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[hinamie]

trick or treat!

[inkskinned]

you said you were stuck in a time loop, which was fine. i feel like late-stage capitalism has us all in a time loop, ammiright? you came barging in at 5:33. in the morning. i hadn't even processed the idea of coffee.

but you had this look of utter panic in your eyes. terror like the ocean. you grabbed my cheeks. im in a time loop.

i don't know why in movies the first reaction is to deny it. when someone is panicking like that, it's not appropriate to ask them to calm down. it didn't matter if i believed it, what mattered was that you believed it so much that it was consuming you.

so here we are. i pour you some of the dark roast. "you look like utter and entire hell," i say.

you push your fingers into your eyes. "you always say that."

i try to think of something funny to say that i wouldn't have said on previous time loops, but jokes don't land without the proper timing (lol). "remind me to think -"

"-yeah, of a joke that only works in the future. and before you say anything, i know you're pissed i just stole your punchline." you bolt the coffee, which is wild. it's very hot. you don't seem to notice.

i blow on mine to cool it down. i both am very pissed at you and also i can't see you in this amount of panic without wanting to help. but i'm also not really sure what we are, not since i saw you kiss her like that, no offense. it just was like, kind of rude when you knew i liked you.

and besides. i'm just like, barely a person. i write omegaverse fanfiction. i love the concept of a time loop, but what the fuck am i gonna do? send an alpha in there? i open my mouth.

you point at me. "you're about to ask why me. and then say some disparaging shit about yourself. i'm just a nerd who plays dnd or something. that self-own is slightly different each time." you sigh. "i know you think you can't really help me. i don't know who can help me. i only came to you because you fucking believe me." you check your watch, sigh, and throw your head back. you cover your eyes with one hand. "i've come here on 26 separate revolutions," you say. "you have believed me every time. and yeah, i have no idea how you fit into this but i just -" you sigh again. "i just like fucking talking to someone about it."

"do you need more cof-" i start, but you're already holding the empty cup out. i frown at it. "you're not getting any more until you promise not to bolt this one like an animal."

you laugh a little and sit up, pushing your hair out of your face. "okay, that's new dialogue. but to be fair to you, i'm not usually this rude. i'm still pretty new at all of this." you check your watch again. another sigh. i guess you're cruising for a personal best in the Sigh Olympics.

i almost tell you im not an NPC but i've played enough video games to know i'm very much an NPC. i pour you another cup. "so what happens in the loop?"

"really bad explosion." you mutter into the mug. you put your elbows on the table (rude) and bury your face in your arms like an angsty teenager. one hand floats up while you talk, because evidently you literally can't talk without your hands. "i have to save the day and there's this bomb and i have no bomb training and it keeps moving, you know."

"do i die?"

you peek up from your arms. "yeah. bigtime. you keep trying to run or stay or do anything and you always super die."

"oh."

"to be fair, like, everyone dies in it though.... so you're in good company."

i hate that you make me laugh. i hate that being around you always feels tingly and strange, this electric tension between us. something that is evidently (given how you stuck your tongue down a stranger's throat literally 3 days ago) (well. 3 for me) super one-sided. i take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes.

i die today, i guess. a little spark of panic starts at the top of my hands and starts whipping up my wrists.

"shit," you say. you look at your watch and jump to your feet. "i have to go. if i can come back, i will. i am still trying to figure out when is best to do everything, you know? the order of stuff. maybe morning isn't good for us."

i look up at you and think about how you keep kissing me in the back of my car and in alleyways and in the dark. and i can never fucking get a read on you. and i also think about how incredibly panicked you look. how broken. how long have you been doing this? "i don't want to die," i say.

you glance downwards. "well, you're not really dead, you'll come back in the loop."

"but i will have died." my hands are shaking. i am trying really hard to stay calm.

you push your hands through your hair again. "i really have to go. i will have this discussion with the next version of you, though. it is like, something i am thinking about."

"but i don't get a next version," i say. i don't really have the language for this, because i haven't had 26 tries with you. i only have my memories: you, a week ago. drunk and telling me you loved me in my ear. you, kissing her anyway. you, months ago, throwing up on my birthday, whispering to me i ruin everything i touch, always, over and over. please don't ask. i can't ever fucking have that be you.

i run my finger along the rim of the mug. "i don't want to die in this one."

you seem baffled by this. "i get that but - time will reset, you'll be fine, you won't even remember we talked about this."

"but i know now." i stand up too. "i have to live the rest of this day knowing i could die. knowing i probably am going to."

"you could always die, to be fair."

i feel my hands get out of control. "earlier, you said i always say a different insult about myself. what if you're just going through different parallel universes and those are all just different - but real - versions of myself? what if you're not in a time loop, you're in a fucking universe loop?"

"if it helps, i've wondered this too. also, you're hot in all of them. if that helps."

i point at you. "no flirting. i'm trying to figure out if i die today."

"who's flirting?" you catch my wild hands and give me that long, perfect smile. like we're in this together. "i won't let ya die." you check your watch and sigh again. "well. maybe not this time."

i grit my teeth. you are so not making quips at me while i try to explain the existential dread i'm having. "does the time loop reset if i fucking kill you?"

"honestly i don't know how long it continues after i die, because i just wake up. it could be that the loop goes until the explosion for everyone, and we're all in the loop, or it could be that when i die, the loop restarts. when i die i wake up, is all."

i pull away from you and stalk into the kitchen and start doing all 3 of my dishes. "okay, first, you know i was joking. and secondly, this is exactly my point. you don't know if this is just a parallel universe. maybe in the ones where you died, the explosion happened and nobody reset and it's just you travelling." i have to stop and push my heel into my eyeball. "... how often have you died?"

i look at you. you look at me. you give me this very sad, halfway smile and a little what can ya do shrug. something in that action seems so old and weary that i want to burst into tears.

"i have to go," you say. "really. for real. there's this family of five i save from getting into a car crash. and i know it's like oh but we're all gonna die in the explosion anyway, what's the point. and..." you shrug again. "it matters to me, is all. at least i saved them for now. at least i saved anything."

you pad over to me and wrap me in a tight hug. you always seem so tall against me. i feel your cheek rest against the top of my head for a moment. for a second, it's just us, and the space is warm, and my heart is a little broken hare.

you leave me there, and i stand in my stupid badly lit kitchen with my stupid mugs. i think about you. i start texting my mom that she needs to get out of the city, but it feels pointless.

i don't know what to do. tomorrow is the same day for you. but i have to prepare to die in my today.

[obsob]

love and kindness and hope makes the world go round !!

[isjasz]

🌕Total Eclipse🌑

Writer: @zipzapzooooooom Editor: @onawhimsicot

Assistance: @gingermaple @kunehokki @corvidaearts @/mybrotherjoso7

and THE AMAZING COVER by googly88fancy!!

===

NO WAY HERE IT IS part 1 of MY TEAM'S COMIC!! FOR @hotguycomiczine !!!!! :D

I pour my blood sweat and tears into this one fr. HGCZ is the most insane project i've been in and I am so so proud of it <3 Big giant shoutout to everyone that ended up in my team, without any of you I couldn't have done it and ty for putting up with my shit HASHDSAEHEGLP. <333

If you haven't yet checked out the entire monster of this amazing zine, def do so here! 🏹

Part 2 will be posted tmr but if u dont want to left on a cliffhanger. pspsppspssps🪤

===

[ START | PREVIOUS | NEXT ]

[ MERCH ] [ MISC ]

[kreachvera]

danganronpa in 2024..? hello ...?

[personishfive]

in which dialogue is exchanged

[yooboobies]

"I like quite small and cute things" | dedicated for @aprylynn tiny tan (5/7)

[cr. 0613data]

[blueberrybeomgyu]

୨⎯ "attention" ⎯୧ (kdh)

+*:🌟:*﹤descrip. : leehan just wants ur eyes on him!! :(

+*:🩷:*﹤content : sub!leehan, dom!reader, edging, riding (who's surprised), surely this is exhibitionism and voyeurism???

