#it does still leave me irritated though

[ladyluscinia]

My hottest take from trying to delve into David Jenkins's interviews and piece together where he's going with this is that - for all he and everyone else are consistent about describing this show as a romance and a romcom (and The Muppets) - I don't think he finds the romance compelling??? At least, not the healthy endgame version.

Like, the one interview where he dropped that he was planning an unrequited romance in all those pitches of his until they shot the bathtub scene in 1x06...? Wild twist, but also it kind of makes sense.

Look at the comparisons he makes. Titanic (where Jack dies). Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (where both leads die). Shows like Insecure and Grey's Anatomy, where relationships get messy breakups constantly. He's excited about fanvids set to Olivia Rodrigo's "Favorite Crime". Writes an episode based on Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, a 1966 film of a play that attacks the concept of happy marriages. He mentions A Star Is Born repeatedly in reference to S2, a movie where the disaster marriage ends in suicide and heartbreak.

And even broad spectrum - he repeatedly explains that he's not compelled by pirate stories. Accuses the genre of being "creaky" and "hard to budge", and then claims to want to subvert it in one interview and shrugs about how "it's a pirate story" as reasoning in others. But the part he seems interested in...? Well it's the oncoming end of the Golden Age aspect, and also maybe the short and violent life of organized crime. He's drawing comparisons to mob movies and Westerns - two things I think we can say trend toward the bittersweet to tragic scale with endings. His examples certainly do.

I'm no longer surprised he was really compelled by the Edward and Izzy toxic divorce in S1 and the idea of doing an arc about "Can Izzy find himself outside of this toxic relationship?" only to answer "No." It seems right in his wheelhouse, tbh. Definitely enough that if he felt like Izzy ought to die due to vibes, I doubt he was looking too hard for an alternative.

For all his talk about "Can BlackBonnet put the work into this relationship?" I'm really getting the impression he thinks the more compelling answer is also "No." He likes the idea of a happy ending maybe, but he doesn't really seem into that as a story.

Now, he does seem to have gotten a crash course in "Maybe don't bury your gays?" and he's not lying about wanting to avoid the specific kinds of coming out and queer trauma stories - those are different kinds of tragedies - but I am... skeptical, perhaps, that the forced happy ending feeling of S2 will do anything but repeat in S3.

Just because, like, if I was scrolling these takes on a fic author's blog, I'd put majority odds on the main couple hanging in the final chapter, and I bet a happy sunset ending would come kinda out of nowhere...

Not really a recipe for satisfying, you know?

[iceunhie]

— PUSH AND PULL : honkai star rail.

premise. as someone who's always believed in the term “try and try again,” (peak delusion, you know) rooting yourself in their heart has always been your goal, no matter the cold rejections and curt declines you receive. however, even you have your limits; perhaps this little push and pull you two have going isn't worth your time after all... but what happens then, if the chaser becomes the chased? (oh, how the turns have tabled.)

...or, when you play hard to get with them.

— ft. sunday, aventurine, jing yuan.

warnings: angst n fluff, messy messy, these boys are in love but are wayyy too chicken to admit they actually adore you, genderless reader.

a/n. inspired by @/xiaowhore's playing hard to get headcanons! my holy trinity 😇 n MY FAVES RAHHH

NEXT : BACK TO MASTERLIST || ASKBOX

SUNDAY is perplexed. very much aware of his qualities which enlists him as one of the finer (finest) bachelors of Penacony (he was the Robin's one and only blood, and was also the head of one of the main guiding forces of the Family, after all), sunday isn't sure he's ever come across someone as.... tenacious as you.

foolish, to be more precise, for he cannot for the life of him comprehend exactly why you are the way you are with... him.

no matter his respectful declines of your invitations to promenade around Penacony (re: going on dates), you really didn't know how to leave him be. though he hasn't exactly said he hated it, sunday was, admittedly, rather... affronted. your gifts, in particular, were your loud declarations of your affection (that make his wings flutter more rapidly than he'd like); but sunday was rather inconvenienced at the whole thing.

nonetheless, he does still accept them. reluctantly, mind you. not because he was fond of your constant shower of affections, which seemed so permanent that he began to look forward to them got used to it. to your credit, your gifts were very much to his tastes. (Robin once gave him a rather soul-searching look when he found himself wearing the gloves you gifted, light blue and white in color. he still uses it, just not when his sister is in the vicinity.)

