#Like little chalk board friends!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nanamiskentos · 6 months ago

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(JUST MEET ME AT THE) APT! — gojo satoru minors dni. art by chitrartum on twt.

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (a) and let the show begin !

prologue. → your ex, that sleazy and no-good scumbag won't stop posting tacky mirror selfies on instagram, arm around his fellow cheater-in-crime. so, christmas eve finds you morose in a dodgy dive bar. why not tumble back into bed with that random, gorgeous stranger you just met?

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. never drive, no matter how little alcohol is in you folks!!! never!!! making out, creampiè, hooking up with a stranger, ovèrstimulation, mildly rough sèx, gojo won't tell you what his job is

word count. 9.4k! song inspiration. apt — rosé & bruno mars

a/n. reader lowkey a hater, i love vanilla vodka eggnog </3 i said i was gonna post on 02/12 and i kept my word, literally rushed to finished this before my clinical exams in the cardiac ward 😭😭😭😭😭😭 hope y'all stay healthy. your future surgeons are writing gojo smut on tumblr.com

mp3. don't you want me like i want you, baby? don't you need me like i need you now? sleep tomorrow, but tonight, go crazy. all you gotta do is meet me at the apartment (아파트) !

you think your friends would kill you if they knew this was how you were spending christmas eve. not at some glittering holiday party, nor tucked away in a snow-dusted cabin. but here, holed up in a dimly lit bar with an atmosphere so questionable it should come with a warning label alongside a health and safety audit.

the place had charm, if your definition of charm included scuffed floors, a jukebox stuck on 'last christmas' and a string of blinking lights that looked like they'd been thrown at the walls rather than hung. still, you'd swiped a couple of minty candy canes from a jar near the door, which felt like a win.

your phone sat resolutely off in your bag. self-preservation. no instagram, and no tacky mirror selfies from your scumbag ex with the same smirk he'd worn a month ago when you caught him cheating. with someone who had always been 'just a friend, babe!' you weren't keen to let that ruin the rest of the night, though if you were being honest, you had already let it ruin a good chunk of the month.

"another christmas vodka...sour, please," you squint at the messy chalkboard above the bar, where the christmas specials were scrawled in what would barely pass for handwriting.

the bartender gave a single, surly nod. he looked as though he'd rather be anywhere but here, preferably somewhere free of customers nursing post-breakup bitterness like a fine wine.

and so, you found yourself staring at the tall glass now sitting in front of you, studying the rosemary sprig that swayed lazily in the translucent red liquid. a few cranberries bobbed among the ice cubes like they were on some tiny festive raft.

"woah, that one's way too strong for me."

the voice interrupts your private session of wallowing. you turn your head, slowly, to take in the culprit. he-who-hath-disturbed-the-peace. a man sitting close enough to be annoying, but not close enough to invade your personal space.

it takes you a moment to process the stranger, mostly because of the brain freeze from your ill-timed gulp.

"i mean, it's not bad," you shrug, hoping to sound neutral enough that he leaves you be. but then because you just can't leave well enough alone, you gesture at the specials board, "better than...that, at least."

you jab a finger at the chalk-scrawled abomination: vanilla & peppermint vodka eggnog.

the man frowns, a sharp but somehow charming movement that's overshadowed by the dim lights, "hey, i ordered that one."

you blink like a startled bovine, before breaking into a laugh, "my bad. i'm sure it's really fuckin' delicious."

the stranger chuckles too, a soft and low sound that seems more genuine that it has any right to be, "i hope so. otherwise, this is gonna be a long night."

the man finally shifts, casting aside the dim shadows that lay over him, into the blinking string lights. broad shoulders framed by a dark, tailored jacket that hugs him like a second skin. his hair, startlingly white, was pushed back by — wait, was that a blindfold?

you stare longer than you should have, trying to piece the odd sight together. a cosplay? a k-pop idol wannabe, hoping to get recruited for the next bts tour? perhaps, he was blind, hard of sight? you start to open your mouth, wondering how to phrase the intrusive and awkward questions, but he beats you to it.

"i can see you just fine, y'know," he says, his tone laced with amusement.

your cheeks burn at the realisation that he's caught you gawking shamelessly. so you quickly turn back to your drink, suddenly very interested in the cranberries floating in the glass.

the bartender returns, sliding the stranger's drink onto the counter with an audible clink. it was the most obnoxious cocktail that you'd ever seen. a martini glass filled with frothy, pale liquid and crowned with a cinnamon stick that jutted out like the mast of some ridiculous holiday ship.

you watch, mildly horrified, as the man picks up the glass and downs half of it in one confident gulp. he sets it down a satisfied sigh, and a smack of his glossy lips, and you wrinkle your nose involuntarily at the sight.

"i swear it's good," he says with a laugh, catching your expression. his grin is wide, playful. and you find yourself smiling back despite your sour, gloomy mood.

he has a nice smile, you note. not forced nor smug, but genuine. framed by pale pink lips that curl up in an easy, natural way. it was strange though, to look at someone without seeing their eyes.

"i'm gojo, by the way," he offers, his voice smooth and lightly amused once more, as if he'd caught you studying him again.

your gaze drops to his hands, long and slender, tracing the rim of the martini glass. something about the way they move — elegant and deliberate, hold your attention a moment too long for propriety. you quickly snap your focus back to his face, "what brings you here, gojo?"

gojo shrugs, and you can almost imagine him rolling his eyes beneath the blindfold, though you doubt his ire is directed at you, "work, i guess. or maybe i just got bored of going to work."

"they're working you hard, yeah?" you ask, trying for sympathy. employers loved squeezing their workers dry during the holidays. your own boss was proof enough of that, running the office like a sweatshop for santa's unpaid elf labour.

"something like that," gojo says with a scoff, the corners of his mouth quirking up again, "what about you? what brings you here? it's christmas eve, isn't it?"

you sigh, the weight of gauche embarrassment suddenly pressing down as the words spill out before you can stop them, "my ex-boyfriend cheated on me."

gojo's lip curls, the kind of expression that balances perfectly between pity and disgust, "that sucks," he offers. profound and wise, you have to agree as he continues, "you jus' find out or something?"

the question makes you cheeks heat, and you fiddle with the edge of your drink, "no, i've known all month." you gesture vaguely towards your purse, where your phone sat like an unsealed pandora's box, "but he posted...on instagram. and stuff. i'm still, y'know, getting over it."

gojo makes a thoughtful clicking noise with his tongue, "ah, see, i don't do social media. but that sounds rough."

you let out a weak huff, "yeah, well...now i just feel like a loser. my friends told me to go out and have fun, and here i am..." you trail off, downing the rest of your cranberry vodka in a single, decisive gulp. the sting hits your throat, sharp and sour, and you grimace at the burn.

gojo frowns slightly, leaning in just enough that you can hear how his voice softens, "i don't think you're a loser." the sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, pulling your gaze back to him, "it's fair to wallow."

his words hang in the air, and you find yourself smiling, albeit thinly, "that's...really nice of you to say."

gojo hums thoughtfully, "i meant it, i promise. but i can't exactly say i've been there, never really dated anyone."

you blink, openly gaping at the man, "really? you're joking."

it was hard to wrap your head around that. even with the odd blindfold, everything about him screamed 'pounce-worthy'. the broad frame, the charming smile, the striking white hair that looked like it belonged in a kérastase commercial.

gojo laughs at your incredulous expression, "same old work and stuff," he explains with a casual shrug. then his grin fades, tone shifting just enough for you wonder why that feels as though the clouds have covered the light of the moon outside, "always got in the way."

"at least you never had to deal with a breakup," you offer, trying to find some weak, silver lining.

gojo frowns, his pale complexion now tinged with a faint red flush that even the dim bar lights couldn't disguise. was he really that much of a lightweight, or was the eggnog's amaretto content deceptively boozy?

he sighs dramatically, "a friend once left me outside a kfc in shinjuku. then he became a murderer and a cult leader. that felt like a breakup."

"huh," you murmur, staring at the man with a mixture of amusement and faint alarm, wondering if you'd seen any cult leaders on the evening news lately. no, nothing save for the occasional incorrect weather report, a friendly good-looking priest running some scam association, and news reports about an octopus that could predict the lottery, "that's - well, okay..."

you couldn't quite tell if he was joking or not, but gojo seems to shake himself free of the odd reverie. he's running his hand through his shock of white hair, and his grin has returned, slower and a touch softer, "still, your ex must've been crazy. letting go of a pretty girl like you?"

the words land with surprising weight, considering they come from a stranger in a sleazy bar, but it leaves you momentarily stunned. you can feel a blush rising to your cheeks, your heart doing an embarrassing little flip before you manage to get a grip on yourself.

"wow," you laugh, feigning composure as you sip the last remnants of your drink, "smooth."

gojo's smile is wider now, "hah, i call it like i see it," and his lips now curl upwards as he leans in, "and i'm serious. if i had someone like you..."

you laugh again, but this time it's far more unsteady. you wonder if the cranberry vodka is playing with your head, "big words for someone who's never dated. should i be impressed, gojo?"

gojo's chuckle is a deep sound that vibrates in his chest, "i know a good thing when i see it. you don' need to date to know what you want. and i think i want you."

your stomach does a little flip, and you feel all rationality being pounded out of you just from staring at his unfairly gorgeous hands rest on sturdy thighs, "you do flattery well, i'll give you that."

"oh, i don't know about that," gojo says, fiddling with the stem of his glass, "but what'dya say we get out of here? how about my place?"

you blink slowly, and you're aware that your heart (and...nether regions) have already composed an answer before your mind has, "what if you're a serial killer? you're not about to silent night, deadly night me, are you? you haven't killed someone have you?"

for a moment, the man stills but then gojo leans back, "smart girl. asking the right questions. but no, i can at least promise that i'm not a criminal."

you hesitate just for a beat, the words lingering on your tongue, before you let out a breath and shrug, "fine. where's your place?"

"azabu," gojo replies without missing a beat, his tone smooth, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

you gape once more, blinking as you try to process the information. azabu? as in tokyo's ritziest neighbourhood, where a one-bedroom apartment could cost you more than most people's yearly salary? the kind of place where the floors are made of marble, and everyone's shoes are more expensive than your entire wardrobe?

gojo, ridiculously handsome despite looking like a circus runaway, too charming for his own good, and not the type you'd expect to find in a cheap downtown dive bar. definitely not on a christmas eve, at least.

for a split second, you wonder how a man like him even ended up in a place like this. maybe it's some kind of self-imposed penance. or he likes to keep things low-key when he's pretending not to be rich? maybe he's looking to cosplay a succession character?

whatever it is, it's working. not only does gojo have a face carved from marble, now you've got a solid ticket into seeing what a neighbourhood for the top one percent really looks like beyond it's wealthy exterior. maybe, you'll bring back a souvenir.

you wonder whether there's a group of small emotions standing around inside your head, inside-out style. glaring at you as if you're incapable of making good and rational decisions.

well fuck that, you gather yourself and shrug off the small wave of nerves, and loop your purse strap around your finger, "alright," you say, "let's get out of here then."

you don't miss at how the adam apple of gojo's throat bobs for a second, before he downs the rest of his drink in one go, "let's get outta here then."

you follow him out into the cold, your breath fogging in front of you as you try to focus, but the man is tall, like ridiculously so. but when you reach the curb, he turns to face you again, a frown marring his face.

"so, i have a small confession."

i changed my mind and i find you repulsive.

i was paid by your ex to do this, and now i've done enough to get my money.

i'm a serial killer.

you don't know which possibility is worse, "huh, a confession? what is it now?"

gojo chuckles, lifting a hand to the back of his neck, as though he's about to spill a dark secret into the night air, "i don't have a car."

"you've got to me kidding me. how'd you even get down here?"

gojo shrugs, a casual and almost lazy movement. and you feel your gaze lingering on his shoulders. broad, impossibly wide, the dark jacket hugging him in all the right places, like it was tailor-made to showcase just how much he filled it out.

"someone dropped me off. ages ago," like it was the most normal and rational explanation in the world.

your own laugh is short, a little disbelieving, but you pull your silver keys from your purse, "well, i guess i'll have to drive then. but what would you have done if i hadn't been here to save the day?"

gojo steps to the side, opening your own car door for you with a small flourish and exaggerated bow that makes your heart jolt again, "probably teleport back home. maybe fly, since the skies look clear."

what a weird guy. hot, but weird. he seems like the type to dress up with a fake beard and show up as gandalf at the next lord of the rings fan convention.

in the driver's seat beside him, you catch yourself staring too long. your gaze slipping over a model's jawline, the white of his hair being held up by the blindfold. even his vaguely expensive scent is disorienting, pleasant like pine and blackcurrant. but it's also hard not to be amused when he's furrowing teeth into plush pink lips out of concentration, pressing an address into your cracked gps screen.

well, merry christmas to you.

gojo's place is well...how do you say this? gorgeous doesn't quite begin to cover it. he leads you into the building with the ease of someone who knows every inch of it, tossing a casual smile over his shoulder as he swipes a key card to unlock the private elevator, "i tend to move around a bit. or stay in different places. keeps life exciting, don't you think?"

you step into the elevator alongside him, the polished mirrors reflecting the soft glow of gold accents and sleek, modern lines. his hand hovers over the control panel before he presses the button for the top floor. of course, it's the penthouse.

"you move around a lot?" you ask, arching an eyebrow, "what, like a restless billionaire or something?"

gojo smiles, leaning casually against the steel as the elevator begins its smooth ascent, "now you're exaggerating."

the elevator finally dings, and gojo steps aside, offering an exaggerated bow as he gestures for you to exit, "after you, my fair maiden."

you almost scoff at the ridiculousness of it, but there's something so endearing and charming about how he pulls it off, especially when paired with the unfair symmetry of his face.

floor to ceiling windows dominate the far wall, revealing a jaw dropping panorama of tokyo's skyline. the city stretches out in a glittering sea of lights, with the tokyo tower glowing a golden exclamation point against the velvet night sky. the interior is just as impressive, with polished wood floors that gleam in the warm light and a glass dining table that sits beneath a sculptural chandelier. that same faint scent of blackberry and pine lingers in the air, heady almost.

behind you, gojo strolls with an easy and languid grace, tossing his jacket onto an artisan leather armchair. beneath it, his sky blue dress shirt clings just right and rolled up to reveal forearms faintly dusted with pale hair. you think you've momentarily forgotten how words work, and you avert your gaze quickly. though not before catching the faint smile on his lips.

"not bad, huh?" gojo says, heading to the open kitchen as though he's unaware of the effect he's having on a rational and sensible mind such as yourself, "it's no dive bar, but i'll do."

you shake your head, bewildered. trying to process how someone you met in a dingy bar could live somewhere that looks like it belongs in architectural digest. even down to the odd, ancient looking pieces that scatter the wide living room. weird looking artifacts of some sort. maybe he's also a collector? go figure.

"not bad?" you repeat, incredulous, "gojo, this place is incredible."

the man laughs, opening a sleek fridge to grab a bottle of water, "i have good taste," he says with mock modesty, his tone teasing as long fingers twist off the cap, "and a thing for gorgeous views. though, between you and me, i'm not great with heights. ironic, i suppose. paying a fortune for a view i'd rather not get too close to."

he waves a hand vaguely towards the windows, the blindfold still firmly in place.

"so, what's the deal? did you win the lottery, or inherit a fortune. or are you some kinda secret agent who moonlights as a barfly?"

gojo lifts the bottle in mock toast, "let's just say i'm very good at what i do."

you arch a brow, crossing your arms and ignoring the warm flush creeping up your neck, "and what exactly is that?"

"oh, you know. standard stuff. international intrigue, thwarting evil creatures. i even saved a kitten from a tree the other day."

"right, because nothing screams the next member of the avengers like eggnog in a seedy bar."

gojo leans casually against the counter, "even the avengers need a holiday drink now and then. don't knock it." but then he gestures towards the sleek couch, "wait, you can make yourself comfortable, y'know. i'd hate for my guest to think i'm a terrible host."

"terrible host? no, but a mystery man —"

before you can finish, your foot catches on something hard, and you stumble forward with an undignified yelp. gojo reacts instantly, how does he move that fast, and his arm is shooting out to steady you. but glorious gravity and magnificent momentum has other plans.

both of you crash onto the couch, and you find yourself sprawled unceremoniously across his lap. gojo's laugh rumbles low in his chest, and you can feel the warmth of it underneath your palms as you steady yourself, "well, that's one way to get comfortable," he murmurs, voice teasing as his large hand lingers lightly on the curve of your waist.

you prop yourself up slightly, cheeks burning, and glance back at the offending object. your brows knit together when you spot what looks suspiciously like a katana gleaming under the soft light.

"did i just trip on a — hey, what the hell is that?"

gojo interrupts, smoothly extending a long leg to nudge that suspicious object under the nearby coffee table before you can finish, "nothing important," he says breezily, the motion so quick you almost think you imagined it.

his focus shifts back to you, almost guilty, but his fingers are pressing divots into the fabric of your top, "now, where were we? hi."

you blink, caught off guard by how strange it is to feel the searing heat of someone's gaze underneath a blindfold, impossibly intent, "hi yourself," you manage.

for a moment, neither you nor the gorgeous man under you move, and the world feels strangely airless.

but your fingers twitch against the fine linen of his shirt. and before you can second-guess yourself, you reach your hand up to the edge of the silk fabric over his face and you ask, "can i take this off?"

gojo tilts his head, like it's a genuine consideration and you catch the faintest flicker of hesitation. it's fleeting, replaced by a crooked smile as he nods, "go ahead, sweetheart."

your hand rests lightly on the silk, hesitant for only a second before tracing its way to the back of his head. your fingers brush through impossibly soft strands of white hair, and his breath hitches when you find the knot tied neatly to the base of his skull.

you wonder what manner of man gojo is, letting himself be stitched undone by a stranger. but with care, you undo the knot, working deftly and clutching the fabric as you pull the blindfold away.

the blindfold slips free, and for a moment, you're certain you've forgotten how to breathe. bright, piercing blue eyes. framed by thick white lashes blink up at you. the intensity of such an unearthly gaze is softened by something more vulnerable, almost shy. nervous even.

"wow," you murmur without thinking, the word spilling out as gojo's expression shifts, an unguarded openness replacing the playful smirk that you've seen all evening.

your earlier assessment echoes in your mind: k-pop reject wannabe. the recent memory now feels like quite the injustice, a careless slight against a face that defies easy description. each detail of his face is striking, as if some divine hand had taken special care to sculpt him from the fabric of time and space itself.

gojo seems to sense your analysis, and you're sure that he's parted his lips to speak, but whatever he was about to say falters. that faint flush, pale-red like vermillion watercolour bleeding across a canvas, blooms across his cheeks. gojo's hazy gaze flickers for a second, and it sends a thrill through you. he's affected by this, by you.

it's hard to resist the slow smile that curves your lips, light and playful if only to mask the way your own heart is racing, "are you seriously shy now, gojo?"

gojo's expression shifts again almost immediately, as if that subtle invulnerability has been replaced by something sharper, almost indignant. he sits up a little straighter, the movement making you acutely aware of how the hard planes of his body feel beneath you.

"shy? no," gojo says, his voice steady but edged with some need to defend his honour, "i just...don't usually do this. that's all."

there's a sincerity in his words, an almost begrudging honesty that takes you by surprise. you tilt your head, as your murmur, "i don't either."

before you can second-guess yourself, you tilt your head down. pressing your lips to gojo's in a featherlight kiss. his taste is intoxicating, honey and sweet grapes mingling with a hint of that ridiculous vanilla drink from earlier. you pull back almost as quickly as you leaned in, testing the waters.

but your breath catches when you see that the blue of his eyes has deepened, darkened. and his lips, pink-blush and slightly parted, form a quiet and stunned oh!

"cool," gojo manages, his voice rougher than you expected, and you bite back a laugh as you watch him swallow hard.

"huh, cool?" you echo, your amusement bubbling over, "that's it? that's all you've got?"

gojo's grip on your waist tightens, and his hands are now splayed over your spine. anchoring you to him, as his mouth curves into something sly, though his flushed cheeks betray his composure, "compliments to the chef?"

you shift slightly, pressing more of your weight firmly into his lap. though not yet close enough to situate yourself over his groin, delighting in the way gojo's blush spreads down his neck, staining his skin a shade reminiscent of ripe berries swirling in cream.

you can feel gojo's attention as much as you can see it, how his own gaze lingers, deliberate and unhurried. taking you like a masterpiece that deserves more than a cursory glance. the hand that had been steady on your back shifts, his fingers threading through your hair. he watches as the strands slip and fall beneath his touch.

"thought you said you wanted me, gojo," you tease, though you're certain your voice is betraying the way your pulse is doing its best impression of the macarena in your jugular, "are y'gonna do something or not?"

gojo's gaze snaps back to you, a flicker of something far more intense passing through those impossibly blue eyes. full of hunger, need even. the hand in your hair slides away, only to settle at your jaw. it's warm and steady, his thumb brushing slightly over the plush of your bottom lip.

"i do want you," gojo says, his voice low and steady and maddeningly genuine, "want you to kiss me again. and again. as many times as you want until i forget my own name."

"gojo —"

"satoru," he interrupts, his voice cracking slightly, stripped of any previous swagger. it's unsteady and raw, affected in a way that excites you. sends a dark heat curling low between your thighs, "you can call me that."

"satoru," you repeat softly, letting the syllables fall from your lips, unfurling in the most hazy way.

something within the man shifts. his hand tightens on your waist, dragging you closer in a way that punches the air from your lungs. right over -

oh. the thick, curve of his erection straining against slacks that probably cost more than your monthly salary. it's deliberate, almost desparate at how the invisible thread snapped inside him. unravelled the careful composure he's been clinging to until now.

"go on," gojo murmurs, his voice dark with need, "kiss me again, please."

you lean closer, eyes flickering to his lips, and your pulse roaring in your ears, "who would i be to deny you any wish, satoru?" the words come out more reverent that you'd expected, as if your entire world has been tilted off its axis.

and then you kiss him, hard. desparate. as if his lips are your birthright, a homeland to claim. and gojo's kissing you back, carrying a sweetness that seems both foreign and familiar. in an instant, the weight of another man, a dreary haze in your past, vanishes. gojo is suddenly everything you didn't know you needed, vibrant and electrifying.

"let me know if it's too much," gojo breathes against your lips, his voice shaky as if he's trying to tether himself to the earth. but your kiss deepens, frantic and unrestrained. his mouth moves against yours with a hunger that sends sparks down your spine, and you suddenly realise you quite like the taste of vanilla when it's dripping from his open kisses.

you pull away, for every human needs air. but the sight before you has you clenching your thighs desperately around the bulge where you sit atop. gojo's gaze is heavy, full of that desparate longing that makes your chest ache. his lips are swollen, a soft cherry hue from your kisses. and strands of white hair fall over his blue eyes.

"look what you've done to me, fuck. miss you already," gojo murmurs, and before you can respond, he surges forward, hands pressing against your face with the intensity of a storm. one hand reaches to find the nape of your neck, letting you surrender to the heat of this touch.

you crave more, so much more from gojo, who's taking you in like you're his last breath, his final indulgance. it's as if he's found a new devotion in you, ready to worship you at the alter of your false godhood. but before you can part your mouth to tell him exactly what you and where, gojo's hands are already sneaking under your top, brushing against the trembling skin of your torso.

his teeth are biting down on your lip, leaving you dizzy. and gasping, and so damp in your panties as the fabric of your top is peeled away, and you're left shivering, fighting against the cold of the december air. you find yourself pressing harder into the warmth of his chest, letting the swell of your chest press flat against him.

"shoulda' turned the heat on before we came in," gojo murmurs, breathless as his lips hover a mere centimetre away from yours, "got nothin' to worry about, sweetheart. i'll keep you warm."

"didn't t-think i'd spend christmas eve like this," you gasp, your head lolling to the side as gojo presses open-mouthed kisses to the soft arc of your neck, sensitive even to the cool air.