+*:🧃:*﹤warnings : 18+ mdni! :T (i'm watching you 🫵), female anat 4 reader, piv sex, both characters are quite flawed imo but everything is consensual 🫶, leehan confesses to reader like ten times but it's mostly in his head, leehan’s kinda weird in the mall sorry idk how men flirt idk how anyone flirts, leehan has a scent kink in my book idk how that happened but it did

+*:❤️:*﹤word count : 4.7k phew it's a long one buckle up

+*:🍏:*﹤a/n : i tried my best to write the first paragraph as plot but it was so hard so I wrote it in drabble format but the rest is in story format!! sawry bout that </3 selfedging!leehan anon if you read this i hope u like it <33

+*:🌟:*﹤masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *

BF!Leehan who wants your eyes on him, but you've been so focused on work, leaving early and coming home late. He knows it's important, that you have to finish your project by the deadline, but he can't help but feel a little selfish about your time when you've rarely spoken to him in the past two weeks. He's barely even seen you, always falling asleep despite trying to stay up when you come home, and he's getting antsy missing your company.

You're sliding out of bed after only being home for five hours. He’d startled awake when you came in, but you were too tired to talk, too tired to change before collapsing on the bed.

He’d changed you himself, gently wiping your makeup off and massaging lotion into your skin, then held you close to him as you caught up on much-needed rest. He wakes up when he feels your body heat leave his side, and groans as he watches with foggy eyes as you disappear into the bathroom. 

“Don’t go to work. Stay here with me,” he begs sweetly when you come back out. You consider it, he can see it on your face, but you ultimately shake your head.

“I can’t, baby. Gotta get this project done, then I’ll be all yours, m’kay?”  He pouts, but it doesn’t last long because you kiss it away and ruffle his already messed up hair. Within minutes, you’re out the door.

Leehan sulks in bed for a little longer, wishing he could make you pay attention to him. It feels like the only time you’re actually looking at him, thinking about him, is when the two of you are intimate with each other. It’s hard to find time in two busy schedules, but during those rare moments, it’s just you and him; the world around the two of you doesn’t exist anymore.

He’s so warm and safe in bed and the only thing that would make it better is if you were here with him, tangled up in the sheets and wasting the day away. He thinks about your soft skin and how sweet it smells, how warm your touch is when he’s lucky enough to be blessed with it, blessed by your gentle eyes and kind words when they’re focused only on him and spoken just for him to hear.

His hand is traveling under his waistband without hesitation, and thoughts of you clutter his mind as he wraps his palm around his length. He tries to mimic the way you squeeze his base and flick your thumb over his slit, tries to imagine it’s your pretty hands touching him this way. It's not long before stars are dancing behind his eyelids and he’s grunting out into the silent room. 

You never want him to cum the first time around, and almost always pull away when he’s on the edge. He’s so used to the denial, to the feeling of his orgasm slipping out of his grasp that it just feels natural when he pulls his hand away from his cock. He sucks in a breath at the way it twitches and sees you, hears you in his imagination, saying, “Good boy, aren’t you so well-trained?”

He chews on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the burning hot need coursing through his veins, and an idea forms in his head. He knows he shouldn’t, but it should be fine, right? Just a voice message showing you how much he misses you. You wouldn’t get upset with him for that, surely.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and opens you guys’ text messages. He spends another four seconds convincing himself this is a good idea. Then he’s grabbing his cock again, pulling all the tricks to put him on the verge of tipping over. When he feels close, he presses the “Record a Message” button beside the text bar.

At first, it’s just shy little moans as he complains about how much he misses you, how much better it would feel if you were here. Then, they turn into desperate, raspy gasps as he pushes himself over the edge. The audio recording sends the second he releases the button, and he can’t unsend it, so he accepts his choices and waits to hear what you have to say.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The answer is absolutely nothing. You don’t respond to or address the audio recording at all, aside from a smirk and a “Did you have fun today?” that you throw his way when you walk through the front door. 

He continues doing it, messages ranging from more audio recordings to photos of his stomach painted white, and usually you’ll kiss him, ruffle up his hand, call his “little treats” cute, make more promises to help him out when you’ve met your deadline.

He knows your work is important, but although guilt claws at him for it, Leehan still feels a bit hurt that you didn’t take his complaints to heart, just assumed it was another one of his trivial games. 

Leehan can play games, and when you hole yourself up in the bedroom to type away at your laptop, he realizes that he will. He’ll do whatever it takes to get your attention.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You finally have a day off, and have decided you’d like to spend part of it at the mall looking through new arrivals. Leehan’s not big on shopping, so he just follows you around and occasionally gets distracted by fish merch. 

You’ve stepped away at least four times to take phone calls from your coworkers, and you guys have only been at the mall for an hour and a half. When lunchtime rolls around, you excuse yourself again to answer a call from your boss, leaving Leehan alone to pick at his food in disinterest. 

“Um, hi. Are you busy?” A feminine voice says. The girl has to stand directly in Leehan’s line of sight for him to realize she’s talking to him. When he looks up at her, she smiles shyly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Can I help you?” 

“No! Well, yes. I…was just wondering if I could have your phone number. I saw you standing alone earlier…” The girl’s voice fades out as Leehan peeps your approaching figure in the distance, and the gears in his head turn with another (probably bad) idea.

“...alone again here in the food court, so I thought I should take the chance.”

Leehan didn’t hear most of what she said, but he can tell when someone’s interested in him, and he can play along.

He flashes the girl a charming smile, dimples and all, and nods along to whatever she’s rambling about. She’s cute enough, and seems like a nice girl, but Leehan’s real focus is entirely on you as you watch the scene. He watches you as best as he can from his peripheral, but never takes his eyes off the girl in front of him. 

“Is that…alright?” She says, looking at Leehan with wide, hopeful eyes. He pretends to consider whatever she asked, and holds a palm out for her to rest her hand in. Her face gets even redder, and he kind of feels bad that he’s using her to get to you.

He’s about to tell her that he’s sorry to disappoint, and that he appreciates it, he really does, but he has a girlfriend. He doesn’t get a chance to say any of that when you come up behind him seemingly out of nowhere and tap him on the shoulder. The girl pulls her hand away from Leehan’s and stands around awkwardly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You ask. Your arms are crossed and your eyes are locked on his, but not with the love and admiration he’s been longing for. His composure falters when he sees your expression, one that says he’s fucked up more than he knows.

“This girl came up to me and…” He trails off and gestures in the girl’s general direction.

“And?” You ask impatiently, but Leehan doesn’t know how he was going to conclude that sentence. This girl came up to me and I pretended to be interested to get a rise out of you? He has a feeling that’s not going to support his case well. You turn away from him and to the girl behind him, causing him to turn around as well.

“You’ll have to excuse my idiot boyfriend. I’m sorry he wasted your time instead of just telling you he was taken.” The girl nods in understanding and tries to hide her disappointed pout. She accepts your handshake when you offer it and hurries off. 

You shoot Leehan another pissed glare, then dump your remaining food in the trash and walk out of the mall. He considers apologizing to the girl as well, but she’s already out of sight, so he trashes his own food and trails after you with a ball of shame sitting in his throat. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

To be honest, you scare Leehan just a little, especially when he knows you’re angry with him but you’re not talking about it. He’d rather you just chew his head off and get it over with, just tell him how much of an inconsiderate dumbass he is. You don’t, so the guilt manifests and manifests until he feels like he might puke it up.

You lock the front door and hang up your coat, and the first thing you say to him in the last twenty minutes is “Sit.”

Leehan parks his ass on the couch immediately, and waits to hear whatever other command you might give him. He expects you to sit next to him, or on the armchair by the couch or even on his lap. He doesn’t expect you to sit right across from him on the coffee table. At least a minute passes full of you just staring at him, and the silence is killing him. 

