#especially 'only you darling'

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unhinged review warning:

UMMMM HELLO??? i was expecting this to be good after you had announced it last night, but THIS??? it's incredible !! thank you for writing this <3 i'm trying so hard to pick a favorite part of the story, but it's all just So Good. the history between soobin and the reader is honestly to die for, and the SMUT!! ugh and the way soobin cleaned the reader up had me gripping the sides of my laptop. this is the best cowboy fic i've read and i am forever grateful to the person who uploaded the soobin edit lmaoo

your fics never fail to leave me speechless after reading them. it honestly feels illegal to be able to read your works for free lmaoo i would pay ungodly amounts of money for them. your storytelling is INSANE. you can give the entire history of your characters all within a few paragraphs. you're seriously an incredibly talented writer. everything that you write is so unique- from the plot to your writing style.

i'm going to stop myself from rambling on about your writing now lol thank you again for writing this!

My Life in Your Hands

Song: Cien Años, Natalia Lafourcade, Pepe Aguilar

“The life of a detective hasn’t always been so lonely; you knew how to trust, once. But after being shown the dangers of vulnerability, you choose to keep it safe and focus on more important matters— completing your mission and stopping a certain outlaw that dares open a door you long ago lost the key to.”

criminal!Soobin x detective!reader

Genre: enemies to… reluctant enemies? It’s weird. Mutual pining, angst, smut, he’s a cowboy your honor 

word count: 7.9K

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, guns, death, violence, blood, injuries, pet names (mostly anything with “pretty” in front of it.)

Smut Warnings: no established dom/sub dynamics, they’re just really hurt and angry, marking, possessiveness, dry humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, manhandling, cum eating,  teasing, begging, scratching, multiple orgasms, creampie 

Notes: this turned out so much sadder than I meant it to be?? It was just supposed to be a silly cowboy story, how did I get here… also, the song is really fitting… sad, but fitting. If you’re curious about anything after reading, feel free to ask me on my blog!

The air becomes tense the moment you step into the bar. 

It’s quiet— too quiet, the people seated around you leaning in and whispering secretly as though their conversations were dangerous. The air is foggy and dense with smoke as the customers drink under low lights, eyes shifting from the singer onstage to you, taking your figure in before they’re moving on to the next eye-catching thing. 

This bar is made up of regulars— everyday customers and familiar faces that nod to each other, waving over their favorite waitresses as they ask for another glass of whiskey— and her time, if she’s willing. The sight practically makes you gag, the wooden chair creaking lowly beneath you as you lean back to inspect the place; your hat is low on your head as you slowly scan the room, hyper-aware of every movement that is being made around you.

“How can I help you today ma’am?” The server before you is pretty, her perfectly rouge lips sculpted into an impeccable smile as she flutters her lashes sweetly at you; all you can do is softly dismiss her, asking for a simple glass of water as you try to ignore the confusion on her face. 

“ ‘m just waiting for someone, is all,” your voice is gruff as you find an odd need to clarify your behavior that might seem strange, a slight relief entering your system as you see her brightly nod in understanding before she’s off. 

You’re not here to drink at all, you think somberly, eyes flitting back to the main entrance for just a moment, but you’re not completely lying about waiting for someone. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by the loud arguments that continue to build up to your left, the table next to you suddenly becoming fussy over a game of poker. Yet you pay them no mind, the dull glint of the guns in their holsters giving you more than enough of a warning to not spare them so much as a dirty look. 

“Here you are ma’am,” the waitress says, daintily placing down a glass of water before she’s standing straight, clearing her throat as you barely regard her, “let me know if there’s anything else you need.” 

A nod is all you give her— your attention is much more focused on the young man that enters the bar, quietly slipping in as he makes his way toward you. He’s tall, dressed in black jeans and a black leather jacket that contrasts greatly with the white button-up he wears. His shoes click softly to the beat of the singer’s song, arms lazily swinging by his sides as he reaches up to adjust his pristine, white cowboy hat.

Looking down, you allow your own hat to obscure your view as you feel him walk past you, the slight breeze he leaves behind allowing you to catch a whiff of his cologne— then he’s sitting, the loud screech of the chair against the wooden floor making you wince slightly as he allows himself to get comfortable. 

“Gentlemen,” you hear him say, the sight of him nodding to the same loud patrons from earlier being caught in your peripheral vision. His voice is soft and deep, and it only lowers more as he leans into the table, the rest following along as they begin to discuss a seemingly urgent matter. 

You try to listen in— you really do— but you’re unable to pick up on anything, your teeth gritting together in frustration as it all becomes incoherent mumbling to your ears. But then, you hear it— “reward money.”

You’re practically on the edge of your seat as you look forward, seemingly mesmerized by the woman on stage as your fingers drum along absentmindedly to the music. To any outsider, you’d look entirely drawn in by her performance— but it’s far from that. You think your ears might strain from how hard you attempt to listen in, a frown on your face as you’re only able to pick up on a few keywords; they all mash together until he pulls out a heavy key from his pocket, the sound of it a dull thud against the wooden table.

“Careful now boys,” he scolds, immediately placing a protective hand over it as the others attempt to snatch it away. His fingers are slender and careful as they wrap around the item, slowly picking it up before he’s stashing it away safely in an inner breast pocket— briefly, you allow yourself to steal a glance as your eyes hone in on the sight. 

“I worked mighty hard for that little key you saw there,” he pouts, leaning back in his seat as his arms are crossed over his chest firmly, the thick muscle showing even under the layers and dim lighting, “I think it’s time we discuss my payment.”

“How do we know you’re not cheatin’ us?” A man chimes in, a frown on his face as he leans on his elbows, “for all we know, that key could be a fake.”

“A fake?” The man scoffs, laughing softly as his brows raise in bewilderment, “you know I’d never do that you guys.” 

His words begin to become drowned out in your mind, much more focused instead on how you’re going to take that key away from them— and leave in one piece, of course. 

There are five of them now, you calculate, sparing a glance to the rest of the bar, no doubt that there are more of Yeonjun’s goons lying around as well. 

It’s surprising to see that the leader of his own gang isn’t present to take charge of the transaction, but you’re sure that he’s found other ways to entertain himself— briefly, your eyes wander back to the bar and its excess of pretty women; you grimace at your thoughts and its implications. 

Instead, his right-hand man seems to be present in his place— though, you’ve always thought Hueningkai had too much of a short temper to be a proper leader. Even now, your theory proves to be true, the young man glaring daggers at the sly man before them, clearly doubting every word he’s told as his posture remains stiff. 

“Come on now, you know Yeonjun wouldn’t have approved of this if he couldn’t trust me,” the man says, tipping back his hat as his narrowed eyes come into the light, “Why don’t you just give me the money now and hunt me down later if it makes you feel better.” 

You’re in disbelief that this man would be willing to give up this key so easily— whatever they’re offering, it must be more than enough.

There’s not a price that compares to what he has in his pocket, you think, just as suspicious as the substitute leader as you try not to glance back at the table again, it would be foolish to give it up now. 

That key could guarantee an easy life— the key to a hidden vault, filled to the brim with gold and smuggled treasures from the fortune of one of the greatest leaders that ever hit the underground crime scene; The late Kim Namjoon would be fuming if he knew it managed to slip out of his unknown heir’s hands. 

Then again, many speculate that it wasn’t a simple key that would open this vault— he was a great mind after all, and Kim Namjoon would not let such a flimsy security measure stick; it is rumored that the key that is currently slid across that wooden table is only the first step to acquiring the fortune. 

Your job is to see if that rumor proves to be true. 

The sound of a heavy briefcase brings you out of your daze— the recipient doesn’t even bother peering inside as a wide grin is spread across his face, thanking them as they all stand to leave; he doesn’t stand with them, bidding them goodbye and safe travels as he eagerly waves them away— it is silent, save for the sound of his whiskey glass hitting the table after he downed it; clicking his tongue, he sighs.

“Pretty lady, whatcha thinkin’ bout over there?”

His loud call doesn’t phase you; your fingernails dig into the wood as you trace shapes on it, not bothering to look at the sound of a chair being dragged against the wood. Slow, calculated steps come closer to you, and the thud of his briefcase comes first before the thud of his body falling into the chair. 

“Couldn’t solve the puzzle,” you pause, looking up as you catch the way the man’s smile widens as your eyes meet his, “Soobin?”

“Oh please,” he says, tilting his head as he leans forward, hand on his chin as he takes your appearance in, “you know all their brains put together couldn’t even amount to half of mine.” 

You roll your eyes at the thought— he’s as narcissistic as always.

“Too much work then?” You muse, pouting as a finger circles the rim of your glass mindlessly, “you gave it up so easily.”

“You hurt me, pretty girl,” Soobin says, a pout to match yours gracing his lips as he shakes his head, “you’ve always been one to underestimate me.”

“What is it, then?” You say, your voice hardening as you attempt to come up with reasoning for his actions, “what number could they have possibly given you that made you give up that key?” 

He tuts at your tone of voice— completely dismissive of the glare you fix him, he clicks his tongue as he feigns getting lost in thought; it isn’t long before a fiendish smile sneaks onto his lips. 

“There isn’t a price in the world that would make me hand that key over,” he says, leaning in so close that you think he might just pounce at you— but he doesn’t, sending you a wink instead, “Now I have to go before the chase begins.”

He’s taking off before you know it— the suitcase is left behind, and you’re out of your seat before you can second guess yourself. You kick the suitcase open— there’s nothing but paper in there. 

It was a setup. 

The absence of music is suddenly much more apparent to you— there are no workers around, and the silence is quickly filled by the bullets that come your way; the chair beside you breaks to pieces from the impact of the stray shots. 

You’re quick to flip the table on its side— even quicker to run away, only able to take down a few of Yeonjun’s men before you’re running out of bullets, the rest of the patrons much more involved as they partake in the fight that breaks out. The calming music that once filled the air is now replaced by bullets and the dull thuds of bodies falling around you; the familiar bark of Yeonjun’s voice reaches your ears, followed by hurried footsteps and mumbles of Soobin’s and your names. 

“That fuckin’ detective got some real guts, showin’ up and sittin’ beside us like that,” Yeonjun grits out, kicking away any obstacles as he continues his search, firing at every person that attempts to reach for their weapon and aim it at him.

“I know you’re still here, detective!” Yeonjun yells, fuming as he steps on the bullet wound of a patron— the scream of agony echoes throughout the place as you wince at the sound, “come out now and I’ll go easy on you!”

The only other exit is behind the bar in the employee’s lounge— and by now you’ve crawled your way into some random nook that you can feel your limbs beginning to tense, your teeth sinking into your tongue as you try to ignore the pool of blood from a nearby body that is slowly inching towards you.

“We could work together, even!” He muses, eyeing the place as he signals for his people to leave— he’s attempting to convince you, trying to make you feel more secure as the sight of an equal match could lower your guard. 

“We’re both after the same thing, right?” He says, spinning his gun before he’s firing off into some unknown hiding spot— the shot rings a long closer than you’d like, and you’re barely able to pick up on the offhanded oops that Yeonjun lets out. 

“I knew Soobin would cross me,” he sneers, firing again as he makes his way around the bar, “yet I still gave him the benefit of the doubt— sneaky little thing, that one.” 

Slowly, he makes his way to the center of the bar; he stops, surveying the area for any other places you might be. 

“I know how hard you’ve been workin’ to catch him— to catch both of us. How bout this,” he clicks his tongue, staring down at the barrel of his gun before he’s aiming it again, “work with me, and we’ll catch him— together! I’ll let you take all the credit for his capture… and you let a couple of my things slide under the table.” 

The shot is fired— the sound that rips through you is uncontrollable, the bullet that lodges itself in your bicep catching you off guard as you break the skin of your lip. Your attempt to put pressure on the wound is futile, and your mind is racing to find a way to escape. Looking up, you find that Yeonjun is already looming over you.

“There you are, cutie.”

 You flinch at the sight of him kicking away the debris that hid you so well; his foot stomps down, your eyes shutting instinctively as the blood of someone unknown splashes onto your face— the feeling makes you want to gag.

But you hold it all back as you’re being pulled up roughly, a weak groan leaving you as Yeonjun’s fingers dig into your wound— your mind is spinning so quickly that you’re helpless against the way he slams you against the wall, your cheek pressed against it as he restrains you.

“Quite the offer I put up, hmm?” He says, grabbing a fistful of your hair as he’s forcing you to look at him, “I’d take it if I were you.”

You don’t respond to his words; you know better than to make a deal with Yeonjun, but you’d rather have him think he’s got the upper hand while you wait for a vulnerable moment to appear. 

“Tempting,” you remark, frowning at the way his grip becomes bruising on your arm, “if I were as power-hungry as you.” 

“You’re quite the mean little thing, aren’t you?” He sighs, and your head is roughly pressed against the wall once more, “see, if we’re gonna work together, I don’t think I’d be able to put up with all that— that is of course unless you’d like to die instead.” 

The barrel of his gun is cool against your skin— slowly, the hammer of his revolver is pulled, and the glint in his eyes is unmistakable as he appears in your peripheral vision. 

“I know how fond you’ve been getting of our little friend,” he pouts, a mocking tone to his voice as he leans against you, “but I’d advise you to choose wisely here.” 

You’re trapped— he’s got you, and good, Yeonjun knows this— you see the way he grins at you, waiting patiently for you to decide as the pressure on your temple slowly begins to become worse; the innocent smile he sends you as you glare back at him does nothing to make you feel better. 

What other choice do you have? There’s nothing good that can come out of making a deal with Yeonjun, but you’ve come too far to give it all up now— shakily, you clear your throat, trying to find the words that only seem lodged in your throat. 

Yet, it seems to be your lucky day. 

The pressure at your temple is lifted as Yeonjun groans in pain, the shot still ringing throughout the bar as you take this moment to run, kicking his gun away before you do— and without realizing it, you effortlessly make your way to Soobin’s open arms. 

“Can’t believe you would trade me in like that,” you pay no mind to the way his arm wraps around yours protectively, attempting to shrug him off before he’s pulling you back to him. 

“If you go out now, you’ll die. There’s too many of them out there for you to go like that,” He hisses into your ear, leading you to the back exit and tucking you under his frame as he crouches down low, “just follow me.” 

You’re given no choice with the way your blood is beginning to seep through the cracks of your fingers— you need to get it treated, and fast. The sounds of Yeonjun’s men storming in is enough to have you urging Soobin to hurry, the two of you slipping out from the back and into the night sky. 

It’s foggy and humid as the pavement beneath you is still wet from the rainfall, and you’re far too surprised the moment that Soobin forces the two of you to take off into a sprint— quietly sneaking behind buildings and homes of those who are peacefully asleep. 

“Did you come here on foot?!” You hiss, your arm beginning to take a toll on you as your energy begins to seep out— you can hear the familiar clammer of hooves on the streets as Yeonjun’s people begin their search, only half the size as the others were left to protect their leader. 

“Of course not,” Soobin scoffs, and it isn’t long before you spot a horse tied to the post of a closed shop, “Just stationed myself at a safer distance.” 

The horse is sleek and taken care of— all of its equipment is pristine and expensive as Soobin assists you on, ignoring your protests and groans of pain as he scoots up closer behind you. 

“Grab on tight, pretty thing,” he says, gripping onto the reins as his thighs close around yours, “might be a bit of a bumpy ride.”

You don’t get another chance to adjust before he’s taking off, your body pressed against his as you feel the exhaustion of it all begin to take a toll on you. Your shirt is soaked and sticky— yet the pain has dulled down significantly as you fight to stay alert, unsure of what Soobin is planning as you race down empty, lonelier streets. 

