#Pulled down by the weight of his mistakes

[kentoxo]

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt. 11

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: i have returned with another, not-so-interesting part. i apologize to those who might have asked to be tagged previously, i *think* i have everyone now! but again, pls feel free to yell at me in my askbox if i didnt get you! the next part is gonna be way more fun, promise :) trying to bring in more of our jjk favs (including our baby boy toru)

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Monday

“Kento, are you stupid or dumb?” Haibara coldly spits through the phone. “You have what, like 5 days? My god, where is your brain dude?” 

“I’m a businessman,” Nanami responds, with shaky sighs escaping from between his lips as he enters the lobby of their job. “I made a deal, and she accepted the terms. When have I ever lost a deal?” 

“This all could have been avoided if you just said the other shit you told me,” Haibara groaned. “How she’s pretty, and the way you are able to open up to her.” 

Nanami lets out his own sigh, as his friend was probably right. “She… made me nervous. I only know how to be professional and talk in working terms. I’m not good at anything else.” 

“And now she’s pissed off, so fantastic work, Head of Department,” Haibara says before sucking his teeth. 

Nanami walks into the elevator, one hand buried in his pocket while the other holding his phone tiredly at his ear. A few other colleagues enter, giving Nanami a curt bow before pressing their floor button. “Is she in yet, by the way?” Nanami asks, a twinge of optimism in his tongue. 

“Of course she is,” Haibara hummed, the sounds of papers being sifted in the background. “She even asked for me to get your cup of coffee since she’s in a meeting right now.” 

Nanami’s eyebrow raised, “meeting?” 

Haibara murmurs a ‘hold on,’ the only sound to be heard was Haibara walking past several cubicles and work conversations. After finding a quiet place, Haibara brings the phone close to his mouth while cupping it with his other hand, “she’s in a meeting with shacho. ‘m not sure what it’s about, but he went to her desk the moment she clocked in.” 

What? “Did it seem like she was in trouble?” Nanami questions, his heart skipping a beat or two. 

Haibara shrugs, “‘m not sure, but I think it has to do with her promotion. Shacho mentioned it during the client lunch the other day, remember?” 

“That’s right,” Nanami lets out slowly, recalling that day in his head. That day, your usually tidy hair had a small lock of it sticking out from behind your ear. That same day is why Nanami wishes for hindsight almost constantly. “I wonder…” 

“Right?” Haibara whispers curiously. “Whatever promotion she gets, she earned it for sure.” 

The elevator doors open, and Nanami quickly rushes into the office. “Meet me in front of Takada shacho’s office.” 

“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be right there!” Haibara calls out. Nanami turns around to see his dark-haired partner behind him, sheepishly waving his phone in the air. Nanami hangs up and walks up to him, curious of his intentions. “You’re gonna owe me about $150 after this.” 

Nanami looks around before getting close to Haibara’s. A few strands of blond hair escape Nanami’s usually kempt hair. “What the hell did you buy?” He whispers, practically hisses. 

Albeit his nerves, Haibara looks up at him with a smirk, “when have I ever let you down, Kento?” 

“Never, but you best not start today,” Nanami growls, pulling away before making a quick stride over to Takada’s office. 

As he did, he noticed many of his colleagues peer curiously from their cubicle over to Takada’s office as well, with other eyes peering at your own desk for your return. A sea of whispers then started to surround Nanami as everyone noticed his arrival. Quiet, respectful greetings and curt bows create the aura around him as Nanami nods in acknowledgement. It was all just too curious for Nanami, as he felt the itch to know what he didn’t. 

But he could swear his eyes were deceiving him when he saw the backs of both Geto and Ieiri. 

“Geto, Ieiri,” Nanami addresses them in a firm, yet soft tone. 

Geto is first to turn, his long raven hair flowing from his movement. He usually had the top part of his hair bunned, but he decided to let his entire mane out today. Peculiar, Nanami mentally noted. It was also peculiar that Geto himself had a large bouquet of winter white lilies. “Kento,” Geto begins, a warm yet deceitful smile is pulled from each end of his lips. He offers his free hand, in which Nanami reluctantly shakes. 

Nanami has no issues with Geto, of course. All of them went to school together, Shoko and Haibara included. There has never been, and will never be, any beef between the two gentlemen. Of course, Nanami felt hesitant with him now, considering Geto hired you initially, and you were now under Nanami. There was a sudden and inexplicable feeling within the hazel-eyed man. Nanami was… nervous. 

Geto’s obsidian orbs weren’t helping with that, either. 

“Why so formal?” Ieiri sounded from his right side, pulling him out of his locked gaze with Geto. Nanami snatches his hand back, and quickly offers it to Ieiri, who teasingly just shakes the tips of his fingers. Her free hand held a small red box with a gold ribbon tied around it. “It’s been a little while, Kento. You never come up to visit.” 

“It’s because I work,” Nanami hums, letting her hand go to shove both his hands in his pockets. He needed some sort of solid ground, and his pockets felt safe. “And so do you both, considering we’re all department heads here.” 

“That we are,” Geto hums, “it has been quite crazy in Legal, considering how many clients the both of you have been pulling in.” 

Ieiri stows away a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear, gently lowering the cigarette she had hidden. “Sales has been quite crazy,” Ieiri said slowly, “hence why I’m down here. ‘m looking for my girl that you snatched from me.” 

Nanami squints his eyes, staring Ieiri down. But after realizing her words, his eyes slightly widened, “do you, by any chance, know what her promotion is about then?” He looks over at Geto as well, silently extending that question to him. 

Ieiri widened her eyes in confusion, with Geto raising his eyebrow in curiosity. “You… don’t know?” Geto asks, each word burned off his tongue in humor. 

Nanami was annoyed from not knowing, “I don’t if I’m asking. Why would I know?”

Ieiri taps at her bottom lip with the tip of her index, “well, you are her manager. You’d be the one that Takada shacho would talk to regarding Y/N’s growth within the company.” 

It did raise curiosity that Takada would mention Y/N’s promotion aloud in front of him and clients that have no relevance. But, Nanami did have some expectation to talk about your future promotion with Takada, whatever that would pertain. It felt somewhat like betrayal, considering how much Takada confided in him. Nanami could only hope it was with right intentions that he was not included in his assistant's promotion. 

“I have no say in how he makes his decisions,” Nanami’s eyes narrow at the door before them. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to calm his nerves. “I can only hope it is a promotion that is to her liking.” 

“I can give you a hint if you want,” Ieiri teases with a toothy grin. Geto clutches the bouquet a little tighter as she piques Nanami’s interest. He looks over to her, noticing her adjusting her long, black dress. She pulls off pieces of lint, torturing him purposely with the wait. “I heard a rumor that… this promotion is a role that is above all of ours.” 

Nanami, at the moment, was beyond proud of you. He couldn’t even conceal his smile, feeling pangs of excitement in his heart. He was glad that you were seen exactly the way he sees you. Intelligent, capable, overachieving, and approachable. You work with such grace, and exude so much warmth as a person. You getting promoted to a position much greater than his is truly an honor. He was lucky to have a small role in your success, if you considered his significance. 

“But supposedly she will still reside within one of our departments,” Geto hums quietly. Nanami gives him a look, but Geto shrugs, “that’s all I know.” 

Nanami’s smile calmed, “I don’t see the need for her to transfer out of Finance, though.” 

“Is that right?” Geto questions with a smirk. “You have your department completely sorted, besides how nosey they are.” The three heads look back to see all of his colleagues eye them like fish, having them awkwardly turn back to their work. “What help is needed here?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Nanami replies, an accidental hint of offense weaved in his words. “Just know that her skill set would be best utilized and appreciated here.” 

Geto’s smirk still played tricks in Nanami’s head, “and yet she applied and was initially hired for Legal. She was first recognized and utilized for her skill set in the Legal Department.” 

“She clearly is a woman of many talents, considering her contribution to all of our departments,” Nanami points out. He adjusts his tie, and sweeps his hair back in a more tidy manner. “She has done wonders for my department, and I intend to keep her flourishing here.” 

“I hope you boys didn’t forget that I’m here, too,” Ieiri pipes in, slightly annoyed at being ignored. “Nonetheless, it’s not about us. It’s about where she would like to go, and where Takada shacho believes where her role would be best fit.” 

After her words, the three hear frantic running from behind. Nanami turns around to see two bouquets of white roses make their way towards them. They were large, almost the size of two small bedside tables. The person halts, with staggering breaths emitting from the bouquets. Nanami notices the hair just barely sticking out from the top and knew right away that it was his closest friend, Haibara. 

“Nanami,” Haibara spews simply, forcing the two bouquets into his arms. The scent of florals intoxicated Nanami’s nose as he looked over the bouquets at his exhausted friend. “Looks like.. I made it right on time,” he lets out through sporadic, heavy breaths. From the corner of Nanami’s eye, Geto looked slightly annoyed at the fact that he was slightly one-upped. 

Before Nanami could even express his gratitude, the click of an unlocking door sounded from behind him. They all look over to see Takada shacho with a wide smile. To his right, you stood there, your body completely stiff from nerves. Nanami could tell that, despite everything, you still looked at him with those eyes, finding some sort of solace in them. 

Takada jumped a bit, humored at the sight of 3 of his Head of Departments. “Well, good morning to you all,” their boss hums heartily. All of them, including Haibara, bow. “I haven’t seen you 3 together since last year's Holiday Party. The only person we’re missing here is Satoru.” 

Satoru Gojo, the Head of IT. 

Geto nods, “they’ve been quite busy since changing the system for our company hub.” 

Takada nods, “I need to go visit them soon. See if there’s any relief I can send to their department. Speaking of…” Takada then moves away from you and allows you the spotlight. “Everyone, please turn your attention here.” 

You felt your nerves right at your throat. Though this was a good thing, you were never a fan of being front and center of anything. You always had stage fright, surely since you were younger. Having the attention and eyes of many was something you could never get used to, even now in your adult life. Nanami could see you remaining frigid while expressing a sheepish smile. 

As Takada begins to congratulate you on your new role as Office Manager, Nanami quickly walks up to you and puts the two bouquets in your hand. Although it was sudden and the bouquets held some weight to them, it provided a shield from your fellow colleagues staring at you. Nobody questioned it as claps and quiet cheers erupted in the office. 

You noticed Nanami standing firmly to your side, smiling at everyone while gently nudging you with his arm. You look up at him, uncertainty glimmering in your eyes. He mouths a silent ‘congratulations’ with a very wide and proud smile. You knew he was going to ask you about it later, but right now, it felt nice to just get a simple praise. It was the one bit of calmness within the chaotic sounds of claps and praises. 

“I hope everyone can join me in wishing Y/N much luck in her deserved promotion,” Takada announces, causing the crowd to quiet down. Praises continued to stream, but you could barely pay attention as you stared up at Nanami’s hazel eyes. But you did get interrupted by Ieiri’s hand latching onto your forearm. You look ahead to meet the eyes of both of your previous bosses. 

While anxiously holding onto the bouquets, you quickly bowed before the both of them, “a-ah, Ieiri kacho, Geto kacho! It is wonderful to see you both!” 

“And we you, Y/L/N,” Geto hums with a soft tone. “Many congratulations on your promotion. May your transition be as perfect as your work ethic.” 

You bow once again, attempting to find calm in Haibara’s frantic thumbs up shaking in the background. “Thank you very much… I would have never been able to even get here without you, Geto kacho.” 

Geto emits a hearty laugh before grinning, “you said it first.” 

Ieiri promptly shoves him a bit, smiling down at you, “why don’t we all have celebratory breakfast?” Ieiri looks over at Takada with a pearly smile. “Can Y/N delay her work so she can celebrate her monumental accomplishment with us?” 

Takada smiles before nodding, “please, feel free to take your time. I’d love to join you all, but my entire schedule is booked with meetings. Enjoy in my absence. And again, congratulations, Y/N.” 

They all bow before Takada, who takes his leave back into his office. A brief silence ensues before Geto goes up to you and begins to take the bouquets from your arms. “A-ah, Geto kacho, you don’t have to,” you insist, attempting to keep them in your arms. “You are already carrying one yourself.” 

Before Geto could even advance, Nanami quickly holds your elbow and tilts you so you’d be facing him. Without another second, he takes back the two bouquets from your arms. “Let me carry them for you, Y/N kacho,” Nanami says quietly. 

Your heart melts. Your mind was going blank. You could vomit from excitement, anxiety, and enchantment from Nanami’s teasing. “Th-thank you, Nanami kacho,” you say shyly, feeling your cheeks erupt in heat. 

“I’m no longer your kacho,” Nanami quickly spews, “feel free to drop that honorific for me.” There was something brewing in those hazel eyes, and you were left to wonder what goes on behind those beautiful orbs.

Taglist (OPEN)

@blossomedfloweroflove @numblytemporary @everyoneandtheirmothers @animechick555 @inthedarkshadows000

@m-arj-1 @julk4e @hadassery @swoozleee @angxlsatvrn

@v1x3n @s-witch-bitch @furgusonn @watyousayin @thechaoticarchivist

@simp-manhwa @5sos-wdw @ffyona1214 @phantombaby @evangel44xxcds

@ukiyodestiny @jasminelee324 @eurydxceorphxus @moonlightazriel @s3rp3ntsssc0ve

@dusty-dweller @wifenanami @bokuatsubro @ayesayman @starry-eyed--dreamer

@gradmacoco @nymphsdomain @whatelsecouldgowrong @myynameisbuckyy @nanamjai

@a-sor @typicalchels @celestialzdiviner @satoru-is-the-way @sannieworshipper

@shibataimu

[missnightshade]

❝ I WILL REMAIN, LOVE ❞

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Requested: Yes!

Summary: Lilia's trial ends with an - almost - irreversible consequence for Agatha's lover.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort. Almost death experience. Mentions of blood, blades and death (aka Rio). Non canon. English not being my first language.

Word count: 2k and something.

The path narrowed as the Coven walked through it. Looking forward at the long-haired witch that had your heart, you felt that Agatha no longer held the confidence she once had while summoning the Witche's Road. Both of you knew, for sure, that the whole song was a catch. A nice, petty, centuries old trap Agatha created in hopes to gain enough power to bring Nicky back.

A witch’s life was never easy. Just as the world was a malleable cruel thing, so was the days that these powerful women had to go through. Things changed between almost four hundred years back and now, walking this makeshift magical road. Nothing was as it used to be. Yet, Agatha was the only constant in all of the eras of your life. One that didn’t need a real label for you to know that, no matter what happened, it was the two of you against the world.

As the time passed and your legs grew tired, your attention shifted to the teen boy. It wasn’t needed for Agatha to tell you that she, too, was suspicious he was the one manipulating all of that. Agatha was powerless, and you knew it wasn’t you. Jen, Alice and Lilia were powerful, but not enough to bend reality to fit their own agenda.

But Teen, or Billy, emanated strong ancient magic. It was applaudable how the seams between his mind and the reality were almost unnoticeable

“He doesn’t know.” you guessed, falling into Agatha’s steps as the rest of the coven stayed behind, carelessly discussing something trivial.

“What gave it away, love?” she smiled, but her mind was far, far away.

“He got himself deadly hurt. He would have to be insanely dumb to trust one of us would cure him.

“Maybe he is just a dumb boy...” Agatha started out playfully, but seeing your serious face, the shine in her eyes died. You hoped for it to come back. “I know. And this makes...everything harder.”

You felt the witch rambling inside, wishing to measure the weight of explaining her worries, but as she opened her mouth, a cold, sickining body passed between the two of you, harshly separating your shoulders. Rio's sinister smile echoed inside your mind, like she could indeed penetrate herself there. As the sharp blade of hers slid down the middle of her tongue, evil, inviting, you felt the path ahead tuneling before you.

“I see you in the next trial, Y/N.”

And right there, towering in front of both of you as Rio skipped happily towards it, was a dim lit castle with its imponent tower screaming at you. Your steps halted, and Agatha almost bumped into you. You couldn't notice as Rio’s aura still held you hostage there, but your partner, your companion, your constant, eyed you as if she could actually force you out of the road. She knew, you knew, but no one dared to say a thing, afraid of the consequences.

Inside the castle, the clothes changed drastically, almost as you were in a disney witches' reunion. A table of tarot reading stood in the middle of the room, and as Teen rounded the corner, Lilia stopped there.

‘It’s my trial. I should read it.”

There was no questioning, but as the first card was laid upwards on the table, a sharp sword crashed down right by your side. Arms full of worry pulled you in, and your body rested against a scared Agatha. Her heartbeat was rapid against your touch, but as you glanced at RIo, she was nowhere to be found. The celling, full of swords, was just now noticed as the trial’s count down began, lowering above the coven’s head.

“I think we need something more...” desesperadly, Agatha took the deck of cards from Lilia. “Imediate.”

She started to lay cards as if her life depended on it. And, at some point, it did. But card after card, mistake after mistake, more and more swords fell. Some not around you, but mostly too close to be safe.

“Agatha!” Teen screamed, stopping her. “It’s not by chance. This has to be done right.”

The deck of cards was, again, in Lilia’s hand. Even though she managed to find out who the reading reading was for, as the last card was placed and the celling stopped lowering, a heartless, mounstruous sound erupted around the room. Agatha looked behind, breathless, pushing you towards the exit that popped open.

“The Seven are here. Hurry. Everyone out!"

Lilia intended to be the last one out, but as Jen pulled her, there was only you, teen, and Agatha behind. You didn’t notice, but a quiet, sly snake rounded the corner of a pillar, morphing quickly into one of Agatha’s old nemeses. The scare made you tremble, steps a mess as you tried to block down an attack with your own powers. A flash of light sent you and them apart, and as the snake met the side of a blade, you met the other, both fallen from the trial. The sharp pain erupted, but looking behind, Agatha was as surrounded by another four of them. Lilia screamed something that only Teen managed to understand, and as he blasted both of you out, the main card was turned upside down, in time only for him to jump out of the door before the whole trial turned and screams of impaled witches were heard.

The instant died down. Nothing besides agitated breaths could be heard between all of the coven members. You, on the other side, could barely hear anything. Agatha’s voice calling for you was far away, and although you tried to answer, you choked in blood, the taste of the ironed fluid filling your mouth.

“What?” Teen asked Alice, who stared at him like a ghost was right above his shoulders. As he held you still, the protection witch could only point out to your own body falling against Billy’s, pale face, coughing blood till your whole figure hit the floor.

Agatha eyes were shining with tears. The leaves from the trees in Salem that spring were vivid, but not like her eyes. At that time, you couldn’t bring yourself to say something as deeply as “I love you” to the Harkness heir. And as your death seeped into your whole existence, the fear of losing her friendship felt...ridiculous. Her tears fell onto your body. Pierced through with Evanora Harkness’ magic for simply being her daughter support, you were sure that there was no better reason to die.

“Please, Sunshine. Stay with me. It will be okay.” Agatha cried and cried, cradling your body into her arms. Holding you for her dear life, your body slowly became more and more heavy against her lap.

“Shh..Aggy. Don’t cry.” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. There was no physical damage, but your insides rotted by the minute. “This is honestly the best option to die. In your arms, you know?”

She scoffed, trying to pull your head up as if a miracle would happen. She was not only sad and griefing but also mad and frustrated.

“Don’t be stupid. You’re not going to die.”

You regarded her tiredly, too tired to even speak. But you knew that there was no way death would collect you before Agatha was sure it wasn’t her fault. And how loved she was.

“Aggy...this is unfruitful. We both know it.” you swallowed your desperation to part ways with the living world. “Just hear me out, Angel. You were the best, best thing I could have in my life. I love you. I’ve always loved you. Don’t forget that. I would die a thousand times in your arms.”

She blinked, tears falling onto your forehead. Last time, your voice grounded her as her own magic saved your from death. But now, as Rio appeared again, there was nothing from you besides the blood that ran to the floor from a large perforation you suffered from falling against the tip of a sword without even noticing in all that commotion. Agatha blamed herself again. You were on the road because of her. Because of her restless search for power. Looking at your pale face and shallow breath almost dissipating, she felt for the first time in her life since her son’s birth that she didn’t need any magic if she could, perhaps, keep you.

“You know you can’t.” Rio’s voice echoed, but as the witches around your lifeless body moved around to recreate the spell used on Billy, Agatha stared at her. “You walked hand in hand with me for so long, Agatha. You, above anyone, should understand how life and death works.“

“Don’t!”, the witches voice screamed back, and the strength it held made Rio stop marching forward. “She can’t die. It’s not her time.”

“But it is.” death answered, showing her half skull face only Agatha could see. “She gave you everything. Her time has been completed.”

“No!” she didn’t plead. Tired of all the centuries serving as a cunt to give her more and more bodies even after having her son taken from her, it felt unfair. “That’s enough.”

Agatha didn’t waste another minute there, succumbing to Rio’s words. She cried out for Jen. Vulnerable, broken, the coven fell into a rhythm of trying the ritual over and over again, but not only the moonlit water fell onto your body, but also your partner’s tears as she was left disheveled from pleading to the Mother to keep your life. It was a side of Agatha Hakness no one had seen. No one besides Y/N and Rio. Yet, as the hole on your body closed, no one exactly knew what would be of you. Rio stood there, overing your body.

“She will be alright.” Teen reassured Agatha almost three hours later, giving her some of the berries he found on the road.

She wanted to curse him for putting you into that situation, but then again, the Salem Seven were her fault. A moment passed as your body was kept close to the fire. On the sidelines, Death eyed you, protected by Agatha’s love, something that she despised you for. The blue eyed witch gazed at you.

“You care for her.” Lilia said, voice flowing with the wind. “Like you never cared for anyone.”

“Just one person, besides her. My son.” she smiled sadly. It was the first time mentioning him, but the truth was just as painful as the current reality. The coven, her found coven, listened to it. “And Y/N helped me navigate all of that. Back from Salem to now. But this is not the first time i almost killed her.”

“If you are going to talk about our story...” a faint, tired, almost really dead voice startled them. Rio had disappeared again, but Y/N’s eyes flashed from her place on the floor. “At least wake me up.”

The others laughed tearfully, relieved, but as Agatha rushed to your side, still a mess of hair, tears and dried mud, they gathered the fire away from them.

“Y/N...sunshine. I’m...”

“Don’t, love. Don’t even think of it.” the maimed witch intercepted, reaching out just one hand to touch her left cheek. Her thumb caressed her face. “I’m here. And I'm not going anywhere. It's not easy to free yourself from me.”

“And i don’t want to.”, her lips pressed against your forehead, kissing it before pecking your lips. “I’m sorry I keep drowning you into my mess. This is unaceptable.”

“Aggy. Please, stop.” even laying down, you could still command her with those sweet eyes. “It’s not your fault.’

“But...”

“No buts. Now, come here.”

As you gently pulled Agatha down, her arms were protective around you. Your body still ached, but as your heartbeat fell into the same rhythm of Agatha’s, there was no doubt you would survive. With your head on her chest, your heavy eyes fell onto the image of the coven exchanging a cup of water they found. Behind them, the shadow of Death blinked slowly at you, turning her back before cutting Billy’s reality to step out.