in fact, perhaps he may have gotten too comfortable. little by little, your constant intrusions on his time have thawed a way to his heart; making sunday look forward to your jovial greetings and grandeur elaborations on your day, and such a thing makes him feel scared sunday needed to nip this in the bud, and fast.

so he confronts you, abruptly one day as you give him his newest gift—a jewelry box for his earrings. (surely, the rapid thumping of his heart was due to his irritation at your constant persistence, right?) “i'm afraid this can no longer continue. i am flattered by your... fancy for me, but i do not wish to enter a relationship in the near future.”

the utter silence that follows is torture to him—but he endures. he tries not to look at the momentary flash of hurt on your face. you seemed to quickly recover, though. giving him a simple smile (it didn't reach your eyes. it shocks him how his chest ached at the realization) and shaking your head when he returns the gift to you.

“i understand, mr. sunday.” the formal usage of his name instead of your chipper ‘sunday!’ makes his face twitch. “but please, keep the gift. think of this as my last declaration. it... would do me a great comfort, just this last time, if you accepted it instead.”

(if he had grabbed your hand at that moment as you left for the door, would he regret it?)

when you leave, sunday thought it would put the conflicting feelings in his mind at ease—but it doesn't. a week and two days counting, true to your word, sunday receives no flagrant gifts, nor little messages on his phone that tell him to take care of himself, to eat, and to make sure to remember to check up on Robin.

instead, contrary to the feeling of ease, regret follows him instead.

it's at two weeks and five days counting when sunday could no longer stand the sight of papers that stacked atop his desk and the image of you leaving for the door replaying in his head far too many times for him to count, that he contacts Robin.

and she, once hearing about the situation, gives him a very, very enlightening talk. (of course, not without giving her brother a lecture of the lifetime. part of him felt shame to know that his sister knew of his... turbulent love life, but she was the only one who he could trust, anyway).

“absence makes the heart grow fonder,” she says. “but in your case, brother, your heart has already decided it's course, right?”

sunday eyes the smooth velvet of the jewelry box you gifted, ruminating. his earrings lie there, carefully pristine and beautiful, gold and silver intertwined. he has worn them without fail, clean and spotless. (of course it was. such a design so intricate was only chosen by you. the thought makes his ears warm).

the next days are agonizing. vigor renewed and epiphanies well-spent, sunday spends the rest of his time after finishing his duties researching and painstakingly finding the best jeweller he can find (even employing the suggestions of a certain gambler, much to his dislike), and spending a god awful amount of time revisiting and rechecking which spots you like, which places you enjoy, to the point it comes up in Penacony's headlines that sunday is interested in someone.

surely, it should've reached your ears by now, yes? sunday panics. your preferences are well-accounted for, and he's sure the Bloodhound family members that report to him have to tell you that the person he had in mind was you. even Robin, who was your closest friend, has probably told you already.

it's embarrassing to admit, but; to hell with it, the day he meets you after three weeks and sees you having a pleasant chat with aventurine, of all people, sunday thinks his heart had shattered into little pieces and stabbed themselves into his body. not so much as sparing him a glance, moreso.

so when, finally at his wits end, sunday chooses to corner you at the dewlight pavilion and spills out how he has royally screwed up in the worst way possible, no one is surprised. at this rate, you would be swept up in the charms of that wretched gambler, and what sunday lacked in, aventurine more than made up for.

“wait, don't go to that gambler just yet.” he's breathless, he's chaotic—and something in his heart squeezes when you finally look at him. “i... i wish to take up your time now, if that's possible.” (he wishes he would take up your time forever, really, but that was still too early).

you eye his getup. all of your gifts, lined on the man you spent so long chasing after—you see the gloves you gifted, the tie with not so much as a single crease, and the earrings that shine more brightly in the light of the pavilion. (it suits him. like you) it was as if sunday had completely surrendered himself to you, had all but decided to proclaim that he was yours, and this was nothing short of a plea for you to hear him.

“please.” he says. almost begs. “i can't bear not seeing you anymore. allow me to correct such a damning mistake.”

and if you were skeptical, the way sunday looks at you would dispel any doubt you could ever have. (his wings, they were fluttering.)

