The Gojo boy is gone.

—

Your mother is hovering.

She smooths down your yukata, chasing creases from the thin cotton with trembling hands. There hadn’t been time to change; she’d pulled you out of your lessons and hurried you down the hallways of the estate.

“Bow low when you meet him,” she tells you, though she hasn’t bothered to tell you who ‘he’ is. “Understand?”

You nod.

There’s a fine layer of sweat gleaming at your mother’s nape as she kneels before the shoji. She reaches out to open it; her kimono sleeve slips down, revealing the elegant curve of her wrist. You focus there instead of the opening shoji, the slow slide of it a hissing snake, coiled to bite.

The shoji clicks, a chime of teeth, its maw wide open. You take in a deep breath and step through, your gaze on the tatami mats. Someone shifts.

“Oh, it’s you.”

You glance up, directly into the gaze of Gojo Satoru. His eyes are as otherworldly as you remember, a crisp, clear blue framed in long lashes, like a snowy-edged mountain lake. He tilts his head as you gape, his hair gleaming bone-white in the sun streaming through the open shoji.

You blink. “What’re you doing here?” you ask, and next to you, your mother hisses in a low, sharp breath.

Gojo shrugs. “Dunno. The clan said I had to come and they caught me when I snuck out.”

The woman behind Gojo clears her throat. “Gojo-sama,” she says, her voice like the shivering leaves when the summer breeze stirs to life, “they’re a candidate for you to train with.”

He eyes you. “Why?” he asks. “They’re not very strong.”

“Hey!”

“You aren’t, though,” he says. “I can tell.”

You throw yourself at him.

His eyes widen, a devouring sea, and he grunts as you make impact. He’s sturdier than you thought; he’s slight, but it’s all lean muscle, even though he can’t be much older than you are. Your mother calls out your name, horrified, but Gojo is already recovering, grappling with you for control.

By the time the adults pull you apart, Gojo is nursing a rapidly-purpling mark high on his cheekbone. Your split lip aches; you tongue at it and wince. You can taste blood, sour and metallic. You glare at Gojo even as your mother bows deeply to the woman.

“My deepest apologies,” she says, tightening her grip on the sleeve of your yukata and forcing you to bow with her. “I don’t know what came over them.”

The woman clicks her tongue. “The child should be punished,” she says, and your mother stiffens. “I would suggest—”

“No.”

Everyone looks at Gojo. He thumbs at a rip in his kimono, grinning widely. It bares his teeth.

“I’ll train with them,” he says.

“Gojo-sama—”

“I said I’d train with them. Now can we go? I want a popsicle.”

The woman sighs. “Yes, Gojo-sama.”

Gojo sweeps by you and your mother. He pauses right next to you. “You’re weak,” he tells you, ignoring the way you bristle, “but at least you’re fun.”

He’s out the shoji before you can respond.

—

Summer settles over Kyoto, a wet lick of heat. Even the wind seems to feel it; it ripples honey-slow through the trees, barely strong enough to stir the air. Frogs move into the koi pond in the courtyard; they sing along with the cicadas’ sawing choir.

“Catch it!” Gojo shouts as your hands spear through the murky pond water. It gushes free from between your fingers as you come up empty-handed, the frog you were aiming for frantically disappearing further below the surface. “You’re so slow.”

“Am not!”

“Are too,” he counters, holding out his cupped hands. A plaintive ribbit sounds out from between them. “I already caught one. It was easy.”

“You’re annoying.”

He stares at you, his blue eyes icy. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re the one who came over.”

He rolls his eyes. “We train at your estate.”

“How come?”

“How come what?”

“How come we train here? Your estate is probably better.”

He shrugs, opening his hands enough to peer down at the frog. It glistens in the sunlight, the same deep green as the lush courtyard. It makes a break for freedom; he closes his hands again, his long fingers sewing the gap shut. “I like it better here.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Why?”

“I just do,” he says, voice flat.

You don’t ask again.

—

“Why are we here?”

Gojo blinks, his long white lashes sweeping over the sweet curve of his cheek. “Why are you whispering?”

Your cheeks heat. The Gojo estate is a sprawling, massive maw; you’ve felt devoured ever since you set foot in it. Even the golden light that slants through the shoji feels cold. There are ikebana arrangements lining the halls, the leggy, deep purple irises sculptural as they rise proudly from the vases, but it still feels like a mausoleum.

“We’ve just never trained here before,” you say, taking care to use your regular voice. “So why are we here now?”

He shrugs. “They insisted.”

“Who?”

He dismisses the question with a wave of his hand, his long pianist’s fingers cutting through the air. You roll your eyes, long used to his occasionally imperious ways. The two of you continue along the hallways, you trailing after him closely, as if caught in his gravity, an orbiting moon.

You almost run into him when he comes to a sudden halt. You peek around him—in the last few months, he’s gone through a growth spurt, one that your mother says will come when you’re his age, and he’s too tall to peer over his shoulder—and see a servant bowing low, her ebony hair glinting.

“Gojo-sama,” she says. “Please follow me. The elders are waiting.”

He sighs, a dramatic heave of his chest. “What do they want?”

“They didn’t specify.”

“Ugh.”

“Gojo-sama—”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he says. “Go tell those geezers I’ll be there soon.”

You wince right along with the servant. Gojo’s disdain for the elders is not new, but it still unnerves you every time, as if they will come along and smite you down.

“C’mon,” Gojo says to you. “Let’s get it over with.”

The servant clears her throat. “Only you, Gojo-sama.”

He glares, his blue eyes burning, a comet streaking through the sky. “No,” he says. “They’re coming.”

“They cannot.”

“I said they’re coming.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, eyes wide. “Really.”

Gojo looks back at you. For a second, his mouth is a wound, tender and pink, but in the next breath, it’s gone, frozen under a layer of ice.

“Fine.”

You bite your lip, but he’s already walking away. You catch yourself before you reach for him. He disappears down the hallway, his hair glinting like exposed bone.

The servant turns to you. “This way,” she says, her voice perfectly neutral.

You follow her to an empty room; she slides the shoji shut behind herself as you settle onto the cushion at the chabudai. You gaze around the room. There’s not much to take in; it’s wealthy in a subdued way. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve and then get to your feet.

You slide open the shoji leading out to the engawa; it opens onto a huge, lush courtyard. The plush flowers are weighted down by their own blooms, their stems curving like a dancer’s back. A shishi-odoshi rings out with a hollow thud; a few songbirds scatter, their wings rustling like leaves as they soar towards the sky.

You step out onto the engawa. It’s still early enough that the sun slants onto the wood, warming it. You sit down and bask in it, tilting your face up for the sun’s sweet kiss. You lay back, your eyes fluttering shut.

A voice wakes you.

“He’s an insolent brat!” a man hisses. “He needs to be taken in hand!”

“He’s too powerful,” another man answers. His voice is calm, but you can sense the ripples in it, the thing lurking underneath. “We can only do what we’re already doing.”

You go still. They can only be talking about Gojo. Their footsteps echo; they’re drawing closer and closer.

“It’s not enough.”

“He’s still young. Maybe we can mold him.”

The first man snorts. “You don’t believe that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“There’s something wrong with that boy,” the first man says. “Those eyes—that power—and not even a hint of a mark. He’s barely human.”

Their footsteps are starting to fade; their voices become murmurs. But you still hear it when the second man says:

“I don’t think he’s human at all.”

Then they’re gone, fading from your world like malevolent spirits, dissipating on the wind. You unclench your fists and find that your nails have bitten into your skin, little half-moon curves cutting through the leylines of your palms.

Gojo shows up a mere minute later. He slides open the shoji with a bang; his eyes find you immediately.

“C’mon,” he says, stepping out into the courtyard. His eyes are shadowed; his lips are pulled tight, an unstitched wound. He’s heard them, you realize. You’ve never seen him bothered by other people’s opinions; your chest aches, a pressed bruise. You open your mouth to say something, but you can’t find the words.

He grabs your hand as he passes by you, tugging you along behind him, ignoring your surprised yelp. “Let’s go before those stupid geezers find me again.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away from here.”

“But my shoes—”

He glances back at you and you drown in blue.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t answer; he just tugs you along. You stare at the back of his head for a moment, trying to make sense of the expression you’d seen flash across his face before he’d turned around again. You can’t understand it, but you know one thing.

He’s never looked more human to you.

—

The next time you see him, you’re prepared.

You uncap the marker with your teeth. You reach out for Gojo’s arm; he pulls away before you can grab hold, as quick as a darting fish.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Give me your arm.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

He eyes you for a moment, but gives you his arm.

You push up his yukata sleeve to expose the tender underbelly of his wrist. You start to write, laboring over each stroke of the marker, keeping it as neat as you can. The silver ink covers the rivers of his blue-green veins as it sinks into his skin, a childish tattoo.

“There,” you say, finishing with a somewhat-shaky flourish. “Now you have a mark.”

Gojo stares at you, his cerulean gaze lit from within, the sea beneath the sun. He covers the katakana of your name with his free hand, careful not to smudge the still-drying characters. Under the shadow, they fade to gray, but they still glint and glimmer the same way real soulmarks do.

You hum, pleased with yourself, cap the marker, and toss it to the side so you can start training.