It wasn’t over, but the worst was.

"I love you." Her voice hummed against your hair.

And you would do all over again for her.

[domm1etae]

hii could you maybe write ot8 with bottom seonghwa? i wanna see him absolutely destroyed :3

maybe where members are absolutely whipped for the pink hair hwa from the recent comeback :p

At Their Mercy

seonghwa x all ateez memb.

smut | mdni

4.6k

Seonghwa gets wrecked by his members, trapped in a whole ass whirlwind of pleasure after being the center of their attention

nsfw tags under

multiple partners, doms!ATEEZ, sub!Seonghwa, oral sex (m!receiving), multiple partners, possession, teasing, praise, nipple play, body worship, overwhelming pleasure, intense stimulation, gangbang, multiple orgasms (all members), cock slut hwa, pink hair hwa, marking and waaaay more

author's note: bbys, just wanted to let you know that english isn’t my first language and i’ve been working on this for HOURS, so i’m really sorry for any mistakes. i’m way too tired to read through it myself xddd

The dim light of the room cast soft shadows over Seonghwa’s bare skin, highlighting the slight sheen of sweat gathering at his temples. His pink hair was a mess, falling into his face in wispy strands, but that only added to the allure. He kneeled at the center of the bed, legs slightly apart, his slender frame trembling with anticipation. Every glance thrown his way from the others felt like a physical touch, their eyes devouring him as though he were the sole thing tethering them to sanity.

Seonghwa’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his breath catching as Yunho stepped closer, towering over him with an unreadable expression. His large hands reached out, and Seonghwa flinched, not out of fear but out of the sheer intensity of wanting to be touched. The weight of Yunho’s palm cupping his jaw was grounding, and he leaned into it instinctively, his lashes fluttering shut.

“Look at you,” Yunho murmured, his deep voice vibrating through Seonghwa’s chest. “So obedient already.”

The words sent a shiver racing down Seonghwa’s spine, his lips parting to respond, but before he could utter a sound, a low chuckle came from behind.

“Obedient?” San drawled, his voice edged with mockery. “Give him a minute. He’ll be squirming before long.”

A soft blush bloomed across Seonghwa’s cheeks, his head tilting slightly in an attempt to hide the reaction, but there was no escaping their scrutiny.

“Don’t be shy now,” Hongjoong said, stepping forward until he was close enough for Seonghwa to see the sharp glint in his leader’s eyes. “We’ve all been waiting for this. Haven’t we?”

The question wasn’t directed at Seonghwa, but he felt the weight of it nonetheless. The answer was clear in the way the others watched him—hungry, reverent, almost predatory.

Mingi nodded, his broad shoulders tense as he shifted from foot to foot. “So fucking pretty,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was holding himself back.

The praise made Seonghwa’s heart race, heat flooding his veins as he fought the urge to lower his gaze. He didn’t want to appear weak, though the way his body trembled under their attention betrayed him.

“Strip.” The single word came from Hongjoong, his tone firm yet smooth, like a blade wrapped in silk.

Seonghwa’s breath hitched, his fingers moving on instinct to the hem of his shirt. His hands shook slightly as he pulled it over his head, revealing the delicate lines of his collarbones and the taut muscles of his abdomen. The room seemed to grow warmer, the silence punctuated only by the sound of fabric hitting the floor.

“Slower,” Wooyoung whispered, his voice thick with desire. “We want to savor it, Hyung.”

Swallowing hard, Seonghwa slowed his movements, his hands ghosting over his skin as he unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down his legs. Each inch of exposed skin felt like a revelation, his arousal evident in the way his chest heaved and his fingers faltered.

The collective sound of sharp breaths filled the room, the tension crackling like a live wire.

“Good boy,” Yeosang murmured, his soft voice sending a jolt of pleasure through Seonghwa.

Seonghwa’s knees felt weak as he sank back onto the bed, his hands resting on his thighs as he waited for their next command. His lips parted, his pink hair falling into his face as he looked up through his lashes, a silent plea in his eyes.

“Fuck,” Jongho groaned, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “You’re perfect, Hyung.”

The words made Seonghwa’s chest tighten, a soft whimper escaping his lips as Yunho stepped closer, his large frame dominating Seonghwa’s vision.

“You want this, don’t you?” Yunho asked, his voice low and steady.

Seonghwa nodded, his breath catching as Yunho’s fingers brushed against his cheek, tilting his head back to meet his gaze.

“Use your words,” Yunho commanded gently.

“Yes,” Seonghwa whispered, his voice trembling with need. “I want this. I want… all of you.”

The confession sent a ripple through the room, the others shifting closer as though drawn by the magnetic pull of his vulnerability.

San was the first to move, his hand tangling in Seonghwa’s hair as he tilted his head back further, forcing him to meet his gaze. “We’re going to ruin you, Hyung,” he said with a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with promise.

Seonghwa’s lips parted, a shaky exhale escaping as San leaned down, their breaths mingling for a brief, electric moment.

“Say it,” San demanded, his grip tightening slightly.

“Ruin me,” Seonghwa breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

A chorus of low groans echoed through the room, the air growing impossibly thicker as the others closed in.

Yunho’s hands found their way to Seonghwa’s hips, guiding him onto his hands and knees. The position left him exposed and vulnerable, his heart pounding as he felt the heat of their gazes burning into him.

“Look at you,” Wooyoung said, his voice dripping with adoration. “So fucking eager.”

Seonghwa whimpered, his hands clutching at the sheets as Yunho’s fingers trailed down his spine, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“You’re going to take everything we give you, aren’t you?” Hongjoong asked, his voice calm yet commanding.

“Yes,” Seonghwa gasped, his body arching into Yunho’s touch as he felt the first press of fingers against his entrance.

The sensation was both foreign and intoxicating, his breath hitching as Yunho worked him open with slow, deliberate movements. Each stroke sent shivers racing through his body, his moans growing louder as the others watched, their arousal evident in the way they palmed themselves through their clothes.

“Such a good boy,” Yeosang murmured, his voice filled with quiet awe.

Seonghwa’s eyes fluttered shut, his lips parting as he let himself be consumed by the sensations. The way Yunho’s fingers curled inside him, the gentle praise spilling from the others’ lips, the sheer intensity of being the center of their attention—it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

When Yunho finally pulled his fingers away, Seonghwa whimpered at the loss, his body aching for more.

“You’re ready,” Yunho said, his voice filled with certainty.

Seonghwa barely had time to process the words before he felt the blunt press of Yunho’s cock against his entrance. The stretch was intense, a burning sensation that bordered on pain, but he welcomed it, his body trembling as Yunho sank into him inch by inch.

“Fuck,” Yunho groaned, his hands gripping Seonghwa’s hips as he bottomed out.

Seonghwa gasped, his head falling forward as his body adjusted to the intrusion. The feeling of fullness was indescribable—a mix of pleasure and vulnerability that left him breathless.

“You’re taking him so well,” Wooyoung said, his voice filled with awe as he kneeled in front of Seonghwa. “I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

Seonghwa’s gaze flickered up to Wooyoung, his lips parting as the younger man guided his cock to Seonghwa’s mouth.

Seonghwa’s tongue darted out instinctively, tasting Wooyoung’s tip before letting him push deeper into his mouth. The stretch of his lips and the fullness of his throat mirrored the delicious ache in his lower body, and he couldn’t hold back the muffled whimper that escaped him. His hands gripped the sheets tightly as Yunho began to move, slow and deliberate, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure through him that made his entire body quiver.

“That’s it,” Wooyoung groaned, his fingers threading through Seonghwa’s pink hair as he guided his movements. “You’re so good like this, Hyung. Taking us so well.”

Seonghwa’s cheeks hollowed as he sucked eagerly, his gaze flickering up to Wooyoung’s face, seeking approval. The sight made Wooyoung curse under his breath, his hips jerking forward slightly.

“Shit, you look so pretty like that,” Wooyoung whispered, his voice shaking with restraint.

Behind him, Yunho’s pace began to quicken, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room. Seonghwa felt the stretch intensify, the sharp edge of pain blending seamlessly with the waves of pleasure coursing through him.

“Look at him,” San said, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and arousal. “Completely fucked out already, and we’ve barely started.”

Seonghwa whimpered around Wooyoung’s cock, the vibration drawing a groan from the younger man. His body burned with humiliation and desire, the combination only spurring him to try harder to please them all.

“Move over,” Mingi said, his deep voice carrying an edge of impatience. “I want a turn with his mouth.”

Wooyoung let out a soft laugh, pulling back with a wet pop as Seonghwa’s lips released him. A thin string of saliva connected them for a moment before it broke, and Seonghwa’s flushed face turned toward Mingi as the taller man took Wooyoung’s place.

Mingi’s size was intimidating, and Seonghwa’s breath hitched as the tip of his cock brushed against his lips.

“You can take it, can’t you?” Mingi asked, his voice softer than Seonghwa expected.

Seonghwa nodded, his lips parting as he allowed Mingi to push into his mouth. The stretch was even greater this time, and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he worked to accommodate the intrusion.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Mingi groaned, his large hands cradling Seonghwa’s head gently even as his hips began to move.

Behind him, Yunho’s thrusts grew more erratic, each one hitting deeper, making Seonghwa moan around Mingi’s cock. The vibrations drew a sharp intake of breath from the younger man, and his fingers tightened slightly in Seonghwa’s hair.

“Don’t stop,” Mingi said, his voice strained. “You’re doing so good, Hyung.”

The praise made Seonghwa’s heart flutter, even as his body trembled under the dual sensations. Every inch of him felt claimed and used, and it was intoxicating in a way he couldn’t describe.

Hongjoong stepped forward, his smaller frame exuding authority as he leaned down to whisper in Seonghwa’s ear. “You’re ours tonight,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “We’re going to ruin you, just like you asked.”

The words sent a shiver through Seonghwa, his entire body clenching in response. Yunho groaned at the feeling, his fingers digging into Seonghwa’s hips as he slammed into him with renewed vigor.

“You love this, don’t you?” Yeosang’s quiet voice cut through the haze, his gaze piercing as he kneeled beside Seonghwa. “Being at our mercy. Taking everything we give you.”

Seonghwa nodded weakly; his voice muffled around Mingi’s cock as he moaned in agreement.

“Good boy,” Yeosang murmured, his hand reaching out to stroke Seonghwa’s cheek gently, a stark contrast to the roughness of the others.

The duality of their touches—soft and demanding, gentle and harsh—sent Seonghwa spiraling. His body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alight with sensation as he gave himself over to them completely.

“Harder,” Hongjoong instructed Yunho, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Yunho complied immediately, his thrusts growing almost brutal as Seonghwa’s body rocked forward with the force. The movement caused Mingi to slip even deeper into his throat, and Seonghwa choked slightly, tears streaming down his cheeks as he fought to keep up.

“Look at him,” San said, his voice thick with awe. “Completely wrecked and still so desperate for more.”

Seonghwa’s moans grew louder, his body trembling with the force of his release as he finally tipped over the edge, the intense pleasure overwhelming him.

But they didn’t stop.

“You’re not done yet,” Hongjoong said, a wicked smile curling his lips as he climbed onto the bed. “We’re just getting started.”

Hongjoong’s sharp eyes roamed over Seonghwa’s trembling form, his lips curling into a pleased smirk as he reached out to run his fingers through Seonghwa’s soft, pink hair. "Such a pretty princess," he murmured, his voice dripping with mock sweetness as he knelt beside him.

The nickname sent a flush across Seonghwa's cheeks, a mixture of humiliation and arousal twisting in his chest. He could barely catch his breath; his throat stretched around Mingi's cock as Yunho’s relentless thrusts rocked him forward.

"You like that, don’t you?" Hongjoong teased, gripping a fistful of Seonghwa’s hair to tilt his head slightly. "Being called my little princess?"

Seonghwa whimpered; the sound muffled around Mingi, whose hands tightened their hold on him. "Hyung, you’re so tight—so good," Mingi groaned, his deep voice trembling with restraint as his hips stuttered forward.

Tears spilled freely from Seonghwa’s eyes, the overwhelming sensation leaving him a mess of pleasure and desperation. He hollowed his cheeks around Mingi’s cock, his tongue working feverishly to please him, and it wasn’t long before the younger man’s movements grew erratic.

"Fuck, I’m going to—" Mingi's words cut off with a sharp gasp as he buried himself fully in Seonghwa’s mouth, spilling his release down his throat.

The salty taste flooded Seonghwa’s senses, and he swallowed instinctively, his body shuddering as Mingi pulled out slowly, a string of saliva and cum connecting them for a brief moment.

"You did so well," Mingi murmured, his voice soft as he caressed Seonghwa’s flushed cheek, the tenderness in stark contrast to the roughness of before.

But there was no time for respite. Yunho’s strong hands gripped Seonghwa’s hips, pulling him onto his knees as he adjusted their position. "On your back," Yunho said, his voice low and commanding.

Seonghwa complied shakily, his body pliant as he let Yunho guide him. The shift in position left him completely exposed; his legs spread wide as Yunho leaned over him, their eyes meeting for a brief, heated moment.

"You’re perfect like this," Yunho murmured, his large hands sliding down Seonghwa’s thighs, gripping them firmly as he positioned himself again.

Behind Yunho, San and Yeosang exchanged a glance before moving closer, their gazes dark with intent. "Hold him steady," San instructed Yunho, his voice carrying a playful edge as he kneeled beside Seonghwa.

"I’ve got him," Yunho replied, his hands gripping Seonghwa’s thighs tightly as he thrust back into him with a groan.

The stretch was overwhelming, but Seonghwa’s body arched into the sensation, his hands gripping at the sheets as San’s hands explored his chest, tracing over his flushed skin.

"You’ve been such a good boy," San whispered, his lips brushing against Seonghwa’s ear as he spoke. "But I think it’s time for us to have some fun too."

Seonghwa barely had time to process San’s words before he felt Yeosang’s lips on his neck, the soft, teasing kisses leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

"You’re so sensitive," Yeosang murmured, his hands joining San’s as they roamed over Seonghwa’s trembling body.

Hongjoong watched from the side, his dark gaze fixed on Seonghwa’s flushed face as he toyed with his pink hair. "Look at you," he said, his voice filled with a mix of affection and dominance. "My pretty princess, completely at our mercy."

The nickname sent another shiver through Seonghwa, his entire body responding to Hongjoong’s words.

Yunho’s pace quickened, each thrust deeper and more erratic than the last, his breath coming in labored gasps. Seonghwa writhed beneath him, toes curling as Yunho’s length brushed against his most sensitive spot with every move.

The overwhelming sensations—Yunho’s weight pressing him into the mattress, San’s lips latching onto one of his sensitive nipples, and Yeosang’s teasing fingers grazing the other—had Seonghwa on the brink of losing himself completely.

"You're so tight," Yunho groaned, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back. His hands flexed against Seonghwa’s thighs, the firm grip leaving imprints on his flushed skin. Yunho’s large frame trembled as he stilled suddenly, pulling out with a low grunt.

Seonghwa’s legs fell open wider as Yunho knelt over him, gripping his cock in one large hand. "Such a perfect view," Yunho muttered, his voice thick with lust. He pumped his length twice, his free hand gripping Seonghwa’s hip for balance as he released himself.

Seonghwa gasped when the first warm spurt of Yunho’s cum landed on his stomach, the sticky heat painting his smooth, flushed skin. Yunho continued, the thick ropes spilling over Seonghwa’s abdomen, trailing down to his trembling thighs.

"Fuck," Yunho murmured, his hand stilling as he admired his handiwork. "You look so good like this, covered in me."

Before Seonghwa could catch his breath, Hongjoong moved in, crouching beside him. His slender fingers traced through Yunho’s release, spreading the slick mess over Seonghwa’s taut stomach.

"My turn," Hongjoong said with a smirk, his cock already hard and ready. He leaned over Seonghwa, brushing a kiss to his flushed cheek before shifting to straddle his chest. "Open wide, princess."

Seonghwa obeyed without hesitation, his swollen lips parting to welcome Hongjoong’s cock. The leader groaned as he slid into the warm, wet heat, his hips rolling forward to push deeper.

"That’s it," Hongjoong hissed, his fingers tangling in Seonghwa’s pink hair as he set a slow, deliberate rhythm. "You look so pretty like this—my perfect little princess."

As Hongjoong began to thrust, San’s mouth returned to Seonghwa’s nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive bud before sucking hard. The sharp sensation drew a muffled moan from Seonghwa, his back arching off the mattress as his body shuddered.

"He's so sensitive," San murmured, his tongue flicking over the now-swollen peak. "I could do this all night."

Yeosang’s hands roamed lower, his fingers brushing over Seonghwa’s inner thighs, tracing patterns into the slick skin. "You’re so pretty like this, Hyung," Yeosang murmured, his voice soft but filled with desire.

On the edge of the bed, Wooyoung and Jongho watched with darkened eyes, waiting for their turn. Mingi, still recovering, sat back with a dazed look, his lips parted as he stared at the debauched scene before him.

Hongjoong’s pace quickened, his thrusts growing shallow as he chased his release. "Swallow it all, princess," he commanded, his voice ragged as he held Seonghwa’s head in place.

Seonghwa moaned around him, his throat working to accommodate Hongjoong’s length as his tongue swirled over the tip. The vibrations sent Hongjoong over the edge, his hips jerking as he came, spilling into Seonghwa’s waiting mouth.

"Don’t spill a drop," Hongjoong murmured, his thumb brushing over Seonghwa’s cheek as he pulled out.

Seonghwa swallowed obediently, his tongue darting out to catch any lingering traces. His glossy lips parted slightly as he panted for air, his eyes hazy with pleasure.

"Still so eager," Hongjoong said, his voice filled with affection and pride. He leaned down to press a kiss to Seonghwa’s swollen lips before stepping aside to let the others take their place.

Wooyoung was next, his mischievous grin widening as he climbed onto the bed. "My turn," he said, his voice teasing as he positioned himself between Seonghwa’s legs.

"I want to see how much more our cumdump can take," Jongho said as he moved closer, his hand already wrapping around his hard length.

Seonghwa’s lips parted in a soft, breathless laugh, his cheeks flushing under the weight of his praise. It was a strange feeling—being at the center of their attention, yet it wasn’t overwhelming. It was exhausting.

“Do you like being admired by all of us?” Yunho’s voice had a certain softness to it, yet the desire in his eyes made Seonghwa’s heart skip a beat. There was no denying the way they all felt for him, and it both terrified and excited him.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He could feel the intensity of the moment, the weight of their admiration, and he reveled in it. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with vulnerability.

“It doesn’t matter now; we can see how much you love it,” Jongho said. “But let’s not waste your mouth skills on talking, huh?” Jongho added, as his member finally came in contact with Hwa's pretty little tongue.

Wooyoung at one end, Jongho at the other, and Seonghwa were totally overwhelmed at that moment. What he wasn’t expecting was San’s hands on his length, starting to jerk him off. Seonghwa couldn’t handle so many things at once, but the worst was yet to come.

Yeosang saw how Hwa was struggling to keep up, and he totally loved the idea, so he lowered himself next to Hwa’s nipples and started to give them attention. Seonghwa's senses were bombarded, and he couldn't keep up with the sensations that were coursing through him. Wooyoung's and Jongho's cock, San's skilled fingers teasing at his length. Yeosang's nibbles and nips at his nipples only heightened the sensations that were pulling him inexorably toward a break as they all dipped and swirled around him, a feast for his body and soul.

He moaned out around Jongho's member, unable to hold himself back any longer, his eyes growing heavy and his hands tightening around the sheets of the bed. The sheer amount of stimulation he was receiving was almost too much for him to bear, but yet he craved more. He could feel himself reaching his next orgasm.

Hongjoong watched from the sidelines, enjoying the show before him. His lips curled into a devilish smile as he moved closer, his hands resting on Seonghwa's hips. "Come for us, princess," he said, his voice laced with authority.

The simple command was enough to send Seonghwa over the edge. His back arched off the bed, his eyes fluttering shut as his entire body shuddered with pleasure.

Yeosang lapped at Hwa's cum mixed with Yunho's previous load dripping down Seonghwa's chest and stomach, a wicked smile curling his lips. "So messy," he teased, his voice filled with adoration.

San's hands stilled on Seonghwa's length, his gaze fixed on the sight before him. "So fucking pretty," he murmured, his voice tinged with awe.

"We're not done yet," Wooyoung said, his voice filled with amusement and lust. He pulled out of Hwa's hole, his hand gripping his length as he pumped it twice.

"You better be ready for more, Hyung, because I was really holding myself back till now."

Seonghwa's head was spinning, his body overstimulated and trembling. He was exhausted, but his heart swelled with desire, his need for them overwhelming him. "Please," he whimpered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good boy," Hongjoong praised him, his hands sliding over Seonghwa's thighs, spreading them wider.

"Look at him," Yeosang whispered, his voice filled with reverence. "He's so eager for us."

Wooyoung chuckled softly, his hands gripping Hwa's hips as he pressed against his entrance. "Our perfect little whore," he murmured.

Seonghwa cried out, his fingers tangling in the sheets as Wooyoung set a relentless pace. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, the scent of sweat and sex heavy in the air.

Jongho watched for a moment before speeding up as well, his fingers curling around Seonghwa's chin to tilt his head toward him. "I suggest opening wide now, Hyung," he said, his voice strained with arousal.

Seonghwa's lips parted instantly, his tongue darting out to taste the salty tip of Jongho's cock. The younger man groaned, his hips jerking forward to push deeper into the warmth of Seonghwa's mouth.

"That's it," Jongho hissed, his hand gripping the back of Seonghwa's head, guiding his movements.

Wooyoung's thrusts grew erratic, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he chased his release. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Seonghwa's hips.

The sound of Wooyoung's voice spurred Jongho on, and he picked up the pace, his grip tightening on Seonghwa's hair. "Such a good slut for us," he murmured, his words punctuated by sharp, breathless moans.

"You're doing so well," Yeosang murmured, his eyes filled with adoration as he watched from the side of the bed, where he was sitting.

Wooyoung's breath caught in his throat as his body tensed, his hips stuttering forward as he spilled inside of Seonghwa's waiting hole.

"Fuck," Wooyoung cursed under his breath, his fingers twitching on Seonghwa's hips. He pulled out slowly, his thumb grazing over the flushed skin, and he smirked when he noticed how red the marks were. "Sorry, I think I was a little rough," he said with a small, guilty smile.

Hongjoong smiled and went over to where Woo was before, his hands now gripping Seonghwa's thighs as he held them open, admiring the view. "So perfect, all marked up and used," he said, his voice low and filled with awe.

Seonghwa didn't reply, his eyes fluttering shut as Jongho continued his assault on his mouth. The feeling of being used, being completely at their mercy, was intoxicating. He could feel the weight of their gaze, the desire thick in the air, and it was enough to send him spiraling once more.

"You're close," Yeosang whispered. "Would you like a little help from our Sannie?" he said out loud and looked at San, who was already grinning ear to ear.