(months later, after a nerve-ending confession, many days of dinners, shared gifts involving matching jewelry and promenading to your wishes, it dawns on sunday he was absolutely dancing to your tune. did he regret it, though?

....no, most certainly not.)

if AVENTURINE were to be honest with himself, he saw you as a useful “friend” rather than a romantic interest. was it bad of him? of a sort. but risk cutting himself open and letting someone he might grow to care for know about all the ugliness that follows his life? no, he's fine as it is, thanks.

the first thing he notices is that you're kind—though he distrusted most of his colleagues and preferred none to get close to him, aventurine, in some morbid moment of curiosity, instead allowed himself to bask in your attention. instead of curtly disparaging you, he flirts back at your compliments (the way your face heated up in return was far too endearing that he can't help but want to kiss you he finds it amusing) and consistently texts you a “did you get home safe” or a “i bought you this because it reminded me of you”; at this point, it was like you two were dating.

was it leading you on? yes, but he supposes it was a win-win; he could send you those tiny bits of validation that was enough for you to stay respectfully at a distance while he probed at your intentions. unlike others who attempt to garner his favor, you're genuine, and you seriously take the time to know him. because you always text back with hearts, always reassure him, tell him to stay safe and wish him luck at every gamble, every high stakes bet he finds himself in. you even complimented his perfume once (and, if he had to be honest, he could not stop thinking about it all day—because that perfume he commissioned exclusively was based off of your own favorite scents and it was extremely embarrassing that he loved hugging you knowing that you loved the way he smelled and that it felt extremely domestic).

(sometimes, he doesn't reply. for months on end. suddenly the golden-haired man you love goes cold and you know then that aventurine ghosts you and then returns when he's in need of a friend—never a lover. it hurts you, but at the very least, you know he cares in his own way.)

and, if aventurine had to be honest, it was killing him from the inside bit by bit. as if to drive the knife deeper, you never danced around what exactly was going on with you two. you never ask why he ghosts you, then sends you a bundle of gifts all of a sudden and then rapidly spends time with you and repeating the cycle. no, you were consistently by his side, so warm and so caring—so unlike him—that aventurine wonders if it's really all right to open his heart to you.

if, by some chance, he actually wanted to be with you, would you treat him even more sweetly than before? aventurine thinks you would—you were beautiful in your entirety, and he was practically undeserving of you. he imagines himself kissing your hand and having you in his arms—and that feels like ice cold water being dumped onto his head, because you could do so much better and yet, why him?

so when aventurine hears about how a certain doctor was visiting you for some unknown reason, his already fragile sense of security in this little will-they, won't they crumbles.

and when he finds out that you were staying over with ratio? something twisted lodges itself in the little brushes of his heart, coiling and coiling—making him feel green. aventurine is aware you and the doctor are good friends, and ratio was the one who even told you to make a move on him! how could he just—suddenly interrupt?!

(was it dramatic? extremely. but knowing his friend and the person he secretly adores might end up together? you can't really blame him.)

he supposes this can be attributed to him. it was an egregious mistake, a blunder aventurine made—he never gave you a clear sight of whether he truly loved you or not and now you're slipping away from him.

so, he does something very unexpected.

at 3:00 AM in the wee early morning hours, aventurine practically barges into one Dr. veritas ratio's home, demanding what the hell was going on between you. and as if he had expected it, his doctor friend merely gives him a shrug in return.

“perhaps they were simply getting fed up by a certain IPC member—who is clearly head over heels in love with them—giving them mixed signals.” ratio's tone is stern, and aventurine definitely knows that the look he gives him is the one he gives only to fools.

you idiot, the doctor seems to say. yeah, yeah, he is; aventurine ignores the clear pinprick at his dignity.

yes, he supposes he is the fool here. “ah.”

“yes, ‘ah,’ indeed. now, let me propose a question.” the purple-haired man says. “will you react in such a way when i tell you that in order for my friend to stop their anguish, i managed to get them to fraternize with one of my colleagues?”

“...what?”

“they will be having a meet-up seven system hours from now.” ratio shrugs. eyes aventurine, who's looking at him like a gaping, stupid fish. “i can only hope that no one would dare to disrupt.”