You don’t know it yet, but it’s your last session with him. He disappears into the dawn like a fading star, spirited off to Tokyo to continue his training. You’ve only spent six months with him. Still, it aches, a pressed bruise, but you’ve always known he would outgrow you; his power is a black hole, always devouring.

Life, ever unmoved, continues on.

The boy you knew fades from your memories, though you never forget him. It’s impossible, with the stories that come out of Tokyo, how he completes missions that no one his age should be able to handle.

Still, you forget things. The tilt of his mouth; the cadence of his voice. He becomes a shadow of himself, a shade with burning blue eyes.

You forget that you once wrote your name on the delicate inside of his wrist.

Gojo, though—

Gojo never does.

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #bee writes jjk #fic: would that i

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emmyrosee · 1 year ago

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Kita shinsuke gets confused after you start dating.

It’s not like it’s been a long time, far from it, but you felt so comfortable in his everyday life that he stops thinking too hard about your interactions.

You reach for his hand, he takes it. You shiver, he gives you his jacket. You’re hungry, he shares his snacks.

He gives you a compliment, you… hate him?

You must. There it is, in capital letters under his own blue text: OFBEOD KITAAAA I HATE YOU FRRR😭😭

His heart races as he rereads the text over and over again, unsure of what he could’ve possibly said to have you say ‘I hate you.’

Whatever it is, he needs to find a way to apologize.

The idea of upsetting you in a way he barely understands is concerning, it makes him extremely saddened, and he picks up his pace to get to practice.

He’s sure there’s someone there that can help him decipher your distress.

Leave it to the two twins, tying their shoes in sync, to be the first ones to notice his stress.

“Kita-San?” Osamu asks, brows furrowing. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” atsumu continues. “You’re late- you’re NEVER late.”

“And you look like you’re about to upchuck.”

Lovely.

“Osamu, Atsumu,” he says, breath shaky as the twins turn to look up at him. “You’re… familiar with relationships, yes?”

“Well he’s been single since birth-“

“HEY!”

“-but I’ve got a little bit of knowledge. What’s up?”

Kita gnaws on his lip before he passes the phone to the grey haired twin, showing him your sudden outburst of hatred towards him. Osamu quirks a confused brow as his eyes glaze over the text, the blonde twin quickly popping on his feet to peer over Osamu’s shoulder to read along.

Osamu flicks his eyes from his phone up to Kita, “what am I looking at?”

“She hates me,” he says, a frightened lilt in his tone. “And I don’t know what I do. I don’t know what I did,or said, or how I can fix this. And I…” he takes a breath in to calm down, “I need your help.”

Osamu stays silent for a bit, and atsumu cracks a cheesy smile, “cap… you didn’t do anything.”

“Huh?”

“You didn’t do anything- this is just… how some girls act,” osamu explains, and kita feels his cheeks warm up from the sudden crowd that’s gathered.

“Are we teaching Kita-San something now?” Suna teases, peering over Osamu’s shoulder to read the message. “Teaching him about giiiiiirls.”

And shinsuke wants to say something back, about how he knows girls and he doesn’t need to be taught anything…

But maybe he does.

Osamu takes a small breath in before passing his captain’s phone back to him, “sometimes, girls are just… uhm….”

“Aggressive?” He asks, and Akagi chuckles behind him.

“No,” Osamu hums thoughtfully. “I would probably say more… excited than guys, and it makes them kinda wanna… be… ferocious?”

“Feral?” Suna chimes in.

“Buck wild?”

“How about all of the above,” Aran says easily.

Kita quirks a brow, “so she doesn’t actually hate me?”

“No! She’s just excited that you complimented her, I think.”

“Yeah Kita-San,” Atsumu chuckles. “Girls only say they hate you when they love you; that’s like. A thing.”

“They also bite,” Akagi cuts in. “For… some reason.”

“They BITE?”

“I’ve been smacked so many times,” Aran playfully laments, and Shinsuke’s head whips towards him, only to make the ace shrug, “what? She’ll get excited to see you, or something good happens, and she just. Smacks your arms. It doesn’t always hurt.”

“What do you mean ALWAYS!” Shinsuke is suddenly extremely nervous about whether he received a girlfriend… or a pitbull.

“Or she’ll bite you,” Suna hums.

“Or says she hates you,” the twins circle back. At seeing their captains new nerves, they rise to their feet to clap him on the back.

“You’ll be fine, cap,” the blonde assures. “It’ll catch you by surprise, sure.”

“May be a little painful,” osamu snorts.

Atsumu snickers, “but you’ve liked her for a long time. And if it’s too much, you tell her to stop.” He nods before turning on his heel and mumbling a soft ‘hell knows you’re good at that,’ under his breath.

The conversation makes Shinsuke… convinced. He’s sure that there’s minimal that you can do to upset him, even if these methods of love lean far into the unconventional. He gnaws at his lip as the crowd disperses, golden eyes glazing over the contents once more.

He cracks a small smile, taking a soft breath in and letting his fingers take over typing and saying everything he could want to say in just a few words.

SENT I love you, too :)

You reply with an absolute jumble of words and praises, capitals and random emojis. He smiles before planting his phone in his bag and heading out to practice, feeling it buzz more than a few times in his pocket.

Maybe a few well intentioned bite marks wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to him.

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estrellami-1 · 1 year ago

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If I Should Stay

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

He’s staring at him.

Steve Harrington is staring at Eddie Munson.

The thing is, people don’t just stare at Eddie. Not for any reason that means anything good for Eddie. So when, completely unprompted, the fucking King of Hawkins High walks up to Eddie and says, “I need to talk to you,” Eddie thinks he’s entirely justified in the squeak he lets out.

“You? Talk? To me?” Wow. Great job, brain.

“Please,” Harrington whispers, and Eddie thinks desperately this must be some kind of joke, except he’s good at reading people, and he knows the desperation in Harrington’s eyes.

“Okay,” he says, stammers. “Um. There- there’s, behind the school, a, uh-”

“Table,” Harrington nods. “That works. Just…” he sighs, rakes a hand through his hair. “Leave the lunchbox at home.”

Eddie’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Then what the fuck do you want with me, dude?”

“I can’t explain. Not here, not now. Just. Please. After school, okay?”

Eddie looks at him. Really looks, studies his face, understands the lines by his eyes, the tightness of his mouth. His heart thumps as he realizes. He’s scared. “Okay,” he says, and means it.

Eddie’s a man of his word, so after school he makes his way to the table, pausing when it comes into view. Harrington’s already there, sitting with his head in his hands. Eddie calls out from a couple of paces away. “You sure you don’t want anything from the lunchbox?”

Harrington jumps, hands up, eyes round. Relaxes a little when he sees Eddie. “No. I- I’m good. I can’t, actually.”

Eddie frowns. “What, like, a sports thing? No one’s gotta know, dude, I’ve never been busted, I can keep a secret.”

Steve gives him a half-smile. “No. It’s- it’s not a sports thing. Just… sit down? And promise to listen?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, because he knows how comforting it can be to just have someone there, and he’s not a dick; clearly Harrington’s going through something. Though why he approached Eddie, of all people, he doesn’t know.

“Okay,” Harrington repeats back, taking a breath before starting. “If I were to tell you I’m from the future, a future in which we know each other, how would you ask me to prove it?”

Eddie blinks. He was ready for a lot of things, but not time travel. “Um. I dunno, man, I haven’t really thought about it.”

He takes another deep breath. “Can I try?”

“To- to prove you’re from the future?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie laughs, a little hysterically. “Man, where the fuck do I get the strain you’re on?”

He blinks. “What?”

Eddie gestures at him. “Come on, man, you have to admit you’re not really making sense here.”

Harrington sighs. Takes another breath. Says, “You live with your uncle Wayne. Your father taught you to hot wire cars when you were nine. You listen to Dio and Metallica and Ozzy Osbourne but your favorite song is I Will Always Love You, by Dolly Parton, because it was your mom’s favorite. The guitar pick you wear around your neck was hers. She taught you guitar. You love The Hobbit. Stop me when I’ve said enough.”

Eddie’s never been more scared in his life. “Listen, man, I dunno where you heard all that-”

“Eddie,” he says, implores, and digs something out of his pocket. Opens his hand to reveal a ring.

A ring Eddie already has on his finger.

“What the fuck,” Eddie whispers. Grabs for the ring before he can tell himself it’s a bad idea. Examines it, sees the dent from where his finger had gotten smashed in a door.

His hands start shaking.

“I’m from 1987,” Steve Harrington says, sure as anything. “And I’m trying to stop something terrible.”

“And what would that be?” Eddie asks, feeling strangely detached from the whole thing.

“Your death,” Steve Harrington says, still sure as anything.