"no?" gojo's reply is breathy, almost frantic as if he's fumbling in the heat of the moment and has little grasp over the words tumbling out of his mouth, "neither did i. but this? b-better than any fuckin' mission they could've sent me on."

you cock your head, feeling the heat of his clothed cock underneath your thighs, "m-mission, huh? what are you talking about - mmph!" but the rest of the question never escapes your lips for it's swallowed up by another one of gojo's candied kisses.

his rough hands work deftly, finding the clasp of your bra with ease. a pretty crimson thing, almost sheer as it caught the light. and in the centre, a tiny satin bow sat like the final touch on a perfectly wrapped gift. you had only worn it half-heartedly earlier in the morning, some forced christmas cheer for your dreary day ahead.

the look on gojo's face was anything but composed, staring at your cupped tits like you'd knocked the air out of him and his chest rose and fall as though he were remembering how to breathe. in a single fluid motion, your bra is unhooked. the faint metallic click barely audible over the pounding in your chest and he's tossing it aside with a casual flick, his focus entirely on you.

you find yourself mesmerised by his eyes, those swirling pools of blue that seem to have stolen fragments of the sky itself, clouds brushed into cerulean depths with strokes of syrupy smoothness. they're breathtaking, but the thought shatters as gojo's canines graze the flesh of your breasts, a sharp and teasing nip that pulls a gasp from your lips. leaves you rocking sharply against his erection, making him throw his head back, ragged.

the playful string blooms into a flush of heat, and gojo's at it again, his mouth working to leave faint red marks in its wake. you squeal, half in surprise and half in helpless laughter (and entirely in a lusty haze) but gojo only pulls back enough to murmur, "what? can't help myself."

but then he peers at you abruptly, his lips parted as he catches his breath, "wait. do you wanna —?" and gojo tilts his snowy hair towards the shadowy doorway that leads out of the living room, the implication clear even through his panting.

you nod, breathless, "yeah, jus' help me up."

without hesitation, a strong arm slides around your waist, and before you know it, you're being swept into a semi-bridal carry, and your head is resting against the fabric of his dress shirt. not a bad feeling, one you could get used to.

at the doorway, gojo lets out a low 'shit!', nudging the door open with his foot. the faint sound of clattering follows as he kicks something out of the way. you glance down from your entirely too comfortable vantage point, spotting a smattering of cheap tinsel, all glittering in metallic silver and gold, tangled with round baubles that glisten faintly under the dim light.

some have little smears of glue, and uneven glitter patches, as if crafted by unsteady hands, but with earnest effort.

"you big on christmas or something?" you tease, delighting in how the tips of his ears light up like nose of a famous reindeer.

gojo freezes for a moment, almost sheepish as he clears a path, clearly trying to look as macho as possible as he gingerly pushes aside a string of green lights, "made those for my students," he mutters, "thought they'd like them in the classroom tomorrow."

your laugh grows louder, and gojo's brows furrow, his tone growing defensive, "it's a nice surprise for the classroom!"

"i'm not making fun of you!" you insist, leaning up to press a gentle, soothing kiss to the hollow of his collarbone, "it's sweet. i think it's really nice, actually. wait, you're a teacher?"

gojo's mouth quirks up in a faint smile, "something like that," he says cryptically, finally clearing a decent and hazard-free path into a sleek, and clean bedroom. it's all modern space, all clean lines in shades of cream and white, and navy.

gojo sets you down gently, and the plush fabric cradles you as your back lands on fresh linen. and for a quiet, tender moment, you're both caught in the stillness. gojo kneels at the edge of the bed, his hands resting lightly on each of your thighs as if he's anchoring himself there.

his gaze is steady, content, maybe even adoring in a way that feels too intimate for someone who you barely know. there's a warmth in his expression, like he's savouring the sight of you, searching for something — and he's found exactly what he's hoped for.

almost without thinking, you lift a hand, cupping the sides of his face. his skin is warm beneath your palm, soft with the faintest hint of pale stubble that seems to fade into his skin. the moment your hands makes contact, gojo leans into your touch instinctively, his white lashes fluttering closed.

"hey, 'toru," you murmur softly, "y'still with me?"

gojo's eyes snap open at the sound of that, sharp and bright, as if the nickname itself has sparked a challenge in him. a low and almost frustrated sound escapes from the back of his throat, and he presses a feather-light kiss to the inside of your knee.

you don't miss at how his teeth sink into his bottom lip again, worrying and working the plush flesh like he's trying to steady himself. spreading your weeping thighs aside, as his gaze is fixed on something. intense, unwavering. the sheer focus of it making heat creep up your neck.

at how he must be staring hungrily at damp, sheer red fabric that clings to the outline of your cunt. at how it must shimmer almost translucently now, the sticky slick of your arousal enhancing the gloss, making your panties glisten under the light.

you're feeling an unfamiliar kind of shy under the weight of his attention, at how he must see how the fabric clings closely to your puffy, swollen folds — the delicate weave exposing the shape of your taut pussy, practically weeping for his touch.

you needn't have asked, for gojo was already diving into deliver.

he's gliding his index finger over your dripping pussy, letting the tangy syrup sink onto his fingers, leaning in to press a sweet, almost innocent kiss to your clothed cunt, "she seems desperate for me, don'tcha think, heh?"

the sound of the fabric ripping is sharp and wet, a squelching and almost fleshy tone, a sound that's both soft and sharp to the blood rushing between your ears. a strained tear of your beautiful panties, leaving cool air to gently leave a kiss of its own upon your cunt.

you gape at him, a bit too stunned to find coherent words, "hey, what the f-fuck! those were like super expensive!"

gojo rolls his eyes, the kind of look that has a bit too much attitude for someone who's practically begging on his knees for a taste of you, "don't get all huffy on me, sweetheart. 'm gonna buy you more, is tha' alright?"

"i'll r-remember that, satoru," you murmur, giving a sharp tug at his white strands, "you gon' have to give me your number now."

gojo shudders, the muscles in his back rippling underneath his tight shirt, "was already gonna," and he's back to pressing soft, kitten licks to your now exposed folds, small circles over your throbbing clit.

you buck your canting hips closer to the heat of his mouth, to where the pink tip of his teasing tongue peeks out of a pretty mouth, "satoru, c'mon. can't you just, fuck—"

you sharply cry out as he presses his mouth forward, a sudden surge of heat jolting through you. burying himself deep, his nose brushing against the sweet, syrup that coats your pussy, and the rhythmic, wet movements of his tongue send shivers through your entire being.

"mhm, jus' as sweet as you look, baby," gojo gasps, swirling and flicking his tongue, teasing you with every deliberate patter of the muscle near your winking entrance. so messy, slick and you're not sure where he ends and you begin as it all glides together carnally.

gojo seems languidly tipsy, just from munching through the gloss of your cunt, far more intoxicated from your taste than any cheap christmas liquor. he alternates between pushing his tongue past the ring of your tight walls, and then wrapping his lips around the searing pulse of your clit, leaving your hips shaking and dragging over his mouth, smearing yourself over his chin.

you're fisting delicate white locks with fierce urgency, and he hisses and then chuckles into your pussy, "tch! ease up there for me, yeah? jus' move your hips like you were doin' before," and you comply, angling yourself better so he can flatten his tongue against your folds, jaw grinding deeper into you "hah, yeah, just like that."

"taking good care of you though, aren't i? wait, say it. say that 'm making you feel good," and he's bullying a long finger into your gummy walls, clingy and sopping, "say 'm making you feel better than a-anyone ever has," and you just mewl as your arousal must surely be dripping down his forearms, staining the cuffed sleeve of his shirt as he takes your sweet juices down his throat.

there's stars beginning to twinkle at the edge of your vision, and you know you must be close, for your heart is practically dancing a heavy beat against your ribcage, and you suddenly push his mouth away, watching as a clear strand of spit or your slick forms a taut bridge between his mouth and your folds.

"w-wait, satoru, s-stop."

gojo's head lifts, eyes blinking as if coming out of a faze. but then, like a switch, something sharp flickers behind his gaze and concern floods in. his thin brows furrow slightly, glossy lips parting as he reaches out, as if to steady your hips, "you okay, sweetheart? what's wrong?"

your heart stutters, pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it. you try to steady your breathing, but the tremour in your fingertips betray you as they gently slide through your hair, the silky strands tangling around your hand.

"nothin' wrong, 'toru. but i was gonna cum," and gojo's face, still flushed and soft with arousal, splits into a shy, amused grin.

"hah, i know. that's what i wanted," he's close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath hitting your aching cunt, but you shake your head again.

"feels unfair, wanna see you too. wan' you to cum in me,"

you watch, almost in awe, as a low and guttural sound escapes gojo satoru, raw and unfiltered. gojo runs his tongue over his lips, his eyes dark with something dangerously close to hunger.

"you sure?" and his voice is hoarse, unsure despite his roaming gaze. you nod, your hands digging into his shoulder, tugging at the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, desparate to feel the warmth of his skin underneath.

his shaky laugh of disbelief only makes you more aroused, whining for him to hurry up, and before you know it, he's standing up, towering over your boneless form on the sheets.

"how could i deny you anything?" he murmurs, echoing your earlier words. gojo's hands reach for the hem, the fabric shifting as he pulls it over his head, revealing a milky expanse of toned skin, smooth and taut over a set of abs that should easily land him on a gq list.

his waist is slender, defined in all the right places, and the soft taper of muscles make your breath catch. but the soft white trail of hair that reaches under his waistband makes your cunt clench.

"y'seem happy with the view, don'tcha?" gojo's voice is teasing, the cocky smirk tugging at his lips, but you can hear the impatience threading his tone now too. he's not as in control as he lets on, his hands now making quick work of his belt, leaving your mouth dry when he finally pushes his black boxers down.

you should have known that his cock would be as pretty and unfairly gorgeous as the rest of him. he's circling the strawberry-red tip, glowering and throbbing, right over your gathered slick, coating it and smacking the mushroom head in a thwack! over your poor clit, leaving you jolting as he laughs and leans down to kiss you sweetly once more.

"jus' look at me, yeah?" his drawl is slow, lazy and so ruined. at the first inch of his throbbing cock that slips through your walls, he looks utterly undone. a mess of sharp edges softened by something far more primal and raw.

gojo's head tips back, exposing the elegant line of his neck as the moonlight cascades over you, "hey, sweetheart, 's not too much, yeah?"

hazy blue eyes bore into you, and for a brief moment, in the time it takes for the lightning to strike the earth, you swear that his eyes glow. almost radiant and jewel-like, with cerulean fractals shimmering as if they're emitting life of their own. perhaps its simply the electrifying stretch of inches that's rendering you to hallucinate, whining as your nails find purchase in milky skin and rippling shoulders.

"i-it's big, 'toru," you pant, feeling him almost shudder at the clipped name again, as he grips the base of his cock to bully the final inch in, sighing in contentment as he finally bottoms out, with a wet pop!

gojo looks feral like this, heaving a breath through his mouth as though the air is being taken from him from every second he spends stretching you out on his fat shaft, "hah, 'm glad, i'm so glad i met you tonight, sweetheart. fuck, fuck, y'feel i-incredible."

he's pushing your thighs further back, running his hands over the plush skin, leaving bruising red prints that won't disappear tomorrow as you moan, wanton into his open mouth, letting gojo run his lips down your jaw and into the curve of your neck.

you're practically now folded in half under the bulk of his weight, feeling stars collide in absolutely astrophysical ways, impaled further on the long and thick length of his cock, "in so deep, s-satoru."

seems that gojo is a man of little mercy, for he seems only all the more invigorated by your squeals, drawing his torso back to watch the hypnotic smack of skin on skin, of your slick and creamy froth creating fresh rings over his pistoning cock.

he's entirely out of control, as you feel your body go limp from the pleasure shooting through every nerve and pore.

depraved.

you don't realise you might have let that slip out loud, so dizzy in your cockdrunk haze because gojo's suddenly ramming himself roughly in you, as though he was desperate to have his cock kiss your cervix, to feel for every divot and nook of your cunt's walls.

"d-depraved, hah. people call me, fuck, p-people call me a lotta things, sweetheart," and gojo's so good with it, letting your pussy have not even one moment to take reprieve, having you feel each vein and bulge of his cock, "but depraved is n-new."

the hand that was dancing over your thighs flies to your swollen, aching clit. practically glistening for his attention, and his attention you did receive, "right, t-there! 'toru, mmph!" you're trying to splay your legs wider, giving his quick hand more room to swirl tight circles where you needed him most.

your double-vision gaze lingers on the ripple of his muscles, the way his arms flex and shift as he seems intent on angling you just right for him to drill his cock over and over, at some freakish and feverish pace, "y'so good, gojo," you purr, and your nails curl against his arms, pressing just enough to leave tiny crescents in his skin, the faint dampness of his exertion clinging to him, "s-so strong!"

something shifts. the glow is back, electric blue flooding his eyes like crackling storm clouds. it's almost unnerving, this unearthly brightness, as if he's some ancient god wrapped up in human skin, and you've just stumbled into a divine revelation.

gojo stills for the briefest moment, the thick head of his cock snagging on your puffy folds as he draws himself almost entirely out. the absence of motion makes you whine, an airy and impatient sound escaping your throat. that hesitation feels like a tease, like a string that's been pulled so taut, before he finally dives forward, capturing your mouth in a messy, heated kiss. sloppy in its disregard.

"s-so strong, huh?" gojo's voice is rough, shaky, as though he's trying to centre himself but your tight pussy holds him in hypnotic sway, "y-you think so? think i'm the strongest?" his lips brush yours as he speaks, and there's something almost boyish and charming in the way that he seems to be fishing for a compliment, despite the low heat in his voice.

you pull back from his wet, spit-stringed lips. just enough to wrap your hands around his neck and push him closer, deeper into you as he gutturally groans, "if i s-say yes, are y'gonna keep showing off?"

gojo's laugh is short, breathless, "y-yeah, wanna see?"

he makes quick work of pushing himself back into you, pumping himself so far in that your slick must be painting and sopping the white hairs at the base of his cock almost translucent, "o-oh my god, 'toru, fuck, oh my god!" the stretch has your head spinning, as if the skies are parting above you, and you're melodramatically left to see the light of divinity as gojo bucks his hips harshly into you. as if he's too far gone, needs to prove himself to you with a good fuck.

"you h-have to say it," gojo stutters, his words tumbling out so quickly, like rough gravel, "say it, fuck, c'mon. say i'm — say i'm the s-strongest. you have to, hnghh, god. please, jus' agree, okay?" his voice is cracking, that cocky veneer entirely shattered under the weight of his rambling desperation as he practically rummages through your sopping insides, "y-you feel it right, i mean, you can feel me — i mean."

a high whine escapes your throat as his pace becomes almost olympian, and you wonder faintly how you haven't managed to sprain a muscle or break a bone yet, how he hasn't managed to shatter something with the sheer pace and force of how gojo satoru fucks, "hah, 'toru. i'm —"

"close? g-god, i hope so. 's what i want. nothing, like n-nothing feels better than this right?" his words are falling out of him in a messy, pussydrunk rush, his eyes flickering between your face and down to where your pussy lips are bulged around his shaft, "so good, right? the b-best thing you've ever —"

you truthfully don't even hear the rest of his words, blood absolutely roaring and rearing in your ears, your ribcage as you feel the tight coil snap, letting out short, slurred snaps of his name when you cum. as he doesn't quite let up on smacking his hips right against your ass, "s-satoru, 's getting s-sensitive, oh, fuck. fuck!"

he's suddenly whining, with pleading and erratic blue eyes chasing after you, sloppily pushing down so he can gasp and pant into your open mouth, before capturing you in a heart-stopping kiss as he finally gets milked dry by your pulsing and fluttering walls. in awe of how creamy white is practically leaking out of you, dripping a stringy trail over the flesh of your thighs.

you're agape at how utterly fucked he looks right now, though you're certain you do not look much better as fat tears prick at your eyes, streaming past your ears from the overstimulation, "s-still fillin' me up, 'toru. god, do ya always cum this much?"

at first, you don't even get a response from gojo who just sinks his teeth into the juncture of your neck, almost as if he's trying not to cry out, but then he's back to circling your clit with a rough hand, "makin' me sound like some kinda whore, s-sweetheart. 'n and i told you. don't do this m-much."

and now he's slowing down, pleasurably painful bucks of his hips keeping glossy, white seed in you. ensuring that it coats your entire entrance, "an' it's not my fault that she," and here, he gives your clit a small smack! grinning like a madman, "n-not my fault that she's so, hah, addictive."

each tight circle of his hand on your clit sends you hurtling into yet another orgasm, one that has you begging gojo for mercy, repreive, for more. an orgasm that has him whispering the sweetest nothings into your ear, "d-don't worry, gotcha like this. gonna let you rest n-now, jus' gotta relax for me."

by the time he's slipping his still somehow hard cock out of your creamed cunt, you can feel exhaustions heavy and caring hands caress you, rendering your body limp and boneless. your eyes heavy and hazy, but you can feel a soft ghost of gojo's kiss over the shell of your ear, "h-hope y'still here in the morning, sweetheart. don't leave, yeah?"

the morning sunlight filters through the blinds, and despite the ache in your limbs that cricks your bones, you drag yourself out of bed. christmas day, after all. you've thrown on gojo's dress shirt from last night, snug enough to flutter around your hips, but oversized enough around the shoulders to let you drown in it.

it's cozy though, and even the chilly air feels refreshing against the warmth clinging to you. gojo is still sound asleep, and you had smiled at how he took little puffs of air as he was passed flat out in bed. but you always like to be up early on christmas, and there's something about the holiday that makes you feel like you need to earn the right to nap later.

you wander around the bedroom for a bit, stretching your legs as your muscle protest in earnest. eventually, you decide to make your way to that kitchen. breakfast, right.

it seems like a good idea, especially considering the last thing in your stomach was a questionably sour vodka. so you pull open the fridge, expecting something befitting of this apartment. perhaps a slab of wagyu beef, a tin of caviar, a thick block of pistachio-cream dubai chocolate. you'd even settle for sushi.

instead, you're left staring back at a stack of candy canes, some strawberry yoghurt, a carton of milk and some fast food wrappers. despite your protesting stomach, a deep amusement washes over you. it doesn't surprise you that gojo would have a fridge stocked with food you'd find at a child's birthday party and a greasy diner.

still, breakfast is in order and because you can't help it, you pull out a candy cane and start unwrapping it. you're just about take a bite when you hear the unmistakable pad of footsteps. you turn, face to face with someone who would clearly not be out of place on a vogue covershoot.

gojo hasn't tossed on a shirt, and the sunlight filters over his chiselled physique before your sight is stolen by the loose sheet wrapped around his waist. delicious. you try to snap your gaze back to his face, but it's hard to not track your gaze down his torso, like a cat eyeing a particularly irresistible sunbeam.

"good morning to you too," gojo says, a grin curling his lips, "what are you doing?" his voice is still thick with interrupted sleep, laced with a morning rasp that forces you to ground yourself and stop falling prey to the god, eros and his machinations.

"breakfast, 'm starving."

"don't bother," gojo says, shaking his head, "we can go somewhere nice for breakfast. like real, actual food. don't think you want half-eaten yoghurt."

you nod enthusiastically, mind turning back to the peeling seal of the strawberry yoghurt with a spoon sticking out of it. but then, something else catches your mind's attention. a little curiosity piques, one that you cannot help but ask him.

"wait," you begin, snapping your teeth around the saccharine mint of the candy cane, "y'know what's crazy. like, i swear your eyes glowed last night. not even in a silly compliment way, but like electricity. i thought i was like, losing it.'

you expect gojo to brush it off with a wink, or maybe laugh it off like you're just teasing him. but instead, the man's face shifts, that cocky smile faltering for the briefest moment. it's gone so fast that you think you almost imagined it. but why does he look...almost guilty?

before you can process that, you realised you've leaned yourself over the counter, and in your absent-mindedness, your elbow presses a button on the answering machine. a small beep, and suddenly, a voice blares through the room,

"hey, gojo-sensei!" comes a high-pitched, distinctly teenage voice, an excited boy who sounds a little crackly over the speaker, "so, we found this grade one curse yesterday...and uh, we totally got rid of it. we were gon' call you, but you didn't pick up. but i almost got my arm torn off. wait, no! that sounds dramatic, i got shoko to look at it anyway. so what we're all wondering right is that we don't have to hand in any homework now right? as like reparations?"

the voice crackles off, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. you stand there, absolutely dumbstruck, staring at the answering machine like it's about to burst into flames or start singing christmas carols.

gojo, meanwhile, has the most awkward look on his face, clearly caught between embarrassment...and what? panic, amusement?

"satoru, what the fuck?"

he looks at you for a moment, but instead of speaking, he lets out a long and exasperated sigh before pulling out one of the counter chairs, "you're gonna want to sit down for this one, sweetheart."

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umbrella-show · 4 months ago

Text

❛ ⟢ ⋮ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 ❜

𝘚𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘗𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘝𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘦 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘶𝘴𝘶𝘢𝘭. 𝘐𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵?

“And, by following the correct procedures, that’s how you end up with a successful growth spell.”

The awed ‘woaaah’ of the Villager cookie made you smile lightly as you placed the chalk back on the board. You took a look down at the lone raisin on the desk, the young cookie following your gaze. The little one had shared to you his woes about his struggle with perfecting his spells. You had offered some extra tutoring. You weren’t an expert on magic, but you still remembered a few simple spells from your old school days. One of them was a growth spell, which just so happened to be the spell he had come to you with for assistance.

“Alright. Let me try again..”

The Villager cookie gave a quick glance at the steps you wrote on the board, before taking a deep breath and glaring down at the raisin. You watched him focus intently on the raisin as he gently waved his little wand in a specific pattern. You had been going over this spell with him for the past hour. You observed his pattern, mentally approving of the care and concentration the young cookie was putting into the spell. You could tell he really wanted to get it right.

“I-I did it!”

The Villager cookie gasped at the enlarged raisin. You chuckled as he smiled widely, his eyes shining with joy as his hard work paid off. You patted his hooded head, praising him for his hard work and attitude. He gave you a promptly tight hug, thanking you, before running off to show his friends. You watched him race out of the room, almost bumping into the person at the doorway. He shouted a hasty apology to them, all too eager to brag to his friends about his newly learnt spell.

You looked at the cookie in the doorway, surprised to see Pure Vanilla cookie staring strangely at the young cookie’s excitement. You grinned towards the Ancient cookie, gaining his attention and returning the smile with one of his own. Even his staff appeared to gently gaze at you in familiarity.

“Ah, Y/N. I was looking for you.”

His voice was as soft as it usually was when he spoke to you. His tender and considerate tone always brought a warmth to your very soul. His voice, like the melody of a siren's song, lured you into a sense of security. You hummed, mentally wondering why he was seeking out specifically you. You were about to ask, however, he spoke again before words could leave your mouth.

“If you don’t mind, I want to ask if we could take a short walk together. I’ve been meaning to speak to you since my return from Beast Yeast.”

A quick moment of silence filled the room. Your expression shifted to one of genuine surprise at the offer and you were stunned for a moment. After all, chatting and idly roaming the streets of the Vanilla kingdom seemed to be the last thing on his mind since his arrival from Beast Yeast. Yet, here he was, asking you to accompany him.

“Sure, I would love to.”

Of course, you weren’t going to turn down his offer. It had been a while since you both last had a conversation involving just the two of you. As you followed him out of the classroom you had previously been teaching the Villager cookie in, the two of you walked side by side in the direction of the Plaza. There was a calm silence, you two simply appreciating each other’s company.

Your eyes wandered to the blue birds that danced in the sky and perched atop of roofs. Pure Vanilla cookie’s favorite. You verbally pointed this out to him as you observed them let out a song of gentle chirps. Pure Vanilla cookie made a brief comment about them, only glancing at the birds for a quick second as he continued walking. You were visibly surprised by his uninterest. It was very unlike him.

He must still be quite stressed, you concluded. Ever since the returnal from Beast Yeast, he’s been awfully quiet. He locked himself in his chambers and constantly vocalized the need to search for the Beast Binding ritual. Therefore, he hid in his castle for days. This worried all of the citizens of the Vanilla kingdom. It wasn’t like Pure Vanilla cookie to isolate himself like this.

White Lily cookie told you she was especially worried. No matter how much she offered her assistance in the search, Pure Vanilla only spoke to her from the other side of his door. She recently had noted that she felt he sounded quite sickly. His voice had begun to sound raspy and he quietly murmured respondes she could barely make out from the other side of the door. Yet, here he was now. Right as rain. Finally exiting his castle and even asking you to walk with him.

“Y/N cookie, are you alright? You seem to be thinking awfully hard.”