“Baby–”

“Shut up,” you say, and his mouth clamps shut. You stare at him for a few more seconds, poking your inner cheek with your tongue in thought. Then, you shake your head and laugh in disbelief. Leehan watches as you cross your arms over your chest, and tries not to flick his eyes down to the way your boobs are being pushed up. He may be sick with horniness and loneliness, but it’s really not the time.

“Why are you acting like this, Leehan?” It takes Leehan a few seconds and a quirk of your eyebrow to realize you’re actually waiting for an answer, that you want him to speak now.

“What do you mean?” That’s his intelligent response. You scoff and roll your eyes.

“Don’t act dense with me. You were flirting with that girl just so I’d see. I know when you’re acting out for attention, and that’s exactly what you’ve been doing this entire week.” Leehan’s embarrassed at being caught so he shakes his head in denial, but it’s nowhere near convincing even to himself.

“No? You didn’t touch yourself and record it for me? Didn’t send me photos of you covered in your own cum? Didn’t flirt with a girl right in my face in a desperate attempt to get my attention?” Leehan’s cheeks burn at the direct confrontation. Hearing his actions out loud brings a fresh wave of shame over him, and he’s so ready to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness.

“Show me.”

Leehan’s eyes fly wide open and he lets out a nervous chuckle. “W-what?”

“You wanted my attention so bad. Now you have it,” you say with a bored expression. Your eyes leave a trail of fire wherever they land on his skin. He has your attention, and has to think of a way to keep it. 

“Go ahead,” you command with a jerk of your head. Your lips are turned down into a frown, and it’s so condescending, like you don’t even want to be here. Leehan needs you to want to be here, and he’s nothing if not a performer. He lifts his hips and tugs his pants down to his thighs. 

You make a noise, something between a hum and a coo, when he pulls his boxers down and his dick springs against his stomach.

“Your little cock is hard, Hannie.” He knows he’s not small, but your words are still humiliating, and still burn the need to impress you across his skin. “Gonna show me how you fucked yourself when you were moaning into your phone?”

Leehan’s hips buck against nothing, causing his member to slap against his stomach again, and his mouth falls open with a groan.

He does as you tell him, wrapping his hand around his cock like he’s been doing every morning for the past week, squeezing his base, flicking his tip, imagining it’s you, wishing it was you, but he doesn’t dare ask. Instead he watches your facial expressions, how your lips curl up into a smirk when he’s close.

“Stop,” you tell him, and he pulls his hand away without question. He would’ve been foolish to not expect the sensation of his orgasm floating farther and farther away from him. He tries to slow his breathing, tries not to lose his mind so early into this session.

“Keep going.” 

He continues his previous pace immediately, and his hips tremble when he tries to stop them from bucking up. His tip is a bit more sensitive when he brushes his thumb across it, and it takes less time for him to get close. 

He strokes a bit faster, moans a bit louder. He has no idea how long you plan to keep him here, but he still anticipates the relief of falling off the edge.

“Let go.”

Leehan pulls his hand away from his cock and clutches the couch instead while willing his legs to stop shaking. He’s helpless to disobey you, but he groans as his orgasm escapes him a second time.

“Hm…I dunno. Something’s not right.” You tap a manicured nail against your chin in thought. He can never understand how you’re so composed in moments like this, like it’s a normal evening. If you’re turned on, you don’t show it, and it makes Leehan flush with shame. “What do you think, baby boy?” 

He huffs out a laugh at the question. How is he supposed to know? But you’re looking at him expectantly, so he scrambles to come up with something. “I mean– Usually I’m, like, in bed, I guess. Thinking about you, imagining you, smelling you…” God, don’t get him started on smelling you. 

You hum thoughtfully and lift off of the table. In seconds, you’re hovering over him, flashing him a devious grin. Your hips are so close to straddling his, and you slap his hand away when it reaches up to touch your waist. You hold yourself up by the back cushions with your arms on either side of his head. He’s trapped, and suddenly, everything else in the room is overshadowed by you.

 “Is that right? You think about all the dirty things you wanna do to me while getting off to the smell of my perfume?”

Of course you’d know his weak spot. You’re so close to him and he thinks he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to touch you. Your perfume is invading his senses, and flaming hot desire coils in his abdomen. He squeezes his eyes shut to prevent them from rolling into his skull as his hips twitch into the air.

“Touch yourself, Hannie,” you say sweetly.

He takes a deep breath and grabs his cock again. He’s known to leak like a faucet, especially after meeting you, and his hand is covered in sticky white within the first few seconds of stroking himself.

He knows there’s raspy noises falling from his open mouth, but he can barely hear them over his heart pounding. The way you take over his brain is overwhelming and he can hardly think. Your lips graze his neck, and the skin litters with goosebumps despite the hot air between the two of you. 

If he opens his eyes, he’s got a face full of titties, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that despite every cell in his body telling him to look. He wants to be good for you and hold out until you give him permission to stop, but it feels so good that he’s speeding his hand up.

“Ha– Ah, fuck–” Slick, sloppy sounds fill the room as he works himself to the edge for you.

“Let go,” you whisper in his ear. His hand rips away from his cock and grips onto his thigh instead, getting it wet and gross with precum. It takes what feels like an eternity for him to back away from the precipice this time. Fear runs his blood cold when he realizes he almost didn’t last. 

He’s always good for you, can edge himself for as long as you'd like. He doesn’t know why he’s sensitive today, especially after spending a week beating it.

You pull your face out of his neck, and he slumps against the couch. You smile at the sight and caress his cheek. He melts into the touch, but you pull away to card through his tangled hair instead. You used the grip on his strands to tilt his head back so that he’s looking up at you. 

“I do think you were louder that time. Moaned just like you did in those recordings.” He opens his mouth to say something, but loses his train of thought when you plop down on his lap. 

“Fffuck–” he moans, voice all pathetic and high-pitched. 

“Stay still,” you warn when his hips buck into yours, and he tries so hard, but even the soft fabric of your skirt is too rough on his sensitive dick. He struggles to keep his eyes open, but he’d rather die than take them off of you, so he blinks through the tears pooling in his waterline. The action causes the tears to trickle down, and the air is cold against his wet cheeks.

You stay like that until his breaths are more even and he’s somewhat calmed down. He lets out a displeased noise when you lift off of him and sit back on the coffee table.

“C’mon, Hannie. I’m not done with you yet. Let me see.” You push his legs apart with your knee. He looks down with you, and the sight makes him burn with embarrassment. He’s leaking so much it’s soaking into the couch, and it’s another sight he has to squeeze his eyes shut to get away from.

“W-what, are you j-just gonna–” he swallows thickly, clears his throat, and tries again. “How long are you gonna make me do this?”

You tilt your head and smile at him like you aren’t melting his brain into goo. “However long it takes for you to learn your lesson.” Leehan whines a little in protest.

“Just wanted you to look at me, missed you so much.”

The look in your eyes softens and you lean forward to place a heartfelt kiss on his lips. “I missed you too, Hannie. So. Much,” you say, cupping his cheeks and pressing more gentle kissing around his face. “It was so hard to focus at work when you kept sending me those treats. But bad boys still have to take their punishments, yeah?” Leehan sighs longingly and nods, resting his head against the back cushions, and reaching for his cock when you instruct him to start over.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

By the fifth denial, he’s a shaking mess, falling apart at the seams and only holding himself together by your command. He’s done for the second you flip your skirt up, slide your panties off, circle your clit right in front of him. You’re so close but so far, and he’s definitely losing his mind. 

“Please– N/N, let me…could fuck you so good,” he begs helplessly, deep voice strained and words stringing together. It’s the first time tonight you actually look interested in what’s happening, and he can’t figure out where to look–at your pretty face as you make yourself feel good, at the wetness leaking out of your pulsing heat, at the way your tits shake when you tug at your nipples. You’re biting your lip to keep quiet, keeping your pretty noises to yourself. Leehan thinks that’s the cruelest part of this punishment. 

