#and did not even imply he was going to. it was just pulled from their asses and/bc Yuri never even said Flynn's name there | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moody-alcoholic · 10 hours ago

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Cross My Heart

Part 6 - How to Infiltrate a Terror Cell

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: Violence, sexual remarks/touching, use of weapons, description of injuries, implied torture, blood, death.

AN: This one really got away from me. These mini fics are supposed to be 'short' and easy to write.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

AO3

Enjoy <3

It's the worst idea you’ve ever heard. But here you are nodding at Price while he lays out the plan.

“First things first we need to confirm Konni have Alex. Then we focus on Makarov.”

“I know one of the guards who works in the prison wing. He’ll be my way in.” You explain.

“Makarov will be harder. He's always surrounded by his best soldiers. I can probably find out what he's doing here but as for getting an audience with him or even getting near him it’s going to be next to impossible.” You explain. Price hums laying back on the sofa.

“Find out why he's here then we get Alex out. Rendezvous with the ULF and make a plan from there.” Price says.

“As soon as we spring Alex that's it. There's no way I will be getting back in there.” You say raising an eyebrow.

“That's why it's important you get as much Intel before getting him out.” You nod standing up.

“Here.” Gaz says coming over to you and handing you a USB. You take it raising an eyebrow.

“Plug it into any computer and it will copy all the files over.” He says, you nod at him, he lingers for longer then he needs to. Maybe he’s warming up to you too.

“When you find Alex, tell him 141 sent you. He’ll know to trust you.”

“Are you sure?” You ask sceptical. You know if they’ve been trying to get info out of him it’s very unlikely he will trust you, or anyone for that matter of fact. You might have to resort to dragging him out.

“I’m sure.” You sigh looking out the window. The sun is coming up. You should leave sooner rather than later, it’s a few miles back to the border, wait any longer and the story you’ve constructed might not make sense. You go over to pull your jacket on.

“I should get going.”

“We’ll be waiting at the rendezvous point.” price says. You nod looking round the room. Maybe they won’t wish you luck. Maybe they don’t mind if you die, one less thing for them to worry about.

“Good luck.” Gaz calls. That you didn’t expect. You smile at him.

...

“You said Farah’s forces where moving north not fucking marines.” You snap at your handler, Ivan. He called for you as soon as you made it into the base. It was early morning, most people had gone to meet Makarov's entourage, apparently, the place was running on a skeleton crew.

Good, easier for you.

“The packages?”

“Dead.”

“Shit, they were tech specialists, Al Qatala needed them.”

“Explains why they were shit lookouts.” You mutter under your breath. The other man in the room catches that and you look over at him. You don’t recognise him, he’s barely said a word since you entered the room. Just looks at you now and then from over his laptop.

“Why did they let you live?” He asks, his accent is thicker, he’s not from round here. Maybe he’s not even Russian at all.

“I patched up one of their injured. They let me live.”

“Which way did they go?”

“West.” You lie. Both the men look at eachother then back down at the map.

“Sakhra?” Ivan asks.

“Makes sense If they have one injured they’ll want to head to a neutral hospital or a ULF. The Americans have been getting too close to the border for my liking.” The other man says shrugging.

“How sure are you that they're heading west?”

“I overheard them talking before they left.” You explain.

“Well, I have to deal with a very angry Al Qatala contact. You better get yourself ready. Makarov will have jobs for you I'm sure.” Ivan says.

“Wouldn't want to fuck them up.” The other man says.

“What's he doing here? Makarov?” You ask as the Ivan turns away.

“Not really any of your business but let's just say he's planning a nice surprise for the ULF. And now we have an American who knows all their movements there's no way we miss.” The other man says.

“Has he talked?”

“Not yet, but he will. The Butchers on his way. A little gift from Al Qatala.” Ivan says. Shit. You have to move quick if you’re going to get him out here it has to be now. You leave the room, closing the door behind you. Before you head to the prison wing you skip into the handlers office. He never locks it, he's going to regret that.

You plug the USB into the computer and a loading bar starts. You look round the desk, looking at the papers for anything interesting. Your heart is hammering in your chest, you keep looking up to the door hoping no one will come in.

You look back at the PC, it's only 50% done. You start to look through the drawers for anything, even if it is just to keep you busy. You see plans, plans for some kind of weapon. You take them out, folding them up and shove them into your pocket.

The transfer is almost done. You hear a door close, you’re holding your breath, your hands run over the papers on the desk. You hear the Ivan's voice 90%. You panic, he’s probably coming to his office, you need to distract him. You go round to the other side of the desk leaning against it. You hear a beep on the computer, the USB must be done, you reach over pulling it out and shoving it in the pocket with the papers.

You only just manage to compose yourself as he walks in. A smile grows on his face. He walks up to you, his hand resting on your hip.

“You’ve got me in a whole bunch of trouble. Least you could do is make it worth my while.” He says, you can smell the vodka on his breath as he leans in to kiss your neck. You don’t have time for this, one of his hands slips round to grab your ass. It’s like he wants to pick you up and put you on the desk.

“Ivan,” you breath as his hand presses dangerously close to the other back pocket. He pulls his mouth off your neck. “I have stuff to do.”

“Yeah you do.” He says with that stupid grin on his face before pressing his lips onto you. Normally you wouldn’t mind but you’re about to betray him this feels wrong. You push him off you. He huffs crossing his arms.

“I really have to get ready. Besides, don't you have to prepare for our special VIP?” You say, he tips his head to the side you can tell he’s not happy about this. He steps away walking round to the other side of his desk and you turn with him.

“Fuck Makarov, this whole plan is pointless. The American is not going to talk, he’s rushing into this too quickly.”

“What does he want?” You ask, maybe now you’re alone he’ll give you some more answers.

“He wants to take over the northern territories.”

“Of Urzikstan?” Ivan nods. “He’s crazy, he’ll turn Al Qatala against him.”

“He wants to use it as a bargaining chip.” he says.

“Not going to be much bargaining if he’s dead.” You scoff crossing your arms. That explains why he’s so nonchalant about upsetting Al Qatala, when Makarov is done, lost techs will be the least of their worries.

“On top of that he’s got us chasing some military unit helping Farah.” Your stomach sinks.

“Military unit?” You ask, swallowing the nerves.

“Yeah 141 or something. Anyway, I’ve had people looking for them for weeks. We don’t even know if they’re still in the country.” He says going to type on his computer. You need to leave. Get Alex and leave.

“Well, if I find them I’ll let you know.” You say heading for the door. He chuckles.

“Hey.” He calls as you’re about to close the door. “You’ll be back later right? I’ve missed you.” He hasn’t missed you, he’s missed sex. You smile and nod at him.

…

“You look like shit.” Caleb says offering you the last of his cigarette. You take it sucking a deep breath in and letting it calm you. It didn’t take you long to walk over to the prison building, of course Caleb was already waiting for you, he waved at you when he saw you walk through the front gate.

“Heard you fucked your job.” He chuckles.

“Hear a lot with those massive ears of yours.” You say reaching up to flick him. He bats your hand away. “Thought you would be out with the others going to pick up Makarov?”

“Fuck that.” He laughs, you smile, throwing the butt on the floor and stamping it out. You follow him back into the prison wing. It’s not really a prison, this whole building used to be a school or something, it’s been abandoned for years. Well until Konni and Makarov took it over.

“Heard you’ve got an American here?” You ask looking round at the shabby built cells.

“Yeah.” He says pointing down the hall. There are at least two other guards. Hopefully you can get Caleb to turn a blind eye, then you only need to worry about them. And the guards on the gate, and the extra security that will come after you as soon as they know there’s been a break out.

“Heard The Butchers coming to question him.”

“Oof, unlucky guy.” He winces. You walk down a different hall with him. There are only a few people in the makeshift cells, most of them are converted offices.

“Anyway, how did you manage to mess up your job?”

“Marines came in and caught me off guard. No one warned me there were Americans around.” You say sticking to the made up story.

“At least you’ve been out doing something. Ivan has the whole place on edge with this Makarov visit. Maybe it’s good you came back early. Calm him down.” He jokes nudging you. You roll your eyes. Nudging him back. It’s just sex, mindless stupid sex. And yeah maybe Ivan looks away when you fuck up from time to time, like today.

“What did he get bored of the cook house girl?” You tease back, Caleb laughs. You walk on a little further mustering up the confidence to ask him. You have to be careful, out of anyone you want Caleb to get hurt the least. You’re going to miss your chats with him.

“I need a favor.” You say stopping him and gripping his arm. He frowns at you, he seems to sense the unease in your voice looking around before leaning in closer to you.

“The American. I need to talk to him. 30 seconds alone.” You say trying your best not to sound nervous.

“Are you crazy? Ivan’s got that shit locked down. No one is allowed to look in his direction let alone talk to him.” Caleb whispers gripping your arm.

“I’ll deal with Ivan.” You say. “You owe me, remember?” He shakes his head.

“Not this, they’ll kill me if anything happens to him.”

“You owe me.” You say again this time gritting your teeth, you don’t exactly have time to negotiate. He sighs looking around.

“30 seconds. No more.” He says. You smile reaching up and kissing his cheek.

“Thank you.” He shakes his head and calls the other guards over. You move past them pretending to head for the exit before turning down the hall where Caleb pointed earlier. You take the key off the wall opening the door. There’s a man sitting on the bed. He springs up as soon as you step in.

“I was sent by 141. Are you Alex?” You ask, holding your arms out. He nods, frowning, as well as he can, his head is bruised and one of his eyes is swollen. The few clothes they’ve left him in are drenched through and he’s holding his other arm like it’s broken. “I’m here to get you out. I don’t have time to explain, you just need to trust me.” You say leaving the room. He hesitates a second then follows you. You go over to the guards table and pick up a weapon, loading it and putting another mag in your pocket.

“Can you walk?” You ask, trying to keep an eye on the door Caleb would have taken the guards through. As soon as they see you they’ll open fire and sound the alarm. You need to leave. You start to head towards the door, clicking the safety off your gun. You quickly look behind you to make sure Alex is following, he is but too slow for your liking.

Before you can tell him to hurry the door at the end of the room opens. A guard looks at you, his eyes then flick to Alex. You don’t have time to think you bring the weapon up and shoot him.

Move! Your brain screams. The shot will have alerted people. Alex makes it over you and you practically drag him through the door out into the courtyard. A shot rings out and you pull him round the side of a building. You look back to see Caleb shouting orders as more guards run round.

You look over at the entrance of the base. It’s close but you have to get over the wall, which means you’re going to have to fight.

“We’re going to have to hop that wall. Think you can manage that?” You ask as you turn to Alex. He nods and opens his mouth but before he has a chance to say anything more shots ring out hitting the wall where you’re hiding.

It’s now or never. You jump out from behind the building and sprint across to the wall. You hear Caleb call your name as you throw yourself over the wall rolling down the embankment. You hear Alex groan out in pain, he’s definitely got something broken. You get to your knees watching him writhe in pain. You don’t have time for this. Alarms ring out. Now you really don’t have time for this. You look over to the entrance. The gates are being locked. Great now you’re going to need to get keys.

At least that's easy to do if the person is dead. You reach over gripping Alex’s arm pulling him to his feet. He cries out in pain, you don’t have time to worry about it as more shots ring out. You can see Caleb running across towards you, you pull Alex over the drain and up the opposite embankment. You let go of his arm to open fire on the guards in front of you. There’s only two of them, at the gate.

You take cover behind the inspection booth, Alex kneels down beside you. You hand him your gun.

“I need to get a key, cover me.” You say. You don’t know if you trust him, or if he’ll even be a good shot but he’s better than nothing. He nods, you crawl out over to one of the bodies. Shots ring out behind you. Well he’s not killed you yet. You fumble around the guards belt and pockets. Nothing.

“Shit!” you call crawling over to the other guard out in the open. More shots ring out, from in front and behind you. Alex must have picked up a weapon off the guard. You find the ring of keys clipped on the guards belt. Your hands are shaking from adrenaline as you try to unhook them.

“Watch out!” Alex shouts. You don’t get time to look up before someone kicks you in the back. You look over at Alex fumbling with a mag. A shot rings out and he ducks behind the booth just in time.

“Fuck.” You say pulling yourself to your feet. You’re surprised the person lets you get up. Before you can turn though a pain radiates in your side.

It’s worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. Have you been shot? When you finish turning you see a guard. Before you have time to react his head explodes into and he lands beside you. You look over at Alex, he’s still fumbling with the clip.

You turn to see Caleb bringing his weapon down to his side, he looks sad, he’s your friend and you're betraying him. You reach down to touch where the pain is. Your head is swimming, your hands feel blood, then cold metal. There’s a knife, you’ve been stabbed.

“No!” you yell at Alex as he comes back from round the booth, his weapon drawn. Caleb holds up the keys, you smile at him. He pushes past you, opening the gate. You stumble over, each step sending shooting pains through your body.

“You owe me!” Caleb says as he throws his arm around you. You lean up against him as he half drags you into the tree line.

“On the other side of the tree line. There’s a truck.” You say switching to English.

“Rescue?” Caleb asks in English, you smile crying out in pain as you step over a fallen tree.

“That's where 141 are waiting.” You say, it’s getting harder to focus, at least the sound of the alarm from the base isn’t ringing in your ears.

“It’s a long story.” You say breathless. You want to pull the knife out, it hurts so much. You know you shouldn't though. Not until you have something to pack the wound with.

“How do you know 141?” Alex asks as he watches round you, his weapon still drawn.

“Just keep going.” Caleb says, hitching you up tighter to him as you start to stumble. You can barely see what’s happening, the forest becoming a mix of blurry greens and browns. It feels like you’ve been walking for miles when you hear the engine of a truck. It makes your adrenaline spike, giving you a brief moment of clarity as you make it to the edge of the tree line.

“It’s them!” You hear the familiar Scottish accent. The sun blinds you as you make it through the trees.

“Shit, what happened?” You hear someone ask, there are more hands on you now. You’re picked up.

“Who are you?” A gun clicks.

“Caleb, friend.” Is all you manage to say. You hear whoever is holding you curse under his breath. You’re pulled into the back of the truck on the floor. It makes you cry out again, your hand going to your wound. There’s banging and clattering. You don't have time to question how they got their hands on an military truck.

“Hey, lass, c’mon stay with us we’ll get you sorted.” It’s Soap. You look out through the back of the truck, you can see Price with his hand on Alex’s shoulder, Gaz taking the weapon out Caleb's hand. Then you see it in the distance, a truck.

Price notices it too. He helps Alex get in the truck next to you, closing the back.

“Ghost, let's move!” He shouts. Gaz has vanished, you hear a door slam. Price pulls himself in the truck holding his arm out for Caleb. It doesn’t matter though.

Shots ring out, they hit the truck, you see Price duck, then the flash of blood. Caleb's hit, his body goes limp and falls to the floor as the truck pulls away.

You’re not sure what happens next. Your scream fills the air as you watch Caleb's body get smaller covered in the dirt kicked up by the truck. Someone is pressing your body down. Suddenly Price is leaning over you, more shots ring out hitting the truck. You feel tears stream down your face. You got him killed, the only person you didn’t want to get hurt.

“Alex! Cover fire!” You watch as Price hands him an AR, they both move down to the end of the truck returning fire. Your body is being flung from side to side as the truck drives out the forest and onto a road.

You don’t care what happens now, you don’t care if you die. You did your job, you got Alex out. You close your eyes letting out a breath.

“No, no, no! Eyes open c’mon!” It’s Soap again. Your eyes snap open as he shakes you. The gunfire dies down, maybe you’ve lost them. Maybe they won’t follow you out on a main road.

“Caleb.” You say. “His name was Caleb.” Soap frowns for a second then lets out a sigh.

“Johnny.” He says.

“Nice to meet you Johnny.” You smile. He smiles back. You can’t stay awake anymore. Your head is spinning, black spots fade into your vision. He calls out to you, shaking you but you just can’t stay awake. Your last thought is of Caleb as everything goes black.

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tomriddlehyperfixataion · 2 days ago

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Through time and space; you're Mine.

Summary; Alt end to 'The girl who shattered time!' instead of staying, (y/n) goes back to her time, only everything is different. Way different.

warnings; Tom Riddle(way more on point in this version), obsessive Tom, possessive Tom, referenced murder and implied murder, horcruxes used to make 'kids' so Tom can have 'you.'

i like how this came out, its not long! hardly even 2,500 words! but it feels good so i left it where it was~ the requester of the girl who shattered time did request an alt end but their idea was different and i wasnt, really into it? so i did this instead because this feels...more like Tom. enjoy!

“Please stay,” he said, achingly, pleadingly, his jaw clenching horribly as he stepped towards her-she stepped back-he stopped.

“What?” she asked, and she watched as the sound of her voice made his eyes flutter and he took a deep breath, holding the diary with both hands.

“Stay. Please.” He said again, begging. “Don’t go back to your time-don’t go back to…that war. Don’t go where I can’t follow.” He whispered, looking up at her.

“How can you ask that?” she whispered, clenching her jaw, fists tight at her sides. “You saw it all, you know why I can't stay, you know why I’ve been avoiding you-why I want to go back.”

Tom’s eyes were hard yet sad-anger, not at her, filling his face.

“I won't stay with someone who becomes…him.” (y/n) said, not even daring to say the name and Tom nearly flinches, his eyes going back down to his diary, trembling.

“If you go back. I’ll find you.” he says, voice low and dark with promise, looking up at her-his gaze intense. “I'll find you, no matter what-I’ll track you down.” He steps closer and (y/n) backs away, gasping as he grabs her wrist and pulls her close- the diary falling to the floor, his eyes locked onto hers.

“I’ll make you mine again, I don’t care what I have to do, who I have to get through-I will find you, and we will be together again.” (y/n) shakes her head, panic filling her whole body, she does not want to be with Voldemort, she didn’t want him-she didn’t want this.

She slaps him with her free hand and his head snaps to the side-his eyes going wide, before turning back on her as she runs back towards the dorms. “You can’t escape me (y/n)!” he roars, knowing he couldn’t chase her into the girls dorms, the barrier keeping him away from her. “I will find you! you will be mine again! Dark lord or not-I will have you!”

He loved her. And he would never let her go.

She rushes out of the Slytherin common room before sunrise, panting heavily as she books it down the hall towards Dumbledore’s office, tears in her eyes as she rapidly knocks on the door and he opens it. “ah-I have yet to leave for the ministry Ms-are you okay?” Dumbledore's voice turns to concern as (y/n)’s shoulders jump with a sob and she slumps into him as the weight of everything crashes into her.

Tom’s ‘promise’, the threat of the war, returning to a world where she’d be hunted down-it’s all too much.

But still-she wants to go home. She wants to see her friends again, and if need by-die next to them.

Dumbledore hugs her and after the sun rises, he goes to the ministry through the floo network, (y/n) curled up on the seat in front of his desk until he and a ministry worker returned-holding the time turner that would send her back. “Okay, you traveled back in the defense class room right?” the ministry worker asked, following Dumbledore to the DADA classroom.

(y/n) nods, quietly standing beside Dumbledore as he unlocked the DADA classroom and the three entered, the ministry worker handing her the time turner. “All right, here you go, just finish the loop and it’ll send you to your time, and then to send it back to us-just take it off and leave it in a safe spot and the time turners fail safe will send it back to us. Understood?”

(y/n) nodded again, putting on the time turner and lifting the two ends in her fingers, twisting it to complete the loops and she felt her stomach turn as she was sent forward in time-May 2nd, 1998. She landed in the DADA classroom-it was untouched by the chaos that sent her here in the first place so she quickly took the time turner off and put it in a safe spot-near the book cases, far away from where she’d gone back the first time.

She looks at the desk that she’d knocked over that held the original time turner, sneaking over and opening all the drawers-eventually finding the time turner that had sent her back. She looks up as she hears someone approach the door and quickly hides. Except…there's no blast of magic or chaos of battle.

Instead, there’s hushed whispers, and light laughter. “Go go-“ a voice whispers, one that is vaguely familiar. (y/n) peeks around her hiding spot, seeing herself sneaking into the DADA classroom, a group of girls-her friends from this era, including Luna, oh goodness it’s so good to see her-all watching her sneak in. (y/n)’s brows furrow, why was this so different? It should’ve been the same, right?

She’d expected to return to the battle of Hogwarts but…there seemed to be no battle…What changed?

She looked back at her past…alternate self and she tripped in the darkness, knocking open the desk drawer and it slid out completely-making a loud noise and then things began to whirl around-past/alt (y/n) gasping and then she was gone-the broken time turner sending her to the past.

…HUH?!

(y/n) stared in shock-this was not how it happened at all! She’d been chased and blasted into the room by snatchers! Not dared to sneak around and then accidently knocked the desk over!? What happened?! What changed so much! Her friends all rushed into the room-whispering out her name in worry and (y/n) winced, coming out of her hiding space.

“uh-something went wrong.” She said and the girls all screamed and jumped-eyes wide as they looked at her.

After a long moment, and some panic-(y/n) was able to explain, sorta. She explained that she’d been sent back in time by a broken time turner and she’d just gotten back from the 1940s, only to see how she got sent back in time but-differently.

It was a bit confusing to explain but her friends, especially Luna, took it in stride and soon (y/n) was back in her dorm, lying her ravenclaw bed-finally her bed.

Things had changed in this world.

After some digging from her friends-who took her questioning in stride since the timeline (y/n) knew was now gone.

There was no Boy who lived. That was a shock to see her friends be confused when asked about Harry Potter-to them, Harry was just a regular boy, no lightning scar, no dead parents-captain of the quidditch team and all.

“what-what about-death eaters?” (y/n) asked and her friends looked terribly confused.

“What In the world was happening in your timeline?” her friend Ruby asked and (y/n) slumped back onto her bed, eyes wide.

No death eaters. No boy who lived.

…no…Voldemort? She sat up, asking if they heard that name before-their reaction this time was different.

“oh yeah-Minister Voldemort? He’s been minister for magic for nearly 30 years now,” Irene said and (y/n) nearly fell out of her bed.

Minister for Magic Voldemort-not dark lord. What in the actual fuck?!

“I need to sleep.” (y/n) croaked and her friends agreed, Luna giving her a hug and a necklace to keep the wackspurts away. “Thanks Luna, I missed you.” (y/n) said softly, hugging her friend back and Luna hummed, floating back over to her bed, brushing through her wavy hair.

(y/n) laid back in her bed, struggling to sleep.