He couldn't even remember how many times he'd already come that night, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the feeling of their hands on him, their bodies pressed against his, so all that Seonghwa could do was just an easy nod.

Seonghwa couldn't help but moan, his eyes squeezing shut as Jongho's member slipped out of his mouth because of his nodding. San took his place immediately, taking Hwa's little member into his mouth.

Seonghwa's eyes rolled back, his hands shaking as he struggled to take the intrusion.

"That's it," Yeosang murmured, his fingers grazing over Seonghwa's trembling skin, sending sparks through him.

San's lips wrapped around his cock, his tongue flicking over the sensitive tip. He knew exactly what to do, and his mouth worked tirelessly, bringing Seonghwa closer and closer to the edge.

Jongho's breath was labored, his gaze fixed on the scene before him. He could feel his release building, his muscles tensing as he reached his climax with the helo of his own hands, coming all over Seonghwa's face.

The warm, sticky cum hit Seonghwa's flushed cheeks, his pink hair, and his parted lips. It was filthy, and San loved it, the sight bringing him to his own orgasm as well, coming on the sheets he was humping while sucking off Hwa.

"What a good boy," Mingi praised from afar. He was watching from the other side of the bed, where he sat. He had been watching the whole thing, and it turned him on more than anything.

"He's such a slut, getting so much pleasure from being used," Hongjoong commented, his dark eyes fixed on Seonghwa's trembling body, the cum and sweat dripping down his skin, his hopefully last climax almost there.

"One last baby," Yeosang said as he ordered Seonghwa to jerk him off.

So Seonghwa did, as he was told, sit up with his cock still in San's mouth and start to jerk off Yeosang. "Don't worry, I will be done quickly."

"Me too," Seonghwa murmured, warning San about his next orgasm.

It didn't take long for them both to come, Yeosanf coming into Hwa's hand with a low growl, San swallowing all of Hwa's cum, and then Seonghwa flopped on his back, his legs giving out and his breath coming in short, shaky gasps. He couldn't remember ever feeling so thoroughly used and satisfied, and his entire body felt heavy, his eyes growing heavy with exhaustion.

"Are you okay, Hyung?" Jongho asked, his voice filled with concern.

Seonghwa nodded, a small, tired smile playing on his lips. "I'm perfect," he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut as he succumbed to sleep, sticky from sweat, tears, and mainly cum.

The others gathered around him, their faces filled with admiration and affection as they watched him sleep.

"He really is perfect," Hongjoong murmured, his gaze lingering on Seonghwa's sleeping form, a fond smile playing on his lips.

"A true angel," Mingi whispered.

"Our angel"

The seven boys had to clean him up a bit, but none of them was complaining. They honestly never have been happier before.

[meazalykov]

let me in

giulia gwinn x anxiety!reader

part one - part two

summary: you try to hide it, but she already knows

warnings: diagnosed anxiety, fear, zoloft mentions, angst, split into two parts because of the word count

the second half starts, and somehow, you manage to push through. you make an assist to sydney. for a fleeting moment, there’s a spark of joy. you’re happy for her, you really are. 

then you start to think that you’ve realized something. the acknowledgment you’re used to isn’t coming. no one is rushing to congratulate you for the assist, like they normally do for anyone else who makes a great play. 

you know it’s not because they don’t care, but your mind betrays you. it starts spinning with doubt, with fear. did they notice the mistake you made earlier? do they think you’re not good enough? why is no one congratulating you?

your heart beats faster now, the panic rising again. you try to push the thoughts aside, to focus on the game, but the fear is too strong. it’s all you can think about. 

then, a familiar voice pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. pernille is next to you, her arms around you in a tight hug. 

“you did great,” she says, her voice warm and reassuring. 

tuva follows, giving you a pat on the back, and for a brief moment, the fog lifts. you’ve made a mistake, but they don’t hate you. they don’t blame you. they still believe in you.

your heart is still racing, too fast, too loud, pounding against your chest like it's trying to break free. calm down, calm down, you tell yourself, but it doesn’t help. 

nothing helps. it’s like a constant hum of anxiety buzzing in your ears, drowning out everything else.

when the coach calls for the substitution, you barely register it at first. you’re already so deep in your head that the words don't hit until he’s looking directly at you, a hint of concern in his eyes. you blink, startled, as he gives a quick nod towards the sideline. 

linda comes on for you, and you give her a light hug before the coach reaches out to put his hand on your shoulder.

"y/n, rest. you did great. go ahead and sit the last twenty minutes out."

it feels like the earth shifts beneath your feet. the pressure mounting in your chest. as you walk toward the benches , all you can feel is this deep sense of failure. 

I didn’t do well. I wasn’t good enough. that’s why he’s subbing me off. 

your pulse doesn’t slow down as you sit on the bench, your leg bouncing uncontrollably. you try to still it, but your body doesn’t listen. it’s as if the constant movement is the only thing you can do to release the built-up energy inside of you. 

I wasn’t good enough, you repeat, the thoughts relentless, pushing through the cracks in your mind. 

sam kerr sits beside you, and without a word, she leans her head on your shoulder. it’s a small gesture, but it’s enough. the weight of her support, her presence, pulls you out of the storm in your head, if only for a moment. 

“great job love,” you hear her say silently, and you want to believe her, want to feel proud of what you’ve done, but it’s so hard to shake the feeling of not being enough. 

you glance back at the field, watching the play unfold, but your focus isn’t there. your body feels heavy, and your mind is racing. 

I don’t belong here. I can’t even finish a game. I’m not enough for this team. 

the rest of the game moves in a blur as you try to calm your breathing, to remind yourself that it’s okay, that you’re doing your best. 

the anxiety has a grip on you, pulling you deeper. your leg keeps bouncing, faster now, each movement a desperate attempt to release the tension building inside you. it’s exhausting, and the fear is suffocating. 

when the coach comes over after the game, his words are meant to comfort you. 

“y/n, you did great out there. you’re doing everything right. you just needed a break—take it easy.” but they don’t sink in, not right away. you nod and give him a quick smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. 

I didn’t do great, you think. I was subbed out. I couldn’t finish the match.

ten minutes after the ending of the game, you’re surrounded by teammates celebrating the 5-2 victory over arsenal. it should feel like a triumph, and in some ways, it does. 

when you’re talking to lea about the win, lena—still recovering from her ACL injury—suddenly picks you up from behind, lifting you off your feet in an enthusiastic embrace.

“you did so good!!!” she shouts, her voice filled with joy.

for a split second, panic courses through you. you freeze, body rigid, terrified that somehow you’re going to hurt her. you don’t want to be the reason she gets injured again. you pull away quickly, a nervous laugh escaping your lips as you explain, 

“i don’t want to be the reason you get hurt again.”

lena laughs, shaking her head. “you’re so light. you couldn’t hurt me,” she reassures you, and for the first time all day, you feel a little bit lighter. 

the fear begins to lift, and you let out a shaky breath, finally starting to believe that maybe you’re being ridiculous, you’re not as bad as your anxiety makes you think.

lea picks you up next, and for a fleeting moment, you feel the weight of your worries start to fade. the team loves you. they don’t hate you. they’re not disappointed in you. you are enough.

later that night, when you and giulia arrive home, the house feels different. quieter. more intimate. the adrenaline of the match still buzzes in your veins, but now you’re alone with giulia. 

she sits next to you on the couch, her strong arms around you as you both begin to unwind. you talk about the game. your assist, the plays you both loved from giuli, the moments that didn’t go as planned. 

then giulia’s tone shifts. she’s quieter now, her hand resting on your knee as she watches you carefully.

“how’s therapy going?” she asks, her voice gentle but probing.

the question catches you off guard, and suddenly, you’re paralyzed with fear. you’ve been hiding the truth from her for so long. the medication. the diagnosis. the fact that things haven’t gotten better, despite what you’ve been telling everyone, including her. your chest tightens as the words struggle to leave your mouth. 

(throwback) you sit in the small, sterile office at bayern’s campus, your fingers anxiously tapping against the arms of the chair. the white walls seem to close in on you as you try to focus on the woman sitting across from you. 

the psychiatrist. 

she’s kind and patient, but everything about this situation feels foreign and uncomfortable. you’re not used to talking about your feelings. you’ve spent your whole life pushing them down, burying them behind a smile, behind the constant drive to be better, to be strong. 

today, everything feels too much. too heavy.

“y/n, you’ve been dealing with a lot of pressure lately,” she says, her voice soft but steady. 

“and it’s okay to admit that you’re struggling with it. it’s more common than you might think.”

you want to argue. i’m fine, you want to say. i don’t need help. however, the words stick in your throat. you can’t lie, not anymore. not when it feels like your entire body is suffocating under the weight of everything. 

you nod, even though a part of you still wants to shut it all down. it’s too much now. the fear. the racing thoughts. the panic attacks. it’s been months, and it’s only getting worse. so you listen as the psychiatrist continues, explaining how anxiety can feel like an endless cycle that’s hard to escape, how sometimes your mind just needs help. 

medication, she suggests, can ease the constant tension, help you regain some control. 

she mentions zoloft, a small pill to take each morning. at first, the idea of it makes you cringe. medication? you’ve never been the type to rely on pills, but deep down, you know something has to change. 

you’re tired of feeling like your chest is going to explode every time you step onto the pitch. tired of the constant weight of guilt and fear that follows you everywhere.

“it might take some time to work,” she says, as if reading your mind. “it can help. we can monitor it together with the rest of the doctors here.”

you nod again, though it feels like a distant part of you is screaming to stop. you don’t want to admit that something’s wrong, that you’re not strong enough to handle it all. but here you are, agreeing to try something new, agreeing to take that pill. 

you want to believe it’ll work, but you’re also afraid it won’t. if it doesn’t, what will that say about you?

the psychiatrist hands you the prescription, and you take it, your hands shaking slightly. the weight of the small bottle feels overwhelming, like it holds all your fears inside. this is it, you think. this is the fix. this is how it’s going to get better. the thought doesn’t make you feel better. it only makes the weight heavier. what if it doesn’t work?

that night, when you get home, you find yourself standing in front of the dresser, staring at the small, nondescript bottle in your hand. 

you want to hide it. you don’t want anyone—especially giulia—to know. you can’t let her see this side of you, not when you’ve worked so hard to keep up the facade. 

without thinking, you open the drawer of your underwear dresser. it feels like the safest place, the one place where no one would look. you tuck the bottle inside, burying it underneath your things, as if hiding it will somehow make it less real. less of a reflection of what’s wrong with you.

the next morning, you take the pill as if it’s just another routine. but the guilt hangs over you, a shadow that doesn’t leave. 

you try not to think about it, but the more you take the pill each day, the worse it feels. it doesn’t help. it doesn’t change anything.you think that you’re still broken. it only makes you feel like you’re drifting farther away from yourself like you’re numbing your emotions, but not in a good way. 

it’s like you’re fading into someone else’s skin, and you don’t know how to stop it.

you feel like you’re suffocating in your own mind, and you don’t know how to explain it to giulia. 

what if she thinks I’m not good enough for her? what if she sees me as weak? she’s always been your anchor, the one person you never want to disappoint, but telling her about this... it feels like the ultimate failure.

and so, you keep it to yourself. the pill bottle stays hidden, tucked away in that drawer. the anxious thoughts continue to spiral, unchecked, but you don’t want anyone to know. not even giulia. not even her.

back to the present– giulia’s quiet, but you can feel the weight of her gaze on you. she’s waiting, and you know she’s already figured out that something’s wrong. it’s been weeks, and the cracks in your facade are starting to show.

“therapy has been fine.” you smile, pulling a loose piece of blonde hair behind giulia’s ear. her hair wasn’t in her signature ponytail braid from the game, but in loose curls over her shoulders that the braid gave her. 

you try to focus on something, anything—anything to avoid her eyes—but it’s useless. your hands are shaking, and every thought feels like it’s running away from you. the anxiety from the match still lingers in your chest, but now it’s compounded by guilt. 

guilt for not telling her sooner. guilt for hiding the truth. you feel trapped in your own head, like you’re suffocating under the weight of your own emotions.

giulia watches you carefully, her brow furrowed. she doesn’t need to ask anymore. she knows. and that’s what scares you most.

“y/n,” giulia finally says, her voice calm but firm. 

“you know we need to talk, right?”

you swallow hard. your throat feels tight, the words stuck there. you try to smile, but it feels forced, like it won’t reach your eyes. 

“about what?”

she leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, eyes never leaving yours. 

“about you. about everything you’ve been hiding.”

the words hit like a punch to the stomach, and you flinch. hiding—the word stings. because it’s true. you’ve been hiding everything. everything that’s been eating at you for months now. 

the anxiety, the fear, the constant worry that you’re not good enough—that you’ll fail again and let everyone down. especially her. the person who’s always had your back for the last five years. the person who’s seen you at your best, at your worst, and still loved you unconditionally. 

now, you’re afraid to admit that you’ve been struggling.

“giulia, I don’t—” you begin, but she interrupts, her tone sharper now, like she’s not going to let you brush it off again.

“don’t, y/n. don’t shut me out again!” giulia’s voice is soft but serious, and her eyes search yours with a piercing intensity. 

“i’ve seen the way you’ve been. I’ve seen how you’ve been withdrawing, how you’re not talking to me or anyone else about it. I know you’re not okay. I know you’re not just tired or stressed from the game. this is something else. I want to help.”

you feel your chest tighten at her words. you want to tell her everything, want to explain what’s been going on inside your head, but the fear grips you tight. 

what if she thinks you’re weak? what if she thinks she can’t handle this part of you? what if she doesn’t understand? you thought.

giulia’s expression softens, her tone gentler now, but she doesn’t back down. 

“y/n, I know you better than anyone. and I can see it. I know what’s been going on. I know you’re struggling with anxiety. and I know you’ve been taking medication for it. you don’t have to hide it from me anymore.”

the room goes quiet. your heart skips a beat, and the blood rushes to your ears. 

how does she know? you didn’t tell her. you didn’t want to burden her with it, didn’t want her to look at you differently. 

somehow, giulia knows. she’s known all along.

“giulia, I—” you start, but she cuts you off, her voice gentle but firm.

“why didn’t you tell me, y/n?” giulia asks, her voice laced with a mix of concern and hurt. 

“why didn’t you come to me? why have you been hiding this from me?”

the words hit you like a slap, and you blink back the tears that threaten to fall. 

“i didn’t want you to think I was... weak,” you admit, your voice trembling.

 i didn’t want you to think I was... broken.”

giulia leans in, her hand reaching for yours, gently taking it in hers. her grip is steady, warm, and you feel a little bit of the weight on your chest lift. 

“y/n, you’re not broken,” she says softly. 

“you’re human. and being human means you have struggles. you have fears, and you have moments where you need help. that doesn’t make you weak. it makes you real. I’m not going anywhere. I want to help you, but you have to let me in.”

you feel the tears that you’ve been holding back finally spill over, hot and unrelenting. the sobs wrack your body as giulia pulls you into her arms, holding you close. you’ve been so terrified of letting her see you like this—vulnerable, broken, messy. 

you realize that she’s not looking at you with disappointment. she’s not seeing your anxiety as a flaw or a weakness. she’s seeing you. all of you.

“i’m sorry,” you choke out, your voice muffled against her shoulder. 

“i didn’t mean to shut you out. i thought... i thought you’d think i wasn’t strong enough to be your partner anymore.”

giulia shakes her head, her fingers soothing through your hair. 

“y/n, I never thought that. I never would. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be you. and right now, that means letting me be here for you.”

“we’ll get through this together, okay?” giulia whispers into your hair, her voice filled with unwavering support. 

“you don’t have to face this alone.”

you nod against her, the sobs slowing, the tightness in your chest loosening. for the first time in months, you finally feel like you can breathe.

the morning light filters through the curtains, casting soft beams across the bedroom. the air is calm, the silence between you and giulia comfortable for once, free of the tension you’ve been carrying for weeks. luckily, you guys have the day off from anything football related so you can stay in bed for longer. 

you sit on the edge of the bed, your fingers still trembling slightly, but you’re more at ease than you’ve been in a long time. last night, you opened up to her in ways you didn’t think you could. and though your heart had pounded in your chest and the fear of being judged had nearly consumed you, giulia hadn’t wavered. 

you glance over at her, the way she’s lounging on the bed, her legs propped up under the covers, her eyes half-lidded as she smiles faintly in your direction. 

the bottle of zoloft sits on the nightstand, so small, so innocent-looking. it feels heavier than it should, but the weight is different now. 

it’s no longer just a symbol of everything that’s wrong with you. it’s a step forward. and you’re ready to take it. 

without hesitation, you pick up the bottle, twisting the cap off, feeling giulia’s gaze on you. her eyes are soft, not judgmental, just... waiting. you feel a small sense of reassurance, as if her presence alone is all you need. 

there’s no longer that nagging voice telling you to hide, to keep it to yourself. you can’t change your past, but you can change how you move forward, and you want to move forward, especially with giu. 

you take the pill, the cool surface of the tablet smooth in your fingers, and swallow it down with a sip of water. it’s such a small act, but it feels monumental.

“good morning,” giulia says, her voice light, laced with affection. her eyes soften, and she shifts slightly to make space for you on the bed. 

you settle down next to her, the pillow cool against your skin, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. giulia’s hand brushes your waist, and you lace your fingers around hers. 

“i’m proud of you, you know,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. she turns her head to look at you, her eyes warm, filled with love. there’s no judgment, just acceptance. 

you nod, trying not to let the lump in your throat get the best of you. it’s hard to believe sometimes, that she’s always going to be there, in moments like these, it feels real. it feels like you can finally breathe.

“thank you,” you reply softly, feeling a quiet sense of peace settle over you. 

“for being patient. for being so loving my love.”

giulia smiles, the softest smile you’ve ever seen. 

“you’re perfect just the way you are.” 

she brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, her touch gentle. 

life is not easy, and you’re not perfect. you don’t have to be. you have giulia, and that’s enough.

baby steps. it’s enough.

masterlist

[gothcsz]

part nine of the neighbors series. i just had to write this... it was too good of a thought to keep just in my head! javier going back to helena after you rightfully tell him to get lost for standing you up. he's not into it but decides to fuck her anyways?! this man and his unhealthy coping mechanism: sex. smh. this takes place after part seven 🖤

javier peña x f!reader. ~1.5k word count. spanish heavy (translated), s m u t, honestly javi just comes with his own warning at this point, angst (as always)

Javier winces as the door to your apartment shuts in his face, the sound echoing louder than it should in the quiet hallway. He stands there for a long moment, his heart lodged firmly in his throat as guilt churns in his stomach.

He’d known, from the moment you opened the door in that beautiful dress, that he’d made a colossal mistake. He’s not sure how the fuck he’s going to make things right between you.

He sighs deeply, dragging a hand down his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. The way you masked the hurt he caused with dismissiveness and a sharp, cutting comment before turning him away somehow stung worse than if you’d just yelled at him.

His feet feel heavy as he trudges back to his apartment, the guilt following him like a shadow. 

When he opens the door, Helena is there, sprawled comfortably on his couch with her legs crossed and a glass of whiskey in hand. She looks up, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she watches him close the door behind him with a slow, almost reluctant motion.

“Eso fue rápido,” (That was fast) she comments, “¿Todo bien?” (Everything okay?) she tilts her head slightly, her gaze curious but not overly concerned.

Javier stands at the threshold of his sunken living room, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his thoughts. He doesn’t answer immediately, too busy replaying the image of you in his mind.

She sets the glass down and stands, closing the distance between them.“Puedo ver el conflicto en tus ojos, Javi. ¿Tu vecina te gritó o que?” (I can see the conflict in your eyes, Javi. Did your neighbor bitch at you or something?) she teases, resting her hands on his shoulders before letting her fingers curl into the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

Her touch pulls him out of his thoughts momentarily. “No,” he replies, his tone low, “Pero me porte como un culero y me siento mal por como la trate.” (But I acted like an asshole and I feel bad about how I treated her)

She raises an eyebrow, her lips quirking into an amused smile. “You’re an asshole to everyone,��� she says lightly, brushing a kiss along his jaw.

He scoffs, his frown deepening. “¿Qué? No hagas ese ruido—sabes que tengo razón.” (What? Don’t make that noise—you know I’m right) she chimes in as she continues with her affectionate touches. 

Normally, he’d lean into it, let her distract him the way she always does. But tonight, it feels hollow, like a cheap salve for a wound cut too deep.

She notices his hesitance, pausing as she cups his face in her hands. “Nunca he visto a nadie tan interesado en lo que hace su vecina. Should I be worried about her?” (I’ve never seen anyone so into what his neighbor is doing) she’s half-teasing as her gaze searches his face for an answer, but Javier avoids it, the hesitation clear in his brown eyes even as he tries to shrug it off.

“No,” he attempts to be nonchalant with his reply, “Solamente tengo ojos para ti, hermosa.” (I only have eyes for you, beautiful) His hand slips down to grip her ass, trying to redirect the moment, trying to bury the ache of guilt beneath something physical.

She narrows her eyes slightly, skeptical but willing to let it slide. “No mientas, Javier,” (Don’t lie) she murmurs. “Tengo suficiente de eso con todos los hombres en mi vida.” (I get enough of that from all the other men in my life)

Instead of responding, he leans in and kisses her, rough and insistent. She doesn’t push for more answers, letting him take what he needs, but she doesn’t miss the edge of hindrance in his touch.

“Si necesitas hablar de algo, sabes que aquí estoy,” (If you need to talk about something, you know I’m here) she says softly, more serious now as their lips brush together.

“Me ayudas más cuando no hablas,” (You help me more when you don't talk) he mutters before pulling her closer. She nips at his bottom lip, and it’s enough to spark the familiar lust between them.

Urgent touches, clothes discarded in a trail to the couch, and soon they’re a tangled mess with a throw blanket lazily thrown over their bodies.

She sinks down onto him, her lips on his neck as she whispers dirty encouragements against his skin.

It feels good—sex with Helena always does—but it’s different tonight.

No matter how tightly he shuts his eyes, no matter how hard he digs his fingers into her hips to ground himself, his mind keeps drifting back to you. To the way your lips trembled just slightly before you masked it, to the look in your eyes when you told him to ‘have fun vetting his lead.’

“Javi…” Helena’s airy moan pulls him back briefly, the clench of her around him sending a spark up his spine. He leans in to kiss her, messy and urgent, but it’s not to deepen their connection—it’s to keep her quiet.

The last thing he wants is for you to hear this, for you to know just how badly he’s handled things tonight.

Large hands move around to knead at her ass, guiding her movements, but his touch lacks its usual fervor.

The thought of you fills every corner of his mind even as he tries to lose himself in her. Your excitement that day by the fountain, the shy smile as you invited him out, and the way that smile disappeared the moment you saw him walk in with Helena.

And when her orgasm begins to crest and she’s shuddering around him, he barely notices, too consumed by the ache in his chest that no amount of physical release can fix.