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect

#if I should stay #do I need to be starting another wip?#no #do I need help?#yes. probably #will I get any?#hahahahaha no.#probably not #anyways I don’t know why Steve went back in time. we’re gonna figure it out as we go along #or we won’t #this is my excuse to write Steddie #and to write Eddie into the script earlier than he actually was #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #starambles

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tojisun · 9 months ago

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i think about the way baby megumi is hesitant to be open with you because it feels like if he is, then he’s (also) replacing his mom with you, but you’re so kind and patient and gentle. and you’re okay that he doesn’t call you ‘mommy’, and you’re okay when he’s just quiet when he’s supposed to be spending time with you while his dad’s off to work. you hold his hand only when he wants to, and you always give him the strawberries from your slice of cake, and you taught him how to tie his laces the bunny way so it’s “more fun.” you tuck him in bed when toji can’t, and you read him the books he got from his mom, and you are always so, so kind when you talk about his mom.

you say, “i’m so thankful for the blessing that she gave toji.”

and you mean him. you mean megumi.

i think about the way toji comes home to see you and megumi asleep on the couch, the television on for reruns of old cartoons, with some of the photo albums he has of his first wife open on the coffee table. he scans the racked up pictures he had with her—the ones when megumi was just a little bundle—and feels his heart waver because he doesn’t even have to ask to know: you showed megumi how toji loved her. and he knows, because he knows you, that you have talked about his past with such gentleness and kindness.

toji throws a blanket over you and megumi before moving to the kitchen to warm up the take-out he brought home, humming under his breath.

i think about the way toji thought, for a long while, how he can never love again after her. then, you came into his life.

#clearly last reblog did sm damage to me 🥹#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #suns

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kentopedia · 1 year ago

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ HOTEL ROOM — levi ackerman x f!reader x nanami kento

summary. what’s a wedding for if not to make your boyfriends a little jealous?

contents. threesome, wedding guests, best friend satoru, teensy bit of jealousy, nsfw, aot/jjk crossover universe, teasing, cunnilingus, blowjob, piv, sub reader, slight degradation, brat taming, pet names, praise, teasing, unprotected sex — 5.5k

notes. welcome to the most self indulgent and filthy thing i have ever written ! this is for me & the two men i have been in love with for two years but i guess everyone else can read it too <3

“your boyfriend looks pissed,” satoru says, peering over your shoulder. there’s a grin on his face as his bright irises flash, and he hands you a glass of champagne, bubbles rising to the surface.

you take it from him, spilling a quarter of the alcohol down your throat before craning your neck to glance at the other side of the room.

behind you, levi is talking to hange in a hushed voice, his expression, though not unchanged from his normal one, is thoroughly unamused. his face is pinched tighter than usual, a harsh set to his jaw. levi’s blue eyes, darkened with irritation, slide over to kento, who rests his hip against the counter, taking a long sip of whiskey.

though levi isn’t looking at you, kento is, and you smile at him sweetly, taunting him with a little wave.

you don’t wait to see kento’s response, and focus your attention back on satoru. “which one?” you ask, hiding your sly smile as you follow satoru out to the dance floor. a man takes your near-empty champagne glass, whisking it onto a tray with the other lipstick-stained cups.

satoru smirks, taking your hand in his own to spin you in a circle, following the steps of the other couples around you. although you and satoru have been friends—and only friends—for years, you know a part of kento can’t help but be jealous, especially since you’d once had a crush on satoru as a teenager.

even though that had long since died, kento doesn’t bother to hide his antagonism for the older man. levi, on the other hand, will never admit to his possessiveness… but he hates seeing you in the arms of anyone that isn't him.

“so,” satoru hums, shaking his head as you nearly bump into a blonde couple beside you. “i take it you’re trying to be an instigator?”

you make a face. “what do you mean? i’m just dancing with my good friend satoru.”

“right.” satoru laughs, pulling you closer to his chest. something changes in him, for a brief moment, and you can see why everyone wants him. he lays the charm on a little thicker, smiles a little wider—you’re starting to wonder if he actually wants to seduce you. “if you want to make them jealous, at least do it the right way,” he says, putting on his prettiest blue eyes, batting them softly at you.

“that’s not—” you start, but satoru offers you a knowing grin in return. you’ve been close friends for far too long, and he knows you far too well. any objections you have quickly die out on your tongue, and you sigh, leaning in closer. “fine. whatever.”

you glance over at levi, and a part of you can’t even feel guilty, not when he’s watching you with icy eyes, wondering if there’s a moment he’d be able to catch satoru off-guard.

he's a little possessive, a bit hotheaded. can you really be blamed for enjoying the irritation that rolls into kento’s normally calm eyes, the way levi’s jaw clenches tighter and tighter, until you can hear his teeth cracking together?

it’s almost amusing, really. they should know they have nothing to worry about.

“seems i’ve taught you well,” satoru begins, his cologne overwhelming your senses as he bows to your height. “i mean, you can always come back to my hotel room. this is a wedding, after all. the perfect time to spice things up.”

you roll your eyes at him, snorting. “don’t push your luck, gojo. i’m sure you’ll manage to find someone else to keep your bed warm tonight.”

satoru sighs, pressing a hand to his heart like you’d fatally wounded him. “hm. i’ll get you to fuck me one of these days.” though, for once, he sounds a little too serious, like he’s actually imaging that playing out. “if you can keep the two of them around, then you must—”

the song comes to an end, and you pull away from your old friend, stopping whatever lewd comment he was about to make. “that’s enough of that, satoru.” you say, ignoring his protests, his faux innocence when he pretends not to know what he said.

but gojo’s attention is taken up a few seconds later by shoko, and you leave them, heading towards a table with small desserts and drinks. as you pick up a plate, jean kirstein approaches, his eyebrows knit together as he fiddles with the bottom of his shirt.

you smile at him, but jean doesn’t smile back. “is… something wrong?” you ask, uncertain if he even wanted you to question him.

jean opens his mouths, shuts it, then sniffs. “do you think you could manage to stop pissing off levi?” he finally says, picking up a plate next to you, following your actions as he sifts through the desserts. “he’s going to take it all out on us at training tomorrow.”

you open your mouth to respond, but you don’t get the chance to let the words spill from your lips.

behind you, kento says your name, and you turn, facing him with the pile of small desserts still in your hand. jean freezes awkwardly next to you, glancing between the blonde man and yourself.

“everything okay, ken?”

“i’m just going back to the room,” kento says, putting his hands in his pocket, looking at you pointedly. his dark eyes shift over to jean, before fixating back on you. “just wanted to let you know.”

you smile at him sweetly, nod once. “okay,” you say, offering him a treat from the plate. “want one before you go?”

kento relaxes, but he shakes his head. “i’m fine." he shifts to his other foot. “so. you’re going to stay here?”

though kento is too polite to ask you to come with him, especially in front of jean, you can sense his underlying irritation. half of the guests had already gone home, and it was well after midnight... much later than either of you intended to stay out.

still, you smile, cheeks flushed from all of the alcohol, dancing, and the heat of your boyfriend’s gaze. “yeah, i’ll come up in a bit. i still haven’t danced with jean!”

kento raises an eyebrow, glancing over at the younger man once more, who stares back at him like a deer in headlights.

“oh, um—” jean laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as you sigh, taking a bite of one of the desserts.

kento blinks, but ignores jean’s rambling, and fishes his wallet out of his pocket. “fine,” he says, pulling a white, plastic room key out of it. “let me know if you need anything, sweetheart.”

you smile widely and kiss him once on the cheek. though the irritation is still evident in his dark irises, your lips ease him a bit, and he lets a small smile lift on his face. as kento leaves, you glance at the other corner of the room, and note that levi is already gone.

your expression sours; he didn’t even bother to tell you, and there aren’t any messages from him on your phone.

“why’d you have to drag me into it?” jean mumbles, drawing you out of your thoughts.

a heavy exhale leaves you—you might as well enjoy the rest of the night, even if you’re not sure how angry levi is going to be when you get back.

“well, you just seem pretty miserable,” you admit to jean, clearing all thoughts of kento and levi from your mind. that's a problem for the future you to endure. “thought i could at least keep you some company.”

he smiles, but its half-hearted.

truly, you’re not sure how jean can stand to see the woman he loves get married to another.

you’re sweaty by the time you retreat to your room, skin hot from the dancing, and feet sore from the heels you’d worn for the entirety of the day.

not many people were left in the ballroom when you’d left. there were just a few close friends of eren and mikasa’s, and you’d stayed as well, flitting in between each of the couples to chat, feeling more lively with the buzz of alcohol in your veins.

the hotel hallway is quiet when you approach, and you press the key into the door, waiting for the light to turn green. it lets you into the room, and quietly, you shut it behind you, not wanting to wake levi and kento if they're already asleep.

though, when the door clicks, you notice that the room isn’t completely dark; there are still lamps on throughout the suite, and you can hear the soft patter of shower water running. the bathroom light is on, and there’s shuffling on the other side of the door.

you slip your heels off and walk towards the bedroom, ignoring the pain that lingers in the balls of your feet. “levi?” you say, in nothing above a whisper, announcing your presence before opening the door.

the bedroom is darker, but on the other side of the threshold, you can still make out the shape of the dark-haired man. levi has his back turned, the pale expanse of his skin exposed to you as he slips off his shirt.

though you know he’s annoyed at you, you can’t stop yourself from staring at the muscles that flex and recoil as levi folds his shirt up.

he looks over his shoulder, blue eyes flashing as he places his t-shirt shirt back with his other clothes. “so you finally decided to come back,” levi quips, his voice hard and low as he turns, facing you from just a few feet away. “are you done playing your silly little game now?”

he says it calmly, but you can heart the danger that lies beneath it as his eyes trace over your body, lingering on the swell of your breasts under your form-fitting dress.

levi’s severe gaze leaves you swallowing nervously, something twisting in your stomach as you watch the harsh set of his jaw. you’re not afraid to push levi’s button’s, but you’ve never gotten used to the passion and adoration that pierces his normally serious irises.

still, you can tell he’s irritated now, and though he’s usually more serious than even kento, he’s not as good at hiding his anger.