His hips are fucking up into his hand in a sloppily, a stark contrast to his usually controlled thrusts. He’s not easy to turn into a mess, but you know him better than he knows himself. You know his limits, know that he won’t cum unless you tell him to, know how badly he needs your forgiveness. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just fuck me, please?” But you’re not looking at him. Your eyes are focused on his cock drooling all over his legs, at the way it twitches when he’s close. Your hips twitch, and your cunt drools on the table, and his mouth runs dry. He’s too delirious to figure out if your reactions are because of him, if he’s doing good for you. 

“Stop, pretty boy.”

His hand trembles as he pulls it away from his dick and flops it against the couch. He gasps harshly, heaves loudly, and more tears stream down his face as his hips chase friction that’s already gone.

His head is leaning against the back cushions and lolled to the side, but he’s still watching you touch yourself. His mouth hangs open from all of his pathetic begging, and there’s a thin trail of saliva pooling in his mouth and dribbling onto his t-shirt. 

His eyelids are so heavy, but he watches brainlessly as you tease your opening, dip a finger into the heat. It comes back out drenched in creamy white, and he has to dig his nails into the cushion to stop himself from grabbing his dick without permission.

You pull your hands away from your body and straddle him again. He nearly goes cross-eyed when your bare cores touch. It’s so wet, and his entire body shivers with need.

“Aw, Hannie. Look at me. Tell me what you want.”

“Mm, want– wanna taste you, wanna fuck you so bad.” You giggle, and he loses himself somewhere between your sparkly eyes and shiny lips.

“Wanna taste me?” You reaffirm, and he nods dumbly. You straighten his head up and cup his cheeks between your fingers and thumb. You make him watch as you use your free hand to repeat the motions, gathering your wetness on your finger, pushing it through your opening and pulling it out. 

You whimper out freely this time, and the sound is so pretty and sinful Leehan wishes he could tattoo it on his brain, wishes he had recorded it so he can hear it again later. Your hand forces his lips to pucker and his mouth to open, and you press your wet fingers onto his tongue. 

Leehan’s eyes roll again, and his eyebrows crease as the taste of you, the smell of you invades his senses. You always taste so good, so sweet to him.

His eyes focus on you again, but his vision clouds and his hips buck up against you. You slide against him so deliciously, but it’s over too soon when you slide your fingers out of his mouth and pry your hips away from his.

You wipe your wet fingers on his shirt and remind him to look at you, but he is already looking at you, has barely torn his eyes away from you in the last thirty minutes.

He’s completely awestruck, and maybe a little delirious when he swears he can see the faint halo hovering above your head. He tries to tell you how perfect, how much of an angel you are, but his words come out jumbled and unintelligible. 

“Do you have a color for me, baby?”

“Mhm, fuck– green, n-need you so bad. ’m so sorry, p-please, you look so beautiful, t–”

You interrupt him by pressing your lips against his, and Leehan’s convinced he would’ve been talking for the rest of his life if you hadn’t. He’s pretty sure he melts into a puddle of goo when your lips collide, yours so perfect and plush against his. Any function his brain is still performing shuts down immediately, and you have to handle the kiss by yourself, because his lips are slack and useless against yours. There’s a string of saliva connecting the two of you when you pull away from him.

“I think my pretty boy’s at his limit, hm?” You ask, and he doesn’t really know what you’re saying, but anything sounds good coming from you, so he nods and watches with his jaw on the floor as you stand up and pull your skirt off. You pull his shirt off as well, and you’re both bare and vulnerable but safe in your own world, just as Leehan longed for.

You cup his cheeks again and hold his face so he can look up at you as you sink down on his cock, and the noise he makes when you bottom out is broken and pitiful even to his own ears. He knows he must look so fucked out and stupid, but you’re looking at him with so much love in your eyes that he’s sure he looks beautiful anyway. 

You wrap around him so well, your cunt is so tight. It feels like he’d forgotten how it feels to be buried inside you, and to be experiencing it for the first time again has to be parallel to some sort of spiritual ascension. Leehan doesn’t know what he did to deserve it, but he does know he’d spend an eternity here if you allowed it.

Your hands move to grip his shoulders, and you make the most heavenly face of ecstasy Leehan has ever seen. You lift your hips to slide him out, and bottom out again. Your cunt’s sucking him in so greedily, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up. 

“I’ll let you cum if you fuck me, pretty boy,” you say like you read his mind. You grab his lifeless hands and place them on your waist, then grip the back of the couch again. He gets the message clearly, holding you in place as he jerks into you. His thrusts aren’t coordinated at all, and it’s out of pure habit when he angles his hips to fuck right into your sweet spot. 

“Fuck yeah, Hannie. That’s so good, you’re so good,” you moan out, and he uses strength he barely has to aim for that spot, to hear those words from you again. On a particularly hard thrust, your eyes flutter closed.

“Look at me, N/N. Please– look at me,” he begs, voice cracking, and when you do, your eyes are glossy, tears pulling in your waterline. It’s so hot, and finally, your attention is his, and he’s making you feel good, but he’s not gonna last like this.

“You fill me up so good, Hannie. Make me feel so good,” you say breathlessly, eyes locked on his. “Gonna cum for me? Gonna fill me up nicely?” And he’s nodding, pitiful whimpers falling from his lips, whatever you say. 

You trail a hand up his abdomen, to his chest, and tug at his nipple. The rush of pleasure he feels is so intense that the knot in his stomach is fraying and snapping so quickly he can’t even warn you, but he tries through strangled gasps: “Cumming, ‘m, fu–”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It takes Leehan a while to come back to Earth. He’s so tired he can barely move, but you kiss him until his mind returns home. After asking if he’s okay five times and getting five verbal “yes’s,” you clean the two of you up and lead him to bed.

It’s still when he speaks again, eyes searching for yours in the dark room, “I really am sorry, Y/N. I should’ve been more considerate. I respect your work so much, I just got so lonely…” You smile at him softly and reach a hand up to rub circles into his back.

“I’m sorry you were so lonely, Hannie. I should’ve managed my time better, should’ve taken your feelings more seriously. From now on, I’ll keep work at work, and after my project, we can both take time off and go on a vacation. How’s that?”

“That’s perfect,” he says, and means it wholeheartedly, falling asleep with a smile of his own.

✧･ﾟ: *

a/n : FUCK THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE LOL i reread it three times pls lmk if there r still typos <3

[majunju]

orange peel theory

[lil-lemon-snails]

decided to draw some of your guys' tags from my harlequin sun and moon post!!! These guys are so much fun and you're all so funny >w<

[hinamie]

post-graduation trip airport looks

[obsob]

oooooooooough i love you i love you i love you!!!! hand in loving hand !!!!!!

[foxy-kitsune]

i think i am malfunctioning. like i am definitelly not thinking clearly right now.

[vechter]

jla/titans (1998) #3 // the kids aren't alright, fall out boy // new teen titans (1984) #19 // tales of the teen titans (1984) #59 // outsiders (2003) #16 // outsiders (2003) #1 // stand by me (1986) // titans/young justice: graduation day (2003) #3 // unknown // dc special: the return of donna troy (2005) #2 // titans (1999) #1 // nightwing (2016) #90 // titans (2016) #15 // ivy, frank ocean // teen titans (1996) #12 // titans (2008) #15 // batman chronicles (1995) #7 // outsiders (2003) #11 // a working list of things i will never tell you, jon sands // flash (1987) #210 // flash (1987) #214 // nightwing secret files and origins (1999) #1 // the firm, john grisham // jla/titans (1998) #3

dick + core titans (donna, garth, roy, wally)

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

HOW DEEP IS YOUR DEVOTION? ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; you’re his knight, and he’s your prince. if only it were that simple.

word count; 6.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, royalty au (..but no effort put into making it historically accurate in any way oops), knight!reader x prince!toru!!, childhood friends, mutual pining, fluffy overall, some hurt/comfort too, vague allusions to abuse (reader is punished by one of the castle maids as a child but it’s only really hinted at), knight!reader is horrendously devoted but prince!gojo is arguably worse, he would burn the world down if u asked nicely <3

a/n; big big BIG thank you to @/teddybeartoji for having the biggest brain in the galaxy and infecting me with this concept <33 if u pay attention while reading you can tell the exact moment i started slowly spiraling into insanity

you are five years old when you meet the prince.

five years old, a mere child, and too young to be blinded by such brilliance. too young to be where you are; curled up in a dark alley, back against a grimy brick wall, covered in bruises. like a beaten dog — scrawny and afraid. waiting for a strike that never comes.

the boy in front of you is also five years old, but you don’t know that. something in him looks older, somehow, something in the way he carries himself. like he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. like he’s never even felt fear. he parts his lips and speaks like he has the right to, like he’s comfortable in his own skin, a radiance so blinding you could mistake him for the sun. too much for you to bear.