She notices. She always does. Her rhythm falters slightly as she leans closer, her lips skimming his ear. “Pareces distraído.” (You seem distracted)

“Estoy bien,” (I’m fine) he growls, “Sigue moviéndote así.” (Just keep moving like that)

For the sake of not ruining this moment, she says nothing else, though he can feel the slight hesitation in her movements before she settles back into the pace he’s been guiding her toward.

Her breath hitches, her fingers tangling in his hair as she rides him, and he leans his head back against the couch, letting his eyes fall shut again.

It still doesn’t help.

Helena’s nails rake lightly down his chest, and he shivers, but it’s not desire that ripples through him—it’s frustration. With himself. With this situation. With the way he’s here, with a beautiful woman in his lap, and all he can think about is how badly he’s screwed things up with you.

Even as he drives her to her peak, there’s no satisfaction in it for him. His body is moving on autopilot, chasing a release that feels more like an obligation than a need.

When he finally comes, her name is the last thing on his mind. Yours, however, lingers at the tip of his tongue, threatening to lash out.

He bites it back, swallowing hard as she digs her nails into the skin of his shoulders, a guttural groan muffled against her neck, his hands clutching her ass like she’s the only thing tethering him to this moment of fleeting pleasure. 

The instant it’s over, he feels heavier than before, the guilt settling back over him like a dense fog that refuses to lift.

Helena collapses against his chest, her breath warm and uneven against his neck. She’s still for a few seconds, and then she lifts her head, her dark eyes searching his face.

“¿Seguro que estás bien?” (Are you sure you’re okay?) she asks softly, concern threading through her voice.

Javier exhales sharply, avoiding her gaze as he gently shifts her off of him. “Estoy bien,” (I’m fine) he repeats for what feels like the millionth time, his words clipped. He stands, grabbing his discarded jeans from the floor and pulling them on hastily.

She watches him in silence, wrapping the blanket around her naked form, unspoken questions hanging in the air. He can feel her studying him, trying to piece together the puzzle of his distraction, but he doesn’t have the energy to reassure her. Not tonight.

He grabs the carton of cigarettes and lighter from the coffee table, his movements practiced, almost automatic. The flick of the lighter illuminates his face briefly before the glow fades, the cigarette catching with a faint crackle. He takes a deep drag, smoke filling his lungs before he exhales, watching it swirl toward the ceiling.

“¿Te vas a quedar?” (Are you staying?)

She doesn’t answer right away, licking her lips. “No. Tengo otros planes.” (No. I have other plans)

Relief floods through him, and for the first time since they started hooking up, he’s okay with her walking out the door. He nods, tapping ash into the tray on the table.

“Bueno entonces, cuidate. Here,” (Well then, take care) holding the cigarette between his lips, he fishes his leather wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He pulls out a wad of cash, walking over and holding it out to her.

Her eyes drop to the money, her expression tightening. “Javi, ya te he dicho como me siento con esto.” (Javi, I’ve already told you how I feel about this)

“¿Qué?” He shrugs, speaking around the cigarette between his teeth. “Te estoy pagando como lo hacen todos los demás.” (What? I’m paying you like everyone else does)

“No eres como los demás.” (You’re not like the others)

They lock eyes, the tension between them heavy and tangible. His exasperation simmers, then bubbles over. He tosses the money onto the coffee table with a thud.

“Entonces no lo tomes. Me vale madre.” (Then don’t take it. I don’t give a damn)

Helena stands, redressing and stepping into her heels. Javier finishes his cigarette with slow drags as she collects her things. She swipes the cash on her way out, crumpling it in her fist.

“¿Ves lo que te dije? Eres un culero con todos.” (See what I told you? You’re an asshole to everyone)

He doesn’t flinch but his jaw flexes, a muscle ticking as he watches her brush past him, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

She stops at the door, one hand resting on the knob as she glances back at him. “No sé qué está pasando entre tú y tu vecina, pero necesitas arreglarlo porque odio cuando actúas así.”  (I don’t know what's going on between you and your neighbor, but you need to straighten it out because I hate it when you act like this)

With that, she unlocks the door and leaves, leaving him standing there in his living room, now feeling worse than he did before and he has no one to blame but himself.

He stares at the spot where she stood, the remnants of her perfume lingering faintly in the air. He doesn’t move for a long moment, caught in the crossroads of her parting words.

Finally, he curses under his breath and heads to the bathroom. The cool tile beneath his feet as he flips on the light, the hum of the fluorescent bulb filling the room. He leans over the sink, gripping the porcelain edges so tightly—his knuckles go white.

The faucet sputters to life with a twist of his wrist, and he splashes cold water onto his face, droplets streaking down his cheeks and dripping onto his bare chest. It does nothing to clear the haze in his head.

When he looks up into the mirror, the man staring back at him looks just as wrecked as he feels.

This isn’t sustainable and he knows it. He can’t keep making a mess of every little thing in his life, can’t keep masking his despair with sex, whiskey, and cigarettes.

But knowing is one thing. Doing is another.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @thundermartini . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @almostfoxglove . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @phry-k . @larascorneroftheworld . @marisemonteiroo . @samanthajonees . @yellowbrickyeti . @bambisweethearts . @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack . @picketniffler . @itwasntimethatdidit40 . @94namkooksworld . @prose-before-hoes . @dontlookatme121 . @cherrysugarx . @half-moon16 . @dinanabuu . @sunshinefive . @angiewatson .

[daisymbin]

Hi can you mix number 11. "do you even love me?" And 35. "you have no idea how much i want you right now." Hoshi being fwb with the reader and him asking her….? 🫶🏼🫶🏼

omg I love this mix though im not sure if i did it justice :( let me know what you think! & thank you for requesting!!! 🫶 I hope you like it!

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist!

angst prompt #11: "do you even love me?" +

suggestive prompt #35: "you have no idea how much I want you right now."

"what the fuck was that?"

his voice slices through the quiet like a whip. you turn to face him, your stomach twisting at the way he’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed but his jaw clenched like he’s barely holding himself together. "what?" you asked. the weight of his words hits you like a brick, he's never spoken to you like this before. "where is this coming from?"

"earlier tonight," he says, pushing off the doorframe and taking a step closer. "you laughed at everything he said. you couldn’t stop smiling at him."

"who?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"vernon," he spits out, like the name tastes bitter on his tongue. "that guy from your office. the one you invited to sit with us. you didn’t even introduce me as anything, just soonyoung. no title, nothing."

you stare at him, wide-eyed, his passive aggressiveness catching you completely off guard. soonyoung continues to glare at you, his hands clenched at his sides.

"what the hell am i supposed to introduce you as?" you spat, crossing your arms defensively. "the guy i fuck occasionally?"

"you could’ve said anything else," soonyoung shot back, his voice low and sharp. "but instead, you acted like i was nobody."

"you have no right to be upset about that," you said, shaking your head. "and you have no right to be jealous. we're just fucking! nothing more."

his laugh was bitter, humorless. "then why do you look at me like that? every time before we-," he stops himself, "& we kiss... why do you look at me like... like you love me? do you not? was that a lie? do you even love me?"

his words hit like a punch to the gut, leaving you breathless. what is he trying to do? is he trying to taunt you? shame you? make fun of you?

"so what if i do?" you snapped, your voice shaking with anger and humiliation. "are you happy now? getting me to admit that?"

soonyoung froze, the silence between you stretching unbearably long. the vulnerability you’d just exposed sat heavy in the air, suffocating you. he hadn't expected to get it out of you so easily.

his lack of response was enough to make you turn away, tears threatening to sting your eyes. "forget it," you muttered, moving toward the door. "this was a mistake."

but then his hand wrapped around your wrist, firm but not harsh. his touch stopped you in your tracks, his voice breaking the tension.

"you didn’t ask me how i feel," he said softly, his tone holding a hint of desperation.

your breath hitched, and you turned back to face him, your eyes searching his. you let out a whispered sigh, your voice trembling. "do you love me?"

he stepped closer, his gaze piercing, his lips parted like he couldn’t find the right words. "you have no idea how much i want you right now," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, almost breaking.

your pulse raced as he leaned in, his forehead resting lightly against yours. "not like that, soonie,"

his voice dropped even lower. "i don’t want anyone else. it’s always been you. in whichever way, whatever way. you're the only one i want."

the raw intensity in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. but it’s not just his words—it’s the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted, like losing you would shatter him.

you pull away slightly, your brow furrowing. "soonyoung, this isn’t just about wanting," you say softly, your hand reaching out to graze his. "it’s about how we feel."

he looks at you for a long moment, his jaw tightening. "but do you get it?" he asks, his voice low but laced with frustration. "you're not just some... hookup for me. i don’t just want you in the middle of the night when it’s convenient. i want all of you,"

"just tell me you’ll stay," he whispered, his breath brushing your lips. "because if you walk out that door, i’m going to follow you anyway."

you take a step back, the weight of his words sinking in. the intensity in his eyes is like nothing you’ve ever seen before—he’s vulnerable, but also... determined.

you stare up at him, your chest tight. "so you love me?"

he nods, his thumb tracing along your jaw. "yeah. i love you. and it scares the hell out of me."

"but what about... everything we’ve said before? what about keeping it casual?"

"fuck keeping it casual," he mutters, pulling you closer. "i don’t want to just be ‘casual’ with you anymore. i want all of you, every part of you. and i want you to want the same."

his lips brush against yours in a soft kiss, and you finally give in, closing the space between you and pressing yourself against him. the heat between you both intensifies, but it’s different now—more than just a physical need. it’s a promise.

when you pull back, breathless, you look up at him. "i want you, too."

"good," he whispers, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. "because you're not going anywhere."

the tension is still there, but it’s different now—familiar, comforting. and the next time he kisses you, it’s not just about desire.

[phyx-m]

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 25: Something Wicked This Way Comes

Content warning: Angst, smut, fingering, Sukuna's cocks, private exhibitionism (?).

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Clown - Switchblade Symphony Slut - Velvet Acid Christ The Space Between - How To Destroy Angels

* * * * *

Chapter 24

* * * * *

This is a mistake.

Staring down the first half of the corridor, a heavy weightlessness hums through your body, feeling foolish for choosing this path. You’re certain you’ll lose all sense and topple over at any moment.

But you don’t.

It takes two of Sukuna’s fingers prodding firmly between your shoulder blades to set your feet in motion.

Moving one foot, weight forward, then the other.

One… two… three… four…

You count each step like a chant you’re afraid to forget while your heart slams audibly against your ribcage.

Tonight, the banquet takes place in the main hall of the compound—a vast room that honeycombs into numerous corridors and side passages. More importantly, the main corridor you are about to enter leads directly to it. With everyone already gathered, your entry will not go unnoticed.

Keeping your strides long to maintain some distance from the beast at your back—not that it does much good, as one of his steps easily swallows two of yours. Reaching the bend, you round the corner and stop.

Chaos consumes the thoroughfare. The sight hits you all at once. There are so many people.

Lower-ranking guests and clan members cluster along the edges of the corridor, engaged in drunken conversations or indulging in other pleasures. Some slide open doors, drifting in and out of rooms where muffled sounds of fucking seep into the air, while others wander along the passageway or toward the expansive garden stretching along the perimeter to your right.

All the noise cuts against the encroaching dusk as a soft murkiness settles over the space. An attendant begins lighting the stone lanterns along the walls, their flames throwing masses of shadow and light and, with it, the earthy scent of smoke.

But it’s the eyes that unnerve you most. There are too many of them, all at once.

Standing at the mouth of the passageway with the King of Curses’ impressive form at your back, garments perfectly matched, and your chin lifted high, your pulse suddenly dips. Gazes swing your way, faces barely hiding the disgust directed at you both. Some hands drop toward the weapons at their sides, fingers twitching. A silent itch they all long to scratch.

You can only imagine what they must want to do to him, your husband…

Suddenly, all the isolation, etiquette, and propriety drilled into you growing up flood your mind, yet here you are, about to—what did he say?

March in there like you own the place.

“I can’t do this...”

Your foot creeps backward, retreating, until your back bumps against the solid wall of Sukuna’s abdomen. His lower hands slide to your hips, holding you firmly in place.

Your heart dips again—but for all the wrong reasons.

“Let’s play a game,” his low, dark voice blows softly into your left ear, prompting you to turn your head slightly. His body curves over your back, bending so close that the ridges of his ruined mask hover beside your cheek, the two red eyes within fixed on you.

“A game?” You clasp your hands together, fidgeting with the soft, new leather gloves he gave you. 

They’re not broken in yet; leather is rare, and you own only one pair. Your fingers trace the spot where the seams feel stiff, picking at the tightly stitched threads.

“A game,” he repeats, grinning—a flash of teeth and canines, the tattoos on his face pulling up with a mischievous smile.

Despite the earlier warning in your mind that screamed wrong, something playful in his tone makes the corners of your mouth attempt to lift slightly. If he’s trying to distract you in this strange and cavalier way, it’s working.

“Let’s see who can collect the most death glares by the time we reach the end of the corridor—you.” The hands engulfing your hips give a tight squeeze. “Or me.”

You huff out a small laugh.

“Easy for you to say. You’re guaranteed to win.”

Looming over every man here, his extra limbs, there’s no way you’re winning. 

“So?” he scoffs.

“Lord Sukuna, the fucking heinous crimes you’ve committed to these people… to my clan. I’m honestly surprised they haven’t rushed you all at once by now.”

The crass tone slips out, and you chew the inside of your cheek, surprised when his smirk only runs further up his mouth. He straightens, and you tip your head back to follow, watching his four eyes widen with a feral look as if he’s savouring that idea.

“Ah, but don’t forget, wife,” he drawls, fingertips tracing slow circles over your hips. “Every man here, despite his hatred, has a measure of respect for me. You, however, are merely a woman—a creature with no purpose beyond the expected. To be bred, bear unsightly humans, grow fat, wither away, and simply die.”

Your face collapses at his words.

Is he provoking me?

Sukuna’s grin widens.

The bastard’s provoking me.

You lift your chin again, eyes fixed straight down the corridor.

“Fine,” you declare, squaring your shoulders, though your feet remain stubbornly rooted in place.

“Well, then.” His lower hands begin to release you, palms turning outward, hands unfurling in a wide gesture that frames you. “Lead the way.”

Pulse hammering uncomfortably, your fingers hook and lift into the hem of your kimono. Then, pulling away from the warmth of Sukuna’s body, you step forward, moving toward the belly of the beast.

Doors pass, people pass, parting for the two of you—or rather, for him. To your right, the garden stretches open, offering a perfect view of the sun sinking below the yew trees, stirring their branches into colours of red. You lose yourself in the sight for a moment, until the first hateful mutterings reach your ears, pulling your gaze forward once more.

“Demon clothed in human skin.”

One point for him.

“Cunting whore.”

There it is—one for you.

Daggered eyes come next, eyebrows raising, corners of mouths twitching. The occasional scoff, a curse uttered under breath.

Almost imperceptibly, Sukuna starts chuckling gleefully from behind, and you can only imagine the sick look on his face.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you murmur quickly over your shoulder.

“I am, actually,” he hums, his heavy footsteps cutting through the jarring noise of the crowd flowing around you. “But we’re still even.”

As you approach the corridor’s midpoint, the gravity of the stares shifts. At first, they flick between you and him, balancing the game. But gradually, more and more eyes focus not on you, but above you.

You’re definitely losing. Thinking otherwise would have been stupid.

But that’s fine.

“Did you know—” Sukuna suddenly begins, voice pitched, drawing more attention, “—that I originally preferred eating your clan’s livers?”

You falter to a stumble. More heads angle and swivel.

“Soft and creamy under my teeth. But over the last seven years, I noticed something peculiar.” There’s a wicked lilt tangling into his tone. “Many I butchered had damaged livers—likely from drinking. Perhaps they drank because they knew I’d be returning, that their time was running out.”

He pauses. Your ears strain, bracing for what you know is coming.

“So, I switched to their hearts instead… did you know, wife, that the heart has an entirely different texture? Firmer, richer. Each beat against my tongue—alive one moment, still the next. It’s a muscle that clings on as if it understands its own end is near. Quite the... intense experience.”

There’s no food in your stomach, but if there was, it would be dripping down the front of your kimono right now.

“You’re fucking vile,” you hiss loudly.

He grabs your shoulder, forcing you to stop and look at him.

“I know, brat,” he growls into your face, leaning close while he digs his thumb into your collarbone. “And I couldn’t care less what these mindless animals think of me. But you do.” He smacks his lips, giving your hair a light tug—taunting you, goading you, something he seems to enjoy. “And it looks like you’re losing right now.”

How can you be losing a game this absurd, in your own home, drawing sharper ire? Well, you know the answer, but still.

“Then I’ll lose gracefully,” you state.

He rolls his eyes at your response.

You push his hand away, inhale deeply, and turn to continue walking.

Step after step, the main hall’s door draws nearer. Inside your gloves, dampness grows as more stares fall on Sukuna. Low and mocking, he starts chuckling viciously to himself.

The last of the sun slips away, plunging the corridor into a deep indigo night as the flames of the stone lanterns sputter and flare, guiding your steps.

Sudden inspiration strikes.

No.

Sukuna keeps laughing.

Fine.

If he wants to force you to endure the scrutiny of this public eye, to shame you and make you embrace the disgust of these people—your people...

Then fuck it.

Trial by fire.

Without hesitation, channelling something your sister might do in moments when she reached for you, you turn sideways, reach back, and slide your gloved left hand into his lower one.

Sukuna’s laughter falls away.

The King of Curses’ hand twitches, his large fingers flexing under yours, and for a heartbeat, there’s only dead weight behind you. 

How is it that he has lavished your cunt twice, yet this feels far scarier than both times combined?

Without daring to look back, you give him a slight tug, your arm stretched between you, and continue forward. He follows, and this time, you can sense he’s walking closer. A quick glance at the wall to your left, where your shadows stretch, confirms it—his head held high as he strides just behind you.

One… three… seven… ten…  

More.

You’re winning now, no longer counting steps but tallying the sharp stares that seem to slice you in half. The corridor seems to narrow, leading you toward a single purpose. You raise your head higher and regal, allowing your face to fall to nothing.

You’ve never felt strong before, never compelling before.

But now...

They can all look at their stupid, useless girl all they want. 

Hooking your arm behind you, you bend it fully, feeling the pull of his as the space between you shrinks.

At last, his fingers relent further, sliding forward in a slow crawl until they wrap around yours, his hand completely engulfing your smaller one. Heat unexpectedly rises to your cheeks as the intimate grasp settles, leaving you feeling consumed.

But fuck, it feels addictive to know you have the power of Sukuna at your back.

Even after the terrible things he said, there’s something unsettling in the simplicity of this moment—a dangerous comfort.

Still, the barrier of your glove keeps the tide of emotions at bay. If you could touch his skin, you think you might be lost entirely.  

Funny how that had been the point of all this. Now, it feels strangely wrong, as though practicality and self-preservation have become distant, forgotten things.

Shaking away the last strands of hair that have fallen across your face, you square your shoulders, ignoring whatever Sukuna might be thinking behind you. You’re shocked he’s even allowing you to do something like this publicly. Maybe he’s deciding how to punish you—but he stays silent.

Then, as his thumb rolls lazily across your knuckles, you begin to doubt it.

More heat crushes into your body.

Don’t look back.

Keep going.

By the time you and Sukuna reach the end of the corridor, the stares no longer divide—they burn into you alone. You allow yourself to grin when you finally reach the main doors, where a waiting attendant bows deeply before carefully sliding them open, revealing the grand hall.

Polished wood and lush cushions. Chatter and the musk of poured sake.

The central space is large and open air with a seamless view of the gardens. Low, dark tables sit in neat rows, where guests and clan members lean forward, eating, drinking, laughing, and talking as though the world beyond this place doesn’t exist.

For now, it hasn’t fully descended into debauchery, but it feels close.

No one acknowledges your entrance, but at the very far end of the room, your father kneels before a screen partition and a table, with Onishi at his left and Yuna positioned off to the side. One by one, their gazes lift. One by one, they find you.

Your sister gives you a secret smile while your father’s eyes sweep over you, lingering too long on where your arm hooks back. The weight of his eyes makes you subconsciously wiggle your fingers loose. Slowly, you slip your hand free from Sukuna’s, even though it feels like neither of you truly wants to let go.

Dangerous. And stupid.

“Lord Sukuna, my Lady, you will be seated here.”

Your eyes retreat, and the attendant gestures to a table tucked into a shadowed alcove at the far end corner of the hall, away from the central bustle, hidden like some inconvenient secret.

Out of sight and out of mind.

Slipping off your footwear, your tabi socks whisper against the floor as you make your way to your seat. Sukuna lowers himself onto a cushion, sitting like a man who caters to no one. His gaze picks apart the room, four eyes ghosting from each individual. One of his fingers taps as if he’s counting something. You step forward and settle beside him, folding your legs neatly beneath you.

The room continues to buzz with a frenzy of noise, though not a single eye turns toward you two. Not that they could—the way you’re positioned leaves you staring at the backs of everyone’s heads.

“So,” you whisper to Sukuna, smoothing out your dark kimono as seasonal food and drink are placed at your lonesome table. “I think I won our game.”

“Mhm.” The sound he makes is more a grunt than a word, followed by a low grumble about cheating.

You fight a smile, then pick up the bottle of sake and pour him a cup. Tonight, you’ve decided not to drink, though it would probably help ease your nerves.

Sliding the cup to Sukuna, you both settle into a quiet rhythm as the night crawls forward, marked by every grating burst of laughter. He continues scanning the room, while you sit, picking at your food, trying to stomach as much of it as possible.

About an hour into the evening, across the room, dark grey eyes, raven hair, and a strikingly handsome face snag your attention.

Zen’in.  

His eyes lock onto yours, narrowing in acknowledgment, and he rises to his feet, making his way over.

“Shit,” you huff under your breath, dropping your chin as if that will somehow deter him. It doesn’t. He’s one of the last people you wish to speak with.

He stops in front of your table, positioning himself squarely between you and Sukuna, the eccentric-looking katana strapped at his side.

“My Lady,” Zen’in bows, his tone perfectly cordial where last time he was threatening you. “It’s lovely to see you again, and so soon.”

Against the side of your face, you feel the weight of one of Sukuna’s eyes boring into you.

“It’s nice to see you as well,” you lie, sitting up straighter and mustering your most charming, although fake, smile.

The dark-haired man smirks faintly.

“I hear your father will be making a decision regarding Lady Yuna’s betrothal this evening.”  

Your posture stiffens. Already? This is the first you’ve heard of it.

He notices your reaction and perks up at that.  

“I have a feeling it will be me,” he adds, the barest hint of a grin tucks into his cheek.  

“What the fuck do you want, Zen’in?” Sukuna drones, his tone flat, as though the entire interaction bores him.

Zen’in’s eyes cut to the King of Curses. 

“Ah, and this must be your husband. My soon-to-be brother-in-law.”

Oh, sweet fuck no.

He offers a deep bow. Sukuna doesn’t respond. Zen’in’s jaw pulses.

A moment of silence passes.  