What had changed? Tom had said he’d find her-and yet it seemed this world was so much better. Voldemort now minister for magic-but she’d have to find out if this was a good thing or not in the morning.

She needed sleep.

She heads right for the library in the morning, clad in her Ravenclaw uniform once more and her bracelet from Julia feeling strangely heavy on her wrists. She pours over recent history textbooks, finding newspapers from the last 50 years in search of finding what changed.

1943-a girl dies in the Hogwarts bathroom; rumored to be killed by the Chamber of secrets monster, a student is expelled-blamed for the girls death, an accident. Prefect Tom Riddle is praised for his heroism in finding the culprit.

(y/n) swallows harshly, looking at the picture of Tom, he looks angry, beneath the proud look on his face that seems forced. Anger that simmers beneath the surface, heartbreak.

She looks through more newspapers.

1945-world war 2 ends, Grindelwald is defeated by Dumbledore.

1950- a woman named Hepzibah Smith is poisoned by her elf

1954- Tom Riddle-youngest to run for ministry for Magic, supported by the rich and famous pureblood families-such as the Malfoy’s, Black’s, Lestrange’s, Flint’s, and Rosier’s.

1955- Youngest Minister for Magic; Tom Riddle.

1960- Minister Tom Riddle; while no interest in marriage, reveals newborn son, named after him. Tom Riddle Jr.

1961-Tom Riddle once again elected for Minister of Magic.

1970-Youngest Minister for Magic changes name to Voldemort, support from purebloods is great for Voldemort ‘abandoning’ his Muggle birth name.

1968- Voldemort is elected as Minister once again.

And so on and so forth.

(y/n) rips through newspapers like a wild animal-searching for anything that can tell her why things changed so much. Had Tom really given up on the whole ‘dark lord’ thing? Instead going for a more diplomatic way of taking power? Becoming the minister for magic?

She pulls up another newspaper. 1982- Minister for Magic proudly announces his Grandson, Tom Riddle the third. She looks at the picture, it’s Voldemort, uncomfortably human looking-a silver fox if one to describe him, though he has a slight…oddness to him-standing beside him was his ‘son’ Tom Riddle Jr; who was in his early 20’s, hardly even 21 actually-holding a newborn boy.

All three looked exactly the same-like they weren’t truly born, but copies.

(y/n) looks at the date again. 1982. January.

Something nags at the back of her head-telling her something was wrong.

She looks through the papers again. Her heart freezes.

1982-Headmaster Dumbledore passes away, Deputy Headmaster McGonagall to take his place. Cause of death unknown, found dead in office on the morning of June 15th-only days before the school year ended.

That was the exact day Dumbledore died in the original time line-except more than 10 years earlier. Voldemort had been the one to order his death before-he must’ve waited until Dumbledore's guard was down to kill him-this time also having a new vendetta against him-for sending her back.

She leaned back on her heels, newspapers everywhere around her, the one about Dumbledore's death tight in her hands.

Voldemort was minister for magic-he’d had two copies, one son and one grandson, the grandson her age.

She didn’t know how, but this was all a way to get to her-to find her and have her. He knew she’d never accept her as Voldemort, but if he had copies-younger versions of himself, one the exact same as she left him-then she’d have no choice.

“You seem antsy,” A chillingly familiar voice came from just next to her and she glanced-yelping at the sight of Tom’s face in hers; almost the exact same as she left it not a day before-but for him? Almost 50 years ago. “Woah, jumpy much darling?”

Tom teased, picking up newspapers with a flick of his wand-this one dark brown in color, snakes and (fav flowers) carved into the wood.

“Wha-how-you-“ (y/n) panted, back pressed against the table edge of a bookcase as Tom stalked towards her, his eyes almost…red under the dim lighting.

“Oh, my love-did you really think I wouldn’t find you?” Tom said softly, almost eerie-he traps her against the table, arms on either side of you. “You’ve read it all, haven’t you? Seen what we’ve done for you?”

Tom whispers, forehead against hers, his eyes intense and terrifying as he slowly grips her face in his hand-it’s cold. “You feared the dark lord, feared to return to war and death-I stopped it all. Can't you see? You don’t have to be afraid anymore. Not of me.”

“How are you here?” She asks-voice cracking from the swell of emotions she feels and Tom smiles-its unsettling- pressing a kiss to the corner of her lips, his arm wrapping around her to keep her close.

“Oh, my dear, Horcruxes can be used for so much more than immortality. I was the first.” He pulled out the diary from his uniform inner pocket, pressing it to her upper chest, his eyes still intense on her. “I made this, so when I found you again-I had all my memories of you. Voldemort, or as everyone thinks him to be-my grandfather, birthed me from a simple-allowed me to be born with you.”

He kissed her cheek, soft but it felt wrong and (y/n) pushed at him, but he didn’t budge. “Don’t you see my love?” he whispered against her ear, the diary achingly cold against her neck as he pushes it up against her throat. “I did this for you. I split my soul for you-to be with you. You don’t have to fear me, or Voldemort-we did it all for you.”

“You’re insane.” (y/n) spits at him and he coldly smiles, thumb brushing over her lip-pulling at it slightly.

“I’m a man in love, insanity is only the tip of it.” he whispered, eyes on her lips, flickering between deep brown and red. Snake-like. “we did it for you-there is no war, there is no boy who lived-I kept peace, for you.” he said, his lips connecting with hers in a cold kiss, his hand leaving the diary to cup her head, not letting her pull away.

Her eyes snapped closed-tears burning-her hands fisting into the fabric of his uniform sleeves.

She hates that it still feels so good to kiss him. He pulls away, feeling her tears on his face and he wipes them gently with his thumb, kissing them away. “Don’t be afraid my love-there's nothing more to fear. There is no dark lord, only me.” Tom murmurs and (y/n) sniffled, allowing him to brush her bangs back-both her eyes now on him. His thumb runs over his scar-which was growing fainter as time went on.

“He never touched you.” Tom whispers, her brows furrow-unsure of what he meant and Tom smiles-still intense. “Your uncle, he never touched you-i-or well ‘my father’, killed him before he could even think about touching you.”

(y/n)’s breath stutters in her chest as Tom holds her close-now in a hug, his head tucked against hers. “no one will hurt you again. Including me.” He whispers, clutching tight to her robes and she gasps for breath, unsure of how to handle-anything that was going on.

“I’ll never let you go.” He whispers, a finality to it.

She knows that he’d make sure to keep that promise, whether she wanted it or not.

-end of alt end-

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle imagine #diary tom riddle #angst #note; if you're into it-yes the three would probably 'share' her #this version of voldy only made three horcruxes-the diary the locket and the ring #the locket currently is his only object horcrux that is still within the object #the ring was 'birthed' to make it logical for voldy to have a grandson in (y/n)'s time #and the diary of course was 'birthed' in 1981 so he could be with (y/n)#but yeah if you're into it voldy Tom jr and Tom 3rd share her #have fun with your imagiation~

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freeluigihesbae · 1 day ago

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𝓫𝓾𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓯𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓻 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 - 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 𝟑

(2,663 words)

part 1, part 2

summary:

luigi fell in love with you for those sparkling eyes where his dreams of falling in love first came true. but how did it happen?

𝗍𝗐: 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"So..." Luigi has his hand on yours, not wanting to leave.

The date, as he so confirmed, went wonderfully. The giggles were like butterflies filling the atmosphere while you noted the intensity of his stare in your eyes.

"Is this your go-to phrase when you're dumbfounded?" You smirk while still holding onto his hand. Luigi snickers in response.

"I'm smartfounded-" "That is SO fucking lame." You groan at his response, fake-disgusted at the cop-out answer he gave but he pulls back, both hands next to his head implying that he isn't guilty. You tilt your head back down, giving him a seriously? look that only made him happier.

"No, really. If I told you my resume I've got half the mind to say you'd be impressed." Luigi explains himself but two can play that game.

Especially since you want him to compliment you more.

"Yeah, but I bet you've never worked as hard your girl," you emphasize the your to which he raises his eyebrows, "doing everything with a cast on." You watch as his features soften impossibly more and you're thinking bingo.

"T-That's true." In fact, it isn't. Luigi remembers having to use crutches while preparing for the competition of a lifetime but honestly... he was willing to lie just to put you above himself.

It is an honest, selfless act.

You smile, happy that your little guilt-tripping line has worked its wonders before you remember your hangout with Ash. You check your phone and you already see a few texts.

Ash: heyyyy i miss u. i need to rant so bad istfg

Ash: Girl where tFFFF R yA i'm drunk and heartbro-Ken

You shake your head. This girl and her heartbreaks.

"Is everything alright?" Luigi cocks his head to the side, concerned about the expression on your face that changed so suddenly. You look up, immediately smiling and shaking your head.

"Oh, just a girl problem a friend of mine is having. I guess duty calls." You giggle and Luigi lets out a sigh before he stands up, extending his arm out.

"I'll walk back with you because it's getting dark and it's cold outside. Casts don't mesh too well with this...environment the universe has so cruelly subjected you to." You smile at his borderline philosophical monologue, throwing your head back in laughter and responding in equal vigor.

"Oh, whatever would I do without such a gentleman to guide me through the blazing waters of an Ivy League campus?" You stand up before he's already setting a hand on your waist and nuzzling his nose into your forehead.

"I guess we'll never know." Luigi responds and your heart soars. He couldn't give a better answer than that.

He knows it all too well.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

"Why did you get the injury in the first place?"

You and Luigi have been walking at a leisure pace for about 15 minutes, thankfully since you shot a message to Ash who was kind enough to understand, happy that you found yourself a date.

"It's such a long story but let's just say... heels, stairs, and ice. Put one and one and one together." You reply with a mock serious tone and Luigi groans, his arm around you tightening with a sense of protectiveness.

"I swear, I'll never understand the expectation women have to wear these stupid heels and dress up to look a certain way. Just use 15-in-1 body wash and call it a day." You turn around, slapping your hand over your mouth at how he managed to switch from being so sentimental to talking like, well, what you'd expect a guy to talk like.

"I'm impressed." You say, genuinely impressed.

"That's my goal." He replies.

You walked straight into that one.

"What was the event?" Luigi follows up and you find yourself half-surprised he even cares this much.

Your mind flutters away, picking out the pieces of the night.

"It was a sorority wide gala. I wasn't really up for it but my friends pushed me to come and somehow, the night ended with me regretting it altogether. I'm a homebody, honestly. I like keeping to myself and it's definitely on me for bending to the peer pressure." You respond, sighing at the stress of just thinking about the day that landed you with the case you have on now.

Luigi bends down, placing his lips on your temple for just a second before pulling off.

"If you ever need help, bambi, just remember I'm there for you." He stops but quickly adds a comment. "I wish I could've seen the dress you were in." You stare at his side-profile, wondering how his tone could change yet flow so flawlessly.

"Yeah." That's all you say, finding yourself lost in appreciating this man in his entirety.

"Yeah?" He stops walking and so do you, letting your fingers take the risk and reach over to grab his hand, pulling it closer towards your waist. He understand the assignment, gripping onto your hipbones before his other hand is drawing a line from the small of your back, up to your neck.

"Yeah." You repeat yourself, but this time, your voice is more breathy, hyper aware of the way he's touching you and staring into your eyes.

He looks dreamy, you think, the way he looks at you with not just a superficial sweep of his eyes, but as though he's looking into you, trying to grab at the pieces that make you whole and if possible, soothe and piece them together better than they just were.

Dreamy.

Unknowingly, you both start walking but the pace is even slower as you're lost in each others eyes, asking the question neither of your dared to utter.

Luigi is still looking at you but his breathing has picked up.

He's trying his very best to just take you home and drop you off but there's a pull coming from your eyes and goddamn calling you bambi didn't help him much because the purity and innocence behind that name was driving him insane.

He saw you through those lens too and somehow, it seemed to be enough for him because he barely knew you. Yet, he felt he'd known you for years and he could explain how exactly your soul and body were weaved into one.

You find your way to your dorm building, stopping in front and Luigi's lips immediately part.

"I need to kiss you." He says and you're taken aback, but the blush on your face and ever-so-slight present smile in your eyes tell him you want that too.

He comes a few inches closer while shaking his head, driving his fingers upwards and cupping your face. You take your own hands and place them overtop of his, enjoying the size difference.

"You have no clue, bambi. Your eyes are the most beautiful thing I have seen in this world. I don't care if someone showed me the world's largest diamond and held it up to the sunlight because I'd just have to turn around and look into your eyes and I'd see the light of millions of gems sparkling. I'd see galaxies valiantly painted into poems. I see so many things you don't and the more I stare into them, I-" He falters at the end and you're panting, processing the awe-inducing words that just fell from his lips that you really want to kiss.

"Luigi you- you-" You don't know what to say. That wasn't a normal compliment. It wasn't a usual compliment. Hell, it wasn't even a compliment.

That was a love letter that came straight from his adoration for you.

"What the fuck?" A sharp, broken voice cuts through the warm and giddy atmosphere that was hugging the two of you closer together. You both turn your head and you realize, it's Ash.

Your smile drops but picks up when you turn around and walk over to hug her, but in all her rage for reasons you still don't know, she pushes you back. And she pushes hard.

"You fucking BITCH!" Ash screams while you're falling back, thankful that Luigi has caught you from behind. "Ash what is wrong with you?!" Luigi raises his voice and snap at Ash, who is staring at you both in tears.

"Yeah, that's right. Let me ask YOU that." Ash is pointedly speaking to you and you're feeling tears crowding your vision.

"A-Ash I have no idea what's going on-" "You're sleeping with the guy I asked out to prom?" She interrupts your plead and your eyes go wide before you're looking at Luigi, who spares you a stare and goes back to visibly fuming at the sight of Ash in front of him.

"Get the fuck out of here Ash. You're the one who tried to pressure me into saying yes to your stupid proposal-" "Stupid? Stupid? You're trying to act like you didn't know what your friends were doing and it's your fault that I asked you Luigi!"

"STOP." You yell and watch both Ash and Luigi freeze in place.

"Ash, tell me what the fuck happened and please explain why it justified you pushing me to the ground when I have a cast on?" You put your hands on your hips, watching her eyes go wide when she realizes you have a cast. Her lips part as she stutters and explains herself.

"I-I asked Luigi out for homecoming and he said he didn't like me despite his friends making me think otherwise. I got embarrassed because he did it in front of everyone and I-I-" There's guilt written all over Ash's face and you catch it. Luigi opens his mouth but you shoot him a look, which he respects.

"Everyone who Ash?" You ask, starting to think Luigi was right.

"You know what I mean." Ash scowls lightly before continuing. "Cassidy, Rachel, our friends, and the entire hallway like-" Ash stops, waiting for you to respond.

"So you voluntarily asked him out when there were several people around and expected him to say yes and when he said no you got upset?" You asked, slightly accusatory in your tone and she nods. You then turn to Luigi.

"What did you say to her when you said no? I imagine you said more than just no, correct?" You ask Luigi and he nods, speaking his words confidently.

"I told her that I'm glad she felt comfortable enough to ask me, but that I didn't like her despite what my idiotic friends were making it seem like and that I'm sorry on their behalf, but I couldn't go out with her. I was truthful and I was respectful bam- I mean-" Luigi stops and it takes everything in you to bite back a smile. "I was respectful." Luigi ends his sentence and you hear Ash sharply exhaling.

"You still didn't explain why that justified you pushing me to the ground." You whip your head back to Ash, whose face is pale with guilt.

"I thought he would've told you. So I thought he did and I got upset you were still hanging out knowing he rejected me." Ash says, a streak of anger in her eyes when she remembers the rejection.

You shake your head in disappointment. Even if he had told her, you still would've spent time with him because it's true - Ash is in the wrong.

"You're still in the wrong Ash. He was respectful about it and you made it a bigger deal than it has to be." You finally say and Ash flexes her jaw, staring at you with contempt.

"Of course you think it's my fault. Here you are, all perfect and in order with your life when I'm trying to find my footing." You're taken aback, glancing at Luigi who raises his eyebrow, but doesn't look at you. "You're so perfect. Perfect grades perfect everything-"

"You have all that too, Ash." You cut her off, confused what her annoyance is about.

"Yeah well you know what you have and I don't? The ability to make men fold. Every man I bring back stares at your like you're a goddess and it irks me like hell. You're pretty you're perfect you're everything I want to be. I fucking hate you and don't think for a second I find you any less guilty." Ash's voice is dripping spite and jealousy, getting even worse as she watches your face change...none.

"Ash, you were my closest friend and I always looked up to your for the same exact reasons, but I never tried to make men look at me or give me attention or something. I'm always being myself and it seems like you are unable to do that, which explains your jealousy." Ash's face is still angry, but you can see her lips quivering.

"I don't care. I hate you." Ash says, trying to get a reaction out of you.

"I don't hate you Ash, but I certainly don't want to deal with your baggage. Get out of my face." You say calmly and Ash freezes before crying and walking away. You watch as she's stumbling over herself, remembering she was a bit drunk when she texted you.

Luigi finally lets out a breath and turns to face you.

"I'm proud of you standing up for yourself. You've got a clear head and a strong will bambi." Luigi smiles and you smile back at him.

"Stop, oh my god. Just telling the truth I guess. Thanks for catching me Lu." You let the nickname slip and Luigi gives you a mockingly smoldering look.

"I'm Lu now, bambina?" Your jaw drops.

'Wha-Wh-Where do you pull these from UGH!" You slap his arm before he's scooping you into his arms and in giggles and laughter, you agree.

You hand him your ID card which he scans, carrying you into the room where he sets you on your bed, paying special attention to your cast.

"When are you getting this off, bambi?" You've gotten used to the nickname now, simply answering his question.

"In a week or two. I'm bummer out because I'm going to look stupid at homecoming." You frown a bit but Luigi comes over, lightly setting his finger under your chin.

"I don't know if you'd want to come with me or not, but no matter what you choose, I'm telling you that your eyes, body, and smile make you the most stunning woman anyone will ever set their eyes on." He's leaned in now, speaking his words right over your lips and you find your hands on his t-shirt, clutching the fabric so tight your palms start to sweat.

"I-I-I-" "Need to go, bambina." Luigi pulls away and you gasp as he turns around at the door, shining a smile and walking out the door before you can say his name.

Part of your sags, shoulders falling since you thought he'd ask you out to homecoming, but the way he did it... if he really did, was frankly, underwhelming.

Was this just a fun thing for him? A date that he could brag to his friends about? But how could it be?

You're lost thinking about all the words he'd said and spun you around in ribbon with, trying to fight every urge that told you he was playing with your feelings. You bounce back on the bed before wincing.

Something sharp scratches your head and you turn around before seeing a small card, folded into two and now showing a few words inside. You frown, wondering where it came from.

The moment the card slides between your fingers, it feel thick and rich, making you wonder what was possible written on it.

bambi,

if you're willing to come to homecoming with me, keep an eye out for a package tomorrow before noon.

here's my number: xxx-xxx-xxxx

~ luigi

Your heart flutters once again, all the doubts melting away as you pull the card close to your chest.

What did this boy have in mind?

if you'd like to be added to my taglist, please comment beneath my pinned masterlist post on my blog!

@madkohi

#angelluigiposts #luigi mangione #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione smut #luigi mangione fluff #miniseries #i love luigi #LUIGIGIGIGIGIGIGI

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nocasdatsgay · 1 day ago

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The Worst Book

Pairing: Gen/Implied Nessian | Word Count: 801 | Rating: T i guess

Summary: Emerie gives Nesta a book to read not fully detailing what she would be reading

A/N: For @readychilledwine who jokingly said she would pay good money to see [redacted] used in a fic lol

Read Below or on Read on AO3

Gen Tagging: @hieragalbatorixdottir @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @ninthcircleofprythian @daycourtofficial @ysmtttty @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath If I missed you let me know.

“Then he pulled out his purple-headed yogurt slinger. And gods did I want some of that yogurt slung onto my tongue. I dropped to my knees-”

Nesta threw the book. She had put up with poor writing before but this? She fell back onto the couch. Her mate, who has been reading beside her in his own chair, watched her from over his book.

“You okay there Nes?” He asked.

“No,” she replied, not moving.

“Someone die?”

“Worse!”

He raised a brow as she sat back up and got the book off the floor. He sat his own open faced down in his lap while she flipped to the pages.

“There,” she shoved the book and pointed at the words. “Read that.”

He did and he burst with laughter. “Purple- purple headed, what?”

“Purple-headed yogurt squirter.” Nesta fake gagged. “I’ll never eat yogurt again.”

“Not even mine?” Cass replied quickly. Nesta hit him with the book and he laughed more. “Where did you even find that?”

“Emerie. Tomorrow I am going to ask what the hells she was thinking.”

As promised, the next morning Azriel brought Emerie to training and Nesta was waiting. Arms crossed and book in hand, she glared at her friend as she approached.

“What did I do?” Emerie asked. Her gaze fell to the book and she grinned. “Oh, so you got to chapter 14.”

“Why in the hells did you recommend this to me?” Nesta grinned.

“If I had to read it, you had to read it. Did you keep going?” Nesta shook her head and Emerie howled with laughter. “Go to the next chapter! You have to see his POV.”

Hesitantly, Nesta flipped the pages. She skimmed the page, picking up that the main female had just given this main male the best blowjob of his life and he was going to return the favor. She turned the page and a voice pulled her away.

“What are you both giggling about?” Gwyn had arrived.

Nesta cut her eyes to Emerie and they both burst with laughter again.

“You don’t want to know,” Nesta said between laughs.

“Oh come on, yes I do!” Gwyn grinned.

“It’s a smut book.” Emerie said plainly. “The author called the man’s cock a purple headed yogurt squirter.”

“Oh,” Gwyn’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed.

Behind her in the distance, Az’s head whipped up. “They said it was what?”

Cassian cackled beside him. Both males walked over to join them and Emerie explained she had read the book and it was so horrible she needed Nesta to see it. She then turned to her friend and gestured to the book.

“She was about to read what the main male calls the females-“ she eyed Gwyn, who still wasn’t used to the crassness of the romance novels she and Nesta read. “Her bits.”

Nesta opened the book where she had her finger placed. She read aloud.

“I had to return the favor. She laid out in front of me and her legs parted, revealing the treasure between them. I parted- oh my gods I parted the lips of her meat oyster and my tongue dived in to find its pearl.” Nesta yelled last part. “Where the hells did you find this! This cannot be real.”

The boys doubled over, leaning on each other laughing. Gwyn too, covered her mouth as her body shook with giggles.

Emerie grinned. “It’s a, what did they call it? A satire romance novel. It’s supposed to be terrible.”