“what game?” you ask innocently as levi backs you into a corner, his scowl deepening. he smells nice, freshly showered, and his hair is soft as it falls across his forehead. levi’s strong hand comes against the wall beside your head, palm spread next to your ear. “i just wanted to have fun with my friends.”

levi lets out a laugh, but it’s low, sarcastic, without any sense of real humor. “and you can’t even spare a dance for me?” he says, pinning you with his gaze. your back hits the wall, and you stare at him, lips parting as a small breath leaves you. although you are trying hard not to let your eyes drift down to his chest, you are distracted, heart fluttering in your ribcage.

“you hate dancing, levi,” you say, a breath of air.

levi glares, tracing his fingers softly across your jaw. “not with you.”

though you were trying to taunt him for a moment longer, the admission has you softening, and you lean forward, your lips parting to kiss him. but you don’t get far; levi steps away, leaving you in the corner, desperate for his mouth on your own as he stalks towards the other side of the bed.

“levi,” you whine, following after him with a deep frown. your hands instinctively reach out for him as he makes his way across the room, shoulders tense when you sensuously run your fingers over his bare spine. “i want—”

the rest of your sentence is lost to air as levi turns, his eyes narrowed harshly before yanking you forward.

you stumble over your feet, closer to him, and he pushes you onto the bed, his movements much faster and smoother than anticipated. a gasp leaves you as you fall onto the mattress, your back sinking into it with a thump.

“you spend all evening on the arm of other men, and now you’re trying to tell me what you want,” levi says, pinning your wrists to the bed as he climbs over your. his dark hair falls, nearly into your face as you blink up at him, arousal spiking deep in your stomach.

levi isn’t as tall as kento, but he’s just as strong, manhandling you easily onto your back so he can tower over you. your face grows warm, and you watch him with wide eyes, shy under the weight of his heavy gaze.

“levi—” you say again, his name leaving your lips with a small whisper.

“what’s the matter?” he slowly drags his lips across your chest as you squirm. “earlier, you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. flirting with every man at eren’s fucking wedding. and now—”

levi drags his hands down to your hips slowly, pressing you into the bed as his fingers curl into the bone. your eyes flutter shut, the feeling of his graceful fingers on your stomach close to tantalizing, so slender, but so rough.

“they’re my friends,” you breathe, licking your lips. “i wasn’t flirting, i was just talking.”

really, that tiny detail doesn’t matter anymore. you just want levi’s mouth on your own.

“didn’t look like it to me,” he says pointedly, unamused. “you were practically begging everyone in that room to fuck you.” levi’s hand tightens around your hips, not allowing you any space to move. “a pathetic attempt at trying to make us jealous.”

you stare up at him from under your lashes, a lazy smile pulling onto your lips. “from where i’m standing, i’d say it worked pretty well.”

levi’s jaw clenches tighter, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to respond. the door opens once more, and kento comes in, wearing nothing but a towel, his hair still damp, falling onto his head in loose strands.

you take one look at him, the drops of water that run over the planes of his chest, and salivate. his skin is still tan from your vacation, blond hair light from the sun. he’s beautiful, so beautiful—but a frown pollutes his face as he enters the room.

he takes a look between you, eyes narrowing at levi. “i said to wait until i got out of the shower.”

“i’m impatient,” levi retorts in a gruff voice, sitting up slightly, even as he keeps you pinned on the bed with his thighs.

“that’s obvious.” kento snorts, sliding his gaze over to you. “already starting without me.” he’s upon you quickly, two slow strides to the bed as he carefully observes the atmosphere. a sigh leaves him, and he brushes a heavy hand over your forehead, soothingly. “what are we going to do with you, sweetheart?”

you swallow, eyes wide as you stare back at him.

kento drops the towel from his waist, exposing his thick, muscular thighs and his cock, resting limply between them. with levi’s hands all over your body, you’re already getting wet.

“i didn’t do anything—” you begin, but as you try to squeeze your legs together, levi stops you, knowing exactly the kind of relief you are searching for.

“nope,” he snaps, prying your thighs back apart, his eyes narrowing. “if you’re going to act like a fucking brat, then we’ll just have to treat you like one, hmm?” levi tugs you forward harshly, bringing your knees around his waist. “don’t try to act coy.”

his fingertips dig into your thighs, and you sit up on your forearms, glancing back at kento, trying your best to bat your pretty eyes in the way you know he likes. “but i didn’t mean, it, ken,” you say as levi hikes your dress up, revealing the smooth skin of your thighs. “i’m sorry—”

kento shakes his head, and slips behind you, climbing onto the bed, forcing you sit up completely. “a little too late for that,” he says, resting your back against his chest. he kisses your shoulder softly, much more gentle than the way that levi is grabbing at your skin. kento’s large palms rest on your stomach, and you reach for them, squeeze at his hands as he smiles against your neck. “you’re supposed to be a good girl for us, aren’t you?”

his voice is husky, tired, and you nod, seeking a kiss from the blonde man that you love so dearly. but even kento, who is always so much sweeter with you than levi, refuses that.

“clearly, she needs to be taught a lesson,” levi snorts, dragging a finger up your panties, humming when finds your arousal already gathered there. “can’t have you forgetting who you belong too, can we?” he asks, blue eyes sharp as he pushes your panties to the side.

you squirm when his finger parts your folds, grazing your clit as he gathers the slick around it. a spark ignites in your chest, and then, levi slips a finger into you, slowly, tauntingly. you lean back into kento, who holds you still, interlocking one of your hands with his own.

“can’t be happy with just the two of us, can you?” kento asks, kissing the underside of you jaw. your head tips back, eyes fluttering shut as levi adds a second finger, your walls stretched as he draws in and out of you. “would you rather have satoru? maybe you’d trade both of us for just one of him—”

“n-no,” you say, reveling in the feeling of kento’s lips on your neck, levi’s delicate fingers deep inside you. “i promise, i don’t want him—”

you squelch around levi, the sounds of your cunt growing louder in the dim room, and he tugs at your knees, spreading your legs wider. your pussy is on full display to him, lacy black panties doing little to hide the fact that you're dripping.

“didn’t seem that way to us." levi's voice is deep and rough as he glares at you. “seemed like you wanted everyone to think we can’t take of our girl.”

sinful noises leave you as his hand moves faster, drags against your soaked walls, clit untouched and desperate for attention.

“levi,” you gasp, swallowing down your pride. “please—”

“not letting you off the hook that easily, sweetheart,” kento says, pushing the loose straps of your wine colored dress down, letting it fall. it slips easily off your breasts, revealing the lacy, black strapless bra that matches your panties.

though, that doesn’t remain for much longer; kento groans deeply in your ear, your breasts bouncing softly as he tugs the undergarment off.

“such pretty tits,” kento says, a large, warm palm coming to cup one of them. his finger grazes across your nipple, squeezing once, and you throw your head back against his shoulder, whimpering as levi forces his another finger down to the knuckle. “fuck, the sounds you make—”

“you’re too fucking nice to her, kento.” levi is on the verge of rolling his eyes as he lowers his head to your thighs. for a moment, you think he might kiss your leg, reveal the love that he is hiding from you—but he thinks better of it and forces your legs further apart. his tongue drags against your pussy, gathering your slick before he sucks at your clit.

you moan, grabbing at kento’s thighs that are woven around your hips, digging your nails into his flexed muscles. tiny crescent marks are left there, but kento barely notices, too busy biting a bruise into your neck as he plays with your tits.

“i don’t have to be an ass like you to teach her a lesson,” kento breathes against your neck, and you shudder, eyes fluttering closed, unable to do anything but writhe under their strong holds. “besides, she’s so perfect—”

you can’t focus on the rest of kento’s words, not when levi’s tongue is flicking in and out of you, lapping up the juices that are spilling out of your cunt. your stomach vibrates with need, and you can feel yourself close to release, exhales leaving your chest as you attempt to shift yourself forward.

“don’t even try it,” levi glares at you, his gaze even more menacing under the mound of dark hair, lips glistening from your cunt.

“wanna cum levi,” you cry out, not sure how much longer you’ll last with kento pinching at you, squeezing your tits with his warm palms. “please, i’m so close—”

“who said you were going to cum, brat?” levi snaps, stilling his movements for a moment as you whine, missing the feeling of his fingers deep inside you, his lips sucking at your clit. you clench around nothing, throbbing as he stares down at you empty pussy. “don’t think you deserve that.”

“just let her cum so i can fuck her, levi,” kento says, a shiver radiating through your entire body as he traces his hands down your stomach, rubbing at your clit. his fingers are thicker than levi’s, his hands bigger, and you know it won't be long before you reach your orgasm.