”does it hurt?”

the words fall on deaf ears. but you flinch, your body reacts, a tremble down your tiny spine. you hear the sound but not the words. too mesmerized, too paralyzed, unable to look away from the blue of his eyes, painted with rich watercolour hues. seeping into the world around you like ink on paper, cobalt and aquamarine and something else, something you’ve never seen before —

a blue so jarring it makes you shiver.

the boy has an innocent face. almost girlish, plump cheeks and long lashes, clean clothes and smooth skin. a little too pretty to be out here, you think, in this part of town — too pure to be anywhere near someone like you. he’s above you, that much you can tell. a pretty, innocent face, untouched by dirt or ache; the face of royalty. an entirely different species.

there’s something keen in his eyes, a contrast to his childlike features. a sharp gaze, something that sees through you, something that won’t look away. something mildly frightening. enough to have you cowering in fear, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

but then he smiles. and it’s sincere. sweet, vibrant, all honey and milk and a world you cannot reach.

a smile so captivating you take his outstretched hand, and let him drag you away to god-knows-where.

(that's how it begins. the dynamic that’ll follow you into your adult lives; satoru takes the lead, and you follow. no matter where he’s going.)

satoru gojo, as you soon come to learn, is the prince of the nation you reside in. the only child of the royal family, born with talent and prestige, fame and fortune, set to become king. a different species, indeed.

but he brings you home with him, to a castle so grand you feel as if your very presence is an insult to the architects who designed it, and convinces his parents to let you stay. it’s surprising, but you don’t protest; following him like a puppy at his trail. and he’s stubborn, insistent, demanding that he get to keep said puppy. 

the king and queen don’t care one way or another. they glance at you with apathy, and tell satoru to do what he wants — but convincing the scary and displeased castle maids takes some work. 

satoru doesn’t waver, though. he holds your hand in his, and demands that you be treated with respect.

and he wins. he always wins.

that’s how you become the prince’s playmate. raised alongside him, allowed to stay close, eat from the same food. he won’t settle for anything less. defending your honour, always, before you even know what honour means. before you care.

time passes slowly. joyously. every day is a new adventure, as you attempt to get used to the miracle that is your new life — sweet and silky, apricot blossoms and fresh peaches, duvet pillows and a bubbly laughter you didn’t know you still had. he coaxes it out of you, with every secret midnight outing, every bout of mischief he drags you both into. 

satoru has nice hands, uncalloused palms, fingers that grasp yours and don’t let go. he takes you outside, to see the stars, to catch fireflies in the dark of night on top of the hill that oversees the castle. to take a dip in the river just below it, gleaming a silver hue under the blue shade of the moon. you worry about getting in trouble, but he reassures you — the prince can do what he wants.

that might be true, but you are no prince. not even close. satoru may safeguard you, but all you’ll ever be in the eyes of the world is a stray he got to keep.

and one time, only one time, you do face the repercussions of your midnight outings. you, and you alone. a bad influence — seething words, buzzing in your ears. an angry castle maid, and a stinging pain in your cheek. blurry tears. 

but that’s an incident no one in the castle dares to speak of.

(you’ll never forget that look in his eyes.)

satoru is an odd boy. he keeps you close, always, clinging to you like he needs you to breathe. you don’t understand why, but you’ve learned not to question him. the castle guards all know you as the prince’s best friend, and some part of you knows that’s all you’ll ever amount to. but you don’t mind.

because you love him. at five years old, six years old, seven and beyond, you love him. satoru gojo, the kindest boy in the stratosphere. 

a boy who keeps finding you, no matter where you are, who tugs you along as naturally as the rise of the sun. who raids kitchen cabinets with you and always makes you laugh, little giggles and chuckles that have him beaming proudly. a boy who cleans your wounds with a serious expression, and tells you that he’ll protect you forever. 

(you tell yourself the same. that you’ll protect him forever and ever, until you run out of air to breathe. a boy so sweet you’d die for him.)

a pledge is made. you make it before you know what a pledge is. pledging to protect him, to become his sword, because even as a child you understand that his life will be difficult. you see it in the dullness that sometimes comes over his eyes, the apathy of his so-called parents, the hours he spends locked up with nothing but a pile of dusty books to keep him company. 

so you decide to become his knight. his, and his alone. 

it’s challenging. but you push through; training with another aspiring knight, miles better than you, black hair tousled by the breeze as he knocks you off your feet for the thirtieth consecutive time. wincing as the girl who sometimes watches your sparring patches you up, soft hands cleaning your wounds so tenderly that you almost choke up.

and eventually, as the apricot blossoms of the castle orchard wilt and bloom over and over in a flurry of pure white, your dream comes true. 

there’s something playful in satoru’s eyes, when he places his blade on the curve of your shoulder. something sweet and fond, and just a little bit ironic — as if you’re still seven years old, and playing house. 

you want to tell him that it isn’t a joke. that you’re serious, about this, that you’d tear your stomach open to keep him safe. but you know he’d just laugh. so you let the words clog up your throat, honey-sweet devotion sticking to the walls of your esophagus. breathing in through your nose, as he speaks. as the words you’ve waited to hear flow from his glossy lips.

when all is said and done, satoru smiles. he calls you his little knight, and you can tell that he’s teasing you. indulging you, as if he’s in on some joke that you aren’t. but you’ll take what you can get.

you call him my prince, expecting him to laugh it off, but his smile begins to fall. and a pang of ache rushes through your soul, instantaneous, guilty, although you don’t understand why.

so you keep calling him satoru. even though it’s more than a little unprofessional, and you become painfully accustomed to receiving a few judgemental looks here and there. a knight and a prince shouldn’t be so very close, they think, and you don’t disagree. but there’s nothing they can do about it, anyhow.

the prince and his knight can do what they want.

not much changes. you’re his knight, but he treats you the same as before. he’s playful, a little goofy, and you indulge him. as always. attached at the hip, bickering and bantering, bouncing off each other effortlessly. and satoru never bothers to hide your history, the soft spot he has for you; it’s in every fleeting glance, soft tilt of his head, teasing call of ah, there’s my favorite knight. 

(you’re no stranger to jealous looks. sometimes a pout on the lips of a pretty girl, a crease between the brows of one of your fellow knights. and sometimes a glare, from his fiancée — a woman he was engaged to before he was old enough to speak.

but you don’t mind. you’ve never cared what anyone but satoru thinks of you.)

satoru never loses his smile, that effortless air of confidence. the charm that makes people want to follow him, a charisma you know well. one you fell victim to at five years of age. he’s still just a prince, far from being a king, but he receives the same respect.

and that keen, sharp glimmer in his eyes never quite goes away; the hardened shell around his heart unbroken. you see it in fleeting glances, during meetings, ones he allows you to attend despite your status. when he speaks to a room of people with more power than you can imagine, his voice unwavering. back straight. elegant, serious, the presence of royalty — enough to receive respect without even trying. 

but he still shoots you a smile, easygoing, when your eyes meet. one only you can see.

as for you, the step into knighthood is a clumsy one. but you take your duties seriously, and adjust properly. a deep devotion runs through your veins, from your beating heart down to the tips of your fingers, where a sword lies clutched. you keep it close, always, ready to serve. to obey. to protect. 

all of it for one person.

all you do is for him. duels in his honour, beasts slain for his peace of mind, and he’s always there to welcome you back. wiping the blood from your cheek, tenderly, smearing his untainted skin with red; all while he looks at you softly, a coo or word of praise waltzing on the tip of his tongue. 

that’s only for when you remain unscathed, though, when the blood on your cheek isn’t your own. when you get hurt, it’s different — something begins to brew inside his eyes, and you can’t tell what it is. but he insists on bandaging you himself, paying no mind to your meek protests.

sometimes, you’re more reckless than usual. your injuries worse. sometimes he looks upset, angry with you, and doesn’t speak. you don’t, either.

a strange look comes over his eyes, every now and then. when you get down on one knee, to kiss his hand, the metal of the ring on his finger — and if you look up, you’ll see it. simmering inside those blue depths, something just as fond as it is sad. troubled, you think.