“I think you’re just saying that because it’s so horrible.” Nesta replied, scrunching her nose at the book.

“Okay ladies,” Cassian regained his composure. “The others will be here soon. We’re here to train with actual swords. Not. Yogurt squirting ones.”

Gwyn made a face and everyone chuckled. Nesta went to put the book away and Emerie leaned over to her.

She whispered. “Before you toss it in the fire, read chapter twenty.”

Nesta gave her a look but sat it down. Later that night as she winded down for bed, she went to chapter twenty. It was the males POV again. She braced herself as she read.

“I bent her over the table and threw up her dress. I groaned seeing she had no panties on. I wasted no time shoving down my trousers. My meat injector was hard and locked in-“

Nesta was instantly taken aback. “Meat injector?” She muttered.

She kept reading. “-and ready to shoot my load and baste the insides of my love’s flesh sleeve.” She gagged, instantly regretting it.

She tossed the book on the table beside her chair and tried to clear her mind. If her mate was going to be handsy in bed- as he usually was, she could not be thinking about that. It would definitely ruin the mood.

#Silly #nessian #fanfic #gen fic #emerie of illyria #gwyneth berdara #azriel #cassian #nesta archeron #acotar

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kazoolol · 1 day ago

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SONIC N SHADOW INFORMAL CHARACTER ANALYSIS/DISCUSSION

WARNING this analysis, opinion thing jumps from scene to scene as it's made with the idea you've seen the games and I'm also writing this sort of on the spot so apologies for any typos etc. Also please be nice I'm just some guy.

Honestly, I'm not a huge fan of Sonic and Shadow being so hostile towards each other. Now I'm not referring to their rivalry, because I love it. They're the only people who match each other in almost every aspect, so competition and a little rivalry is welcome and expected. But what I dislike is how nowadays they're not even capable of complimenting one another. Or even getting along in a more casual setting?

Like, in their Tailstube or the line change in SxSG ("You got this, Sonic." -> "On your feet, Sonic.") It feels sort of unnecsesary and disingenuine rewriting genuine hostility between the characters when there wasn't any to begin with.

Sonic and Shadow have always had a competitive push and pull that leaned towards playful from the get go despite the danger both parties presented.

When they meet, Shadow doesn't even seem inherently aggressive like he's depicted to be nowadays. He simply just warps away from Sonic when he comes at him.

Shadow at this point just sees himself in higher regard to Sonic and deems him unworthy of his time. This represented by the fact that Shadow is not only positioned to be looming over Sonic, the cinematography having him look down at him and exclaiming once he teleports onto the roof of the building that, "Theres no time for games, farewell."

We know that Shadow however quickly changes his tune the more he gets to know Sonoc throughout SA2.

He expresses disappointment in what he assumes to be Sonics death.

This line is so cool and extremely telling of their relationship at this point because it implies that Shadow saw him as MORE than just some hedgehog that resembled him.

Note the "You never cease to suprise me" "So, there's more to you than just looking like me."

(Small note thats kind of off topic) It's interesting to me in a lot of these encounters Sonic is actually the one to START the fight (other than when they battle each other on the ark). This is within reason though since hes being blamed for crimes he did not commit.

I wish Shadows hostility was toned down some. As he seems pretty amicable all things considering even hes working against Sonic. For example trading quips with Sonic in Adventure 2, doing numerous callbacks to such quips. In the hero story when you fight Shadow on the island as Sonic, he even admits Sonic is an impressive fighter. ( I would take SS but I'll just link a video to the scene)

In fact he gives Sonic credit where credit is due and vice versa numerous times throughout the story, and even the little talk they have before the fight on the Ark Shadow is genuinely curious about Sonic and who he is as a person.

Shadows curiousity surrounding Sonic is something I've always found incredibly interesting about their dynamic. I don't think Shadow would be so no nonsense and dismissive of Sonic, because Sonic intrigues him. Not only due to their similarity in appearance, but how Sonic carries himself as a person.

Not only is this an amazing character moment for Sonic, emphasizing he is not a hero but just a guy who loves adventure. Shadow after this revelation is not aggressive, mean or dismissive. He only fights Sonic because he's in the way, not due to some hatred on Shadows end, just because Sonic was in the way. He treats Rouge similarly.

I also liked the inherent connection the two of them had, like how in Sonic Heroes where Shadow lacks memory of any of SA2, he shows immediate interest in Sonic of all characters.

He's confused about why they look similar, yes, but he still shows immense interest in Sonic and ONLY Sonic even though Tails and Knuckles are also extremely suprised by his return.

I also think it's important to note that, even when Shadow remembers very little of Sonic, they still maintain that playful push and pull dynamic. Shadow never brushes him off, engaging with Sonic and vice versa.

Notice how Shadow isn't insulting, degrading nor putting down Sonic. He isn't so no nonsense as he is protrayed to be nowadays. He plays off of him, going "Is that so...well then, it will be a date to DIE for." Before smirking and running at Sonic.

Maybe I'm simply misunderstanding something, maybe I'm just being oblivious or misinterpreting their scenes, but I feel the removal of Shadows friendliness admist the rivalry and competition makes it feel less compelling because where their dynamic was established to be both parties pushing and pulling each others limits, yet also holding an air of respect and liking to one another feels lost with how most just deem Shadow and Sonic just hating each others guts. What reason does Shadow have for wanting to "finally defeat" Sonic?

Even in games where Shadow a bit more "aggressive" or has a less than friendly dynamic with Sonic (Think Sonic Battle and Shadow 05) theres still an air of respect between them. Sonic actually is the one who continues to push Shadow to take the path thats best for him. Sonic pushes him to be honest about his feelings, that it's okay for him to simply live and feel in the moment. And even when Shadow disagrees with this notion, claiming he has no heart, or Sonic is misunderstanding him, Sonic remains by his side.

That's what I've always loved about Sonic and Shadows relationship. That respect and care for one another I feel is completely lost nowadays to their dynamic. Big moments like Shadow directly stating that the ultimate lifeform is Sonic (I stole this off someone on Twitter I believe. Thank you to that person!) Sonic inspiring Shadow to live just doesn't really exist anymore.

And even in Sonic 06, the respect and trust the two have remains and is even stronger than before. When explaining where they find themselves to Team Hero, Sonic immediately picks up what Shadow is trying to communicate, that they need to work. Neither parties are apprehensive to one another, Sonic giving a thumbs up and Shadow nodding in approval.

And later when the teams are off on their own, theres the small but to me very memorable interaction where Sonic points right at Shadow and says, "Don't be late." And where I feel in recent titles where Shadow would either ignore him or just brush him off, he gets extremely close to Sonic and goes "Same to you."

And of course the iconic "chaos control" they do together not ONLY being noticably closer than it was with Silver, but they exchange NO WORDS throughout it all and just...know what to do. That is so special to me. That they just know what the other is thinking with no words said. Another moment that supports this is when Shadow comes in to help Sonic and no words are said besides a nod and smile. Would the two really do something like that if they hated one another and had no interest in each other?

I never see their close bond anymore between the two in both canon and fanon content and it's really sad disappointing in my opinion.

It makes Sonic and Shadows dynamic as a whole way less compelling.

The point of this character analysis is to point out how much of what made Shadow and Sonics dynamic actually engaging and have an incredible amount of depth is just...gone nowadays. With them leaning into making Shadow and Sonic rivals, they lost what made that dynamic so special in the first place.

Now I'm not saying I want Sonic and Shadow to be openly really friendly and lose their banter but I wish more moments of care and trust between them was also more common place.

What do you think? Do you think I missed the mark in some of this? Do you prefer their older dynamic or the newer one?

Just to be clear this is not a hate post directed to any of the Sonic Team, this isn't an Ian Flynn hate post this is just me pointing out how I feel about the more modern take on the characters. I really like how Shadow generations handles them but I also feel some line changes in Sonic Generations don't sit well with me personally.

I'm not a big fan of much of the Sonic and Shadow material outside of the games other than the Sonic movies and stories from Sonic channel so I tried to stick to the games primarily when discussing their dynamic.

Please be nice in the replies!!!!!

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonadow #but more about their dynamic overall #sonic adventure 2 #sonic adventure #sonic heroes #sonic 06 #sonic x shadow generations #sonic discussion #kazooramblings #not meant to cause any sort of discourse #just meant to be an analysis sort of thing #sonic adventure battle 2 #sonic #sonic the hedghog fandom #discussion #let’s discuss #feel free to discuss

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bluebellian · 2 days ago

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Empire State Of Mind

This is my first post guys, PLS be nice. Also idk how to make my posts look pretty😭😭😭

Reader comes home early from a business trip in London. She doesn’t tell Clayton she’s coming home, she wanted to surprise him. It’s a short one.

Warnings: implied sex.

The soft click of the penthouse door echoes in the quiet, but you barely notice it as you drop your bag to the floor. The tension of the trip still clings to you, but all you can think about is seeing him again.

“Clayton?” you call out, your voice carrying through the open space.

From down the hall, a faint shuffle of movement comes from his office. He pauses, brow furrowing as he glances toward the door, certain he just imagined it. He shakes his head, going back to whatever papers he was flipping through.

“Clayton?” you call again, your voice a little louder, tinged with amusement.

This time, his head snaps up. The chair scrapes back as he stands abruptly, and before you can call for him a third time, he’s bolting down the hall, his footsteps echoing against the polished floor.

When he sees you standing there, your coat still draped over your shoulders and a soft smile tugging at your lips, his whole face lights up. “You’re home!” he breathes, almost disbelieving, before he closes the distance in seconds.

He doesn’t stop to think—his arms scoop around your waist, and before you know it, you’re spun into the air. A laugh escapes your lips as he twirls you around, holding you close like he might never let you go.

“I thought I was imagining it, you’re back early.” he says, setting you down briefly—only to bend at the waist, grip your legs, and toss you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

“Clayton!” you squeal, laughter bubbling out of you as he takes off toward the bedroom, his pace quick and his hold firm.

“Do you know how many nights I’ve had to sleep alone in that bed?” he teases, his tone light but laced with affection. “I’m making up for lost time.”

He strides into the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him before gently easing you down onto the mattress. His hands never leave you as he leans in, his lips brushing against your forehead, then your cheek, before stopping just shy of yours.

“Welcome home,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, every word dripping with the love he’s been holding in since you left.

As he leans in, his lips finally brush against yours, soft and slow at first, then deepening as his hands cup your face, pulling you impossibly closer. His kiss is warm, filled with all the emotions he’s been holding back during your time apart.

But as much as you’ve missed him, you can’t help but tease. You press your palms lightly against his chest, breaking the kiss with a mischievous smile. “You didn’t even ask me how London was!” you say, feigning indignation.

He pauses, eyebrows raising slightly as if he’s only just remembered that London was a thing. “How was London?” he asks, his tone polite but clearly distracted as his lips find their way to the corner of your mouth, then to your jawline.

“It was—” You try to focus, but the warmth of his breath against your skin makes it almost impossible. “It was busy, and the weather was terrible. And—”

“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, nodding as though he’s listening intently, even as his kisses trail down the side of your neck. “Sounds fascinating. Please, go on.”

You laugh, swatting at his shoulder. “You’re not even paying attention!”

“I am!” he insists, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, though the grin tugging at his lips gives him away. “London was busy. The weather was terrible. Did I miss anything important?”

“Not really.” you admit, unable to keep a straight face.

“Good.” he says, closing the small distance between you once more, his lips finding yours in a way that silences any further protests.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bedroom is quiet now, the only sound the faint hum of the city far below. You’re lying tangled together, his arm draped lazily over your waist as you trace random patterns on his chest. The sheets are a complete mess, evidence of the reunion you both clearly needed.

You glance at the crumpled bedding and sigh, breaking the peaceful silence. “We need to change the bedding.”

Clayton hums softly, his voice drowsy as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Later.” he murmurs, tightening his arm around you as if that’s reason enough to put it off.

You smile but don’t argue, instead shifting slightly to look out the massive window that frames the city skyline. The twinkling lights stretch endlessly, a view you hadn’t realized you missed so much until now.

You moved to New York a few years ago, chasing a dream you’d held onto since you were twenty. At twenty-six, you took the leap, leaving everything behind and settling into a tiny, shoebox apartment, determined to make it work. And you did. You worked your way up to your dream job in journalism. Along the way, you met Clayton at a work event, and everything changed. Now, you live in a luxurious penthouse apartment—the kind you only see in movies. And being here with Clayton, in this life you’d built, made it hard to remember a time before him. The city meant more to you now than you ever thought it could.

“I missed New York.” you say softly, your gaze distant as you take it all in.

Clayton’s fingers brush absentmindedly along your arm as he watches you. “New York missed you,” he replies, his voice gentle, like he’s answering for the city itself. “I missed you.”

You glance back at him, your chest tightening at the way he’s looking at you—like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

“Think we’ll ever get tired of this?” you ask, half-teasing but curious all the same.

He smiles, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not a chance.”

You lay nestled against him. The weight of his arm draped protectively over your waist. The city lights outside twinkled softly, but your mind was already starting to run a mile a minute.

“We’re going to start trying for a baby… in about two years,” you said, your voice quiet but certain. “But I’ll never be ready to let the penthouse go.” You sighed, a hint of sadness creeping into your tone as your gaze drifted to the glittering skyline. You wanted to be a mom more than anything, but leaving this penthouse? The penthouse was big enough for one baby, maybe two, but not for a family. You and Clayton hadn’t really talked about how many kids you wanted—neither of you were sure—but it was definitely more than one. And now, at thirty-one, you both knew it was time to start thinking about a house, somewhere you could all grow into.

Clayton hummed thoughtfully, his hand brushing lazily up and down your arm. “We’ll figure it out when the time comes.” he said softly, his voice calm and grounding.

You nodded, but the gears in your head didn’t stop turning. “We really do need to change the bedding, y’know?” you blurted, sitting up slightly as your inner germaphobe kicked in.

His brow furrowed as he looked down at you, amused. “What?”

“I didn’t shower, Clayton.” you began, your words spilling out faster now. “I had a whole day of traveling. Airplane germs. Taxi germs. Sweat. How could you take me to our bed without letting me shower first? Oh my god—”

“Sweetheart—” he started, but you were already on a roll.

“No, listen! We both need a shower. Do you realize the germs I must’ve spread on—on everything? The sheets, the pillows… probably you!”

He was chuckling now, low and warm, as he propped himself up on one elbow to watch you with amused adoration. “You’re spiraling, love.”

You threw him a playful glare. “I am not spiraling. I’m being practical. We need to fix this.”

He reached out, catching your hand and pulling you back down against him. “How about this,” he said, his lips brushing your forehead. “We take a shower together—”

“Good.” you muttered, still half-pouting.

“—but not until you stop overthinking for just one minute and let me enjoy having you here.” he finished, squeezing you gently.

You huffed, but the warmth of his embrace was impossible to resist. “Fine.” you relented, though a smile tugged at your lips. “But the bedding still needs to be changed after.”

“Deal.” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple as you finally let yourself relax. Now, he wanted to figure out why you were stressing.

Clayton chuckled softly, catching you mid-ramble and pulling you back down beside him. “Come here.” he murmured, wrapping an arm securely around you and pressing a kiss to your temple.

You let yourself sink into his embrace, but your mind was still racing.

“Why are you stressing?” he asked gently, his voice low and calm.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you turned your head to gaze out at the window. The view of New York stretched out before you, glowing and alive, the perfect reminder of everything you loved about this city.

That answered his question.

Clayton followed your line of sight, his hand brushing idly up and down your arm as realization settled over him. “You’re thinking about all the things we’ll have to leave behind someday.” he said softly, piecing it together.

You nodded, your throat tightening just a little. “I’m not ready to give this up.” you whispered, almost to yourself.

“You don’t have to be ready yet,” he assured you, his lips brushing against your temple. “We’ve got time.”

His words were grounding, his warmth anchoring you as you melted further into his arms.

“Okay,” you murmured, your eyes still on the skyline. But deep down, you knew the city would always be part of your story, no matter where life took you next.

#anakin skywalker #hayden christensen x female reader #christensen hayden #awake movie #clayton beresford #clay beresford x reader #clay beresford imagines #haydenchristensen #clayton beresford x reader #hayden christensen

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garez19 · 3 days ago

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yandere! best friend’s brother x reader (pt.2)

notes/warnings: sibling abuse, gender neutral reader, english is not my language, i have ABSOLUTELY no idea how to use punctuation, not proofread

i really hope this one’s turned out okay. im pretty new at this whole blogging concept so… bear with me.

wc: 1.6k

[part 1] [part 2]

six months had passed since you graduated. you had been trying your best to find the common ground between iris and emil for six months.

as you both pursued your education further, you and iris had already picked different career paths, which meant your schedules weren’t as aligned anymore. however, you were still her best friend, and you were always going to be her best friend. iris, the master of destroying everything she’d ever touched, somehow couldn't break you, no matter how hard she tried. and for that, she felt blessed. you must’ve been a gift sent by gods, a reminder that she was, in some ways, truly special.

yet you weren’t sure if she'd still think that once she found out you started hanging out with emil. it shouldn’t have been such a big deal, but it was. hell, it wasn't even your idea.

it all started 6 months ago, the day you’d met in the coffee shop—desperate, looking for salvation in his demolished mind, and about to break. ready to collapse, something his sister wasn't able to cause. the reason he took the lead. the only thing iris wasn’t able to accomplish, which was why he took the lead—slowly, trying not to startle you.

“mind explaining why you’re telling me all this?” he asked as you took another sip from your coffee. he had reason to be confused, and you couldn't really blame him when he implied you were doing all this to feel about yourself.

“because, like I said, you don’t deserve it. and because I know iris is better than that,” you answered. he let out a loud sigh while contemplating leaving, not wanting to communicate with someone who idealized iris to this point. then he imagined the look on her face when she realized you were not her very dear friend anymore. he decided to pursue you a little bit more.

“okay, thank you, appreciate it,” he replied indifferently as he leaned in closer to you, “and how are you going to help me exactly?” he mumbled. were you going to try and fail miserably again? you pulled back to regain space. “I will try and talk to her. and then–” he cut you off, “I don’t want you to.” he was so certain about not wanting help, which certainly pushed you off.

“emil, you need–” you tried once more, yet he interrupted again, “look, I’m the one who has to deal with her when you’re done lecturing, and I don’t want any part of it, okay?” he took a deep breath. “I’m not a child anymore.”

you were so much like iris in the sense that you only did whatever seemed the best for you, and never looked back. he could sense that, hell, he could see that. and you seemed confused—like a spoiled kid who wouldn’t take no as an answer, like it was your first time getting rejected. and it seemed you needed some guidance, as you kept opening and closing your mouth.

“hang out with me.”

you were baffled by the sudden request. because, from what you’d seen, emil made it very clear that he didn’t like you any better than his sister. you looked at the dessert—a slice of cheesecake, untouched.

“if you want to help in some way, just hang out with me. I don’t have any friends, and I'm feeling quite bored.” he added. and you highly doubted it, given that you had seen him with a handful of people. but you did not really have the guts to turn him down, especially when he put it like that. he put the cheesecake right in front of you, as if he was getting ready to leave.

“well, sure.” you answered before he said anything. “should I keep it a secret from her?” you asked. you still didn’t want iris to cause him –and you– a headache. even though you still felt like she deserved knowing, no matter what.

“yeah, ideally,” he affirmed. dealing with iris was not quite the biggest problem, but her realizing the toy she’d adored so dearly was about to be taken wasn’t something he wished to happen so early. not when you were still a mere puppet of iris. (no matter how hard you tried to act like a saint) not when you were going to crawl back to her the moment she called out your name.

but no matter what, if she wasn’t willing to share her toys, he was going to carve one out for himself, one that is almost identical to hers.

***

you failed to understand how your best friend was cruel to such a person. you failed to understand why the two were never able to get along when emil was nothing but compatible all the time. he was okay with everything, not because he didn’t want to upset you –or anyone, for that matter– but because he never seemed to have any strong preferences for anything. he liked going around the town for new adventures, but if you wanted to sit down and drink a cup of coffee, who was he to say no?

“have you decided what you want to study?” you asked as he was absently scribbling down some song lyrics of an old band, wearing only one earbud. “I’m thinking of medicine,” he replied, still seeming unbothered. emil had a knack for biology, and he liked exploring the world studying it. he looked up at you when you didn’t give him a reaction, “how are your studies going?” you grabbed your book on the table and put it back in your backpack. “not bad, I guess.” you muttered. you two, seemingly bored with your little studying session, had agreed to study together at least twice a week. it felt nice, and although emil and iris didn’t resemble each other personality-wise, they still brought a similar type of comfort to you.

and they brought a similar type of suffering.

“your phone’s going off.” emil said as he looked at the phone on the table.

iris🤍

you took a peek at emil. he seemed still, not looking at you but the phone. he didn’t seem upset, bothered or disappointed. and it was as if he simply was not there. he just observed the whole scene as a spectator.

you took the call. and to be fair there wasn’t anything new. she kept going on and on about how busy she was, and how much she missed you, and if you were available anytime soon. you truly missed her too, but there was some weird sting on your stomach—like it was making sure you remember you keep secrets from her.

and well, it felt so stupid, if you had to be honest, because at the end of the day you didn’t do anything wrong.

“do you still only talk to me because you feel sorry?” he said, making you snap out of it.

“pardon?” you were taken aback by the sudden question.

“are you still trying to feel better about yourself?” he accused once more. still not a visible expression on his face, as if he simply asked out of curiosity.

you didn’t answer, more like, you didn’t bother to answer.

“it’s not like I’ve done anything I should feel bad about myself.” was all you told him. and when it was time to leave and you finally saw an expression on his face–a sour one specifically– you smiled.

“sure, there were times I felt bad, but I’ve never done anything out of pity.” you said genuinely. and you then saw another expression again, one you hadn’t witnessed until that moment: he was surprised.

then you left. to meet iris. your loveliest friend.

***

emil was intrigued by how honest you sounded. you didn’t try to hide anything, nor did you feel the need to sound sympathetic. it was a short, silly sentence. it was the sentence he wished he had heard six months ago, as it gave him a different type of rush—a different kind of validation. you weren’t running out with him for redemption. you liked his company–to a degree, at least.–

he didn’t care about iris, her stupid mind games, or his parents’ unconditional love for her, her promising future, or even her petty rivalry with him. because after all, it’d be a funny scene to watch when she found out you were, in fact, not hers.

however, he was still going to remove that white heart next to her name once he got his hands on your phone.