You came back to reality when you heard his voice. You hastily responded, voicing your worries about his stress and responsibility, and how he was handling it– You paused as both his hands gripped one of yours and he opened his eyes to scan your troubled expression.

“You shouldn’t plague your mind with such concerns. They do you no good. I am completely fine now.”

You would be lying if you said you completely believed him. However, you only nodded and smiled . Your response seemed to please him, his hands holding onto yours tighter.

“Now, let us continue. I would like to spend the rest of my day with one of my dearest friends.”

“What about the Beast binding ritual?”

You hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but you couldn’t ignore the question burning itself into the forefront of your mind any longer. You were open to assist him, you were about to add, if he needed it. However, his reaction didn’t allow you to speak further.

Pure Vanilla cookie abruptly stopped walking, causing you to suddenly stop as well. You fixed your gaze on his blank expression. He was frozen in place, and his silence unsettled you greatly. He was definitely acting strange. You couldn’t excuse his disturbed behavior anymore. He didn’t let go of your arm, in fact, he was clutching tighter, closer to his chest. Closer to his Soul Jam.

“Oh, you see, I desperately needed a break from endlessly searching. It has taken a toll on me, both physically and mentally.”

As if to emphasize his exhaust, he leaned more of his weight against your arm, using it as a crutch. His hand gripping his staff shook. His whole body lightly shook. It felt as though he could collapse entirely, which caused you to grab onto him. Your suspicions were immediately replaced with worry.

“Pure Vanilla cookie! Do you need a moment to rest?”

“Hah, It seems that even talking about it brings back all the fatigue and burden. I-I apologize for worrying you.”

A light pitiful laugh escaped him, his voice wavering and small. You hurriedly located him to the nearest bench, letting him lean his weight on you. You sat down next to him, an arm wrapped around his shoulder. He thanked you quietly, closing his eyes and dropping his head on your shoulder.

You urged him to take a short rest. You two could continue talking some other time. You didn’t mind escorting him back to the castle and all the way to his chambers if he needed it. The last thing you wanted was him overexerting himself.

“N-No. I’m alright.”

His head dropped to your shoulder, shifting to lean closer against you. His hands shakily rose to hold one of yours and clutch it close to his chest. It seemed to comfort him, you observed. You two sat in silence for a few minutes, letting him compose himself.

When he said he was feeling good enough to continue walking, you insisted on taking him back to the castle. If he wasn’t feeling well enough to walk around the kingdom, you would be just fine with spending time with him indoors, you told him.

“If you insist.”

He faintly commented, letting you help him to his feet. He was able to walk by himself with the support from his staff, but still held onto you. You didn’t mind and escorted him in the direction of the castle.

“I think you should get some rest,” you argued. “I’ll take you to your chambers.”

“You’re too kind, friend. I greatly appreciate your assistance and care for my health. I suppose I now owe you a favor, since you are going through all of this trouble for me.”

You quickly denied the need for a favor. He was not indebted to you. You just wanted to help. He lightly laughed, and you noticed you two had reached the entrance of the Vanilla castle already.

“No, please, let me treat you. Just tell me, if you wish for anything from me I will happily grant it. No matter what it is. It’s the least I can do for one of my best actors~”

Your entire body stopped moving. Frozen in place, you could feel your jam begin to chill as you repeated that last phrase over and over again in your head. The tone Pure Vanilla cookie had used with those last words sounded like one of playful and mocking nature. A tone you had only used Shadow Milk cookie use. You swore the longer you mentally repeated the words, almost like an incantation, the more you felt like you could hear Shadow Milk cookie’s voice replace Pure Vanilla cookie’s.. Was that really his voice you had heard, or Shadow Milk cookie’s? A shiver crawled up your back.

“P-Pardon?” You muttered, looking straight ahead. You were afraid to glance towards him, fearing you’d see someone else instead.

“I said, it’s the least I can do for one of my most cherished friends. Are you alright? You look a little pale.”

Pure Vanilla viewed your pale face with an expression of worry and concern. His hand laid on your shoulder in a comforting manner. Maybe.. Maybe you were just imagining things. You couldn’t deny, you had also been a bit stressed and anxious since your encounter with him.

“No. It’s nothing, really.”

You denied, forcing yourself to continue forward and up the stairs to Pure Vanilla cookie’s chambers, with him beside you. You distracted yourself from your startle by chatting with the Ancient cookie as you two made your way through the long corridors of the castle.

You were just stressed, you reasoned. You and him were stressed and anxious, so the best thing you both could do was comfort each other. You both can attempt to lift a little of the stressors off both of your minds with some good company. You felt yourself become completely engaged in the conversation, finally reaching your destination, Pure Vanilla cookie’s chambers.

Gazing in Pure Vanilla cookie’s beautiful heterochromatic eyes, you could feel the warmth of his presence cause other unrelated thoughts to slip away into the back of your mind, inevitably to be brought up later when you went home after a relaxing day spent with one of your most cherished friends.

Yet, you felt your stomach drop at the sudden flash of blue in both of his eyes and the sharp glare of slit pupils that surveyed your horrified expression. Your hand was being gripped so tightly you felt as though a dark bruise would certainly appear. You could feel your hand being forcibly pressed against the cool stone that was usually vibrant blue Soul Jam, now muddled with discolored white blotches. The door to Pure Vanilla cookie’s chambers shut, trapping you in the room with the one cookie you feared the most, in the form of your friend. Blue eyes crinkled in amusement and mischief and you realized you should have trusted your gut, as all of the puzzle pieces put together a terrifying picture, and all of the clues had been there from the very beginning.

#crk #crk x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #cr kingdom #shadow milk crk #yandere crk x reader #yandere crk #pure vanilla crk #shadow milk cookie #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #yandere cookie run kingdom #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run kingdom shadow milk cookie #shadow milk #crk pure vanilla cookie #crk pure vanilla cookie x reader #pure vanilla cookie x reader #pure vanilla cookie

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sizzlingcloudmentality · 4 months ago

Text

finite eternity

Professor Reed Richards x f!reader | wc: 1 k | ao3 | mdni, fluff

summary: after getting your phd you return to your former professor to thank him. he says some nice things and you get a "you're coming" guarantee. coming to dinner that is.

warnings: legal age gap (reader's mid/end 20, Reed is however deliciously middle aged), a little angsty, a few possible double entendres (or maybe not? you get to decide), a little pining, finger under the chin (twice), the poor attempt of science metaphors, and if you like: there's definitely some threesome things happening AFTER this fic

a/n: I need Reed Richards. and a smart man with grey hair at a blackboard? hell yeah. telling me he's proud of me? hell yeah. inviting me home to have dinner with him and his perfect wife? HELL YEAH. thanks to my perfect wife @guiltyasdave for the quick beta and the squealing<3

series masterlist - prologue - ch. 1

The big doors open silently and you slip into the lecture hall. The one you've spent so many hours in, learning, despairing, making friends. Falling in love even. You haven't been here for two years and everything has changed and everything is somehow still the same.

Quietly you take the steps down, careful to not startle Professor Richards who is writing on the blackboard. The quiet, smooth rasp of the chalk against the dark surface sounds so familiar that it gives you butterflies. Or maybe it’s him, still him.

A smile crosses your face when you read the formulas on the board, you know them well, you wrote your thesis about them. When you reach the first row and you pull down one of the seats a loud creak disturbs the peaceful and dignified aura of wisdom and science. Reed turns around, already a charming smile on his lips to shoo some eager students back out of the room.

“Sorry, lecture doesn’t start until…-” And his smile turns genuine, his eyes crinkle and his head tilts down so he can give you that one look from under his lashes. “You? What, did you forget to start your assignment on time again?”

Your own smile grows and the butterflies are still in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it was Reed all along. The old banter, it flares up so easily between the two of you like there hasn't been a two year break.

Your elbows propped up on the table in front of you, your chin resting on your folded hands, just like you spent half of the lectures in this hall. Nothing has changed.

“I can assure you, there are no due assignments anymore, Professor-”

“Reed, please,” he interrupts you and puts the chalk away. “You’re one of us now, please call me Reed.”

He wipes his fingers clean before walking over to you and sitting down on the fixed table next to you.

“You've heard about it?” You feel so proud in this moment, being one of them, one of the smart scientists, and it feels like you've worked your ass off just for this: the doctor title and the privilege to call your first mentor Reed.

“Of course I have. I’ve watched you. Your successes. Congratulations!” He holds out his hand, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and giving you free sight to his forearms. He is still so incredibly toned. You take his hand and when his warm palm swallows yours in a firm shake your breath hitches just the slightest bit. Nothing has changed.

“Thank you. For everything, Reed. Without your support I wouldn't have been able to-”

He shakes his head, interrupting you again. You're not even mad. “None of that. You did it all yourself, all the hard work. All the hours you stayed awake at night, working through papers… All I did was giving you a little nudge every now and then.”

You remember the little nudges. The encouraging notes you sometimes found. Or when he squeezed your arm, his thumb rubbing over your shirt. Your eyes flick from his smile to his eyes and then you take in his whole face. There's more grey in his hair now. A few more wrinkles. But the soft waves in his hair are still there. He still holds your hand, even has placed his other one on top.

You look at each other for a moment and the moment stretches into a small eternity that just belongs to you and him. He probably knows a formula to describe this phenomenon.

“I'm proud of you,” he says quietly and heat crawls up your neck when he squeezes your hand, his thumb caressing the skin over your knuckles.

“Thank you, Reed,” you whisper and feel shy all of a sudden.

Just as shy as that one evening, when he helped you with something, you can't even remember what it was. But you sat in his office, slumped over your notes, frustration gnawing at you like you gnawed at the end of your pencil. Until he was next to you and nudged your chin up to make you look at him.

He didn’t say anything at that moment, there was just silence and his finger under your chin and the scent of books and tea and his aftershave and his tongue running along his lips. Another of those finite eternities. “You’ll be doing great,” he said and made time start running again. Slowly running, like his thumb along your bottom lip. For just the fraction of a second. As if it had never happened…

“You look all grown up. Like the woman I always knew you were.” He squeezes your hand again and you blink. You are back again, in the lecture hall in which Professor Richards made you fall in love with science. Back in the front row, with Reed saying things you'll stash away for later.

“Come over for dinner. Sue loves getting to know my science spawns.” He leans closer, his smile morphing into a mischievous smirk. “Especially the pretty ones. Pretty smart ones.”

You hesitate, at loss for words with Reed being so close that his gravitational pull draws you closer. Your mouth opens and closes again when he tugs on your hands, making your orbit a little smaller.

“Just say yes. It will be grand. Now, that we're all adults. All grown up,” he whispers and his voice, sweet and rich, says so much more than the words mean. “I know you want to, I know that face…”

He tips your chin up with the simple touch of his finger and you can't hide your excitement anymore. You roll your eyes and scoff out a little chuckle.

“Fine. I’m coming.”

“Oh, I know you will!” He gets up again, the pad of his finger still under your chin. “Sue and I will make sure of it.”

Maybe some things have changed.

whoopsie, no smut in this. i still hope you like it, let me know <3

find my general masterlist here

divider: @/saradika-graphics

#reed richards x f!reader #reed richards x you #reed richards x reader #reed richards fanfiction #fantastic four #reed richards #fantastic four fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu fandom #pedro pascal #my writing #series: finite eternities

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jinjoohaa · 5 days ago

Text

Jealousy looks good on you, baby

nanami hugs a girl infront of you (Roommate! AU)

CW: NSFW, explicit sexual content, nipple play, possessiveness, breeding talk, jealousy, age gap, light humiliation, dirty talk. 18+ only.

The warm Friday night air clings softly to your skin, the scent of waffle cones and melted sugar floating around you as you stand before a glowing ice cream stall. The board above you lists too many flavors, all chalked up in messy cursive— caramel, cotton candy, triple chocolate fudge, blueberry cheesecake…

You chew your bottom lip, hands folded nervously in front of you as you scan the options.

“I—can’t decide…” you mumble.

“Buy all of ‘em,” Gojo says immediately, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a kid on a sugar high, sunglasses pushed up into his white hair. “I’ll pay. Just blink twice if you want me to fund your sweet-tooth era.”

Nanami sighs beside you. “You’re not paying.”

“Says who?” Gojo smirks. “You took her out but I’m the one who makes her smile.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” Nanami mutters.

You glance up at them both, cheeks already warm. Gojo’s grin is wide and chaotic. Nanami’s stoic, hands in his pockets.

You shift on your feet, heart fluttering. Honestly, you’re still recovering from yesterday—bruises high on your thighs hidden under your skirt, soreness that hasn’t left. Nanami had held your trembling body all night, apologizing under his breath, lips pressed to your temple, promising—

“I’ll make it up to you. This weekend. Ice cream. Just us.”

Except Gojo overheard.

And now here he was, ruining the peace.

“Oh, oh—try that mango one. Mango makes everything better,” Gojo says, tugging lightly at your sleeve. “Like, imagine it melting on your tongue while someone’s fingering you. Messy. Hot.”

You suck in a breath, eyes going wide. “G-Gojo!”

He just chuckles, shameless and unbothered, then leans down to whisper near your ear, “Or do you prefer chocolate? Because, baby, chocolate and moaning sounds like a combo I’d pay to hear.”

You try not to combust on the spot.

Nanami exhales deeply. “Stop talking.”

Just then, a voice calls out from across the street—smooth and playful.

> “Kento~!”

Nanami turns, brows furrowed. Gojo does too.

And then her voice registers. You look just in time to see her: tall, elegant, maybe in her early thirties, blonde waves swept back in a high twist, a sharp black blazer hugging her curves. Red lipstick. Confident heels. A smile that could kill.

Gojo whistles low. “Damn. Older women are always a blessing for my pretty eyes…”

You go quiet. Nanami's expression softens the second recognition hits. He smiles back—smiles—and lifts a hand in greeting.

> “Baby,” he says gently to you, touching your shoulder. “Pick something you like, hmm? I’ll be back in a minute.”

Your lips part to reply, but he's already walking across the street.

Your heart sinks a little. Just a little.

Gojo keeps talking, mostly to himself. “You think she spanks men for fun? She gives off that boss lady dominatrix vibe. Shit, I’d let her tell me to sit, and I’d bark. Proudly.”

You blink at him, mouth twitching, but your eyes keep slipping across the road. Nanami’s posture is relaxed—he’s not usually like that. The two of them talk, and she laughs, her hand brushing his forearm.

“Maybe I should get the vanilla,” you murmur, too soft.

"Mhmm you sure you're a vanilla girl?" Gojo smirks.

He picks up a sample spoon, dips it into the pistachio, licks it once, then makes a face. “Nah. That’s a bad head flavor. You want something creamy. Like hazelnut. Or caramel. Something that melts easy. So when it drips on cunt, I can just lick…”

He mimics licking it off his wrist.

You squeak, tugging at your skirt. “G-Gojo… there are kids here…”

“There’s life lessons here,” he retorts with a wink.

Your attention drifts back across the road. Nanami’s laughing now—laughing. You pout slightly, eyes burning even though you tell yourself it’s nothing. Just an old friend. An ex, maybe. He’d never said. He wasn’t the type to hide things, but still…

When they hug, something inside you twists.

And then he’s coming back, straightening his sleeves, walking towards you.

“Have you picked?” he asks, voice smooth, eyes on you.

You nod, pointing weakly to the blueberry cheesecake.

Gojo hums something under his breath. You catch the words “lick” and “cream” but don’t want to ask.

Nanami pays. You’re too quiet now, licking the corner of your spoon as you three begin walking home. Gojo talks enough for all three of you, arm slung lazily around your shoulders like a cat in heat.

You keep sneaking glances at Nanami, trying not to think of her laugh. Her lipstick. The way he smiled at her like—

And beside you, Gojo’s fingers tap-tap along your shoulder, his voice low and smug.

The walk back home is filled with low chatter—Gojo is talking a mile a minute about some anime theory that somehow ties back to boobs and ice cream—but you don’t catch most of it.

You’re quiet.

Too quiet.

Your fingers curl tighter around the paper cup in your hands, the ice cream inside mostly melted now. It tastes sweet on your tongue, but your expression doesn't match. You’re trying not to pout. Really, you are. But every time the image of that woman hugging Nanami flashes behind your eyes, something in your chest just drops.

Gojo glances down at you as you trail beside him, head a little low.

“Hey, bunny,” he nudges you gently with his elbow. “You okay?”

You nod quickly.

“…You didn’t like the ice cream, huh?”

You blink up at him. “No—it’s not that. I—”

“You’re pouting,” he says in your ear.

“I’m not,” you whisper back, even though you definitely are.

Nanami slows his steps until he’s walking on your other side, eyes narrowing as he watches you. You don't meet his gaze.

“You cold?” he asks, already unzipping his coat.

You shake your head, but your voice betrays you. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t listen.

Nanami wraps his coat over your shoulders anyway, hands lingering on your arms for a second longer than needed. The warmth makes you sink into the fabric without thinking.

“Thank you…” you murmur.

“You're quiet,” he says under his breath, like he’s filing that thought away.

When you reach the apartment, the door creaks open to the familiar scent of home. The living room is dim. Toji’s passed out on the couch, one arm draped over his face, mouth open slightly. Geto’s door is shut, faint music playing behind it.

You toe off your shoes quietly, still wrapped in Nanami’s coat.

Gojo—of course—doesn’t know how to be quiet.

The moment you try to step into your room, he squeezes in right behind you.

“Hey, hey—don’t shut me out. I missed you.”

“I...I was with you just this morning,” you whisper, glancing at Nanami over your shoulder.

Gojo grins. “Yeah, when you were bouncing on my cock and making the prettiest little sobs I’ve ever heard. Doesn’t count as ‘quality time’.”

Your face turns crimson. “G-Gojo!”

He steps closer, arms ready to wrap around you—when Nanami grabs the back of his collar and yanks him out of your doorway like a misbehaving mutt.

Gojo stumbles back into the hallway. “HEY! Rude.”

Nanami slips inside your room and closes the door behind him—firmly.

Gojo starts a full-blown tantrum outside. “You two are selfish! I offer free love and look what I get! Used and thrown away like a fuckin' tissue—”

“Gojo, bed,” Nanami snaps.

Gojo groans. “Ughhhh. Fiiine. Just so you know, this is why I’m emotionally distant with men.”

You hear him muttering something about being “underappreciated” as he stomps off to his room.

The door clicks softly behind him.

Now it’s quiet.

Nanami exhales, hands loosening as he approaches you. His eyes are softer now, searching your face. “Did you enjoy the ice cream?”

You hesitate, then nod.

He steps closer. “You sure you’re alright… from yesterday?”

You glance down at your legs, where his grip had bloomed purple over your skin just last night. You’d clung to the sheets, sobbing, overwhelmed and wrecked, but never once saying no. He had taken you apart, lost in you, rough and gasping.

You nod again, more shyly this time.

“I’m okay,” you whisper.

He cups your face gently and kisses you—deep, warm, lips pressing slow like he means it. You lean into him without thinking, letting his hand slide to the small of your back.

When he pulls away, his voice is low. “Alright, sweetheart. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He starts toward the door.

Your heart panics.

You speak before you think—your voice trembling.

“Uhmm… Nanami?”

He pauses, hand on the knob. Looks over his shoulder. “Yeah, baby?”

You shuffle in place, wringing your fingers. “I… uhh… can… can we… I-I wanna…”

His brows lift slightly. He turns to face you fully. “Hmm?”

Your throat goes dry.

“I wanna… do it.”

His expression shifts—amusement curving his lips, but his voice stays warm.

“Oh?” he hums, stepping toward you again. “Are you saying you want me to fuck you, baby?”

You nod once, face burning.

He tilts your chin up with two fingers. “Who am I to say no to that?”

He kisses you again, deeper, his tongue slow and thorough like he’s savoring the shape of your mouth. Then, he lifts you gently and lays you across your bed. His hands unbutton your top carefully—like he’s unwrapping something rare.

“Such a shy little thing…” he murmurs, dragging his fingers down your chest. “But look at you asking for my cock. You must’ve missed it, hmm?”

You whimper softly. “… Yeah.”

He smiles. “Then I’ll give it to you. Nice and slow.”

The room fills with soft gasps and the shuffle of fabric. Nanami’s mouth maps every inch of your skin—tongue warm, lips dragging over your neck, collarbone, breasts, thighs.

He kisses every bruise he left before.

“Sorry,” he whispers each time. “You were too good… couldn’t help myself.”

He doesn’t fuck you. Not yet.

First, he worships.

Hands firm on your thighs, spreading you, he licks your cunt like a man starved—slow, precise, tongue swirling around your clit, letting your moans get louder and messier until you’re writhing and clinging to the sheets.

Only then does he finally slide into you—inch by slow inch—watching your face the whole time.

“You always take me so well,” he breathes, groaning against your neck. “So tight—like your pussy doesn’t wanna let me go.”

You’re gasping, arms around his shoulders, every stroke making your mind blur. His hips move slow and deep, kissing the ache in your belly. His hand sneaks between your legs to rub you just right.

You cry out.

“Shh, shh… I got you,” he whispers. “You’re doing so good, darling.”

By the end, your skin is slick with sweat, your thighs trembling, every nerve burning in the best way. He stays buried inside you as you both pant for air, foreheads pressed together.

Then, he pulls out and gathers you close, arms snug around your waist. You’re tucked in his chest, your leg thrown over his, fingers tracing small circles on his ribs.

The room is quiet.

You swallow hard.

Your voice is soft.

“…Nanamin, can I… can I ask you something?”

His voice was still thick with post-orgasm warmth, low and soft against your temple.

"Oh? What is it, baby? Need something? Water?"

You shook your head slowly, your cheek still pressed to his chest where you could hear the steady beat of his heart.

"Uhmm... do you like my hair?"

He blinked, pulling back slightly to look down at you, brows slightly furrowed.

"Huh? Yeah, baby—of course I do. Your hair's just as pretty as you. Why ask me that all of a sudden?"

You avoided his eyes, fiddling with a strand of your hair nervously.

"Nothing, just..." you mumbled, "I was wondering if I should colour it."

Nanami hummed and brought a hand to your head, threading his fingers through your hair and tugging you closer until your chest brushed against his.

"Hmm? Why, baby? I mean, if you want to, of course. What colour do you have in mind, hmm?" he asked, voice turning warm again as he tilted his head and nuzzled into your chest. He licked over your nipple suddenly, making you jerk slightly.

"Ah! Ngh... uhm... do you think I’d look prettier in blonde?"

He paused to press a kiss against your tit, then glanced up.

"Blonde? Hmm. Well, I think black suits your eyes more—makes you look soft and sweet."

Another slow lick over your nipple.

"But yeah, you’d still be pretty in blonde. You’d look pretty with anything."

You blinked down at him.

"Ohh... hmmm..."

He raised an eyebrow, then chuckled softly.

"Why baby? Did Gojo ask you to colour your hair?"

You quickly shook your head, lips pressing together.

Nanami smirked and leaned up to kiss your lips, a slow, lingering kiss that soothed your nerves.

You gently pulled away, slipping from the bed, naked still, as your eyes caught sight of his coat on the table. You padded over, slipped it over your shoulders, and hugged the fabric close.

Nanami sat up on the bed, admiring the view with a soft groan.

"Nanamin… do I look good in this?"

His eyes dragged over you like hot honey, and he huffed a little laugh.

"In a blazer? Of course, yeah. You look like a corporate baddie who’s about to ruin a man’s life."

You blushed a little, biting your lip.

"S-So… does this style suit me more?"

He narrowed his eyes, sensing the undertone in your voice.

"You look good in everything, baby. No matter what you wear."

You hesitated, then mumbled,

"But... d-do you like this type of dress more than… my usual?"

Nanami stood, walking over to you completely naked, still semi-hard and completely unbothered by it. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in.

"I didn’t say that." He kissed your forehead.

"I said you always look pretty. Whatever you wear."

You stared up at him with wide eyes before slowly sitting on his lap, facing him—skin to skin now, his cock twitching against your thigh. You curled your arms around his neck.

"Can I ask you something again?" you asked quietly.

He smirked, brushing his thumb along your jaw.

"Oh? You sure have a lot of questions tonight. Come on, ask me."

You bit your lip.

"Who… who was that woman?"

You tried to sound casual, keeping your tone soft, neutral. But he picked up on it right away.