The homes slowly become sparse— before you know it, you’re surrounded by trees, the terrain switching from pavement to the unstable grounds of the forest. The ride could almost be considered calming— that is, until a sudden gunshot has your eyes snapping wide open, stiffening up against Soobin’s chest as he commands his horse to go faster. 

“Stupid fucker found us,” Soobin grits, glancing back at the single person who managed to keep track of Soobin and your whereabouts. His shots are getting increasingly closer, and Soobin’s horse can only go so fast— before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching at his hip with your uninjured arm, taking the gun from his holster before you’re twisting dangerously to face back. 

“Hey, hey!” The sound of a gun being fired so close to his ear has Soobin losing control of his horse for a second, sending you a glare that would immediately make anyone wilt. But you ignore it, stretching out your good arm as you attempt to fire at the person chasing you once more, “watch it, are you crazy? You’re gonna fall!” 

You’re practically ready to slip off with the way you’re forced to twist around, Soobin’s arm flying to secure itself on your waist as you two go over a rocky spot— the sudden movement makes you wince as you miss another shot.

“I don’t have infinite bullets either now!” He says, sneaking a glance back before he’s back to rushing his horse, “you better aim right if you’re gonna hit him!” 

“I’m trying!” You bark, gritting your teeth at his insults, “it’d help a lot if you’d shut up!”

You can tell he’s getting ready to say something— but he holds back, cursing under his breath as his grip on your waist secures. Slowly, you take a deep breath; it’s hard to spot your target in such a dark forest, but as you attempt to take a moment to concentrate, you’re finally able to get a clear shot— the relief that floods through you is unexpected as you slump against Soobin’s hold.

“Easy there, don’t go all soft on me either,” he says, twisting you back around before he’s caging you in; he feels warm, the feeling oddly welcomed as exhaustion threatens to creep up on you. Attempting to fight it back, you find it to be much more persistent than before— which is why you feel a tinge of panic when your eyelids become uncontrollably heavy. 

“Just a little bit more,” you hear Soobin say, his voice a muffled mess to your ears, “I’ll patch you up then.”

With the ride much calmer than it was moments ago, you finally find it in yourself to rest. 

✩ ☆ ✩

“Here, slowly,” Soobin’s bed is soft as he slowly guides you down on it, attempting to ignore the way you wince in pain from the awkward angle your arm remains in. He quickly leaves to get supplies to patch you up, and you take a moment to regain your composure. 

It’s strange— his home is cozy, well-decorated, and clearly used a lot. For someone like him, you’d expect something more barren; he has no pictures, no true personal touches that could link this small cabin to him— but it’s intimate nonetheless, the smell of him filling the air and mixing in with the faint scent of a candle that sits at his nightstand. 

You don’t get much of a chance to look around as Soobin quickly returns— his jacket and hat have been discarded, and you take in his appearance as you wince at the state of his white button-up; now coated red on the right side with your blood. Meeting his eyes, you frown— his dyed hair is ruffled messily as he lays down his supplies next to you, placing down a short stool before he’s sitting down in front of you, knees knocking your legs open carelessly as he situates himself between them.

“Your shirt— here, let me…” Slowly, he moves to cut the sleeve for better access; you stop him midway, your uninjured hand hesitantly reaching for the buttons of your shirt instead. 

You really don’t have to, you hear him mumble, slightly panicked, but you shake your head, knowing it’d be much easier for you to take the item off than to have him struggle with the fabric around your injury. It’s quiet, your eyes much more focused on a point behind him as you carefully shrug off your sullied shirt— he’s quick to assist you, his gentle hands brushing against the warm skin of your shoulders as he places the shirt to the side. 

Shakily, your eyes meet his; his eyes are focused as they take in the state of your wound, brows furrowed and his lip caught in his teeth as he winces at how messy the injury has become. It’s oddly tense— you haven’t been this close to Soobin in a long time, quiet and vulnerable as you allow him to take care of you. 

Sweat begins to bead on your skin as he begins to take a hold of your arm, examining the wound once more before he begins the process of trying to take the bullet out— a small warning is all you get before he offhandedly points at a pillow nearby for you to hold onto. 

Instead, your hand immediately finds purchase on his thigh— it’s instinctive, and you don’t stop to gauge his reaction as your fingers hold on desperately, gritting your teeth as you bear the uncomfortable feeling of Soobin taking out the bullet.

It’s quiet, but you can hear soft words of praise and reassurance fall from his lips, kind words that serve to encourage you as he finally takes the small bullet out; the piece is carefully put onto a tissue that is left to be discarded. You attempt to remain silent as he cleans your injury, clearing off the dried blood that ran down your arm as he softly brushes the wet cloth against your skin. It isn’t until you’re all clean that he begins to apply alcohol to it as well. 

“Shit— sorry,” you grit, startled by the sudden sting as he immediately pulls away, whispering an apology of his own before hesitantly tending to you again. After a moment, your body becomes relaxed in his hold once more, allowing him to gain the confidence to tend to you freely again. 

The stitches don’t feel too bad; he’s awful skilled, the action quick and effortless as you keep quiet through it all, the feeling of the gauze wrapping around your bicep and applying subtle pressure to your wound finally giving you the relief you didn’t know you needed. 

Soobin looks more at ease as well— and before you can pick up on what he’s doing, he’s taking your uninjured hand gingerly, his fingers delicate as he holds onto your wrist lightly. The cloth in his hand is warm as he wipes you with it, thoroughly taking each of your fingers as he wipes off all the blood that managed to cake on; then, it slowly moves up to your face, cleaning off the blood of someone unknown as your eyes meet Soobin’s; your lips part as you stare at him, unsure of what to do as he remains concentrated on his task.

He looks so different from before— there’s a heavy look in his eyes, as though the life he’s lived has been filling itself with nothing but regrets. And as you take in the way his hand lingers, carefully caressing your cheek, you wonder bitterly if this was one of them.

“Why are you doing all this?” You ask, your voice much softer than you expected it to be— there’s no more energy to be malicious to him, only exhaustion and a burning curiosity left in you as you watch him hesitate to answer. 

“I couldn’t let them take you like that,” he says, a frown settling on his features as he slowly pulls away— the absence of his touch feels jarring, your hand curling into a fist as you listen to him speak, “they would’ve used you to get what they wanted from me.”

“What, too scared that I would’ve caught you?” You quip, oddly angered that even now, all he can think of is himself. You don’t know why the words feel so poisonous on your tongue, the anger that ignites inside you only stirring more as you watch the way he becomes angered by your accusation. 

“They would have a hold of my greatest weakness,” he grits out, as though admiring it aloud brings him another wave of anger. His eyes stare at the tight fist that rests on your thigh— then they meet yours, narrowed and pointed as his lips turn down in distaste.

“You.” 

The word feels like a punch to the stomach— you can feel the air leave your lungs as you stare at him, unsure of what to make out of his words as he stares at you with that same fire in his eyes, a fire that is unwilling to back down on his claim.

His greatest weakness— you. And he would be damned if he let Yeonjun of all people lay their hands on you, free to do as they pleased as they used you for leverage— or worse, used you to kill him. 

“Stop spouting nonsense,” you say, an unknown rage blooming within you as he regards you with such a fire, “you showed me just how much you cared the day you turned your back to our work and all we stood for.”

The memory is enough to leave a bitter taste on your tongue; you can tell the mention of it is enough to have him back down like a wounded puppy, unsure of how to respond to that. 

You trusted Soobin, once— and you learned your lesson when he pushed you out of his life, turning to a life of shadows as your partner you once trusted your life with became no better than the everyday criminals you went after. The humiliation of it all set deep into your bones— a deep grudge that reared its head even now, when Soobin seemed to be ready to come back to ask for forgiveness. 

“___,” the sound of your name on his lips is bittersweet. His effect on you is unrivaled, a fact you wish wasn’t true as you attempt to hide the way the sound sends electric shocks through you. He’s somber, his eyes searching yours in hopes of breaking through and finding an emotion akin to his, “you have no idea how much I cared.” 

“I have full access to the vault.” His words clear your mind out effortlessly, “I’m the heir.”

The heir to the fortune— the new leader of the crime syndicate Kim Namjoon spent years building up under the shadows. The man before you was not who he claimed to be— he never was. Hesitantly, he takes your hand— he’s shaky, fingers lacing with yours as he leans into you, long legs knocking against yours as the space he made for yourself becomes wider. There’s a new emotion that coats his face, free and unadulterated as he looks deeply into your eyes.

“Join me.” His words are breathy as you stare at him, confused, angry, hesitant. “You’ll never have to worry about anything again— I could care for you.”  

Your hand feels like fire in his— you pull away like you’ve been burned, disbelief on your face as Soobin stares at you like a scolded child. Doe eyes soft and shining under the soft lights of the lamp on his nightstand. 

“I—“ it’s hard to speak— why is it so hard? The words are stuck on your tongue as you stare at him, the man you cared for so deeply, offering a chance to start over. A chance you’ve dreamed about since the day he disappeared from you, a chance that you never allowed yourself to properly dream of, and it’s finally being presented to you.

“I can’t.” 

Soobin knew your answer before he asked— there was never any other option for you. But the pain, the confusion you feel building within you is much more unexpected, your mind fogging as the reality of it all begins to set in. 

“This whole time…” you begin, brows furrowed as the conflicting emotions form a torrent within you, wild and uncontrollable as your mouth enables them to be let loose. 

“You knew everything. What his group was doing, where he was, how to catch him—“ your eyes flick back to his, wounded and sharp in hopes of getting him to the same level as you, “you knew it all. Yet you lied in my face, led me on whenever I thought we finally had a lead.” 

“And yet you beg me to believe that you still care for me?” 

He shakes his head, reluctant to give up as he attempts to reassure you again. 

“I’m sorry— I wasn’t in control of my life back then. I never meant to hurt you,” his attempts to dissuade your feelings are futile, for his claims do nothing but egg you on even more. 

“The moment I leave this cabin,” you growl, glaring at him as you speak, “we will be nothing more but enemies. Forget everything about me. You’ll become my one target from this moment on.” 

A new resolve has formed on your face— Soobin knows you’ll never hate him more than you do now. 

“Your life will be in my hands.”

“The moment you leave this cabin…” he whispers, determined to see you crack, for even a small moment longer, “I will no longer hold back on you. My sweet killer…” 

He’s so close— why would you let him get so close? His lips are practically brushing against yours, eyes lidded and low as he leans towards you, your head tilted down as his puppy eyes continue to shine, even now. 

“Give me one last memory to keep of you.” 

The feeling of your lips crashing against his is unexpected; but the anger inside you is too hot, too rapid for you to simply leave like this. You’ve lived your life filled with regrets— what’s one more going to do to you?

Soobin’s hum of surprise is muffled by your kiss that threatens to take him whole— your yearning, so eager and greedy, is like a switch to him; he’s chasing after you, leaning into your touch desperately as his hands meet the skin of your bare waist. His touch leaves a trail of fire, caressing and smoothing out the skin as he feels every scar, sees every bruise, any detail that he might be able to ingrain into his mind. 

Your back sinks into the mattress— you’re unsure of when Soobin decided to become so greedy, the kiss rough as he allows himself to bite at your lip, his hair soft against your face as a trail of kisses and marks are left along the column of your neck. His touch will be left for weeks to come— he’s determined to make it so, determined to make you have to face your reflection and the memory of him, the memory of his want for you. 

Tangled limbs, pressure against your body— the act is messy and desperate as Soobin has half the mind to leave your injured arm as undisturbed as possible, supporting his weight on one arm as he allows the other to explore your body; trailing up your waist, fingers tracing along the expanse of your chest, ready to take your bra off with ease. Your hand is careless as it rips away his buttons, desperate to have him the same way he has you. 

His chest is smooth and sturdy— his muscles are firm under your touch, honey skin littered with bruises and scars that have your fingertips tracing along them, briefly wondering what stories might belong with them, the memories he carries engraved within him. 

His hips are slotted desperately between yours; you didn’t realize how he was able to get into such a position so easily, his hand already venturing from your breasts to cup your face, hovering above you as he whispers to you, his voice breathy and sultry that it takes effort to listen to what he says. 

“I’ve wanted to have you like this longer than I can remember,” he says, his eyes meeting yours and conveying words his mouth refuses to speak. Close. Needy. Vulnerable. “It hurts to think that I’ll be losing you again after this.” 

If you had any fight with his words, it died the moment his hips rolled firmly into yours. The breath that escapes him is shaky and labored, and he’s unable to control himself as he finds his mind loosening, words spilling beyond his comprehension as the pressure of his body against yours makes you rock back into him. 

“I’ll be damned if I ever let Yeonjun have you like this,” he says, fingers digging into your hips as his thrusts become harsh, uncalculated, and desperate, “I would’ve killed him.”

A small groan leaves your mouth at that— his eyes that once sparkled under the light, pleading for forgiveness, hardened into something foreign, wild and needy as he took what he could from you, the feeling of him hard and pulsing against you making your head fog with need.

Adjusting his position, he stands— you feel your body moving along with him, hips dangling dangerously over the bed as he holds you there, hands already working to get your pants undone.

“What makes you think he would’ve done any of that?” You ask, breathless as his sharp eyes meet yours, filled with an emotion you hesitate to pinpoint. 

“That man would fuck anything that moves,” Soobin growls, your body bare before him as he begins to kneel, your legs thrown over his shoulders carelessly as you gulp at the action, “I can’t imagine what he’d do to a pretty thing like you.”

He’s good at rendering you speechless— that is, if his mouth sucking firmly on your clit had anything to do with it. He’s desperate, eager to have you fall apart on his tongue as he feels your body jolt at the stimulation, a hand grabbing at his hair to bring him closer still. 

His fingers that slip through your entrance has your mouth falling open and your eyes fluttering shut, a small whimper slipping out of you as he groans, his mind reeling at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, pulling him in and asking for more. 

Soobin can’t help but wonder how you would feel wrapped around his cock, your arousal like an aphrodisiac to him as he finds himself growing needier, tongue messily laving at your clit as his fingers speed up the process, thick and long as a third soon finds its way inside. 

Your body is tensing quickly; the pleasure is overwhelming, the sight of having Soobin kneeling before you, desperate and lost in your pleasure as his eyes flutter open, meeting yours boldly has your thighs squeezing around his head uncontrollably. Your hips are left in his control as his hands grip onto them tightly, forcing you into him even more as his warm lips wrap around your clit once more, sucking and tongue flicking at the bud in hopes of feeling you fall apart in his hold. 

Unexpectedly, his name leaves your lips; it’s a sweet mewl that has him painfully aware of how hard he’s become, the bulge constricting against the fabric of his pants as he can only listen to the sweet sounds you make—and hope that he’ll have you coming apart on his cock soon as well. 

Your hips buck against his face mindlessly— it’s too much, yet not enough, his fingers thrusting roughly and curling to hit that spot that makes you see stars. The pleasure is hot and blinding as you feel it beginning to build up, your mouth agape as moans and cries to keep going cascade through you like a waterfall. 

His name becomes a prayer on your lips. Soobin. Soobin, please, you whimper, your good hand reaching down to tangle itself into his hair once more. His touch is addictive, and before you can realize what’s happening, you’re coming undone, his pace never faltering as he allows you to ride it out, your hips rolling carelessly on his face. 

You’re left a panting and weak mess in Soobin’s hold, your head sinking back into the mattress as you feel his fingers slowly slip out of you— a weak whine escapes you as his tongue cleans you up, running along your slit and teasing your entrance before he’s parting from you. Your head tilts as your eyes meet his, his eyes blown out and filled with lust as his tongue and lips slowly wrap around his fingers— cleaning your essence off it slowly, your mind swirling at the sight as you quickly find your pussy clenching desperately against nothing. 