***

the more you’d spent time with him, the more anxious you started to get. you liked emil’s company, that much was true, but you were also frightened whenever you imagined iris’ disappointment.

you were not doing anything wrong. you were not. you were not. you

“you’re definitely going to fail.” emil said while he took notes on his book. damn, it really felt like you were cheating on your spouse sometimes.

“yeah, whatever, I’m bored.” you whined. “you still haven’t got any friends?” you suddenly asked; not realizing how that sounded, nor what came over you. he turned to you quickly. oh, welp.

“and what if I have?” he blurted.

“what? I was just wondering.” you said, laughing awkwardly. your nervousness made him snap back.

“just for the record, I haven't,” he chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ll be stuck with me for a little longer.”

although you hadn't noticed the tension, his firm grip on the pen very much proved he wasn’t feeling that humorous today.

another study session had ended. you were stretching your back while emil put your stuff in your backpack.

“come over for dinner tomorrow.” just when you were ready to go, he hit you with the offer.

however, having dinner with emil and iris as a friend of both of them was not the idea you’d had for tomorrow. definitely not.

#yandere oc #yandere oneshot #yandere fic #yandere male #yandere original character #yandere x y/n #yandere fiction #yandere x you #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #male yandere #male oc #original character #emil: garez oc #iris: garez oc

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frozenjokes · 3 days ago

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5 concussions makes this a pretty bad day for Mumbo, but arguably Grian’s having a much worse time

ao3 link - this fic is rated mature on ao3 and features quite a bit of violence as well as referenced/implied sex

Mumbo wasn’t exactly a small guy; small enough to fit in this millionaire prick’s wardrobe, but that wasn’t really saying much. His legs were just way too long, like, unnecessarily, and his knees sucked, seriously, who invented knees, they were fucking awful, and Mumbo’s didn’t feel exactly fantastic after crouching in this wardrobe for three going on four hours. But it was fine, it would be worth it, because Mumbo had bid his time, and this time he was going to make this kill.

It was a simple matter, really.

Grian always said Mumbo looked like a butler of sorts, and Mumbo imagined Grian wouldn’t be so pleased to know that he was correct, at least not in this context. But Mumbo did fit right in with the waitstaff in a party this bustling, and it wasn’t hard to sneak away to the host’s room, lying in wait for his victim to take a break from the action. Well. At least Mumbo hoped his hit would take a break. He wasn’t sure how long he could stand to stay hunched over in this wardrobe. What a stupid choice, why hadn’t Mumbo just gone to the other closet! It was probably huge, he could sit at the very least, goodness gracious.

He could move. It would be a completely safe thing to move, the chances of someone walking in were less than low, it would be fine, and even if some unfortunate soul wandered in at the wrong time, Mumbo could just kill them, that’s what he did! In theory! If he could ever manage to complete the deed- really, with his luck, it would be better no one spotted him other than his target. It was a good thing to be on edge anyway! Better than getting too relaxed certainly!

Another hour passed, and not even scrolling through mindless rage bait instagram reels were making the time pass any faster. Mumbo was pretty sure his knees were one wrong move away from spontaneously combusting, but the position he had locked himself in made them sort of numb- a good thing for now, but for later.. That was future Mumbo’s problem. Right now Mumbo’s problem was that his phone had 13% battery left, and he hadn’t brought a portable charger.

Mumbo stilled when he heard footsteps down the hall, more than one pair, both uneven and hurried. There was one voice, low and calm, ushering his companion forward, and another, slurred and near incoherent, but distinctly desperate.

“She won’t want to see you like this, I suggest you get your act together,” the first voice said, cool and unyielding to the responding blither.

“I’m sorry, please, please tell her I’m sorry, I can’t-“

“You’ll tell her yourself, she’s waiting for you.”

“She- ‘I’ll never come home!’ That’s what she said, it was the last time, but tell her I’m sorry!”

Mumbo heard little else before two men practically fell through the doorway, his target leaning heavily on the back of a shorter, well dressed.. attendant? Staff member? Mumbo honestly couldn’t tell, but he didn’t have the best view, only looking on through a crack in the wardrobe door. The shorter man huffed, kicking the door closed behind the both of them before heaving the other off of him, the host falling halfway to the floor, hitting his head on his extravagant bed frame. He seemed to remember he had hands to catch himself belatedly, groping at the floor and then the bed frame to pull himself upright.

“Take off your shirt. She wants to see the tattoo.”

“What?” The host looked up at his companion through lidded eyes, and Mumbo had to wonder what the fuck kind of drugs were in his system to be that out of it. The drugged man wasn’t even affronted, just confused. The stranger didn’t seem to have any patience left, and Mumbo only saw the glint of the dagger before he’d hauled the host up by his expensive shirt collar and ripped through it. It was hardly a fight to tear the shreds aside, though at this point the target seemed to understand something was wrong. Mumbo groaned inwardly, but didn’t move. This other guy was probably here on hire, and Mumbo wasn’t trying to fuck with any potential future employers, but seriously, it was just his damn luck-

But it might not all be a waste if Mumbo could get a connection out of this, find a sponsor or something- For now, he’d just have to wait.

In the time Mumbo had spent stewing over his soon-to-be stolen kill, the rival assassin had strung his target’s wrists to both bedposts, the man struggling vigorously now, but it was far too late for him. The host’s breath came heaving, and he didn’t even seem to be capable of gathering enough air to scream.

The rival assassin produced his phone, looking bored. “If you’d like to beg for your life, now is the time.”

The music from the party thrummed dully against the hardwood floor from the ballroom downstairs; it was so loud, Mumbo was sure no one would hear their host’s dying words even if he managed to cry for help.

“Lydia..” the man only sobbed, saying nothing more.

“She’s not going to like that,” the assassin mumbled, but he only gave his hit a minute longer before driving the dagger into the man’s stomach, centered on a small, unprofessional looking tattoo. Mumbo couldn’t even make out the picture, but the blood that spilled across it obscured the image completely. He supposed that was the point.

The assassin turned away, and Mumbo realized with a jolt he was leaving- an instruction for a slow death he assumed, or maybe the dagger was poisoned, it didn’t matter, Mumbo needed to get a win from this.

Numb, locked up knees did not make for a graceful exit from the wardrobe.

The swing of a knife at Mumbo’s throat was an unwelcome greeting, one Mumbo managed to avoid by stumbling backward. One knee cracked as Mumbo hit the backboard of the bed, then the other as he was forced to duck another swing. That one hurt, Mumbo making a very masculine mewl of pain in his brief stint of hunching in a (distinguished) ball. He felt the assassin above him, and the second before Mumbo had a knife in his spine he lunged forward, grappling his attacker’s legs and heaving upward. This would have been awesome if the other guy was 70 or so pounds lighter, but Mumbo may have misjudged, and while he did manage to maneuver his assailant over his back, he nearly snapped himself in half doing it, laying just as dazed as the other guy must have been since he-

Nevermind, the gun to Mumbo’s head suggested the rival assassin did not have much trouble recovering. Mumbo chose to believe it still looked cool though. Wins were really hard to come by here.

“You don’t have to shoot me.”

The pistol clicked. Mumbo heard the pull of the trigger several more, frustrated times. Yeah, that checked.

Mumbo reared up, fist connecting with the side of the other assassin’s head and sending him directly on his ass from where he’d be crouching. Mumbo turned on his feet, stomping on his assailant's shaky hand as he tried to grab the dagger he’d dropped. Mumbo scooped it up, but did not remove his foot from the other assassin’s hand.

“Listen, I know you’re on edge, I get it, but I’m not trying to kill you or report you or anything! I actually wanted to exchange contact information, I was totally going to kill that guy before you- well, I didn’t want to get in your way or anything.”

The assassin lurched upward, plunging a dagger from his hip into Mumbo’s boot. It did not penetrate the leather before Mumbo snatched his wrist.

“Will you stop it. This is a bad day for me, too. I just need contacts. Let’s start over, right? Forget all that, I can forget it. I’m Mumbo Jumbo, that’s what you can call me anyway, obviously I’m not giving you my real name.”

The other assassin squinted at Mumbo, which he couldn’t help but feel was extremely, unnecessarily judgemental. “That’s a stupid name.”

“What can I call you, then?”

Mumbo didn’t get the impression this guy was an especially expressive fellow, but he sure looked like he was seconds from spontaneously combusting. “Let me go.”

“Name first, then you have a deal.”

“Cub.”

Mumbo couldn’t help a short sigh of relief, letting go of Cub’s wrist and stepping back, a little wary of course, but luckily Cub didn’t immediately go back to trying to slit Mumbo’s throat. Well. Maybe that depends on your definition of immediately and also your definition of throat slitting, but Cub trying to empty a second pistol on Mumbo less than a minute after getting to his feet wasn’t like. Great. It’s a good thing Cub was armed with exclusively jammed guns.

“What the fuck is happening!?”

“Sorry, that’s my fault. People tend not to die around me, it’s like a curse, not literally, but like, yeah, it’s not great. For me. As an aspiring assassin at least- I have a lot of experience under my belt mind you, just not- kills. I’ve been waiting in that wardrobe for four hours to kill this guy and then you show up! Something always happens! Hell, this guy probably isn’t even gonna die until I leave the room, it’s that bad-”

“Seems you’re not cut out for this line of work,” Cub interrupted, “In more ways than one. Assassins don’t do well with traceable connections to the outside world, so why don’t you go back to your husband and stay the fuck out of my way.”

Mumbo blinked, and then blinked again- hey!

“Okay, first of all, I am not married. This is a friendship ring, it’s- well, it made more sense when Grian was explaining why I should wear it on that finger- Also, you do not just get to clock me as gay, I am not- It’s not that I have a problem with gay people-!”

Cub must have gotten tired of listening to him, whipping a knife at Mumbo’s heart that bounced off his chest, stopped by the padding under Mumbo’s clothes. Cub did not give him any time to process, lunging forward with another dagger in hand, Mumbo barely having time to duck out of the way, then again, again, Cub wouldn’t stop swinging, forcing Mumbo into a corner and driving the weapon into the drywall where Mumbo’s head was just seconds before. Mumbo lunged from his ducked position, wrapping his arms around Cub’s waist and used his weight to push him off balance. Cub gasped, and Mumbo took advantage, driving a knee hard into Cub’s stomach, sending him stumbling and wheezing, hunched over.

“Will you stop attacking me!? I’m not your enemy!”

In his lack of breath, Cub only glared. Mumbo could have groaned as Cub’s hand wandered to a sheath on his pant leg, Mumbo lunging to grab his wrist only to be battered in the side of the head by Cub’s free hand. The two of them spun around in a borderline childish cat fight, throwing clumsy punches, pulling hair, Mumbo managing to slam Cub against the opposite wall, only for Cub to break Mumbo’s grip on his wrist and ram his fingers into Mumbo’s eyes. A shrill yelp and watering eyes kept Mumbo from seeing Cub wind back, using his entire body to rock the side of Mumbo’s neck with both hands.

Mumbo fell back like a ragdoll, stumbling blindly out of the way of two more blows but not out of the way of the open wardrobe, his legs catching on the bottom and his top half falling completely inside. Mumbo didn’t remember hitting his head, but he must have blacked out, since there’s no way he wouldn’t have noticed Cub above him, the sleeve of an expensive dress coat tight around Mumbo’s neck and squeezing his windpipe closed. Cub’s body was pressed hard against Mumbo’s own, keeping his lower back pinned painfully against the bottom edge of the cabinet and arms at his waist. Mumbo squeezed his eyes closed, grabbing at his own leg for the shallow dagger on his hip, unhooking and ramming it into Cub’s side, in and out until Cub let go, Mumbo gasping as he was finally able to slip free. Frustration had Mumbo grabbing the front of Cub’s shirt, pulling him back and slamming him against the wardrobe edge more than once to see how he liked it, this battle once again devolving into something clumsy and petty, both parties using nails instead of knives.

The realization that the wardrobe was falling came belated to both parties, the both of them connected by tangled limbs and rage too completely to scatter in opposite directions. Mumbo shoved the both of them forward at the last second, falling hard over top of Cub, heads connecting in a sharp crack as the wardrobe crashed down behind them. Dazedly, Mumbo wondered if the party goers would even be able to hear it over the music. It didn’t seem very important right now.

“Aren’t you tired.” Mumbo heaved, eyes squeezed shut, while Cub’s hot breath against his neck was similarly strained. When Mumbo opened his eyes, Cub was already staring, intense, hateful, and Mumbo couldn’t say he had any idea what Cub was thinking. He probably should have been able to guess before Cub lunged upward, rolling the both of them over and trying very hard to bury a knife in Mumbo’s forehead; Mumbo supposed he was lucky to have long limbs and a powerful grip strength to stop this. As much as Cub’s wrist shook in Mumbo’s grip, there was no willing it through Mumbo’s head, not here.

“You. Do not look as strong as you are,” Cub growled, and Mumbo was relieved at least he was talking.

“I told you I’m qualified! I don’t want to hurt you either, but you kind of forced my hand- you’re probably going to need stitches too, isn’t this far more inconvenient for you than exchanging numbers?”

“You remind me of my least favorite and worst friend. Arguably you are more annoying, but the difference between you and him is that he’s long term, and you’re about to die.”

“If this is you trying your best, I’m not too concerned.”

Cub’s surge of anger did not change the fact that Mumbo was still stronger than him, no matter how hard he tried to fight Mumbo’s grip on his wrist.

“This is not my best effort, you just don’t deserve my best.”

“Right. If I can’t have your number, could I get in contact with your annoying friend?”

“Absolutely not.”

“What? Come on, please?”

Cub’s face scrunched in great displeasure, before he shook his head. “..He’d probably like you.” Cub released the knife, and Mumbo yelped as the pointy end fell toward his face, scrambling helplessly as it bounced near-harmlessly off his forehead. Quietly, Cub laughed. He sat up, letting Mumbo go.

Mumbo breathed hard, shuffling back and wiping his forehead with his hand; mostly sweat, he was relieved to find. He’d only gotten poked. “This has been an extremely unproductive day for me. I could really do with some pity, if you have any to spare.”

Cub sat himself on the opposite side of the room, rolling up his now-bloody shirt to get a look at the wound on his side. Mumbo knew the cuts weren’t deep, Cub would be fine, but the blood smeared all down his side certainly wasn’t pretty.

“Pity,” Cub repeated the word like it was sour, not overwhelmingly unpleasant, just.. baffling? He said nothing for a long time, pulling a compress and some ace bandages from a small bag on his hip and beginning to treat his injuries. “What do you want? I don’t give blow for free.”

“I- What-? I just want a phone number, Cub! A contact, someone I can talk to about work, anything!”

“So not sex.” Cub mumbled, and Mumbo sensed disappointment or- something?? What the fuck was happening???

“I told you I don’t like men. If I liked men I’d likely be married to my best friend with whom I share everything, but I’m not, so while I think I’m flattered, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

Both Cub and Mumbo jumped at a third voice, the dead man who- well maybe it wasn’t a surprise he wasn’t dead yet. “If you’re going to have sex in my bed, please kill me first.”

“We’re not having sex!”

“It would be easier to kill you if you wanted to fuck me.”

“Oh my god!! Can you just get over that already?” Mumbo put his head in his hands, massaging his scalp, “What an awful day.”

At the click of a jammed gun, Mumbo dragged his hands below his eyes, only to see Cub lowering his first gun and reaching for the second. Mumbo stared Cub straight in the eyes as he tried the second, the trigger clicking uselessly. Both of them continued staring in silence for a long time before something else caught Cub’s attention, leaning over to grab a small trinket that had fallen out of the wardrobe. He examined it, turning it around in his fingers; a little elephant statuette from what Mumbo could see. Mumbo saw it less clearly when it was whipped at his face, hissing in pain as it connected with his jaw.

“Will you-“ Only when Mumbo looked up, Cub was holding a knife. Mumbo ducked one, then dove out of the way of another, a third bounced off the padding at his back, and the fourth Cub missed, probably because Mumbo was flinging himself at him.

At this point, all conceptions of grace and elegance were thrown out the window, the two of them rolling around on the floor like rabid dogs, with at least as much snarling and saliva. At this point, Mumbo felt entitled to beating the fuck out of this guy. With his luck, Cub wouldn’t get concussed or even die, but Mumbo could at least leave him with a black eye.

The two of them exchanged so many blows to the head, Mumbo was mildly certain they were both experiencing lapses of thought, judgement, and occasionally consciousness, though these instances were not opportunities to strike the final blow, but to rest, fuck, Mumbo was so tired, so dazed, he couldn’t feel his fingers or his face or much else besides the pressure of the next kick, frenzied elbow, and sting of teeth.

And then he woke up somewhere new to the sound of his phone. With no shirt. And with another heavily bruised man laying beside him. And he didn’t know his name. Oh dear. He tried to move, sit up, but everything hurt in new and horrible ways, so all he ended up doing was whining.

The other man took a drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke in a thin long line. “I need. The hospital.”

“I can’t move.”

“Can you drive?”

“I can’t move.”

“Call whoever’s been blowing up your phone then, someone’s worried about you. Probably warranted. Do you remember how we got here?”

“I don’t remember my name.”

“Oh, you need to go to the hospital too. You might’ve been.. nah, I’m not going to pretend I remember. Was I hired to kill you?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.” Mumbo- oh, Mumbo!- paused, then lurched to the side of the bed to vomit off of it. He stayed like that for a while, limp and still a bit nauseous, before reaching for his phone. 400 missed messages and 50 new voicemails. He stared for a moment before wincing away from the bright screen. Eugh, he was really fucked up wasn’t he. Steeling himself, Mumbo briefly turned his phone back on, scrambling half blind for the call button, putting it on speaker, then slamming it face down. Well, ‘slam’ implied he had any strength to put into the gesture, Mumbo kinda just dropped it- but he felt big feelings doing it.

Grian picked up before the end of the first ring, “MUMBO???? WHERE ARE YOU??? I know where you are actually, I’m outside, but why are you here and what are you doing and why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“I need. Hospital. But I don’t think I have any clothes.”

“I ate them,” the man beside him said, unhelpfully. “So sad.”

“You- Are you- WHO IS WITH YOU??? What motel room are you in, I swear to god, Mumbo, I am going to start knocking on doors.”

“What room are we in?”

“I dunno. Your friend seems more annoying than mine, can you hang up. Let’s try again.”

“Mumbo, if you hang up on me-”

“I’m not hanging up,” Mumbo drew a hand over his eyes, then winced away, “I’m gonna.. I’m gonna try to get up. I don’t know what happened to me.”

The process of getting up was slow and painful, not helped by Grian’s grating voice over the phone asking way too many questions Mumbo did not have answers for. ‘I think I hit my head,’ was most all of what he could manage, and it took ten minutes to get his clothes and figure out the room number, since when he tried to focus on one task, he almost immediately forgot the other. Mumbo felt dizzy and lost, and beyond those feelings frustrated and scared; his body wasn’t working, his mind was fuzzy, and random waves of nausea hit him so hard they nearly knocked him off his feet.

He collapsed on Grian when he finally found the room, Grian shaking under the surprise weight, but hugging him tight regardless.

“I was worried about you,” Grian hissed, and Mumbo wasn’t so sure he should stop being worried yet.

“Are you going to the hospital?” The new voice made Mumbo jump hard, and he had to look back to remember there had always been someone else, he’d just been quiet for too long. Oh dear.

“I don’t know if I have room for you.” Grian sniffed, shifting Mumbo so that Grian stood between them as if Mumbo wasn’t tall enough to look over his shoulder.

“You have a minivan..?” Mumbo tried, only because he thought he might have really lost it, but Grian only bristled.

“We take up a lot of space.”

This did not stop the stranger from sliding out of bed, graciously wearing pants, and stumbling a little as he retrieved his shirt. “I appreciate your generosity, thank you,” he mumbled, though to Mumbo he was near inaudible. “Lead me to your vehicle.”

The ride to the hospital might have been awkward if Mumbo wasn’t so focused on not throwing up in the minivan, but maybe that was a plus, so he didn’t have to worry about Grian and the guy Mumbo was choosing to believe he didn’t sleep with because that didn’t make any sense. Mumbo was at a hit, he was- he was pretty sure he was at a hit! He remembered dressing for the day, leaving for the mansion.. the rest of his thoughts were blank, and the second he thought too hard about it his head throbbed.

It turns out Mumbo had five concussions. The other guy, Cub was his name, had seven. Mumbo was pleased with that; seven was a much bigger number than five, so maybe Grian would be so distracted by that huge number he’d forget to be mad at Mumbo for whatever it was he’d done.

This was not the case.

“I just- I just don’t understand! How did you end up with that guy- how did you even get there? Who was that? There were weapons strewn all over the motel floor!” Grian went on in a stream of consciousness type manner, and it was a good thing Mumbo was experiencing some kind of anterograde amnesia, because he might have gotten annoyed if he could remember Grian repeating himself over and over.

“I don’t know,” was all Mumbo could say. The lights everywhere were too bright, and the ibuprofen hadn’t stopped his head from throbbing.

“Well, you’re going to be down for the count for months. You’d better get comfortable, and seriously, stop chasing this- insane career path. You’re lucky you haven’t managed to kill anyone yet, or I’d really have to rethink what we have going on here.”

Mumbo closed his eyes against the noise. He didn’t care. He never really cared, and if Grian had such a problem with his line of work, Mumbo didn’t know why he stuck around.

It didn’t matter.

A setback like this wouldn’t stop the ball from dropping in the end.

…

It was not often that Grian felt himself in the presence of something this evil.

It was alarming at first, sitting in the hospital waiting room, bordering boredom, when suddenly he was overcome, shivers down his spine, gooseflesh up his arms, the hair on the back of his neck rising. Grian usually had resilience to this feeling with his proximity to Mumbo, the presence of small corruptions hardly making a dent in his constitution, but this was different, this was power, and Grian could not fight the fear rising like bile in his throat.

It’s head snapped Grian’s direction hardly two steps into the waiting room, and Grian froze as its eyes fell almost gently on his. Interest. Malice. Could no one else in the room sense it? Grian’s heart sank as it slunk forward, moving smoothly to sit in the chair directly beside him.

“Now, isn’t this just special? It’s not often I see your folk take a human form, no, not very often at all. Is there someone special you’re waiting here for?”

“No.” Grian spoke through grit teeth, but it did not matter. An entity like this could smell Grian’s influence just as well as Grian could sense its presence, and Grian would just have to hope it would collect what it came here for and leave before Mumbo exited care.