Nanami blinked, then gave a small exhale.

"An ex-colleague. We worked together for about five years."

"Were you close with her?"

"Not really. Just professional stuff. I saw her today after more than a year."

Your fingers fidgeted with the lapel of his coat.

"Are… are you going to see her again?"

Nanami tilted his head slightly.

"She mentioned grabbing a coffee sometime, just to catch up. Why, baby?"

You looked away.

"No… nothing..."

He went quiet for a moment. The silence hung in the air before you whispered again.

"Uhm... Nanamin?"

"Yeah?"

You took a shaky breath.

"D-Do you like... women your age more?"

He blinked, brows furrowing, before his face broke into an incredulous little chuckle.

"Ohh... so this is what it’s about, huh?"

"Wh-What—" you quickly shook your head, eyes wide, cheeks burning.

"Jealous, baby?"

"I’m not—jealous! Why would I be—"

"Mmhm." He leaned in, kissing your pout. "My pretty little girl’s all possessive for me, huh?"

You looked away again. He cradled your face with one hand and murmured,

"She’s just an old friend, baby. Married. Has kids. Even if she wasn’t—it wouldn’t matter."

He pulled your face back to his.

"I have you. Yeah?"

You looked into his eyes, soft and hopeful.

"Promise?"

He smiled—and then bit down on your nipple without warning.

"Ah! Nanamin!"

"Promise." He grinned, lips tugging at your sensitive flesh before letting go with a wet pop.

"Jealousy looks real good on you, baby..."

He moved to your other nipple and sucked hard, swirling his tongue.

"...but you’d look even better bouncing on my cock again, wouldn’t you?"

You slapped a hand over his mouth, your cheeks flushed.

"Don’t say that!"

He laughed against your skin, licking your palm teasingly before pulling your hand down and murmuring,

"C’mon... just one more round, yeah? Wanna see you fall apart on my cock again. Wanna fill you up, make sure you know who you belong to."

His hands slid down to your ass, squeezing tight.

"You’re not leaving this bed till I’ve fucked that jealousy right out of you, baby."

Your breath caught in your throat as he lifted you effortlessly, lining you up on his cock again—

and then he paused, smirking,

"Still wanna ask more questions, sweetheart? Or are you ready to get fucked dumb again?"

Got another ask where the reader gets jealous over nanami, So i had to 💅

Comment down to get tagged for any JJK content. Also I started a backup account in case something happens to my current one - just to be safe lol, So if y'all are interested, @jinjoohaa-blog do follow !

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576 notes · View notes

riddlemelater · 2 months ago

Text

Above Me - M.R

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

masterlist | nav | part 2

summary: It was supposed to be simple—just sex, no strings, no expectations. Mattheo didn’t do attachments, and you weren’t looking to fix him. But the lines are starting to blur, and neither of you are willing to admit it.

word count: 4.8k

warnings: unprotected p in v, smut, slight dom!mattheo, fem! reader, dirty talk, praise, use of pet names, emotional repression, fwb type relationship.

a/n: first time writing for Mattheo, and my first post here! let me know what you think. all likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! ✯

How the arrangement started didn’t matter, only that it worked. You both had something to gain. For Mattheo, it was low maintenance and high reward. You never outstayed your welcome, and he never lingered. Just a wink, a smirk, and a muttered "Same time tomorrow?" That was the deal.

It was guaranteed satisfaction without the risk of raised expectations— and even if they did catch feelings, he'd crush them the next day when he acted like they never existed.

He'd leave them tangled in his sheets and smirking by breakfast, already moving on before their names could stick. You'd seen how he operated — quick, careless, and never around long enough to deal with a morning-after attachment. He didn't want to be fixed, he just wanted someone willing.

And who was more suited for his needs than you.

Of course, no one would suspect a thing — not that he would care if they did anyway, he was practically fluent in attracting unwanted attention. But you, well you were the perfect solution to his little problem. Ever the golden girl of his little band of misfits, all soft smiles and sharper words. You were in a league of your own, far better than he deserved, and Mattheo loved defying the odds.

You suppose Mattheo had become a friend, in the loosest sense of the word. Unfortunately for you, loyalty to Pansy outweighed your indifference to him and his equally debauched friends. And as Pansy and Draco had resumed their on-again-off-again relationship— truly a mystery to all involved— you'd found yourself in his company more often than not.

With Pansy gravitating towards her blonde disaster of a boyfriend, your meals were punctuated by tales of Mattheo's latest sexual trysts. Your evenings, usually spent solely with Pansy, were now hijacked by the overwhelming stench of testosterone and crudeness.

Eventually, you ended up at the very centre of it all—behind everyone else's backs. And really, who were you to look a gift horse in the mouth?

✯ ✯ ✯

"Psst."

It took his third, maybe fourth, attempt to catch your attention. Reluctantly, you lifted your gaze from the parchment you'd been taking notes on, only to be met with his dark eyes.

You glanced past him toward the front of the room, where Professor Binnes — as lively as ever — was drifting lazily by the chalkboard. The chalk screeching faintly against the board, its dry scratch slicing through his relentless drone.

Clearly, the ghostly professor was either unaware or unbothered that half the class had taken his lecture as an opportunity to doze off, quills abandoned mid-sentence and parchment stained with ink blots where their hands had slumped. The remaining half, which was very few, were barely pretending to care about the painfully dull history of the 1289 Warlock Convention— a truly mind-numbing subject even by Binnes’ usual standards.

Mattheo kicked back in his chair at the desk in front of you, the very picture of disinterest whilst he twisted his wand between his fingers— the cool glint of his Riddle signet ring flashing each time his hand twisted in a hypnotic rhythm.

Beside him Lorenzo looked to be fast asleep, cheek squished against the back of his hand, practically drooling onto the untouched textbook in front of him. The lack of his usual elegance had you fighting back a shaky laugh. Your eyes drifted back to Mattheo, his head tilted against the back of the chair, a lazy sort of grin tugging at his lips.

"What?" you mouthed, lifting your quill in a vaguely annoyed gesture, as if to ask why he was interrupting you in the first place. But you already knew the answer, he was bored and without Enzo to entertain him, you were next in line.

Not that you were a swot. You certainly weren’t a teacher's pet either. But unlike Mattheo, you actually planned on leaving Hogwarts with something to show for it. A goal he openly mocked anytime someone dared remind him he still had exams to sit— Dark Lord’s heir or not.

Mattheo didn't reply, not with words anyway. He just grinned, clearly amused, watching you shake your head and continue writing down names and policies Binnes’ mentioned. Just because he wasn’t working didn’t mean that you had to stop. A fact you reminded yourself of firmly when flipping the pages of your textbook with extra purpose.

And that sentiment lasted… all of thirty seconds.

Before his face reappeared in your peripherals, far closer than you’d have liked, arm braced on your desk, body turned entirely to face you. Waiting with that stupid smirk on his face.

"What do you want, Mattheo?" you sighed, keeping your voice low to not disturb Binnes dulcet groans. You leaned back slightly, meeting his eyes with an unimpressed stare. He smirked in retaliation— of course he did— that same glint in his eyes you’d come to recognise all too well.

Nothing good ever followed that look.

"Why do you think I always want something, hmm?" He asked, idly toying with the corner of your parchment.

His gaze didn’t waver, and you realised almost immediately what this was about but you wouldn’t say it. If he wanted your attention then he could ask for it himself. His lips parted, like he was about to elaborate but you beat him to it.

"Because you do always want something."

Mattheo’s jaw dropped open playfully, putting a hand to his chest in feigned offence. “Harsh. I was just trying to be friendly.”

“You don’t know how to be friendly.” You retorted, shooting him a flat look.

He grinned — wider now, all teeth and trouble. Like you’d walked right into his web. And in a sense you had, falling for his pestering and giving him the satisfaction of stealing your attention, even momentarily.

“Sure I do. I think you’ll find I’m being very friendly right now. Offering you a break. A bit of stimulating conversation. Emotional support during this soul-draining lecture.”

You glanced towards the front of the classroom, where Professor Binnes was still rambling on, utterly oblivious to his wilting audience. Most had committed to sleep now, heads tucked into folded arms. You envied them.

“You. Emotional support. Right.” You scoffed dryly, turning back to your parchment and suppressing the urge to roll your eyes.

But Mattheo didn’t retreat. If anything, he leaned in closer, close enough that you caught the faint mix of smoke and amber that clung to his robes, a scent so unmistakably him.

“You busy later?” He eventually asked, voice low enough not to attract any attention.

You kept your eyes on your notes, dipping your quill into the ink pot impassively. “I will be, if you carry on talking and ruin my notes.”

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Not very friendly of you.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, knowing he was looking to get under your skin. Instead you hummed, underlined a random sentence in your textbook and forced a blank expression that gave nothing away. The quill scratching at your parchment a welcomed distraction from the brief silence.

“Anyway,” he pressed, still frustratingly close, “Thought you might want to come by tonight. Usual time.”

At this, your gaze finally raised from your parchment, mouth agape. “Is that what this little performance is about?”

He shrugged. “Can’t a guy check on what’s his?”

Sometimes you really couldn’t believe the gall of him. His. Heat rose in your cheeks. Part of you wished to retort sharply, to remind him nothing about you was his, but the words stuck in your throat.

“Not in the middle of class.” You said quietly, a little feeble in comparison to what you wanted to say.

“See, love, that's where you're wrong.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to keep up the mask of indifference, but your lip twitched just slightly. You cursed yourself for it, but it was already too late. He noticed of course, he always noticed.

Mattheo leaned back at last, victory written all over his face. “I’ll take that as a yes."

Immediately you wanted to say no, to cut him dead and laugh him off. Deny him the satisfaction of being right, but as you deliberated he could already see it in your eyes.

"I'll see you later, darling,” he said resolutely, and with that he turned back around, not waiting for your response. You could practically see the smugness radiating from him as he rested his chin on folded arms and fell still. Meanwhile, you tried not to stare daggers into the back of his head, or let your gaze linger on his dark curls too long.

✯ ✯ ✯

It was past midnight when you slipped through the dungeon entrance, an old quidditch jumper thrown over your clothes to guard against the castle's evening chill. The halls were quiet, eerie almost, but that didn't calm your racing pulse as you padded through the corridors, footsteps echoing off the stone floors.

You knew the route like the back of your hand. Left at the suit of armour, down the hallway where the sconces flickered more than glowed. A familiar path to his secret little hideaway— one of many, you'd learned. Merlin forbid Mattheo Riddle ever be predictable.

Your hand pushed one of the doors on the left open, the hardly used hinges creaking as they worked, revealing an old classroom that wasn't in use much anymore, forgotten and dusty until Mattheo had stumbled upon it — or so he said anyway.

He was there already, sprawled out across a transfigured leather couch, legs stretched out like he owned the place. His tie was gone, his shirt unbuttoned just enough that his collarbone peaked out from behind the crisp white material, and his sleeves were pushed carelessly up to his elbows. He looked relaxed, carefree almost. Like he hadn't interrupted your entire evening because of something so trivial as he was bored.

"You're late." He said, not looking at you as he flicked his wand lazily toward a cluster of objects on the desk beside him. An ink pot, a feather quill, and what looked suspiciously like one of your hair ties hovered in the air, slowly orbiting each other like planets. His wand spun idly between his fingers as if there was barely a thought behind the magic.

"I wasn't aware you were timing me," you replied, shutting the door behind you with a gentle push. "You asked. I showed up. Don't push your luck."

At that he finally looked up, smirking at your deadpan expression. "You know, most people are a bit happier to see me."

You scoffed. Typical Mattheo arrogance. "Keep dreaming, Riddle."

He didn't reply. Instead, he flicked his wand and let the objects fall one by one— the ink pot thudded against the armrest, the quill floated down to the floor, and your hair tie was caught lazily between his forefinger and his thumb. He flicked it aside with a grin, watching your lips part, every inch of him smug and lethargic. Then, he patted the spot beside him on the couch like he was coaxing a dog to jump up beside him.

You stayed rooted to the spot. In half a mind to turn around and walk straight back to bed. But you didn't move an inch despite yourself.

"I don't bite," he said, lips twitching with amusement like he could see the conflict in your eyes, "...unless you ask nicely."

"I'm fine here, thanks." Your eyes rolled.

"Suit yourself then," he shrugged, leaning his head back against the armrest, eyes fluttering shut. "Rough day?"

You blinked. Since when did he care how your day was? You studied him for a moment, the sharpness of his jaw softened by the flames that danced in the small fireplace. He didn't open his eyes.

"Just... long." you admitted after a pause, voice quieter than you meant it to be. Still a little startled by his sudden interest in how you day had been.

He hummed in response, a mix of acknowledgement and a noncommittal invitation to say more. But he didn't push, just let the silence settle, surprisingly comfortable despite the tension.

After a moment, and an intense inner debate, you crossed the classroom and dropped onto the couch beside him, making sure to leave just enough room between you. He cracked one eye open and smirked slyly.

"Change of heart, love?"

"Oh, shut up." you hissed but there was no malice in your words, leaning back into the leather and letting the plush cushions absorb you. Your own eyes fluttering shut and exhaling a deep sigh.

You both sat there in the thick quiet, the flames painting restless shadows across the stone. Neither one of you spoke and you weren't sure who was more stubborn, him for not breaking the silence, or you for refusing to ask what he was thinking.

It was always like this between you. Charged, flirty, messy— but when all the noise fell away, all that remained was this gnawing stillness. The kind that burrowed into your stomach, sickening even to think about.

Eventually, he exhaled sounding both sharp and tired. “You know, you don’t have to keep showing up.”

You didn’t look at him, eyes still firmly shut. “Is that your way of uninviting me?”

You couldn't see him but you could picture the expression on his face, and when he scoffed you knew there was no real bite to it. None of the usual malice or teasing. "I'm just saying... if you're expecting anything— anything more. Then don't."

It was your turn to scoff, peeling your eyes open and turning your head slowly to face him, his eyes meeting yours instantly. "I'm not."

“Good,” he said in a flat tone. He turned his head away again, but the silence that followed didn’t feel easy this time. It pressed in from all sides, too loud, too sharp. You didn’t know what you hated more—that he meant it, or that you did too.

"Good." you reiterated with a slight nod of the head, letting the silence burn for a moment longer.

You leaned in first, perhaps it was out of spite but more likely because you were tired of talking. He met you halfway, mouth crashing against yours in that now-familiar kind of desperation. His lips were bruising, and so were yours, like it was a silent competition where both of you were trying to win something.

His hands quickly found their place, one skirting up to grasp the side of your jaw whilst the other settled at the curve of your knee, dragging your body closer to his. His tongue darted out, licking a stripe across your bottom lip, demanding entry and you opened to him without hesitation.

Mattheo hummed approvingly, sinking himself backwards till his head hit the armrest once more, pulling you down with him till you were straddling his hips. You panted softly, pulling away from his lips for just a second whilst dragging your core against his jeans hazy and slow.

Your fingers fumbled blindly with the buttons of his shirt, pulling till the fabric parted, bearing him to your hungry gaze. He let out a hiss at the feeling of your nails dragging across his abdomen slowly, teasing him.

Still, his mouth was glued to yours, tongue lapping eagerly against your own, another unspoken fight for dominance. His hips bucked impatiently against you, drawing a moan from your lips that had him smirking into the kiss.

Your hands roamed instinctively, mapping the taut lines of his chest like you'd done a dozen times before — only this time it felt different, sharper somehow. Like each brush of his skin was dragging something raw from you.

He pulled back just enough to speak, breath ghosting over your slightly swollen lips. "Still not expecting anything?" he murmured, voice rough and teasing.

You exhaled a sharp laugh, leaning forward and mouthing at the curve of his jaw, dragging your teeth across his skin, down his throat until you found that spot that drove him insane, and sunk your teeth into it. Hard. With a low groan he tilted his head back, his fingers tightening at your hips as he cursed.

"Didn't think so." he breathed with a dry laugh, groaning once more as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to the tender skin.

You would've laughed if you weren't so focused, heart beating quickly and a familiar ache building between your thighs. Your teeth nipped at his collarbones, hands sliding down to the waistband of his jeans, fingers dipping just low enough to hear the satisfying sound of his breath catching.

He bucked his hips up once more, more desperate this time, and you relished the power you had over him, watching him lose that razor-sharp composure he always wore. It might've been intimate if it was with anyone else, but Mattheo Riddle didn't do intimacy, this meant nothing.

"Insufferable," he mumbled, dragging his lips down the side of your throat teasingly. "Fucking— impossible."

"And yet," you whispered lowly, voice dangerous and sultry, "You keep letting me in."

His breath hitched. Another low groan. And there it was again— that flicker of something just beneath the surface, something dangerous. Vulnerable. Real. You felt it like a thread between your bodies, pulled taut and impossible to ignore.

But before either of you acknowledged it, his mouth was on yours again, swallowing any words that might've slipped out in the heat of the moment. It was frantic, less like kissing and more like trying to consume each other. Like he was trying to erase whatever had just threatened to bubble to the surface.

His mouth moved feverishly against yours, all tongue and teeth, until suddenly he pulled back, panting. Your breath caught, lips swollen, eyes blinking open in confusion. Staring up at him with furrowed brows.

Mattheo's gaze was heavy, dark and lustful. His hands tightened against your hips, but he didn't move, he just stared like he was trying to figure out whether to devour you now or drag it out till you were begging.

"You done showing off, princess?" he asked in a low voice, rough with arousal but edged in something cooler. More dangerous.

You blinked, tilting your head innocently. "What?"

He chuckled, slow and wicked. "Acting like you're in charge. Cute, really. But you and I both know how this ends."

You didn't get the chance to argue back. One moment you were straddling him, the next he was pushing himself upright, shifting you easily onto your back against the couch, and looming over you. All in one fluid motion.

You let out a noise as he pushed a palm against your chest. Not harsh, but just enough to remind you he could pin you against the leather if he wanted to. And Merlin, judging by the look in his eyes, he wanted to.

His head dipped down again, kissing up your throat. "Open your legs for me," he murmured against your throat, tongue dragging across your pulse point. "That's it. Atta girl."

The praise fell effortlessly from his lips as you moved beneath him, sending a shiver straight through you intensifying the ache between your thighs. He noticed, of course, and his grin widened.

"Always so good for me," he continued mockingly, sliding his hand beneath the fabric of your jumper, the tips of his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your stomach. "Always act like you don't need this, like I don't own every fucking inch of you."

Your moan cut him off as his fingers slipped a little lower, dipping under your skirt and teasing the edge of your underwear. He chuckled darkly like that sound alone confirmed everything he already knew.

"That's what I thought, princess."

He kissed you again, but slower this time. Lethargic, almost. Like he wanted to savour the control he had over you. His fingers curled under the fabric of your clothes like he had all the time in the world. Like he was the only thing that mattered.

And if the way your body was reacting to him now was anything to go by, he was.

Your world narrowed to the weight of his body pressed on top of you, the heat of his hands, the drag of his lips across your hot skin. Mattheo’s teeth scraped just below your jawline and paused there as if marking the spot for later. His hand splayed out across your stomach. Fingers moving in slow, taunting circles, not quite giving you what you wanted.

“You know what I like about you?” He spoke, words slurred into your skin as he peeled away at the layers covering you. “You’re always trying so hard to pretend you’re above this… above me.”

You let out a shaky breath and his lips curved against your collarbones, listening to your needy whimpers as his fingers stroked closer and closer to where you craved his touch most.

“But then you come crawling back every time, don’t you?” He added, his voice tinged in faux sweetness that made your stomach flip. “So fucking needy for it… even if you won’t admit it.”

His hand finally breached your underwear, skimming over the wet fabric of your panties with a maddeningly light touch. The pads of his fingers swiped across the dampness that had gathered, and he knew he had you then. Light touches that were just enough to make your hips rock against his fingers, your pupils blown wide with lust.

“Look at that,” he cooed, smirking at your trembling lips. Smugly basking in the gasp that came from somewhere deep in your throat as his fingers pressed light circles around your clit.

At the same time he leaned down and pressed his lips to your throat, kissing and nipping the skin as he went. His nose brushed against the hollow of your neck, and you knew he could feel your pulse— fast and erratic— which only made him chuckle against your skin.

“Please,” you whispered hoarsely, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut. It was maddening how easily he could get you like this. How simple it was to have you trembling and greedy for him.

A wrecked-sounding curse tore from his throat at your plea, his hand curling under your thigh and tugging it around his waist so he could settle between your legs, pressing his still-clothed, hardening cock flush against you. Then he rolled his hips, slow and deliberate, dragging a broken moan from you.

“Begging already?” He smirked, pressing his forehead to yours his chest heaving. You knew he was savouring this, enjoying how you crumbled from a few swipes of his fingers.

“Mattheo…” you moaned impatiently, meeting his darkened eyes as another string of plea’s left your lips.

That was all it took to convince him. Sitting back quickly, his hands worked at his belt to free his cock from its constraints. The sight of him before you, all needy and desperate, had you whining. Eyes fixed on the bead of pre-come already gathering at the tip as he stroked himself eagerly, hissing at the feeling.

“Merlin you look perfect like this… so wrecked for me.” He muttered, tugging your panties down your legs with little care for where they landed. You could only gasp in anticipation, watching his face as he guided his cock towards your aching cunt.

You hissed as he rocked his hips forward in one sharp motion, your walls pushing against him as he pressed forward. Groaning as he sunk deeper into you, his eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted to the stretch.

“Fuck, look at you— taking me so well.” He praised leaning down to press a messy kiss against your lips. You clenched around him, feeling the pain receding.

Mattheo groaned softly as he pulled out then thrust into your cunt once more, sending ripples of pleasure through your body and coaxing another moan to tumble from your mouth. Slowly he found his pace, hips rutting in a lazy rhythm against yours.

Sighing softly he fucked into you, his face buried into the crook of your neck, sucking bruises onto the skin you’d have to hide tomorrow. His steady pace made you see stars already, but you needed more. He made you insatiable.

“That all you got, Riddle?” You choked out when his hips stuttered for a beat, temporarily losing his rhythm. And you regretted it immediately.

“Oh,” he retorted, breath hot against your ear, “Is this not good enough for you, Princess?” He mocked, punctuating his words with a hard thrust, pleased with himself when you whined at the sudden change of pace.

His fingers wrapped around your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, and then his hips snapped forward, hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. His grip tightened and he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

Another sharp thrust had your back arching off the couch, a strangled sound catching in your throat. He didn’t give you a moment to recover—his rhythm turned punishing, relentless, like he was trying to make a point with every motion.

“That better?” he growled, eyes flicking down to watch the way you writhed beneath him, the knot in your stomach building. “That what you wanted, sweetheart? For me to remind you who you belong to?”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of begging. But your body betrayed you—hips tilting up into his, quiet gasps slipping from your lips. He chuckled low in his chest, satisfied that he was the only person who could see you like this.

“Thought so,” he breathed, releasing your wrists so his hands could trail down your sides, slow and deliberate. His large hands brushing across the curve of your hips. “All that attitude, and now look at you…” he tutted. He caught your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. His gaze burned into yours, full of heat and something hungrier underneath. All his attention focused on watching you shatter beneath him, and you did. Hard.

Eventually, the frantic rhythm slowed. Mattheo's breath was hot against your bare shoulder, his chest heaving with exertion as he dragged his lips across the side of your neck one final time and came with a near-animalistic growl.

Neither of you spoke. Panting, he collapsed on top of you, sweaty and spent. The only sound was the quiet crackle of the fire that had burnt down to embers, and the rush of blood in your ears.

You stared up at the ceiling, a hand resting in his damp curls, your chest still rising and falling in shallow waves. Mattheo hadn't moved, hadn't said a word— just lay there with his face buried against your neck like he didn't want to face the aftermath.

Your fingers twitched in his hair, and you knew you should say something. That you should shove him off and make a joke, brush it off with a biting remark that made him smirk like usual. Make it easier for yourself.

"Mattheo," you said softly, not a question or a plea. Just his name. He shifted at that, enough to pull back and glance down at you. In his fucked-out haze, his eyes were softer— less shielded. Like there was something fragile in his face, buried beneath all the sharp edges and scars.

Then his jaw clenched and he pushed himself up without ceremony, pulling out of you like his body suddenly weighed too much. He didn't look at you as he reached for his discarded shirt and pulled it on with jerky, irritated movements.