 “My pretty girl,” he sighs out, his fingers making quick work of undoing his jeans, “you have no idea how badly I wanted to take you with me all this time. Years ago, throughout all this time, even today.”

He’s painfully hard as his cock finally springs into view— his hand is quick to wrap around it, his tip leaking and flushed as a thumb runs over it; his body jolts at the feeling, slowly fucking into his fist as his eyes don’t leave yours for a second. 

“Why didn’t you?” You breathe out, legs locking around his waist and pulling him eagerly. Your thighs are so warm and soft around him, his tip teasing your entrance as he fucks himself against your pussy, never pushing through enough to enter you. He can feel your wetness coating him, fogging his mind as his own arousal mixes with yours, the sight so dirty and desperate that he feels his hips buck in need. 

“I don’t know. I should’ve begged you for forgiveness the moment I first saw you,” his words, you realize, are genuine— your lidded eyes clear for a moment, and the conflicting emotions from before attempt to rear their head once more. You gulp, words dying on your tongue as his tip begins to prod at your entrance. 

“Beg for it now. Apologize,” you breathe out, a hand placing itself over his as his head snaps up to meet your gaze. Your nails dig into his forearm as your thighs lock around him, your gaze angry and demanding as you roll your hips into him in frustration, “since you seem so desperate for me.” 

His gaze softens— hesitantly, his lips part, tongue running over them as his tip finally breaches inside you. The stretch is unexpected, your walls immediately closing around him and attempting to pull him in as he subtly leans towards you. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Your arm slides from his forearm to his bicep— you’re pulling him in, his other arm coming down to support his weight as he leans over you. This is only the beginning, your eyes say, sharp and narrowed as you prompt him to continue. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, slowly pushing inside you as he stops to allow you to feel every vein, every detail, rubbing along your warm walls and curving as his hips buck unintentionally. 

“I was a fool to leave you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since,” it’s sincere, you can see it in the way his expression furrows as he continues talking, frustration laced in his voice as his hips finally meet yours, pressing firmly as he bottoms out. 

Your fingers dig into the skin of his bicep— roughly, you pull him down, his face hovering above yours, dangerously closer as you watch his adam’s apple bob nervously. You don’t have to say anything— the fire in your eyes is more than enough for him, the room silent save for the sounds of your breaths that intertwine as his hips slowly begin to move, barely pulling out as he relishes in the feeling of being inside you. 

“I’m terrified of losing you again,” he admits, his confession shifting into unknown territories as his mind fogs up once more, “I’m sorry I couldn’t face you sooner.”

You say nothing— all you can do is scan his expression, his eyes that are lidded and filled with so many dangerous emotions. In response, your fingers tangle themselves in his hair— bringing him down to you as your lips meet him in a hungry kiss. 

His hips don’t hesitate to pick up the pace; the feeling of you clenching around him is driving him mad, his cock managing to hit a spot that has your mouth falling open, lips left victim to Soobin’s teasing bites, the feeling of his teeth sinking into the bottom flesh making you whimper uselessly against him.

He may be the one that’s pounding into you restlessly, leaving your mind blank and his name on your tongue, but you’re the one that truly has him intoxicated. He wants to feel you, all of you, your chest that rubs against his driving him mad as he becomes hyper-aware of how much he can feel you against him. You’re practically sinking into the bed with the force he drives himself into you, skin slapping against skin and his pelvis smacking against yours as your arousal only increases with every action. 

He’s wrapped tightly around your finger, and the last thing he wants to do is let go. 

“___,” your name is like honey on his lips, the sound of it rolling off his tongue so effortlessly that he can’t help but find himself saying it again, and again, a mantra of his own as he feels the way you recklessly fuck back into him, nails digging into his shoulder before they’re scratching down his back— the stinging sensation that’s left behind only serves to spur him on, the thought of having your scars on his body for days to come driving him mad. 

“I don’t want you to think of anyone else,” he says, breathless against you as your arm throws itself over his shoulders, fingers tangling themselves in his hair as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. 

“Think of me every time you look at yourself in the mirror, when you see the places I touched,” his hand trails down to your hip, fingers squeezing the supple flesh before it moves to circle your clit, your legs tightening against him before you're bucking your hips wildly, “when you touch yourself, wish it were me that was there for you.“

“No one will ever be able to care for you like I do.”

His cock is abusive against the spot that drives you wild. It reaches it with ease, hitting it thrust after thrust. One, twice, three times. Then you’re coming undone, a weak whimper all you can manage as you wrap around him like a vice. It’s enough to set him off as well, a soft groan escaping him as his hips struggle to keep a proper rhythm. Your bodies move together in harmony regardless, riding out each other’s highs as the warm feeling of his cum fills you, never-ending as it slowly begins to leak out before he’s fucking it back into you.

It’s silent, and neither of you can muster anything to say as you’re both catching your breath; Soobin’s face quickly buries itself into your neck, his lips ghosting along your skin as he speaks. 

“Stay,” he pleads, arms slowly circling your waist before you’re pulled into him, warm and secure in his hold. “Just for tonight. Stay a while longer.”

Softly, his head moves along your shoulder, his hair feather-like as it brushes against you. His lips graze a trail along, leaving a gentle kiss on the shoulder of your injured arm. 

“After tonight,” you breathe out, your hand traitorous as it caresses his scalp gently, the memories of your past and your moments together reviving a dangerous feeling, “I’ll forget everything about you— we’ll be nothing more than enemies.”

Softly, Soobin nods; his gaze never meets yours, the two of you adjusting in his bed as he allows you to rest on his chest. You’re a pile of tangled limbs, hearts beating in one as you wonder if you could’ve had this years ago, free of complicated emotions and regrets. 

“If I am to die by anyone’s hands, it will only be yours,” he says, hand encasing yours as he brings it to rest over his heart. “Promise me it will be so.” 

A game of death— you’ve always been incredible at your job, and there hasn’t been a single mission you haven’t completed. But, feeling him under your palm, warm and beating for you, you find the words stuck in your throat for a moment. 

“I promise.”

The cabin falls into complete silence as the feeling of you finally in his arms lulls Soobin into a deep sleep; he’ll think of this night for years to come, if he’s able to.

His words are nothing but a lie— he’ll never be able to forget you. 

And after tonight, neither will you. 

[sanatomis]

content. fluff, mentions of nudity, usage of celsius (the only correct way of measuring temperature iktr).

it’s an unwritten rule in your relationship with satoru that you two must sleep skin-to-skin. it doesn’t matter if the room is -4 degrees or if it’s nearing 32. you’re bare—partly or fully—and you lay touching the other. on some days, you lay chest to chest, on others you’re spooning each other (satoru is mostly the little spoon, but on rare days he switches it up), and on others it’s merely your pinkies intertwining as you two sleep peacefully during the night.

some part of you, no matter if it’s big or small, has to be touching him. actually touching him. without the barrier of infinity, that keeps him from touching the world in its entirety. and without the barrier of clothing, that keeps him from touching you—from truly touching you. the two of you need to feel each other, to feel the other on your skin and know that they’re here and that they’re real.

to be so vulnerable together, and to have absolutely nothing separating the two of you. it’s just you, and it’s just him. and suddenly the world doesn’t seem all that bad.

. . .yeah, sleeping skin-to-skin is an absolute must.

[echthr0s]

your guess is as good as mine as to why it took me -- me! -- so infernally long to play Cult of the Lamb, but while I expected to enjoy it for obvious reasons, what I didn't expect is how much divine euphoria I would get from micromanaging my cultists' little lives

[emily84]

the way some people on here are defending Palestine by completely rewriting what happened on oct 7th is mindboggling. you can deny it but i've seen your narrative go from "let's cheer for the resistance" very quickly to "you cannot sanitize a revolution, decades of oppression will inevitably breed violence" when the videos came out, to very smoothly "oh all those videos were fake the deaths were all caused by israel actually, hamas did nothing wrong" to today's "the attack were a fever dream concocted by israel" or "well that doesn't matter anyway it's in the past" is fucking pitiful to watch.

you think the revolution cannot be peaceful. okay. then you don't need to blatantly lie, overlook, or minimize what happened on october 7th. it literally doesn't matter that you think palestinians have suffered and continue to suffer a lot more. those two things are true at the same time.

this isn't a "my side is more moral / my side is spotless and just and righteous" thing where the more righteous side gets purity points for their struggle. especially because you're literally using the language israel is using in their deranged public tweets.

just say free palestine and argue your point without fucking altering the truth. free palestine is already a sentence; calling for a ceasefire and whatever future state solution/s you have in mind are already the fucking point. calling out isreal's war crimes is already the point.

you don't need to "well, actually" it for it to be, what, more digestible?? if israel's war crimes are already very real and documented and have been for decades, and they very much fucking are, then you don't need to season that with shitty conspiracist lies

[lovesickeros]

Darling: you hate me, it's written all over your face

Reader's resting b*tch face: what?

darling says it just to annoy you lbr. bc no matter how bad your resting bitch face is, the tsaritsa's is worse. darling has had years to learn how to discern the tsaritsa's mood when shes as reactive as a statue.

[palaceoftears]

Mahidevran Sultan + Belief in fortune and destiny

What is this you call the Sultanate? Wealth and property, land and territory? To have power over the destinies of others? Was it worth it, Süleyman?

for my dear bday girl @mc-critical <3

[barbatos-sama]

minette in this...

[kohakuhibiki]

The funniest is it so might not probably the same person but she's fun, I like it when people help me pay rent and they're too sassy and their eye shift game make you go like "there's something" anyway new roommate was overly approved 😑 move along ...

[ibvix]

[redflannelsheets]

.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ! ❞

❝ THEY TOOK YOU. SO SATORU GOJO DID THE ONLY REASONABLE THING — HE TOOK THEIR LIVES ! ❞

✧ pairing: gojo satoru x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: satoru gojo rarely loses his cool. except when it comes to you. so when you get taken and found hurt, he takes matters into his own hands to find out who did it and make them pay.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, canon compliant, feral gojo, acts of violence, reader gets kidnapped and attacked, gojo goes insane, gojo clan sucks, higher ups get asses best, yaga and Ijichi featured, dom!gojo, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral (f), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, implied multiple rounds, swearing,

✧ w/c: 8,446

The worst mistake Satoru Gojo ever made that morning was to get out of bed.

If he had just stayed in bed that morning, turned his cellphone on silent, and basked in the warmth of the soft comforter you had picked out (even as you balked at the exorbitant price) and especially in the warmth of your embrace — the one place where it felt as if it was okay to be himself, just him.

And now it was just him.

Because you were gone.

When his phone rang that morning, your lips had been against his, indulging in a lazy morning tryst because for once, Satoru had been off duty — or he was supposed to be off duty. Your gaze had been the ones to stir him from sleep, as even in the embrace of sleep he couldn’t resist you or your adoring eyes — the very same he held more precious than his own.

“I didn’t even say anything, how did you wake up?” And his lips curl at your slight frown, his fingers brushing over the curve of your cheek.

“Thought my pretty wife was admiring my beauty while I slept so I had to wake up to the same,” and he’s leaning over to press lazy kisses along your jaw.

“Did you just call yourself beautiful?” You snort, and he grins, before falling into a playful pout.

“My own wife doesn’t think her husband’s beautiful?” And you’re rolling your eyes, before rolling over on top of him, your body only covered by the black t-shirt you had stolen from him last night, a small groan as he felt your very bare thighs brush against his boxers.

You were a goddess — your smile ethereal in the sunlight streaming in from the window as you leaned over him, and he was willing to worship all his life at your altar, if you would only give him a brush of your lips.

“Of course I think you’re beautiful, I’m the one always saying that anyway,” your lips brush his chastely, far too quick and teasing, “I was just imagining what Nanami would say if he heard that,”

“Oh? And what’s that, sweetheart?”

“He would say the size of your ego is becoming a threat to Earth’s atmosphere,” and Satoru raises an eyebrow.

“And my darling wife would disagree, right?” and you look away, biting back a smile, “eh? You’d let him say such heinous things about me?”

“It’s not heinous if it’s true—“ you gasp, and he’s flipped you on your back, pressing his lips to yours to swallow your words, along with your giggles, as you break free, “Toru! Ah—“ and he nibbles at your neck, “hey!”

“You have to pay for the consequences of your actions, baby, what kind of sensei would I be?” And you’re rolling your eyes.

“I’m not your student, ngh,” you’re gasping as his teeth sinks into your neck, “if anything, I’m the one reigning you in,”

“Well then,” he chuckled in his words, as his fingers trace your jaw, “I’ll have to show you how far your student has come then,” and his lips only brush yours, when his phone rings.

“Baby,” you sigh, and he’s glancing at the phone, a sigh on his lips, as he reaches for the phone, sneaking a glance at you, before he picks up.

You press sweet kisses to his chest as you hear the faint murmur of Yaga’s voice through the phone, hearing reports of the special grades they’ve been tracking, “Old man, this is the first day off I’ve taken off in so looooong,” and he holds the phone away from his ear until Yaga’s screams fade, “fine, fine, send Ijichi,” he hangs up while Yaga was still mid-yell, tossing his phone on the bedside table with a sigh, “sweetheart,”

“I know,” you cup his cheek, his lips in a pout not made for the strongest sorcerer, but for your Satoru, “I’ll be here when you come back — waiting very impatiently,” and he chuckles, his lips finding yours.

“How’d I get so lucky to have such an understanding wife?” And your lips curl.

“You annoyed her into falling in love,” and he gapes at you as you giggle, until he’s got you pinned underneath him yet again, “what? It’s true!”

“Then I’ll have to annoy you some more, just to make sure,” and he’s finding you in another kiss, until his devilish fingers run down your sides, beginning their assault on the spots that made you laugh the most.

You pulled your lips from his, squealing, “Nooooo! Satoru, stop!” you tried to push him off from tickling you, but he was the strongest for a reason—a reason you usually were very grateful for, but not right now. And finally he relented, as you gasped and chuckled still, lips in the most adorable pout, “you’ll pay for that,”

“Oh really? How’s that, wifey?” and you kiss his lips chastely, barely a brush, as you cross your arms, fighting back a smile.

“That’s the only goodbye kiss you get,” and he gasps, clutching his chest dramatically, before that smirk of his returns, “and you try to steal one and I’m making you sleep on the couch,” And he pouts, before you press a longer kiss to his lips, “you’re lucky I love you,”

Satoru grinned, “I know.”’

Yeah, he should have never gotten out of bed.

“Where is she?” For once, Satoru’s words were devoid of humor, the laughter and happiness sapped from his very essence the moment he had heard. The moment he had felt your cursed energy waver. All this time, Satoru’s eyes had been focused on the outline of your soul, no matter where he was, because you were always the one thing he wanted to come home to — that he needed to.