But it did not believe him, and even as its body sat still next to Grian’s, he could feel its power move, searching for an answer.

“Oh,” it finally said, soft, like the word came from its first breath upon return to its body, “Oh, poor thing. What have you gone and done?” Its eyes darkened, but flashed with excitement, “Do you think you can stop it forever? Do you think this connection you’ve smithed will keep him from turning on you? It’s already taken its toll on you, keeping this up. You will not be able to fight back when he breaks free. Let me take him off your hands, tired hands they are, and I can promise you your misdeeds will not come back to bite you. All this micromanaging can’t be good for your health.”

“Stay away from him.”

It chuckled, genial, light. They both knew Grian had no power here, and each passing moment made the corruption twist into something more predatory. “What will you do when he returns to you here, but can’t stop looking to me? You all are so concerned with stifling, you simply can’t fathom that some souls are meant to be free..” the corruption trailed off, leaning back in its seat, “..or dead. But that’s not an easy pill to swallow I suppose.”

“Circumstances of birth should not be a death sentence. Just because he was mismanaged before my instatement, doesn’t mean he’s beyond help. I have a few more years before I have to decide.”

“What a generous estimate of time!” The corruption leaned into Grian’s space, and he saw the shadows of claws under its human fingers, black and razored. “I give it a few weeks before he’s standing over your broken body, carving out your still-beating heart with those dull fingernails, and crushing it beneath his hand.” The corruption tapped Grian’s chest with a finger, and it was with great terror that Grian’s own hand, trying to bat it away, went directly through its form.

“Stop- Get away from me!” Grian screamed, but no one in the waiting room heard him, the space just as still and quiet as it was before. The corruption’s hand lifted slowly to Grian’s face, its long, calloused fingers falling gently across his chin, then through it, and Grian felt the unearthly passage of its fingers through the meat of his jaw, slow, discomfort bordering pain, until they wrapped themselves delicately around Grian’s tongue, locking it to the bottom of his mouth.

“You’ll invite me, won’t you?” It moved through the chair it was sat in, sliding over to straddle Grian’s lap. “If you call me, I can stop him. Keep him from peeling away your skin as you writhe beneath him, choking on your own blood. He’ll want revenge, most assuredly, but I can protect you.” The corruption’s eyes darted to Grian’s left hand, the ring on his finger. “I can even keep you together, if that’s what you truly want. I can make him forget. I can make you forget. Wouldn’t that be just wonderful?”

Grian couldn’t stop the guttural cry that left his throat, gagging on fingers he could not touch in return. The corruption smiled, soft, crooked, and unkind.

“You call out to ‘Scar,’ and I’ll be there, yeah? I’ll leave you my number, too, I have a feeling we’ll be in touch. Capiche?”

And suddenly Grian could scream again, and everyone in the waiting room was giving him an alarmed look, Grian just as wide eyed in turn. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I-I get- Sorry-“ Grian almost got up and left, especially when he saw Scar, still there, still next to him reading a magazine, but Mumbo was still here, Mumbo was still here, and Grian could not leave him alone with this thing.

His hands migrated slowly to his sore jaw, sore like bruises, and Grian couldn’t help but fear Scar’s influence had left actual marks. He tasted blood, but felt he was imagining it.

Mumbo could never know.

#hermitcraft #hermitfic #hermitcraft fic #hermitshipping #cubfan135 #mumbo jumbo #grian #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #cumbo #a little bit of grumbo. kinda #scar being the way he is

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1-800-i-ship-it · 11 days ago

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update watched yuri on ice eps 5-9 and im freaking out cause:

YURI ACTUALLY SAYS ALL THIS IN CANON???:

“I want to be hated as the man who took Victor from the whole world!”

*touches foreheads together* *intense eye contact* “Don’t ever take your eyes off me”

“I’m the only one who can who can satisfy Victor. I’m the only one in the whole world who knows Victor’s love”

“With my coach, Victor, I’ll win with the power of love!”

“I’ll show my love to the whole of Russia”

THEN THERES ALSO:

Victor half naked slumped on yuri cause he had too much to drink...then the pic being posted everywhere LKASJDF

Victor hugging yuri while watching performances

Victor FLOPPING ON HIS BED WITH YURI TAKING A NAP TOGETHER??

VICTOR SHATTERING YURI’S HEART AND THEN ASKING IF A KISS WOULD MAKE IT BETTER IM-

-YURI JUST ASKING FOR HIS SUPPORT AND PRESENCE IN RESPONSE AHH <333

YURI SLAYING THE PERFORMANCE, GETTING AN INSANE HUG THAT KNOCKS HIM OVER, AND WAS THAT AN ALMOST KISS/REAL KISS AINT NO WAYYYYY

YURI SLAYING ANOTHER PERFORMANCE, VICTOR KISSES HIS SKATE ON CAMERA?????

THEY LITERALKU HAVE A COUPLES REUNION AT THE AIRPORT???

Then…then…THEN Yuri asks Victor to be his coach until he retires AND AND ANDDDD VICTOR TAKES HIS HAND OFF HIS SHOULDER…me expecting him to let go and then he HE FUCKING KISSES YURI’S HAND AND SAYS ITS LIKE A MARRIAGE PROPOSAL??? Then he says “I wish you’d never retire” HELLO???? WHERES THE RING??

#blu liveblogs #yuri on ice #yoi ep 5-9 #guys im head in hands /pos cause this cannot be real like #i saw everyone saying it gets gayer and i was like ok bet right #then i was like #jaw drop after jaw drop AFTER JAW DROP BC. HOLY SHIT.#oh my GOD #i just #i cant even form coherent thoughts rn #not yuri having a breakdown and feeling pressured by the world hating him for “stealing” victor away from the world and then #gets an instant boost by empowering himself cause damn right he DID steal victor implying victor is HIS then he fucking goes and #and makes intense eye contact with victor HRAJNSLDAKJF #literally mentions victor's love or some variation of it at least 5 times #then omg the part where he cried i was like omg yuri you poor baby #then victor fucking says WOULD A KISS MAKE IT BETTER? a kiss GUYS a KISS???? yes because thats totally nformal for a coach #yuri just asks for his support and presnce and i was like omg lovee that part #yes yuri you go slay that program after crying it does in fact feel better after you've had a good cry #then THEN thennnn HOLY SHIT VICTOR JUST. KNOCKS HIM DOWN WITH A HUG AND THEN TEHRES FUCKING SLOMO OF AN IMPLIED ALMOST MOUTH ON MOUTH KISS-#SCREAMS #does victor just lose it anytime yuri pulls some move that he would do too #THEN HE PULLS VICTOR IN BY HIS *TIE* TOO AT SOME POINT IDK I FORGOT BUT OH MY GODD #and also VICTOR. KISSING. HIS. SKATE. oh my god. my dude. ON CMAERA??#i need a better phrase than the 'gay sex is less gay than whatever the hell these two have going on' but its literally the whole show like #oh my god and when they were running with each other with the glass in between them at the airport...and then yuri runs into victor's arms.#then they have some sort of indirect gay af marriage proposal holy shit im #i need a moment #i also love that russian yuri gave yuri the katsudon pirozhki that was so sweet #and v thoughtful of his grandpa too #also the classical music fan in me is happy with the music xD

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goldentigerfestival · 8 months ago

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Using this as an audio reference for the posts I'm making, but to summarize:

Yuri starts out mad.

Yuri tries to calm himself down with a deep breath to ask for details instead of going through it angry.

Flynn doesn't say "like a good knight" in the sense of putting himself down. He simply says "as a knight" (the tl here doesn't use that, but with that included it's basically along the lines of "even though I had doubts, as a knight, I was determined to follow my orders").

Once Yuri has answers he calms down significantly.

Yuri uses " 'ttaku", which is a shortened down version of "mattaku" (Yuri often shortens words and speaks very casually), which in this particular situation basically would mean "geez", or "good grief". In this manner, it's expressive of exasperation/frustration/etc.

Yuri never mentions that "Flynn told him what to do" like the dub does (because in fact Flynn did not ever tell Yuri what to do. He only gave Sodia and his other knights orders. He expressed his own desire to take responsibility, but never told Yuri and his friends what to do).

At this point you can tell the anger has gone out of him and that he's calmed down, now that Flynn is approaching this with admission and responsibility.

Sodia is asking that Flynn returns as soon as possible (I believe this was a general translation error).

Flynn's thank you to Yuri is tonally much more heartfelt.

Yuri's response and gratefulness at Flynn coming back to himself is tonally much more heartfelt, relieved and sincere.

#GTF Vesperia Clips #basically the dub version is littered with errors /and/ your regular resident angry dub Yuri #just to be clear on mattaku it can also mean ''completely'' ''totally'' ''seriously'' etc. it depends on the context #''yare yare'' is also used for ''geez'' and ''good grief'' but in a more sarcastic/casual way #''mattaku'' or in this case '' 'ttaku'' is more of a quiet expression of exasperation rather than smth you'd yell/shout when aggravated #it CAN sometimes be used like damn as a minor expletive but tbh I personally I wouldn't put it in this situation #bc his aggravation is lessening and they're getting to the point so I'd argue it's more just exhausted of the whole thing #but the dub took it a step further and used it as fuel against Flynn as they do mcfuckin' do #I'd say it's more ''damn it'' at the whole situation bc there's absolutely no reason at this point to say ''damn it Flynn''#esp bc that led into the dub having Yuri go at him accusing him of telling them what to do when he... literally did not #and did not even imply he was going to. it was just pulled from their asses and/bc Yuri never even said Flynn's name there #it's stuff like this where they add remove and change things always in stark opposite of Flynn's favor that riles me up :/#what I mean is that the dub changed Yuri's overall exasperation into smth accusatory when rly Yuri is like #stop trying to do this by yourself. it was never about oh woe is me how dare you tell us what to do #if he was directing a ''damn it'' at Flynn it STILL would not be bc ''he told them what to do''#it would STILL BE because Flynn was trying to take this responsibility fully onto himself #it's so irritating bc the dub will be spot on right on point with everything but then AS SOON as it's abt Flynn it's like #they start messing around with things and the tl is changed and yadda yadda until around late arc 2 #it like lowkey comes across as enemy to ally instead of ally with a whole character arc #and the reason I legit feel like they did it on purpose is BECAUSE they can obviously tl correctly based on other areas of the game #but when Flynn is involved they tweak things if not just outright change the context (remember my Nordopolica post? yeahhhh)#how is that not on purpose? how is it that everything can be spot on for a chunk all at once #but then a certain char shows up and it's repeatedly inaccurate? repeatedly geared in a negative light that originally didn't even EXIST?#and then ofc they almost always use Yuri himself to reflect that negativity against Flynn which is a WHOLE other story/issue for me #it's like... say I wrote a neutral statement. someone comes along and tls with negative sounding additions. it's sort of like that #I'm not that good at explaining things/how I feel abt things but yeah I hope that makes sense #it's just like... I KNOW they can tl spot on so when I keep seeing them stick in all these things with/against Flynn it upsets me sm #it feels like they tl normally and then see Flynn and go oh hold on let's change that bc it's Flynn #and that's why it's so frustrating for me :/

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gojorgeous · 1 year ago

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"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+ ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off.

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all.

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it.

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married.

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags.

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding.

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times.

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying.

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance.

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold.

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income.

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me?

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of.

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.”

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before.

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.”

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you.

“Yes, my lady?”

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?”

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps.

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you?

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness.

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing.

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home.

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come.

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly.

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning.

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags.

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle.

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and-

“Do you like them?”

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie.

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him.

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained?

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.”

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.”

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips.

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.”

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling.

“Of course… Satoru.”

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet.

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies.

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.”

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever…

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.”

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming?

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.”

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue.

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?”

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks.

“Not tonight.”

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch.

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence.

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone.

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened.

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed?

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense.

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person.

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all.

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking.

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?”

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver.

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.”

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.”

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains.

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in.

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you.

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again.

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse.

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas.

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume.

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.”

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.”

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.”

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin.

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.”

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?”

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.”

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room.

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough.

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue.

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.”

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.”

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?”

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?”

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.”

He chuckles. “My pleasure.”

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight?

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you?

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse.

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone.

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon.

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare.

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge.

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he?

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you.

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right?

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there.

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”.

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye.

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.”

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further.

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages.

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph.

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe?

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.”

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second.

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.”

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening.

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.”

No, no, no.

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible.

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru.

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows.

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense.

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting.

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine.

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?”

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.”

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you.

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further.

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…”

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you.

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does.

“About the estate?” he asks.

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?”

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.”

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.”

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-”

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why.

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him.

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…”

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch.

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine?

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?”

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real.

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point.

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper.

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in.

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.”

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him.

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?”

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.”

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.”

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight.

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago.

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?”

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?”

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be.

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?”

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe.

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.”

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?”

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone.

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin.

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt.

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.”

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has.

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less.

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning.

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long.

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked.

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity-

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re–

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature.

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.”

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper.

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust.

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb.

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.”

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?”

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer.

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?”

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch.

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.”

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod.

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth–

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing?

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire.

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.”

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is.

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move.

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop.

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake.

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.”

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision.

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer.

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done.

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation.

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.”

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp.

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts.

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–”

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin.

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants.

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do.

“Yes,” you whisper.

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath.

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments.

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…”

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come.

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull.

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens.

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like.

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants.

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago.

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave.

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

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purple-plum-petals · 2 months ago

Note

Hi!! I love your homicipher fics! Have you thought about writing nsfw hcs? Specifically for Mr. Crawling and Silvair? I hope your night / day is going well! :)

⊱ Mr. Crawling and Mr. Silvair ⊰ || NSFW Alphabet (A-Z) Headcanons

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Character(s): Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silvair (Homicipher/文字化化, Separate) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns, No Sex-Specific Genitalia is Mentioned but it was Written with an AFAB Reader in Mind) Warning(s): 18+ Content, Virgin Asexual Author, Cum Eating, Facials, Minor Objectification, Cuckoldry, Mutual Masturbation, Face-fucking, Sexual Fantasies, Tickling, Praise/Degradation Kink, Breeding Kink/Creampies, BDSM, Overstimulation, Orgasm Control/Denial, Dumbification, Dacryphilia, Hair-pulling, Light Impact Play, Light Breathplay, Implied Cunnilingus/Blowjobs, Cock Warming, Mention/Discussion of Sex Toys… If I missed anything, please let me know! Genre: Headcanons, Smut (Minors Do Not Interact), Fluff Word Count: 7,200 words Request: “Hi!! I love your homicipher fics! Have you thought about writing nsfw hcs? Specifically for Mr. Crawling and Silvair? I hope your night / day is going well! :)” Author’s Note: I’m still very much working on getting better at writing spicier content, and I had no clue how to start writing these kinds of headcanons from scratch, so I went ahead and just filled out the NSFW Alphabet for both Mr. Crawling and Mr. Silvair as a jumping off point! It’s definitely interesting to think about how both of these characters would be in a sexually intimate setting, especially since – at least in my mind – they’d be quite different from each other in a variety of aspects even if they did have some overlap on a few of the points. I did my best to keep each of their headcanons at a similar word length (which was kind of hard to do with my Mr. Crawling bias, but I think I accomplished it haha). Anyway, I hope you enjoy these headcanons! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated! ♡

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A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

👣: Mr. Crawling is immensely clingy after having sex, holding onto you and pretty much refusing to let go as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck or your hair. While he doesn’t want to get up from the bed or leave after the two of you have been intimate, if you’re hungry or thirsty or if you want to go take a bath, he’s happy to go fetch you something to restore your energy or help you to the bathroom to clean up. He’s quite good at aftercare, even if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing counts as it. Mr. Crawling just likes making you feel good, and he wants to keep you safe and happy! His favorite thing to do is help you bathe; he enjoys the way the warm water feels on his skin while he washes your back for you.

💉: Mr. Silvair isn’t too affectionate after the two of you are intimate, but he’ll check up on you and ask if you need him to get you anything. If your wrists were rubbed raw from the restraints he had placed on you, he would make sure to carefully wrap gauze around your irritated skin. If you were thirsty or hungry, he would locate something safe for you to consume to get your strength back up. If you feel sticky or gross afterward, he’ll carefully wipe your body with a wet cloth to make sure you are clean and comfortable. He lets you sleep and typically goes about his own business. Sometimes, though, Mr. Silvair finds himself watching over you to make sure you’re breathing steadily, carefully combing his fingers through your hair.

B: Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

👣: Mr. Crawling doesn’t have a favorite part of your body since he honestly enjoys every aspect of you but, if he had to choose, he loves your hands. He knows that they can hurt people and cause a lot of pain, but he loves the way they feel when you cup his face to softly caress it or whenever you thread your fingers through his hair. For himself, Mr. Crawling loves his hair the most (I know it’s not technically a body part, but I think it makes the most sense for him); he pretty much melts whenever you play with it, and his head is quite sensitive, so he blue screens whenever you pull at his hair or rake your nails across his scalp. I also feel like Mr. Crawling would be proud of his arms since they’re fairly toned considering they’re his primary means of getting around. Because of his impressive strength, despite what his thinner frame may portray, he’s able to hold you up and move you around with relative ease (he 100% can manhandle you, but only will if you’re cool with it).

💉: Mr. Silvair finds every aspect of your body fascinating, and he could probably explain why each part of you was interesting from a medical perspective or that everything was pleasant to look at in one way or another. If he had to pick a favorite part of your body, though, he would have to say it’s your head (I know, kind of weird, but he does appreciate your intelligence and, well… Ending 06 is my other piece of reasoning haha). Specifically, though, he likes your mouth. He enjoys being able to hold your head in place while your jaw hangs open, all while he just goes to town while you drool and choke around his cock. Don’t worry, though – he’ll find some remedy to lessen the soreness you feel in your throat afterward. For himself, he’s quite proud of his hands. Mr. Silvair is skilled at many things, and being able to make you come undone with his fingers alone makes him feel a sense of power (plus, you called them pretty once, and it made him feel good).

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum)

👣: Mr. Crawling gets extremely flustered whenever he sees his cum on any part of your body, from your hair to your face to your stomach. The sight of it alone on your skin makes his brain short-circuit and body flare up – it only makes him want to touch you even more. He likes being able to clean you up, too, leaning forward before he runs his tongue along your body or face, making sure there wasn’t a single drop of his cum left on you (even if now it meant you were covered in saliva…). He doesn’t mind tasting himself, but it most certainly doesn’t compare to your flavor.

💉: I probably need to ask you to stay with me on this one, but I think Mr. Silvair would probably keep your cum stored away in a sample tube or something along those lines, having a desire to run tests on it to see what he could create. Views your cum as a valuable resource in his research...yay? Maybe he could even use your release to invent some kind of lubricant since that’s not easily accessible in the other world and make having sex much more streamlined… or he just keeps it around to show you later and see your reaction to the fact he keeps your cum stored away in his laboratory to tease you.

D: Dirty Secret

👣: The thought of taking you in public, in a space where no one but you could see him, makes his mind race and his body feel like it was on fire – this man can act like a feral dog sometimes. I mean, even you sometimes forgot he was there, unable to see his form unless you concentrated hard enough, so imagine if the two of you went out somewhere in public and he (with your consent, of course), just started touching you? Groping your ass, his face between your legs as he runs his hands along your inner thighs… no one can see that it’s him making your face flush and not the excuse of a fever you told the concerned stranger in the hopes they would leave you alone. When you half-heartedly glare at him to try and get him to lay off for a bit, he just laughs at your expression… how rude!

💉: Mr. Silvar wouldn’t be opposed to having a threesome with another resident of the other world. After all, he would be curious to see how differently you acted when another person was there with the two of you, or if your body reacted in an unlikely way if another were to touch you. While I will not write NSFW for Mr. Chopped (the power dynamic there isn’t my favorite thing in the world), he would be the one Mr. Silvair would feel most at ease sharing you with; Mr. Crawling or Mr. Hood would be his second and third choices respectively since he knows how deeply you trust them. He might not even partake in sex either, just sitting off to the side while he lets another use you like a toy. As long as you know your his, though, he doesn’t mind watching you enjoy yourself with another (he has to be there, though).

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

👣: Mr. Crawling has absolutely zero experience with this kind of stuff, so he would need someone willing to walk him through the whole process, show him what you like, and teach him what and what not to do. What he lacks in experience, though, he makes up for in pure enthusiasm. It’s quite flattering how determined he is when it comes to making you feel good, even if it’s a bit sloppy and unpracticed. His thrusts are extremely unpredictable, never quite finding their rhythm… It’s alright, though; he’ll definitely get better with more time and the more he gets to understand what your body likes. You just have to give him the time to improve, and he’ll be certain to leave you breathless.

💉: Mr. Silvair also has no experience when it comes to sex, or at least not any while he’s resided in the other world. He is a life-long learner through and through, though, and there’s nothing in the universe he’s not willing to learn about, especially if it has to do with humans and their anatomy. His thrusts are frighteningly accurate, being able to hit your most sensitive inner spots with ease to have you begging him to give you a moment to breathe. He’s an almost terrifyingly fast learner, too, being able to apply whatever new information he’s observed and gathered within moments. He can do it perfectly, too, and he does it in a way that has you questioning whether he was telling the truth when he said this was his first time doing anything like this.

F: Favorite Position

👣: When it comes to favorite positions, Mr. Crawling loves being able to hold you close to him while also being able to see your face (he has to kiss you during sex – sorry, I don’t make the rules). He enjoys the rocking horse position since it allows him to be able to hold you close while still being able to maintain eye contact with you and easily have access to cover your face in kisses. While he prefers being the one making you feel good, Mr. Crawling would also enjoy the cowgirl position. He’s happy to let you use him to your heart's content while being able to look up and soak in the pleased look that’s plastered across your features while you slam your hips up and down on his cock.

💉: Mr. Silvair personally enjoys the butterfly position, having you lay on your back atop his operation table all while he can watch and take mental notes on every single facial expression you make and every single twitch of your muscles while he drives you absolutely insane. He would also enjoy missionary, but he would spice it up a little bit by having your hands or wrists tied to something. After all, he doesn’t want you to touch him unless he says you can – just lay there quietly while he completely wrecks you with that annoyingly calm expression on his face. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy when you touch him, though. Mr. Silvair simply prefers being the one in charge and determining when and where you’re able to feel his skin beneath your hands.