(something tells you he’d kneel, too, if only you’d let him.)

the bond between you remains intact. even as you begin to shoulder more responsibilities, more duties, even though you don’t have as much freedom as you used to. even though you seem to get less time to spend with each other every single day. but you stay together, even so; just like when you were children, running around and causing trouble, more than you could get away with now. 

despite everything, satoru has grown up into a fine man. and you couldn't be prouder.

“do you think i look good in black? be honest.”

you throw him a glance. curious, somewhat perplexed, eyeing him up and down.

satoru is wearing a white blouse, puffy sleeves and a low neckline, showing off the skin of his bare chest. no black colours to be seen. you think back to that banquet he attended last month, forced into an expensively tailored black coat. a corset around his waist. and then you hum.

“sure you do.”

”suguru said it makes me look like a try-hard,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. tilting his head in your direction. ”do you think he’s jealous?”

”definitely.”

a moment passes. 

satoru narrow his eyes, and gives you a dubious look. clicking his tongue. ”… something tells me you aren’t taking this seriously.”

”i am,” you assure him, a lazy smile at your lips. meeting his gaze, that displeased little pout. still smoothing a brush down the mane of your horse, the smell of hay soothing your muddled senses. ”just tired. you look good in anything. you know that.”

he hums. silent, the sound of a spring breeze filling in the gaps.

it’s late. outside the stables, the world is engulfed by a dark sky, almost too murky to see anything. hazy stars glimmer in the distance, and a sense of fatigue gnaws at your bones. it’s been a long day, and yet you’re here — doing even more work. just a little more.

and satoru’s right there with you. even though he’s just sitting there, on the floor, not lifting a finger to help. not that he has to. insistent on spending some quality time with you, keeping you company. just talking and munching on the food he snuck in, bread and cheese and an expensive bottle of wine, that he leaves completely untouched. he tries to leave some of everything else for you, though. keyword being tries.

a sense of peace simmers in the air. palpable, almost enough to taste, as midnight air streams in from the opened doors, chilly and pleasant on your skin. ruffling the thin fabric of your clothing.

and it’s nice, you think, just to have satoru there — talking about this and that, complaining about all the annoying people he had to meet yesterday, yawning every now and then. nostalgic. like this, it almost feels like you're still kids. back when you spent every single hour of the day by each other’s side.

it’s been a long time since you got the chance to speak like this. satoru’s been busy, and so have you. more so than usual.

”are they running you ragged?” he suddenly asks, and you don’t realize you’ve spent the last minute staring into space. resuming your brushing, with steady hands, but turning your head to meet his gaze.

”need me to…” he makes a slicing motion with his hand, right over his throat. a glint of mischief in his eyes. ”handle it?”

and you scoff. amused, but answering him seriously; unsure if his question is all-together humorous, if it doesn’t carry a hint of something genuine too. ”of course not.”

there’s a weariness in the way you blink. the way you pet the animal in front of you, having finished getting the dirt and blood clots out of her mane. she lays down in her stall, and you smile. turning around to rest your back against the wooden border between you, a respite for your aching bones.

it gets just a little bit tiring, sometimes. fighting, patrolling, helping townsfolk. protecting the castle, making sure everything is in order. killing whatever needs to be killed. cleaning the stained silver of your sword.

but…

”it’s my duty,” you answer, seriously, and it comes out sounding like a vow. because it is. 

you avoid his gaze, but you can feel it, as you pick up the wine bottle by your feet and pop the cork. soft moonlight flits in from the windows, illuminating the green glass. a chartreuse glow that reminds you of fireflies, shimmering in your grasp, and for some reason it soothes your heart.

satoru only hums, far from approving. popping a piece of cheese into his mouth. 

after a brief pause, he continues. ”you don’t have to be so serious all the time, you know.” his voice comes out a little raspy. it’s got a certain tilt to it, one that means he wants you to take him seriously. ”not around me.”

you take a sip of the wine. expensive, blood red. it’s too sweet for your taste, heavy on your tongue.

”… i’m less serious with you than i am with others.”

satoru sits up a little straighter.

”yeah?” he grins, a kind of satisfaction blooming in his eyes. cerulean and sweet. almost smug, you think, like the cat that got the cream. ”that’s good. you really should loosen up, though.”

a glance. fleeting, just to see him — but he isn’t looking at you. he’s looking outside, through the opened window, at the sway of the apricot trees. white petals flitting in, landing by his feet. in his hair.

when his eyes meet yours, they’re smoothed over by that something you can never put your finger on. a blend between longing and fondness. crinkled at the edges.

”you’ve got a pretty smile,” he exhales. ”be a shame not to show it off.”

when you look at him, really look at him, you see it. that fatigue. it slips out when he talks to you, a sincere way of speaking that never quite allows him to hide his emotions. you hear the hint of a yawn, can practically feel the weight on his shoulders. the weight of an entire nation. a weight he was always bound to carry.

(you could never bring yourself to be even remotely alright with it.)

“have you been doing okay?” you ask, and satoru blinks. there’s a soft look in your eyes, as they trail over the contours of his face, his lashes catching the light of the stars. an innocent, pretty face. but he looks tired. frail. like he hasn’t been sleeping properly.

something rotten bubbles up inside your throat.

”they’re running you ragged, too,” you say, hand settling on your hip. where your sword usually is. unconsciously, on instinct — or maybe just to make him laugh. ”need me to step in?”

satoru chuckles. husky, mellow. dripping with soft amusement.

”settle down, little knight.”

a moment passes. silent. his eyes flutter shut, for a second, and a breath slips from his lips. almost a sigh. in the distance, you hear the quiet coo of an owl. 

”of course,” he eventually answers, opening his eyes. and you think he looks a little resigned. but smiling. self-deprecating, you think, although he’d like you to assume otherwise. ”all of it is just preparation, anyhow.” 

a flimsy smile, as he looks into your knowing eyes. ”it’s what i was born for, wasn’t it?”

you purse your lips.

“… i don’t think so.”

another chuckle. a little delighted, this time. 

“yeah,” he cranes his neck, emitting a low groan. “me neither.” something sweet blossoms in his eyes, sweet like the crunch of the apple he bites into, juice dribbling down his chin. ”but it is what it is.”

a beat. you part your lips, trying to find the right words. ”tell me if there's anything i can do,” you settle on. the same words you always choose. ”anything at all.”

satoru smiles. “right.” his voice carries a teasing tilt; almost a purr. ”there’s nothing you wouldn't do for me, hm?” 

“— there isn’t.” you smile. “nothing at all.”

he blinks. a little dazed, for a second, and you watch as his ears redden. slight, enough for you to notice, but gone before you can bring it up. a contemplation smooths over his features. and a pleasant breeze flits in, ruffling his hair, apricot petals kissing up his skin. he looks at the apple in his hands.

then he sighs. placing his palms on his knees, and rising to his feet. his arms twitch, muscular beneath the flimsy blouse, and you gulp. although you aren’t sure why.

“alright, then.” his eyes flicker in the dim light, sharp and decisive. he crosses over to you with long strides. “there is something you can do.”

when he’s close enough, satoru reaches out his hand; opening his palm. a silent beckoning. you look at him, not saying a word. his expression is unreadable. 

then you intertwine your fingers with his. unquestioningly, even in the midst of your confusion.