“I don’t know Satoru, that’s why I had called you,” Yaga runs his fingers through his hair, “goddamnit,” he swore, scrubbing a hand down his face, “the mission came from the higher ups, they wouldn’t give me the specifics, but they said it was confidential—“

“I don’t care for the details right now, do we know anything about where she is?” Satoru keeps his words carefully measured, muscles wound taut, the only thing keeping him from using blue to destroy Jujutsu Tech in one fell swoop was the thought of you, “did she tell you anything else—“

And Ijichi bursts in, brow furrowed, “Gojo, we have a lead.”

~~~

Was this how it would end?

You knew it was in your fate to die, eventually. A wretched cycle that all of you were forced to live. An endless baton pass that always ended with the last runner dying — nothing but a pile of corpses left behind and to look back on.

And it would almost be a relief, a blessing to finally be done — if it wasn’t for Satoru.

You knew he would blame himself for this. He always blamed himself. Blamed himself when he couldn’t beat Toji. Blamed himself when he couldn’t save Riko. Blamed himself when he couldn’t save Geto. Because he was the strongest, and that meant he should be able to solve everyone’s problems — do everything no one else can do, be everywhere at once, and never fail.

Never. And yet, that’s not what the sleepless nights he spent working told you. It only told you that jujutsu would take everything from him, if he let it, and he would let it, if only that meant he could do more good.

And he was so good. Even if he didn’t see it — you could almost feel the lingering warmth of his embrace this morning, the wide grin on his lips as he peppered kisses down your neck, and the soft gaze of blues made of affection just for you — you would always see it for him.

You don’t see the curse coming, your vision blurred from the last strike. The crack of your bones barely registers in your ears, the curse presses you into the wall, claws pressed to your throat, drawing blood to run down your neck.

“Now, now, we can’t kill her, at least not yet,” a voice calls out, “we were given strict orders to wait,”

The curse’s growl reverberated across your skin, a desperate growl deep in its chest, the string of control being pulled taut, as its black nails dig deeper into your side, until it dropped you onto the ground like a rag doll.

Your body ached only for moments before it was chased away by numbness. And you could only wonder if this was how they felt? Riko, Haibara, Geto, all the others you watched die — was this the pain they felt? The ache of muscles that they could no longer feel, the sticky wetness of blood that seeped from their unknowing bodies, and the cold thst crept up from the tips of your toes.

You wanted it to stop. You wanted to stop. But each time you felt the tug of the other side, you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t. Not when Satoru needed you.

Your eyes burn with tears. And you needed him.

~~~

“Where is she?” The same question was ringing in Satoru’s head over and over since he had heard.

Candle wicks trembled with fear, casting shadows on the wall that shivered in the presence of the man before them. The papered panels was all that stood between him and these old men — the very same that played with the lives of many day in and day out. It would be far too easy to kill them all — in fact, it would barely take any effort at all with his cursed technique.

But he wouldn’t allow them the warm embrace of an instant death.

“Such insolence — how dare you enter this place and speak—“

“You ought to be thanking me,” his power sparked in the glint of his eyes, the glow of the lit wicks catching in the hard blues, “for not bashing your skulls in and ripping your hearts from your chests from the moment I entered,”

A silence swept over the room, another voice speaking, “Gojo—“

“The next words out of your mouth better be an answer because I don’t want to ask again,” his voice fills the silence in the room, only broken by the sounds of the candles crackle, “where is she?”

“We cannot disclose where—“ there’s a loud crack, the splintering of wood and the wet squelch of flesh and blood, and a cold breeze swept through the room, the candles going out.

Satoru’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of his neck, forcing the broken floorboards digging into his wrinkled skin, “I said I want an answer, do you think I would think twice about killing any of you?”

There’s a pause and the silence is only filled by the sound of gore dripping down the paper screens and hitting the floor.

“The only reason I haven’t yet was there was no point to it — no meaning,” and he could see you this morning, his lips curled for you, a strangled choking noise leaving his throat as the pads of his fingers squeezed around his neck, “but now I have every reason to, so tell me before I lose my patience,”

A silence fills the room again, until one of them speaks, “Let him go, and we’ll tell you.”

~~~

“Who do you work for?” the words come out strangled, your fingers bunching up your soaked fabric and pressing it to the gash on your stomach, “why did you bring me here?” You force yourself not to give them the satisfaction of a flinch.

“Do you really think it would be that simple to get me to reveal the reason, jujutsu sorcerer?” you hear a distant laugh, “we have our reasons, isn’t that simple enough? Or rather—”

His footsteps clapped against the floor, your head wrenched upwards, as a small yelp escapes your lips, “does it matter when you’re going to die either way?”

And you grit your teeth, before spitting on his face, half blood, half saliva, “At least I don’t have to live a life as pathetic as yours,” his fingers squeeze at your chin, your jaw aching under his grasp.

“Pathetic?” He wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt before, throwing you to the floor, body screaming in pain, but you refuse to show weakness, even as tears burn at your tear ducts, “And yet, I’m not the one bloodied and battered and two inches from death, bitch,” he scoffs, muttering, “I can see why they ordered us to kill you now, who would want someone like you around?”

“Now I’m listening, who gave you those orders?” Another voice says from behind him. The man freezes, while you lift your head, a small smile on your lips, “are you hard of hearing or just plain stupid? Well, I don’t really need to even ask that, do I?”

He was shrouded in shadow, but you didn’t need to see him to know it was him — especially as he tugged his blindfold down with two fingers, blue eyes devoid of any humor or joy, and instead only with hatred.

“Satoru Gojo,” the voice left the man’s lips slowly, but before he could react, the special grade curse that had held you was barreling towards him in a moment, before Satoru held it at bay with his infinity, the other curses following suit — how many did this curse user have in the room with him? Three? No more like five or six, but even so — you scoffed under your breath, it wouldn’t matter, “No, you idiots! Don’t—”

And in a moment, they are eviscerated — held back by his infinity, deep seeded growls and roars leaving their lips, “c’mon now, is this the best you can do? I was expecting more from those bold enough to take my wife, but I guess I expected too much,” he sighs, before he lifts one hand, “Cursed Technique Amplification, Blue,”

You barely can make out the screams from one another, the splatter of their essence raining down from above, until you hear footsteps rushing towards you, and you’re hauled to your feet, pressed against the cursed user, his hand around your neck.

“One more move, and I break her neck,” Satoru landed below with ease, his gaze raised until he met yours, and you saw it soften for you — a silent question of ‘are you okay?’ and your nod and a forced smile that told him you were okay enough.

“You can try,” his words were slow and measured, just as his steps towards you were, “but I don’t think you understand who you are dealing with,”

He tensed, fingers digging into your neck, “I know perfectly well who you are, Satoru Gojo, and I am not afraid to die by your hand for this,”

Satoru’s lips curled, “I wasn’t talking about me,”

The kidnapper’s eyes narrowed, “What?”

And you jabbed at his knee, the bone splintering under your force, but you barely hear the snap or his scream because of the blood roaring in your ears. You don’t spare a second before slamming your other hand into his head, nose breaking from your fist, blood splattering across your arm. You ready yourself for another move, before you felt him ripped away from you, a strong arm around you to steady you.

“It’s okay, I got you, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Satoru murmured, soft words meant to soothe you, as his body envelops your tense muscles, until you finally relax into his arms. Your eyes burned with tears, as you looked up at him, before your eyes slid to the kidnapper, Satoru’s hand around his throat.

“I knew you’d come for me, Toru,” you whispered, grasping onto the front of his jacket, “I knew you would,”

“I always will,” and his eyes turned to the man, voice even, “should I kill him once I’m done questioning him?”

You know he means it.

“I don’t know,” you reply, fingers curling as you pressed your face against his chest, “but I don’t want you to have blood on your hands, not for me,”

“It wouldn’t be for you. It would be for me,” he says softly, “but we can discuss it later,” and then others began to flood the scene, the sights and sounds feeling distant as your eyes drooped with exhaustion.

“Satoru, I’m—“ your voice broke, “I really tried—“

“Shh, you did great,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head, as you finally succumbed to exhaustion, slumping over in his arms, “I’ll handle the rest.”

~~~

“You all must be wondering why I called this meeting,” Satoru said, standing at the head of the Gojo clan’s meeting room. It had been long since he had stood as the head, but far too short for his liking. He had discarded this part of his life as soon as he could, joining Jujutsu Tech without a second of hesitation, and continued to run the operations of his clan as an adult, behind the scenes.

But it seems he was too lax.

It had been a few weeks since the incident. You were asleep for a good day in and out while Shoko worked on you. She came out of your room, pulling off the surgical cap off her head, and Satoru got to his feet, as Shoko removed her gloves and mask, “She’s fine, Satoru,” and he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“How bad was it?” he asks, and she tilts her head, hands slipping into her pockets.

“Are you asking that to know how badly she was injured or so you can do worse to whoever did this?” Satoru shrugs, lips parting and she holds up a hand, “never mind, the less I know, the better,” she grabs your file and opens it, “most of her injuries related to cursed technique burn out — it seems whoever took her used curse spirits to attack her, she mentioned when she was conscious briefly that they didn’t control the curses, but they seemed to be able to work with them somehow,”

“More intelligent curses have been appearing since Yuji became Sukuna’s vessel,” Satoru murmured, but this wasn’t related to the asparagus special grade or volcano head. It was separate — it was personal.

“But all of this to take a first grade sorcerer, why?” and he shakes his head.

“It wasn’t for her — it was for me,” and that’s why they hadn’t killed you, “is she awake?”

Shoko sighed, “She should be waking up in a bit. She didn’t need much aside from some RCT treatment and stitches for the wounds she sustained,” she places a hand on his shoulder, “go see her, and try not to murder anyone until she wakes up,” she turns to leave, heels clicking.

“Wait,” Satoru stops her, and she pauses, “I need a favor.”

~~~

Satoru never liked hospitals. He hadn’t spent much time in them for actual injuries, because of his abilities. However, he spent far too much time inside medical facilities for the Gojo clan’s required medical check-ups. It was to ensure the future head’s health, he was told, but really, it was an excuse to make sure their cash cow would still give them milk.

Because that’s all he ever was — a pawn.

But he had long shed that role, tossed it from the board, when he had left for Jujutsu Tech. But even so, he lingered outside your room, some things still stuck. Especially when he had new memories — of seeing his comrades dead bodies laid on cold metal slabs.

And would you have been another if he hadn’t made it in time?

Satoru shakes his head of his thoughts, and opens the door. You were still asleep. Tucked into the hospital bed, you looked so small somehow, fragile — two things he never saw you as. How could he have? When you were the one on his first day to greet him and then slap him when he had something pretentious or childish (neither of you remembered but you had insisted it was one or the other).

And he had never let you go after that. But now…he couldn’t even hold you.

The sharp beeps of the machine monitoring your vitals, connected by the tubes and wires that ran all over your body. He reaches for his blindfold so he can look at you, really look at you, but he can’t. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into the soft of his palms,

But you were alive. You were alive. You were alive.

That’s what he had to tell himself as he drew closer to your side — no matter how you looked now, you were okay. And that’s what was most important.

“Are you going to brood by my bedside all day?” his gaze snaps to you, your eyes fluttering open still, still drooping and exhausted, but a soft smile on your lips, “Because hospitals are depressing enough, Toru,”

He chuckles, forcing his tears back and his voice to be event, “Sorry, sweetheart, I forgot to pull out the stops for you this time,” and his fingers find yours, lacing as they always did, but they felt so cold, “next time I’ll bring confetti, balloons, streamers, and I’ll serenade you even—”

You snort, “You may be the best at everything, but I know you’ll sing offkey on purpose just to piss off Shoko or anyone else that visits me,” and he laughs shakily, a sigh stuck in his throat.

He presses his forehead to yours, “I love you, so much, y’know that, yeah?”

“I love you too, so much, Toru,” you cup his cheeks, turning your head to press your lips to his hand, “thank you for saving me,”

“You saved yourself, I just cleaned up a little,” his lips find yours in a soft kiss, and your brow furrowed, “what? Are my kissing skills that bad?”

You roll your eyes, “No, but are you okay?” and he scoffs softly, shaking his head.

“You’re the one who got kidnapped and hurt, and you’re asking me if I’m—”

“Satoru, you asked me if you should murder that guy,” you tilted your head, “I know you’re not against killing if it’s necessary or deserved, but the way you said it, I got worried,”

“I’m fine, I just—” he cut off, “I just need to figure out who did this,” you squeeze his hand, “I have to,”

“Satoru—“

“I know you’re okay, but you don’t know how afraid I was that you wouldn’t be—“ he cuts off, “and it’s not just that,” his fingers curl around yours tighter, “it’s not just us we’ll have to worry about in the future. We’re already a family, but what will happen if someone targets you and our future kids?” He takes a shaky breath at the thought,

“I have to make an example.”

Your gaze grows sad, pressing a kiss to his lips, if only to ground him for a moment, “I know,” but you frown all the same, “but promise me, you won’t do anything stupid, ok?”

But he was far from stupid — but the people before him were as close as anyone could get.

“You all are aware of my wife’s attack a few weeks ago,” he said in measured words, swallowing the lump in his throat, “I’m here to tell you that she has succumbed to her wounds,” his voice wavered, breaking, “she’s gone,”

There were whispers and murmurs that swept over the room, all were silenced by the lift of a hand — one of the Gojo Clan elders, the geezer leader as he liked to call him.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Satoru,” he said, lips twisted in a fake frown, “we heard that your beloved wife passed from her injuries a week ago,”

“And yet, I see you’ve brought someone for me to meet,” his eyes slide to the woman dressed for a wedding rather than a meeting, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

The woman’s painted lips kept in a neutral expression, her body so rigid he could have mistaken her as a statue if not for his six eyes, and her eyes refused to meet his.

“Satoru, I understand you are mourning, but we have to think of the future of the Gojo clan, and our future place in the Jujutsu world is only as secure as the next heir—“

“And so you thought to disrespect my wife by trying to marry your choice?” but their brows furrow as he begins to laugh, one that sends shivers down their backs.

The elders all gape at him, sharing looks, before turning back to him as his laughter finally settles into a quiet chuckle, “Satoru, what is this?”

“It’s funny that you ever thought I’d fall for this bullshit,” he pulls off his sunglasses, cerulean eyes gleaming in the low light, “did you know my wife was never supposed to be sent on this mission? Or rather, there were no reports of cursed spirits in the area, but yet, orders came for her to report to where she was,”

A hush falls over the group, “And why are you telling us this?”

“Because I think you all have forgotten your place,” in a blink, he’s grasping the neck of the elder, the very same man who had taken him away from his parents at the age of two to ensure his training was done properly, “I am the strongest, not the Gojo clan. I’m the only Gojo needed for the clan to be prosperous,”

“You insolent child—“ Satoru squeezes around his neck, gasps and whimpers clawing their way out from his grip, veins bulging as he tried and failed to pull Satoru’s hands off. He had even let the old man penetrate his infinity and all he had managed was a scratch or two.

“You should be careful when you’re talking to the ‘child’ who has your life in his hands,” and he grows silent, “now, to get back to the point, where did those orders come from?”

A quiet washed over the room, the only sounds were the shaky gasps of the elder in his hand, “W-what are—“

“I had a chat with the higher ups — those rotten old geezers may not like me, but I know they like all their limbs intact,” he drops the elder and twists his arm behind his back, wrenching back until he heard a cracking noise, “and they told me the orders came from the Gojo clan, and I wondered why would my own clan send the wife of the head off to be executed,”

“Satoru—“ one of the elders spoke, and he tilted his head.

“If you want him to die, your excuses will only make this go faster,” and his mouth shuts, “I’ll take your silence as a confirmation that all of you had a hand in this,” he sighs, removing his sunglasses, running his fingers through his hair, “man, I’ve had conspiracies against me, but I never guessed you’d target the one person I value above everything else. But I knew you would fail her little test,”

He’s met with furrowed brows and gritted teeth, the elder looking up at him in fear, “W-what?”

“You see if I had it my way, I would have killed you all, no questions asked,” his fingers close over the top of his head, wrenching him backwards to meet his gaze, “But my wife, my very much alive wife,” he adds, with a glance to the woman looking increasingly faint with each second that passes, “she would want me to see if you’d come clean about the plan and whether some of you were innocent,” his lips curl, “but she doesn’t know the bloody history of the Gojo clan like we do,” and his fingers dig into the flesh of the elder, “so what’s a few more bloodstains?”

He tears off his head, screams ringing out as a rush of scarlet paints the walls, splattering across the other elders. The woman offered to be his wife rings over the others, her shrill shriek piercing their eardrums. It’s a dull thud as the lifeless corpse falls to the floor, as Satoru wiped the blood from his cheek, a cock of his head and eyes flashing with anger.

“You can’t do this! You—“ Satoru’s fist connects with his face, blood flooding his features.

“I can, because I’ve decided the Gojo clan needs to get rid of the tumors that infect it, and besides,” his body crumples to the floor as his foot slams into their stomach, a sick, wet noise that draws gasps and open mouthed silent screams from the others, “what are you going to do about it?”

“Please, please, she’s alive—” one of them begged, all of them falling to their knees, wrinkled faces contorted in fear, blown out eyes and faces wet with tears only making them more ugly than he thought was possible — he really couldn’t end up like these geezers, “we only wanted what was best—we wanted the next head of the clan to be even more powerful than you are—”

He laughs, not an ounce of mirth or levity, shivers running down the spines of the others who watched, as he stepped over the body of the elder, lips twisted into a wide grin, “And there’s your mistake,”

He loomed over the one who spoke, shadow cast over him, as his fingers curled around his arm, before breaking it off, spurts of blood splattering on his clothes, mixing with the other — some of it flecked across his face.

Satoru wiped his face with his forearm, tilting his head. He knew they were begging and pleading — lips moving, words forming, but it all fell on deaf ears. After all they had never bothered to listen to any sorcerer before, did they? Suguru’s face came to mind — flashes of the spring he would never get back — so why should he listen to theirs?

“You were too busy worrying about the next head, when you should’ve been worried about the current one.”