“You know,” Zen’in begins, his voice light but sharp-edged. “I heard an interesting rumour recently. They say the King of Curses has a taste for women’s kimonos. Surely that can’t be true?”

More silence.

Horrible silence. 

You shift uncomfortably, trying to decide whether you heard him correctly.

Against your better judgment, your eyes flick downward. For the first time, you notice what you hadn’t fully considered until Zen’in’s pointed comment: Sukuna’s robes do bear certain details—wider sleeves, softer cuts.

You feel the briefest of the King of Curses’ energy shift, but only for a moment.

The silence stretches.

Zen’in, finally unnerved by the lack of response, clears his throat and dances his attention back to you.  

“Forgive my curiosity, my Lady. It’s not every day one encounters such a… unique figure.” He gives a slight, condescending bow before turning on his heel and making his way back to join what you assume is the rest of the Zen’in clan.

Once he’s gone, you glance at Sukuna, who watches the man’s retreat. For some reason, before you can stop yourself, your mouth moves.

“Is it true? About… your kimonos?”  

Sukuna rests his right elbow on his knee, shoving his fist against his face.  

“Of course it’s true,” he replies dryly, squinting at you as if you’ve asked something stupid. “These so-called ‘men’s’ robes are sewn for people with fewer limbs and smaller bones. They’re made for bodies the size of children compared to mine.”

“I see,” you mumble, looking away. The sudden urge to move closer to him claws into you, so instead, you focus on studying the room. A safer choice.

Many unfamiliar faces filled the room, mostly men, though a few women stood among them—rare, but present nonetheless. As expected, a retinue of concubines lingered nearby, occasionally joining a group of men for entertainment or sauntering off with one trailing behind.

But movement at the far end of the room, where your family sits, catches your eye, and you lift your chin for a better look.

Your father rises to his feet, followed by Onishi, a few elders, and then your sister. Together, they file through the door at the back left side of the hall. Your gaze follows Yuna’s retreating back.

A thick, uneasy warmth rolls down your spine.

A decision is being made tonight. That must be what they’re doing now—deciding her fate. Her path. Who she will marry. The man who will be adopted into this family and become the next clan lead.

Because of what I did.

A curse from the past that keeps on fucking taking.

Your body tightens, anxiety winding through. You tuck your hands below the table, folding them tightly in your lap to resist the urge to pick at them. But your fingers find a stiff seam on the leather, and you start to scratch at it anyway.

Please let it be someone good.

Please let it be someone good.

Please—

“You’ve gone tense again,” Sukuna states dryly, lifting his cup of sake and taking a slow pull of the liquid.  

From the corner of your left eye, you watch the way his throat works, the ridges of muscle moving as he swallows. As his head tips back, the rose gold of his hair glints, framing his profile in a soft glow. His bottom right eye rolls toward you, catching you mid-study and freezing you in place.

“I’m not,” you lie, hesitating for half a heartbeat before quickly dragging your focus back to the room.

Another pick at the seam.

Your careful gaze flits from the backs of people’s heads to a man drunkenly sloshing sake on the floor, then to a woman whose garment barely conceals her body. Her unfettered black hair falls over her shoulders, partially obscuring the swell of her breasts.

“You are,” Sukuna counters, leaning on his upper left elbow as he angles closer, cutting into your space. Your attention snaps back to him, leaving the room behind.  

“You’re also a shit liar.” 

Arrogant. 

Your mouth presses into a thin line.  

“I am not.”  

He grins as he sets down his cup.  

“You’re right. My apologies,” he says smoothly, pausing just long enough to make your brow furrow. “You’re a fucking terrible liar.”  

You roll your eyes and shift your focus back to the room, attempting to discern which faces belong to what clans. But from the corner of your eye, you catch the movement of Sukuna’s lower right hand.

Boredom seems to have made him bold—or perhaps he simply enjoys pestering you—because his fingertips find the hem of your kimono. He tugs the silk gently into a fold, lets it fall loose, and then repeats the motion as though testing the texture.

A second tug.

Your attention shoots to him, to his hand. You watch as he presses lightly, smoothing out the garment before pinching the fabric between forefinger and thumb, pulling until the hem lifts just enough to reveal a sliver of your ankle.

A prickle of warmth spreads through you.

Turning your head, your eyes find his. He doesn’t meet them right away. Instead, his gaze stays fixed on the fabric, his lips curving into a faint, amused smile as his fingers continue their torment.

A third tug. More this time.

“My Lord,” you murmur, your voice taut with a mix of irritation and something deeper. “You’re giving me a look.”

His head tilts slightly as though feigning confusion.

“What look?”

Just like all those other times. The heated ones, where his eyes reached onto you with a ravenous, hungry intent.

The corner of your kimono shifts, and at last, his fingers slip beneath the silk, brushing against the lining with a heavy slowness, testing how far he might go—whether you’ll stop him or surrender. And he seems to know which because when his red eyes finally lift to meet yours, they’re heavy-lidded.

“This one,” you whisper, the tension in your voice mirroring the tightness pinching your chest. He toys with the fabric again, the barest graze of his knuckles against your skin sending a shiver through you.

“If you notice the look,” he says, his voice dropping into a deep, rough timbre that makes your core clench desperately. “Perhaps you should wonder why you’re drawing it.”

Warm fingertips find the soft curve of your calf, tracing careful patterns that draw a flush to the surface. His crimson orbs burn, pupils darkening with every second.

“My Lord,” you warn in a small voice, trembling as your breath stutters. You feel his hand move to your knee, and slowly, his fingers begin to spiral higher, etching paths along your inner thigh.

Your lungs expand. Your pussy starts to soak itself.

“No one will see,” he murmurs. His touch trails upward—light, soft—the opposite of your racing heartbeat. “They’re all consumed by their own little worlds, while we…” He leans in closer, shielding your view of the room. “…can lose ourselves in ours. One far darker and more pleasurable.”

The knot in your stomach constricts.

Damn him. Why did he have to be so disarmingly charming? It hurt, to be drawn to something so inherently evil and vile.

But you were.

You raise your eyes, and all you see is him. In the confined space of the alcove, he’s completely engulfed and hidden you away using his body.

Unbidden, under all the layers of fabric, you part your knees—a silent invitation meant only for him. For once, it’s not part of some scheme to end his life. This time, it’s because, gods, you want this. You’re burning for it.

The corners of his mouth curve into a devious grin. That look stirs something in you, pulling a smile of your own, feeding your desire, making you want him even more, making more heat pool between your folds.

Without warning, his fingers flex, and he moves. His lower right arm slides around your waist as his hand withdraws from your garment, while his upper hands rise to your shoulders. In one fluid motion, he lifts you, pulling your knees off the floor and guiding you toward him.

The sudden movement collects all your breath, your eyes widening as your weight shifts effortlessly in his grasp. He maneuvers you across him with ease, the layers of your kimono cascading down as he settles you onto his left thigh. Angled slightly, you feel the firm balance of his hold—his upper right hand steady at the small of your back while his lower hands rest possessively on your hips.

Intimate.

Leaning over, his upper left hand reaches for the single lantern resting nearby. You watch as he extinguishes the flame with his fingertips. A soft, spitting hiss echoes, and the alcove is plunged into shadow. His hand returns, replacing the one on your back before it slips into the layers of fabric again.

“There.” He presses the tip of his nose into your hair and inhales deeply, as though you’ve landed exactly where he intended. “Now, focus those eyes on me.”

Looking up into his face, you nudge open your knees, and his hand slips up to your thighs and between. Embarrassment demands you close your legs, but one cruel fingertip lightly traces your soaking folds, and you melt into him.

“So soft,” he mumbles while fixing his stare on your lips and collecting the wetness that pools before dipping into your heat, opening you up fully.

The next breath you pull in is tight, and your teeth find their way to your tongue to stop a moan from slipping out. He smirks, watching your features distort into pleasure.

“Keep all those pretty noises in,” he tuts before pumping in deeper. Your body trembles at the pressure and pleasure. “Or everyone will know how much you actually enjoy having my hands on you.”

If only he knew.

He suddenly pauses as though deep in thought, brow creasing heavily in the dark.

“Or maybe I should. Then everyone will know that you rightfully belong to me and should keep their fucking hands off.” His eyes thin as he twists his finger smoothly, making sure it slides deeper into your pussy. Your mouth falls open on a silent moan that you wish you could let him hear, your head falling toward his chest, making him grunt.

With that, another finger nudges up into your folds, finding and flicking at the nub of your clit once, and you almost lose it. Sliding one gloved hand to his back to fist his kimono, you push the other into your lap. Sukuna’s mouth twitches smugly, eyes following your attempts to keep your face neutral.

“And you’re soaked.” Sliding his finger in and out, the pace is a slow, torturous drag. “All from a look. Pathetic.”

You clench your teeth to hold back, body softly arching helplessly against his, trying to close the space.

“Touch my clit again,” you demand softly, words feeling sticky like honey in your throat. Shifting your position closer to his body, you push your face into the fabric of his kimono, heart beating wildly.

And there.

You can smell him faintly—not the cypress, but blood and ash. You inhale. The scent snakes its way down your throat, making you dizzy.

“Please…” Your soft voice muffles into his clothing.

Somewhere deep in his chest, he growls, the sound vibrating into your body.

“It’s interesting that you think you can tell me what to do, wife,” he hisses against your hair, ignoring your plea and shoving a second finger up inside your wet cunt before sliding them both in and out.

Hypnotic and enthralling, you feel everything, the pressure he applies, how deep he sinks all the way to the knuckles. Tight.

“F-ffuck,” you exhale, lifting your hazy gaze to his face. He tips his head, peering down at you with a lustful look in his eyes.

The two of you stare into each other, your lips parting—his following in response. You breathe in unison, so close, watching each other. Just as he said, you’re lost in your own world because the room fades entirely from your mind. The intimacy is intoxicating, and whatever this thing is between you feels like the only thing that matters—the only thing you want.

“More,” you mouth quietly, wanting to toss your head back, fold into him and cry out. But you can’t, so you start to move your hips, a soft back and forth, seeking out the pleasure, your pussy clenching around his plunging fingers.

“That’s it.” His lower hands, gripping your waist, both tightens and begins to guide you, pulling you along his thigh. “You missed this, didn’t you?”

“Yes, my Lord,” you say breathlessly, nodding and rolling your head.

You could get used to being touched like this. No longer shying away but swallowing it down greedily while you can. Gluttonous. Yet somehow, it’s not enough.

“Touch me more.”

There’s another vibration in his chest, more animalistic.

“Sick little slut, fucking look at you!” he hisses quietly as he continues to slide his fingers inside your tight hole, moving faster and harder so it soaks the inside of your shaking thighs. Mouth at your ear, his tongue flirts with it, then licks its curve only to graze a canine against it after. You moan a little louder. The soles of your feet tingle with heat rising into your face, and nervously, you peel your eyes away, dipping your chin back over your left shoulder.

No one is looking at the alcove, the debauchery finally settling in the room. A drunken hum, a clouded feeling that settles on your aroused mind. So you keep moving, keep grinding, feeling the way he finger fucks you, the layers of your kimono, the table, the dark, all hiding your hips and everything the two of you are exploring.

Sukuna gives you a nudge of your jaw, guiding your attention back to him, and on a backwards roll along his thigh, your ass pokes and presses into hardness.

You still.

Sukuna’s mouth curls into a wicked smile, and on a thrust in then out of your pussy, his fingers stop, only to lightly trace against your dripping seam, dragging and coating your juices messy and all over.

Gaze falling into his lap, you realize he’s aroused. You feel your softness pressing against the jutting bulge sitting under the fabric of his kimono and hakama. Knowing how hard he is, the knot in your stomach winds tighter.

Not daring a look at his face, you glide a hand up the muscled expanse of his leg towards his cocks. Gods, you need him. You want him, want to see what lies between his thighs and finally, you allow yourself the pleasure of touching your husband for the first time.

Softly, your fingers tease lightly over the curved cloth, hugging the bulge of what you assume to be his upper shaft. It’s rigid and thick.

So thick.

When you make contact, you feel it twitch, and even through the fabric and your gloves, you find the swell of the tip. Making an exploratory pass against it, Sukuna hisses through his teeth, his hips coming up slightly from the cushion.

A thrill rolls through you.

Another slow glide, but this time, you tuck your fingers into the fabric of his garments, only to feel the lower one. Pressing harder, you hear a sound resembling a deep groan get caught in his throat, but he doesn’t allow it to escape. You're about to make another pass when suddenly, he grabs your wrist. Your eyes sweep up to his face, where his gaze narrows over his broad nose.

Your heart thunders inside your chest.

“You don’t seem surprised,” he growls, his chest heaving and swelling.  

Realizing he’s referring to his extra appendage, you shake your head faintly, recalling that day when you first asked about his pleasures. 

“You knew?” Cocking his slitted eyebrow, he releases your wrist.  

You nod this time.

“Women talk,” you reply, trying to suppress a grin. His mouth twists into a rigid pout, looking almost disappointed, and your lopsided smile escapes anyway.  

“Tch. Course they do.” He smacks his lips. The sharp sound makes you instinctively withdraw your hand.

Before you can pull away completely, his upper right hand snatches it again while his lower hands slide to the small of your back, pulling you closer until his abdomen presses firmly against your chest.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he says, his voice low and pointed a bit of irritation pulling at it.

You watch him, feeling vulnerable in your lack of experience.

His jaw flexes, and slowly, he draws your wrist toward him. His lower left hand moves to pinch the tip of your leather glove. Holding your gaze, he tugs gently, the material sliding over your knuckles before slipping off completely. Your throat tightens as you swallow softly, watching him handle it with care before tossing it on the table.

“Go on, then.” He nudges his chin toward his thighs.

The hand inside your kimono pulls free as he leans back, his upper palms sinking into the cushion. His hips shift upward, presenting a deliberate invitation of where his cocks are, while his lower hands settle firmly on your hips.

“Continue,” he purrs deeply.

So cocky it’s almost charming.

A breath pushes past your lips.

Collecting yourself, your bare fingers trail along the surface of his dark kimono, tracing the fabric until they reach his obi. As your hand brushes against his abdomen, you feel the dips of his muscles, your touch lingering before moving lower—passing where you assume his stomach maw lies—and continuing along the path to his clothed members.

Sukuna shifts his hips again, kimono loosening and allowing you to part the front panels and thread your hand down to his hakama. You wrap your fingers around his upper cock as best you can. It’s big. The heat of it seeps through the fabric and into your palm. You give it a slow, experimental stroke from the base to tip, and he groans gutturally but quietly, dipping his head back in pleasure. And just that noise alone, fuck, you want more. You need to hear him.

You pump again, the same response. His cock twitches.

“Good?” Your cheeks bloom red.

"Yes…” he exhales, control slipping ever so slightly. An upper hand covers yours, guiding your movements, and atop the cushions, his legs widen. “Slower… but tighter.”

Your hand slows, grip tightening around his shaft while you rub against the fabric. 

What you wouldn’t give to have your bare hand wrapped tightly around his dick, pumping it. Feeling the warmth of his skin, his girth, wanting to trail your tongue up and down just to taste it.

Fuck…

“That’s it, more,” he rasps in throaty breath, rocking up toward you. In response, you’re growing more and more aroused. Your hips move, tilting into his hardness, grinding your pussy into his thigh as you tighten and stroke him.

“Careful,” he breathes through his teeth, nostrils flaring as he squeezes your waist and hand. “Keep doing that, that little swivel of your hips and I’ll drag you out of here and find somewhere dark to sink my cocks deep into you.”

Your breath deepens at the thought—the fullness that would come with it, with having him and him having you in that way.

He leans back and watches your face as your mind turns over the idea, picturing it, examining it, longing for it.

“You want that… don’t you?” His smirk widens. “Is that what my wife wants?”

“Maybe…”

He arches his eyebrow, and the air between you sharpens.

“Maybe?” he spits harshly. “Maybe you’ll finally give me the truth. Unless you’d rather, I take care of that lying mouth of yours.”

“Yes,” you admit hastily.

“Hm,” he grunts, “so you do want to feel the weight of me as I fuck your tight ass and cunt at the same time?”

At the same time.

You wet your lips, his eyes following the movement.

“Is that how it works?” you ask quietly, your hand resuming slow strokes, hips rounding in tight circles.

His answer is a feral grin.

“Among other things.”

You start to feel a hot warmth seeping through the fabric where the tips of his cocks are pushing. You run your thumb along it, circling it until his hand on yours urges you to stop. 

You look up.

His face grows serious.

“Last time I had you, I asked you to admit something to me.” His voice grows serious. “Now, I want to hear you say it.”

I want you.

So simple.

That felt like a lifetime ago when his head was between your shaking thighs, mouth on your pussy, your hands on his head preparing to end him.

But now.

"I want you.” Your heart climbs into your throat and grows a second pulse.

So simple.

“Again.” His lower hands slide up your back, fingertips digging to hold you in place as he leans closer. “Tell me again.”

Your chest heaves, almost painfully, as you lean in, mouths so close that you can offer him your breath.

“I want you. I’ve been wanting you,” you urge softly, your body teetering on the edge of madness to please him. “Sukuna, I need you.”

Beneath you, his entire body goes taut and straining. His eyes roam your face, searching, taking in every detail, while his fingers trace the neckline of your kimono.

“There’s my winter flower,” he whispers, his touch moving to tuck a fallen strand of hair gently behind your ear before his face dips close to yours.

The world flickers. You flinch—confused, aware of him, of his words. Cool grass. Night and darkness. The scent of resin and earth. Blood, smoke, and death pressing close.

Then… nothing.

The King of Curses leans in, resting his forehead against yours, inhaling sharply, deeply. All four of his eyes close, then reopen, locking onto yours.

All of a sudden, he grips the back of your neck roughly, forcing you to look at him.

“You have no idea how much I’m going to enjoy ruining you…” he says, his voice calm and threatening, his eyes burrowing painfully into yours.

His grip begins to tighten, becoming uncomfortable. You squirm, and his face darkens.

Wrong.

Your mind screams again.

“I’m going to enjoy watching you while I take everything away, all at once."

Sssfft!

Somehow, you manage to tear yourself away from him.

An attendant slides one of the garden doors shut at the back of the room, then moves to close another.

At the far corner, your family reappears. Yuna trails behind, her head tipped toward the floor, her face stamped in an expression of stone.

Your eyes shift again.

In the opposite corner, Zen’in exits the room, disappearing into one of the dim corridors, his shoulders squared.

Another door rustles.

Something feels wrong.

A third garden door slides shut, and the sound makes you jump.

Your eyes snap back to your sister. She suddenly peels away from your father, dashing out of the room.

The final garden door slides closed, sealing off the world.

“Excuse me, my Lord.” You bunch your hands against Sukuna’s chest and push yourself away, abruptly rising from his lap. Gathering the glove he took off and your hem, you slip away without a glance back, even as you hear his sharp hiss, a command to return.

Stepping into the corridor, you grab your sandals, shove them on and move hurriedly, ignoring everything—even the woman with the long black hair you noticed earlier. She bumps into you almost on purpose, and an afflicting girlish giggle follows.

“Excuse me,” you mutter, not stopping.

You can’t think about her or anything else. Your focus is fixed on the blur of white—your sister’s garment disappearing ahead of you.

Pushing through the doors, you follow her into the darkened garden, both of you falling away from the crowd, deeper into the secluded night.

“Yuna! Wait!” you call, your voice desperate as you try to match her retreating strides, both of you plundering deeper into the shadows.

The scene feels familiar but reversed.

The darkness deepens. The stone path beneath your feet becomes harder to see. You stumble, catching yourself just as Yuna turns. Her face is streaked with makeup smudged by bleeding tears that cut dark lines down her skin.

“What’s happened?” you ask, brow furrowing in concern as you close the distance.

“He’s chosen,” she chokes out, her throat working as if the words are stuck.

You take another step, your sandals clattering against the path.

“Father’s chosen a husband for you,” you say. It’s meant as a question, but it comes out flat, a statement.

Her face falls inward, its weight folding her expression.

“Yes.”

Your stomach twists painfully at her admission. It’s rare to see Yuna like this—panicked, upset. Afraid.

“Is it Zen’in?”

As insufferable as that man is, she had shown interest in him the last time you spoke. If anyone deserved a chance at love, it was her.

She shakes her head, her painted lips trembling.

“Then… who?”

There’s a heartbeat.

It’s gone so quiet out here, the two of you alone.

Her shoulders tremble, drawing inward. She’s shaking.

More dread leaks into your stomach. You take another more cautious step.

“Yuna?” you prompt, your voice softening.

“Onishi.” The name is a hiss as it leaves her mouth.

“What? No!” The words burst out of you as if the air has been knocked from your lungs.

Not him.

Not with him.

She dips her head, eyes becoming lifeless, glassy as fresh tears build and spill over, tracing the lines of those before.

“It’s true,” she whispers, and with a blink, more droplets fall, pattering into her kimono.

Your instinct is immediate. Protective. Comforting. You grip the slope of her shoulders gently, searching her face.

“I don’t want this,” she confesses, her voice breaking. “I can’t marry him. That will trap me here. I’ll never be able to leave.”

Never escape.

Your throat thickens.

“I know... I know you don’t want this.”

She looks at you then all at once. Whatever pain she’s been keeping inside, she allows it to rip free.

“This shouldn’t have happened to us!” she cries, her voice cracking under the weight of her anguish. “You shouldn’t have had to marry that thing in there!” She points toward the compound. “And I shouldn’t have to marry fucking Onishi!”

You’ve never seen her unravel like this before. The perfect facade she always wore is crumbling before your eyes.

She sinks to her knees. You follow her down, huddling close on the cold stones. Your dark kimono presses against the pale fabric of hers as she cries.

“I miss her,” she gasps, strangled and raw.

You know who she’s talking about. You feel her grief. It mirrors your own.

Mother.

“I need her here. She should be here.”

Her voice.

So sad.

So gentle.

So angry.

Every time she looks at you, you think she must see a murderer. Someone who took something she loved. Took it and fucked it all up.

Yuna’s sobs intensify. The cage in your chest tightens, and the tears standing in your eyes fall.

I killed her. I did this.

For a heartbeat, you can’t breathe.

I couldn’t control any of this.

But Yuna’s shaking shoulders snap you back.

But I can stop this. Amend this.

Maybe…

“I can change this,” you state. “I’ll fix this.”

Her red, tear-filled eyes meet yours. Hope and exhaustion tangle in her expression.

Drip, as a tear falls from her eye.

“How?” she sniffs.

You swallow, looking at her, truly looking at her sister to sister.

“I—” The words refuse to leave your mouth. “Don’t make me say it...”

Her lips tremble, an understanding dawning in her soft features before it hardens them.

“No,” she murmurs, shaking her head, disbelief wandering into her face. “You’d unleash him on our own clan?”

Mouth gone dry, you swallow.

“If it’s the only way to save you from this, then yes . Onishi is a fiend, and I won’t let him touch you. It’s our best option—”

“He will kill everyone!”

“Only those who deserve it!” you snap.

Father. Onishi.