The silence was thick between you, loud and obtrusive. You sat up, wincing slightly, and began gathering your clothes. The smell of cigarette smoke filled the air and his back was to you— deliberately. You could feel it in the set of his shoulders, the stiffness of his posture, like he was holding back.

As you made your way toward the door, you glanced back once. He was leaning against the mantel now, head bowed, cigarette perched between his swollen lips, gaze fixed on the dying embers in the grate. He didn't look at you.

You knew you had to leave. The tension was suffocating, and the silence between you had stretched too thin. Your chest tightened, but you forced the words out before you could lose your nerve.

"I'm not here to fix you," you said quietly, barely loud enough over the crackle, and for a moment you didn't think he'd heard you. He didn't flinch, but something in his posture shifted— just a flicker, then it was gone.

“Didn’t ask you to,” he murmured, the words rough and worn at the edges like they cost him something to say. And somehow, that hurt worse.

The smoke curled around him like armor as you reached for the handle and walked out into the darkness, leaving the door open long enough for the silence to follow you out.

©️riddlemelater 2025.

#mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle fanfic #hogwarts era #toxic but tender #my writing #draco x pansy #lorenzo berkshire mentioned

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thewinter-eden · 5 months ago

Text

You Called?

images are mine (except middle HJ pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

part 5 of the skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Han Jisung x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: demon!Jisung is summoned by your friends during a drunken college party. They’re trying to scare you, pretend to summon a demon and then lock you in the basement until they decide to let you out, but then the demon actually comes, and he thinks your friends are jerks.

warnings: Fear/comfort, edgy but soft Jisung, terrorizing of minor characters, discussion of spiritualism/afterlife, my only reference for demons is Supernatural, reader is freaked out by witchcraft, slight disparaging of witchcraft and mysticism (does not reflect actual beliefs), Jisung is instantly whipped, deals, fear, this one turned out a little angsty, truth or dare.

word count: 5k

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Of course you don’t. But clearly, your aunt did.”

Yes, it’s your aunt’s fault. If only she didn’t have a basement full of jarred herbs and tarot cards and ouija boards and weird leathery spell books, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. You’d be in a different one, for sure, because having the friends that you have isn’t your aunt’s fault, it’s yours, but still—you wouldn’t be locked in a basement with three of your friends browsing through your aunt’s dusty new agey books.

“Now, come on, sit around the circle thing.” One of your friends, Rami, tugs you down by your elbow to sit cross-legged on the edge of a chalk rune on the floor. It looks aged and scuffed and mostly faded by dust and time, but present enough to be identifiable as something mystical.

“I’m serious, I don’t think my aunt would have wanted us down here.” You mutter. It seems colder all of a sudden, chills covering your arms and shivering down your spine.

“Then she should have cleaned it out before she died I guess.” Rami returned, gesturing for Chae and Boyoung to sit down as well. “And besides, this was your penalty. You accepted it, so this is what we’re doing.”

You wouldn’t have accepted the stupid penalty for the stupid drinking game from the stupid college party upstairs if the alternative hadn’t been being cornered by the greasy frat boy who kept slipping his hands under your shirt every time he got the chance.

Next time your cousin tries to convince you to come over and “let loose with a couple of friends” you’re going to remember that her idea of hanging out is a massive college kegger.

“Alright, here it is.” Boyoung draws her legs up underneath her and rests the massive tome of the spell book she’s holding across her knees. She shoots the others a devious smirk, and then clears her throat. “Are we ready?”

You most certainly are not.

It’s not like you believe in the afterlife and mysticism and witchcraft and all of the other spiritualism nuances that your aunt was into, but you also recognize that you definitely don’t know everything about the scope of the universe. You’re willing to admit that you might be wrong about what exists and what is folklore, and you’re certainly not enthusiastic about playing around with the afterlife—just in case.

You’ve never even touched a Ouija board, because what if?

You don’t think they work, but what if?

And now, because you lost a stupid drinking game, your stupid friends are going to use the demon summoning ritual that your aunt just had, like it’s an old family recipe or something.

“Can I pick a different penalty?” You try again, your palms sweating. Yeah, sure, nothing’s going to happen because it’s obviously an old gift shop spell book (a really old, really big gift shop spell book), but all the half-burnt candles and chalk runes and hanging herbs around you are starting to freak you out.

Boyoung and Chae both shake their heads, while Rami reaches out and snatches your elbow. “This was the deal—one summoning spell, and then ten minutes by yourself. You agreed.”

You feel like crying.

You regret it. You regret coming. You didn’t like your aunt when she was alive—who gives their nieces and nephews cat whiskers and tinctures for birthdays?—and you certainly don’t like your cousin now—she clearly has a terrible idea of a good time—so why did you even come tonight?

At this point, you’re even wishing you can go back upstairs and ask the greasy frat boy to rescue you from your friends. They’re way too excited about leaving you locked in the creepy basement after a demonic invocation, whether they believe in it or not.

“Go ahead!” Chae nudges Boyoung. “Hurry up, I wanna go back upstairs.”

“It’s fucking creepy in here.” Rami agrees, rubbing her arms and jutting her chin towards the book.

“Why don’t we just do something else? Forget the basement.” You complain, starting to get back to your feet.

Predictably, Rami yanks you back down. “Rules are rules! Go ahead, Boyoung-ah.”

That’s how you find yourself sitting in a dark basement while your friend chants ominously in Latin, your heart racing like you’ve just run a marathon. Why did it have to be a demon summoning? Why couldn’t it have been a séance? At least if you were going to be playing around with pretend spiritualism, you could pretend to talk to someone you actually liked.

Your dad had died when you were little, you could pretend to have a tear-jerking reunion and then get the fuck out of that creepy old witch house once your friends were satisfied.

Why do you even call them your friends anyway?

You’re all just the members of a few too many group projects for your biology classes, more associates than anything else.

But Boyoung is still chanting, tripping over awkward pronunciation of the dead language and squinting through the faint light to see the faded text on the ancient pages.

You don’t think it’s your imagination when a whisper of air ruffles the hair at the back of your neck, but you’re also extremely anxious at the moment. So anxious that you physically jump when Boyoung slams the book shut.

“Done!” She chirps, hopping to her feet and dusting off the seat of her skirt. She fixes you with an evil grin. “Ten minutes by yourself!” Then she loops her arm through Chae’s and your three associates clamber back up the rickety stairs to the basement door.

Before they leave you, teary and trembling on the concrete floor, Rami pauses and looks back at you. “And no using your phone. If we see any light under the door, we’ll keep it locked for an extra ten minutes.”

It was a meaningless threat, because you know for sure they’re gonna go upstairs and get more drinks and find more friends, and you’re going to have to call your cousin to let you out after they forget about you.

So there you are. In the dark, in a creepy basement, all by yourself. You’re still sitting on the ground, cross-legged, your shaky hands gripping at your knees like it’s the only thing grounding you.

It’s just an empty basement.

It’s just you, by yourself.

You decide to close your eyes and focus on your breathing, counting the lengths of each inhale and exhale until the vague sounds of Boyoung’s invocation fades from your memory. You sit there, just breathing, urging the tension to melt from your muscles, until it feels like an eternity has passed.

The party is still in full swing on the floor above you, the music and laughter floating beneath the door down to you. You focus on the shouting voices until your spine relaxes.

When your eyes finally open and blink down at the bright screen of your phone, reading the giant numbers of the clock glaring back at you, you realize you’ve only been alone for three minutes.

Every ounce of tension returns, winding through the fibers in your muscles until it’s clamped around your bones and settled in the roots of your teeth. You’re still in a creepy witchy basement for another seven freaking minutes. As the darkness seems to physically seep into your skin, your gaze is sweeping the shadows of the room.

Bookshelves covered in spilled wax, random feathers, jars of little stones and dirt (hopefully dirt?), various crystals, tons of super old books, crates of more books, larger jars of plants and branches that you can’t begin to make sense of, and an aura that you can’t quite put your finger on.

You can’t say why you feel like you’re being watched, especially when you know you’re alone, but your heart is once again inexplicably racing in your chest.

There’s no one.

The shadow to your left is the marble bust of a saint or an angel or something, the one near your feet is the pile of musty blankets on an old wooden chair, the one straight ahead of you is the kettle that hangs from a frame over the ashy pit of a cold fireplace.

Honestly what the hell was your aunt up to before she died?

You bring yourself back, focusing on the cold concrete beneath your butt, the way your ankle is grinding into the floor, the cold that’s curling its fingers around your throat when your shirt slips off of one shoulder.

As you try to slip back into the calm refuge that you’d found with your eyes closed, desperate to not emerge from the pit of the basement with tear streaks of dust and mascara, all you can hear is your own breathing.

There’s no one in there with you, no one in the shadows, no one lurking behind the stairs.

Sucking in a deep breath, you hold it and listen to your heart pounding in your ears. It’s a trick you learned to calm yourself when you were young, counting to four between breaths. In the next few moments, you feel your body begin to relax and sink back into a neutral position.

Your lungs burn as you count to four for the tenth time.

The next exhale is loud.

And it is most decidedly not your own.

You shoot upright, hand snapping out to clutch at your phone. Fuck what Rami said, you need that flashlight. Tracking the shadows again as your sweat-slicked hands fight your thumbprint reader, eyes widely combing every inch of the dark room, you find yourself unable to peer past the blackness to see the source of the sound that made your heart flip.

Your phone just keeps shaking its “try again” message at you, stubbornly refusing to unlock.

Until you see them—and you realize that you’ve already been looking at them—your gaze landing on them a dozen times in the past thirty seconds, not even registering them.

Until they blink back at you.

Your fingers stomp your passcode in and swipe on the flashlight.

Cold white light floods the room, and he’s standing there, staring at you.

You scream, bundled nerves exploding your body backwards and you find yourself on your feet, scrambling back against a heavy bookshelf.

But he’s just standing there, watching you from the other edge of the chalk circle thing you were sitting on. His head is tilted slightly, sharp eyes hooded as he beholds you silently.

Your arm is practically spasming as you try to keep your light pointed at him and check all the walls and corners at the same time, your brain screaming at you to figure out where he came from. Where did he come from? There’s only one door in the basement, and it’s up the flight of stairs to your left.

“What the fuck?” You screech, your other hand scrambling for something—anything.

The man’s eyes narrow.

He’s not especially tall, but he’s lean and strong, dressed in all black, his raven hair curling over his forehead and neck. There’s something devilishly beautiful about him, about the honey of his skin and the flick of his tongue between his lips.

His eyes mimic yours, tracing you up and down, and his tongue flicks again. Then he opens his mouth and his chin twitches up, short locks of hair flipping away from his eyes. “You called?”

The sultry baritone of his voice floats to your ears with heavy, dangerous weight, and your fingers automatically clamp around the first thing you find. Before you can reason your way through your next decision, you hurl it—the book you’re suddenly holding—directly at his head.

The man flinches, knocking the book aside with the swipe of his hand, but doesn’t realize there’s a second one coming.

You’re pelting them as quickly as you can find them, yanking ancient (probably valuable) books off of the shelf, sending up plumes of dust everywhere, hurling them at the man as you edge your way towards the stairs. He’s standing between you and your exit and you’ll be damned (hopefully not literally) if you’re going to be sacrificed to a demon in your freaky aunt’s basement.

But then his voice reaches you with a completely different tone.

“Stop! Oh my god, stop!” He’s twisted away from you, his hands up covering his face. You see glimpses of his eyes gone impossibly wide, lips jutting out in a disbelieving pout, trying desperately to catch your gaze. He dodges another book and dances away from another. “Why are you—stop!—you called me!”

Another book strikes his shoulder and his pitch goes even higher.

“You literally called me! Stop!”

You stop.

He sounds so…offended that you’re battering him with books that you just plant yourself, clutching a heavy tome to your chest, gaping at him.

He takes a second to collect himself, smoothing down the sleek black jacket that wraps around his thick shoulders and falls snugly around his narrow waist.

Running a hand through his hair and shaking dust out of it, he gapes right back at you. “Do you know how rare it is for this to happen?” He demands, eyes still comically wide. “We don’t just come when called anymore! You—” He jabs a finger in your direction and you shriek, flinching. “Are lucky that I was curious!”

Your hope of coming out of this experience without wearing your mascara in crusted ribbons down your cheeks went out the window about fifteen books ago. “You…you’re…” You suck in a deep breath that sounds like it choked you all the way down. “You?”

The man glares at you, planting his hands on his hips. “You are unbelievably rude.” He decides, taking a step closer as though you aren’t literally hiding behind the giant book in your hands. “You reach through the veil to call upon a spiritual being in the year of our Lord, 2025, and when I answer the freaking phone you throw a library at me? This is why we don’t talk to you people anymore.”

But he doesn’t reach to touch you or attack you and stomp on your skull, so you lower the book away from your face ever so slightly.

He’s standing in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, a disappointed frown on his face.

You take a second to blink at him, a flood of tears trickling down your cheeks. There’s so much happening, so much shattering your entire perception of the universe right now, but there’s only one thing on your mind. “Did you just say ‘oh my god’?”

At your timid, whimpering voice, the demon’s eyes roll. “Are you serious right now?”

You flinch, stumbling back. “It’s just…” Your eyes wander and you mentally pinch yourself. But, honestly, he’s fucking gorgeous and your racing heart is making your head spin already. “You’re a demon?”

“Yeah, so?” He shoots back.

“So…” you swallow harshly. “God?”

This brings a smirk to his lips. “If you came down here to ask about God, I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

“I didn’t call you.” You argue, glancing behind you to make sure you aren’t going to be falling into a coffin or some other terrible thing that your aunt has hidden back there.

He looks confused. “You didn’t?” He glances around. “Someone did. It’s not like I can get the address wrong.”

“My friends called you.” There’s nowhere for you to go. You’re standing against the wall, mere feet away from a literal demon, and there’s nowhere you can run from him.

At the obviously otherwise empty basement, the demon raises his eyebrows at you. “Where are they?”

You shakily point towards the stairs as you slide down the wall to the floor. “At the party. It was a dare. A penalty for a dumb game—they were supposed to pretend to summon a demon with all of this weird shit and then I was supposed to stay down here for ten minutes by myself—they just wanted to scare me. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Please just go away, I’ll never bother you, I swear.” You’re sobbing, completely overwhelmed, feeling completely exposed to this spiritual being as he watches you fall apart.

You’ve got the massive tome propped up on your lap, leaned against your forehead to shield yourself as you weep.

Do demons kill people?

Do they just possess people?

Are you going to go on from this night demon-possessed?

Are you supposed to pray or something?

Weight lifts from your bones as the tome is suddenly taken from you, and you blink past tears to see that the demon is crouched in front of you, dark strands of hair dancing with his eyelashes as he peers into your fearful face.

His gaze traces the trembling in your shoulders, your hands, your thighs, the rigid, bulging muscles in your throat and forearms as your body tightens with terror. When he speaks again, his deep voice is gentle. “Your friends summoned a demon and locked you in here by yourself?”

There’s nothing you can do but nod, wishing you hadn’t skipped your weekly phone call to your mom earlier. You wish you’d told her you love her, that you never meant to be possessed by a demon.

You see his hand lift and your eyes squeeze shut, a whimpering gasp rushing past your lips. If you get out of here alive, you’re burning down the basement and going to church.

But then his warm—feverishly hot, actually—fingertips glide over the wetness of your face, and his thumb is wiping at your tears. When your eyes snap open, he’s cupping your cheek in one hand but his eyes are black fire. “Stay here, baby, I’ll be right back.”

His touch disappears in a swirl of black smoke and he’s gone, vanished right before you like he was never there.

But your cheek is still throbbing from the heat of his palm, your heart thumping in your chest from the impact of his low voice.

Did he just call you baby?

All of that goes directly out of your mind because in the next second, you can hear enormous crashes of thunder above your head. The music from the party dies with an electric squeal that makes your ears sting, and then screams fill the air. The ceiling of the basement pounds and trembles with running footsteps from the floor above, furniture crashing and college students stumbling into things.

There’s a flicker from beneath the basement door, and then the light disappears.

The single bulb over your head goes out.

You scramble for your phone, turning the flashlight back on, heart hammering as you listen.

The screams begin to fade, sounding farther and farther away, until the house above you is completely silent.

Black smoke puffs in front of you and there he is again, the demon with the fire in his eyes.

The reflexive yelp that scratches up your throat is accidental, but it seems to douse the flames and the man’s gaze softens as he lowers himself to the floor, mimicking your folded-knees position. He lifts a hand and gestures to you, beckoning you closer.

Obviously you don’t move, terrified out of your mind. “What the hell did you just do?”

“I locked them in a room with me and scared them.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t as funny as they thought it was going to be. Your friends are assholes and I don’t think you should hang out with them anymore.” He tilts his head at you, his hand still extended. “I didn’t hurt them, I promise. They just ran away. As long as they stay away from you, they’ll be fine.”

You’re going to be completely honest with yourself, you didn’t have nearly enough wits about you to wonder if he’d gone up and slaughtered the whole bunch of them. But it’s nice that he didn’t, you guess.

“So.” He claps both hands to his knees. “This is a college party? I haven’t been to one of these in ages. Do you still play truth or dare?”

Your mouth falls open.

He scoots closer.

“Why as long as they stay away from me?” You’re grasping for understanding, wondering why you’re still on the filthy floor in the creepiest room you’ve ever found yourself in, staring at a demon who’s just asked you to play truth or dare.

The demon’s eyes narrow but his lips curl in a playful smirk. “Truth or dare, baby?”

You can’t help the shiver. Do you refuse to play? He’s a literal demon who can apparently call upon thunder and destroy sound and electrical systems and frighten the bejeezus out of an entire college party.

It stands to reason that playing the silly game is probably in your best interest.

“Truth.” The tiny whisper of your voice puts a flash of teasing disappointment in his eyes.

“Okay,” He says, and scoots even closer. “Are you grateful I made your friends piss themselves for you?”

A storm of emotions strike you. Are you grateful? Yeah, a little bit. It would have been hilarious to watch, now that you think about it. Are you confused as to why he did it? More than you can articulate. Would you have ever asked him to get revenge over a penalty that was supposed to be a joke? Honestly, probably not. Are you going to tell him that?

Hell to the no.

“Yes.” You swallow. “I’m grateful.”

He looks satisfied with your answer, with himself. “Good. Your turn. Ask me.”

You don’t want to ask him. You want to leave this house just like everybody else did, with your tail between your legs and your world changed forever—but alive. But you can’t. So you clench your fists and shed another round of tears. “Truth or dare?”

What would you even dare him to do?

“Dare,” He says devilishly, tongue flicking out to scrape his teeth. His eyes are mischief and intrigue, but they’re watching the trail of your tears with undeniable softness.

“I dare you…” Your voice chokes like a candle being blown out, and you struggle to get it back. “I dare you not to hurt me.” It’s pathetic. It’s laughably pathetic, but you’re scared beyond all reason and you need any kind of reassurance to keep you sane right now.

The teasing falls from his expression instantly, and a solemn stare levels with you. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe with me, I swear it.” His hands twitch, he wants to wipe the tears from your face, but he won’t—not again—not until you’re not afraid of him anymore.

You could weep all over again from the sheer anxiety of it all. “Why? Why would I believe you? Why me?”

He just smiles. “It’s my turn. Truth or dare?”

You are absolutely not ready to take a dare from a demon. “Truth.”

“Tell me your name. I’m Jisung.”

Jisung is looking at you like you’re a harbinger of hope, and you suddenly wonder if your name is supposed to hold power. Does giving your name to a demon give him power over you? Should you lie? Do you keep it to yourself?

But he gave you his name. (Or did he lie?)

You tell him. You’re locked in a basement with him—he doesn’t need a magical connection to you to kill you. He could hurt you whenever he wants.

He says your name out loud and you flinch, waiting. But your blood doesn’t boil, your eyes don’t explode, your brain doesn’t leak out of your ears. Your name on his tongue gives you confidence though, like he’s acknowledged you on an existential level and now you can look him in the eyes.

“Truth or dare.”

“Truth.” He already knows you won’t dare him to do anything, not while your mind is still racing with questions.

“Tell me why I’m safe with you, Jisung.”

He blinks at the strength in your voice, at his name in your mouth. It’s so overwhelming, to hear his name spoken aloud, that he has to turn away from you. How long has it been since he’s heard it? A millennium? An eon? Has it ever sounded so warm before? He’s blinking back tears, coughing past an ache in his chest, scrambling to collect himself before he looks back at you.

He could tell you any number of things and they would be true, but would they be enough? You’re the first face he’s seen in decades. You’re the first person who’s looked at him in years. You’re the first person who’s said his name without hurling it like a curse against him. You didn’t beg for your life when he appeared, you apologized like you bumped into him at the supermarket. Because he keeps waiting to see what you’re going to do next, say next, if you’re going to hold his gaze again.

But how does he say that to you?

He settles on his first realization of you. “Because you didn’t use me.”

You’re confused, fear falling away from your face completely as you puzzle through that statement. “I didn’t use you?”

He nods towards the book of spells that holds his invocation. “People summon demons to make deals—to use our power for their own gain. If we answer a call, it’s with the understanding that we’re being summoned to be leeched off of. You’re the first human I’ve ever come to who didn’t want anything from me.” If his throat tightens as he says it, he blames it on a millennium of loneliness and not the swell of pity that floods your eyes.

So he clears his throat and plops his chin in both palms. “Truth or dare?”

You’re warming up now, leaning into the rawness of the open wound he just exposed to you, and you feel your cheeks heat. “Dare.”

He’s stunned, delighted, and he smiles. “Dare?”

You swallow thickly, avoiding his gaze, and nod. “Dare.”

Jisung leans forward on his knees and one hand, the other lifting to wipe the last of your tears, and he lingers there, hovering right next to you. “Make a deal with me.”

The words strike you with conflicting fear and excitement, your eyes wide as you stare at him. Radiating heat from his skin kisses your face, feeding the blush on your cheeks. “But you just said—”

“It’s my deal,” He interrupts. “My terms with you.”

You don’t know whether to be scared or interested, but you have few options in the way of reactions. “What are the terms?”

“Summon me again.” He says simply. “Whenever you want to. Regularly. And I’ll protect you.”

You’re gaping directly into his face now, utterly baffled and not at all afraid. “Protect me from what?”

Jisung shrugs and lowers himself back into a seated position, this time so close that his knees are touching yours. “Anything, really. But there is the reality that once you’ve reached through the veil, there are traces of you on my side of it as well. Your presence is known now, you might be vulnerable to things from the other side.”

“Things?” You repeat. “What kinds of things?”

He frowns, like he doesn’t want to tell you. “Demons, spirits, the fallen. But I’ll protect you from all of them. They might not find you, they might not care—but if they do, I’ll be there.”

This is so much worse than a stupid prank demon summoning. “Why? Why would you make this deal?”

He smiles at you then, and it’s the most vulnerable he’s looked so far. “There’s not much in the way of goodness where I’m from. I miss it.”

“Goodness?” You repeat, frowning.

“You.” He says, reaching out and flicking your knee lightly. “Friendship. Smiles. Warm touch. Laughter. Shit—” He breaks off and turns his head away and you think you see him wiping wetness away from his own eyes. When he looks at you again, you almost think you had imagined it. “Give up your stupid ass friends and take me instead.”

You’re stunned; floored; flabbergasted. One of those weird hawk feathers on the bookshelves could knock you right over. “Jisung?” What do you even say to that?

He heaves a massive sigh and both of his hands curl over your knees. You don’t mind. You honestly don’t mind. Even if you know better than to trust him all at once, you don’t mind the way he’s touching you—the way he’s looking at you.

If he’s trying to trick you into some kind of possession, grooming you to be some kind of slave, you don’t know. You’re terrified that you’re being taken in by the most beautiful sad eyes you’ve ever seen, but right now you’re stuck.

He’s still watching you, eyes hooded and hoping, and you give a nod. “Okay. Deal.”

His fingers tighten around your knees and you would be terrified at the feeling of being caught in his grasp if it weren’t for the gaping grin that spreads across his face like you’ve just told a child he can go to Disney World.

“Is there some kind of blood pact we have to do to settle the deal? A contract?” You ask nervously, hoping you know which of the dozens of the books on the floor holds the invocation. “What if I summon the wrong demon on accident?”