~~~~

You were asleep.

Moonlight gave way to your features in the pitch black room, your soft breaths warming his fingers that ran over your cheek. Shoko had discharged you yesterday, and he had brought you home — but even now with you home, he couldn’t sleep. It felt as if you’d disappear the moment he took his eyes off you, slipping from his grasp just as you almost did.

But you didn’t. You’re here.

It was the same words you had whispered to him every night when he had curled up beside you, “I’m not going anywhere, I’m here, aren’t I?”

But you could disappear.

You could if he wasn’t there with you — if he wasn’t fast enough. Because he couldn’t be everywhere at once, not even the strongest could accomplish that. But he wanted to keep you safe all the same. Would it be selfish to lock you up? Hide you away somewhere others could never find you? Keep you hidden if only to keep you safe.

But you never would be safe, not while you were with him.

“Toru?” Your voice breaks him from his thoughts, eyes fluttering open to meet his as your fingers reach for his cheek, “is that blood?”

And he’s pinned your hands in a blink of an eye, quickly and quietly, “it’s not mine,” his gaze glows in the dark, catching the moonlight streaming in, and he’s leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Toru, what happened?” And he kisses along your cheekbones, your jaw, your nose, your chin, “Satoru—“

“I killed them,” his fingers trace the folds of the satin robe he had helped you into, brushing against the bandages that hid your wounds from his sight, but he could see them all the same, “the people who did this,”

Your brow furrows, “Toru, what do you mean the people who—“

“Why do you stay with me?” He leans down to find your lips in a bruising kiss, lips sliding against yours as his fingers undo the knot of your robe, letting the fabric fall away from your bare body.

“What—“ his lips part from yours, strings of spit connecting your mouths.

“Why do you stay with me when I’m a monster?” and your eyes soften.

“You’re not—“ and he’s cutting you off with another kiss, as your hands struggle under his grip, the other grazing down your side, finding the swell of your hip only to squeeze.

“I’m the perfect weapon,” he kisses down the side of your neck, teeth grazing against your soft flesh harshly, drawing a gasp from your lips, “I could have killed them all, because I know they all knew—“

“Knew what?”

“My clan elders — they wanted to have you die on a mission, they wanted to stage it, so they could have me marry who they wanted,” he pauses, drawing a finger down the valley of your breasts, “create a perfect heir,”

“Satoru—“

He kisses you again, swallowing your words along with your thoughts, parting only to speak, “so I killed them, I didn’t use my cursed technique, I wanted them to feel the pain they gave you, wanted them to feel a fraction of what you did,”

You can’t find a second to speak, his fingers now sliding up your bare leg, as he presses himself closer, erection against your inner thigh, “Toru, you didn’t have to put yourself through that—“

“I wanted to,” he parts your thighs easily, large palm spread against your inner thigh, fingers toying with the edge of your panties, “wanted to tear them to shreds for what they did to you — and what they wanted to do—”

“I’m okay, Satoru, I’m—” a bitter laugh leaves his throat, as his fingers find your bandages again.

“Do you call coming home half dead okay now by jujutsu sorcerer standards?” he shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair, “I told you after Suguru that I would fix this rotten jujutsu world,” he presses kisses up your thigh, “and their deaths did fix one thing — no sorcerer will touch you or our future children again, especially when they speak to the woman the clan wanted to marry off to when your body wasn’t even cold yet,”

“You left her,” and he nods, eyes unable to meet yours.

“I only killed the elders I gathered, anyone else was spared — they didn’t dig their own graves,” his hand loosens around your wrists and you reach for his cheek, cupping his cheek, despite the blood, “I don’t regret it, I’d kill anyone who hurts you, but I didn’t want you to see me like this,”

“Like what?”

“Like a monster,” and you click your tongue, his eyes flitting to yours.

“You’re my Satoru, not a monster, you did what you did to protect me, protect our family,” you murmur, “that’s just about the most Satoru thing you could do,”

“But—“

“And if you are deemed a monster anyway?” You lean up, fingers smearing the blood against your own cheek, “then I’ll just become a monster with you,”

He crashes into you with a kiss, cupping your cheeks, as his tongue slips into your mouth, “can you really be a monster, sweetheart?”

He drags his lips down your neck, his teeth grazing your soft flesh along the hollow of your throat, “T-Toru—“ and his lips find the swell of your breasts, his tongue dragging over your pert nipple, while his fingers hook into the elastic of your panties, snapping it against your skin, “y’know I can be, I would be, for you,”

He peers up through half lidded eyelids, his thumb drags down your puffy bottom lip, “I can’t imagine someone so sweet like you as one,” he murmurs, as he pulls back, lips slick with spit, as he drags his fingers toying with the soaked fabric of your panties, “and I wouldn’t want to drag you down with me,”

Your fingers reach forward, propping yourself up on your other arm, “Drag me or not,” you cup his chin, “you’re stuck with me,”

“Can we make it a binding vow?” you roll your eyes, and his lips curl for the first time since he’s got here, “c’mon sweets, I have to get my reassurance somehow,”

You hold up the giant rock on your finger, the very diamond you had told Satoru was too much, “this wasn’t enough—” the last word is a bite back gasp, as he noses at the drenched crotch of your underwear, a deep inhale that has you squirming, “No, Toru—” but he’s pinned your thighs down, prying them open, as he gazes up at you.

“Uh-uh, princess, I don’t remember saying you could move, especially when you could reopen your wounds,” his nose bumps against your clothed clit, a wicked smile as he drags his tongue over the already wet fabric, “you still haven’t seen how much of a monster I can be.”

~~~

“Ngh, Toru, can’t, I can’t—” but you can — you know you can from the heat building in your sloppy cunt under already soaked through sheets, and he knows too well you can too, from the way your pussy flutters around his three fingers, knuckle deep as they piston in and out, while his mouth toys with your abused clit, “please—”

You lost track of how many times you had orgasmed — his fingers, his mouth, and sometimes both — he had pulled each one after the other, allowing small reprieves, only to bury himself back in. He had even had you ride his face at one point, and you were sure he’d suffocate under your drenched cunt, until he flipped you on your back again.

“Please what, sweets?” he slows his fingers, curling them a certain way that makes your lips fall open, “you’ll have to use your words,” he pulls back.

Chest heaving, chin glistening with your release, his tongue cleaned his lips off before he wiped the rest off, before pressing open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs. And soon enough, his fingers were sinking back into your messy pussy, splitting you open with his thick fingers.

“Didn’t you say you wanted this, sweetheart?” his words cut through the wet squelch of his digits fucking you open, “wanted to drag you down with you, wanted this—” and he sucks hard at your clit, tongue flicking over it, making your back arch, “wanted me to drag you down with me,” and he punctuates it with a thrust of his fingers, brushing against a spot that has you seeing spots, “gotta make good on your promise, and I have to erase all the pain they gave you,”

And you barely manage to latch onto the desperation in his voice, the way the facade flickers.

He fucks you ever so slightly deeper, and you cum hard, tearing through you as your body tenses, pleasure washing over you as it did every single other time, melding into the others, “Good girl,” he murmurs, as he works his fingers through your orgasm, the slick noises becoming white noise, until he finally pulls the digits from inside you.

Your eyes flutter open to the sight of him licking his digits clean one by one of your cum, his lips curled in a soft smile as they meet your gaze, his hand sliding up your thigh gently as it quaked, the very same fingers he had used to murder the people that hurt you, were so gentle when it was you — he was always so gentle when it was you.

But never himself.

You reach up for him, palm cupping his cheek, while the other finds his bare shoulder — clothes long discarded, “I love you,” and the cracks spread, spider webbing from the epicenter, “you know that right?”

His words seem caught in the back of his throat, “Even now?”

“Especially now,” and he’s pressing you against the mattress again, your thighs folded against your chest, legs slung over his shoulders, “you saved me,”

His gaze softened, “you saved me first,” and again and again, he couldn’t count the number of times you did, by just existing, pressing a kiss to the side of your thigh, “but if I’m too late next time?”

“You can’t be everywhere,” your fingers lace with his, “and I just need you,” and still in this situation, his ego can inflate at your praise — nosing at your thigh, a deep inhale, before dragging his tongue up the side of your leg, “only you.”

He drags his weeping erection over your soaked folds, leaking tip teasing your slit while he watched his pre mix with yours, “Think you need more than just me,” and when he lets the tip sink into you, your lips part with his name, just as your walls part for him, “want something else, wifey?”

“You’re the worst,” you look up at him, lips curling despite your pout, your fingers grasping at the sheets under you, as your cunt tries to swallow him whole, “Toru, how long are you going to tease me for?”

And he’s pulling out only to draw a groan from your lips, “If you’re such a monster, thought you could take it—“ and your hand reaches for him, tugging him close by his neck.

“I swear to god, if you don’t fuck me right now—“

He grins, “If you insist,”

Fuck.

He sinks into you all at once, all too fast and all too slow, balls deep as he bottoms out inside you, your walls fluttering only to pull him deeper, “fuck,” your head falls back as his tip brushes against your cervix, “too fucking big, I swear if you rip my stitches open—”

“You don’t think I cleared this before I decided to do this, baby?” He grunts, glancing down to see how your messy hole stretched open as he sunk into you, “can’t believe anyone thought I’d fuck anyone but you — you’re the only one for me, sweetheart,”

You couldn’t help but notice his eyes flicker to your pussy stuffed full with his huge dick, “You talking to me or my cunt—“ and he begins to fuck you, remark undercut by the moan that he pulled from your lips, “f-fucker—“

“That’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it sweetheart?” the lewd sounds of skin slapping together filled the room, his soft grunts and your moans, “wanted me to fuck you open, yeah?” and he wanted this, needed this after this week — it had been too long since he felt you under him like this — real and alive, his name leaving your swollen, kiss bitten lips.

And you needed it just the same — needed his fingers to dig into the softness of your thighs, needed the way only he could fill every inch of you, needed the soft murmurs of how good you felt, how much he loved you.

“Fuck, Toru, so fast,” you whine, but how could slow down he when you felt so good — so wet and warm, you had joked he could cum just looking at you alone barely a fist around his dick, but it was true — and being inside you just made him unravel completely, all sense of himself lost and drowning in just you, “hngh, it’s so deep,” you babble, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“That’s right, sweetheart, gonna fuck you deep, gotta make sure you feel it don’t I?” he coos, and his hand snakes between your thighs, pressing his palm to the bulge in your stomach, making you gasp as your walls clench around him, drawing a grunt from his lips, “that’s it, good girl,”

You keen at his praise, the wet squelch of your cunt around his cock ringing in your ears, balls slapping against your pussy with a rhythm that echoes in your head, as your body arches into him, needing him deeper, harder, faster. He’s nearly rutting into you, his thrusts growing shallow as you clamp down on him, achingly close.

“Those old fucking geezers don’t know what they were talking about—“ he grunts, running his mouth all the same even as he sunk impossibly fucking deeper, “don’t know this is the only cunt I’d ever breed. The only one I’d ever breed. The only one I can. Know why?” And you only can whimper, as his fingers rub against your clit, “because this is the only one made for my cum,”

And his words push you over the edge, cumming hard and fast, head lolling back, as his tip bullies your womb, as he fucks you hard over and over through your orgasm, sending pleasure ripping up your spine. Satoru groans as he feels you spasm, soaking in him in your juices, as he watches a white ring of your cum form around the base of his dick, dripping onto the clean sheets with the evidence of your arousal.

He can’t hold back.

He rails into you, a moan of your name falling past your lips making you pull him close, shifting your legs around his back just so he can sink into you even a centimeter deeper—

“Fuck, g’nna cum,” he’s meeting your glazed over eyes, knowing “gonna fill you up, yeah? Get you nice and round with my baby,” he groans at the thought, the image of you carrying his kid, stomach swollen as you grow his child, “and they’ll know, all of them, that you’re the only one I’d cum in,” and he’s so close, dick twitching as your arms around his neck tug him close.

“Cum in me, Toru, give me our baby,” and that’s it, he’s spilling inside you, spurting his hot release inside, again and again, as he fucks it deeper, filling you up.

“That’s it, take every drop,” he’s relentless, until he finally eases from you, his release trickling out. A soft sigh parts your lips that grows into a sharp gasp as he’s already flipping you over onto your stomach.

“Toru—” you whine.

“Aw did you think we were done sweetheart?” a pillow cushions your still bandaged stomach, placed underneath to support you, a shudder down your body as he rubs his cock against you, as he leans down, hot words murmured against your ear with a grin, before he sinks back into you with one thrust, stuffing his spilling cum back inside, “One thing about monsters are that we also have monstrous stamina.”

~~~

It was early, but Satoru was already awake.

He always had trouble sleeping, but now? His eyes found your sleeping form beside him, under the covers and safe, just as he had left you that morning. He didn’t know if he’d ever sleep more than three hours now. He brushed the back of his knuckles over your cheek, but you needed sleep — one of three things you never could live without (food and himself being the other two). And you definitely needed it now, after he had kept you up — nearly all night.

You shifted in your sleep, revealing several blooming hickies and love bites he had littered your body with, lips curling at the sight, as he pulled the blanket back up around you.

He was selfish — he should have divorced you the moment he had gotten you back. Let you leave because it was the right thing to do — to let you live a life safe without him. But he couldn’t — because he couldn’t imagine waking another morning, spending another day without knowing where you were, how you were doing.

It was selfish. But you let him be — especially when it came to you.

And his phone vibrates on the nightstand, whirring again and again, as he picks it up with a sigh, Yaga’s name flashing on the display. He takes one last glance at you before slipping from bed, stepping into the living room.

“Sensei! To what—“ he hardly gets a word out before screams fill his ears. He rubs his chin, it was too early for this.

He makes out the words — Gojo clan, dead, scandal, murder (wasn’t sure if he meant if he was going to murder Gojo or he meant what happened to the elders).