You’re certain Ryomen Sukuna would gladly tear apart both. Why he hasn’t done so already, you’re unsure. But persuading him shouldn’t be difficult. The rest of the Kasai clan can be spared. Then, this nightmare would end. Yuna would be safe. You’d both be free. That elusive sense of freedom might finally be within reach—a life wholly your own, something you could touch, grasp, and hold onto.

Yuna sniffs and shifts closer. Her white kimono brushes against the velvety night, her presence fragile yet steady. She takes your hands from her shoulders, clasping them gently before slipping her fingers over your leather gloves. Her touch moves past your sleeves to your forearms, her fingertips pressing firmly into your skin for support.

A pressure.

Deeper than flesh. Deeper than bone.

Her dark lashes tremble over her eyes.

“You cut off one head of the serpent, and another grows in its place. You know as well as I do—it has to be everyone.”

A whisper. Quiet, calm.

The thought lodges in your mind, taking root and spreading, hooking in so deeply it’s impossible to dig out.

“Then—” Your jaw clenches, teeth creaking from the pressure. No. “It shall be everyone.” 

“Then we leave,” she adds softly, “tonight. Just the two of us.”

You nod.

This, at least, you can do—this one thing you can make right. A way to mend what you once shattered.

“Go to the stables. Take a horse and ride west. I’ll meet you,” you whisper, your voice steady, though your heart is anything but.

Yuna’s hands slide upward from your sleeves to cup your face. Her gaze clamps onto yours, not simply looking at you but through you, as if she sees all the fractured pieces you try to keep hidden.

“I’ll finally be able to take care of you, as I should have all along.” Her voice no longer cracks with emotion. It flows as smooth and cold as silk. “Just promise me.” Her fingers press into your cheeks, firm, insistent. “Promise me that after it’s over, you’ll come find me. No matter what.”

You nod.

Kill your clan. Take Ayana. Find Yuna.

“I promise I will.”

She presses harder, indenting her fingertips into your skin.

A pressure, harder this time.

Deeper than flesh. Deeper than bone.

“You will find me after the King of Curses destroys our clan.” Voice low and sweet. “Then you will leave him.”

Leave him.

Your heart stumbles at her words.

“I will.”

Harder.

Her soft mouth twitches into the barest smile, but her grip presses further. Until nails bite, and sting. Until a ringing begins in your ears, rising steadily, like a swarm of insects buzzing. Until the world flickers, memories bleeding through.

Your gloves coming free from your hands.

Your mother’s haunted expression, the trembling in her face as you touched her swollen belly. The ravaging of her body as she slipped into rot.

The moment you took everything from her.

The darkness in the grove. The burning.

Stop!

But the images keep coming.

Sukuna, not as he is now, lowering his head to you, both your bodies drenched in blood, like the mouth of a hungry red flower.

More pressure, not just from her grip, but from something deeper, heavier.

Stop it, stop it, stop it—

Pain buds and grows behind your eyes. Swelling and pushing against your skull until it feels like it might burst. You squeeze your eyelids shut, and tears trace down your cheeks, tapering to your chin before dripping into the folds of your kimono.

You feel sick. So sick. The bile rises, clambering its way into your throat as wetness pools across every groove and curve of your face.

“What’s happening to me?” you choke, curling inward as nausea overtakes you.

“Shh, it’s okay. No more tears, sister.”

Her voice.

So soft.

So gentle.

So persuasive.

You look at her, desperately searching her face for answers. Her jaw flexes, and a bead of hot blood slowly trickles from her nose and traces over her top lip. Her tongue peeks out to lick it away.

More pressure.

Her hand moves through your hair, soothing, and the tears in your eyes dry.

“Sister—”

More.

“Don’t let the past hurt you. Forget it for now. Do what needs to be done. When this is over, find me, and everything will be as it should—with me as—”

“My, my, my. What do we have here?” A male voice interrupts. “Is everything alright, ladies?”

Yuna’s hands slip free from you in an instant. Without a word, she turns away, the blood from her nose staining her pale garment as she walks off.

You suck in a harsh, desperate breath, the confusion scattering what little clarity you have left.

Something—again—is torn away from you.

Do what needs to be done. Because you must stay, you have to do this.

Kill your clan. Take Ayana. Find Yuna.

Blinking, you watch her pale kimono flutter like a quiet apparition in the dark. Her hands tense, rolling into fists, then unfurling as she disappears.

Slowly, you turn your head toward where the voice materialized. A man stands at the garden’s edge, his black hair pulled back, his hands tucked casually into his kimono sleeves. 

Wiping at your face, you step off the path, slipping past him without a word.

“I only asked if all was well, my Lady,” the stranger chuckles, enunciating each beat in his chest. He steps closer to you, threading his hands deeper into his sleeves. “No need for rudeness, but I digress.”

Your gaze shifts between him and the place where Yuna just stood. Sweet and lovely, Yuna. 

Subtly, you incline your chin.

“I apologize, my Lord. I’m fine.” You bow shallowly. “Thank you.”

Turning, you head back toward the main hall, his presence lingering behind you.

“I was disappointed,” he continues, stopping you mid-step as you glance back over your shoulder. “To have missed your wedding. I heard it was quite the event. Do tell your husband I intend to make it up to him soon.”

Your eyes lock briefly with his. For an instant, you catch a glint of silken thread spanning discreetly below his hairline—an illusion you quickly dismiss.

“Well, goodnight, my Lady.” Mouth curving into a smile that spreads bumps down your spine, he turns down the corridor you and Sukuna traversed earlier and without further thought, you’re moving again.

Kill your clan. Take Ayana. Find Yuna.

Heart slamming into your ribs, you move quickly back into the main hall. The raucous laughter and raised voices only heighten the tension in your chest. But despite the noise, the room feels smaller—emptier.

Ignoring the task of removing your footwear, you hurry to the alcove, where Sukuna waits with a rigid posture and a dark expression.

“I must speak with you,” you say quietly, hurriedly.

He arches his eyebrow.

“Then speak.”

You shake your head.

“Not here.” You nudge your chin tentatively to the door. “Outside. Somewhere private.”

Without waiting for his response, you turn and walk away. The heavy tread of his footsteps behind you tells you he’s following.

Kill. Take. Find.

You know where to go.

Gathering your hem, you retrace your steps, pushing past the garden until you reach the limestone barrier. With a firm shove, the gate creaks open, revealing the grove beyond.

You rush to it and wait.

Then, you turn, pace, and turn again.

A breeze tosses your hair.

Under your skin, lies your heartbeat. It pounds loudly, racing up your arms, into your chest, and into your head.

Louder.

Kill. Take. Find.

Too loud.

A twig snaps, sharp as a crack of thunder. Your head jerks toward the sound.

From between the yew trees, Sukuna steps into view, his silhouette rigid against the moonlit backdrop. His presence is dark and cutting, like cloth torn from night.

Red eyes meet yours, and both of you freeze. For a moment, the world stills. 

Here. There’s something you’ve forgotten—a sense of repetition.

His upper right hand twitches. Your gaze jumps to it, the two fingers eager to extend in subtle, restless motion.

A single heartbeat passes.

Then, he steps forward.

“You look like you want something from me,” he murmurs, his face a mask of nothingness.

You hold his stare, watching him as he approaches slowly, cautiously, as though you’re a wild animal poised to bolt.

“Yes, my Lord.” Voice barely steady.

He tilts his chin. The movement is almost lazy.

“Spit it out, then.”

You take a breath and take a step toward him. Your heart crashes into your breastbone.

Say it, and your chance of freedom is ever closer. Say it, and this nightmare can end. Say it, and you can leave him…

“I want you to kill everyone in the Kasai clan. Here, tonight.”

The words sting, a thorny stem poking into your tongue until it’s bleeding.

Silence.

The King of Curses only stares at you—eyes empty, emotionless red stones, mouth twitching, pulling up.

He doesn’t respond.

Your heart beats faster, hammering against your skull, drowning out the grove’s stillness.

More silence.

It’s too much.

“Say something!” you snap, your voice a hiss through gritted teeth.

Still, he doesn’t.

He only stares, red eyes bright.

Then, finally, his grin unfurls, and he hangs back his head toward the night sky and laughs.

[theesirenteller]

DEALER

Chapter Nine : ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏsᴛ ᴏғ ᴄʀᴜᴇʟᴛʏ | Masterlist

Possession wasn’t something that was easy to get over. Rio couldn’t get the scent of Epiphany from underneath his nose, he couldn’t get the taste of her off of his tongue. And he didn’t want to. Not even a little bit. She had turned his gray world pastel. The world, his world was a happier place with her in it. Not just for him but for his associates and workers as well. It had been four weeks since their break up and hell was raised in Chicago. Bodies piled up throughout the city. Rio had left no room for mistakes. Every one of his workers had to do their best for each job and those who didn't were instantly killed. Beth, Ruby, and Annie were on edge over the course of the past weeks. They’d been caught up in delivering huge profits for little pay. Annie was beginning to feel like they’d never escape him and she knew her older sister didn’t want to.

The toxic cycle that Beth found comfort in was her new normal. It had been since the moment she felt Rio’s body on hers. Which was why she had invited him out to dinner with her at a prestigious restaurant called Divine. 

The restaurant was quiet, save for the soft clink of silverware and the distant murmur of other diners. Rio sat across from Beth, his posture rigid, his expression stone-cold. The dim lighting did little to soften his sharp, calculating gaze. He didn’t even look at her when she took a sip of her wine, trying to appear nonchalant. The air between them was thick with tension, and she could feel the weight of his anger even without him saying a word. Her nerves were on edge as she fiddled with her glass, trying to avoid his piercing gaze. He hadn’t said a word since she sat down, and it made her skin crawl. She needed him to understand. She needed him to know why she did what she did, even if it was hard to admit.

"I didn’t think you’d actually agree to meet with me," Beth said, trying to sound casual, but her voice came out more strained than she intended. "After everything that went down, I get it. You’re probably pissed at me."

Rio finally spoke, his voice as cold as ice. "Yeah, I am. But that’s nothing new with you, is it?"

"Elizabeth," he drawled, letting her name linger in the air like smoke. "You callin’ me down here for business or somethin’ else?"

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest. This was it—the moment she’d been dreading and rehearsing in her mind. She wet her lips, fighting to keep her voice steady.

"I need to tell you something," she started, looking everywhere but at him. "About Epiphany."

His smirk deepened, but there was no warmth behind it. "Oh, you mean the little stunt you pulled to send her packing? Bold, but not surprising."

"I did it for a reason," Beth said quickly, her words tumbling over one another. She forced herself to meet his eyes, searching for any flicker of softness beneath his piercing gaze. "It wasn’t just about business or the money."

Rio’s brow arched, and he shifted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Then what was it about, darlin’? Enlighten me."

Beth inhaled sharply. Her fingers clenched, nails biting into her palm. "I couldn’t stand seeing you with her," she admitted, her voice a shaky whisper. "I—" she hesitated, the weight of the truth pressing down on her chest. "I have feelings for you. That’s why I did it. That’s why she’s gone."

Rio’s expression hardened, but he didn’t respond right away. Instead, he just studied her, as though weighing her words with a depth that made her uneasy. 

For a moment, there was silence, the kind that made her ears ring. Then, Rio’s laughter cut through the tension like a knife. It was low and sharp, carrying with it an edge of cruelty that made her stomach churn.

"Feelings?" he repeated, his grin widening as he shook his head. "Oh, that’s rich, Elizabeth. You think that’s how this works? You think I’m gonna forget everything ‘cause you’ve caught some little crush?"

Beth felt her face flush, a mix of humiliation and anger bubbling up inside her. "It’s not a crush," she bit out, her voice firmer now. "You mean something to me."

Rio stepped closer, the grin fading from his face, replaced by something darker. He leaned down, his face inches from hers.

"Let me get this straight," he murmured, his tone cutting. "You got rid of Epiphany—someone who actually knew how to play the game—because of your little feelings? And now you expect me to… what? Be flattered? Grateful?"

She swallowed hard, refusing to back down, even as her pulse raced. "I thought you might understand."

He let out a humorless chuckle, straightening up. "Oh, I understand, Beth. I understand you think you’re special. But newsflash: You’re just another player trying to survive in my world."

Her breath hitched as his words sank in. He smirked,”Well…you were.”

Rio’s eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head slightly as if sizing her up. "You think you’re the only one who deserves me, huh? You think you’re the only one who cares about what happens to me?"

Beth froze, a chill running through her as Rio’s tone shifted. His words hit her harder than she expected. "The difference between you and Epiphany, Beth," he said slowly, his voice low and venomous, "is that she doesn’t try to manipulate everyone around her for her own gain. She’s younger than you by twenty plus years and you’re far outta her league in every aspect. You? You’ve been playing people your whole life, pretending to be the victim, pretending to be the good guy. But the truth is, you don’t give a damn about anyone but yourself."

Beth opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. He was too quick. "You want to talk about love and loyalty? You’ve never been loyal to anyone, not really. You’re just good at pretending, at telling people what they want to hear so you can get what you want out of them." Rio leaned in, his eyes cold. "And don’t even try to act like you did me a favor. You didn’t save me, Beth. You played a game, and you lost. You’re just mad that you didn’t come out on top."

Beth felt the sting of his words like a slap. "I didn’t—" she started, but Rio cut her off again, his words biting.

"You think I didn’t see through you?" he said, his voice dangerously low. " You messed everything up because you were too damn busy looking out for your own interests."

The room felt smaller now, like the walls were closing in around her. Beth’s face flushed with anger, but she could see the finality in Rio’s eyes. There was no coming back from this. 

Beth sat there, stunned, unable to find the words to defend herself. Rio stood up and turned his back to her without another word, heading for the door. And with that, he was gone.

Beth sat in silence, the weight of his words crashing over her. She had thought she was in control, that she could still win him back. But now, all she had left were the ashes of the game she had tried to play.

Beth stepped out of the restaurant a few minutes later, her heels pounding against the sidewalk with a rhythmic, defiant anger. Her chest was tight, her hands trembling from the mix of frustration and hurt that pulsed through her. Rio had just shut her down—completely. No explanation, no more games, no more second chances. She had been so sure that she had him under control, that she could outsmart him one last time, but now he had just… ended it. She could still feel the weight of his cold gaze, the finality of his words. 

The cool night air hit her skin, but it did nothing to numb the heat in her veins. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she stormed towards her car. It wasn’t just about the betrayal, it was about how he did it—like she was just another pawn he’d grown tired of playing with. The thought burned in her chest. She had trusted him. She had let her guard down, and now she was paying the price. 

As she reached her car, a sudden noise behind her made her freeze. The sound of footsteps. Quick, deliberate. Her heart skipped. She turned, and for a split second, her stomach dropped when she saw the flash of a dark sedan pulling to a stop just in front of her. She didn’t have time to react before the car door opened. A man in a dark uniform stepped out, his shadow looming large under the streetlights. He didn’t need to say a word. His presence alone told her everything.

"Elizabeth Boland?" His voice was calm, but the authority in it made her blood run cold.

She tried to step back, but before she could move, two more officers emerged from the darkness, blocking her path. Panic surged through her, but she quickly squashed it. ‘No, not like this,’she thought, trying to regain her composure. She crossed her arms, defiantly looking up at the officer. "What is this?" she demanded, her voice sharp with the mix of anger and disbelief.

"You’re under arrest," the officer said, his tone unchanged. "For conspiracy, and the framing of a federal agent."

The words hit her like a slap in the face. She felt her stomach twist as the reality of it all sank in. Her mind raced—had Rio set this up? Had he been watching her all this time? Had he known she would try something like this, planned for her to slip up? She’d been so sure she could pull it off, but now everything was falling apart. 

“Wait a minute—this is a mistake!” she protested, her voice rising in frustration. She took a step forward, but the officers immediately moved to restrain her, snapping the cuffs around her wrists with an unsettling finality. “I didn’t do anything! You’ve got it all wrong!” she shouted, her voice cracking with a mix of anger and desperation. 

But the officers didn’t respond, simply guiding her toward the waiting car. Her thoughts swirled in a chaotic storm of rage and disbelief. She had been played. This wasn’t just a random bust—it was Rio’s doing. He had cut her off, taken everything from her, and now he was watching her fall from a distance. The realization was a crushing weight on her chest, and as she was shoved into the back of the police car, she felt the full sting of his betrayal. He had broken her. And now, he had made sure she would never cross him again.

@lovedlover @fvckthisbxtchup @rampsen @hausofmamadas @darqchilddaydreamz

[reveryfics]

Dirty Laundry

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x Masc reader

Summary: You'd been dating Bruce for a little over a year now. One afternoon while helping Alfred with laundry you notice a cape was stuffed in with his things.

A/n: This can either be read as male or ftm reader since he/him pronouns are used when referring to the reader. I also have another fic in the drafts. Batman is also one of my favorite superheros, so expect more of him in the future.

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The rhythmic hum of the washing machine filled the air, a mundane task made slightly less so by the occasional banter with Alfred. "Quite a week, wouldn't you say, Alfred?" he remarked, tossing another shirt into the machine.

"Indeed, sir," Alfred replied, his voice a steady baritone. "Quite a week indeed."

As he reached for another load, his fingers brushed against something unusual. It was sleek, black, and oddly familiar. Pulling it out, he realized it was a cape. A cape. The cape. The one that had been making headlines, the one belonging to the mysterious figure known as Batman.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through him. He'd seen the news reports, the hushed whispers, the awe-inspiring feats. And now, here it was, in his very hands. A tangible link to the legend.

With a mixture of disbelief and a growing sense of unease, he excused himself, the cape clutched tightly in his fist.

He strode towards the living room, his mind racing. He couldn't wait to confront Bruce, to demand answers, to understand the enigma that was his boyfriend.

The door clicked shut behind Bruce, who shrugged off his coat and tossed it over a chair. He looked up, his face falling as he saw his boyfriend standing there, the cape still clutched tightly in his hands.

"I can explain," Bruce offered, a hint of desperation in his voice.

His boyfriend's expression was unreadable, a dangerous sign. "You'll do more than explain, Bruce," he said, his voice low and menacing.

Bruce ran a hand through his hair, ushering his boyfriend to a seat before summoning Alfred to bring them some tea. An awkward silence settled over the room, the tension palpable as Bruce struggled to find the right words. He'd always been terrible at expressing his emotions, a flaw he'd promised to address early in their relationship.

"I had to keep you safe," Bruce whispered, his voice barely audible. "No... I had to keep myself safe," he admitted, his voice growing stronger.

His boyfriend knew Bruce's reluctance to confront his feelings, but he'd never called him out on it. "You don't trust me?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Bruce's emotions were starting to boil over, the weight of his mistake heavy on his shoulders. "I do trust you," he began, but was cut off.

"Do you?" his boyfriend demanded.

"Of course I trust you," Bruce sighed, "I just can't risk anything happening. I don't know what I'd do if someone came after you, if anyone ever found out you knew Batman." For once, Bruce seemed genuinely vulnerable, truly grappling with his emotions.

The room fell silent, the only sound the gentle clinking of teacups as Alfred set them down. He stared at Bruce, his expression softening. He understood the fear that had driven Bruce to such lengths, the desire to protect the one he loved. But he also understood the pain that secrecy had caused, the strain it had put on their relationship.

"Bruce," he began, his voice gentle, "I understand. I understand the fear, the need to protect yourself and me. But you can't keep secrets from me. We're a team, remember? We face everything together."

Bruce looked at his boyfriend, his eyes filled with gratitude and relief. "I know," he said, "I'm sorry. I'll try to be more open, more honest."

"I know you will," his boyfriend replied, reaching out to take Bruce's hand. "From now on, we face this together. No more secrets, no more lies. Just us."

As they sat there, holding hands, the weight of the past seemed to lift. The future, uncertain as it was, held the promise of a stronger, more honest love. And as they sipped their tea, the rhythmic hum of the washing machine faded into the background, replaced by the comforting sound of their shared silence.

The next day, Bruce led his boyfriend through the hidden passages of Wayne Manor, each twist and turn revealing a deeper layer of the secret world he inhabited. Finally, they stood before the massive, imposing door of the Batcave.

"This is it," Bruce said, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and apprehension.

With a heavy sigh, he opened the door, revealing the cavernous space bathed in the eerie glow of computer screens and advanced technology. The Batmobile, sleek and powerful, stood sentinel in the center of the room.

His boyfriend's eyes widened in awe as he took in the spectacle. "This is incredible," he whispered.

Bruce smiled, a sense of relief washing over him. "I know," he said. "It's...a lot."

As they explored the Batcave, Bruce explained the purpose of each piece of equipment, the challenges he faced, and the dangers he encountered. He spoke openly and honestly, revealing a side of himself that he'd rarely shared before.

His boyfriend listened intently, his heart filled with a mix of admiration and concern. He knew the toll that this life took on Bruce, the constant fear and the overwhelming responsibility. But he also saw the passion that fueled Bruce, the desire to make a difference, to protect the innocent.

As they stood in the Batcave, surrounded by the symbols of Bruce's secret identity, a sense of unity grew between them. They were a team, a partnership forged in trust and understanding. And as they walked back to the manor, hand in hand, they knew that their love was stronger than any secret, any fear, any challenge.

[wiinestories]

Polly’s smirk deepened as she held Samuel’s gaze, the weight of their unspoken tension pressing down on her chest. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly on his thigh, the warmth of his body seeping through the fabric, and her lips parted as if she were about to speak again. But this time, she didn’t. Instead, she leaned in, her hand sliding up to the curve of his jaw, fingers brushing the scruff of his beard with a deliberate tenderness that contrasted the intensity in her eyes. Her breath ghosted over his lips for the briefest moment, teasing him, before she closed the gap between them in a kiss that was anything but hesitant.

Her lips captured his with a fervor that spoke of all the nights she’d imagined this moment—soft yet commanding, her kiss both a question and an answer. She tilted her head, deepening the connection as her thumb grazed his jawline. The scent of leather and whiskey clung to him, intoxicating her as much as his touch. She pressed closer, the curve of her body aligning with his as if they were made to fit. Her hand slid from his jaw to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as her lips moved against his with unrelenting passion. There was no mistaking the hunger in the way her teeth lightly caught his lower lip before she released it, her breath hitching as she pulled back just enough to speak.

Her voice was low and husky, her lips still brushing his as she whispered, “Does this feel like adrenaline to you, Samuel? Or something deeper?” Her eyes searched his, darkened with desire, daring him to answer not with words but with action. She lingered there, her thumb brushing over his shirt, waiting for him to show her if he was as consumed by the fire as she was. “Is this better than those dreams you’ve had of me, dancing for you?” She purred ever so sensually, her own body emanating warmth over how flustered she was and how easily she’d become aroused with the way they teased each other and her own mind was hazed with lust and desire for him. The thought of being on top of him, or even in different positions while they consumed such desire was making her feel a wet sensation between her legs, her core burning with need.