(it reminds you of that day. when he pulled you up to your feet, held your hand in his and refused to let go. leading you to the promise of something better.)

no matter where he goes, you follow.

and satoru grins. it’s sweet, just like back then, a smile so vibrant you wish you could tuck it into your sleeve and keep it there forever. he curls his fingers around yours, gentle, fondness bubbling up inside his eyes. for a second, you think you see the sun.

“come with me.”

at first, you truly aren’t sure where he’s going to take you. hand in hand, you begin to walk, feeling the midnight breeze nip at your skin. beyond the castle walls, away from the hustle and bustle of the nearby town. satoru holds your hand and smiles, tousled tufts of white hair swaying with the wind, leading you to a place you know well. a place where the air tastes like freedom.

it’s the river you used to play by as children.

gleaming a solemn silver under the evanescent moon, framed by bushes of lilacs, blooming indigo and violet and pure white. butterflies flutter about, almost glittering, blue wings settling down on the leaves. the scent of nectar hangs heavy in the air. on top of the hill just above you, you think you can spot tiny little glowing dots; green and yellow, buzzing around. dancing merrily, now that there aren’t any troublemaker children left to trap them.

satoru lets go of your hand, to roll up his sleeves. the hems of his pants. then he’s taking a step forward, dangerously close to the edge of the river, and you can tell what he’s thinking.

“ah — wait —“ you stumble forward, to grab hold of his arm. a worried crease forms between your brows. “that's dangerous, satoru. you could slip and fall.”

he turns to face you, a teasing mirth in his eyes. smirking lightly. “oh? is that so?” he hums, a slight tilt of his head. then he’s stepping closer, so close you feel his warm breath on your skin, but you will yourself not to step back. “wanna know what i think?”

he leans forward, just a little further, warm air brushing against the shell of your ear. flushing beneath it. his voice comes out low, a sleepy lilt, dangerously raspy. hand ghosting over your waist.

”i think you’re too scared to get in.”

you blink.

”… really?” you deadpan, stepping back a tad. satoru looks pleased with himself.

“really,” he purrs. “you were always like that. could barely dip your toes in without shivering.” he reaches out to pinch your cheek, a coo on the tip of his tongue. ”scaredy-cat.”

you raise an unimpressed brow. satoru steps back, inching closer to the river, until a quiet splash tells you that he’s standing in the water. lapping up his bare legs, not enough to even reach his knees — it felt a lot scarier when you were smaller. he’s still holding your hand, very loosely, fingertips ghosting your own. 

“c’mon,” he coaxes. soft, encouraging, a playful glimmer in his eyes. teeth catching the light of the moon. “or is it too much for my brave knight to handle?”

satoru laughs, when that makes you furrow your brows, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks. a warmth spreads through your chest at the term of endearment, and you bite your lip. melting a little. 

his knight. his favourite knight.

“... fine,” you tangle your fingers in his own. sighing deeply, taking a tentative step forward. “just be careful, okay? i don't want to deal with your whining if you hit your head.”

“ah, but you’d kiss it better, no? if i asked?” he flashes you a honeyed grin, eyes rich with amusement. you hope the darkness of the night is enough to hide the red of your ears.

a grumble buzzes in your throat, locked behind your pursed lips. something in your jaw goes tight.

the man in front of you softens. parting his glossy lips. he says your name; slowly, thoughtfully, as if savouring every syllable. dragging them out, speaking with a lilt that tells you he’s being sincere.

“— loosen up. it’s just you and me.”

so you do.

and it’s odd. how easy it is to get lost in him, the watercolour of his eyes, the brightness of his grin. how pliantly you let him whisk you away. before you know it, you’re playing in the water — because satoru splashed you, laughing at the shock on your face and the shiver of your spine, and you had no choice but to retaliate. 

the sound of his laughter fills the air, sweet and bubbly. deep and giddy. strands of hair stick to his wet skin, droplets running down his neck, but his grin never falters. bright and toothy, boyish. he looks younger than you ever remember him being. like there’s no weight on his shoulders, none at all, only soaked fabric weighing him down. a flimsy, see-through blouse.

you think it’s ridiculous. two grown adults, splashing each other like children. but his melodic giggles are contagious, and before you know it, you’re laughing too — and satoru looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. through dewy eyelashes, with cerulean eyes that melt into the pale blue of the moon and the silver of the river. filled with wonder.

a particularly ruthless splash knocks him off balance, and he has the instinct to reach for your arm; stumbling, slipping, dragging you down with him. you land on his chest, cheek against his neck, his pulse against your skin. erratic, joyous. fluttering happily. his chest is heaving, lifting you up and down, a little, rhythmic and comforting. 

a sudden yelp slips past your lips, as you get snapped back into reality, into the realization that you basically just pushed your own prince into a river and used his unfairly soft chest as a cushion. a mumbled string of apologies escapes you, as you attempt to get up, scrambling to find footing.

but satoru wraps his arms around you. tucking you under his chin, keeping you flush against his chest. nice and still. 

and then he sighs. a blissful little breath, fatigue seeping out of him. into the air. 

“stay like this, for a bit,” he rasps. ”it’s okay.”

his heartbeat resounds in your ear. warm and rapid, like claps of thunder, coaxing you into closing your eyes. satoru has always felt so very safe. the water of the river is cold, seeping through the fabric of your clothing and sticking to your skin, but…

(he’s warm.)

silence. and then, a whisper; frail, slipping past his lips, gently slicing the silence in half. softer than you've ever heard him speak.

“i missed this.”

…

nuzzling into his neck, you breathe him in. he smells like sandalwood and dried roses, buzzing with warmth, heavy arms around your waist. solid. when did he get so big? you used to be taller. 

then again — that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

“… me too.”

“missed you,” he continues, his jaw on top of your head. it’s a sincere confession; childlike in its innocence. “missed hearing you laugh like that. feels like it’s been so long.” 

you stay silent. unsure of what to say. satoru continues, and you let his husky voice carry you away, the tremor of his chest running through your entire body. soothing like a lullaby. 

”we haven't had much time together, lately. i’ve been worried,” he admits, and something about it strikes you as rather sheepish. a little ashamed. ”it bothers me that i can't be there to watch over you. make sure you're treated with respect, you know.”

a sleepy chuckle. muffled into his shoulder, almost a scoff — slightly exasperated. little droplets cling to his skin, sticking to your lips.

”relax, your majesty,” you tease. ”i promise the other knights aren’t bullying me.” 

satoru pouts. you can hear it, when he speaks. ”i’m serious,” he huffs, squeezing you lightly. ”and it’s not them i’m worried about. suguru’s there.”

another scoff threatens to escape your throat. you want to tell him the only knight that should be suspected of bullying you is suguru himself, but before you can even think to part your lips satoru’s beaten you to it.

”they all treat you so carelessly.” there’s something cold to his voice, an irritation tugging at his teeth. oddly seething. ”like you exist to serve them. like you’re disposable.” 

a moment passes, heavy with a silence so thick you don’t dare break it. when he speaks again, it’s an order. a demand. 

”i want you to tell me if they go too far.”

silence. again. you can do nothing but gnaw at the flesh of your bottom lip. 

(he isn’t wrong. but that’s simply what it means to be a knight — half-human, half-weapon. an unattainable ideal, stuffed inside a suit of armor.

when a weapon breaks under the force of a slash, the only choice is to throw it away. that much you know.)

”it’s fine. i’m not that fragile,” you weakly protest, but it’s not enough. satoru huffs.

”you’re a human being,” he reminds you. strangely stern, for once. chastising. ”you deserve to be treated with respect. knight or not. fragile or not.”

a deep inhale. he breathes in, and the rise of his chest carries you with it. his voice buzzes with something, a slumbering kind of fury. one you haven’t heard in years. 