“It was a clan dispute, there was no need to tell you,”

Satoru held the phone away from his ear, Yaga’s yelling told him everything he needed to know, “Yeah, yeah, I know, the higher ups know — or they probably do by now,” he almost chuckles at the thought, and how he would love to do the same to them — knuckles white as he grips his phone — love to make them feel the same pain the sorcerers cared nothing for felt, make them—

Arms curl around him from behind and he knows it’s you, his body relaxing into your touch with practiced ease, your face buried in his back. His fingers relax, finding yours, tracing over the back, as he lifts one hand to his lips.

—But it wasn’t the time for that.

“Fine, fine, no need to have a heart attack, old man — I’ll talk to them tomorrow,” Yaga was still speaking until Satoru hung up, turning to face yoy, your eyes half closed as his fingers found your cheek, “what are you doing awake, sweets?”

His lips curl as you lean into his touch, “you weren’t next to me when I woke up,” you murmur, nose brushing against his fingers as your eyes flutter open and closed, “how am I supposed to sleep when my pretty husband isn’t next to me?”

“Just pretty?” and you snort, as his arm sneaks around your waist, pulling you to his chest, your head right over his heart, a content sigh on your lips.

“Are you ever serious?”

“Always,” and you smile up at him, chin resting against him, “what is it? Do I got something on my face?”

“You think our baby will have your pretty face?” You hum, and his gaze softens at the thought, “I hope so,”

He grins, “You do huh? And here I thought my ego didn’t need more stroking,”

“It doesn’t, but my husband deserves every bit of praise he gets — because he doesn’t get enough,” you kiss him softly, nose bumping against his.

“You planning on showering me with your praise, sweetheart?” And your lips finds his again.

“Always,” and he’s leading you back towards the bedroom, “where are you—“ you squeal as he scoops you up into his arms and carries you back to bed, gently placing you down, a grin on his lips.

He drags his thumb down your kiss ruined lips, “Do you think I’m gonna let you leave this bed without breeding you right?” He clicks his tongue, “I’m far from done with you, wifey,”

You’re so beautiful, hair spread on the pillow like a halo, “So we’re not leaving until I’m pregnant?” Your fingers brush against his cheek, “we might be here a while,”

Satoru wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

He kisses you again, long and languid, “There’s nothing I want more than to stay in bed with you.”

✧ a/n: sorry i've been gone for a bit!! i got super busy with work and got hella writer's block and right when i was feeling ready to write-- i got sick. but i'm doing much better now!!

✧ taglist: @arrivedercis, @ssetsuka, @ch3rryistheg, @satorusmochis, @sunarins-bae, @blindbabycadder , @yihona-san06 , @dantaku , @archieballs , @ceruleansol , @mqcht , @xxemmarldxx , @chiyokoemilia , @theshylittleelfgirl , @rroseselavyyy , @out4thenight , @jatyes , @unreliablefangs , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @celestialseasart , @minsified , @akemfs , @ranatherealestsigma , @zherryxtar , @virtualangelllllll , @itsmebien , @difluenza , @rougebrainsludge , @mochigod , @euphorism , @vii-is-free , @elliesndg , @beneaththelamina , @monarch-of-anime-simping , @hhimetsu , @simply-a-s1mp , @jennieclips , @svt-backup , @angelbunsx , @duhhitsmiranda , @satowooo , @fushitoru , @lesaurita , @briluvslee , @gojo-gets-me-wetter , @catsgomurp , @pinkyvomit , @hyori2 , @wakashudou , @celestialgojo , @sxnkuna, @nakariabnrb, @dazailover1900, @hanlay, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @kxouri, @forest-fruits-jam, @spider-fan72, @strawmariee

[fairy-angel222]

𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

His tie loosened from the fancy date you two were just on, first few buttons undone with his grip hard on the staring wheel. Veins prominent from the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.

His eyes don’t leave the road when you begin to whimper and whine. Leaned back against the passenger seat as his hand traces up your thigh and your dress, pads of his fingers toying with your clit through the thin fabric of your panties.

You moaned softly, your own smaller hands reaching out to grab his wrist tightly when he skillfully slipped your panties to the side. Thick fingers dancing along your wet slit before settling on the tiny bud.

“Kento...”

Your back arched when he began rubbing small circles, your thighs twitching in need as your little noises of pleasure filled the dark vehicle. Your body jolting with each touch to the sensitive set of nerves.

Nanami only smiled to himself, barely sparing you a glance as he maneuvered each turn back to his home. “Hmm, yes darling?” The pace of his fingers only speeding up as your gasps and mewls increased in volume. Grinding your hips onto his hand when your head fell back against the seat.

“Nngh.. Kento,” You moaned, lips parting in soft pants. “Need.. n-need them inside.”

Nanami’s smile grew into a smirk. “Oh? Is my girl so greedy that she won’t take what i give her?” He teased, chuckling when you pushed his hand further down with a sound of agreement. “You want them inside you darling? Tell me how badly.”

“Really bad, want them in me really bad.”

He hummed, fingers trailing down further just as the car swerved to the right. Nanami taking the chance to slip two fingers into you with ease.

Your grip on his wrist tightened, letting out a string of short cries when he began fucking them into you. Curling them up sweetly into your g spot as you mewled his name loudly. Small tears welling in your eyes as your body trembled. Having already been so close to a prior orgasm.

“F-fuckk. Kento baby— ahh.” You couldn’t control the noises that slipped past your lips, eyes rolling back with ragged breaths as Nanami pressed into all the right places to drive you crazy. His thumb extending upwards to play with your still aching clit.

“You like that sweetheart?” Nanami cooed, shifting slightly in his seat as his cock strained in his pants. His fingers being put on auto mode as he focused on getting you home safely.

He knew your body like the back of his hand, pleasuring you came like second nature.

Especially with the way your glassy eyes rolled back beside him, crying out his name with a shaky moan as you were pushed closer and closer to the edge. “O-oh god.. ‘m gonna cum.” You breathed, toes curling as your body’s sensitivity went up by a tenfold. Nanami’s every touch scorching your skin as you waited for his command.

“Go on sweetheart, cum for me.”

You crumbled.

Body shaking lightly as you messily coated his fingers in your slick. An assortment of sweet sounds bubbling in your throat as your pussy spasmed. Drenching him and his seat when you squirted with a cry.

“Good girl.”

You shivered when his fingers slipped out of you. Your eyes peeling open to see him pulling up into his driveway. Putting the car in park before he finally turned to you, pressing his lips to yours with a groan.

“How about you do that on my tongue next?”

[tonycries]

Hope They Catch Us - G.S.

Synopsis. When you’re on-screen, it’s always a rivalry to see who’s best - you just never thought that it would be the same struggle in bed.

Pairing. Actor! Gojo Satoru x Co-Star! Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, rivals-to-lovers, co-stars to lovers, unprotected, oral (fem receiving) slight exhíbitionism (stuff with cameras), marking, praise, Satoru is actually down BAD, cúmplay, tabloids, lowkey fluffy at the end, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.5k

A/N. YA GIRL IS BACKKKK ;D Also happy belated three months to this blog hehehe.

Lights, Camera, Drama: Gojo Satoru and Leading Lady’s Off-Screen Feud to SINK Box Office Darling?

“They’ll Kill Each Other!” Insider Source Spills All on the Royal Rivalry Between Hollywood’s Hottest Bachelor and Bachelorette.

Enemies of The Century or Publicity Stunt? Recent Cast Outings Sets Fans Speculating!

---

You hated him. Oh, how you hated him. All because of a red-hot rivalry that had sparked ever since the two of you took the industry by storm. And everyone from Hollywood’s bigshots to your adoring fans knew that no matter where Gojo Satoru goes, you were sure to never be within a ten-mile radius. 

Well, usually. 

“I…shit- I’m in love with you.” 

Because avoiding Gojo like a plague really isn’t saying much when said plague was currently sitting right next to you. Eyes boring into yours, signature smirk plastered on his face while he rattles off a disgustingly sweet confession - all on the set of your latest movie. 

Somehow, in a cruel twist of fate, your co-star. 

And to add insult to injury, this wasn’t just any movie - it was only set to be the biggest romance film of the summer. So not only did you hate to tolerate Gojo, you had to pretend to be in love with him. 

Perfect. Great. Wonderful. If only the check wasn’t as tempting as it was, you think he would’ve successfully driven you to an aneurysm already. Especially considering that the scene tomorrow was-

“CUT!” 

That snaps you out of your little reverie, bringing you back to the still very ongoing film shooting. You risk a glance at the disgruntled director, cheeks aching from the sappy fake smile you had to hold for this scene.

“Something wrong?” you bat your lashes deceivingly innocently. You knew exactly what was wrong. And one look at Gojo - dressed to the nines and huffing sulkily at being interrupted in the middle of his monologue - told you that he did as well.

“It just doesn’t feel real.” The director shuffles his script, voice dropping to a sigh at your confused gazes. “The spark, it doesn't feel real.”

“What?” you silently thank your years of acting for keeping your voice steady. You squirm in your seat the longer the silence stretches. This cozy little café they rented out too tight, Gojo’s fingers intertwined with yours too hot. Too soft. 

“C’mon. You are in the perfect romantic set-up.” the other man gestures wearily at the café, at the dim-lighting and the proximity of your seats. “So why do you two look like you want to just- strangle each other?”

“Ooo kinky~”

It’s the first time Gojo’s spoken up since the scene was ended early and honestly that was enough to have you fulfilling the director’s suspicions. 

“That.” you give him a pointed stare. “That is probably why.”

And that just draws out such an infuriatingly light chuckle from Gojo, as he sprawls all over his chair with the audacity of someone that owned this entire set. “Lighten up. You’ve told us, n’ in the next take I’ll fix it. Easy peasy.”

If only it was that “easy peasy”. The director was anything but satisfied, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “It’s not just me, even the public is worried whether your ‘feud’ will get in the way of such intimate scenes. You-” he jabs a finger your way. “-better pretend like you want to kiss him senseless and you-” whirling now to Gojo. “-better act like you’ve wanted nothing more for years- Not to mention tomorrow’s sex scene-”

Ah, right. The sex scene. 

How could you forget? It might not be a walk in the park to giggle and make heart-eyes at Gojo, but to actually pretend to have sex with him? All on camera? Curse whoever wrote this damn script. You could’ve almost laughed at the universe’s absolutely awful sense of humor if it hadn’t been for your paycheck - and the next words that tumble out of Gojo’s pretty mouth. 

“We’ll ace it, you just watch.” 

You hurriedly snap your eyes to meet Gojo’s, sending him a look that says “behave”, in a way that very much makes him not want to. Twinkling with such dangerous mischief that makes your stomach flip as he hums, “Or- I’ll ace it.”

God, was it a battle to remain professional. The only thing stopping you from snapping back being the way he squeezes your hand mockingly reassuringly - to which you send him a death grip back, of course. 

“Oh? Care to elaborate, Mr. Gojo?” the director asks, eyes flitting between the two of you. And you can’t even laugh at the rest of the staff for almost toppling out of their seats in an attempt to hear his answer - because you are, too. Mind whirling as you lean closer, wondering just what nonsense would come out of Gojo’s mouth. 

“Well, you could say…” he trails off suspensefully, like the smug bastard he is. Looking right in your eyes as he flashes an unfairly pretty smile your way. “I’m irresistible like that.”

Exactly the type of nonsense that would come out of Gojo Satoru, of course. And one glance at the director told you he was thinking the same thing. He was going to be the death of you. You can’t help but breathe out shrilly, “You fucking-”

“My apologies, director, but our leads have a scheduled interview soon. Rest assured, we will be early on set for filming tomorrow.”

You were definitely giving Nanami a raise after this. 

Because if looks could kill then Gojo would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on his grace already - and you let him know. A little over twenty times, actually, as the both of you are hastily escorted away from the set for an “emergency interview”. 

It was a flimsy excuse, you both knew, but Nanami hadn’t exactly felt like cleaning up a crime scene today. Instead, settling for a swift escape, the director calling out after you two to “Look like you’re gonna rip the clothes off each other tomorrow.”

Rip the clothes off each other, huh?

With the way things were going, you couldn’t be surprised if you ripped him a new-

“C’mon, sweetheart~” Gojo gets out through giggles, that familiar cackle echoing in the narrow hallway leading to your trailer. “Y’know I was just having a little fun with that ol’ man.”

He saunters unhurriedly behind your brisk pace, easily blocking the way you swing the door shut in his face. Letting it shut with such infuriatingly smooth nonchalance. 

“Fun?” you scoff, jabbing an accusing finger right in the middle of his sculpted chest.“Do you even realize the mess you could’ve made?”

“Easy there, m’not insured for these pecs just yet.” Gojo clasps your hands together. Some strange little part of your skin burning at the touch in- anger? Something else? But you don’t think too hard about it, because he’s plowing on, “Besides, a little teasing never hurt anyone.”

Such a shame he was so pretty with the stupidest mouth.

“A little teasing? You practically declared to everyone in that room that we’re gonna fuck this up.” you move to pull him down by the collar instead, clearly unimpressed.

But oh you shouldn’t have done that - because he’s so close now. Too close. Hot breath fanning your face, looking so smug as he murmurs unrepentantly, “Do you?” Chuckling lightly at your little head tilt, “Do you think we’ll fuck it up?”

You clench your jaw, trying to keep it all together. “...No.”

“Exactly. We’re good then.” he winks. 

“No. We’re not fucking ‘good’.” you grit out. Wondering exactly how difficult it might be to bother the director into completely recasting the male lead for the movie. Looking up at that million dollar smile and- yeah, it would be very difficult. “You’re so insufferable. I don’t know why they cast you.” 

“My good looks? My charisma? The way I’m the-” he trails off with a sigh at your glare. “Well, you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine, sweetheart.”

“At least I can act and-.”

He whines dramatically, cutting off your rant. “Me too!” 

This conversation was so ridiculous - but, hey, the great Gojo Satoru always did bring out the worst parts of you. 

“Nuh uh.” 

“Yuh uh.” 

“Then why are you so stiff when acting like you’re in love with me?”

Somehow, that makes Gojo shut up. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water - gasping out a strangled little, “B-because- well-” And if you didn’t know any better you’d say that was a light blush dusting his ears.

Only for a split-second, though, because he’s grabbing you gently by your shoulders, more seriously than you’d ever seen him. “Fine. Listen, we both want the same thing right? To have pretend-sex and ace this film to win like five Oscars?”

And maybe at the heat of his newfound proximity, maybe at the way he was looking at you so goddamn intensely - you feel something hot and prickly pooling in your stomach. Swallowing thickly, you manage to get out, “I’ll be the one winning the Oscars...but yes.”

Gojo’s gaze roams all over you - from the quirk of your eyebrow to the dress hugging you so sinfully tight. “Then we’ll do it. Ace the scene.”

Traitorously, a shiver runs down your spine. And because the universe loves to play jokes on you, Gojo notices - of course, he does. Eyes lighting up with amusement and something you really didn’t want to decipher as you blink up questioningly, “How?”

“Method acting, silly.” he rolls his eyes, as if he wasn’t implying something that wasn’t seen in even the cheesiest of romcoms. “Think of it as running lines.”

If there was ever a moment where your life flashed behind your eyes then this just might be it. 

“You-” you gulp, so hot all over. “You better shut the fuck up and pray your face is insured because-”

At this, Gojo throws his head back and laughs - loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say about keeping his voice down so as not to let anyone outside hear, but shit you were mesmerized. Damn, a weird little part of you kind of understood why directors loved him onscreen. 