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

👣: Acts goofy most of the time during sex, even if he doesn’t mean to. He likes being able to make you happy, and he finds your laughter to be music to his ears. Sometimes you two will be having sex, and he’ll suddenly start giggling completely unprovoked, just finding the experience with you so joyful. Being with you in any capacity makes his chest feel light and fluttery as a sense of giddiness flows through his veins. He’ll wrap his arms around you and nuzzle into your neck, causing your body to spasm and tighten around him while his long hair drapes over you and tickles your skin. Overall, Mr. Crawling enjoys being more playful when the two of you are intimate since it adds to the overall experience for him.

💉: Prefers to be serious while having sex. He treats the whole process of intercourse like one would treat a research project which, honestly, can make you feel a bit annoyed in some instances (Mr. Silvair still doesn’t quite understand why, though). He’s methodical in everything he does, and being light-hearted or purposefully humorous isn’t high on his list of things to do. He has no problem if you want to be silly, however. He finds it cute when you try to see if you can make him chuckle. It endears you to him more, and it makes him want to keep you around for even longer. The only goofy thing he does is gently run his fingers up and down your sides while thrusting into you, finding the way your body wriggles and writhes away from his touch to be adorable.

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

👣: I think Mr. Crawling would have fairly long hair beneath the metaphorical belt. His pubic hair would be thick, curly, and a very dark shade of black. He doesn’t really keep himself groomed (kind of hard to do in his world, plus it was never a priority for him), but if you would prefer him to keep it trimmed, he’d be happy to! He doesn’t care one way or another.

💉: Mr. Silvair comes off to me as someone who would enjoy keeping themselves groomed and their appearance well-maintained, and I mean every inch of his body. I think he would have either no pubic hair or pubic hair that was trimmed to be the perfect length. If he did have any hair below the belt, it would be a gray color, one that was a shade darker than his regular hair and wavy in texture.

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

👣: One of the more human-like members of the cast when it comes to his affections; he’s as romantic as a non-human being can be. Mr. Crawling loves holding you close as he ruts into you like a wild dog, whispering praises against your skin. He even tries his best to learn phrases in your language so he can tell you how much you mean to him without you having to try and decipher it. He’s always so, so soft with you when you two are having sex. He’s honored that you’d let him have you in such a way, and finds your trust in him heartwarming – he trusts you, too, with his entire heart and soul.

💉: Mr. Silvair canonically doesn’t comprehend the concept of “liking” or loving someone, so that also translates into sex with him. All he knows is that he finds you entertaining to be around and that he’s somewhat endeared to you at this point. He’s not romantic but, in between teasing you and making you cry (whether it be in frustration or overstimulation), he’s checking in on you to make sure that you’re still comfortable. He knows sex can be invasive, and he’s aware of how much regard the act is held in by some people in your world, so he does his best to respect that... Even if he does need to check himself every now and again.

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

👣 and 💉: Neither of them masturbates much because they simply don’t have a desire or time to do so. Mr. Crawling would rather wait for you to be there so you two can enjoy yourselves together, and Mr. Silvair simply has more important matters to attend to. That’s not to say they never masturbate, though, it’s just typically a rare occurrence.

👣: Mr. Crawling typically masturbates by rutting up against something, like a pillow, rather than taking himself in his hand. His thoughts before meeting you were just focusing on the physical sensation of his cock sliding against the fabric of his clothing, but now he finds himself thinking of you – the way your voice sounds when you coo sweet words in his ear, the warmth of your body. Imagining your hands gently touching his chest and hips makes him cum right then and there, almost embarrassingly quickly… Yeah, he’s down bad.

💉: Mr. Silvair treats masturbating as a chore. He’d much rather be doing something else than leaning against the wall of his operation room while his hand goes absolutely ham on his dick. He knows which areas on his body get the most reaction, so he purposefully presses all of his buttons just so he can be done with it quicker. This doesn’t change after meeting and getting to be intimate with you, though, he still sees it as a chore… Just now he imagines cumming on your face or inside you whenever he finally reaches his climax.

K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)

👣:

Mutual Masturbation: He likes spending time with you and doing things together, so why not spend some time watching each other explore yourselves? He likes observing you as you touch yourself, making mental notes of every spot on your body that have you biting your lip and furrowing your brows. While I wouldn’t say he’s into voyeurism since he does like being with you while you touch yourself instead of tucked away in the shadows just watching, he focuses more on the way your hands touch and caress your skin instead of focusing on the way he moves his hands across his body. Doesn’t last very long doing this, though, eventually pouncing on you and touching you himself.

Overstimulation (Giving): Mr. Crawling loves overstimulating you, even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it half of the time. He just enjoys seeing you become a blabbering mess all because of him; he takes great pride in being able to make you feel good. However, the first time you started crying because he was simply giving you too much, he felt so guilty – the poor man was on the verge of tears thinking he made you feel bad.

Praise Kink: While praising you is a bit more difficult considering the language barrier and the limited amount of words and phrases he has to choose from, he still loves doing it. Muttering against your skin how you’re doing such a good job, how he loves you so much, how you make him so happy. Mr. Crawling definitely makes sure to reassure you both inside and outside of the bedroom.

Hair Pulling (Receiving): He loves, loves, loves it whenever you take his hair in your hand and give it a firm tug. Mr. Crawling enjoys it whenever he’s going down on you and you take his hair into your hands and push him even closer, making him become fully immersed in your scent and taste.

Sensation Play: While Mr. Crawling may not enjoy more painful experiences, he does like general sensation play quite a bit. He likes the feeling of your breath fanning against his skin while you pepper his flesh with gentle kisses and nips. He enjoys tickling you while his hips sensually thrust in and out, feeling the way you squeeze around him as breathless and airy giggles escape past your lips. He loves whispering into your ear while running his tongue along it before taking your lobe between his teeth and lightly tugging.

💉:

Breeding Kink/Creampie: Mr. Silvair, after learning more about human reproduction, has a deep-seated curiosity regarding whether or not the two of you would be able to have offspring. That’s kind of what starts this particular kink for him – he wants to know if you both are sexually compatible in that aspect, and he is curious what the resulting child would look and act like if they were born in the other world. If you’re unable to give birth or get pregnant, even if his initial interest in breeding is certainly from a more scientific aspect, he still finds the image of you full of his seed while it drips down the curve of your ass to be quite arousing.

Bondage/Shibari (Giving): He enjoys tying you up and pinning you down, being able to have full control over you in the bedroom. He’s perfectly content if you agree to light bondage, like having your hands restrained, and would never ask you to do anything more than that. However, if you trust him enough and feel comfortable doing some more intense bondage, he’s not going to complain. Would definitely be interested in the art of shibari, finding the way the rope looks pressing into your skin tantalizing.

Orgasm Control/Denial (Giving): Another kink that feeds into his desire for control. Mr. Silvair enjoys being the one in charge of your release, and he likes seeing how far he can push you until you finally break and plead for him to let you cum. He loves seeing how stupid and desperate he can make you, sometimes with just his fingers alone.

Overstimulation (Giving): Much like orgasm control/denial, he likes pushing you to your breaking point. However, unlike the previous bullet, he likes seeing how much stimulation you can take until you’re crying for him to stop. He thinks it’s fascinating, seeing how quickly your desire for his touch can change – one moment you’re begging for him to touch you, and the next you’re weakly pushing his hand away. He does eventually relent, of course, but only after letting you cry for a bit.

Dacryphilia: There’s something about seeing your tear-streaked face that makes it feel like he’s just been hit with an arrow in his chest. It’s endearing and oh-so cute the way you look while you sob all because he’s making you feel that good. It makes him feel proud, in a way, seeing you in such a pathetic state all because of him.

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

👣: He enjoys having sex with you on a bed (boring, I know), but he likes the softness of the mattress and the many pillows and blankets that can be used to bring even more comfort by keeping the heat from your bodies trapped. He also likes taking you in small, enclosed spaces, like an empty locker or cabinet (sorry folks with claustrophobia). Much like the reasoning with the bed, he likes how the smaller space forces you both to be immensely close to each other. Plus, these spaces bring him comfort, so why not mix the two things that make him feel safe together?

💉: Either in his laboratory/operation room or in one of the many different cages or prison cells that he has access to (bonus points if you allow him to chain you up hehe). Mr. Silvair doesn’t need a soft mattress or pillows to enjoy sex with you. He’s fine taking you on his operation table or the cold concrete floor of the small prison cell, even if your back moving up and down across the ground rubs your skin raw. He’ll patch you up after, no worries, but he doesn’t need a lot of bells and whistles to have an enjoyable time.

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

👣: Sweet words and gentle touches. The other world is one full of violence and death, one where survival trumps all else. While there are entities like him who only resort to violence when either their safety or the safety of someone they’re fond of is in danger, it’s still not a happy or bright place to exist. Mr. Crawling does what he can to enjoy life, laughing in situations that probably aren’t even that funny just to try and make existing more enjoyable. Then you come along and make him feel cared for – loved – and safe, and he’s never been happier. Being able to lay with you, to feel you clench around his cock with your warmth while you pepper kisses across his face and let him know how good he is… Yeah, this is the life.

💉: Power and control. He enjoys being able to restrict your movement, being able to dictate when and where you’re allowed to cum and, if you disobey him, he’ll punish you with a sadistic smile on his face. However, he would be lying if he said that was all. Mr. Silvair thinks the fact you trust him with your safety – your life, your heart, your existence – gets him going, whether he realizes it or not. Trusting another in the other world showcases how much two people believe in the fact the other would not do anything to purposefully harm them, and you feel that way toward him (and he feels the same toward you). Whenever you call out his “name,” the one you had given him, he finds his hips unconsciously moving even faster at the sound...

N: No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

👣: Anything involving pain would be a hard no for Mr. Crawling, both giving and receiving. Even though his senses are dull and what would be extremely painful for a human wouldn’t be for him, he still doesn’t particularly enjoy being harmed. When it comes to hurting you in any way, that’s pretty much something he will never concede on. He doesn’t want to do a single thing to hurt you, even if it’s an enjoyable kind of pain.

💉: Pretty much nothing is off the table for him – Mr. Silvair enjoys experimenting, and that’s no different for him in the bedroom. The only extremely hard no would be coprophilia since he just doesn’t see the appeal nor does he want to test to see if he would like it or not. I also feel like he wouldn’t necessarily want a bratty partner or a partner who is constantly trying to take control back in the bedroom.

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

👣: Loves giving oral 101%, and he will give it to you anywhere – in public, in private, while you’re sleeping (with your consent, of course). Mr. Crawling adores having his mouth on you, being able to taste every single part of you while his tongue forces its way inside you, feeling your release dripping past his lips or dribbling down his chin… You taste good, too, better than anything he’s ever had before; he might get addicted to it, to be honest. He eats you out/blows you like a man starving, wanting a chance to have a taste and make you cry out his name while you pull harshly on his black locks and encourage him to keep going. He’s very enthusiastic about it, too, putting in so much effort and energy to get you cumming on his face or in his mouth.

💉: Prefers giving oral over receiving it, but it’s not his favorite thing to do either way. It’s nothing personal, he just prefers using his hands, his cock, or a toy to get you off rather than his mouth. If he does allow you to give him a blowjob, he’ll place a collar around your neck and pull on the chain if you get cheeky – after all, he’s the one in charge here. Mr. Silvair enjoys making you kneel in front of him, watching you with a small smile as you take him into your hands and pump once or twice before taking him into your mouth. If the rare occurrence happens when he gives you head, you better thank the universe. He looks so hot, holding your thighs apart while he slowly runs his tongue along your length/slit and teases you until you’re asking him to touch you more.

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

👣: Enjoys the slower and sensual side of things, but he typically can’t control himself as soon as he’s inside of you, so he ends up being somewhat fast and rough (not all the time, though... his thrusts remain immensely unpredictable no matter what, and he never seems to find a good rhythm to follow). Mr. Crawling enjoys the intimacy of sex, and he finds comfort in the closeness of your bodies while you two are connected at the hips. He loves being able to hold your hands and place kisses across your cheeks. Sometimes, he’s so caught up in the act of showering you with words of praise and sweet displays of affection that he forgets the fact he’s currently inside you and is supposed to be moving. He does see the appeal of rougher sex, though – it makes him feel almost animalistic whenever you two decide to set the pace for the night.

💉: Mr. Silvair can quickly switch between the two, sometimes almost at a break-neck speed, to the point it feels like you got whiplash from the sudden change of deep and slow thrusts to fast and somehow even deeper ones (he’s very precise when it comes to hitting those sweet spots inside of you – it’s actually kind of terrifying how quickly he can locate them). He pretty much does whatever he thinks will get the most reaction out of your body and acts accordingly – nothing more, nothing less. He tends to prefer rougher and faster sex, enjoying the noises the quick snap of his hips can draw out of your mouth. However, sometimes, he finds himself preferring a slower and softer pace. This way, he’s able to focus on and truly soak in the expression on your face and appreciate the way your body feels under his palms (this sometimes just leads to you cock warming him).

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

👣: Mr. Crawling is down for anything at any time. Pretty much, if you ask him to have sex, he’ll happily do it for you. Need him to eat you out or give you a blowjob, he’ll gladly oblige! After all, he is always pretty much kneeling, so he’s not being made to go out of his way to do it (even if he would go out of his way to please you). Want something more than just his tongue? That’s perfectly fine, too! There’s a private room over there he’ll gladly take you in, or maybe you’d want to try doing it in the empty locker? He’ll try not to take too long, but it’s hard since he loves being able to enjoy you to the fullest. So, Mr. Crawling can do quickies for sure, but he likes being able to take his time with you.

💉: While he’s not opposed to quickies, he prefers being able to have proper sex with you to get the most out of it. After all, he can’t exactly see how long it takes for you to break or how much time it takes for you to start crying and babbling if you only have a few minutes to enjoy one another. However, he does make it a little challenge for himself to see how quickly he can get you to climax. Mr. Silvair will even make educated guesses on how fast you’ll finish just by making note of your current expression, body language, etc. He likes seeing how flustered you get if you think someone is going to enter the room the two of you are in, begging him to go faster which only makes him want to slow down – how mean!

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

👣: Mr. Crawling is down to experiment but, as stated before, he doesn’t want to try anything that causes him or you harm, even if pain is something you enjoy. He just has no desire to hurt you in any way, something which is quite different from other members of the cast who are definitely more sadistic (cough, Mr. Silvair and Mr. Machete, cough). I feel like he would be down to partake in certain aspects of BDSM, specifically B/D (bondage and discipline) and D/S (dominance and submission). He just wants to have a good time and be close to you, both physically and emotionally.

💉: 100% down to experiment with anything (except the previously mentioned coprophilia). If you wanted to try some breathplay or impact play or even blood play, he’d be down for it. I honestly think he would enjoy breathplay since it adds more to the differential in power that he enjoys so much (there’s also a stirring in his chest when he sees how much you trust him with your life, but shhh…). Mr. Silvair is a man hungry for information and new experiences, so yes, he’s willing to try a variety of different things even if they could potentially be dangerous – he’ll always make sure you return to your original form.

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

👣 and 💉: Both of them are inhuman, which means that neither of them need any food, water, or rest to survive. Honestly, the two of them have unlimited amounts of stamina, and they can go for as long as you need them to (which could be two rounds or even eight – nothing is holding them back in the stamina department).

T: Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

👣 and 💉: Neither of them owns any toys because, well… you can’t access them easily in the other world. If they do end up there, though, they’re probably dirty or damaged beyond repair (please do not use nasty sex toys, people – infections and diseases are no joke).

👣: Mr. Crawling would be down to use toys on you! After all, why not? It’ll just make the experience more fun, right? You’ll probably have to explain what he’s supposed to do with them, though, since he’s not quite sure what some of them are for. If you want to use toys on him, he’s completely fine with that! Want to wear a strap and give him backshots? Go right ahead! Want to tape vibrators to him until he’s whining and writhing? He’d be happy to oblige! Overall, he’s pretty chill about it and is somewhat enthusiastic about adding toys into your sex life.

💉: Mr. Silvair enjoys using sex toys on you, some of his favorites being cock rings/chastity belts, strangely-shaped dildos, and vibrators. He loves being able to secure the variety of different vibrators he owns to your body, making sure to cover every erogenous zone he’s noted. He doesn’t typically want toys used on him (but he’d probably try out a variety of different sex toys on himself after a while, though, curious about how each of them felt or what they did), however, and the only one he’d be willing to use consistently would be fleshlights. He’d make you watch him use it, never once allowing you to use them on him.

U: Unfair (How much they like to tease)

👣: Mr. Crawling is very fair, and he always makes sure to give you exactly what you want in the bedroom. However, that’s not to say he never teases you, he just doesn’t do it very frequently. Sometimes when he’s going down on you, he’ll pause his minstrations to nip at or kiss the fat of your thighs, keeping your hips held down so you can’t buck up against his mouth. When you start getting antsy, he just giggles at your expression before returning his attention to that oh-so-needy part of you.

💉: If the word unfair was personified, it would be Mr. Silvair. I’d argue teasing you and making you cry – either because you can’t cum or have cum ten times in a row – are the aspects of sex that he enjoys the most. Edging you is one of his favorite things, though, watching you whine and try to move your hips on your own when he stops moving… bad move, though, because now he’s just going to make you wait even longer for release.

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

👣: He’s not loud, per se, but he does make quite a variety of different noises whenever the two of you are intimate. He whimpers and whines frequently while you’re having sex – they’re barely audible, high-pitched, and come out sounding as though he’s completely out of breath. Sometimes you wonder if he’s in pain with the noises he makes, but he’s not. He just really enjoys being able to feel you like this as he pants like a dog in heat.

💉: Completely quiet most of the time. Really, the only noises you’ll probably get out of him are barely audible sighs or the sound of his breathing hitching when he feels you stretch/tighten around him. It’s not that Mr. Silvair doesn’t enjoy having sex with you, he just doesn’t express that feeling verbally. You can tell in the way his hand squeezes the fat of your thigh or the way his hips stutter when he moves in and out that he’s having a good time.

W: Wild Card (Random headcanon)

👣: Mr. Crawling loves taking showers or baths with you, though he leans more towards baths since it’s less painful on his joints (I headcanon that Mr. Crawling can stand, but walking for extended periods of time is painful for him – ambulatory wheelchair user Mr. Crawling when?). While yes, he can technically sit in the shower, having water spray his face isn’t exactly pleasant… He doesn’t view bathing with you as sexual, he just finds it relaxing as he helps you wash your back or you help him make sure all the soap is out of his hair. His favorite scent would have to be lavender – it’s very calming for him.

💉: He keeps a journal tucked away full of terms and gestures from your world. Mr. Silvair has a deep desire to understand humans and everything they have to offer, even if he believes it's from a stance of craving knowledge (really, he wants to be able to express his endearment of you in a manner you can understand). He has a page on kissing and different kinds of kisses, a page on gestures of endearment, another on hugging and cuddling… The fact that humans’ bodies release a hormone whenever they simply spend time to bond with another socially, a hormone that turns the dial on their brain for whatever emotion they’re currently experiencing, is fascinating to him.

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

👣: Mr. Crawling is tall – and I mean extremely tall whenever he stands up (my man has got to at least be seven feet), so I can assume that he’s probably relatively proportionate under the belt. I feel like he would be big, almost concerningly so, clocking in at around 8 inches in length. Even though his size is impressive, his dick doesn’t have much girth to it and is on the thinner side, but it is thicker towards the base compared to the head (not that you can take all of him – you can certainly give it a try, though). It’s on the veinier side, too, with a very distinct and present one on the underside of his cock.

💉: Much like pretty much the entire cast, Mr. Silvair is also on the taller half of the height spectrum. However, I feel as though he would have a more modest, yet of course still impressive dick size. I imagine him to be 6 ½ inches in length and relatively thick from the base to the head with very little change in girth. Whenever you see his cock, you’re kind of awestruck for a moment because how can a man have such a nice-looking dick?? It doesn’t make sense! There’s barely any hair, there’s no visible veins or bumps, and it’s long and thick enough to drive you wild… Plus, it’s just really nice to look at, honestly.

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

👣 and 💉: Okay, so I know others probably will not agree with me here… but I honestly don’t think anyone in the cast has much of a sex drive, let alone a high one. I mean, they’re not human, so their cultural/social norms are different than ours, and I wouldn’t hold them to “typical” human desires on a biological/psychological level either. As I said before, I doubt any of them have been laid because sex just isn’t something the residents in the other world partake in – they’re too busy killing/fighting others, eating humans who find themselves lost in the other world, etc. Is this my asexual and world-building brain working? Probably haha.

👣: Mr. Crawling really only wants sex whenever you want it, but he’s always enthusiastic and does get aroused whenever you ask if he wants to be intimate. While he does love feeling the warmth around his dick whenever you’re clamping down on him, almost like you were hugging him and not wanting to let him go, he enjoys the emotional connection during the moment more than anything else. I headcanon him (and all of the cast, to some degree) as existing somewhere on the aroace-spectrum. For Mr. Crawling, I see him as being reciproromantic/sexual with an average libido – he gets riled up whenever you’re riled up, though there are times he does get horny without you needing to do or say anything.

💉: Much like Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silvair will have sex if you ask him to – he’ll make you beg for it, though, so he’s not as nice as the former. He prefers the control/power he gets from having sex rather than the sole act of intercourse (not to say he doesn’t enjoy the feeling, though). Plus, he finds the activity interesting since he knows it’s something most humans partake in with one another for a variety of reasons, from procreation to recreation. If you ask him to have sex and he isn’t in the mood, he’ll just use his hands or some toys and play around with you until you’re satisfied. I headcanon Mr. Silvair as being quoiromantic and eegosexual with a low libido.

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

👣: Mr. Crawling doesn’t need to sleep (you know… being non-human and all), but he’ll curl up next to you on the bed and hold your body close to his while pretending to sleep alongside you. It’s kind of adorable, the way his head is nuzzled under your neck while his legs and arms are wrapped around your body, holding you close to him like you were a bodypillow or large stuffed animal. While you sleep, though, he’ll eventually place his head against your chest, listening intently to the sound of your heartbeat and the feeling of your chest rising and falling with each breath. Moments like this, laying there with you in silence, make his mind wander to scenarios with you he’ll never be able to fully experience.

💉: Does not rest often, finding it a waste of time that could be spent doing something else. He understands you need your sleep, though, so he lets you do it in peace after you both have had sex. Mr. Silvair always manages to somehow make sure you have enough pillows to keep you comfortable or blankets to keep you from getting cold (you can’t help but wonder where he finds clean linens in such a grimy place…). Occasionally, however, he finds himself sitting next to you on the bed, fingers absentmindedly combing through your hair before he pulls his hand back as though you had burnt him – he doesn’t understand it, and he’s desperate to figure out an answer.