“kento.” you whine, turning your cheek to face him, reveling in the small little smile that rests on his lips. “so close—”

though, your moment of relief is taken from you as levi swats kento’s hand away, going down on you again, twice as fast. “hey,” levi grabs your attention once more, slipping his fingers back inside your cunt. “eyes on me. i’m the one with my fingers in your pussy.”

you gasp, writhing as kento kisses you, runs his hands all over your skin. “feels s’ good, levi." though you are vibrating between them, you obey, keeping your eyes focused on levi’s, too intimidated by the heat of his gaze.

“promise to behave now, angel?” kento says, humming into your neck, a hand caressing your stomach lovingly. “you’re our sweet girl, right?”

your mind short circuits as levi puts his mouth on you once more, and you cum, your body shaking from your orgasm, clenching tight around levi’s fingers. “levi, levi.” his name leaves your lips over and over, mumbled bliss as he works you through it, your sensitive cunt aching.

you feel mushy, shaky as kento shifts behind you, places his hand on your hips. there is no time for you to recover, to indulge in the blissfulness that comes with release. kento pushes your hips forward, encouraging you to move.

“get on all fours for me,” he says, and though his voice is soft, sweet, there is still a sense of a command there.

you comply, but your mind is hazy from your orgasm, still focused on the feeling of kento behind you, levi in front of you. they both eye you with a culmination of lust and love, and you feel sick with it, shifting for kento so that your dripping cunt is on perfect display for him.

kento hums, sitting up along with you, so that his cock is positioned near your entrance. without warning, he dips a finger into your walls, smiling when you softly whine, sensitive already. kento gathers up your slick, rubbing you only for a moment before retreating, withdrawing his soaked fingers. “you get so wet for us, sweetheart. such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” kento teases, running his tongue over his fingers as you watch over your shoulder.

you wonder if maybe you could cum again, on the spot, just from that; the sight of kento licking your arousal from his hands as you clench around nothing. “kento, need your cock,” you blabber, barely holding yourself upright—you feel weak, arms and legs like jelly.

kento lets out a laugh, his tip teasing your entrance. without thinking, you sink your hips back, try to push him inside of you, but he stops you, stilling your movements. “thought you said you’d be good now?” he asks, kissing your spine gently.

“i promise, kento, please, please,” you say, desperate for him to touch you. but kento doesn’t move, waits until levi has slipped his sweatpants off, thrown them over the edge of the bed.

“sound so pretty when you beg.” kento’s voice is soft, loving, gentle as he kneads the skin of you ass.

levi, though, doesn’t let the attention stay on the other man for much longer. he strokes his cock, but he is already painfully hard, leaking at the tip as he glowers over you. “she sounds impatient,” he counters, his voice deep, rough, and authoritative. you meet his eyes from under thick lashes, mouth watering at the sight of his pretty cock just inches from your face. “maybe she’ll stop running her mouth with my dick in it.” levi runs his finger over your lips, parting them with his thumb. as if on instinct, you let your jaw fall open, your cunt aching and soaked, too desperate for release to care about how debauched you look.

“wanna taste you, levi,” you say, whimpering as kento edges his tip into your dripping hole. your hands shake on the bed, and you blink rapidly as your sensitive pussy throbs and aches, pulsing around your blonde lover.

“tch, ‘course you do. you’re so fucking hungry for my cock.” levi seems annoyed, but he still runs a delicate hand through your hair before he pushes against your lips.

at the same time, kento sinks into you, a deep groan leaving him. “fuck, sweetheart, just slipped right into you. pretty pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it?”

you moan as you taste the saltiness of the precum leaking from levi, taking as much of him as you can into your mouth. he’s not as thick as kento, but he’s just as long, pretty and veiny as you run your tongue along the length of him.

kento leans over your back, his strong hands curling around your sides as he drags himself in and out of you, fingers digging into your hips. your eyes flutter shut from the stretch, and you moan around levi’s mouth, distracted by his hands, rough in your hair.

for a moment, you pause, breathing as you clench around kento, but levi doesn’t give you enough time to think; he drags your mouth back down his cock, his pretty fingers tight against your scalp. “levi—” you start, but his names falls on a loose breath as you gasp, your cheeks hot when you smoothly catch the dark look in his irises.

“don’t cum until we tell you to, brat,” levi says, scowling, though there is a breathlessness starting in his words, a hint of affection as you bob your head up and down his length. as mean as levi tries to be sometimes, he can't seem to get rid of the love that seeps into his voice when he’s inside you.

you nod an affirmation as best you can before sinking back down on him, breathing heavier through your nose.

kento pushes into your fluttering walls deeper, faster, his cock stretching you more than levi’s fingers had before. “look so pretty like this, angel. always take us both so well,” kento says, squeezing the soft skin of your sides gently as he forces himself further, until he’s inside of you completely, the burn deliciously painful.

you try to whimper, feeling your own juices trickle, smear between the inside of your thighs, but your mouth is too full of levi for any sounds to come out.

“focus on what you’re doing." levi's attempt at snapping fizzles out. his tone has lost its bite. his eyes are getting hazier, eyelids fluttering with each drag of your tongue, your mouth so much smaller around his cock. “not letting you cum until i do.”

you balance on one hand, the other reaching up to fondle levi’s balls as you drag your tongue slowly along the vein on the underside of his cock. levi inhales deeply, digging his fingers into your hair, his nails scratching against your scalp. his cheeks, the bridge of his nose are dusted pink, eyes a deep navy.

you bat your dazed eyes at him. levi is so beautiful, and you’re so deeply in love with him, desperate to see the flush of his face, the way his lips part in ecstasy when he finally reaches his orgasm.

a hand drifts across your stomach as kento hum, his chest vibrating. “being such a good girl for us,” he whispers, and though you can’t see him, you know he is smiling, his eyes always so gentle, even when you spent the entire night trying to rile him up.

you can feel yourself getting closer, kento hitting the spot deep within you, levi’s taste so intoxicating that you’re blind to your surroundings.

“just like that, my love." drunk on the feeling of your mouth, levi's dark eyes finally soften as you run your tongue along his tip. “aren’t you pretty?” his thumb traces your cheek softly, and the normal affection is back on his face. it fuels you to drag your mouth up his length faster.

levi's praise is much more fleeting then kento’s, but it’s genuine, always coming when he’s desperately close to finishing. a moan, deep and muffled, reverberates in his chest as he thrusts his hips forward, fucking your face.

“she’s close,” kento groans, reaching around your stomach to dip his finger between your thighs. “i can feel it. she's squeezing me so fucking tight.”

“mouth feels so good," levi rasps, his breathing uneven, chest rising erratically. “fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum” he lets a string of curses leave him, his lips parting beautifully, flushed and red. “better swallow every last fucking drop."

“don’t think that’ll be an issue,” kento hums, and his fingertips graze your clit, causing you to gush around him. “she always wants our cum so bad.” teasingly, he leans down to whisper, more to you than levi. “i don’t think i even have to ask if she wants me to cum inside.”

“shit,” levi breaths, sputters, and then he spills into your mouth, warm ropes of cum shooting into your throat.

you swallow as much as you can, trying not to gag as it dribbles out of the corner of your mouth, milking levi through his orgasm. but you’re too focused on the feeling of kento, and your eyes flutter shut as you force your hips back, your brain glossed over, nothing but need there.

that moment is short-lived.

levi pinches your cheeks, forces you to open your eyes and look at him. though his fingers dig into your skin, right below the bone, his eyes are soft as he leans down.

“cum." the word is whispered against your mouth, the sharp tone he uses as a captain. then, levi kisses you, licks across your lips to taste himself there.

you whimper into his mouth, falling forward into him as you clench hard around kento, the knot inside of you releasing. your orgasm hits you hard, blurs the room around you, narrowed down to nothing but the man in front of you and the one behind.

“mm,” kento hums, but his voice is low, raspy. “god, made such a mess all over me, fuck, love you so much, sweetheart—”

kento lasts only a few moments more, spilling into your cunt, his cum filling you up, coating your walls white.

you breathe heavily, whining into levi's neck as he holds you, lets kento pump the last bit of cum from his cock, heavy pants escaping his chest.

“look at you,” levi says, tracing his fingers over your face, smoothing the hair away from your sweaty forehead. "so fucking pretty all filled up with our cum."

kento, slowly, drags himself out of you, makes another sound, already missing the feeling of your pussy clenching around him. you feel empty, blinking as levi gathers your up in his arms, kisses your forehead.

"mmm." levi hums, because, really, he can't help the fact that you soften him up, make him a little bit sick with affection. "i love you."

you smile. "love you both," you say, closing your eyes as kento smatters kisses across your back, levi's touch gentle as he caresses your sides. "'m sorry."

kento laughs, brushing your hair off to one shoulder, kissing between your shoulder blades. "no you're not." he nuzzles your back, resting his cheek against your spine. two strong arms wrap around your waist.

"we're not idiots," levi continues, a snort leaving him. "i'm sure you spent the whole evening plotting with satoru. nice try though."

you smile, dopey and blissful. "well, it worked, didn't it? i did make you jealous."

neither of them respond.

anyway.

tehehe thank you for reading !! reblogs appreciated !