“Feisty,” he muses. “But how can I shut the fuck up when they’re second-guessing the two best actors in the game?” 

“The best? Me, maybe.” you lean in closer, mouth as bitchy as ever - even when you’re so obviously crumbling bit by bit under his gaze. And he knew that. “But not you.”

“Well, only way to find out is with tomorrow’s scene, right, sweetheart?” 

He drove you mad - everything from his heady cologne, to the way that overpriced button-up clung to him like second skin. But, don’t pull away - how could you? Not when he inches closer ever-so-slightly. Not when he lets those overpriced glasses slide down his nose, eyes locked so heavily on you.

Fighting to keep your words steady, “There’s nothing special about that scene, just fake moan in front of the camera, right? We don’t need any…‘method acting’.”

Gojo only raises a brow in amusement, lips curling into a grin that really makes you too aware of his little dimple by the corner. “Then why…” His eyes flicker down from his hands, searing on your shoulders, to yours - still grabbing his collar, just grazing the soft skin of his neck. Not pulling away. “...can’t you let go of me, sweetheart?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you, you really don’t give a fuck. The only thing running through your mind being that shit this was Gojo bane-of-your-existence Satoru, and he tasted so…sweet. Like those cheap lollipops he often snuck on-set. Strawberry, you think.

But you don’t get to confirm, because suddenly he’s pulling away mere millimeters. Whispering hotly, absolutely dripping with something dangerous, “Sooo, is that a ‘yes’ to running lines?”

“Ugh, shut up.” your lips ghost his. “And just fucking kiss me.”

And, well, Gojo doesn’t have to be asked twice. Because it only takes a split second for his lips to find yours again. 

Yeah, definitely strawberry lollipops.

You hadn’t filmed any of the kissing scenes just yet, but damn you didn’t expect him to be so hot and messy - like he was drunk off of you. Licking at the seam of your candied lips, groaning softly like he wanted more more more-

“Sh-shit, Goj-” 

“Call me ‘Satoru’ when we’re fucking.” he cuts you off. “Or, my bad. When we’re ‘running lines’.” 

Shameless. Though, you guess you weren’t any better - not as you press yourself closer running your hands all over his sinfully thin shirt, feeling every bump and curve of his abs. “You talk too much, Toru.” you hiss, muffled against his lips. 

Oh that cute lil’ nickname had all the blood rushing to Satoru’s cock, you were so unfair. 

“You little minx.” Like a little punishment, he’s biting down on your bottom lip, tugging lightly at your surprised squeal. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Hmm, I doubt it.”

And then your back is hitting the couch before you can react, bouncing lightly at the sheer force. And you’re so swept up in him - the way he hovers over you, arms looping around your waist, his knee wedging between your legs - that it almost hurts for you to pull away.

“Patience.” you huff out a laugh at Satoru’s disappointed whine, eyeing those pretty pink lips mere inches away from you. You just wanted them on yours. So badly. But no, there was something more important you had to do right now. “Jus’ thought we should record our little rehearsal, whaddaya think?”

“Record it?”

“Record it.”

“Record it, hmmm?” he’s whispering, more to himself than you. Fumbling with the zipper of your dress. “So you’re sayin’ we tape it, let the camera see how pretty you look all fallin’ apart f’me.” Kissing down your neck, letting the flimsy fabric fall down, “N’ then we improve for the pretend sex. Shut all those snobby directors up by giving them the best fucking sex scene they’ve ever seen.”

“Y-yes?” you mutter, as he starts tweaking your hardened nipples through your bra, clearly having way too much fun with this. “Unless-”

“Fine by me.”

The fabric hits the floor before you even realize what’s happening. Head spinning too much from the idea of being fucked on camera - by Satoru of all people, it takes you a second to realize that this bastard fucking ripped your dress off. 

“You probably broke-” 

“I’ll buy you a new one.” muffled, as he kisses down your navel, blindly fumbling with his phone. 

“It was expensive.”

With an impatient sigh, Satoru sets the camera up on the coffee table beside the couch. “Five new ones.” Angling it just right to perfectly capture you - in all your disheveled, horny glory, and Satoru, smugly seating himself between your thighs. 

“Ready?” he asks, finger hovering over that damn red button.

Well, it’s just for rehearsal, right? Right? 

“Do it.” you manage to get out, voice getting stuck in your throat at the faint ding! that rings throughout the heady room. “For my Oscars?”

“For my Oscars. N’the camera’s gonna know.”

And whatever retort on the tip of your tongue dies when he rocks his hip against yours, grinding his cock against your soaked panties. Rock-hard and so damp with precum already - so big that any and all rational thinking flies out the window.

Which is probably why you’re letting out such a pretty gasp, ‘S-Satoru, I want-“

“What?” And Satoru only flashes you a devilish grin, hands spreading your legs as far as they’d go on the couch. “This?”

He licks a long, long stripe up your inner thigh, all the way till he just meets the hem of your drenched panties. Teasing. So hot and depraved in the way he breathes in your scent. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart.” Satoru grunts, looking down in awe at the damp fabric, so flimsy and see-through with your sweet juices. You slick beading through so sloppily, just a hint of the state you were in. “You don’t know how you drive me mad.”

Rip! 

He’s so fucking starved that he’s just tearing your poor panties clean off. Throwing them behind him to God-knows-where before spreading your swollen folds with his thumb, showing off just how wet you were for him. 

“You’re a tease.”

“And you’re fucking addictive. Look how fuckin’ wet you are. For who, huh?” he slurs, breath hot against your cunt. Circling your entrance just barely with his fingertip, teasing you like he was addicted to those frustrated moans coming out of your pretty lips. 

“S’for you-” you whine, “All for you, Satoru.”

“Exactly what I wanted to hear.”

And that’s all that needs to be said before he’s burying himself nose-deep. Drunk off your pussy as he licks long, languid movements. And it wasn’t enough - never might be, actually, because only one taste and Satoru was like a man possessed. 

Bullying his tongue between your folds, just dipping into your sloppy hole in a way that had your slick smearing all over his pretty face. Letting out such deep groans that had you clenching around his hot tongue. 

Shit, if you knew that this was the way to shut up the great Gojo Satoru then you would’ve done it a lot sooner. Because for one in his life, Satoru’s too entranced with something else to run his mouth, so fucking satisfied between your thighs. 

“Fuck- hah- think I like you better w-when hngh- you’re like this, Toru.” you purr, breath hitching as he bullies his tongue between your folds. 

Maybe you were an idiot - maybe you were a genius, because that only sets him off more. 

And suddenly Satoru’s pulling your body closer onto his hot mouth, like you were weighless. Pushing himself so impossibly closer while he makes out deeper with your wet cunt. 

“Ah! Hngh- Satoru-” you keen, tugging at his soft locks. As delirious as Satoru was pussydrunk. Drinking in all your cute lil’ whines of his name, angling your hips to lick all over like he couldn’t decide between fucking your sloppy hole or toying with your poor, ravaged clit. 

“Mhm?” he murmurs, the vibrations making you squeal.  Eyes rolling to the back of his head as lets your sweet juices slide down his throat. “Ya like this?” Stretching you out on his tongue, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Over and over- “Like when I tonguefuck your pretty pussy?”

“Ngh- love it- s’good. Ah fillin’ me up s’good.” you squeal, bucking your hips desperately into his pretty face, broken little whimpers leaving you at each rough push of Satoru’s tongue. 

And oh Satoru thinks he wouldn’t mind being on his knees every day if it meant he got to taste you like this. “Tell the camera too, sweetheart. Practice how you’ll come around my tongue.”

Those words send a jolt up your spine - or maybe it was the way Satoru was sucking harshly on your clit. “F-fuck off.”

“Mhmmm, n’ this is why I’m the better actor..”

Ugh, this fucker. And with that you fight to turn your head - looking right in the camera. Feeling so fucking lewd as you let out such pornographic moans.

“Yeah- feel s’good.” you whimper, “Wanted this for so long, ever since I first saw- ngh- you-”

And shit were you so fucking evil - at least warn a guy! Because that has Satoru’s heart lurching, almost jumping up from between your legs before it hits him with a pang - ah, right, you were just quoting your character’s lines. Of course.

Well, two can play that game.

“Yeah?” he mutters into your folds. Two fingers plunging knuckle-deep in your pussy, massaging your plushy walls. Roaming around for that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so deliciously. “Can’t believe I waited s’fucking long. Y’know how hard it was to hold back? With you wearing all those slutty skirts f’me?”

Your body is jerking violently, both at his - practiced - words, and the way he was devouring you like you were his favorite meal. His favorite taste.

So eager and in-character with the way he was setting such a dizzying pace on your poor cunt. Slick trailing down from his fingers, all the way to his wrist. So sloppy and- Pressing down. Hard. “Found it.”

And you can only sit there and take it, such cute little whines of Satoru’s name leaving you as he leaves no mercy. Jaw grinding deeper and deeper, maddening. Aching as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over. And you were so-

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Truthfully, he didn’t even have to ask - if the way you were trembling and squeezing so fucking tightly around him was anything to go by. “Go on darling. scream my name. Show off f’the camera like you do best.”

“Sh-shit. Toru- fuck yes-” you’ve got an iron-tight grip on his hair now, pulling and angling him as you pleased for more. Barely able to let out those strained lil’ moans, definitely not with the way he’s dragging your sloppy pussy all over his face. Fingers cramping up from how rough he was going - but still not stopping. 

“Go on. Cum f’me.”

And then you are. Letting out such a teary, strangled moan of Satoru’s name as you cum all over his face. 

And it’s not just for the camera either - because this orgasm is probably the best one you’ve had in a while. So hard that you don’t even realize you’re arching and rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Using him. 

And he doesn’t stop you. Why would he? You were so pretty falling apart all because of him. He wishes he could see this more often…

“S-Satoru.” you mewl, overstimulated. Jolting with each flick of his tongue, trying to close your legs but you can’t - he won’t let you. Greedily lapping up all your sweet juices, everything that you give him. 

“Nope.” he drawls, finally pulling away, delicate strings of your slick snapping as he does. Looking so fucking drunk off of you that it makes your cunt quiver exhaustedly. “C’mon now, sweetheart, you were s’pposed to say my character’s name. S’how the scene goes.”

Oh. Shit, you got too caught up. But one look at Satoru - eyes half-lidded, hair disheveled, your juices glistening all over the bottom half of his face so prettily - tells you he was much the same. 

“Well…” you huff, voice shot. “According to the script you were supposed to stuff that-” pointedly eyeing the achingly hard cock straining his pants, “-in my mouth first before eating me out. So here we are.”

With a chuckle, he rises slowly. “Touché.” Looking you straight in the eyes - and probably into your very soul - as he pops his fingers into his mouth. One by one. Groaning at the taste of your sweet sweet juices while he sucks them clean. “But I don’t think I’d last one second with those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

And it almost makes you want to tease him for it - one of Hollywood’s biggest It Boys but you can’t handle a lil’ blowjob? But all of that gets stuck in your throat as Satoru starts peeling off his shirt ever-so-slowly. 

Shit, you think. All mouthwatering curves and dips, all the way from his toned, milky shoulders down, down, down to those neat tufts of white peeking out from the hem of his underwear. Sculpted like he was handcrafted so meticulously - a fucking masterpiece, you had to admit. 

One that made you wish you took a longer look at all those shirtless magazine covers instead of throwing them out. One that had your thighs squeezing in such anticipation.

And Satoru seemed to be admiring you just the same, eyes locked on your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing - so ready for him. Distinctly aware of how pathetically needy you were being in front of the blinking camera, you crane your head to glance at it. Was it really capturing-

“Now now, first rule is to never look at the camera during this scene.” Only for Satoru to squish your cheeks together, forcing you into an embarrassing little pout as he turns you back to face him. “Look at me.”

And oh you can’t not look at him. 

Especially when he tugs his pants down, just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, so fucking long and pretty. Smearing glossy precum all over his abs, flushed your favorite shade of pink, rock-hard and so so angry. Shit, he was so hard it looked like it hurt. 

“Satoru…” you breathe, legs wrapping around his slutty waist to pull him closer. Only needier despite that little nagging voice wondering how the fuck you’d take his sheer size.

“Sweetheart?”

“I remember he didn’t do a lot of waiting in the script.”

And God were you right - but Satoru doesn’t think he could’ve kept this act of restraint up any longer even if you weren’t. Too impatient, too starved, his sanity dancing away from him with each second his fat cock wasn’t stuffed inside your pretty cunt. 

“Mhm.” he purrs, one hand reaching down to drag his fat head up and down your slit. Heavy balls squeezing painfully at the way your lip wobbles in frustration. Up and down up and up and- “You’re right.”

And then it’s like something snaps.

Because it only takes a split-second for Satoru to start splitting you apart on his massive cock. Big fat tears pricking at your eyes at the feeling that he was pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“Sh-shit, s’fuckin’ tight-” he lets out a low grunt at the slight resistance, taking everything in him to not just fuck into your snug pussy and use you like his little plaything. “You gotta hah- relax, pretty girl.”

You needed to relax more - to breathe maybe, just something. You weren’t even in the right state to wonder whether that little nickname was in the script - and God was Satoru thankful for that. Because all you can think of is how you never imagined what the bane of your existence would look with his cock stuffed in your dripping cunt - but now that you’ve seen it, you think you’ll imagine it for many lonely nights to come. 

“Hey, now. Don’t get camera-shy just yet.” Satoru gives your ass a playful smack. “After all, this is only the best- part-”

Each word is punctuated with shallow, mindless little thrust to fit himself inside your dripping pussy. Such cute lil’ whines leaving your swollen lips that he really can’t help but tease you a bit. Leering down at your fucked-out face with a smirk, “Or- my bad. Forgot such a scene would be hard for a rookie.”

Oh, did he know how to press your buttons just right. 

Because immediately, you’re blinking away the delirious haze in your eyes, voice so adorably shaky - but determined - as you grit out, “Bring it on, you B-list wonder.”

That’s all that has to be said before he’s finally bottoming out inside you, mercilessly. Inch by fucking inch. You gasp as his twitching balls smack your ass so lewdly, feeling his veins beat in such a slutty lil’ thump! thump! thump! against your heavenly walls. 

“T-Toru- big- ngh- too fuckin’ big. M’gonna break mpf-” his lips claim yours. Partially because it’s been way too long since he’s kissed your pretty lips, and partially because Satoru might just cum right then and there if he let you run your mouth. 

So he lets his hips do the talking instead. 

Cooing into your mouth at each little ah! ah! ah! every time he stuffed you full of his dick, quick, experimental thrusts to try and find that one spot he knows will have you falling apart so prettily.

“Sounds so beautiful, sweetheart.” rocking his hips faster into yours. So hard you were sure he’d leave marks. “No camera in the world can pick up how fuckin’ perfect ya are. Can’t ngh- pick up those cockdrunk lil’ heart eyes.” Angling your chin just so that your sinful expression is caught on camera, “Shit do ya even know you’re doing those? Might just make me lose it for real tomorrow. Might just make me sneak you off to the dressing rooms n’-” Manicured fingers digging into your hips while he fucks you in jagged, purposeful strokes. Hitting that one spot. Hard. “Fuck you all over again.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he smugly hits that magical spot over and over- 

And it was so sloppy - so filthy with the way Satoru still had remnants of your slick all over his lips, matching the way you were soaking his cock. Fingers moving down to draw erratic little patterns on your clit, making it even messier. 

Close - too close. 

So, so desperate and debauched.

“C’mon. Show the camera. Tell the camera how much you love it.” 

“Ngh- f-fuck you.”