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gojonanami · 7 months ago

Text

❝ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 ! ❞

❝ SATORU GOJO KNOWS JUST HOW TO KEEP YOU COOL DURING A HEATWAVE - WITH HIS D!CK !! ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x reader

✧ summary: it’s a heatwave in tokyo and who better to spend it with than satoru, who has an interesting idea of how to pass the time — fucking the heat away.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, porn some plot, best friends to lovers, tiny bit of angst about suguru, inappropriate uses of popsicles, fucking in the heat, ice play, sex (p in v), oral (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), cum eating, cum fucking, pussy drunk satoru, implied multiple rounds, fanart by @ / umbra3terna on twt / tumblr (pls go follow htem, they are so talented)

✧ w/c: 7,161

“It’s so fucking hot,”

“Then let’s fuck to cool off.”

What?

You stared at the strongest sorcerer, his face flushed red, heat clinging to his cheeks, white locks blowing in the cool breeze of the fan, his shirt lifted up to cool him or maybe to tempt you, his melting popsicle dripping onto his burning skin — and your eyes flicked to the blue liquid slipping down his abs, then back to his face.

The low buzz of the fan filled the silence between the two of you as you stared at him, “what?” The question slipping from your mind out your lips.

Satoru Gojo had far too many outrageous things leave his mouth — he was insolent, arrogant, and even mildly violent (mostly towards Ijichi) — but you didn’t know if it was him or the heat — but you were considering it.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

(Him. It was him that was wrong with you.)

It was a heatwave in Tokyo. The one rare time you hadn’t been sent away on a mission, and you couldn’t even leave your apartment with the heat warning issued. Not to mention your central air breaks down, with a repairman nowhere in sight.

It was just your luck.

You rub at your eyes — and you weren’t sure if they were burning from your sweat or your lack of sleep last night. You’re blasting your fans around your apartment, stripped down to your shortest shorts and lightest tank top. You’re walking around your kitchen, using a takeout menu to fan yourself as you watch your order drive towards your place. There was no fucking way you were cooking in this weather.

And you see a phone call come through — Gojo Satoru’s name flashing across the top of the screen. You sigh, contemplating ignoring the phone call, but you know he would only call a million times more, and you pick up.

“Why did it take you so long to pick up my phone call?” and you shake your head, placing the call on speaker as you watch your takeout arrive at your place.

“It literally rang twice,” Satoru’s patience had not changed since your time Jujutsu Tech — as you glance at your contact photo, a picture of him dressed in Shoko’s skirt from your school days, with Geto snickering in the background — though a lot of things had.

“Two times too many,” you knew he was pouting.

“Satoru, unless the next words out of your mouth is an offer is to fly me to a place where the weather is better, I’m gonna hang up on you,” you sigh, making your way to the door, opening the door to find Satoru standing there, looking far too stylish in a white t-shirt, his blue shorts hanging low on his waist, and sunglasses perched precariously on his head, your takeout in hand, “what are you doing here?”

“Well I thought you wouldn’t want to take a beach day with me unless I showed up to your place. Ta-da!” he lifts up a duffel bag, seemingly stuffed to the brim.

“Satoru, there’s a weather advisory out. I’m pretty sure all the beaches are closed, and even if you’re immune to heatstroke, I’m not,” you step aside to pull him inside, the humidity sucking the little cool air you have in your apartment, “why did you think going to the beach in this heat was a good idea?”

He shrugs, “An excuse to get out of the house, plus, my apartment’s cooling is out—“

“So you thought even if you couldn’t go to the beach, you could steal my A.C.?” you sigh, collapsing on the couch, “well too bad because mine’s busted too,” you glance over, but your gaze doesn’t find Satoru, seeing his paintbrush head stuck in your freezer, “you’re going to melt—“ he turns around to have a blue popsicle stuck in his mouth and you almost snort at the sight, “bring me one too.”

“What should we do?” you murmur, sticking the popsicle in your mouth, as you laid back on the couch, sucking on the end of it, “watch a movie?”

“It feels too hot to do anything but lay here,” Satoru sighed, the crinkle of his second popsicle white noise as you scroll through possible movie options on your phone, until you toss it away, metal overheating just as you were.

“Well, we have to fucking do something other than just burn,” and you glance over, his white tee rolled up to expose his stomach as he ate his popsicle, and you raise an eyebrow, “what the hell are you doing?”

“What’s it look like? Enjoying my popsicle,” he half mumbles as he continues to suck on the colored ice, “it’s better than it getting on my shirt,” You watch the popsicle drip onto his exposed abs, liquid pooling in the crevices of his toned muscles, you lick at your own popsicle, catching the drops off the melting ice with your tongue, wondering how much sweeter it would taste to lick it off his abs, “see something you like sweetheart?”

His teasing words and wide grin pry you from your reverie with the subtlety of a crowbar, and your cheeks burn, as you roll your eyes, “You’re a dumbass,” you mutter, and he snickers at you, as you avert your gaze from him, and go back to eating your popsicle.

You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you as you slide the popsicle into your mouth, and you definitely don’t miss the way he eyes you as you suck at the fruity ice, before letting it slip from your lips, leaving only the tip of it pressed against your lips.

“See something you like, Satoru?” and he has no reaction, shamelessly staring still, as he tilts his head.

“I do,” he says without missing a beat, lifting his gaze to meet your own, “are you offering?” and you blink, before looking away — why was everything with Satoru a game of chicken? A bull’s rush to the line the two of you refused to cross, but did everything to pull the other over it. But neither of you had faltered, not in all these years.

Not since the very last summer just like this.

The sun had sunk past the horizon line, the summer night only predicated by the harmony of cicadas and the humidity that still stubbornly clung to the air, despite the sun being long gone. And that’s when Satoru had knocked on your door to tell you — tell you what had happened with Geto.

He was gone. He had left. And he wasn’t coming back.

And why was it that the signs were all there, laid out before you like directions to where he was going — and you didn’t see them, obscured by his empty reassurances and your own selfishness.

You didn’t blame Suguru. Not after everything that had happened with Riko, Haibara, and everything else. But when you saw Satoru before you, despondent and broken — not a single inch of his usual flippant humor present, not a bit of his joy that he always had. But a part of you wanted to blame him — blame him for hurting Satoru, for hurting you, so prolifically.

But you couldn’t blame him all the same.

Satoru had spent the next few nights in your place, even sharing your bed at time, waking up with his long limbs tangled with your own, his face often buried in the crook of your neck, and you could see the evidence of dried tears on his face, despite his best efforts to cover his own tear tracks.

“Do you think I could have stopped him?” he had asked you that night, his head laid in your lap as you flipped through the channels of the shitty TV you had brought from home and refused to replace, “do you think he would have listened?”

“I think Suguru is even more stubborn as you are — because you were stubborn enough not to listen to your best friends,” your fingers cupped the bottom of his chin, “there wasn’t anything you could do — you can’t help someone who wasn’t willing to accept it,”

“I could have made him,” and his skies contained in his eyes were infinite — just as he thought of himself — but he wasn’t. Because unlike the sky, he was human.

“No, you couldn’t have,” you flick his forehead, and he pouts up at you, “and sitting here and wondering what ifs will do nothing for you — except drive you and your very excellent best friend crazy,”

“Lucky for me she loves me even when I drive her crazy,” and you roll your eyes, a smile pulling on your lips, as he stares up at you, your fingers mindlessly tracing the length of his jaw, feeling the quake of his body as he shivered under your touch.

“Very lucky,” and you could feel the pull between your bodies, the ever so slight way you leaned, willing for once to cross that line for him, for you — but he turned on his side, facing the TV instead of you.

“What should we watch?”

And you had promised yourself that night, you wouldn’t let your feelings get in the way of your friendship, you wouldn’t do that to him — because you knew he had already lost too much.

But now—he was the one trying to cross the line.

You stared at him, before scoffing, “Shut up,” but you were too afraid to let him. Your eyes drift back to the TV, leaning back against the couch — it was for the best this way, “think the heat’s getting to you more than you admit,”

“Maybe,” he hums, as you finish your popsicle and sigh, leaning back on the couch again, with a groan.

“It’s so fucking hot,” you sighed, leaning back on the couch, head hanging over the armrest.

And you could feel his gaze on you, undeterred from before, “Then let’s fuck to cool off.”

You almost think you heard him wrong, as you slowly lift your head to look at him. You must have heard him wrong. Satoru was known to make bad jokes or say ridiculous things — but not like this. And you find a smirk across his lips, but the heat in his gaze had not a hint of humor in it — burning hotter than the sun taunting all of Tokyo.

“What?” You don’t know what you want him to say — say that it was a joke, say that you heard him wrong, or just say it again. But your eyes can’t pull away from his, the blue of his eyes pulling you close instead of pushing you away unlike his technique by the same name.

“You heard me, sweetheart,” he tilts his head, biting into his popsicle, letting the tip slip into his mouth, “we could fuck the heat away,” the idea slips so casually from his lips, as if he was recommending a movie or a book, and not fucking you here and now.

“Satoru—“ your voice is chiding, you’re shaking your head, but the couch creaks as he leans forward, the remnants of his popsicle slipping down his abs and through his happy trail and seeping into his shorts, “don’t fuck around—“

“Do you think I’d say that to you of all people just to fuck around?” he raises his eyebrows, and your words flee your mind just as you wish to, but you sit, wondering if this is a literal fever dream from the heat, “you don’t have to think about it so much,”

“Don’t I?” you scoff, shaking your head, as you get to your feet, wiping the sweat from your forehead, “Satoru, why—“

And he’s getting to his feet, wiping the melted popsicle on his stomach with his white shirt, no longer caring as much as he said he did. And you can feel the heat radiate from his body, all consuming just as this heatwave was — clinging to you even as you tried to keep cool, sweat dripping off your flesh like the pleas that left your lips.

“I’ve thought about this for too long, too many times,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against your cheek, featherlight as if you’d break apart under his touch, “we’re sitting in your place — it’s just you and me. You’re asking why, and I’m asking why not?”’

“I don’t want to sleep with you just like that, I can’t. I want it—“ you cut off, but he doesn’t let you turn your head, hand cupping your cheek now.

“You want what, sweetheart?” Your mouth was impossibly dry, the words unable to force their way from your throat, “tell me, please,” and the pleading in his voice breaks you.

“I want it to mean something,” and his gaze softens, as your eyes meet his again, a ghost of a chuckle on his lips, “it’s not funny—“ and he’s daring even closer, a hand sliding down your side.

“It’s funny because you could think I would ever want anything that’s to do with you to be only meaningless,” he murmurs, words fanning your skin, and god it was so fucking hot. Between the temperature, his closeness, and his words, you were sure you’d pass out, “do you know how many times I wanted to do this? So many times during the days and nights we’d spent together, I wanted to just reach over and pull you into a kiss,”

“Then why didn’t you?” your brow furrows, “and why now?”

“Because I’m tired of waiting for a sign, for something in my head to tell me it’s safe, that you won’t disappear,” his thumb rubs back and forth, “just like every good thing in my life,”

“I’m pretty sure you’re stuck with me at this point,” and his lips curl, a breath away, “Toru—“

“Can I kiss you?” and you almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but you can’t, the heat so thick it feels as if every molecule of your body was on fire, and the only thing that could quench the flames was his lips. So you just nod wordlessly.

His lips find yours. It was chaste, a brush of his lips against yours, the lingering sweetness of the popsicle dancing on your tongue. It’s too soon that he’s pulling away, your lips mourning the absence of his touch already.

“Feeling cooler?” his words warm your lips, but even so you’re pulling him back into another kiss, lips sliding against his firmly, his fingers tangling in his hair, wanting nothing more than to melt into his grasp.

And you part your lips from his for a moment,” Not at all,” and your eyes flicker to your refrigerator, “but maybe we can cool down.”

“Fuck,” Satoru shivered, and he wasn’t sure if it was your lips against his pulse, or from the drag of the quickly melting popsicle against his burning skin. But neither of those compared to the soft groan ripped from his lips as your tongue dragged up his side, following the sticky, sweet trail of melted ice, mixing with his sweat, “well, am I sweeter than ice cream?”

He’s too sweet.

He’s certainly sweet like this, laid out on your bed for you, his shirt long discarded, his shorts about to join them. Soft pants made his chest rise and fall, slowing and quickening with your touch — his pulse thrumming under your touch.

But he’s also sweet with the way he looks up at you, soft eyes to match his smile, as if he was made to look at you like this. And a part of you wanted to believe he was — even if most of you couldn’t quite believe it.

Your lips curl, humming as you press a wet kiss to his sticky skin, “i don’t know, I need more time to make my final decision,” you lick up the length of the rapidly melting sweet, droplets of sweet sugar water dissolving on your tongue, but you knew it really was nothing compared to the taste of his lips.

But you weren’t going to tell him that.

You take a bite of the popsicle, before leaning down to kiss him, letting the ice melt between your tongues, as his fingers tangled in your locks, and soon enough he’s rolling you onto your back, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs.

And he leans forward, eating the last bit of the popsicle from the stick, “Well it’s my turn to taste now,”

“You can’t even wait your turn for this, huh—“ the last word is a squeal as his fingers slide into the waistband of your shorts, snapping it against your heated skin, flames licking everywhere he touches.

The melted popsicle runs down his muscles, rivulets running down the contours of his body, before dripping onto your burning skin, nipples pulling taut from the sticky sugar. He leans down to tease one nipple, sucking the melted liquid off, before doing the same to the other.

“I’ve waited long enough, sweetheart,” and he’s dragging your shorts off, thighs crying out in relief as the cool air of the fan did it’s job to ebb away the heat ever so slightly, drying the layer of sweat, “I don’t want to wait another minute,”

“So impatient,” you chide teasingly, voice lilting and yet he looks at you with a half lidded gaze, sending a wave of heat right to your core. And the way your thighs press together doesn’t go unnoticed, fingers splayed against the plushness of your thighs, forcing them gently apart. Your cheeks burned, and this time not from the weather, “Toru—“

His cerulean eyes find the wet patch of your panties, a smirk pulling at the corners of his pretty lips, “Don’t think this is sweat, baby,” he teases, fingers skimming over the damp spot, “or should I make sure?”

“Satoru—“ and your chiding is cut off by the sinful press of his fingers to your clothed cunt, his dark eyes lidded as they watch your slick soak through the ruined panties already. And you can’t help the way your hips buck against his hand, “you motherfucker—“

“Funny coming from the one humping my hand,” he grins, and his thumb grinds down against your clit, his other slipping under your ass to knead the soft flesh, “maybe it is sweat and I should just leave you to cool off,” his fingers slipping away, delicious friction that your cunt was already spread open, wet, and willing for—

A whine leaves your throat, an all too pretty noise, “Toru, please, I—“ and his fingers are hooking in the fabric of your panties before ripping them off, quite literally, the sound of tearing fabric making you gape at him, “what the fuck—“

“It’s too hot for these anyway,” Satoru pockets the panties in his shorts, “look at this, you’re burning up,” he stares at your leaking pussy shamelessly — because shame was a word that Satoru Gojo did not know, “and I think I know just what to do to cool you down,” his head leans down, blowing softly at your inner thighs, over the sweat mixed your pre that coated your skin, your folds twitching, just as the corners his lips did, “so needy,”

“You’re the fucking worst,” your words a mutter unfolding into a gasp as he drags a single finger up your leaking folds, gathering your slick on the tip of his index, and then he’s tracing a slow circle around your clit, “Toru,” your words are half pleading, half pouting. It’s so hot, his touch only serving to make you sweat — literally and metaphorically. You were sure your sheets would be ruined after this — and not just from your sweat.

“Lemme savor this, you kept me waiting so long, Princess,” his reverent words pressed against your inner thigh, teasing butterfly kisses that make you squirm, a flick of his sharp tongue that tastes the sweat against your skin, “how’re you this sweet? S’perfect,” his words are seemingly more for him than you, pussy drunk without even taking a single sip.

But not for long.

His nose bumps against your clit, tongue flicking against the seam of your messy cunt, eager fingers pulling the sticky, sweaty skin apart, and your cheeks burn with how exposed you feel—and how self conscious you were.

“M-maybe this isn’t a good idea. I’m really sweaty—“ and the flat of his tongue drags up your sopping pussy, and fuck, good wasn’t enough to describe it.

“Then I better clean my nasty girl up, right?” he cools your sticky skin with another soft puff of air blown between lips glossy with your precum, making you whimper as he pulls away, “one sec, sweetheart, think I need reinforcements,”

The creak of the bed as he scurried off for a moment making you lift your head, an embarrassingly strong ache between your legs making you whine, legs closing, as you bit your lip, “Toru, what the fuck—“