2K notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 7 months ago

Note

heya!! i was wondering if you could write a poly!marauders x reader where r stopped smoking..? i’m 6 months clean from smoking nicotine and i haven’t told anyone (you’re the first!! lmao) just incase i break from a stressful day and so i don’t disappoint!! could you maybe write that into the drabble or whatever you do..? tysm if you do, and if you don’t then no worries!!

i love you mae and make sure to take care of yourself and keep being you!!!!

thanks for requesting gorgeous, i really hope you're doing well!! proud of you <3

cw: smoking, reader deals with addiction

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 936 words

Remus smells like cigarettes. He’s stopped smoking anywhere near you, but you’re sure if you look out the front door you’ll see the telltale smear of ash smashed into the sidewalk from where he’d stamped one out on the way in. The aroma brings longing and self-loathing, the former more potent than the latter, and you find yourself breathing in the fibers of his sweater for a whiff of it.

Remus doesn’t catch onto the true motivation for your proximity. He takes it for cuddling, adjusting his hold on his book so he can read with one hand while the other wraps around your shoulders, encouraging you closer to his side. Underneath the heady smell of lingering smoke he smells like himself, like cinnamon and oranges, and you try to focus on that as your better sense fogs over and your fingers start itching for a cig.

“Aha!” Sirius slaps his last card down on the table.

James blows out a flabbergasted breath, leaning back on his hands on the floor. They’re playing some kids’ card game Remus learned in primary school and unwisely taught them. At first you’d all gotten into it, but after Sirius nearly took your head off for forgetting the rules and playing with two hands (“Sorry, gorgeous, you know I don’t mean anything I say when I’m trying to win…and I could have won, couldn’t I? No, I’m just saying, it’s about the principle—”) you and Remus had bowed out. James and Sirius have retained their obsession for days, each keeping a scoreboard in their own heads that seems to hold them in favor.

“Angel?”

You look up, meeting James’ knowing gaze. “Hm?”

“He asked if you’re getting hungry for dinner,” Remus clues you in, toying with the ends of your hair.

“Oh, sorry. Um…” You think hard. One of the more irritating things about quitting smoking is that now your appetite never seems to fully die down. You’re ready for your next meal all day long, and so you actually have to think about whether it makes sense for you to have it. “I had some carrots just after I got home, so I could eat whenever you want to.”

“Alright…”

You take another deep inhale, telling yourself it’s because Remus smells nice and losing your grasp on self-control all the while.

“Are you tired?” Remus asks, and you don’t know how you didn’t notice it before, that extra bit of roughness that his voice takes on after he’s been smoking. You’re so envious you could die. “You seem distracted.”

“I’m good,” you murmur. Though perhaps it’d be better if you did take a nap or something. You’re beginning to feel twitchy. You take in a breath through your nose like you’ve been practicing, letting it out through your mouth.

“Ah.” Sirius scoots closer to you, laying his cheek on the couch cushion. “You want to have a piece of your gum, sweet thing?”

You look at him guiltily. Remus makes a soft sound of realization.

“You’re picking your nails,” Sirius explains, and you look down to see that you are. “I imagine that means you’re craving one.”

It’s simultaneously sweet and irksome that none of your boyfriends will even say the word cigarette around you anymore. They’re trying to be considerate, you know, but it feels like they think your self-control is so tenuous that just one word could shatter it. You don’t have the heart to tell them.

“Sorry,” you mumble, getting the pack of gum out of your pocket. Just the act of unwrapping a stick makes you feel instantly better. “I guess I was thinking I wouldn’t need it anymore.”

“Don’t be sorry,” James says lightly. “I don’t imagine it’s easy, sweetheart, you shouldn’t feel bad about using something to cope. It’s not like having gum hurts anything.”

You hum, then turn to Remus sheepishly. “I’m really sorry, do you think you might be able to change?” He looks confused. “Your sweater smells like cigarettes,” you explain.

James gasps as though scandalized and Remus swears, grabbing the neckline of his sweater and tugging it off. He tosses it into the hall.

“M’sorry, dove.” He takes your head between his hands, mushing a kiss into your hair. He’s now bare-chested, and you laugh at the dramatics, totally unexpected from him. “I didn’t realize. Is it better now?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He drops another kiss on your head, remorseful. “Alright, I’ll go grab something else to wear,” he says, starting to stand. Both Sirius and James protest loudly.

“I think what you’re wearing now looks great,” says James.

“Yeah,” Sirius seconds, “stay in that.”

Remus looks down at his shirtless torso, raising an eyebrow at the other boys. You can see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Really?” he asks.

“Come on, it’s not like the fucking Pope’s coming over,” Sirius says, looking well below your boyfriend’s eyes with unabashed enthusiasm. “Tell him, gorgeous.”

Remus turns his gaze on you. You curl in on yourself slightly, shrugging your shoulders. “This is the best distraction I’ve had all day,” you say quietly, and James’ laughter booms off the walls.

“Fair enough.” Remus rolls his eyes, grinning as he sits back down on the couch beside you. You get comfy like you were against his side, now smelling only him. He drapes his arm across your back, settling a hand on your hip. “The lows I stoop to for you, hm?”

“If you’re not up to the task,” Sirius says, “just say the word. I’d be happy to take her off your hands.”

“Fuck off,” Remus says, and tugs you closer.

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strawberrystepmom · 5 months ago

Text

ready to eat

pairing: Yami Sukehiro x F!Noble Reader

word count: 4.9k

contents: NSFW - minors and ageless blogs dni, I will hard block you. Takes place in canon universe, there is a slight age/experience difference insinuated between the pairing but reader is at least 25, reader has named magical ability (movement magic), so much banter, oral sex (f receiving and finishing and it's sexy)

cw: mentions of marriage and misogyny, virginity (reader is a virgin)

notes: brain rot has proven to be fatal so here you are. this is open ended and i would not consider it a oneshot bc i'd love to write more about these two. hope you enjoy! thank you for reading ♡ | crossposted to ao3, divider by @cafekitsune

you can find more about these two here, here, here and here 🖤

Nighttime is your time, a lesson you taught yourself independent of your instructors many years ago.

Movement magic allows you the luxury of blending in with your scenery, rushing unseen toward a capital district that is on the opposite end of where your family has made their name. Nobody here would recognize you even if you were less discreet, cloak gathered around your face and obscuring any unidentifiable features, and the freedom is indescribable; better than every sunny day or freshly made tea dessert.

You are free to be yourself. Unmarried, unattached, unimportant, it doesn’t matter. You stumble into the usual inn you make your domain until the sun rises, ready to watch the way people you have little in common with live. If anyone knew you’d get reprimanded, probably rightfully, though you have never quite understood the scandal that lies in being a well informed woman. Your mother was a gossip and isn’t that another way to become informed?

It’s society's acceptable way, anyway.

You slink into the corner table, away from the crowd gathered nearer the bar, and slip your hood off of your face. No glances of recognition from anyone else, too engrossed in their own drinks and their own conversations, and you sink down against the back of the chair you’re sitting in. It’s nice to be anonymous, you decided months ago when you began doing this. You aren’t certain you want to continue being so inconspicuous when you remind yourself why you’ve been doing this to begin with - to gain even the slightest bit of the life experience that continues to elude you. To love and laugh and feel joy that you’ve been told only comes with marriage, something you are too apprehensive about committing to.

It’s why you come namelessly into a district that does not belong to you or your kind. You hope that someone will find you interesting, a beaten path off their life’s track. Someone to laugh with or tell stories to. It’s all you’ve ever really wanted, a romantic to your core despite the decidedly unromantic life you lead. Caretaking, getting earfuls from your father about being a responsibility that the family no longer wants to have when taking your age and failed proposals into consideration. So lost in your own thoughts, you barely notice when a man slides into the chair next to you, glancing down at your hands and then at your face.

“You need to stop wearing whatever is making you smell like that.”

The interruption to your quiet evening makes you jump, no longer dissociating and now in the present. You recognize the man sitting next to you, a captain of a Magic Knights squad. Their faces are plastered all over the capital and you’re shocked that he stumbled into such a low brow establishment though getting a look at him up close convinces you that he may not be in the entirely wrong spot.

“Captain Sukehiro,” you offer politely, formal as ever. “I regret having to request clarification from a man as esteemed as yourself but what do you mean?”

The captain snorts, shaking his head in response to you as though your manners are piteous instead of a courtesy that should be extended to all.

“Don’t call me that, Yami is fine.” He sniffs, stuffing a cigarette between his lips. “I’m talking about the shit you’re wearing that is filling every corner of this place. People don’t wear things that make them smell like bakeries around here.”

Scrunching your nose, you lift your wrist to your nose for a sniff. He’s referencing the perfume you spritzed on after bathing and the way it sticks to you, the smell wafting around the table with every move you make. It hasn’t caught any eyes yet, thankfully, but he can see how this will end if you don’t correct your mistake now.

“What are you doing around here anyway? I figured women of your, uh, breed or whatever stuck to their own districts.”

Bristling slightly at his insinuation that you find yourself too good to hang out here, you square your shoulders and clear your throat. A low chuckle rumbles in Yami while he lights his cigarette, raising his brows and eagerly awaiting whatever argument you are clearly cooking up in that little head of yours.

“I’ll have you know that I enjoy exploring parts of the city that I rarely see. I am out here thanks to my own curiosity.” Your eyes shift from Yami toward the rest of the tavern, a small smile on your face watching the patrons laugh amongst themselves. “I think it’s really wonderful that people are happy no matter how they were born into this world and I’m thankful to be able to experience this side of life too.”