For the first time in his life Samuel found himself feeling rather powerless to a woman and he simply couldn't get enough of her. The constant teasing between them was intoxicating. It was clear that they were playing between the lines and that was what he wanted more than anything. The desperation to leap over the line and at long last cross it was overwhelming. There was nothing more Samuel craved for her. His entire body burned for her as he looked into her eyes. The more she moved closer to him the more he felt his breathing getting heavier and the more his body aching for her. His tongue darted out so he could lick his lips as he looked into her eyes. He couldn't bring himself to pull away from her as his eyes travelled across her face. He didn't say anything to her as his eyes then fell on her lips. For a moment or two he didn't say anything to her and found himself gazing into her eyes. There was a fire burning in him for her as he couldn't take his eyes off her not that he wanted to.

Hearing her words he found himself smirking softly at her for a moment before finally responding to her again. "Turns out you were right. I love danger and a beautiful woman all to myself. There's nothing better in this life than that. " He said to her with a lick of his lips. The more her hand moved up on his legs the more he found himself shivering for her. She knew exactly what his weakness was. His pressure points to touch him and the way she pressed his thigh made him burn with desire. He wasn't certain what to say or do. His mind was growing heavy with lust and his thoughts started being muddling. He could barely form any words as he found himself eyeing her for a moment or two. He finally managed to find words to say to her. "It's not hard to see you considering how beautiful you are. The only thing that matters to me is how beautiful you are. I can't get enough of you and I don't want to. I have also dreamed about you giving me private shows." He said to her with a smirk as he locked eyes with her. "I did what anyone with sense would do. I wasn't going to let someone die in a cross fire." He said to her with a shrug.

Hearing her next words he found himself raising his brows at her. He wasn't certain what to say to her because that was the truth. He stayed silent and had to think about it for some time before he finally locked eyes with her to respond to her. "Maybe it's both. Maybe I knew this would happen between us both. Maybe it was also for the thrill. I enjoy the blood pumping in my veins and I certainly enjoy the adrenaline more than anything. " He said to her calmly before he leaned in towards her. He paused his lips barely inches apart from her, his breath was warm against her.

[an-established-butt-dent]

Dragon age: the Veilguard

What I imagine the cover of a comic about the Dreadwolf looks like.

[thermodynamic-comedian]

arthur and john's relationship is built on codependence and working together because there's no other choice, but it's also a lot about arthur projecting onto john. arthur considers himself a failure as a person, but now he has a chance to prove that someone evil can actively choose to be better. he believes that if john can be saved, so can he. if john can be redeemed, so can he. that's why he tries, at every possible turn, to push john to be better. that's also why, whenever john takes a few steps back in progress, it has such an intense effect on arthur. because he wants to save john.

because if he can save john, he'll finally have proven to himself that he can be saved too.

[bizlybebo]

Dakota and Williamcore

KILLS YOU.

[reidhalstead]

There's a type of loneliness that comes when there are voices in one's head, screaming and taunting every mistake ever made. A company of oneself that needles and cuts until driven to take a knife and slice away the tumour; the mind, the skull, slash at a throat and feel the weight of emptiness that has a man screaming. It might've been only a short while of isolation, but it's plenty long enough to have Reid staring at the bricks, counting them and re-counting them, until he knows which ones have cracked and grown brittle since he'd last been there.

On hour seven, he found it pointless to keep counting in his head; that the distraction was futile in the wake of his body recognising its obvious neglect. He'd forced himself to a bitter stand then, planted his foot against the wall, and pulled on the chains in the dire hope he might be strong enough to rip the fucking things out of the depths of the walls.

He's never asked why Nisha has kept this place. But he supposes he's living the reason in knowing the sick things she does in her spare time. It's pitiful excuses of stupid things that keep his mind from derailing to the obvious; he's hungry, and his throat has blackened fingers scratching at his resolve to hiss and growl like it might do a damn thing about his situation.

That foreboding of being alone, in the dark, with a vision that barely recognises grey from the black has him wanting to rip his eyes out. Instead, he uses that frustration to twist at the restraints, until his pressure points are bleeding again. Pooling to the concrete beneath him. Head in hands comes when he falls back to his ass, gripping his head like he's a child again; it's been decades since he's been grounded from sneaking out of windows and told he cannot go to the concert—

It's not helping. He's thinking about Rose and Lis, he's thinking about the mess he made of his apartment; how when he sees the memory red and green in the broken mirror — all the aftermath, it's practically Christmas come early. Except, he never made the good list, and in the place of gifts and smiles, he received a bucket of blood down the chimney to paint the morning red. He's thinking about the times he made the wrong move, and almost took teeth to the jugular — and that time he lied to a partner about what he did for a living, that it shattered the mirror all the same. Everything he did to get himself here, he tells himself, is all his own doing. Except when it isn't and it comes down to —

He hears that hum of his sire, in his nightmares. Unslept eyes trail upwards to see the clack of feet appearing down the steps to the concrete tomb of a basement. He's too tired to do much else about acknowledging her; saving the last stretches of his energy, to delay the oncoming madness. Reid's hunted feral vampires, he knows what it looks like. The delirium and the insanity; he expects it to come like a slow creeping death —

And then he wakes up.

She's there. No. Nisha's there, whispering at him and he's rested back against the wall, head tilting as he captures her at the angle of how he's fallen asleep. His nightmares shift in hunger. And she's likely gloating in her ivory tower when he screams. Halstead doesn't bite about her nickname, or entertains an answer beyond lifting his head back, to knock back against the wall. Getting away from the delicateness of her touch that he almost swats at (dare he admit that company in any form, grounds him).

He'd lunge if he thought it was going to do anything but break his wrist when the chains stopped him midway. The rasp of Reid's scoff is an ode to the hatred in his gaze, even clouded in the smoke of desire. Whatever she has to torture him with, he doesn't want it:

"Keep it."

-- jump forward --

While she'd told Reid that she'd be back to see him in three days, she made it two. Under normal circumstances, three would have been best. However, with how many injuries he had and how much blood he'd lost, she doubted he'd have been able to last longer than two.

After finding out what happened with his sister -- safely admitted to a hospital -- Nisha had went back to her theatre for work. She'd busied herself with it and the new production while being mindful of how many hours it had been since she'd visited her fledgling.

She wasn't worried about anyone finding him. He was at a location that no one other than herself knew of.

As she walked down the stairs into the basement, she pulled the bag from her shoulder and sat it down at the edge of the stairs. In it were bottles filled with blood. And depending on how the interaction went, Reid might be able to drink some of it.

Her eyes flickered towards Reid, a hum escaping her lips as she raked over his body. Some of the wounds were still healing -- stalled from not drinking enough blood. She was aware that it would happen and while Nisha did not like seeing Reid in such a state, she knew it was necessary.

His eyes were closed as she knelt in front of him, her hand moving towards his face, brushing away some of his hair. "Little lion..." She cooed as her fingers gently caressed his face. "Wake up." Nisha then pulled her hand back and waited, unsure of how he'd respond to her. Her guess was that he would try to attack her. However, she was aware that that might not be the case, considering the state of his body. "I have a gift for you."

[frogaroundandfindout]

Vienna but make it about dick grayson talking to Tim so he doesn’t end up like Jason

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ❞

❝ SATORU GOJO IS THE HONORED ONE - AND HE'S MORE THAN HONORED TO BREED YOU ! ❞

✧ pairing: gojo satoru x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: it's your duty as the wife of the clan head to help your husband get dressed -- even for battle. but that didn't mean he couldn't spend some time undressing you. aka fucking gojo in his shinjuku showdown outfit

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, canon compliant, feral gojo, Ijichi featured, dom!gojo, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral (f), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), mirror sex, clothed sex, creampie, implied multiple rounds, multiple positions, swearing,

✧ w/c: 7,946

✧ now playing: feature one of sab's kinktober

“Perfect,” 

The word slips from your lips without a second thought as you slip the haori over his shoulders, snow locks against the coal colored silk, slick as steel and light as a feather, yet carrying the heft of expense. 

Just as your husband did. 

Little words could describe Satoru Gojo — the most common being the strongest — unmatched strength that matched his flawless appearance and even more unsullied skill set. Curses would sooner exorcise themselves rather than face him, and those who didn’t, well, they did not have long to linger on their mistake. 

But you didn’t think of him as the strongest. No, your husband was so much more than that. A teacher. A mentor. A friend. An idiot (but he would insist that he was your idiot, and he very much was). And he was perfect. 

A remark you knew many would balk at,  and even now — as you dressed your husband, at his insistence, fingers helping him pull the fabric over his body, before smoothing it over his muscle and the word fell from you without a second thought — you caught glimpse of a grimace on Ijichi’s face in the mirror. 

“Ijichi, you should go before I slap the shit out of you for your expression,” Ijichi squeaks in horror before slipping from the room, quiet click of the door welcoming silence, only for a moment, “what was that again, sweetheart?” 

You roll your eyes, “should I really indulge you in making your ego any bigger? You may defeat Sukuna with just the sheer size and weight of it,” you tease, fingers smoothing and adjusting his haori. 

“Think that would be a victory either way, sweetheart,” his fingers find yours, weaving with your own — miraculously soft even with bearing the weight of the world in his hands alone, “but I don’t want to win in such a boring way, especially to Sukuna,” 

“And why’s that?” His lips curl. 

“Because I have to look cool in front of my precious students, don’t I?” you see a hint of sadness linger in his gaze — and you hear the unspoken words, especially Megumi, but the smile slides back on as usual,  “I can’t have myself embarrassing myself can I? You’d never let me live it down,” 

“Oh, no I wouldn’t,” your fingers slide up to cup his cheek, “but you’d expect nothing less from your wife, now would you?” 

And he grins, just as he did the day he had proposed to you, at the classroom at Jujutsu Tech where you first met, deep reds and oranges flooding the wood paneled room, painting it as it only could in the evenings, but even the sun paled in comparison to Satoru on his knee, lips curled in your favorite smile — the very one he gave you every day. 

“My wife,” he hums, and you have to stop yourself from biting your lip and tense your muscles so you didn’t jump him then and there. 

“What about it?” he runs the back of his fingers over your cheek. 

“Just glad I convinced you to let us get married early,” not that it took much convincing at all — only a single look after he was unsealed and several minutes of making out later, and he had gotten Ijichi to get the registration and paperwork for him — the very papers Satoru had prepared before Shibuya, “because now you’re stuck with me, wifey,” 

You chuckle, your fingers finding his as they brushed your cheek, turning your head to kiss his fingers, “I’ve been stuck with you from the moment we met,” 

And you had been — you hadn’t known peace since he had thrown that Jujutsu Tech classroom door open all those years ago, with a welcome party prepared for you and the other first years, microphone in hand as he introduced each of you. And it wasn’t his strength or his skill or even his stupidity that charmed you — but the goddamn smile on his lips. 

Funny, how everyone was so preoccupied with his eyes, when every inch of his was just as captivating— 

“Think you’re going to lose me now, Toru?” You rub your thumb across the length of his cheek, “don’t know if I could ever live without you,” 

“Oh yeah?” he wraps his arms around your waist, his warm form enveloping you, “no regrets?” 

“Only one,” and he tilts his head, blues gleaming with the low light of the room, catching like sunlight against waves, as your fingers traced down to the smooth silk of his clothes, “that we never got married in a formal ceremony,” 

“If I recall, you were in just as much of a rush as me,” his lips graze your jaw, threads of heat slipping up and down every inch of your body, a kiss pressed to the soft skin behind your ear, “you barely wanted to even have the small ceremony we did,” 

“That’s because someone kept touching me while I got ready,” and he did, as you changed into a dress you selected for the small ceremony — or rather you tried, as his warm palms slid up your body, his mouth covering your soft gasps and protests, “or do you forget that you nearly fucked me against the wall right outside the room we were going to marry?” 

“It’s not my fault my wife is so tempting, they say my technique is deadly, but you yourself are far more dangerous,” he hummed, another kiss against your cheek, as his thumb and forefinger cups your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror,  “why the want a formal ceremony anyway? If I remember, you said formal ceremonies were only for the attendees rather than the couple,” 

“Well, maybe I saw something that changed my mind,” or someone in something—

“Oh? And what could change my incredibly stubborn wife’s mind?” 

You hate him — hate the teasing glint in his gaze because he knows exactly why, as he noses the hollow of your neck, lips grazing your flushed skin, “You know why,” and he does, he sees it in the way your gaze lingers across his body, the way you shiver when his palm slips down your hip only to squeeze, and in the soft sound that leaves your lips when his fingers trace down your chin to the valley of your chest. 

“I’d like to hear you say it, sweetheart,” he presses himself flush to your back, heat seeping through the fabric, just as his breath warmed your skin, “don’t tell me you forgot how to use your words,” 

“You’re the worst,” and his chuckle reverberates against you, sending a shiver up your body, his hands sliding down the front of your shirt until he reaches the hem, fingers toying with the fabric. 

“And what does that make you since you married me?” 

“A fool,” your lips curl, his eyes meeting yours, “but a very smart one,” and he clicks his tongue. 

“So smart and yet she can’t answer a simple question,” you sigh, and his fingers, finally, slide underneath against your bare stomach. 

“You just want me to stroke your ego,” and he grins at you in the mirror, robes nearly engulfing your form now. 

“Oh, that’s not all I want you to stroke,” your snort is cut off by a gasp as his palms slide under your bra, “I’ll just keep teasing you until you break,” and his fingers tease your pert nipples, a wave of heat headed straight for your cunt, “and y’know I can, wifey.” 

~~~

“Hngh, Toru, please—” 

Satoru doesn’t know what he loves more — the sound of his name on your lips, desperation on your tongue, the same tongue that he had tasted again and again or the sight of you below him, spread out on his desk, papers and books long crumpled and pushed onto the floor — but he doesn’t need to choose a favorite thing when it comes to you. 

Because every single thing is his favorite. 

“If you want me to stop, you can try, sweetheart,” he presses a kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing the soft flesh, another mark blooming among the rest, a field of reds and purples he could spend hours exploring, “don’t know how far you’d get,” 

His fingers press your thighs further apart, with the barest hint of strength, and you’re still utterly restrained under his touch — a lovely butterfly pinned for his viewing — and what a view it was. 

“Fucker,” you pout at him half-heartedly, your kiss ruined lips and fucked out gaze doing nothing to help your case, “we were supposed to be getting you dressed for—“ 

“Then there’s no problem,” his fingers tug your blouse over your head, your bra askew from his eager fingers, and his hand reaches around to undo the clasp. But he doesn’t pull it away with his fingers, but instead bends down to  away the intruding garment, “because you’re the only one getting undressed, sweets,” 

There was something about the thought — and the sight — of you completely bare for him, at his mercy naked and vulnerable, while he stood clad in the clothes meant for battle. His cock twitched, he supposed this was a battle of kind — as he pushed his sleeves up — a battle of how many times he could cum inside you. 

“Satoru—“ you squeal as he nearly rips away your panties, leaving you bare for him, your thighs closing on reflex, only for him to press them back apart, “fuck—“ 

“That’s what I’m trying to do, sweetheart,” he clicks his tongue, bringing your soaked panties to his nose to smell, before pocketing them, a grin on his lips, “a good luck charm,” 

You gape at him, half horrified and half amused at the thought of the Gojo elders somehow finding out that the Gojo clan head’s clothes had been defiled by your underwear — though you were sure they expected nothing less from Satoru Gojo.  

But even so, you can’t bring yourself to complain, “You don’t need luck to win,” and he scoffs lightly, his warm palm sliding up your thigh, lips pressing hot kisses up your shin, right to your knee, “you just need to know I’ll kick your ass if you don’t make it back in one piece to me,” your fingers run through his soft locks, before tracing over his cheek. 

“I know, and the thought of you waiting for me is all I need,” he turns to your hand, lips pressing a kiss against the cool metal of your wedding ring, “and it wasn’t for that,” and he’s shifting, settling fully between your thighs, lips inches from your sopping pussy, “it’s for making sure I can breed you right,” 

His fingers brush against your fluttering walls, index finger tracing the outer walls with the very tip, pulling and tugging until you were spread out completely, messy pussy on display just for him. You couldn’t squirm under his the wet squelch making your cheeks burn, “S-stop teasing, just—“ 

You moan as he sinks a thick finger into you, knuckle deep and fast, “So needy for someone who was whining a second ago about stopping,” it doesn’t take long for a second finger to join, stretching out your perfect pussy, warm walls pulling him deeper each time he pulled out, his wrist and palm drenched in your juices, “but y’know I can’t stop, wifey, it’s our duty, right? Duty to produce an heir, but more importantly,” And a third finger sinks inside, as he peers up at you, lips parted in a sweet moan that makes his cock throb, ready to bust without a single touch, because he doesn’t need touch — not when it’s you under him, “my duty to fuck and yours to be fucked,” 

And your cunt squeezes his fingers at his vulgar words, a coil growing tighter in the pit of your stomach, heat building, as you can’t help moan his name, “and how will we fulfill our duty if I don’t prepare you, huh? Gotta make sure you’re ready, hm?” 

His thumb rubs over your aching clit, the lewd noises of your slick nearly white noise to your ears as pleasure builds, every muscle taut underneath his touch. He’s pumping faster and harder, nails dragging over your walls, until his fingers find that spot you love — the one he knows how to hit again and again, and he does. 

Your head lolls back against the desk, pleasure ripping up your spine, “I’m—“ 

And that’s the only warning you give before you cum, name on your lips as your back arches, as he fingerfucks you through your orgasm, working you down from your high. You're panting, chest heaving as he slowly eases his fingers from you, the emptiness making you whine. 

Your eyes flutter open to the sight of him licking his fingers clean of your cum, tongue darting across his lips, a glint in his eyes.

“You’re so sweet I can never get enough of you,” and he lifts a finger to your lips, letting you taste yourself on his digit, obediently closing your mouth around it, until he’s dragging it out, pulling at your bottom lip, “you’re dripping from both lips aren’t you?” 

“That’s your fault,” god, you’re too fucking cute, thighs twitching as he leaned down to your soaked cunt, a pretty flushed pink, “you made a mess,” and his tongue licks a stripe up your leaking walls, sparks blooming from the hot muscle flicking against your hard clit. 

“Then I guess it’s my responsibility to clean you up,” 

Satoru Gojo is always too much — it’s too much the way his tongue drags over the seam of your cunt, it’s too much when his nose bumps against your clit when he buries his face in your pussy, your fingers curling in his white locks, and it’s too much when you feel his grunts and moans resonate against your drenched folds. 

It was too much. 

“How are you so soft?” He mumbles, words whispered against your puffy clit before he kisses it, “you say I don’t play fair but you were unfair from the moment I met you,” he reaches down, palming at his erection, “and I knew you’d be mine,” Your eyes find his lips less than an inch from your pussy, chin and lips shiny with your cum and his spit, “you and this sweet pussy,” 

And he’s slurping every ounce of your essence you give him, greedily lapping at you as if he’d rather drown in your juices than breath real air, “fuck, Toru, slow down—“ toes curling as you 

He clicks his tongue, your head rolling back as your nails dig into his scalp, “You shouldn’t lie, sweets, not when this pretty girl is so honest,” the only sound being the wet squelch of your 

“Satoru Gojo!” A familiar voice rings out followed by several knocks, “how long do you expect to keep us waiting?” 

Fuck. And there was the reason you two were getting sresssd to begin with — a showing before Gakuganji and the Gojo clan before the battle with Sukuna. A showing Satoru agreed to undoubtedly to fuck with them — and you, now, for that matter, as he sucks at your clit again, your hand flying to cover your mouth. 

“Didn’t know you were waiting. Thought keeping you waiting would have sent you the right message,” Satoru replies, words said nearly against your wet cunt, breath warming your folds, a shiver working it’s way up your spine, “do you all need to see me in my clothes for battle that badly? I’ll have to start to suspect other motives — and while I’m flattered, with how flattered I can be from a bunch old geezers, I am a married man—“ 

“You insolent brat—“ his tirade falls on deaf ears as you try to urge Satoru off, but he doesn’t, only pinning your hips in place, hands locked under your knee, as he tugs you closer. 

And he only grins, “Don’t tell me you’ll let this old coot distract us, sweetheart? Gonna make me insecure, does my wife not like this as much as her pussy does?” He groans his fingers, spreading your walls apart, parting them to see your cum and pre leak, only for him to lap it up, “because you’ve gotten wetter, haven’t you?” 

“T-Toru, I swear to god, I’ll—“ you half whisper, half hiss, and he sinks two fingers inside your needy walls, his tongue and fingers doing nothing to keep quiet as the squelch of your folds only grows louder as he drags his fingers inside every inch of you, while his tongue busies itself with your clit. 

“You’ll what, wifey?” he hums, making you whimper, “leave? You know you don’t want that. We could make a show of it, should I open these doors and let everyone see how needy you are for me,” and you can’t help the gasp that parts your lips, walls clenching around his fingers, “maybe then those geezers will see why I chose you,” 

“Satoru! Are you even listening?” 

“You can say whatever you want to me here,” Satoru sinks a third finger inside, teasing your clit with chaste kisses, “I’m not leaving this room for the rest of the night,” 

Gakuganji pounds at the door, but you barely hear it, heart pounding in your ears, as you barely muffle your moans behind your clenched fist, “Disgraceful, do you think this is anyway to behave—“ you’re so close, too close, ready to cum as he pumps his fingers once, twice, three times — hitting your sweet spot again and again—you feel yourself reach that peak—

Only for him to stop. The whine that leaves your lips is a little too loud, just as his smirk is a little too wide. 

Fucking asshole. 

Satoru chuckles, teasing you open with his fingertips, just carding your folds barely open at all, pulling small gasps and moans muffled against clenched fingers, “Aw, c’mon, you don’t think being sealed up in that box taught me anything? You should know it only made me take what I want,” Satoru pulls his fingers from inside you, licking up the side of his digits,  “and what I want is right here,” he leans back down, “so tell me and leave,” 

“Even so, I need to speak to you alone,” 

“It’s only me and my wife. You can tell her anything you tell me, she’s the more responsible one after all,” he punctuates it by his teeth grazing your clit, making your hips jerk underneath him, his hand covering your mouth, your fingers curling over his. He grins down at you as he kisses your thigh, “My wife is indisposed at the moment,” 

You don’t hear what Gakuganji says as his fingers sink back inside all at once, fingers rough as they fucked you open in earnest, but you hear Satoru scoff nonetheless. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter, you old geezer — she’s just lying down,” and he adds with a whisper, curling his fingers just right, “and getting her brains fingerfucked out,” and your pretty eyes are full of tears, cries muffled against his fingers, spit soaked, as he feels your walls clamp around his fingers, “what do you think? Should I let him in, sweetheart? Let him see how you well you get fucked by me, hear you scream my name when you cum for me?” 

Nerves on fire from his touch, he’s just adding fuel to the fire, and you’re bucking into his fingers, wanting his fingers deeper even a little—

“No, I don’t think so,” his lips curl as he leans down, cerulean glinting in the low light, as your walls give that tell tale flutter, “because this pretty cunt is just for me,” and he sucks hard at your clit, just as he pulls his hand away, “cum.” 

And you do, pleasure ripping through every inch of you as your back arches upwards into his touch, as he holds you against his face, cumming against his fingers and lips. 

It’s heaven, buried in your sweet cunt as you cum, hot release against his tongue that he laps up greedily, the wet squelch of your pussy along with your lips crying out his name again and again. doing nothing to ease the throbbing between his thighs. 

And when he finally does pull away, licking his lips and chin clean of your release, he watches you coming down from your high — eyes fluttering open slowly as your chest heaves, pussy split open just for him, your cum staining parts of his pants shirt and haori. 

Fuck, he’ll have to see everyone off like this — your cum on his clothes — and his dick twitches, as he leans down to press kisses along your body, with you shivering as he does. And he wants nothing more than this moment to last, with you beneath him, the taste of you on his lips, and the sounds of your soft pants filling his ears. 

That is until, you flipped him, back hitting the plush of the mattress, “sweets—“ 

“Did you forget? It’s a wife’s duty to serve her husband,” and your fingers are as deft as they are possessed — grazing over the bulge in his pants, a hiss before pulling the drawstrings apart, “isn’t that right, husband?” 

Fuck, he bites his lip as he watches you tug his trousers down, his erection slaps his stomach, hard and leaking through the fabric of his boxers, a large dark stain of precum from his weeping tip. 

Fuck, your cunt ached at the sight of him — no matter how many times you saw his cock, you couldn’t get over just how long he was — it was a miracle you were able to take him without breaking your cunt, though he’d gotten far too close. 

“And I thought you said we couldn’t undress me,” his cock twitches as your fingers trace over the dripping slit through the drenched material. 

Your eyes don’t meet his, still fixed on his hard on, “if the clothes are on you, does it even count as undressing?” 

And your fingers dip into the elastic of his boxers before snapping it against his skin, making him jolt, “should I stop then, oh honored one?” You rub your thumb over his slit harshly, a gasp falling from his lips as his head lolls back, “maybe I should go get Gakuganji, let you have your meeting,” 

“Playing dirty doesn’t suit you, sweetheart—“ and you pull his boxers down, pooling around his knees just as his pants did, cold air hitting his cock making him hiss. 

“Like I said,” your palms slide up his body, from his waist, and under his shirt, to his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs, “should I stop?” 

He looks up at you, lungs filled with heat instead of air, lips hovering an inch from his leaking erection. 

“Fuck no.” 