“Oh? Who’s fucking who now?” he’s laughing at your absolutely wrecked state. You can feel Satoru twitch inside you as you mumble out such delirious little praises to the camera - were they coherent sentences? You’ll never know, because the next words that fall from his lips have your mind reeling. 

“God, m’addicted to you, my girl.”

“That’s not- ah- in the script, Toru.” you hiss. Close. 

“I know. And neither is that.” he leaves such uncharacteristically gentle kisses down your neck. Miles away from the relentless place on your poor, abused pussy, fucking you deeper and rougher every time despite already bottoming out. “Does it have to be?”

“Th-that doesn’t ngh- make sense.” you gasp into his open mouth. 

“Doesn’t have to.”

Maybe it’s the way Satoru’s panting those words against your lips. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking right in your eyes while he says them - like it would kill him to pull away. Maybe even that fleeting little kiss he leaves against your lips. 

Because before you know it, you’re cumming and cumming so hard that you wonder whether you’d make it out alive. The only thing you can do is throw your head back and take it, thighs quivering, Satoru’s names spilling from your lips in such broken little whines while he thrusts so sloppy. Once. Twice. 

“Ah- this is gonna have me fallin’, huh?” And then he’s letting out such a low, muffled moan of your name, filling you up with rope after rope of his cum. 

What? 

It’s so messy - his cum overfilling your poor pussy, spilling out and coating his twitching balls. Shit, you can’t even worry about whether it would stain that overpriced couch below you. Not when Satoru’s whispering out sweet- lines from the script?

“Fuckin’ beautiful underneath me. Always was.” Hips still fucking into you - not even thinking at this point. “Always will be. Such a vision onscreen, sweetheart.” So thick and hot, and dribbling all the way down your legs with every movement.

And then Satoru’s lips are finding yours again, tasting so unfairly sweet while he drinks in all your cute breathless gasps. “Such a vision f’me.”

Those weren’t from the script either.

Something soft. Something scary. Something that has you looping your legs tighter around his waist, letting him collapse onto you. Pulling him closer, in fact, because now that you know the weight of his body on yours, it just felt so right.

It takes a moment of silence for you two to catch your breaths, the still rolling camera being the last thing on your minds. Neither willing to speak first, because shit Satoru might’ve gone to countless red carpets and film sets but this - you are what strips him away from all the glamor and fame. Until he was just, well, embarrassingly Satoru.

The Satoru that was now shifting shyly in your arms, trying to get up. “Uh- Hell of a way to run lines, huh? Better check the camera n’ see where to impro-”

He might be one of the biggest actors in modern Hollywood, but Satoru didn’t fool you - not one bit. So without a word, you’re tugging him back to rest against you. Heart lurching just a little bit as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. Like a little hideaway - from the camera, from the world, hell, maybe even from you.

“Y’know,” he flinches ever-so-slightly at your teasing tone, giving you a playful bite. “I have one area of suggestion and it might just be that you’re too good at ‘running lines’.”

“...Good enough to win those five Oscars?”

“No.”

“Then guess I better prove it to ya, huh? Is the camera still on, sweetheart?”

Just then, some weird little part of you thinks that, hell, maybe you don’t hate Gojo Satoru after all.

Not anymore, at least. 

---

The Enemies-To-Lovers Trope of The Century?! Hollywood’s Biggest Rivals Sport Matching Hickeys (And Smiles) On-Set of Upcoming Film.

Oops! Gojo Satoru's Phone Wallpaper Accidentally Exposed: Surprise, Surprise It’s His Leading Lady! More on Page 6.

“No Comment. Though, I Have Moved Trailers. Twice.” Anonymous Manager Speaks on Latest Movie Rumors.

Director Is All Smiles As He Raves About Upcoming Romance Movie. “Hell, If I Didn’t Know Any Better I’d Say They Were Really-”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[arolesbianism]

Horrible realization that if I go through with recollecting all the oni logs then I'll have to actually find out how to get "a seed is planted" like for realsies this time. Maybe I should just cheat them all in actually. <3.

[theorist-fox]

Can I interest you in some silly sex with Simon? 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️

18+

Word count: 1k.

CW: nothing really. Just silly sex. Just giggling sex. Just I-need-to-give-this-man-some-humanity sex. Simon is ticklish and you find out, that's the plot.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

You look delectable straddling his hips.

Naked and soft, plump tits sitting prettily in his hands. His thumbs swipe idly around your perked nipples as you ride him slowly, early morning sun peeking through the curtains and lapping at your skin. What a way to wake up, what a sight.

He stares at your lips and how they part for him—something he still has to get used to, though he probably never truly will. How dulcet does his name sound if it’s your voice whispering it, how beautiful your eyes when they take in his face.

Soft hands are pressed on his chest for leverage, and you’re treating him with a view he keeps pinned to the forefront of his brain—gliding your cunt until you’re chock-full of him, stroking yourself until you’re shivering.

He likes it when he’s on top, sure. He’s used to taking the lead and orchestrating every detail, in and out of the job. 

But when you allow him to sit back and take it? Hell, sign him up. He’d do it every day. Especially when it’s this lazy sex here, in which you’re canting your hips to cum before he does, giving him the blissful chance of feeling you clench around him when he's still hard. 

Goosebumps rise under your nails as they graze down his chest and brush his stomach. Your hands wander blindly on his belly, then his sides, as you clock his eyes with your heavy ones, panting softly, idly—my beautiful, beautiful girl.

But then you inadvertently brush his ribs, and he stiffens—even squirms, and your movements come to a halt.

You blink as conscience returns to you slowly, and the room sinks into tense silence. His cock twitches inside of you when you tilt your head inquisitively, squinting your eyes.

Experimentally, you brush your fingertips against his ribs again, and his biceps flatten to his sides, trapping your hands.

Your eyes widen, and his do the same.

“Don’t.”

You gasp, “Oh my God.”

“Darling, no.” He warns, but you’ve clearly made up your mind already.

Your lips are curled in a smile that promises mischief, and he can only give up, sit back, and count his losses.

“Darling, yes.”

Simon feels your fingers wiggle under the tight press of his arms, but no matter his strength, they're seemingly useless against that playful resolve you're displaying.

His cock is still embarrassingly hard inside you, and Simon reckons it won't soften any time soon. You don’t seem eager to get off him either, thus prolonging the torture with each tiny movement you make.

He inhales sharply and fights tooth and nail to school his expression into neutrality. His eyes are narrowed, and his jaw is locked tight. The only thing giving him away is the flush of his cheeks, getting pinker by the second because he refuses to open his mouth to breathe a much-needed lungful of air. Knowing that if he would, he'd bark a laugh that would proclaim you as the winner of this fight.

He would never.

You roll your hips, then—cheap trick. He unravels with a shaky breath, and his biceps give out enough for you to slip your hands away.

And then, he knows he's done for.

“Cut it out.” He barks, trying to sound stern and miserably failing. He knows because you're laughing even harder.

Your fingers feel like tiny bugs crawling up his sides, and they make his breath catch in his throat.

“Never.” You say, with a grin that scrunches your nose. A smile that would normally make his heart throb, but right now just makes him wish he were a lesser man so he could throttle you.

“Fuckin’-“

You chuckle.

You evil little cunt.

Resistance lasts a few more seconds before he bursts.

It’s not a full laugh that leaves him; more of a wheeze that makes you chortle like a wicked witch. His chest heaves as your fingers frantically tickle his sides. Tries to get you off him by shaking his hips, but that only makes the two of you falter and moan, and then chuckle and catch your breaths.

His shoulders shake in a breathless, choking laugh that pitches upward as you continue with your assault (yes, assault—he is��not being dramatic), eyes veiled with tears of frustration and mirth. He shrieks when your hands travel under his armpits—the sound makes you giggle in a way that would have him melt. 

“That laugh’s lovely, baby.” You say with a smarmy grin he wishes he could wipe with a kiss, hands unrelenting against his sides. “Sound like a kettle whistling.”

He tries to glower and push you off, but you’re surprisingly strong when you’re focused. Right now, your only goal is to apparently make him hate you—he'd rather be held at gunpoint than being forced to hold in a laugh that makes his stomach hurt.

Simon now looks shockingly harmless, with his cheeks flushed bright red and his voice an octave too high—wouldn't look dangerous if he tried.

“Tea ready, yet?” You add, batting your lashes, because why not rub salt into the already embarrassing wound marring his pride.

It’s that unfathomably stupid joke that finally makes Simon crack. He barks out a laugh that bubbles up his throat, rippling through his stomach so suddenly that you bounce above him. Your own laugh follows soon after, because each time you manage to steal one from him, your heart vibrates with loving triumph.

But still—he is Simon Riley, isn’t he? Member of Task Force 141. Lieutenant in the UK Special Forces, SAS. The Ghost. There is some pride in there, one he'd like to keep intact.

He tries to recollect his breath, sniffling, and his arms shoot out to wrap around your waist. He rolls onto his side, taking you with him.

It’s then that you find yourself in a position of utter disadvantage, on your back with your big brute of a boyfriend holding you down. You’re wide-eyed and still smiling with barely contained giggles, and he’d be lying if he said it doesn't make his heart soar.

Sure, he’s panting, still proper flushed and apple-cheeked, with shivers wrecking his spine and unshed tears in his eyes—but he takes great pride in having won yet another fight (again, not overreacting at all, if you ask him).

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

You fix him with a look. “Simon, no.”

Before you can add more to your complaint, he rams his cock into you until your chest stutters, your lips mouthing around a shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

He fucks you into the mattress, then—once, twice, until the remnants of laughter vanish from your face and you’re trembling in bliss, eyes rolled back under heavy eyelids.

He places a sloppy kiss down to your collarbone.

“Simon, yes.”

[nicoliine]

The day you noticed Lucifer was using his wings to court you.

☆彡 In birds, there is a great variety of nuptial displays at the time of courtship, especially in species that have melodious songs or show very striking plumage.

Little did you know, this would include angels or the king of hell himself.

 

☆ English isn't my first language. Sorry in advance.

☆ The reader is g/n; no pronouns or y/n are used.

 

You were always fond of birds, and you dedicated much of your life to helping preserve endangered species. You studied them, spent countless hours learning about the hundreds of species, a lot of diets and their behaviors.

This didn’t seem to stop once you found yourself in Hell; in fact, once you discovered there were a bunch of sinners with bird-like features, you just seemed content to be there.

When you arrived at the Hazbin hotel, you claimed one of the spare rooms as your personal studio, and after what you have called "the toughest battle in your life," you convinced Alastor to let you have a camera "as long as you never get that frivolous technology box near me."

Husk had to ask you not so politely to stop when you first met. Before you could even take his hand, you had started to ask questions about their wings; sometimes you even wrote on an oh-so-worn notebook of yours; it became a common topic of discussion between the two of you. When you forget he has work to do and start to take multiple pictures of his wings and even try to take one of his wings when he is not looking, Angel starts to think that your bartender friend is about to lose it, and you will end with a scratch or two.

 

Besides that, one could say that your presence in the hotel was appreciated; you could be found watching some funny shows on TV with Angel and never saying no to Vaggie when she asked for a favor. Soon, you started to feel part of the hotel, and the rest of the staff agreed with that.

 ☆◦ •◦☆

Lucifer was nothing like any man you had met in life or hell; he was, to put it simply, an awkward guy, always so silly yet so elegant. He had managed to get you longing for his presence more often than you would like to admit.

You are not sure how you and Lucifer became friends, but having a shared interest in ducks seemed to help. You gave him all kinds of facts about them, and he would step by your room every so often to show you the new rubber duck he was working on. Not that you're complaining, but one of his ducks set your courtains on fire on an occasion.

Charlie says that she is proud of his "social advances,” as she used to call your interactions. Seeing him out of his office more often and having an actual conversation with someone seems to make the princess happy and less worried about her father, and if that someone turns out to be you, it is so much better!

  ☆◦ •◦☆

The first time you noticed this weird behavior of his was the day you two met. You couldn’t help but mention, after his bickering with Alastor over who was Charlie’s father figure, that you found his wings precious. Lucifer, being the prideful man he is, wasted no time on extending his wings only for your delight, a smirk on his face as he saw your eyes wide admiring that part of him; they were so magnificent, you could swear they were shining in the light of the room, and you'd die to see if the feathers were as soft as they seemed.

 

Just a simple touch, please.

 

Before returning his wings to their place, there was a flutter of his wings, so slow that there was no way someone could notice.

But you weren't just someone; you knew it. What a coincidence! You could recap an article about some birds courtship.

The second time you saw it, you were in your room minding your own business. He came to you with a smile, but your eyes were looking past him, his wings on full display as he greeted you. There, his wings started flutter again, now lasting more than the last time. Now there is no way it was just a coincidence. “My eyes are up here, darling,” he said, that smirk on his face turning into a pout as you were not paying him enough attention. You just shake your head, focus on the man before you, returning your full attention to him, and the pout on his lips dissapears immediately as your eyes are on him.

 

  ☆◦ •◦☆

You are getting crazy; every time you get a glimpse of him, you find his wings moving in an oh-so-familiar way that you could swear it was a courtship dance, every time bolder than before.

That is when you decided to confront him, getting just a chuckle from him. It made you think maybe it was just your imagination, and you finally lost your mind.

 

While sitting on the hotel balcony, Lucifer was telling you one of his ideas for this new rubber duck. He said it would be the best one he would work on so far, even though you doubted that. Then you stopped listening, your eyes fixated on his wings. Every time he looked at you, they would flutter not so subtly, distracting you from everything around you. Your head rested on your palm, almost feeling bad for not listening to his rambling.

 

"Luci, you're courting me." It was supposed to be a question, but by the way the king of hell stopped his rambling and, looking at you with wide eyes, you found that maybe it was not.

"And what would make you think that?" He said mocking you, he also rested his head in one of their hands.

 

"Your wings, the way you move them," you pointed to his wings; they stopped his movements when you mentioned it; he just chuckled, then started to laugh. Was he laughing at you? It made you want to hide yourself from him; was it your imagination? No way.

 

"So you finally notice," he then said. Once his laugh was gone, he adjusted himself on his seat. Now, with both of his hands holding his face and looking at you with a smirk, his wings started to flutter once more. "I thought it would take you less time, may I be honest"

 

"Actually, I noticed it long ago; I thought it was just my—" You felt the air leaving your lungs once he got on his feet and moved closer to you. "...Just my imagination." You were not strange to his proximity, but this time he just looked so imponent, wings on full display and fluttering around. Now it was definitely a courtship dance, and you were on the receiving end.

 

"Now, what do you think?" He hovered over you who still sitting, a hand resting on the back of your seat, taking one of your hands on his and kissing your knuckles. The kiss lasted longer than you thought was the average time for one, and even then he didn’t let go of your hand. "Was my dance enough to impress you, darling?" Now, looking into his eyes, you could only see adoration, awaiting your response.

 

You couldn't speak; you can't imagine the king of hell pulling up something like this for you.

 

"My dear, please talk to me," he pleaded, a sigh leaving his lips as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel his warm breath in your skin, burning like hellfire.

 

"It was," you said, Lucifer now turning his face to look at you. You took his face in your hands and moved him closer, he gave you an inquisitive look but with no intention to move from your touch. "I should have mentioned it earlier; it was quite impressive." You smiled, and he did the same.

 

Now, how long you two kissed, you also don't remember; what you remember, however, is how he held you against him as if you were just about to disappear right then, and that when you finally got to touch his wings, you were proved wrong.

His feathers were much softer than you have imagined.

This idea came to me yesterday when my dad showed me a reel of a lady bird who epically ignored the male who was dancing to her, I felt so bad and immediately thought about Lucifer.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated 💞