“Just add my name to the invocation, I’ll come.” He says, and the smile on his face is addictive.

“You’ll come just because I call?”

Jisung squeezes your knees. “If you call me, I’ll come. And promise me you’ll ditch those assholes that locked you down here.” He pulls you closer to him, eyebrows lowering in earnest. “If any demon other than myself had answered, you could have come out of this experience very differently. I don’t want you around any more of their idiotic ideas.”

You laugh then, finally, and he stares at you in awe. “I promise.”

The demon straightens, satisfied, and then he’s extending one hand to you, which you willingly take this time. “The deal seals with a kiss. There’s no fine print, not for you. You have my word—regardless of what you think a demon’s word is worth.”

He has a point, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You let him pull you to your feet, you help him find the spell book and tear the page out, slipping it into your pocket like you’ve just gotten his phone number.

When he circles back to you, he doesn’t look so dangerous anymore. “Are you ready?”

You’re nervous, still doubting what may come of your future, but you’re not scared right now. Instead, you nod, and let his warm hands tilt your chin up. You see the black flames ignite in his eyes once again, just before Jisung presses a searing kiss to your lips and fire shoots down your body.

It’s a simple kiss, as simple as pushing a stamp into a wax seal, but when he leans back to observe the heat blooming across your cheeks, your mind is gone. You feel his forehead touch yours, the whisper of his breath on your skin, the burning impact of his next words, but you’re only barely keeping up.

Because you definitely no longer regret coming to this party, or losing that stupid drinking game.

“You’re mine now, baby,” Jisung whispers against your cheek, and flashes you a wink. “Just call me and I’m yours.”

@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa @kayleefriedchicken @rockstarkkami @sp1derst0rrr @eastjonowhere @its-stayville-forever @allenajade-ite @naraportokala @jinniejjam @blackberryrains @feetoffthemalfoy @highandalive @scarlet789 @ramadiiiisme @thecutiepieme @lemonn015 @p0is0ned-peach

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v6quewrlds · 7 months ago

Text

❝ know no better, m. barzal. ❞ ‎ ‎ ┉

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: with your work responsibilities taking you away from long island, you and mat haven't had much time to blow off some steam. his friends, however, are tired of being on the receiving end of mat's "steam" and enlist you to help.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: about half way through the nnn series! i am a diva!mat truther so enjoy. day five of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, established relationship, oral (male receiving), mat’s a lil grump.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: mathew barzal x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2.4k.

You looked up from your laptop, your eyes scanning the crowded airport lounge. The clacking of keyboards and murmur of distant conversations created a familiar backdrop to your focused silence. You sighed, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you awaited your flight's boarding call. Your phone buzzed, and you picked it up, expecting to see a message from work reminding you of the deadlines that had kept you in Boston for nearly a month. Instead, you found a text from Ethan Bear.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. You hadn't spoken to Ethan in ages, not since the last time you and Mat had seen him over the summer.

The message was simple: "Hey, noticed Mat's been on edge lately?"

You read it again, a hint of confusion creasing your forehead. Of course, you had noticed. Mat's mood swings were like the tides, but you had just chalked it up to the pressure of his season and your demanding work schedule pushing distance between the two of you.

You typed back, "He makes it hard not to lol he's prob just stressed with the season. Why?"

Ethan's response was swift and to the point. "It's that dumb No Nut November bet. He's losing his shit like a little bitch. Can you fix him?"

You couldn't help but laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. Mat, your six-foot hockey player of a boyfriend, reduced to a grumpy mess over a bet? It was almost endearing in its ridiculousness. But Ethan's concern was clear, and you knew you couldn't ignore it.

You replied, "I'll see what I can do," with a winking emoji, feeling less than guilty for the amusement that bubbled up inside you.

As you boarded the plane, you couldn't shake the image of Mat, all six feet of brooding masculinity, brought to his knees by his own stubbornness. You chuckled to yourself, imagining the look on his face when you told him you knew about the bet. The flight back to Long Island was a blur of work emails and half-hearted attempts at relaxing, your mind racing with ideas to tease him into dropping this absurd challenge.

When you finally stepped into your apartment, the tension hit you like a wall. Mat's heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway, and you could hear him muttering under his breath. You set down your bag and called out, "Honey, I'm home!" with a playful lilt in your voice.

Mat appeared around the corner, his eyes flashing with a mix of relief and annoyance. "Fucking finally," he grumbled, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly in an attempt to suppress a smile.

You rolled your eyes, your amusement clear. "What crawled up your ass?" You stepped closer to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Mat sighed, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. "You wouldn't understand."

You stepped closer, your curiosity piqued. "Try me."

Mat rolled his eyes, his frustration palpable. "It's just this stupid bet with the guys. I can't believe how much it's messing with my head."

Your smile grew. "Oh, the No Nut November bet? That's what's got you all worked up?" You couldn't resist poking the bear. "You know you can just tell them you can't do it, right?"

Mat's jaw clenched, and he glared at you. "It's not that simple. My pride's on the line."

You chuckled, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. "Okay, tough guy," you said, your voice gentle and teasing. "But if it's really bothering you, maybe you should just, I don't know, not do it?"

Mat's eyes searched yours for a moment, and you could see the conflict in his gaze. He was torn between his pride and his desire to end the torment. You decided to take matters into your own hands. You leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "I have an idea," you murmured against his skin. "How about I help you relieve some of that tension?"

His eyes widened, and you knew you had his attention. "How?" he asked, his voice gruff with hope.

You stepped closer, your hands sliding down to his chest, your thumbs tracing the firm muscles beneath his shirt. "How about I give you a little something to take your mind off of it?" you suggested, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. You saw the spark of interest in his eyes and knew you had him in your grasp.

Mat's expression softened slightly, his eyes flickering with curiosity and a hint of desperation. "What are you thinking?" he asked, his tone cautious.

You smirked. "I could give you a reason to lose the bet?" you offered, your voice laced with playful challenge. You watched as the realization dawned on him, and his eyes grew dark with need.

"Did someone set you up to this?" he asked, his voice thick with suspicion, trying to hide his growing excitement.

"Let's just say I have my ways of finding things out," you replied with a wink. You could feel the tension in the room start to ease as Mat's curiosity took over.

Mat looked at you skeptically. "Alright. But if you're just messing with me..."

You giggled, standing on your tiptoe to whisper in his ear, "I'm not messing with you, baby." Your breath was warm and sweet, sending a shiver down his spine. "I want to help."

Mat stared at you for a moment, trying to gauge your seriousness. He was desperate for relief, and the thought of losing the bet was becoming increasingly more appealing by the second. With a huff, he stepped back, his arms crossing over his broad chest. "Okay, fine. What do you have in mind?"

You took a step closer, your eyes never leaving his. "Well, I was thinking..." you trailed off, your hands moving to the hem of his shirt, "maybe I could help you relax." You began to lift his shirt, your hands gliding over his abs, your manicured nails lightly scraping against his skin. "You know, just a little something to take the edge off."

Mat's resolve was crumbling. The feel of your hands on him was too tempting to resist. He let out a gruff chuckle, trying to maintain his tough exterior. "You're really going to do this?"

Your smile grew mischievous as you continued to lift his shirt, exposing his toned stomach. "Mmhmm," you hummed, your eyes flicking up to meet his. "I think it's only fair that if you're going to be a grumpy mess, I get to enjoy the perks of helping you out."

Mat's arms fell to his sides, his eyes locked on yours as you continued to explore his torso with your fingertips. "And what perks would those be?" he asked, his voice low and gruff with anticipation.

Your smile was sly. "Well," you said, your thumbs grazing the waistband of his sweatpants, "I was thinking I could give you a nice, long, slow release."

Mat's eyes darkened, and he took a sharp intake of breath. "Fuck it," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a fiery kiss that sent shockwaves through your body. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you gave in to the passion you had been craving for weeks.

The two of you stumbled into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind you. You pushed him down onto the bed, your body straddling him. You could feel his heart racing under you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You took a moment to appreciate the sight of him, his muscles taut and his eyes filled with a desperate need that made your own pulse quicken.

Mat's hands found the zipper of your jacket, his fingers fumbling with the fabric as he tried to get it off of you. You laughed and helped him, shrugging out of the jacket and tossing it aside. You leaned in again, your mouth tracing a line of kisses down his neck and chest, feeling his body respond to your touch. His breathing grew ragged, and you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him.

As you kissed down his body, you felt the tension in Mat's muscles start to unwind. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and you knew that you were winning the battle against his pride. With a knowing smile, you began to undo the drawstring of his shorts, your eyes focused on his.

"Missed this pretty, perfect dick," you murmured against the fabric of Mat's shorts, your voice muffled and playful. Mat's body tensed in anticipation as you slowly pulled them down, revealing him to your gaze. You took a moment to admire him, your eyes sparkling with a mix of humor and desire.

Mat groaned, his hands gripping the bed sheets. "You're evil, you know that?"

Your eyes gleamed with victory. "Only when it's for your own good," you teased, your fingertips brushing against his arousal. You watched his reaction, his eyes rolling back slightly, raven hair beautifully contrasting the crisp white sheets.

Mat's hand reached up to tug at your hair, urging you closer. "Just do it," he begged, his voice a mix of frustration and need.

You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Pushy," you said, your voice low and soothing. You leaned down, your warm breath fanning across his skin. Mat shivered as you pressed a kiss to the tip, your lips curling into a smug smile at his gasp. You took your time, teasing him with feather-light kisses and gentle strokes, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock.

Mat's eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth grinding together. "Baby," he ground out, his voice a desperate plea. You conceded and took him into your mouth, your movements slow and deliberate, savoring his taste and the sound of his moans. His hips bucked upwards, and you held him down with a firm hand, keeping the pace at a torturous crawl.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, watching the myriad of emotions playing across his face: surprise, pleasure, and a hint of embarrassment at his loss of control. You took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked gently, and he swore, his hands fisting in the sheets. The salty tang of his sweat mingled with the faint scent of his cologne, and you felt a thrill of power knowing you could bring this strong, confident man to the brink of madness with just your mouth.

Mat's thighs tensed beneath you as you increased your pace, your hand pumping in time with your mouth. His breath grew ragged, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. You took him deeper still, your throat tightening around him, the sensation of his impending climax thrumming through your body.

"Shit," Mat groaned, his voice tight with need. "C’mon, babe, I can't..."

You released him slowly. "You can't what, baby?" you whispered, your voice like velvet against his sensitive skin.

His eyes flew open, and he stared at you, desperation warring with the need to maintain his pride. "I'm gonna come, baby," he warned, his voice strained.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes gleaming. "Mmm, I know," you said, your voice a sweet taunt. With a devilish smile you held his gaze as you stuck your tongue out, a line of saliva connecting your mouth to his glistening cock. Mat's hips jerked upwards involuntarily, his eyes widening with shock and pleasure.

"You're gonna lose that bet," you whispered, your breath warm against his sensitive skin. Mat's jaw clenched, and he nodded, the fight draining out of him. His hand reached for you, guiding you back down to him. "Good boy," you murmured, your mouth enveloping him again.

Mat's hips began to thrust slightly, his movements growing more urgent. You felt a rush of wetness between your legs, your own desire spiking at the sound of his desperate moans. You tightened your grip, your tongue swiping against the underside of his shaft. His hips bucked harder. With one last, deep suck, you felt him pulse in your mouth, the warmth of his release flooding your mouth.

Mat's body went rigid as he came, his breath hitching in his throat. You swallowed, your eyes never leaving his. You licked your lips, savoring the taste of him, and gave his cock one last gentle kiss before sitting back on your heels. You watched him, his chest heaving and eyes glazed over with pleasure.

For a moment, there was silence, broken only by your ragged breathing. Then Mat's face contorted into a mix of frustration and relief. "Fuck," he muttered, collapsing back onto the bed. "How bad was I?"

You grinned, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Oh, you were pretty bad," you teased, your voice light and playful. "Ethan texted me about it. Said you were being a little bitch."

Mat's face reddened as he buried his face in a pillow, muffling his groan of embarrassment. You couldn't help but laugh, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "It's okay," you said, your voice gentle. "You're my little bitch."

Mat threw the pillow at you, his laughter joining yours. "Fuck off," he said, his voice muffled by the fabric.

You caught the pillow and tossed it aside, your smile widening. "It's all love, baby," you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "But seriously, you okay?"

Mat took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm good." He sat up, running a hand through his hair. "I just didn't know it would get to me like this."

Your expression softened, and you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over the stubble that had started to form. "No more dumb bets?" you asked, your voice a gentle reprimand.

Mat sighed, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of vulnerability. "No more dumb bets," he agreed, his voice gruff. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. "I'm sorry for being such an asshole."

Your smile was warm, your thumb continuing to stroke his cheek. "You should probably apologize to Ethan. Whatever you did to him, it's gotta be bad if he's asking for my help."

Mat chuckled, his irritation fading. "I'll text him later, tell him you talked some sense into me." He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Thank you, baby." He kissed you, the affection in his touch making your heart flutter.

#&. cassie writes.#&. nnn masterlist.#mat barzal fic #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal angst #mat barzal #mathew barzal #mathew barzal fluff #mathew barzal x reader #mathew barzal smut #mathew barzal fic #mathew barzal imagine #x black reader #x black fem reader #black!fem!reader #black!reader

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dark-lord-of-awesomeness · 2 months ago

Text

The need to create is killing me, so here's something I wrote on my phone during my lunch break

Ford muttered as he worked, holding a piece of chalk firmly in his hand as he wrote out a string of numbers and symbols on the chalk board. He'd been at it for what felt like hours, writing and erasing and rewriting as he realized the numbers didn't make sense and the answer kept changing and-

Between one blink and the next the board was clear of everything. His chalk hit it where he'd been about to write.... something, and he stared with growing horror as he realized he'd have to redo it all. The horror turned to confusion as a shaky S started to appear, as if drawn by an invisible hand. It was followed by another, then another, until the whole board was filled with S's.

With a sigh he dropped the chalk, letting it disappear as he looked up at the smiling axolotl peering down at him from over the edge of the chalk board.

"Stanley," he said, glaring at his brother, "we talked about this."

"Did we?" Stan asked, swimming down through the air to twist around him. "What did we say?"

"That there are better ways to make yourself known then giving me a heart attack."

"Hmmm. OK." Stan swam until he was in front of Ford, then stuck out his tongue and tilted his head, "Hey! It's me!"

He did a flip, then swam around Ford again, not a care in the world. It would have infuriated Ford, if he didn't already know Stan couldn't help it. While Ford was now very much aware of his dreaming state and himself, they'd found that Stan seemed to forget everything about himself when he did this, only vaguely aware that he was dreaming at all.

"Hello Stanley," Ford said, bringing up his hands to cup the axolotl and hold him closer, "Did you want something?"

"Oh yeah! I did!"

Between one blink and the next Ford found himself sitting in a fishing boat, wearing fishing gear and a hat, pole already in his hands. Above was a pinkish orangish sky, full of puffy blue clouds, and a pitch black sea of distant twinkling stars below. Across from him was Stan, now the same size as him and wearing a vest and bucket hat with a line of S's sewn in, holding a similar pole and tail wiggling happily.

Fiddleford was also here, wearing a black bucket hat with a jumbled rubiks cube sewn on. He looked very confused.

"Let's go fishing," Stan said, reeling in his line, "it's been ages since I've been fishing."

"I'll see of we can rent out a boat when the weather gets warmer." Ford promised, pulling his hat down to see what Stan had given him. A sun looked back, wearing sunglasses. Not scientifically accurate but it was a dream, so he put it back on without fuss.

"Whats happening." Fiddleford said, looking around in terror. Ford frowned, then squinted at him. He thought that perhaps Stan had pulled his image from Fords subconscious, but maybe not.

"We're fishing," Stan said unhelpfully, reeling his line in all the way to reveal an asteroid on the end. Stan pulled it loose and dropped it into a bucket in the middle of the boat, then cast his line again, whistling happily.

"Stanley, is this the real Fiddleford?" Ford asked, setting his pole down and leaning forwards, "because if so, then-"

"Of course I'm real!" Fiddleford interrupted, looking offended, "this is my dream, why wouldn't I be!"

"Because this is my dream. Or at least it was." Ford frowned at Fiddleford as his friend opened and closed his mouth, then turned to Stan, who had caught an icy comet and dropped it into the bucket, "Stanley, who's dream is this?"

"Hmm? Uh," Stan tilted his head, making the frills on each side flop charmingly, then shrugged "its a dream. Hey do you know how to do color puzzles? I tried to do this one, but it just hurt my head."

Stan gestured to Fiddleford, then recast his line, kicking his little feet and going back to humming, as unhelpful as ever.

"There you go," Ford said, turning back to Fiddleford, "it's a dream. Possibly Stanley's, that he's pulled us into. To go fishing."

"I like fishing, nice and relaxing."

"It can be," Ford frowned at the endless night sea, leaning over and frowing at the lack of reflection, "although I'm far to intrigued to be relaxed. I wasn't aware you could visit others like this. Have you been visiting Fiddleford the last week? Is that why I haven't seen you?"

"What?" Fiddleford asked, still looking confused and slightly outraged, "what's going on."

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #stan pines #ford pines #stanley pines #fiddleford hadron mcgucket #fiddleford mcgucket #axolotl stan

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twstfanblog · 2 months ago

Note

I am scrambling for a topic, hn...

Maybe Yuu talks about how they went about naming the planets in her world to the Ignihyde boys?

YuuTalks! Explaining the Planet Names

A/N: Some quick edits I didn't realize I didn't do. Sorry!

"What a lovely turnout."

Idia sat curled up in a section of the bench seating, Ortho sitting beside him in the otherwise empty classroom.

Giggling, Ortho tilted his head as he read over the chalkboard, "Most of our friends have made the connection that if one of your events isn't mandatory, it's in their best interest to not attend. But, your world's space exploration far exceeds our own. So, I wish to hear more about the advancements from your home!"

"I'm just here to make sure you two don't start making blueprints for weapons again..." Idia mumbled, glaring over the tablet he clutched to his face.

"Fuck you. Anyway, welcome to YuuTalks! A fun little thing I've decided to do to explain topics from my world to you poor little rat boys."

Yuu clicks a button on the master remote, sending the room into darkness and illuminating the chalkboard from the overhead projector. Smiling, Yuu gestured to the title, "YuuTalks! How We Named the Planets!"

Ortho's eyes widened, already recording the presentation and leaning forward in rapt attention, "You have multiple planets!?"

"Well...We don't live on multiple planets. But we've been aware of them since ancient civilizations took notice of the stars. Seeing how we can see most of them with the naked eye..." Yuu erased the board, drawing several symbols in chalk.

Idia quirked a brow, able to recognize a few symbols. Two were gender emblems, but another two were logos he had seen in his own family registry.

Yuu made a final symbol in the beginning of the line, a circle with a single dot in the center, "I'm gonna make this a game-"

"Oh no-"

"Shut up, this'll be fun. The planet names that I was taught were actually based on Greco-Roman astrology. Which makes the fact that only you guys showed up so fucking funny to me."

"Greco-Roman...Ah! Those are your world's equivalents of the Valley of Woe and the Union of Mourning, Prefect Yuu?"

"Yep! The Romans basically ate Greek culture and passed it off as their own once Greece fell. But then they renamed a bunch of stuff to piss me off."

Idia frowned, though more interested than before, "I really doubt that's why they did it-"

"Shut up. It totally was. BUT! Since you guys are the smartest boys on campus about who these planets were named after. I'm going to describe the planet and you will guess who its namesake is."

Ortho clapped his hands, internally opening a search window while Idia himself poised his hands over his tablet.

He smirks, throwing Yuu a subtle challenging stare, "Bring it."

Yuu turns, pointing to the first symbol in the lineup, "First up, a freebie. This is the symbol for the Sun. It is the star at the center of our solar system, the gravitational pull dragging us and our planetary brethren behind it as we all go hurtling in space together. Now-...Yes, Ortho?"

Ortho turned the flashing lights of his arm off, putting it back down to the desk, "Was the Sun not named in the same fashion as the other planets?"

"It was. This is a freebie, Ortho. Trust me the pattern is quick to pick up and then I will fuck you over later. But, 'Sun' is from an old English — Queenian — word 'sunne' which itself is from a Proto-Germanic — Fuck, um...Central Shaftian — word 'Sunnōn'. But the most common name was Sol, after the Roman sun god."

Idia was actually taking notes, brow pinching at the information, "Wait...I'm not gonna try to say her name, but you said it was a goddess of the sun* when you told me about the gods you pay respect to."

Ortho tilts his head, "I thought it was the Star Lord, Lord of the Solar Palace?"

"The wha-"

"Ok. Quick crash course. My planet has many religions. Which, if I'm remembering what Lilia and Trein have told me, doesn't really happen here. You guys have more like...'Icons of Concepts' compared to whole ways of life based around group beliefs. But MOVING ON-"

"So wait. You said the Roman god. But these names are based on Greco-Roman? Where's the Greek? Are they taking turns?"

Ortho raised his hand again, lights flaring up to be noticed more easily in the dark, "What was the Greek name for Sol, Prefect Yuu?"

"Thank you for raising your hand, Ortho. The Greek equivalent to Sol was Helios, persona of the sun-"

"OOOOOOOOOOOO!" Idia’s eyes widened, an almost giddy vibe taking over as he tapped his tablet, "Helios was an Elden mage who pioneered fire magics."

Ortho nodded his head, "He created a large number of fire spell basics that we still use today! He died via immolation, so the fact your world saw him as a persona of the sun itself is fascinating!"

"Yeah, that's a word for it. Ok, let's start round one. The first planet in the solar lineup is currently the smallest planet. It's also the closest to the Sun, meaning it makes a full trip in only 88 days compared to my world's 365-ish days."

"Aaaa. So quick..." Ortho and Idia both took notes before whispering as to who they believed the planet to be named after. Idia had proposed the symbols would be helpful, seeing how Helios in his magical studies was the first to spell weave using archaic magic circles.

"Our worlds' ancient histories are weirdly closely linked. I think symbols were some of the things that were crossed over, like the stories about the Great Seven and such..."

"True...Then..." Ortho raised his hand again, thankfully without the blinking lights and called out when Yuu nodded, "Was this planet named for Hermes?"

"Correct! Romanized to Mercury, the planet is named after the God of travelers and communication."

Ortho giggled, "Because it's so fast!"

"Next planet." Yuu tapped the female symbol, "Second from the sun, yet the hottest planet in our system. It's covered in clouds of sulfuric acid and is literally the landscape of actual hell on the surface. But from the view of our world, it was the most beautiful star in the sky..."

"Hmmm...Maybe Eris? History did paint her as a rather malicious trickster, but she was known to be quite beautiful..." Ortho tapped at the desk, mentally reviewing the overwhelmingly large records of Woe and Mourning historical figures.

"It does sound like a pretty horrific status of a planet...pretty from afar, but a toxic environment up close- It's Aphrodite."

The laugh Yuu let out was short and barely contained. She smiles, looking at Idia with a head tilt, "What made you come to that conclusion?"

"Ah…A few hundred years ago, we found what we think were Aprodite's journals. She wasn't much of a mage, but she did dabble heavily in potion crafting. The research she had put into her potions was interesting enough to be published as a scientific memoir. While most of it was her recounting on the properties of plants and other magic objects, she was also ripping on her family viciously..."

"She recounted several ways she's cheated on her husband..."

Yuu laughed harder, "Messy bitch, I love her. Yes. Aphrodite, Romanized to Venus, is the name of the planet. Venus is also called my planet's twin, since they're roughly the same size. Now skipping to the fourth planet-"

Humming under his breath, Ortho's brows creased but he skipped over the third info section in his notes, "We're skipping your planet, Prefect Yuu?"

"If you guys do well on the others, you can guess my planet's name." Yuu taps at the male symbol on the board, "Known as the little red planet, it's the planet we've studied the most. We've sent multiple explorer robots up there and have learned the planet is red because its soil is rich in iron. In fact, it's so red that it's a key naming feature in every culture that discovered the planet."

Idia hummed under his breath, scrolling through the list of historical figures linked to his homeland, "Little and red, huh..."

Ortho perked up and yelled, "Ares!"

"Ding ding ding!" Yuu tapped the symbol, "Ares, the god of war, is the namesake of the little red planet. Romanized to Mars!"

"How'd you guess that Ortho?"