And he’s back, but not empty handed — a glass filled to the brim with ice, a grin on his lips, “ready to cool off, Princess?”

~~~

“A-ah, too cold,” you whine, and Satoru can’t help but disagree it’s far too hot — and it wasn’t the weather. It was you.

You were always hot. You always had been — otherwise how else did you melt his icy demeanor from the moment you met? Too big of a chip on his shoulder from all those years spent at the lonely top of his clan, and you had no problem keeping company up there while kicking off his pedestal.

Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. Gasps pulled from spit soaked lips, chest rising up and down, and your legs spread open just for him. You shivered as he dragged a half melted ice cube along your collarbone, water trailing behind that he was more than dragging his tongue along, the sweetness of your skin mixed with the tang of your sticky sweat.

How had he resisted for so long?

It had been years and years of pining. Of late night spent watching movies, of days spent fighting alongside each other, and even more days spent trying to get home to the other. And all that time, he still had stayed at the same distance.

Because it was safer. It was easier. But he wasn’t know what it was — the heat, patience wearing thin, the fucking sight of your smile even in this fucked world — but he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Not without you by his side.

“Think the ice would beg to differ, sweetheart,” he hums, as he presses a kiss over the pooling ice as it melts right above the swell of your breast, “I’d say it’s much too hot,” your nipples grow hard under his treatment, a hiss leaving your lips, as he sucks the ice water from one nipple while rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger.

“Toru, fuck, please—“ your words cut off with another gasp as he buries his face in the swell of your breasts, licking up the valley, before his lips find your pert nipples, lips closing around, sucking and licking, before nibbling at the skin.

“You always this needy, pretty? Or is it just for me?” his words are said teasingly, but his eyes are just as desperate as yours, fingers dragging down your sides now, “better be just for me,” he mutters more to himself than you, as you gasp, ice cold fingers prying your thighs apart, “heh, what a mess you’ve made,” his fingers skim your dripping cunt, and he lifts his fingers to spread them in front of your face, your pre strung like spider webs between them, “don’t think sweat’s does this, does it?”

And he turns his head, pressing kisses to your thighs, a glorified slip and slide from your sweat and pre alike, but how was it that you still tasted so sweet? A whimper escapes your bitten lips, his breath warming your pussy, a puff of air blowing over your twitching entrance, eyes sliding to the glass of melting ice.

“You put a fucking ice cube in me and I’ll—“ he snorts, but grabs an ice cube all the same.

“Only I belong inside you, baby, nothing else,” and he presses the ice cube to his lips, your eyes hypnotized as you watch him drag it back and forth, until he lets it slip into his lips, melting as he leans down, “now let me cool you off,” he presses his lips to your clit, a short kiss that has him melting all the same.

You jerk. Cold. His lips tingled as his lips enveloped your clit, and his tongue was no better. Fucking freezing, a yelp that he rips from your body, as you can’t help but squirm. But he doesn’t let you get away that easily. Because nothing about the two of you was ever easy.

His fingers press into your hips, arms pinning your body to the mussed sheets of your bed, as his tongue circles your clit, cold ebbing away with each stroke, until he’s lost in the warmth of your pussy.

And Satoru only could wish he set up a camera — so he can watch you again and again with your gaze hazy with lust, tears welling like the condensation on the glass on making your eyes just as glassy, but you stared at him all the same.

So he might as well give you a show.

“Fuck, could live in this tight cunt, you’re gonna be the only sweet thing I drink all summer,” the only summer drink he will settle for — the only thing sweeter than sugar itself — and he only one he wants. His tongue parts your folds, sinking deeper past your entrance, until he’s practically tongue fucking you, face buried in your cunt.

“T-Toru, ngh, too much,” and it was all too much for him — your soft moans, the lewd squelch of your pussy, the tremble of your thighs as he ate you out, and his tongue pulls back a moment, choosing to focus on your clit, as he sinks a cold finger inside, “fuck!”

“Now you’re getting it, Princess,” he coos, and your scowl only lasts a second as his thick finger fucks you open, “gotta make sure I fit don’t I?”

“You’re so fucking full of it—how about less talk and more—“ and he presses his erection against your leg, letting you feel how hard you’ve gotten him, and how fucking much he could cum in his boxers here and now. And you whimper, pussy clenching at the sight of him, “Toru, how will you—how—“

He’s so fucking big.

“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart,” and he’s slipping in a second finger, as his tongue laps at your clit, “I’ll make myself fit,” and he would be the only one who would fit, the only one that could fuck your cunt, have his fingers curling deep, the only one making your head loll back against the pillow, “she’ll let me in, fuck you right, make sure I can carve out a nice place for myself — when I fuck every inch of her,”

And his fingers piston into you, surely pruning with how your pre slips down his wrists and the wet sounds of your sloppy cunt grow louder, almost louder than the moans you make.

Almost.

“Said I’m the fucking worst, but it sounds like I’m the best, huh?” and you’re too far lost in the pleasure, nodding your head, as he’s fucked all the logic from your mind — leaving only want behind. And it seems like you both were on the same page now.

It was nasty, the way his tongue took turns lapping at your walls, before teasing them open with his fingers. The way his sweat dripped down his face and mixed with your pre as he glued himself to your pretty pussy — and he was sure he could die of heatstroke with how fucking warm your pussy was.

And he would die happy.

But he knew you were close — with the way your hips were nearly grinding against his face and fingers, spit mixing with pre as he pulled away a moment, continuing to hit every spot that drove you to the edge closer and closer, “G’nna cum already, baby?” His taunting lilt makes you scowl, even with how far gone you were, “s’cute, is it that easy?”

“T-toru, I swear—“ and his lips latch to your clit, sucking hard, right as his fingers find that spot—and he swears your soul leaves your body, your body tenses under his touch, lovely lips falling open with his name on it as you cum.

Well, more like squirt, your release making even more of a mess of yourself, the sheets, and him. It splatters across his face and hands, and he’s groaning, vibrating against your cunt, as he fucks you through your orgasm, sucking and slurping every drop you gave him. And it’s a feat as you absolutely drench his mouth, slick, sweat, and spit, dripping down his jaw.

And he’s a fucking vision, once you get it back, far gone in the pleasure, as he continued to lap at you, until he finally pulls his fingers from you, and your eyes flutter open, chest rising and falling as you watch him lick each one of his digits clean, sliding him into his mouth, “what? Y’know i love my sweets,” his tongue then darts out to clean your slick from his face, before wiping the rest off.

You’re reaching for him, eager fingers finding his shoulder, as you tug him on top of you, before flipping him with ease, so his back hits the mattress. He stares up at you — and god, did he always look at you like this? And how did you never see it — and how would you ever stop?

“Princess—” but you don’t let him protest, lips meeting his, a soft groan as you taste yourself on his lips, palms sliding down his sticky chest, and your lips journey downwards, ghosting down his body. Your lips linger over his raised nipples, tonguing and teasing them, a hint of sweetness that lingers from his popsicle undoubtedly.

“And you said I was sweet, you’re the one covered in melted popsicle,” you mumble, and he smirks, but his reply melts into a groan as the tip of your tongue traces the ridges of his abs, “can’t take it, Toru?”

“F-fuck, can you blame me, sweetheart? Been thinking about this for too long. Wanted nothing more, nothing more than you,” and your lips graze down his happy trail, a sharp inhale as he shudders as your fingers dip into the elastic of his boxers, tugging it down.

He’s perfect — just like every part of him, almost annoyingly so, if you weren’t too busy drooling over it. Swollen tip flushed a deep red, while the rest was a perfect blush pink that you wanted to paint your cheeks with, glossy with precum and sweat, begging to be touched.

And you were more than happy to oblige.

He nearly cums then and there when his cock grazes your cheek, smearing his pearly precum across your face. You turn your head, letting his tip drag over your lips, painting your lips with his pre.

“Shit—“ he sucks air between his teeth, fingers digging into the sheets of the mattress, “not gonna last long at this rate—“

“I’ve barely started, surprised the honored one hasn’t cummed in his boxers yet,” he pouts, before he’s hissing as your lips press teasing kisses to your inner thighs, “can’t handle the heat?” And the tip of your tongue licks at the pubes above his cock, the melted sugar water clinging to the skin there, leaning down to kiss the tip of his cock— “then maybe you shouldn’t have started this—-“

And his fingers sink into your flesh, and now you’re on your back, sweat making you nearly stick to the sheets but you could care less with the sight above you. His cheeks flushed as he looks at down at you, but his lips curled in the same grin he always had, “oh, I’m going to be the one end it,”

“End it? Don’t tell me this is the last I’m seeing of you,” vulnerability creeps back in a moment, and his fingers traces the curve of your cheek and down to your lips — “didn’t take you the type to hit it and quit it,”

And he snorts, “I didn’t take you as the type to know what that means,” but his thumb rubs back and forth across your bottom lip, “but do you think after all this time I could ever quit you?”

His fingers grasp at the base of his weeping cock, groaning as he teases your entrance with his tip, marking you with his precum, your gasp making his dick twitch, as if it’s begging to be inside you. “All of this is for you,” he grunts, guiding your hand to his chest, feeling his heart thus underneath your palm, “it’s always been for you,”

“I’m starting to think you didn’t wanna just fuck the heat away,” and he laughs, his tip kissing your entrance, just as he brushed his lips against yours.

“Well, who said that was the only reason?” And he’s sinking inside you, inch by inch. And there far too many fucking inches. He groans at the sight of your folds, swallowing his cock whole, walls stretching around his length, “look how good you take me — this perfect pussy was made for me, isn’t that right?” and you’re nodding wordlessly, lips parted in a silent moan, as your walls pulled him deeper and deeper, “not g’nna be able to control myself, shit, feels too good, princess,”

“Feels too good to be like this,” you’re panting as the words leave your lips, your eyes glassy with lust — Satoru swears you could look at him, and it would be enough for him to fuck you all over again, “too big, Toru — you gonna fuck me stupid,” and you can feel his dick grow, pushing against your walls as he bottoms out, and you whine in return, “hngh, I wasn’t being serious—”

“So tight,” An almost guttural hiss pulled from the back of his throat, and he’s smug as he looks down at you, mouth fallen open, “I’m always serious about fucking you stupid, sweetheart,” as he lifts your legs, pressing them to your chest, your ankles dangling next to his head, as he kisses the soft skin there, a wicked grin, despite the sweat trickling down his face, “it’s the one time I can be smarter than you,”

He’s torturing you. Torturing you as he grinds his hips roughly against you, the lewd noises of your sloppy cunt and the sticky perspiration between your bodies deafening, yet still won’t give you what you want. More than that, the heat between your bodies was too much — flames engulfed every muscle with every brush of his body against yours, every twitch of his dick inside you, and veins full of fire rather than blood. And you were sure you’d spontaneously combust in this heat, and he’d still fuck you all the same — letting himself be swallowed up by the fire just as well.

Your moan was almost unrecognizable to you, the pleading in your voice bone deep, just as the heat was, “Please, Toru, move,” and he’s grunting, and you know he wants you — has wanted you all these years, and he only smiles at your words, a short laugh on his lips.

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” and his fingers dig into your hips as he begins to fuck you, hard and fast. His balls slap against your skin, the noise ringing in your ears, and your cunt resists every time he pulls out — as if you never want him to go. And he never will. He can’t stand the thought of anyone else seeing you like this — see the way your lips part in moans; the way your eyes glaze over in pleasure; the way sweat drips down your face, running down into the divot between your tits; the way your tight cunt bulges at the sides as you take his dick so well — no, this is a sight just for him, “s’pretty, and all for me,”

You’re already s’close after all the teasing all night, the sounds of his grunts and groans doing nothing to help as his tip rams against your cervix, and you’re sure his dick is fucking places you only dreamed of reaching, but still you can’t help but want more—so much so that the word slips from your mouth.

He laughs, fingers pushing on the slight bulge in your stomach making you gasp, the sweat of his palm mixing with your own that gathered on your stomach, “Even when you’re getting your guts fucked, you want more, sweetheart?” and his fingers rub meanly at your clit, pinching and pulling at the sensitive spot as his tip hits that spot that has your vision blurring again and again, “I’ll give you anything you want, because you’re mine,”

And you’re surprised the bed frame doesn’t break as he begins to slam into you, but it does creak, begging for a break, just as you had begged for this dick. Your eyes water as he rams into you, rutting like a dog in heat, and maybe he was — maybe you both were.

“Toru, Toru, I’m close, s’close, I can’t—“ and you’re so cute, like this, whining and begging for him, for the thing only he can give you — and he’s twitching inside you, and he knows he’s not far behind.

“Cum for me,” he nearly orders, and his words are the thing that makes the ribbon of heat in your cunt snap. Your toes curl, as you cum hard around his cock, walls squeezing and shuddering around him as he only pistons into you harder and deeper, intent on making you feel pleasure in every inch of your body, and he’s shifting your legs, hands helping you wrap them around his waist, as he ruts into you, chasing his own high.

You’re boneless and long gone, as your chest bumps against his as he fucks you, but you still manage to find words to push him over the edge, goad him as you always did, because you know right where to touch (especially now).

“G’nna cum inside me, Toru? Fill me up with your release?” and he swore he lost the ability to breathe, heat and your words stealing the breath from his lungs, as he ruts into you, mix of sweat and sex making his head spin, but not as much as your sweet cunt does.

He’s close, he knows he is, especially when he looks to see the ring of cum and sweat around the base of his cock, and when your fingers thread through his white locks, thumb rubbing against his undercut, to pull him back into a bruising kiss, right as his cock hits your deepest part again—

“Cum for me, Toru,” and he does, uncoiling at your command, spurting thick ropes of cum inside your walls, painting your insides, as he fucks it deeper into you with every roll of his hips. Debauched groans leaving his lips as he murmurs how perfect you are, because you are — even more than he could have ever imagined. His thrusts slow, the sticky sweat and cum drenching both of you and the sheets alike. He pulls himself gently from inside, groaning at the loss of your warmth, but also wondering if your cunt doubled as an oven — the cool air of the fan sliding over his bare skin a relief.

He eases onto your side, pressing sweet kisses all over your face, before you bury it in the crook of his neck for a moment, before pulling away, “You’re all sticky,” you wrinkle your nose, with a whine, and he laughs, a shit eating grin on his lips — more euphoric than sarcastic.

“Well, who’s fault is that?” and you’re pouting, brow furrowed.

“The same guy’s bright idea it was to fuck in the middle of a fucking heatwave,” and he props himself up, the sheets nearly glued to him as he took in the damage, mussed and ruined with the mess of cum, sweat, and spit all over, “you’re buying me new sheets,” and he chuckles, leaning over to peck your lips.

“I’ll buy you a new bed if you ever let me do that again,” and you shake your head, eyes fluttering open and then closed, as he nosed as the column of your neck, completely fascinated with the way your skin was glowing still after all of that, “you just gonna doze off after all of that? Such a nasty girl, we gotta clean up after all that, don’t we?”

“Don’t wanna get up,” and he chuckles, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head, but the touch seems to make you whine, “fuck, but its so hot,”

“And yet I didn’t hear you complaining when I was fucking you,” he tilts your chin up, glazed over eyes fluttering open to meet his, and how was it that your gaze alone was enough to want him to pin you down and fuck you all over again? “Told ya it was a good idea to fuck the heat away,”

“Except when it ends up like this,” and he sighs, the creak of the mattress underneath, as he gets to his feet, “what are you—ah!” he’s lifted you into his arms, sweat soaked bodies sticking together nearly as he carries you through the living room, making a small pit stop to grab two ice cold water bottles, sounds of the TV still floating through the apartment, towards your shower.

“Who said this heatwave was over yet?”

A weather report was playing, a snippet Satoru caught before he shut the door. Reports say the heatwave is going to continue for the rest of the week. Residents are advised to stay inside until things finally cool down!

“You hear that, sweetheart?” as he sets you down, turning on the water of the shower, letting the cold water soak you both, as he loomed over you, pinning you against the shower wall, “guess it’s just you and me for a week,” and he opens the water bottle, taking a sip before pressing his lips to yours, forcing you swallow the water, tongue seeking after it.

His fingers rest below your chin, as his lips ghost over the curve of your jaw and the slope of your neck, before his teeth graze the hollow of your throat, as his fingers sneak down to tease at your aching cunt, sinking in to stuff his cum dripping down your thighs back inside, “lucky I know just how to keep you cool, right?”

✧ a/n: its been super hot here where i live and i'm dying so i want gojo to come fuck the heat away.

✧ taglist: @mysticaltigersorceress, @kentocalls, @biblioth-que, @dreamtardisspace, @augustwinesworld, @totallytatum, @hanxyy, @sxnkuna, @spindyl, @rosiesroseas, @kxouri, @elisaj313-blog, @theelegantpotato, @peppertoastuniverse, @alwaysfreakingout, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @pompompurin-rambles, @catsgomurp, @admirxation, @ninikrumbs, @equanimoushuman, @mysticaltigersorceress, @eightantseatingapplesss, @notgoodforlife, @satowooo, @gojo-gets-me-wetter, @ivypinsss, @fayyyrieee, @hcn-eyes, @designerpvssy, @mua-for-now, @sukunabish, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @suguwife, @forest-fruits-jam, @pinkyvomit, @ranatherealestsigma, @gojosbrat, @megumibrainrot, @pxppygirl

#sab [mlist]#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fanfiction #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk x you #jjk #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen

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yanderenightmare · 5 months ago

Text

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, captive reader, omegaverse, forced bonding is implied, subjugation, some type of sexism, soft dom, but extremely patronizing

♡ fem reader

You offer to go down on him for the first time since he claimed you for himself, and his heart swells with all sorts of bliss—shock and awe, love and pride—utterly overjoyed at the pretty sight of you, so pliant and on your knees, acting like a proper Omega for a change—his cutest little mate. It’s so adorable he ought to take pictures, yet he doesn’t want to miss a thing or spoil the mood—after all, you always get so embarrassed when he brings the camera out.

So he settles for just watching—his adoring eyes resting on you, admiring how you struggle to fit all of him inside your mouth, thinking it’s the just cutest and sweetest how you try so hard for him. Bless whatever brought this new change of behavior on. He can’t be grateful enough.

It was only a couple of days ago when you’d still bite and claw and run away from him at every turn, growling and snarling like a rabid wildling and not the sweet Omega he knew you could be with the proper love and care. Maybe it’s just that—has his love for you finally tamed you? Oh, he couldn’t be more pleased if that’s it.

Look at you… trying your very best. He didn’t mind if you could only fit half of him—just seeing you try to take it all made him more than happy. The way your pink tongue slides along his veins—all teasingly and ticklish—makes him smile while looking down at you. Petting your head in smooth, encouraging strokes—reminding you to breathe every now and again.

He even pinches your cheek when you cough, crooning, “Careful now, there’s no need to rush, baby—take it slow.”

You curse him from where you kneel at his feet, trying to get it over with quickly. Despite your struggles, he seems pleased, and you think you might have managed to get yourself off the hook. That is… until he wraps his cock with one of his big hands and pulls it away from you.

“I think that’s enough for now,” he says in his best attempt at sounding suave by nature, and yet, as you look up at him, you see it plain as day.

It makes your guts fold—the eagerness that encompasses him as he looks down at you with kind eyes and a smile—not completely able to hide the frenzy behind it.

No, please, you sulk inwardly—your clit is so sensitive from yesterday, you think you might die if he toys with it again today. You almost indulge the urge to scoot back, attempt to crawl away, and hide in false hope. But you know, chasing you around would just serve as kindling to his inner animal—he would take it as a game, hunting and pinning you down only to lick you clean like a dug-up bone.

You shudder at the thought and almost beg him to allow you to continue, almost insist you can do better, but all you manage is to bite your tongue and cry instead.

“You did so good, baby, don’t pout,” he coos, cradling your face and lifting it up to let him kiss it silly—chastely yet excessively—quick pecks all over, the same way you’d kiss something that’s just too cute for its own good.

It’s his way of comforting you, you suppose, or it might just be him poking fun. You can never really tell with him—if his coddling is all some act or something even more unsettling. But you suppose it doesn’t really matter either.

“Come here, baby, and I’ll do the rest, okay?” he asks, and yet it isn’t a question as he hauls you up off the floor and repositions you as he sees fit—on your back, belly-up beneath him.

His alpha pheromones are quick to overwhelm you, thick and suffocating, pouring over you in waves, drenching you in sweat and something else—something that makes everything sensitive.

The former fight you had when you were still independent has all but left you completely—siphoned from your being every day that’s passed and left you soft like the rest of those Omegas you vowed you’d never become—weak-willed with a body even more so. You feel like a stuffed animal at this point, full of cloudy cotton with a broken voice device that only knows how to squeak when played with.

He takes you beneath the knees and folds them down neatly by your head—one large hand taking both your summoned ankles in a single grip—and you’re locked in, unable to do much else other than pant—kept from breathing too much by the weight of your own thighs pressing down on you.

This had been what you were trying to avoid—this awful position which he seems to love just as much as you dread.

He whistles in awe at the pretty sight of you—all squished beneath him like that—face flushed, and your bloated lips parted with cute little draws of breath—tits bunched together, glossed in a sheen of sweat and heaving with the labored rise and fall of your chest—and that adorable cunt, wet and puffy, swollen up like a pink pillow eagerly waiting for him, a soft bed for his cock and a perfectly bite-sized slice of his favorite cake. His gut rumbles, and his mouth soaks. To think he hasn’t had a single taste all day—he’s beyond starving.

You squirm under him, and he chuckles again, this time breathily—showing more of the unsightly animal with the low growl that seeps into his voice, “Such a pretty girl…” It’s unclear if he’s talking to you as his inkwell eyes are set on something else. He sags forward, back hunched as he bows down to face the object of his desire with only a hair’s breadth of separation—breaths thick, puffed hot against you—canines bared in an eerie smile. “So shy…”

He ignores your wiggling completely—pinching the chunk of cunt where your clit hides, making it peak forth like a little button to press, and his grin broadens.

“There it is,” he licks his teeth with a raspy sigh—eyes wide and deadset. “My beauty.”

You squirm a little more, even though you know you’re not going anywhere until he’s satisfied. He doesn’t waste much more time—not allowing you to prepare. Keeping the pinch, he opens his mouth wide and takes the chub with eyes closed, tongue flattened and wide, cloaking your exposed clit with thirst. “Mmgh…”

He always gets like this—cute-aggressive and pussy-whipped. It’s as if he and your cunt have their own private affair, the way he completely ignores you. No, that’s not entirely fair—he gets like that when feeding you his tongue as well, but you suppose it’s easier making out with your pussy as it doesn’t need to get up for air.

Neither does he, it seems.

He groans loudly and releases your clit from his pinching grip—but keeps his whole mouth on you—lips, tongue, and all—nose and chin too, buried there while his hand moves down to slip three digits inside, filling you up with little regard to the stretch.

Your breath flares and shudders with a whimpery moan, toes curling along with his fingers, biting your lip at how he hooks them right into the soft spot of your gummy walls, then fingerbangs you fast, right down to the knuckles each time.

“Fuck, baby—so, so good, always so good,” he slurs out into you, tongue otherwise too engaged to bother sounding coherent, yet you understand nonetheless, even though you can never really get used to it—how utterly unashamed he is. “Come on, baby, cum f’mo—cum on my face—” he all but happily begs, tongue out, slurping your slit brazenly.

He’s not a very classic Alpha—how he worships you on his hands and knees with a throat full of plead and praise. He doesn’t even touch himself—cock left hung and bobbing against the bedsheets, hard and strung up with a net of veins, pilling pearls of pre that all go to waste—too busy with you.

It’s stupid how you’re the one who ends up feeling ignored as the unwanted and overwhelming pleasure manhandles you into submission.

“Cum, baby, give it to me.”

You mewl as his tongue draws something out from within you, making your clit blare and thrum with your heartbeat. You struggle to enjoy it, you always do, feeling forced to surrender, and yet the more you try and deny it, the firmer his hold gets, relentless as he sends you right over the edge. You yelp and seize up once it takes you—clenching tightly around his digits as they unknot your insides, turning you into utter putty in his palm.

And even then, he doesn’t stop—as if he doesn’t know how—sighing with elation as you quake on his tongue. That crooked smile on his face, nothing short of predatory and vile as he maintains the motion of his fingers, moaning in turn at your cute spasming and all the wordless babble that leaves your lips as you shake your head, crying for him to leave it alone. “Plea’ no more—stop, too much—”

He just chuckles against you—you really are too cute for your own good. Silly little Omega, don’t you know what your pheromones do to him? But okay, fine, since you asked nicely. He gives the slit one last thorough lick before wiping his smile while sitting up.

You haven’t even started coming down when he dabs the weight of his shaft upon the sensitivity, cooing at the lewd little plaps it makes, all slick as he slides the length between your flustered pussylips—fucking through the fat of the mound, running over your full clit, again and again, while listening to you squeak more nothings.

He only croons, “Yeah, I know you like that, baby—this pretty pussy of yours just loves my attention, doesn’t it?" His eyes seem to glow with something sickly, his voice thin, just shy of unhinged. "Always so cute, I could die.”

He can’t get over it—you’re too adorable like this. Watching you pleasure him was a welcome surprise, but ultimately, this is how he always wants you—flipped and pinned with your cunt exposed to his every wish—his favorite toy that never disappoints.

“Your pretty pussy’s always such a crybaby, y’know that? Look how it weeps f’mo—so needy to get stuffed. I bet you want my knot, huh?” he keeps mumbling while using his cock to play with your overworked cunt without yet entering it. “Alright, baby—don’t worry—I’ll give it to you,” he rasps, drooling.

You can’t keep from whimpering when the bed jostles, accounting for his repositioning as he moves to mount you with his feet planted down flat on the bed. Your ankles are pinned passed your head at this point, tipping your cunt up higher than your head.

“Yeah—I’ll give you what you want.” His voice darkens, and so does the look in his eyes—soaked in something you don’t like—something wild and downright terrifying. “And I’ll give it to you good.”

You almost protest, but you know there’s no getting through to him—not with that expression. You hate Alphas, you hate him, and you really hate this awful pose—this mating-press pile-driving overkill where he always bullies into the backroom of your cunt, insisting on fucking your cervix as he digs his cockhead right at the mouth of your womb, knotting you and filling you up with the full worth of his load. It never fails to make you feel utterly wrecked and bedridden in the morning.

But he doesn’t care about that. You have no places you’re supposed to be anyway—nowhere aside from right here, in his bed, where you belong—his sweet Omega bride who’s going to give him lots of pups.

He lines himself up, pressing his head past the ring—watching it swallow around him and biting his lip at the sight. “Look at it, baby—look as I stuff that perfect pussy all the way up—”

He sinks in slowly, revering your cunt for every inch you receive—watching it in awe as it takes the entirety of his length right down to the base. It’s like a magic trick how it all disappears—you’re so tiny, and yet you’re built for this, to take every part of him in, hugging his shaft with velvet heat, milking him as he kneads the spot inside you that always makes you cry out so good for him.

“Yes, baby—that’s my girl—take it all,” he coos, all but sitting on your ass with his cock down your cunt. “It’s like your pussy’s made for me, isn’t it? Perfectly tight, perfectly deep, perfectly wet and chunky to feel like I’m fucking heaven itself—”

You feel no different from a toy when he does this—a squeaky toy manufactured for a Chihuahua puppy, yet mistakenly given to a full-grown Rottweiler. He straight dogs your cunt through several peaks—so soaked now that it fossettes down both the slope of your belly and the cliff of your spine. And still, he keeps going, rambling on like usual—all words that fail to reach you.

You’re so lightheaded you’re on the brink of passing out—overheating and out of strength, numb and tingly, beyond happy when you finally feel his knot swell within, propping you to take his seed.

He keels over—his thighs pressed down tightly atop yours—panting above you—eyes half-mast and glazed, almost crying in bliss while feeding you his cum, knowing it's flooding your womb, breeding you full of warmth and love.

“Yes, every drop, baby—it’s all yours.” He keeps a thumb rubbing over your clit as he croons. Voice beyond lovesick, “Let’s make too many pups to count.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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