The captain could spend all night laughing at your naivety if you’d let him but he doesn’t wanna let you dig any deeper of a hole than you’re already finding yourself in. You’re clearly a fully grown woman, even the doll-like roundness of your eyes and cheeks can’t convince him you’re under 25 judging from the way you carry yourself. You aren’t the first noble girl he has ever seen sneak off in an attempt to find herself yet it strikes him as hilarious you clearly believe it.

“So you aren’t like the other nobles? You see people as people?” The brusque individual takes a long drink from the mug in his hand, Adam’s apple bobbing while he swallows, your eyes fixed on the sheer size of his neck and throat. “What do you want? A prize?”

Even the enticing muscles of his body (how can one person have so many muscles bulging off of them anyway?) cannot distract enough to forget that he’s insulting you. You place your hands in your lap and fiddle with the edge of the cloak that covers the simple nightgown you are wearing, covering it enough that no one is suspicious about why you’re wearing nightclothes in the first place.

“No, I’m simply telling you what I’m doing here because you asked.”

Sipping from his mug, the man glances you up and down. He swallows and squares his shoulders.

“Okay? That still doesn’t tell me what you’re actually doing here, you’re only talking about feelings and shit.” Another sip and he places his ale down. “So what are you doing here? Isn’t it a little late for your type to be out with the rest of us?”

He considers you for a moment. Not bad looking. Pretty, even. Not plain in the way some overly manicured noble women can come across and you clearly aren’t using magic to enhance anything about you or else he’d notice. He’s a pro at sniffing out transformation magic in women having seen so many who have taught themselves to dabble in the arts to subtly tweak their appearances. You sigh and he finds it impressively naive to do so, your shoulders pinching in while you exhale sharply out of your nose.

“I’m looking for someone to help me.” Now this is interesting. He raises a brow, glancing you up and down. You lean toward him, creating a veil of intimacy in a crowded tavern, elbows resting on the table rudely. “I, um, I fear I’ll be woefully unprepared for my marriage bed once the time arrives and I want to avoid embarrassment. I’m already too old to be considered marriageable to most and my heart could not take physical rejection from my husband as well.”

“You’re a virgin and feel weird about it and now you’re makin’ it my problem.”

Gasping, your eyes widen and you shake your head rapidly. Yami smirks when he senses how quickly your heart is pounding beneath those layers of fabrics most in this place could only ever dream of seeing much less feel against their skin, curious enough that he won’t just tell you to get lost at this point.

“Please do not repeat my predicament so loudly, Captain Sukehiro.” You whisper hiss, fighting the urge to kick him beneath the table as you do the rest of your fathers’ unruly issue you are the eldest of. “It’s not something I’m terribly proud of.”

The captain scoffs, humming to himself and adjusting his posture so that he’s leaning toward you instead of on the back of his chair, cigarette dangling from his fingers. You’ve captured his attention, at least for now, and he’ll give you all of it that you can handle. Pursing his lips, he glances around the bar for a split second before focusing on you, gray eyes locked on your pouting mouth.

“Then why is it your situation in the first place? Thought you nobles were too proud for your own good.” He flicks the lighter in his pocket. “And don’t call me that. Yami is fine.”

You should find it very rude that you are being asked so many questions and being made to suit so many demands made by a lesser born to begin with but the curiosity feels like deeply personalized attention, causing you to bloom in response. Hunched shoulders stretch out, the graceful posture you’ve spent what would amount to months of your life if you stretched the hours out perfecting appearing. No one at home is this curious about you outside of when you will no longer be around to tend the younger children your father continues to spawn and it feels different to be the center of a man’s attention.

Not a weak, defanged little noble whose only function is to act as an additional limb for his father. A man with rough hands and battle scars and overgrown hair down his neck.

“I haven’t felt a spark with any of the men I’ve been introduced to. They’re lovely individuals with proud lineage but it has always felt so…” you search around the room, lifting your hand to your mouth to idly nip at the cuticle around your thumbnail. “Forced. I don’t want to be with them and they do not want to be with me. Four men and none of them made me feel like I could spend the rest of my life with them.”

Once again, Yami chuckles at your predicament. Your cheeks heat in response, ears tingling and burning as that familiar feeling of being mocked encourages you to retreat inward. The awareness that you do not have to put up with this kind of treatment from a man beneath your station

“Sounds like you’re hard to impress, kid.” A plume of smoke is blown over your head, the cigarette he was holding now dangling from his lips while he examines you with narrowed eyes. “Little darling won’t settle for less than a fairytale.”

Retreating further into yourself, you move your hands from your lap to fold your arms over your chest.

“I’m no child, obviously.”

Your retort is as petulant as your posture and the man smirks, the corner of his mouth jumping, tenting his fingers in front of him and leaning toward you. Despite himself, he likes you. Your willingness to shit here and just shoot the shit with him has impressed him but not enough to let you off easy.

“You’re here beggin’ for attention like one so I dunno about all that.”

Scoffing, you shift in your chair but make no effort to get up. You won’t be picked off by him that easily.

“You know nothing about me, sir.” You raise your brows and shift your head to emphasize your point, arms still folded. A grown woman behaving like a little brat shouldn’t draw a man like this in yet he considers himself intrigued, stamping out the nearly depleted butt of his cigarette on the edge table in front of him.

“Can’t argue with that. Keep talking.”

He leans back in his chair and sizes you up, boots stacked on top of each other where his ankles are crossed and his long legs are extended out in front of him. It’s one thing to be keeping him here against his will because you won’t stop talking, it’s another when he is a willing audience. Your mouth runs dry and you gradually unfold your arms, placing them above your knee so you can subtly rid your clammy palms of the prickling sweat across them.

“I want to experience the things that a husband and wife are to experience together though I do not have anyone to enjoy them with.” Even the way nobles describe sex is stuffy and uncomfortable, Yami realizes, brows raising slightly. He lets you continue speaking before butting in, letting his arms dangle from the sides of the chair. “Perhaps it’s wrong of me to believe it will change my luck but I won’t change my mind. I have to know how to…perform.”

Perform is such an interesting choice of word. All of the sex the captain has ever had has been far less of a performance and more of a two person dance, locked in repetitive motions and tangled up as one form. He isn’t much for the sappy, intimate shit you’re clearly insinuating you’d like though he feels like he could help you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he starts, leaning back toward you and closing the distance to once again grant you some semblance of privacy. “I can show you how a man should treat a woman but I can’t promise you it’s how a husband will treat his wife, you understand?”

Your eyes widen and you nod once, picking up on his meaning immediately. Impressed by your sharp wit he smiles although it’s nearly as unfriendly as the ones exchanged at court and only slightly less smug. Leaning in toward him, your brows knit together, and you bunch your skirt up in your fists.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for, you know…” you trail off, frowning slightly. He pretends like he doesn’t understand what you mean, shaking his head and staring vacantly at your mouth. “I don’t know if I’m ready for you to take me.”

Another snort from him and your face heats like a wildfire. The two of you remained locked in this strange posture, whispering but not quite, discussing the terms of whatever is occurring here. Blood rushes from your face to your chest to your stomach, a familiar tense feeling between your legs making you shift uncomfortably in your chair.

“The only one who would be doing any taking in that scenario is me and you don’t have to worry about that tonight.” He tips his mug and finishes off the last droplets of his ale, sliding the empty vessel across the table top where it stops just short of you.

“What if we never see each other again after tonight?” That sappy shit he was right to assume you wanted has surfaced earlier than he expected. He shrugs flippantly, arching a brow. “Then we never see each other tonight but at least you can say you know how it feels when a man takes care of you.”

Inhaling loudly, you weigh your options.

You can always get up and go home, turn tail and run to where you will always be viewed as something akin to a decorative sconce on the wall instead of a human being. Your opinion matters not, you’re a glorified caretaker for your younger siblings, some of who are your fathers rightful heirs thanks to the boyhood the Gods so mercifully granted them. You can retreat and continue wasting away waiting for a man who thrills you enough that you can ever see him as someone deserving of being your equal.

Or, you can consider Yami’s offer. He’s rough around the edges and speaks with no formality or regard and you like it. At least you think you do. He doesn’t care who you are any more than the others around you do yet he makes you feel the most seen anyone ever has. He’s interested in your words, your ideas, and even your pleasure - a realization that makes the knot in your stomach tighten further.

“Okay.” You concede. “I think that I’d like that.”

The man rises from his seat, smirking, tossing some coins down on the table in front of him for the drink.

“I know you will,” he finishes, words dripping with honesty but not arrogance.

He begins to head toward the stairs that will lead the two of you upstairs and your breath catches when he looks over his shoulder and raises his brows, signaling with a wave that you should follow him. You toss a few more coins on the table in front of you, uncertain of how much a room in an establishment like this would cost to begin with, and rush to follow him with your cloak pulled tightly against your body.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

This room is nothing like your quarters at home where everything around you gleams in gold and marble and silk. It may be decidedly less impressive though it’s twice as cozy if you’re honest.

The bed is barely large enough for two and there’s a well loved desk pushed against the wall, magical light flickering from the wall. Shutting the door unceremoniously, you swallow and feel the captain at your back, a large palm covering the entirety of the space between your shoulder blades. You don’t recall him seeming so imposing downstairs, glancing upward to meet his eyes. He can tell you are inexperienced solely by how skittish you’ve become beneath his fingertips, an intriguing shift from who you were sitting opposite him.