"Do you not remember the legend? Ares and Aphrodite had an affair for many years. During one such meeting, Aphrodite's husband came home. And since he knew what Ares looked like, she poured what was possibly the first draft of a color-changing potion over his head. Unfortunately, it was permanent as Ares remained red for the rest of his days..."

"We just named it because to the Greeks it looked blood-soaked. Your legend is cuter. Now," Yuu taps the next symbol, a stylized '4', "This is the fifth planet. Big as fuck, like insanely big, too big. Like, 13,000 of my planet can fit in this fucker."

"That is big…"

"That's cracked stats big..."

"We also sent a satellite up there named after his wife since a bunch of the moons are named after his lovers."

Ortho and Idia looked at each other, eyes glancing back to Yuu as Ortho asked, "Is that...a cute thing?"

"More along the lines of hilarious."

Idia sighed, "It's Zeus."

"Damn, say it with a bit more hope in your soul at least."

"I don't wanna talk about that asshole..."

Yuu held up her hands, nodding her head, "Fair. But, yes, the fifth planet is named after Zeus, romanized to Jupiter, the big daddy king of the gods."

"Don't...call him that..."

Ortho giggled, "You named a satellite after Hera and sent it to revolve around him?"

"The Romans called her Juno, but yeah, it's funny. Now...This one might be tough because they are not...the same person this time? But are? It's weird."

Yuu taps the next symbol, a stylized 'h', "The second largest planet in our solar system, after the big daddy king-"

"Don't call him that!?"

"Fine. The second largest after Jupiter, it's known for its dazzling outer rings made up of rock and ice. It also has the most moons of any planet."

"Oh? Quick query, Prefect Yuu. What are the moons of the other planets?"

"Well, Mercury and Venus don't have moons. My planet has one moon. Mars has two, Deimos and Phobos named after Ares’ sons. Jupiter has...95 that we know about? Or at the very least ones that are recognized as moons. And...the planet we're talking about now has...274-"

Idia’s eyes widened, even Ortho pulled back in surprise, "What, like, all at once!?"

"We think Jupiter has 600 we just haven't categorized all of them...Jupiter is so fucking big, it's annoying to think about..."

"What...what did you even name them all? At some point, you have to start using numbers instead..." Ortho tilted his head, brows creased in thought.

"Well, the biggest moon is named Titan..."

Idia groaned, "Just tell us, there's...there's too many titans to guess from if the themeing is following what I think it is. And you're saying there's 274 moons? We'll be here all afternoon."

"Well...Saturn is the Roman equivalent of Cronus-"

Both Ortho and Idia jumped back in their seats even more, Idia nearly scrambling backwards to the desks behind him, "Cronus!?"

"Damn...What did he do here? In my world he like...castrated his father and ate five of his children."

"By the Design...I don't...Cronus is theorized to be the first incident of an overblot? It's the only conclusion we can make from what few written accounts of the event we've found. He seemingly went mad one day and attempted to murder his wife and children."

Idia tapped at his tablet, "Was he known as a god in your world? I think after...the incident, his children tried to erase him from history with varying results."

"Uh...varying answer. He was worshipped, but nowhere near as much as his children were. There was kind of a soft spoken respect to him? But he wasn't really worshipped until he was romanized into a god of agriculture."

Ortho squints his eyes, "Agriculture?"

"You know...because of the sickle?"

"...You mean his murder weapon!?"

"Moving on." Yuu turned back to the board, tapping the next symbol, a hybrid of the Sun and Mars symbols mashed together. "We actually only discovered this planet and the rest in the past few hundred years! It and other planets were only theorized to exist, but the technology just couldn't find them yet."

Idia raised his hand, "I wanna keep talking about the fact your world had the legend of a man maiming his father and cannibalizing his children, and they were just cool with him???"

"Shhhhhhhhhhh. This planet has its own iconic set of rings and is actually tilted by 90°. Plus, it's the only planet named after a Greek god instead of Roman. It has fourteen moons, all named after book characters, giving them the title of the 'Literary Moons'."

Ortho hummed, doing brief math in his head before speaking, "So...it rotates normally, but its north and south poles are pointed facing the sun directly?"

Idia let out a terrified peep, "That's way too much sunlight! Wait...how long does daylight last then? If a whole hemisphere is looking right in the crosshairs of the sun?"

"Like 40 years."

"I'd kill myself."

Laughing, Yuu spoke, "It's kind of our fault? The theory is that an object the size of my planet hit it and caused it to tilt."

Idia mumbled under his breath, "Ruining stuff for everyone else is kind of the thing of your world, huh?"

"May we have another hint, Prefect Yuu?"

"Hmmmm...This planet is named after the Greek personification of the sky."

Ortho tilts his head, thinking over his options, "Is it...Ouranos?"

"I'll give you the win." Yuu wrote on the blackboard, giggling, "Uranus is what the planet was called in the end. Here's how we spelled it."

...

"...Prefect Yuu-"

"I know."

Idia held his hand over his mouth, "That's...so disrespectful...Why did you spell it like that...?"

"Because scientists forget at times that children are monsters. Next planet, because I wanna finish and get lunch."

Glancing at the clock, Ortho mused, "It has been a bit since we started."

Yuu tapped the next symbol, very clearly a trident, “This planet-”

Idia and Ortho both spoke, “Poseidon.”

“Let me…fucking speak?”

Idia gestured toward the board, glaring at Yuu in annoyance, “Its symbol is a trident. You’d have to be a noob of the highest degree to not know the symbol of the first Mer-King.”

“Fuck you, I’m still talking. Since it’s so far away, it’s basically a giant ball of ice with dense clouds over its surface. Said clouds were believed to give it an appearance of water though that has been disproven. It has sixteen known moons, all named after lesser sea gods such as Nereid and Triton.”

Idia called out, voice dripping heavily in a sarcastic tone, “Wow, more water-centered historical figures. How could I have not thought it was Poseidon?”

“Shut up, it's called Neptune and your knees are forfeit when we leave this room.” Slapping the board, Yuu nods her head toward the last symbol, “Guess it, you cunt.”

Idia opened his mouth but gave pause, humming as he studied the symbol closer.

Ortho tilted his head, “Is that a ‘G’?

“Ortho, does this look like a G?”

“Yes! It looks like a confused lowercase G!” At Yuu's continued silence, Idia gestured to the board, “Is it!?”

“No! You fucking dumbass- It was the smallest planet of our solar system until it got so unpopular with the scientific community that they declassified it as a planet. Can you guess who this one is named after? Huh? Can you guess, Idia?”

“...That's fucked up and mean.” Idia tapped at his tablet, shrinking back when Yuu leaned over the desk to continue taunting him.

“No, go on say it. Who is the little bitch planet named after that went on to have little bitch descendants?”

Ortho spoke up, the sadness clear in his tone as he looked at the board, “Was it really so disliked…?”

Yuu turns to Ortho, tone softer and all of her hostility gone, “No, it was declassified because after like…80 years of continued study and advancements in telescopes, scientists found that Pluto, romanized from Hades, didn't really…planet right?”

Idia spoke, “How does it not ‘planet’ well?”

“Well, for one, it's small. Like smaller than my planet's moon, small. Pluto's moon is actually only like half its size. And it doesn't orbit properly. It's like riding on Neptune's orbit sometimes. Plus its apparently on a fucking orbital angle different from the other planets, so that's making it weird too.”

Ortho leaned his head against Yuu’s shoulder, playing up his sadness and tapping his fingers together, “Did people really not like it…?”

Yuu sighed, patting Ortho on the head before backing away from the desk, “Nah. From what I remember people were pretty pissed that Pluto lost its status. They just kind of claim its a planet and are debating about it still.”

“Aw…That's nice. So Pluto is very loved in your world?” Ortho's eyes were shining, a clear contrast to Idia’s guarded and half hidden glare.

Rolling her eyes, Yuu smiles, “Yeah. We love that funky little planet. Oh! I have to show you guys a song about Pluto, I think you'd both like it.”

“We'll see about that…” Idia mumbled, glancing at the clock before sighing, “Hey. Did you still…want to do lunch…?”

“Yeah. I really don't even wanna try to find my main trio of braincells right now. So you two get to have me as a lunch date.”

“Oh goody…”

“Shut up, you fucking offered.”

“Wait! Prefect Yuu, you haven't told us your planet's name yet. I want to know.”

“I mean…I've said it before. You know the stuff I'd say when you guys first met me? ‘What on Earth?’ ‘Earth to dipshit.’ ‘Salt of the Earth.’ Stuff like that.”

“...It's Earth?”

“Yep.”

“But…but that's so boring, Prefect Yuu! That just means dirt!”

Yuu couldn't help but chuckle, “And our moon is named Moon.”

Idia huffed, already standing from his seat as Ortho remained fuming in his, “Talk about dropping the ball in the writers room. It's like playing an MMO with an immersive cast of high fantasy names only to find an NPC named Kyle.”

“Yeah…we didn't really see ourselves as a body in the universe…but the other names for Earth and our moon are actually Terra and Luna.”

“Doesn't Luna-”

“Yes, Luna just means Moon. Romanized from the Moon persona, Selene. And Terra is Romanized from the Greek Earth persona, Gaia.”

Both Idia and Ortho freeze, both looking at Yuu with wide eyes.

“...What?”

Idia coughed briefly into his fist, his mouth suddenly dry as his brain raced with theories and ways to soft launch questions to his parents, “Gaea is the name of our Planet…”

“...Huh.” Yuu clicked the remote, holding the door open as the room fell into complete darkness, “It's always kinda weird how close our worlds seem…”

Idia nodded, following behind Yuu and Ortho to the cafeteria, “You're telling me…”

Idia is talking about Xi He of Chinese mythos. Ortho follows up by referring to Tai Yang Xing Jun. She hasn't actually explained this to them, though.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #yuutalks #twst yuu oc #yuu oc #idia shroud #ortho shroud

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occamstfs · 8 months ago

Text

Sticky Fingers

Junpei finds himself drawn to sneak an early peak at Arcadio Carvajal's new exhibition. When the chance to take a piece home presents itslef, he'll find himself a little more than changed from the experience.

My first sequel! Arcadio from Marichismo decides to take the chance to find a new assistant and lover! In other don't forget to vote on my Viral Transformation poll, ends Sunday! Otherwise enjoy this tale of muscle growth and otherwise masculine changes! -Occam

Junpei can’t believe that he somehow hadn’t heard about this art exhibition until just now. Like many a young thirsty gay across the country he does well to keep a tab on the illustrious (Read: Hot) work of Arcadio Carvajal. Many institutions are a little hesitant to host an artist whose name may well be synonymous with sexual provocateur but, with attendance numbers down across the board, even more museums are thrilled at the chance to host a man who almost magically draws in hordes of adoring patrons.

His latest exhibition on homoeroticism in popular culture is setting attendance records at just about every museum it stops at. Junpei was beyond thrilled when his friend Corey leaked that the gallery he works at was going to be hosting an exhibition of Arcadio’s starting tomorrow! Ignoring any concerns as to how odd it is that he’s not heard anything about the opening until the night before, Junpei grabs his backpack and makes for the gallery immediately, almost as if possessed. Something in his chest flutters with anticipation as he wanders the few blocks down to the hall where he’ll hopefully be able to sneak an early peek of some of the works on display.

Making the trip down a few blocks with haste he finds there’s surprisingly little activity at all in or around the gallery. Sure it’s after hours but the night before an opening, let alone an opening by an artist as impressive as Arcadio Carvajal? You’d think there would be some last minute prep work to be done. Skulking up to nonchalantly look through the front door, he puts his weight on it just as a little test. Just to see if it's locked, no overt plans as to what he would do with the information, he just wanted to know. Just wanted to see.

When the door gives, he can’t suppress the grin rising on his lips. In for a penny, he decides. Fighting to keep his expression guiltless he surreptitiously looks around to make sure no one’s watching the entrance before he sneaks into the dark hall. He tries to scheme up an alibi as he digs out his phone to use as a flashlight. Probably wouldn’t buy that he thought they were open. Could just say he was supposed to meet his friend here, though he’d hate for Corey to catch blowback. Junpei then rolls his eyes as he figures he could come up with something on the spot, if he’s even caught that is! Adrenaline keeps his conspiratorial mind from noticing he of course already has been, as the gallery’s cameras follow the young student into the exhibition hall holding Arcadio’s exciting exhibit.

The amateur intruder almost has a heart attack as he steps into the gallery proper and the lights flash on. Stumbling into a wall in shock, he ducks behind a display case and nervously scopes out the new space he finds himself in. After quietly ensuring that no one is actively here, Junpei chalks the lights up to be automatic and hastens his pace. Switching off his now unneeded flashlight, he starts scoping out the litany of artwork dedicated to the male form surrounding him.

His excitement eclipses whatever paltry dregs of anxiety or fear remain as he sees the works of incredibly influential artists gathered here. Junpei knew Arcadio was a titan but he could never have expected the prolific art that fills this place. First things first, as he enters he sees a diptych of the artist himself, under his breath he murmurs, “god he’s so fucking hot.” Somewhere out of sight surveillance footage shines onto a man watching him explore the gallery as he mischievously smirks.

On the student’s left are a wall of nudes and more softcore fare from artists across the ages. Mizers and Mapplethorpes hang floor to ceiling alongside more modern work by Arcadio and his own gay contemporaries. Near the far side there seems to be a whole section dedicated to portraiture of St. Sebastian but Junpei is less eager to explore the thorough history of homoerotic photography. Certainly a medium that has brought him endless pleasure, as it were, but they may as well just be prints to him. No, he wants to see the real stuff.

Wandering past some dozen miniature recreations of Michaelangelo’s David made of shining plasticine latex, some clad in leather, others in the buff as the artist intended, Junpei finds what he snuck in for. Spotlights shine down unto the wall opposite the photography, teeming with works from gay trailblazers of the art world. Namely the ones whose primary focus was on nothing but bulging fetishistic muscle and strong-jawed pretty boys. Those who crafted overt unapologetic pornography and others who snuck homoeroticism covertly to the masses. This is to say there is more work by Tom of Finland and Leyendecker than he could possibly appreciate in this brief time alone.

He spends as long as he thinks he can just staring at the work. Drinking in the graphite scraped bulges and tight leather uniforms of the massive men drawn by the Finn. Reverberations from his work still echo into the art and lusty imaginations of countless gay men today. Indeed upon gracing dear Junpei’s eyes they immediately cause some mobility issues to arise. He struggles with his pants as he struggles to walk forward with a package that only surges harder with each fervent tug of his pants. His rising issue stops not as he moves on to observe the bright colors and hungry eyes of the men in Leyendecker’s advertisements. Masculine forms idealized and gleaming opposed with the raw heightened sex found in the work nearby. Junpei can barely control the desire coursing through him, but knowing he can’t stay forever the young man continues onward, biting his lip as he tries to will his boner away.

Going through a curtain into a still darkened room, it takes a second for Junpei’s eyes to adjust before he sees a room dedicated to non-western homoeroticism. Finding aged Chinese scrolls of gay eroticism he snaps pictures, quite thankful that they are less visceral arousing than the work he just left behind, though he’s decidedly happy to see some shred of himself in the gallery. Turning around he gasps as he sees something he wasn’t quite expecting. Next to a wall of more deliberately pornographic bara men he sees panels from his favorite mangaka depicting bulging muscled men in provocative poses. But more thrilling than that, it seems the main sketch isn’t in a display case. It’s just sitting there, loose, free.

Junpei doesn’t know what came over him, he wasn’t even planning on coming in illicitly, but staring at the crisp art in front of him he cannot stop himself as he pulls a folder from his backpack. Before he can even issue a command to his body, the sketch is already in his bag and he’s sprinting away. The smirk of the man watching his every move grows wider as he watches Junpei clumsily flee the scene. Fleeing out the door into the dark streets, Junpei pushes past other students thoughtlessly as he races home, delirium setting in as struggles to understand and realize what he just did. Slamming his apartment door behind him he yoinks out the swiped art. He isn’t sure if it’s the image itself or the exhilaration from his crime but his only recently stilled cock begins to harden once more.

Mind barely present what can he do but obey his rising erection. Junpei begins to masturbate, staring at his stolen artwork, panting as he quickly comes close; free hand moving thoughtlessly he feels it scrape against something taped to the back of the sketch. Eyebrows furrowing as he continues to beat his meat, Junpei turns the picture around and he instantly stops as his blood grows cold. “Evening Junpei. I know what you did. See you Soon. Yours, Arcadio Carvajal.” Junpei drops the drawing and it flutters to the floor, lying face down, leaving the note facing up at him. His mind escapes from whatever haze compelled him to commit larceny as his thoughts race faster than could possibly be productive.

What do I do? I need to bring it back now. How did that note get there!? It certainly has my name on it, and it’s signed by Arcadio. Fear seizes him as he backs away from the stolen piece, tripping over the pants that had fallen around his ankles. In his scrambling he falls back and hits his head. Before he completely loses himself to unconsciousness he sees the picture purloined face up once more. Groaning as his vision begins to fade, his eyes latch onto his legs as searing pain slowly burns through him. Cresting into a trancelike state he mumbles incoherently as it almost seems like veins are bulging onto his thighs?

Perhaps unsurprising given the prominence of Arcadio in what lead him into this stupor, but as he’s truly overtaken Junpei sees the massive artist himself. The man’s arms are crossed but the expression on his face is not one of judgment or disdain at Junpei’s actions. Rather, to the best of the young man’s judgment, it looks like one of anticipation. Junpei tries to speak but finds his mouth dry up as the man across from him waves a finger, “Ah ah ah mi ladrónito. I believe you have something of mine.” The eponymous little thief pats himself down trying to dream his plunder into existence but produces naught. Arcadio pouts his lips but there is a sparkle of mischief in his eyes.

“Well perrito. For your little transgression I think you owe me, si? Think I could use some more hands on deck to watch out for petty thieves, don’t you?” Arcadio’s expression loses all the performative animosity that remains as he looks at Junpei with glee and his intentions begin to suffuse the young man. Feeling his ability to speak return, Junpei opens his mouth but before he can produce a word he is wracked with burning pain from the artist's stare.

Beginning from his feet, clad in the cheap tennis shoes that he wore to his haphazard heist, heat sears the soles of his feet. At first it’s as if he’s standing on coals before simmering down to the pain of sprinting across a hot beach; finally it shifts to the pleasant warmth of a warm footbath. Pain swiftly gives way to pleasure as Junpei flexes his feet just to ensure he feels every sensation he can, only then does he feel his toes bump against the front of the small shoe, just as the bridge of his foot strains against the tongue. Junpei grunts as he hears stitches begin to give way, toes blasting through the cheap fabric while his soles rear through the sides and spill onto the floor as his feet totally eclipse the remains of his shoe.

Looking down at feet that may as well need clown shoes compared to the petit ones he’s always had, Junpei feels some new instinct in his mind. Almost like an intrusive thought, he feels a need to be brash, to spar with the man he so respects more than anything. Ignoring his usual nature he follows this instinct, it’s just a dream right? Fighting through the pain and pleasure still coursing through him, Junpei speaks up, “Grgh- What are you- Are you giving me a foot fetish or what?” Arcadio’s face lights with a smile as he hears the young man speak up with the slightest amount of acid on his tongue. With no words to betray his emotion at the seed of Junpei’s changing psyche he moves his eyes up to Junpei’s legs.

“Oh what the fu-” he’s unable to even finish the thought as his whole body convulses with the sensation of his legs lengthening before they start to pack on muscle. Shooting almost a foot higher, Junpei falls back on his ass as he clenches at his calves and thighs. His gaze follows Arcadio’s as the man stares at his tight calves, expanding with each pulse of the heart. Just like every other inch of Junpei’s body there’s initially little at all impressive, and then they flex larger, and then there's a bulge that will never leave, and then there is a calf that would inspire jealousy by any lesser men who glimpses it. More than baseballs, muscle bulges enough for even socks large enough for his massive feet would struggle to contain them. This is nothing however compared to the transformation moving upwards into his thighs.

Veins bulge thick as power seeps upwards, burning warmth sears his hands as they clutch at the hocks of meat that now constitute his thighs. Junpei blushes as he sees new distinct masses bulge out of his once bony thighs. Staring down at his increasingly powerful lower body he is filled with determination to get them even larger. The need for power begins to wash over whatever ideals or needs the young man had before this dream. Seeing the thick veins clearly pump and bulge larger with each beat of his heart, Junpei traces them with his finger and bites his lip as Arcadio can’t help but stare at the growing package that demands attention from the both of them.

Arcadio is more than pleased to stare, each second spent lingering on the cock sends waves of pleasure through Junpei as his mind struggles to parse that his cock and balls are stretching larger by the second. Quickly surging higher and thicker, his dick eclipses the size its been at its most turgid erection before now and it still pushes further with each groping grasp and sweaty breath. Similarly, beneath it his balls hang lower and the few dark hairs that shade his groin grow thicker and curl longer as his heavy balls rapidly increase production of the hormones this increasingly massive body demands. He cannot help but thrust into the air, his thin arms struggling to support the power his thighs summon. Landing back on his ass it too bulges larger with every flexing movement, quickly regaining its position as the largest muscle on the body as it becomes a bubble butt that would entice even the least male-interested eyes.

Moving on, lest Junpei blow his load all over himself, Arcadio's eyes continue upward to begin the most impressive work yet. Junpei groans as he desperately needs a break from the overwhelming pleasure burning in his lower body. He drags his hands across his inner thigh, feeling callouses scratch his sensitive sweaty skin before palming his cock to a spurt of pre before moving on. His fingers trace towards his torso as veins begin to trail upwards, crossing his abs as they bulge into existence.

His body involuntarily goes into a crunch as every powerful ab cramps, sending stabbing pain and searing pleasure through his mind. Drool flings out of his mouth as he launches forward moaning. Junpei’s rougher hands grab his beefy thighs to prevent himself from falling backwards once again. His eyes almost cross as he seemingly loses control of any unengaged motor function. Across from him Arcadio just smirks and watches as Junpei’s sweat soaked hair changes from the same unintentional look he’s had all his life into something far more deliberate and fashionable. Exactly what he would want in a body man.

Hearing the strained groans and hungrily looking to the ephemeral expression dancing across Junpei’s face, Arcadio hesitates before continuing. Feeling the briefest of pauses from otherworldly bliss, Junpei cries out, his voice rumbling deeper as he finds his neck has thickened, “Mrgh- Don’t stop boss. I want, more.” The artist’s lips twitch as he is more than happy to obey the thief’s desires. After all, it's about time to get to his favorite part. At the same time Junpei’s mind flickers to the massive pecs that he so enjoyed observing at the museum as he begins to feel building pressure, increasing potential, on his chest.

Summoning a laser focus, Arcadio stares at Junpei’s arms and currently non existent pecs. He has trouble ignoring the bulge dawning in his own pants as he sees Junpei’s stick thin arms begin to bulk up. Immediately his arms fly behind him as he rapidly alternates between stretching them and flexing. With each thrust away from his body into the air they lengthen, fingertips shoot longer as his palms widen. With every bulging flex veins are forced to protrude even further through his faultless skin. His biceps may as well be forged of cast iron as they become impossible to ignore, power courses through them as from now on even the smallest movement causes a medley of muscle to dance across his beastly arms.

In between his bulging biceps, above the cobblestone abs, underneath shoulders still widening and taps pushing against a shirt that barely holds on, his pecs finally begin to receive the attention they have always lacked. Junpei’s nipples increase from the dimesize they’ve ever held into half-dollar protrusions that will be impossible to hide under a shirt. Similarly, the measly pecs they stand strong on begin to grow at a rate more prominent than any change so far.

The sound of Junpei’s shirt giving way to muscle he couldn’t truly fathom before now burgeoning onto his chest overwhelms him more than he could ever know. In the moment of them bursting larger than life, he feels himself let loose of whatever restraining fragments of his past self remain. He wasn’t sure what caused him to take the sketch from the gallery, but Arcadio knew he would. Arcadio Carvajal, his boss, clearly had more planned for him than Junpei ever could imagine. As his pecs bloat beyond reason and he feels his chest pulse with power does he give himself totally over to become the perfect, powerful man that not for a moment in his life he thought he could become.