“if anyone gives you trouble — if anyone hurts you… if anyone makes you feel unsafe,” he almost spits the words, like they’re venomous, sacrilegious. ”tell me. i’ll destroy them.”

silence. and then, a chuckle.

that’s all you can manage; that one meek little breath. resisting the urge to cower, at the love that clings to every word he speaks. angered affection. a promise, dangerously genuine, like a growing wildfire. ”i can take care of myself, satoru,” you remind him. hoping it’ll soothe him. ”you know that.”

but his grip around you only tightens. gentle, even still. as if you’re made of glass, a firefly cupped in his palms. he lets the silence linger, for a moment.

and then; 

“i’d do it, you know.”

“… do what?” you ask, though some part of you already knows. 

satoru’s reply is instantaneous. an arrow hitting its target, cold and concise, decisive. frighteningly honest. almost a growl, flattened, a hint of teeth behind his soft lips. ”destroy them. anyone.”

”i’d tear this nation apart if you asked me to.”

…

(ah. that look in his eyes — one you remember well. strung together with blurred memories, the sting of a palm on your cheek, a castle maid you never saw again.)

you search for the words. biting back a gulp, hesitant. “… i wouldn’t.”

“i know.” satoru yawns, breathing you in, voice shifting back into the softness you’re so used to. your shoulders relax. “but i would. if that’s what you wanted.”

and it’s a little scary, the depths of his devotion. but you’re almost certain you’d do the same for him. maybe you're both a little sick in the head, a little too eager to serve your hearts on a silver platter.

“it bothers me, you know.” satoru breaks you out of your thoughts. gentle, a soft lull of his tongue. ”when you get hurt. when you fight for me.”

“i know,” you murmur. you’ve seen it in his eyes, a worry he’s not as good at hiding as he thinks. ”i want to, though.”

“and i want you to be safe.” a chuckle bubbles up in his throat, just a little bit rueful. “you never listen, do you? so stubborn, i swear. always worrying me.”

you bite down on your lip. he sounds… a little sad.

“… sorry.”

a moment’s pause. then he shakes his head; cradling you close. “it’s fine. i’m here. always,” his palm runs down the small of your back. ”in case anything happens.”

he inhales. ”and when i become king —” a beat. he swallows thickly. ”you’ll never have to worry again. no one will be able to touch you.”

”satoru,” you crack a small smile. amused. raising a single eyebrow. ”i’m not worried. i can protect myself.”

”i know. but i’m saying you don’t have to.”

and then he’s pulling back. just a little bit, just enough to see you. cheek smushed against his chest, comfortable and soft, more unguarded than he’s seen you these past few months. it’s enough to get his heart racing. enough to have him reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your hand, tangling your fingers together. bringing it to his glossy lips. a chaste kiss, brimming with unspoken murmurs of love.

”— i’ll protect you forever,” he vows. ”remember?”

there’s devotion in his eyes. heavy, a vow he’ll never quite be able to voice in full. something that makes the blue of his eyes glow even brighter, cerulean, aquamarine, a blue so jarring it makes your heart beat faster than it should.

you blink. starstruck, caught in a daze, lost within that sea of blue. distracted by his warm breath on your cold skin, the soft whisper voiced against your knuckle. something shy blossoms in your chest, enough to have you averting your gaze. 

“... you really don’t care about the dynamic here, do you?” is all you can reply. a meek scoff, a weak attempt at hiding how flustered you are. “i’m the knight. i’m your protector.”

“oh, i know.” a smile sticks to his lips, playful, the back of his hand caressing your cheek. a coo on his tongue. “my little hero. what would i ever do without you?”

a roll of your eyes. satoru chuckles. in the distance, you hear crickets chirping, a breeze rustling the lilac bushes all around you. he’s still cradling your cheek, smoothing over your wet skin, brushing a drop of water away with his thumb. clinging to your bottom eyelash.

“i don't get it, though.”

you blink. when you meet his eyes, satoru looks a little perplexed. muttering under his breath, absently rubbing circles over your cheekbone. you resist the urge to close your eyes again, biting back a blissful sigh.

”a prince shouldn’t care for his knight…” he repeats, like he’s heard the string of words a million times before. ”the idea of that. i don’t understand it. never have.”

the smile that blossoms on his lips is soft, indescribably so, as if he’s looking at the most precious thing in his life. rich and warm, like wine in your veins, nectar on your tongue, a chest pressed against your own. dripping with fondness.

satoru tilts his head, as if in confusion — but he’s smiling. “what’s so strange about wanting to protect the one dearest to my heart?” 

…

his hand slips from your skin, a warmth leaving your cheek. only to search for your hand, again, cradling it in his larger palm. placing it right over his chest, against the soaked material of his blouse. ”feel that?”

you do. a rhythmic rise and fall, a soft flutter from the depths of his ribcage. as if it’s itching to break out, out of the cage that binds it, the hardened shell around it. a heart too big for his body.

”it’s you,” satoru whispers. ”all for you.”

a moment passes.

silently, you lean forward; tucking yourself into his neck. into that comforting warmth, wet skin beginning to dry, the steady thrum of his heart right by your ear. you listen. not saying a word, afraid of what might leave the confines of your strangled throat. it feels as if your heart has begun to crawl upwards, sweet honey blocking your airways, and all you can do it feel it pulse. 

all while satoru gazes at you, fondly. placing a big palm on the back of your head.

fireflies dance in the distance. butterflies flutter about. strings of lilacs bloom under the glow of the moon. and satoru’s heartbeat never changes, never falls out of tune, a sound you would recognize even if the sky were to shatter, if the world were to end. the sound that saved you, the boy who dragged you out of hell. into his light. 

satoru gojo is everything. he’s the beat of your heart, the silver of your sword, the reason you believe in goodness. he’s your prince, your favorite person, and you’ll protect him until your very last breath. until the world runs out of oxygen.

a boy so sweet you’d die for him.

(a boy so sweet he wouldn’t want you to.)

a shiver runs down his spine — sudden, a shudder of his bones, and a quiet little sniffle. you feel it, hear it, and don’t attempt to bite back the fond smile that slips into the curve of your lips.

”c’mon,” you beckon, almost a coo, placing your palms on his chest to hoist yourself up. ”let’s go home.”

but satoru shakes his head. and then he traps you again, strong arms around your waist, pressing you against him. you could escape — you’re almost certain you’re stronger — but you don’t quite have the heart to. ”it’s fine,” he huffs. almost a whine. ”stay.”

”you’ll get sick.”

”i never get sick.”

a deep exhale. tumbling from your lips, just a little bit humorous. mostly exasperated. ”that can change,” you mumble, fingertips dancing along his exposed skin. absentmindedly.

a smile. one you can’t see, but you hear it clear as day. he sounds content, like he’s got everything he needs right in front of him. ”some things never change,” he informs you. pleased. ”just look at us.”

and he’s right. so you don’t say anything else. 

but your heartbeat quickens, only for a beat or two, and you’re almost certain he feels it. if he does, he opts not to tease you for once, and you’re grateful. and so the silence lingers. as if time has begun to freeze, into an eternal dusk, a string of silent seconds. broken only by low melodic chirping from faraway fields, his soft breaths in your ear. 

until satoru suddenly chuckles.

“hey,” he hums, shifting a little, the river swaying around you. pulling back to meet your gaze, eyes crinkled and voice raspy. “wanna know a secret?”

you raise your head. a dubious look on your face, one that has him breathing out an amused puff of air, like you’re getting ready to hear a bad joke. “... what is it?”

before the words have fully left your throat, he’s resting his forehead against yours — breath fanning over your lips. a pleasant shiver trails down your spine, at the close proximity, goosebumps spreading across your chilled skin. only exacerbated by the whisper that follows, so quiet you almost don’t know if you heard him correctly. childlike in its sincerity. a sunlaced smile woven in between the vowels.

“i think i was born to meet you.”

(a sentiment so sweet you barely even feel the warmth of his lips meeting yours.)

[cheriboms]

everybody was very nice on my last post(s) so !!! more cole and manfred be upon you :D