~~~

You’d be the death of him. 

There was no mistake about it. 

Satoru Gojo only had one weakness—and you were sitting on top of him. Your hair disheveled with your fingers running through them, lips kiss bitten and ruined even as your teeth grazed your bottom lip, and your gaze molten and only for him — just for him. 

And you called him perfect. 

A groan leaves his chest as your tongue flicks against his slit, salty precum swallowed by eager lips. He’s hypnotized by you, fingers reaching for you, as his thumb drags down your puffy bottom lip, parting your mouth for him, tongue darting out to lick the pad of his finger. Fuck, your mouth is so sweet, but how is it so wicked all the same? 

“Fuck, sweets, how do you look so good on your knees f’me? S’not fair,” and your forefinger traces his pretty veins from base to tip, running over every curve and inch that would be buried in your tight cunt soon enough, his hips jumping against your touch, “g’nna make me cum before you even touch me,” 

“If you’re gonna cum anywhere, it better be on me,” your lips curl at the shiver that runs down his body, your fingers sliding up his thigh as your fingers slide the pre down his length, fingers slowly pumping him. 

“Fuuuuck, just like that, can’t wait to bury myself in your sweet pussy, wifey—“ your lips kiss his slit, sucking as your fingers toyed with his balls, feeling far too tight from your touch, a moan cutting off his words. 

“G’tta find a way to shut you up somehow, Toru,” you spit on his cock, pressing teasing kisses up and down his begging length, “or maybe we can find a gag,” 

You’ll kill him before he even gets a chance to fight Sukuna, and he’d die a happy man. 

His precum drips down your chin, painting your lips, tongue darting out to lick it off your skin, “s’fucking good for me,” the praise sending a wave of heat right to your cunt, hot cum slipping down your thighs — and you finally let his cock slip past your lips. 

A whine leaves his throat, his head lolls back, your pretty mouth wrapped around his dick, soaking his length, hips jerking against your mouth. Half muttered apologies, he couldn’t look away from the sight of you on your knees for him — mouth stuffed full of his cock with glassy eyes from the soreness of your jaw as you bobbed your head up and down his length. Just watching his dick go and in out of your pretty fucking lips, drenched in your spit and his pre, was enough to make him want to cum then and there. 

But he wasn’t the only one. 

Small whimpers and moans reverberate against his cock, tongue flicking against his veins, when his eyes flicker down, nails nearly digging into your scalp as he sees you two fingers deep in your cunt, the wet sounds of your pussy mixing with the squelches of his cock in your mouth. 

“Fuck, such a nasty girl I married, huh?” He runs his fingers through his hair, entranced by the sight of you fucking yourself open with your fingers, your mouth growing sloppily as you do, “does fucking my dick turn you on this much? You’ve soaked the sheets,” he chides, wide smirk undercutting any iota of scolding, while you meet his gaze with a glare, “Aw, what? Can’t take it—“ 

His words are cut off as you take him deep, too bumping against your throat, and his fingers curl in his locks. 

“Shit—“ Your fingers graze his balls again before squeezing, hard, he nearly busts them and there, but he can’t, not yet — his fingers weave into your locks to slowly pull you off, strings of spit and pre connecting your — not when he hasn’t fucked your pretty cunt yet. 

Your eyes are dilated, dark with pleasure as his gaze meets your own, a mix of his pre and your spit slipping from the corner of your mouth, “You haven't cum yet—“ and his fingers wrap around your wrist and pull your fingers from inside yourself. 

You yelp as he flips you over in an instant, hitting the mattress with a bounce, large palms sliding up your thighs, as he presses your knees to your chest. 

“The only place I’m cumming, sweetheart,” as he drags the swollen head of his cock against your needy folds, watching his precum smear against your twitching folds, before lifting your soaked fingers to his lips, “is inside your sweet cunt.” 

“Toru—please—“ and you’re so needy, just for him, your fingers finding the front of his scarf before tugging him close, a gasp chased away by a grin as he sees the pure desperation in your eyes, “I need you,” 

“I’m right here, sweets,” and he’s leaning down to dot sweet kisses down your body — against your neck, the bridge of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. “You’re going to have to be more specific,” 

“Fucker,” he laughs. 

“Now you’re getting closer,” and he does too, bumping the head of his weeping erection against your puffy clit, as your folds feel as if they’ll part for him in an instant, “this pretty girl is more honest than you are,” he’s parting your folds with his tip only to pull out. 

A whine turns to a scowl, as you tug him even closer by his scarf, “I swear to god, if you don’t fuck me, I’ll strangle you with this—“ and he sinks into you. 

Fuck, you swear you feel every goddamn inch, vein, and curve as he works himself into your tight cunt, walls fluttering as if beckoning him deeper—and he was only too happy to oblige. 

“Toru, s’too big,” your whining only makes his cock throb inside you as he bottoms out inside, “s’too much,” 

“Too much? No, sweets, this dick was made to fuck you,” he grunts, taking every iota of his self control not to thrust into you and bury his cum deep in your womb — no, he wanted this to last, “and this pussy was made for my cum,” he rolls his hips against you swallowly, his tip brushing against your cervix, as both of your heads roll back. 

“How are you so tight? Pleasure rips up your spine as he begins a steady pace of fucking you, sounds of skin smacking together ringing in your ears, “you’re fucking wet and yet you have me in a vice grip,” his clothes rub against you, your slick soaking through the fabric, “should I go meet with the elders like this? Let them see the Gojo clan’s haori soaked by your juices,” fingers pressing your legs apart wider and higher, divots in your flesh from his touch. 

Your walls squeeze at his words, mouth falling open wordlessly as he grunts, “F-fuck,” you can only manage to say, chest heaving as you grasp at the front of his haori, pulling him needlessly closer, “f-faster—“ and he grins. 

He was more than happy to oblige. 

He rails into you at a pace impossible for anyone but Satoru Gojo. And your gasp fades into a drawn out moan that makes him only want to fuck you harder and faster — he needed to bury himself in your cunt until all you remembered was how to moan his name. 

“You take me so well, so deep,” his hand laces with yours and guides it to the bulge in your stomach, “see how deep you take me? Good girl,” the praise makes you keen, sending another wave of pre to soak his dick, and he chuckles, “gonna fit my baby so well too,” 

Your mouth falls open as his dick ruts against you, bullying your pussy open, “W-what?” 

“Y’think we’re gonna leave this bed before I’ve filled you up?” And he punctuates his words with each roll of his hip, “nah, this cunt is all mine tonight,” his thumb drags down your lips, pressing against your tongue, spit leaking out as you groaned, “and so are you,” 

And you’re sucking at his thumb, teeth grazing it before brushing it away to lean up to meet his lips in a bruising, messy kiss — all spit and teeth and tongue, as your hips meet his thrusts, tip finally finding that sweet spot that has your back arching and your eyes rolling back. 

“Toru, fuck, I’m g’nna—“ and you’re cumming, hard, orgasm hitting every inch of your body at once, nerve endings shot with pleasure as he fucks you through it — fucking relentless (or should you say limitless?). Satoru grunts as your walls clamp down on him, the wet squelch of your pussy only growing louder among your pants and moans. He watches the white ring of cum wrap around the base of his cock as it split you open, and all he wanted to do was cum inside you. 

He needed to. 

But he’s pulling out suddenly, a gasp ripped from your lips at the emptiness, before he’s pulling you into his lap, your back pressed to his chest, an arm around you to keep you from squirming. 

“What are you—“ your sentence cuts off as he teases your far too sensitive entrance with the head of his cock, “T-toru,” 

And his other hand snakes around to cup your chin, forcing you to meet your own gaze in the mirror. 

You’re a mess — sweat slicked and naked, your skin littered with blooming red marks dotting up and down your body, your nipples pebbled and hard under his touch, and your cunt on full display, his fingers slipping down to spread them, as if to show you where he just was. 

And he was — hulking behind you, his whole form enveloping you as his cock pushed against your needy entrance. His haori disheveled and his hair askew from your fingers running through it, skin shiny with sweat, skin beautifully flushed, and his eyes filled with lust and his smile far too pleased with himself as he watched you squirm. 

Your eyes squeeze shut, “Don’t wanna be the only one to watch me cum inside you, you should enjoy the view too,” he’s finally sinking to you again, body falling back against him as he sheathed himself in you fully again, “look at how well you take me,” 

And his fingers are cupping your chin, spit slipping from your mouth, as he forced you to look again, see the bulge in your stomach as he slowly began to fuck you, his grunts and moans hot against your ear, “y’know, I’m beginning to really believe you were made for me, sweets, the only one for me,” and he’s emphasizing it with a thrust, “you’re the only one I can even imagine wanting, even just thinking of you is enough for me,” his words do nothing but make you grow tighter as he fucks upwards into you, as he spots your eyes shut again, “c’mon baby, watch me fuck you,”

So you do, watch as his cock slides in and out of your cunt, the wet noises and squelch almost too much for you to bear, the all too familiar knot in your stomach growing ready to snap. His fingers slide up your body to pinch and tease your sensitive nipples, already flushed from his attention. He’s murmuring sweet words, but you don’t hear any of them — you’re gone, lost in the pleasure, in the sweet stretch of your pussy around his cock, unable to look away as he fucks into you. 

“S’good for me, sweets, I’m close,” and he’s pulling you down flush against him, cock buried to the base as his tip brushes against your g-spot with every thrust, his lips pressing needy kisses to the side of your neck, “fuck, g’nna cum—” 

“Cum inside me, fill me up, Toru,” and he groans your name, turning your head to find your lips in a sloppy kiss, tongue wrapped around yours just as his cock hits the deepest part of your tight cunt and his fingers rub against your clit. 

And you’re squirting, gushing over his lap and cock, pulling your lips from him as you moan his name, as he rails into you through your orgasm, until he notches himself as deep as he can before he’s cumming too, hot release painting your walls as he fills you up. He’s fucking his cum into you. 

You both grow slack as he slows his movements, relaxing against his body, murmuring soft praises as he slowly pulls himself from inside, clicking his tongue, as he watches his cum slip out of you. 

“Sweetheart, how will you fulfill your duty if you let my cum slip out like that?” he kisses your cheek, before he’s gathering the cum on his fingers to stuff it back inside, drawing a gasp from your lips, “maybe I’ll just fill you up again, hm?” 

His softening cock twitches at the thought, as you lean into him, shifting as you feel just how wet you’ve gotten him…and his clothes. 

Fuck. 

“Toru, how are you going to fight in these clothes tomorrow?” you cover your burning cheeks, “it’s drenched,” 

“It’ll dry,” you snap your head to him to glare at him, and he pouts, “what? It’ll be like you’re fighting with me—” 

“I swear if I have to live with the knowledge you fought the king of curses with my cum all over you, I’ll kill you—” 

“And if I’m not alive—”

“I will bring you back to life, just to kill you,” and your palm slides against the slant of his cheek, “and you’re not going to die, I forbid it,” 

He chuckles, his lips leaning down to meet yours in a sweet kiss, “Then I better not now, huh?” 

~~~

“You’ll come home to me, won’t you?” 

It hadn’t been a question, not until now, now when you’re faced with the reality of the day pressed against you as day breaks over December 24th. Daylight seeped into the bedroom, his thumb tracing a lazy circle against the divot of your hip, a soft smile on his lips, with his arms wrapped around you. 

Atlas long having shifted the sky to your husband’s shoulders, from the second he existed in his world — but for a moment, you feel it too. Not like him — never like him, even when you tried to bear it with him. But you never could understand, no matter how you tried to.  

But you tried — his fingers lacing with yours, engulfing yours with his warmth, as he lifted your intertwined fingers to his lips. 

“Where else would I go, sweets?” And you didn’t want to think of the other possibilities, to say the words out loud and manifest them as some cruel jujutsu god’s intention. Because when were these gods ever kind? “I only belong in one place — two if you count the mochi place in Sendai,” 

But he doesn’t earn a smile out of you, frown still firmly fixed to your lips, “ouch, not even a pity half smile?” he tilts his head, “sweetheart—“ 

“You said it yourself that the ten shadows is the ultimate counter to infinity,” you hate the words that leave your lips, filling in your mouth like bile, unable to do anything but spit them out like acid, “that and Sukuna’s technique, I’m worried—“ 

“Worrying won’t change the outcome, baby, and I’m not planning on losing,” 

“If you aren’t, then why did you agree to give Yuta your body?” your words were quiet, his movements still, muscles tense as if he had already given up his autonomy to another, “and you didn’t tell me,”

He’s careful with his words, tiptoeing between buried mines— “I didn’t want you to worry about something that wouldn’t happen—“ but still managing to step on one all the same. 

“Bullshit. You thought it would be better for me to find out if push comes to shove?” you laugh, a bitter noise, but all the anger leaves your body, and only fear is left, “I can’t lose you, Toru,” 

“Baby—“ 

“I can’t. I won’t,” you’re being petulant, you know are, but he’s the one person you’re allowed to be childish about, just as he is with you. 

“You won’t, huh?” He wasn’t used to be treated like this — as fragile, as something that’s fleeting, that could slip from fingers as easily as everyone else did. Even as you touched his, fingers tracing the curve of his jaw with the most delicate of touches, as if he’d shatter under your touch, “I don’t think we get a say in that, sweets, unless you had secret meetings with a god I don’t know about,” 

“Satoru—“ 

“Don’t worry I won’t get too jealous—“ and you cover his mouth, yanking him close by his scarf, your forehead pressed to his shoulder. 

“I love you, you absolute idiot, you know that right?” And you feel his lips curl ever so slightly against your fingers, before he presses a soft kiss to your palm, easing it from his mouth, “I love you, I love you so much,” 

“I love you too,” he presses his forehead to yours, “I’ll come back to you, but even if I don’t…I’ll always be with you, you can’t get rid of me, even in death,” 

“Promise?” And he kisses you, soft and languid, thumb rubbing back and forth against your speak. 

“Promise.” 

And Satoru Gojo was never one to break his promises. 

~~~~

Except now. 

The slice cut through the silence of the battlefield with the wet squelch of flesh and blood, followed by two thumps, one soon after the other. 

No, no. This wasn’t true. It wasn’t. It wasn’t. 

It couldn’t be. 

He promised he would come back. He promised he’d live. He promised. 

He can’t leave like this. No, he can heal himself, he can save himself, couldn’t he? RCT like he did before with Toji. And for your eyes flickered around the room, no one could meet your gaze, none except Shoko, who saw the question in your eyes and only frowned before shaking her head, lit cigarette snapping in half as he held it too tight. 

“No, no—“ you didn’t even realize you said the words out loud before you felt everyone’s eyes on you suddenly, before you felt something, a flicker of his cursed energy and you snapped. 

“Ui ui, take me with you,” Kashimo was already on his way to the battlefield, a lightning flash to death’s door, with no fear. 

Yuta says your name softly, “I don’t know if that’s a good—“ your eyes snap to his hard. 

“You have your plans, Yuta, and I have my own, this isn’t a matter of discussion,” you step over to Ui Ui, seeing Yuta’s hands curl into fists, vision averted, “I’m not ready to give up on him,” 

And in a second, you’re in the middle of the battlefield, dust clearing as the distant noises of fighting rings in your ears, but you barely register it, no, not when wind rolls and you see him. 

“Satoru,” 

You’re at his side in an instant, your fingers running over his cheek, the heat leaving his body, cold creeping in, but as your fingers graze his, a quiet murmur of his name, and you see his eyes flutter. 

And it’s immediate. You look to Ui Ui, as your hands are placed on either side of his split body, palms spread against his body, “Take us to Shoko, he’s alive.” 

~~~~

Satoru Gojo was never one to lose. 

But he supposed if he had to lose to anyone, it might as well be the king of curses. But he knows he didn’t really loose, as he watches the snow fall above him, wondering if the cold against his skin was the snow or if it was something else entirely. 

Was this what it was like for Suguru? Is this what he saw? The winter sky, or was it him knelt beside him as his life left his body. 

Maybe he’ll ask him when he goes back, when he sees everyone again. 

And then he hears it — your voice, the quiet murmur of his name, and the brush of your hand against his.  

No, no, he can’t leave. Not if he can help it. Not when you’re here. 

He feels your cursed energy flood his body, the flow of cursed energy through every inch of him, as it keeps his heart beating and his brain alive — a gasp caught in his throat. 

If you want to start anew, head north. If you want to return to your old self, head south. 

There’s only one option. 

He had to head north — even if it meant — he closed his eyes — losing everything, but himself. 

But he’d have you — and that would be more than enough. 

~~~

“Are you enjoying the view?” 

Your lips curl as you stand in the doorway of your bedroom, leaning back against the doorframe, watching your husband dress himself. 

“Always do,” the floorboards creak lowly as you cross the bedroom to your husband’s side, “why do you think I married you?” 

He chuckles, “and here I thought it was because of my incredible personality,” and you snort, as your arms wrap around his middle, your fingers adjusting the obi belt around his waist, “feels like you laughed at that a little too hard, sweetheart,” 

“I just imagined how your students would react at that,” you laugh softly, as you finish adjusting his belt, only to grab his haori, a deep sky blue, as pretty as he is,  “pretty sure they’d disagree, especially after the stunt you pulled—“

And of course, the stunt you were referring to was him coercing you push a box out to his students, only for him to pop out. 

“How many chances would I have to do that? Plus, it was hilarious — did you see their faces?” And you scoff, shaking your head, “Plus, I figured it would be less shocking this way. Surprising them this way changes the focus from what happened to right now,” 

You helped him pull the haori on, guiding his arms in one sleeve and then another, “I think you just being alive was enough of a shock,” you kiss his palm, pressing it against your face. 

And his lips curl, “Well I made a promise didn’t I?” His other hand reaches for you, finding your waist and tugging you close, “and I never break a promise, especially when it comes to my beautiful wife,” 

“Can you call me that yet? We still haven’t had the ceremony yet,” he shakes his head. 

“This is only a formality, something to appease the elders and keep the idea of a clan war at bay,” he scoffs, shaking his head, before shrugging, “but it isn’t so bad,” 

“Why’s that?” And he smiles.  

“Because now we can have no regrets,” and your fingers trace upwards over his face, the scars from his battle bumpy as your fingers run over his soft skin, fingers reaching the blindfold over his left eye, before pushing it up — his cerulean blue eye now a milky white, “except maybe being able to marry you with both eyes,” 

“Like you said, we were already married,” your thumb runs over his shut eye gently, “this is just a formality,”

He leans into your touch, nuzzling your hand, before his arms pull you flush against him, “Then can we be late?” And his lips lean down to press a heated kiss to your neck, voice reverberating against your skin, “because I’d like to enjoy my wife before I have to share her with everyone else,” 

“Toru—“ a soft gasp cuts you off, as his hands slide down your sides to cup your ass, fingers squeezing, “we can’t—“ 

“Oh what will they do? Start without us?” And your resistance is waning as his lips start trailing kisses down your neck, tugging at your kimono if only to pull the fabric down your shoulders, “I promise I’ll be fast,” 

“Last time you promised that, we didn’t even make it out the door—“ and his fingers are already undoing your obi, before sliding up and underneath the silk material, thighs parting under his touch, “god—“ 

“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ sweetheart,” and his fingers toy with your panties, “look at my wife,” and he’s tilting your gaze to make you look at yourself in the mirror again, “perfect,” 

“Just like my husband,” and his lips curl. 

“Even now?” And your fingers cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze — no longer the look of the strongest or the gaze of the six eyes — just the eyes of your husband, Satoru Gojo. The very gaze he’ll use to look to the future. 

“Especially now.”  

✧ a/n: welcome to the first kinktober fic!! sorry it took a bit T_T. i've been super busy with work and i keep getting sick in weird ways. last week i got hives and this week, my stomach is being a jerk. but i hope you guys enjoyed :) i think the next fic may be 'a cult classic' or 'scream (only for me)' so look forward to that!! thank you to @coffee-and-geto and @gaylatteart for betaing!

✧ taglist: @risuola , @riamallow , @montilyetron , @saccharinesatoru , @notgoodforlife , @aerithsthingss , @satorusmochis , @silvarys , @oracle014 , @jimabenamara , @seijakuu00 , @erwinawesomeness , @staryukis , @idiotgojo , @torubug , @theshylittleelfgirl , @mitsuristoleme , @forest-hashira , @aishies-stuff , @midnaamethyste , @fiannee , @paperstarsthings , @satosuguwifee , @kachntos @meow-satoru , @rowaelinsdaughter , @emonaculate , @hojoslutoru , @strawberry1042 , @fairiesthrum , @shoyosdoll , @gladiatorgladiator , @tojis-ball-sack , @astraecea-silversin , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @wakashudou , @cstandsforchaos , @yuminako , @zetianzz , @dazailover1900 , @sunamatic , @euphorism , @satowooo , @hawkwithsocks