His body shines with sweat as he finally loses control, loosing load after load into the white dreamscape around him. He opens his mouth to cry Arcadio’s name but before a sound could release he finds his godly body pressing up against one of the few men he considers an equal. His new burning muscled form grinds against that of Arcadio. Getting his sweat all over his boss, his lover, his best friend, Junpei smirks in between labored breaths and slobbered kisses. Somehow feeling the scratch of Arcadio’s chest through his shirt the new body man can’t help but frot against the artist’s torso.

Shoving his bearded face into Junpei’s neck, which certainly doesn’t help matters, Arcadio moves his scratchy mouth to his lover’s ear and whispers, “Me esperas… See you soon mi amor.” Seeding desire more potent than anything, every bulging muscle clenches and forces itself larger one last time. Every inch of his impossibly large, inhumanly powerful new form sizzles with the capacity for more pleasure than could ever be bestowed upon him before. Junpei will evermore dominate any room he decides to grace. He will do so physically and intangibly with an aura that exudes strength and entices the appetites of all, though perhaps that due to constantly sweating through any clothing or deodorant he throws on within an hour.

Feeling emptiness fill him as Arcadio disappears from his dream after whispering in his ear, the now massive man has no recourse besides willing himself to wake up. And so he does.

Junpei wakes up on the floor of the apartment he’s been renting with Arcadio in the leadup to their new exhibition, for some reason the back of his head is sore as if he hit it. Though that’s nothing compared to the soreness that absolutely fills every last inch of his body. The giant groans as he wills his titanic upper body to sit up and smirks as he sees the sweat he must have just worked up. Scratching his pits and struggling not to sniff his hand after, his head briefly filled with countless memories of Arcadio chiding his poor hygiene, he hesitates before noticing some expensive paper lying on the ground.

Tilting his head and grabbing a nearby towel to wipe the sweat almost dripping from his hand, he takes great care to grab whatever this is without getting too much of himself on it. Turning it around he’s floored to see a sketch that’s supposed to be on the museum wall right now, worse than that it’s from an area that Arcadio has left to him! Taking no time at all to question how this possibly ended up here, Junpei puts it in one of Arcadio’s artsafe folders and sprints down the street to the gallery.

For being the assistant of such a fastidious man, Junpei has a habit of letting things slip through the cracks, but Arcadio never minds. He knows in the end Junpei will always more than make up for it, always aiming to go above and beyond and, somehow, more often than not exceeding what Arcadio even thought was possible. Entering the gallery the behemoth switches into the closest thing to a sneak that he can muster, unfortunately his massive clumsy feet would always betray his presence. His lover smiles as he hears Junpei’s failed covert operation.

Standing in front of the frame that is supposed to hold the piece that Junpei is now overtly returning, he turns with a sly smirk to see the man doing his best impression of a cat burglar. Arcadio rolls his eyes and goes to grab the folder, lest his lover get his streaming sweat onto it and create an awkward situation with the mangaka. After depositing in where it belongs and shutting it into a plastic case that was conspicuously absent earlier Arcadio returns his attention to Junpei who now looks around the gallery in wonder at what they have crafted together.

Arcadio’s grin grows wider with every step towards Junpei, nearing close enough to kiss, he stands tall and the two enjoy each other’s passion for the first time in reality. Though as Junpei’s deific form clearly demonstrates, what is real doesn’t matter all too much at all. Arcadio doesn’t quite understand the whims of the world he exists in and he’s pretty confident given enough time he won’t even remember being the impetus for his lover’s changes. In fact, as he stands in the arms of Junpei, memories already begin filling his mind of their years together that are as real as anything. Looking around he sees a room full of decisions they made together, body man he may be but the two of them are more than equals. Breaking away from the kiss, he sniffs the air and steps back from Junpei.

Arcadio looks at Junpei’s puppy dog eyes and ruffles his short hair, “Now go take a shower, perrito. Opening is in two hours and you stink, mi amor.” Junpei looks down at himself in shock, somehow forgetting the cold sweat covering his clothes and nods fervently before sprinting back out the door. The two lovers remain on each other's minds as they go about preparing for opening day. Ever but a thought away and always eager for the next moment that they will have alone together.

#male tf #mental change #muscle tf #male transformation #dumber #reality change #gay transformation

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imsogonesposts · 3 months ago

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Your Eyes Still Shine, Like Pretty Lights

|| ao3 || steve masterlist || requests are open!! || based on mary's song (oh my, my, my,) by taylor swift || an: I've been waiting to write this for forever, so im so glad its finally done, omg ||

summary: You first met Steve at seven years old after moving into the house next to his. He was your best friend for years, and eventually, he began to develop feelings for you. (wc: 4575)

tags: childhood best friends to lovers, argument, parties, underage drinking, proposal, wedding, steve and reader have two kids in the end

You first met Steve at seven, and he was a year older than you at eight. You and your family had just moved into the house next to his when a young Steve had wandered over to your backyard as you played with your Barbie dolls.

“Hi, I’m Steve, do you wanna be friends?” You heard him ask as you nodded with a smile, telling him your own name.

Though he didn’t want to play dolls with you, (he claimed dolls were gross and for girls and that he only played with action figures and cars), he was still happy to play other games with you. The two of you ran around your backyard playing tag, drew with chalk on the sidewalk between your two houses, and tossed around a ball he had gotten from his own backyard.

It wasn’t until the sun was setting that both yours and his parents came to retrieve the two of you. Both of them officially meeting for the first time.

“Oh, Steven, there you are,” you heard an older woman with dark brown hair say, taking Steve’s hand with a smile.

“Who’s your friend, sweetie,” your mom had said at the same time, coming outside to tell you it was time for a bath.

“We’re the Harrington’s, nice to meet you,” the older man who stood next to the older woman said, putting a hand out for your dad to take. “I’m Richard, and this is my wife Helen, and our son Steven.”

“Nice to meet you,” your dad said as he introduced himself, your mom, and you.

“It’s nice to meet the new neighbors,” the older woman, Steve’s mom, Helen, said with a smile. “And I’m glad Steven’s here got a new playmate, looks like they’re already fast friends.”

You and Steve had returned to drawing on the sidewalk with the chalk, barely registering your parent’s conversation. Steve drawing a dinosaur, and you drawing a butterfly.

“They’re friends, like us!” You exclaimed, pointing at the drawings the two of you had created.

Steve nodded his head with an enthusiastic “yeah!”

Your parents laughed as the older man, Steve’s dad, Richard, joked “I bet you when those two are older, they’re gonna fall in love.”

“Oh, I can already see it,” your dad joked along.

“Oh, Richard, let the kids be,” Steve’s mom said with a laugh.

***

It was Steve’s 10th birthday and the two of you were up in the treehouse his father had built for him, playing with the new board game you had gotten for him as a gift. Battleship.

“I win again!” You exclaimed as Steve let out a groan of annoyance.

“It’s my birthday, stop winning,” he pouted as you stuck your tongue out at him.

In retaliation, Steve did the only thing any other boy would do when losing a game to one of his friends. He threw a nearby pillow at you. One you quickly threw back at him with a laugh.

“I win! I win!” You cheered as Steve threw the pillow at you once again.

“I’ll beat you up,” he said with a laugh, his tone telling you he didn’t truly mean that.

It was a thing Steve always did. He’d threaten to beat you, but he never did, never would. You were his best friend, he would never do that, never could. But, he was bigger than you, so he always had a little fun threatening you till you gave up.

He laughed at your squeal as you shot your hands up in the air. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you said through laughs of your own.

***

It was your freshman year, Steve’s sophomore year, of high school, and Steve had invited you to one of the many parties he had gone to now that he was “King of Hawkins High.” Despite his popularity, however, he made sure to always stay by your side. Popularity might of changed him in some ways, but he promised himself that no matter what, he wouldn’t let that come between you and him. He wouldn’t let himself lose your eight-year-long friendship, not if he had anything to say about it.

And so, you would sit with him and his friends during lunch, attend some of the parties he was invited to, and he would take a step out with you if you ever felt like everything was too much.

The two of you were sitting in a circle now, among the other party-goers as you all played spin the bottle. It had been Steve’s turn to spin the bottle now, and it had landed on you, which caused the entire circle to erupt into cheers and “ooohs.”

“I can spin it again,” he whispered to you, eyes roaming over your face for any sign that you would be uncomfortable with your childhood best friend kissing you. With him kissing you.

You only shrugged and whispered back, “it’s fine. We’ve kissed before.”

He knew what you were referring to. Back when you were eight and he was nine, you had dared him to kiss you, and when he actually tried, you kept running away from him, laughing with each step. In the end, he kissed your cheek, and the kiss was forgotten about a second later, in exchange for swimming in Steve’s pool.

“That was hardly a kiss,” he whispered back.

“It’s okay, Steve.” You told him again, lightly squeezing his arm, a silent sign of comfort you’d done to him for as long as he can remember. “I’m fine with it if you are.”

And with that, Steve leaned in, gently placing a hand on your cheek, eyes roaming over you one last time in case you changed your mind, before he gave you a small, short kiss. Longer than a peck, but shorter than an actual kiss.

The group around the two of you cheered, but Steve could hardly focus on that. At the moment, he couldn’t help but focus on you. The way your eyes shined, almost like pretty lights, the way your hair framed your face, the curve of your lip, the slope of your nose. Steve had never been this close to you before, not in the eight years the two of you had known each other, but suddenly it was like everything about you captivated him. Like no matter what, he couldn’t look away, and he wasn’t fully sure if he wanted to.

“Are you okay?” You softly asked, your eyebrows creasing in the middle.

Steve cleared his throat with a nod, quickly dropping his hand and turning to face the circle once again. He was thankful they had already moved on to the next couple that had to kiss, as it saved him from any future, potential teasing.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” he replied as your hand squeezed his arm yet again. Something about that squeeze felt like bolts of electricity flying into Steve’s body, and honestly, he found himself enjoying the feeling. Even if he knew he shouldn’t be having these types of feelings for his friend, his best friend.

***

“Are you okay?” You asked a week after the party, a week after the kiss.

Steve closed his locker shut as the two of you walked to your shared science class. “Yeah,” he replied in a questioning tone as he took his seat next to you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug, “you’ve been acting weird all week.”

Steve only shrugged as he took out his notebook, “I feel fine,” he said as you began copying what your teacher was putting up.

Truthfully, Steve knew he was being weird, but something about that kiss changed things in Steve’s brain, almost like it was being rewired to think about you and nothing but you. No matter what he did, it was like all of Steve’s thoughts were consumed by you. It was like the kiss flipped a switch in his brain, and now suddenly you weren’t just Steve’s childhood best friend, but now you were the girl he couldn’t help but have a crush on.

He glances at you as you scribble down in your notebook and he couldn’t help but smile. Had you always been this pretty, and he was just too blind to notice it? Had he always had a small crush on you, and he was just too scared to ever admit it to himself?

You glanced up at him through the corner of your eye, noticing his staring. “What?” You questioned as he shook his head.

“Just trying to see your notes,” he responded as you moved your arm, allowing him easier access to your notes. He began scribbling in his own notebook, copying your notes into his as his thoughts still went on and on about you, going in circles just like the toy train he had that the two of you used to play with when you were little kids.

***

It was 11 pm on a Friday night when Steve called you on the phone, stating it was an emergency and he needed you to come over to his place immediately.

A one-and-a-half-minute walk later, you were sitting on his couch as he paced back and forth across from you.

“So, are you planning on telling me what the emergency is?” You asked as he paused his pacing in front of you before shaking his head and continuing to pace across the room.

“Steve?” You asked as he paused his pacing again, before running his hand down his face with a groan.

“I’m gonna tell you something, and I need you to promise me you’re not going to freak out, alright?” He asked as you nodded your head yes.

“Is everything alright?” You asked, “Are you like moving out of Hawkins or something?”

He shook his head no. “No, no, everything fine, I’m staying in Hawkins,” he said.

Steve then pushed everything sitting on his coffee table to the floor as he took a seat on it, hand in his chin as he stared at you, almost as if he was trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say.

“Steve you’re scaring me,” you said at the same time he said, “I like you.”

You furrow your brows in confusion at that.

“I’m your best friend, I’d hope you liked me,” You joked as he shook his head no.

“No, no,” he said with a sigh, muttering out the word “fuck.”

Steve looked up at you then, his soft, warm brown eyes looking into yours as he whispered your name. “I like you, as in like-like you, have a crush on you, whatever you want to call it. And I really don’t want this to mess up our friendship, so if you don’t feel the same way, or if you think I’m an idiot or gross or something, we can just pretend this never happened, okay?”

You blinked at his words, taking them all in.

“You like me?”

He nodded.

“Is...is this cause of the kiss?”

He paused before nodding his head again.

“Steve,” you whispered with a smile as he quickly stood up from his seat on the coffee table.

“Yup, I got it, you only see me as a friend, that’s perfectly okay, we can completely forget about this,” he said, walking to the other side of the living room.

“Steve,” you repeat again, a smile still on your face.

“I’m really sorry I told you this, but I just wanted to get it off my chest, and well, it’s off my chest now, so-“

“Steve,” you repeat slightly louder.

“So, now we can both move on and-“

“Steve!”

He pauses turning around to face you.

“If you would just shut up,” you said with a laugh, making your way towards him, “you could hear me say that I like you too.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to blink, taking in your words.

“What?” He asked as you laughed.

“I like you too, dummy,” you replied, lightly squeezing his arm.

“Oh,” Steve whispered before breaking out into a wide grin and pulling you into a hug. “Wanna be my girlfriend?” He mumbled into the top of your head, love and joy laced within the tone of his voice. And how could you say no to that?

***

It was 2 am when Steve had climbed up the tree directly next to your room and began lightly knocking on it.

You woke up startled at what could be making that noise, only to relax when seeing your boyfriend of two years letting out a small wave and a sheepish smile.

“Do you know what time it is?” You whispered after opening your window.

Steve only kissed you in response.

“Get dressed, I have an idea,” he whispered after breaking the kiss.

Ten minutes later, you were sitting in the passenger seat of the blue pickup truck his parents recently gifted him.

“You wanna tell me where we’re headed?” You asked, fiddling with the radio, looking for a song you like as Steve’s hand rested on your knee.

“There’s a lake I wanted to take you to,” he responds, eyes glancing briefly at you with a smile before returning to the road. “We can get a good look at the stars out there. And I brought some pillows and blankets so we can lie in the back of the trunk.”

“Steve,” you said softly, almost breathlessly, as he smiled, giving your knee a small squeeze.

“What?” he questioned. “You said you wanted a good spot to go look at the stars, so I went looking.” He said this as if it was nothing. As if he’d go looking for a place to look at the stars for just about anyone.

But you weren’t just anyone, and this wasn’t nothing- not to you, at least. No, you were Steve’s girlfriend, and it felt like he’d given you the world, even if it was just taking you to go looking at the stars.

“I love you,” you said with a smile as you both lay in the back of Steve’s truck, staring up at the stars a few minutes later.

“I love you too, honey,” he replied, breaking his glance away from the night sky to look at you, his eyes tracing over your face. “I love you more than there are stars in the sky,” he whispered, smiling at the small laugh you let out.

You turned to lie on your side, facing Steve with a smile, your eyes shining brighter than the stars above you both. “Thank you for doing this for me,” you whispered as Steve raised the blanket covering both of you to cover you a bit more.

“Of course baby,” he replied, smiling back. “I’d do anything for you,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before you turned to face the stars again.

“They’re so pretty, aren’t they?” You asked with a smile.

Steve nodded his head yes. “Sure are,” he replied with a soft smile, his gaze still stuck on you.

***

You and Steve had fought before. You were a couple, you had been together for almost three years now, it was normal for couples to fight every now and then. This fight, however, was more heated than your normal fights, and this one was about his friends.

“Tommy and Carol have always been nice to you, what’s the problem?” Steve asked, pinching the bridge of his nose in the way he always did when he was upset or confused.

“The problem is that they’re mean people, Steve,” you said, trying to explain why you didn’t like his friends. “They’re bad influences, you’ve started smoking and drinking now that you’re hanging out with them, they make fun of anyone not part of their little clique, you know Jonathan Byers? They made fun of him cause his brother is missing, do you not see how incredibly fucked that is, Steve?”

Steve did know how fucked that was. As soon as Tommy had joked that Jonathan killed his own brother, Steve had told him to knock it off. He didn’t think it was a funny joke either. But he couldn’t just abandon his friends, he wasn’t like that, even if deep down, part of him knew his ‘friends’ hardly ever treated him like a good friend should.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, placing his hands on your arms, lightly rubbing them up and down. “They’re just making dumb jokes, they don’t actually mean any of the shit they’re saying.”

You moved away from him with a small scoff. “So, what, if they were to make some fucked up joke about me you’d just what? Laugh along and say they don’t actually mean it?”

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose again. “No, when Carol called you a bitch I told her to shut up and not talk about you like that again, but-“

“She what?” You asked as Steve felt part of himself freeze.

He hadn’t meant to let that part slip out.

He said your name quietly, taking a step towards you as you shook your head no, taking a step away from him.

“I told her to knock it off,” he said, stopping in his tracks as you gathered your belongings, and making your way out of his room.

“No, she was just joking, right, Steve?” You asked, already stepping out of his room as he quickly followed you.

He called out your name, but you ignored him.

“Steve, the sooner you figure out that your friends are assholes, the better. They’ve changed you, and it’s not for the better,” you said, walking out of his house, and making your way to yours.

It was a short walk, but with so many things left unsaid, it felt excruciatingly long. You were used to kisses goodnight, to Steve walking you home even though you lived right next door, but now, you walked alone as the boy you loved stayed standing on his front porch.

The following morning, you were stepping out of your house, only to be startled by a sleeping figure lying on your front porch. Steve.

You bent down, lightly shaking his shoulder as he let out a small groan.

“Good morning,” you whispered as he let out a sleepy smile.

“Morning,” he replied back, sitting up to stretch.

Even though you were still mad at him, you were glad he had brought a pillow and blanket to keep him somewhat comfortable as he slept on the floor, and thankful it hadn’t started snowing in Hawkins yet.

Moving to sit next to him, you asked, “wanna tell me why you’re sleeping on my porch?”

Steve shrugged with a small sigh.

“I was thinking about what you said,” he replied quietly, “and you’re right. Tommy and Carol are assholes, I think I always knew that, I was just,” he paused with a shrug, “scared to admit it, I guess? Anyways, yesterday after you left I went to go talk to them and…well we’re not friends anymore. But it’s a good thing, I’m glad.”

You couldn’t help but feel a warm feeling inside your chest at his words.

“So, why are you sleeping on my porch?” You asked with a small smile.

“Wanted to apologize first thing in the morning.” He replied, “I’m sorry I didn’t immediately stop being friends with them after Carol called you a bitch, I’m sorry I changed, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize all this shit on my own. But, also thank you for…I don’t know, giving me a big ol thump on the head before I went off the rails and became an asshole too.”

The smile on your face grew at that.

You wrapped your arms around him in a hug, one he easily reciprocated as you told him, “that’s what I’m here for, Stevie. Gotta keep you humble.”

He shook his head with a laugh, rubbing your back as he kissed the top of your head.

“You wanna head inside and get warmed up? I can make some hot chocolate,” you said the last part in a sing-song voice, hoping to further entice Steve, but he only shook his head no.

“While I would love that,” he started, pressing another kiss to the top of your head, “I’m gonna help look for that Byers kid, I feel extra bad after Tommy and Carol’s jokes.”

Oh, your sweet sweet boyfriend, always putting himself out there and doing whatever he can to help those around him. You were glad you could thump his head before he went “off the rails,” as he said earlier.

“I’ll help,” you told him, kissing his cheek before standing up, holding a hand out for him to take. He happily took it not a second later.

***

You and Steve had been together for eight years when he decided it was time to propose.

Truthfully, Steve had known he wanted to marry you for a long time. An embarrassingly long amount of time. But, when the topic of marriage had first come up, you had told him you wanted to get your bachelor’s degree before marrying him. And so, Steve had, painfully, waited those four years until he could ask the question he had been wanting to ask for years now.

“Is there a reason you took me to Lover’s Lake the second we got back to Hawkins?” You asked Steve as he held your hand to help you down the rocky path.

Steve only smiled a wide smile as he told you, “baby, everything I do has a reason,” as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Well, can I know the reason?” You asked with a smile as he shook his head no, still smiling.

“In a few minutes, maybe,” he teased.

You huffed and rolled your eyes in feigned annoyance as you told him that he was insufferable.

“And you’re gorgeous,” he replied, a beat later, causing a smile to grow on your face. He hoped to see that smile every day for the rest of his life.

As you two finally made your way to the area where the grass met the water, the area where you and Steve would always spend your dates- a place that had quickly become both yours and his favorite spot in your small town after he took you there to go stargazing- Steve laid out a blanket for you both to sit on.

“Do you remember when I first brought you here to look at the stars?” Steve asked, his arm around your shoulders as he brought you closer to him.

You nodded your head yes. “Course I do.”

Steve nodded along with you, a smile tugging on his lips. “Right, well, I never told you this, but I think that night is one of the first times I realized how much I wanted to marry you. So,” he fished something out of his pocket, releasing his arm from around you to rest a knee on the floor as he looked up at you with a gaze filled with nothing but love.

He showed you what he had pulled out, a small black box, opening it to show you a ring.

Oh, it was an engagement ring.

Steve took a deep breath, smiling the whole way through.

“I’ve known that I’ve wanted to marry you for a long time. That’s one thing in my life that I’ve pretty much always known. Honey, you’re my best friend, you’ve been my best friend for a long time- pretty much our whole lives. And throughout all these years, you’ve made me happier than I ever thought possible, and I can only hope I’ve made you feel that same way. You’ve been with me through my best and my worst, and I don’t know what I could have possibly done to deserve that- to deserve you, but I’m so glad that I get to call you my girl.

“I want to be able to spend the rest of my life with you- the girl of my dreams. I wanna grow old with you, have a family with you, be with you through all the good and bad, every milestone. I want to be able to hear you laugh everyday, and see your smile everyday, see you every morning and night, tell you I love you everyday. So, I wanted to ask, something I’ve been wanting to ask for forever, will you marry me?”

The smile on your face only grew. It was the same smile he wished to see for the rest of his life.

You nodded your head with a laugh, moving to hug him as you exclaimed “Yes!”

“Yeah?” Steve asked through a laugh of his own, almost sounding as if he was in disbelief.

You only kissed him in response. A kiss that spoke a million yeses.

Steve eventually, reluctantly, pulled away from the kiss to slide the engagement ring onto your ring finger, lifting your hand to press a kiss to it with a smile. “My future wife,” he said with a smile that took over his whole face.

***

“I can’t believe we’re married!” You exclaimed with a laugh as Steve pulled you in for a kiss.

“Neither can I, Mrs. Harrington,” he said with a smile as he kissed you again.

Your wedding had been small, close friends and family only, but in a small town like Hawkins, word gets around rather quickly. And in the days leading up to your wedding, you and Steve had been bombarded with different people congratulating the two of you. Anyone from the cashier at the grocery store, to the lady passing you two in the movie theaters, to old classmates from your high school.

“Did you see our mom’s crying?” Steve asked as he kissed your cheek.

“I saw you crying when I walked down the aisle,” you teased with a smile.

It was true. The minute Steve saw you, he couldn’t help but cry. He was getting to marry the girl of his dreams, who also just so happened to be the prettiest girl he had ever seen. How could he not cry on what he considered to be the best day of his life?

Steve gently took your face in his hands, muttering out a soft, affectionate, “shut up,” before pecking your face with kisses. Your forehead, nose, cheeks, lips, chin, anywhere and everywhere he wanted.

***

A few years later, you and Steve had moved into your childhood home, the place where the two of you had first met. Where your love story had first begun.

Now, instead of being little kids playing in your backyard, you had two kids of your own playing there. In the very same backyard, the two of you had first become friends.

“I love you,” Steve whispered to you as you both sat in the lawn chairs he had brought out, watching your daughters draw on the sidewalk with pieces of chalk.

“I love you too,” you replied with a smile, kissing his cheek.

Steve smiled at the kiss, taking his gaze away from your daughters to look at you with a look filled with nothing but love and adoration for you.

“I’m gonna love you forever,” he whispered with a smile, “till the day I die, and then some.”

“My ghost’s gonna haunt your ghost,” you joked with a laugh, his words warming your heart.

Steve only smiled. “Promise?”

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