Boldly asking a man to pleasure you has told him everything about the person you are beneath the skirts and the trappings of society. If he waits long enough he knows that hungry girl will once again show her face to him and while he isn’t particularly patient, he believes it would be worth his while to wait.

“Go sit on the edge of the bed.” He instructs right above your ear and gently shoves you toward where he’s commanded you be.

You follow directions and sit, legs dangling off of the edge, unfastening your cloak and letting it rest on the bed. The knot in your belly remains tight, keeping you on edge with all of your movements while your walls throb weakly, arousal and curiosity bearing down on you with similar weight. Sukehiro towers over you, slowly unfastening his belt and cloak, leaving the leather goods and his katana on the desk.

“I’m going to lick your pussy. Do you know what that means?”

Cheeks warming, once again surprised by his lack of decency, you nod once. You have read about this particular act more than once and have also heard about it secondhand from some of the married women you call friends although their reviews have been mixed. Books have always made it seem far more interesting, an exchange in the same way a kiss is between a man and the paradise between a woman’s legs.

“Good, at least I won’t have to explain all the technicalities.” He approaches you slowly and squats down, now face level with your middle. You glance down at him and wonder if you should touch him, if he’d like it, if he’d want you to. “Lift your hips.” The next command gives you reprieve from overthinking and you do as asked, raising them enough that he can pull your nightgown from beneath your thighs, spreading them to fit between.

“If you don’t like something, speak up.” He glances up at you, holding your nightgown halfway over his face. “If you do like something, speak up and I’ll keep goin’.”

The linen of your nightgown stretches and tents in the shape of Yami’s head and shoulders when he pulls it over himself, too big to be fully covered by the fabric. His back is curled into a C shape and the muscles ripple while he positions you, hands that you can feel but cannot see gripping the outside of your soft thighs to keep you from deciding at the last minute you are feeling shy.

It’s too late for you to fall back on the shy act now, your panties dangling off of one of your ankles. Even if you attempted, you know the man currently fixated on spreading you open with his fingers would surface from beneath your skirt and laugh at you. Your heart simply could not take the open derision and ridicule, already feeling overextended thanks to this evening’s excitement.

“Alright, you’re about to feel something different,” he warns kindly, puffs of his breath fanning out against the slickened skin of your labia. The low rumble of his voice sends another rush of wetness seeping out of your cunt, excitement mixing with terror while you await the pleasure you were promised.

Your hips shift impatiently on the edge of the dingy inn bed, legs on either side of his still dressed torso. His tank top is untucked from his pants and he no longer wears his belt, discarding the unnecessary while remaining firmly in control of the situation. There isn’t much that makes his mouth water but the sight of warm and just for him pussy is doing just that, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip.

His thumbs massage the outside of your thighs, keeping you as relaxed as possible, and he leans in to kiss the temptation he can no longer deny himself. A simple smack, loud enough that you can both hear it, yet the moan that escapes you is positively sinful. High pitched and breathy and immediately obscured, clapping your palm over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

“Nope,” he simply responds from beneath your nightgown, hand reaching up to remove yours from over your mouth. “What’d I tell you? Half’a the fun is hearing how much you like it.”

One of the thumbs that was rubbing circles into your thigh now does the same on the back of your hand, calloused digit occasionally catching over the surface of your smooth skin. It’s no shock that your hands are soft like your body and your hair and your eyes, it’s what your life was meant to be like the minute you assumed the role of it. Soft and easy, no roughness to throw you off track.

Yami chuckles and lets his tongue feel you this time, dragging the wet muscle through your folds, rewarded with another of those breathy moans. You do not rush to cover this one, tilting your head backward and letting your eyes flutter shut to focus on the sensation of another lick. He takes his time to get to know you slowly, brushing the flat of it over your hole and dragging the arousal he receives as a reward upward toward your clit.

He doesn’t release his skills on your sensitive bud so quickly but a simple brush of the side of his tongue against it is enough to make you squeal, shoulders rounding in momentarily. Repeating the motion, you squeal again and arch your back, thrusting your hips forward into his face and dragging every bit of you he can see across his mouth.

“W-what are you doing to me, Yami?” You ask breathlessly, elbows propping you up on the bed and keeping you grounded. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Your head swims with unfamiliar pressure, sparking a line from your brain to between your legs, all connected and you fight the urge to slump back onto the bed, too curious about the way that the light linen covering the man between your legs shrouds him.

“Eating, obviously,” he mumbles against your body, tongue lapping against your clit. Your body reacts to each touch, thighs tensing on either side of his face, hips slowly bucking in pursuit of the feeling again and again. Your back arches and your moans are staccato babbles, elbows finally failing to hold you up when he gives your clit full attention.. “Oh my, wh–,” your back arches off of the bed before you can finish your thought, another rough lick to your throbbing clit followed by the warmth of his mouth while he sucks it between his lips, flicking the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue.

There is no denying that you may be prissy and perfectly pampered but he was clearly correct in his assumption about you being more than meets the eye. The way your body responds naturally to his ministrations, hips grinding and toes curling and lips keening, tells him every little secret you’re too demure to spill. You want to have sex for enjoyment, to chase your own pleasure and have your own fun.

He’ll never fault someone for that although he believes he can get you to admit it’s the truth. Maybe not tonight but eventually he’ll convince you to drop the “good wife” act. If he weren’t enjoying himself so much he’d grumble about considering a future where the two of you will meet up for this again, too lost in his own enjoyment of your pretty noises to realize how unreasonable this was to begin with.

“Please keep going,” you beg, a tearless sob thickening your voice.

Yami doesn’t look up, well aware of what he is capable of, but he keeps his hand over yours and continues rubbing gentle circles into it. You flip your hand and face your palm upward, loosely tangling your fingers with his, your hips now dragging across his lips wildly. It’s messy and you are dripping like a peak season fruit, drenching his chin and sending little droplets down onto his tank top and chest. Moans increase in pitch when his tongue dips inside of you, lapping at your sweetness and drinking it down with satisfied grunts, though he can tell you’re close solely by how you ride his face alone.

You lack the words to describe how you feel, not that you are a stranger to self pleasure, but it’s different when someone else is showing you the maximum of how you can feel. Every inch of you buzzes with a pleasant awareness, nerve endings sparking like celebratory fireworks, and you lift yourself up with your elbows to glance down at the man making you feel more than you ever thought possible, your nightgown no longer around his head. You were so lost you didn’t even realize he shifted to holding your nightgown up above your belly button with the hand you aren’t keeping occupied, those astute eyes appreciatively watching your chest heave and face twist.

“Yami, I think,” you start and he chuckles, sucking your clit between his lips again, sending you over the edge and effectively making sure you know how exactly it feels when someone else makes you cum.

Dots of light spark in the corners of your vision and you slump down onto the bed, too spent from the strength of your orgasm to remain upright. The perpetrator of your current state untangles your fingers from his wordlessly and he rises to standing, leaning over your exhausted body and propping himself up with his forearm.

“Good as you thought it would be?”

Giggling, you nod. It’s all you can think to do, truly left wordless and thoughtless, grateful that what you read on the pages of the books you hide amongst your more chaste picks were somewhat accurate to how the experience feels. There has been no insinuation that he expects reciprocation so you don’t bring it up, quietly glancing up at him and noticing that the distance between your face and his decreases every few seconds.

“Now taste.”

He closes the little distance left, tongue pressing against the seam of your lips. You grant him entrance and whimper when your mouth fills with the taste of his tongue, a mixture of acrid tobacco and ale and something you could only recognize as yourself.

“Pretty good, right?” All you can do is nod dumbly, still splayed awkwardly across the bed. Should you leave? Should you stay? Is that pesky reciprocation going to come into the conversation now? Yami glances down at you with something you’d almost mistake for warmth in his cool irises, rolling onto his back beside you and folding his arms over his chest. “Are you going to head home now or what?”

You shake your head, letting your flipped up skirt rest against your belly, the air of the room cooling your heated skin. “No but I’m not going to expect you to stay if you have other business to attend to. I will stay the night and leave before sunrise.”

It’s what’s polite. You did pay for an entire night, after all, and your raising will not allow you to be rude. Pushy and precocious at times but never outright disrespectful. The man next to you sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, turning his face to look at you.

Maybe you are as pretty as he originally thought. It could be all the blood rushing from his head to his dick, a problem he is attempting to solve mentally by envisioning anything but the satisfying contractions of your cunt while it cums for him, but you glow even in this low light.

“Only thing I have to do is go downstairs and drink and then I’ll just end up running my mouth and losing money.”

You giggle at his honesty, turning your face to look at him. The gruffness only adds to his aura, as unrefined as a man can be, yet you really do like it. Even if the two of you sit here in silence for the rest of the night, there’s much you feel you can learn by simply gazing at him, a quiet battle of wills unfolding between the two of you like the mist that fills the city on a summer morning.

Permeating, inescapable, potentially trouble.

#yami x reader #captain yami x reader #yami sukehiro x reader #sukehiro yami x reader #black clover x reader #black clover imagines #black clover smut #kendall writes #the bird and the bull

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