...it doesn't take him long to be rid of the gambler by then.

(a few hours later, you stop by the Intelligentsia Guild to see one veritas ratio with a smug smile, eyeing the fur coat draped around your shoulders, and the flushed and happy expression written on your face.

“did it work?” he asks.

you laugh, “splendidly.”

indeed, that gambler was a fool, and there's nothing more than dr. ratio loved than to educate such fools to shape.

“that will teach him.”)

as a quote unquote ‘old man’ who knows that he's well up in his years for a relationship, JING YUAN finds you to be quite amusing.

it doesn't take a detailed analysis to know that you were smitten with him, really. you're a complete open book by his standards—if your heated face and slightly airy voice whenever you were even placed in the same vicinity with the Dozing General was anything to come by. while flattering, he also shares the similar mindset of being too old for any love his way—and he could be mara-struck at any given time, and jing yuan does not wish such a life filled with anguish and pain for the one who may steal his heart. but, worry not, brave suitor of the Arbiter General! unlike the other two above, this man has the experience of millenia, and is open-minded and aware that you truly wish to be perceived as a potential lover.

in fact, jing yuan's recent favorite habit is sneaking off the Seat of Divine Foresight purely to freak you out, watching you scramble up your words, seeing the heat crawl up your nape and bloom all across your face. adorable. you certainly knew how to appeal, that's for sure.

(“heh, it seems i've found a new place to stay in so that the Diviner Fu won't grill me alive when she sees me.”

and when he's rewarded with a bashful and speechless look in return, a smile and your, “i'm glad, general.” it surprisingly lightens up his mood by more than he expected.

that, in turn, gives him a frightening 30% energy boost; fu xuan was utterly shocked to see the languid man actually working and looking like he enjoyed it, for once.

“did something good happen today, jing yuan? why so enthusiastic?”

“i just felt like working more than usual, diviner Fu. i seem to have my energy levels at a high.”)

now, jing yuan is considerate and perceptive first and foremost, so there's a high chance that out of all the men here, he is the most open to giving you the chance to pursue him. he does inform you beforehand that he has no plans of accepting your confessions in the future, and that is where the ‘hard to get’ part comes in.

it's like playing a confusing romance visual novel with a fickle love interest—you never really know what you're doing, whether it's something jing yuan would like or not, and you don't know if he even thinks your attempts are moving his heart. (tldr: he friend zones you).

he maintains the same distance no matter his banters with you, no matter how many times you tell him that you'd help yanqing out with sword lessons. it's like he was just... treating you as he would a friend, and that you were basically stuck in the friend-zone forever.

(he keeps it to himself, but something warm stirs in his chest when he sees yanqing sleeping on your shoulder after training practice, with your arm protectively around the boy's side.

your sleeping face didn't make it easy to look away either; it's one of the few moments in which jing yuan shows just the slightest bit of reciprocating your pursuits; he brushes back the stray hairs covering your face, and drapes a blanket over the two of you.

of course, perhaps to tease yanqing, he also takes the calligraphy brush and makes a work out of his face, doodling all over it.

when you wake up, there's a lingering scent of ink and yellowed paper that fills your senses. when you turn to the boy beside you, you almost giggle out loud.)

it's a little disheartening—and while jing yuan did acknowledge that you were slowly, slowly burrowing yourself in his heart, he doesn't act on it fast enough, and instead lets the realization sit in his mind for a while.

it gets to the point where it feels as though he were preparing to distance himself, and even yanqing had asked if he was well. your visits with the Arbiter General also decrease, as he suddenly buried himself in his work even more than before.

he doesn't get to see you all that much afterwards, despite the lingering feeling of missing you filling his heart.

....that's until jing yuan hears word of a recent mara-struck incident involving the Sky-faring Commission; with your name listed among those heavily injured.

when he visits Bailu's clinic after yanqing urges him, jing yuan takes in the sight of you, littered in injuries from head to toe. your life, about to snap. he never even told you that you won; you did manage to steal his heart and for the first time in a long time, jing yuan allows himself to love.

so if, after three weeks later when you're finally healed up and ready to go, jing yuan brings you into his arms and drags you to let him sleep in your lap, you can't really blame him now, can you?

a/n: i love yearner hsr men,,, might do a pt 2 though. thinking of mayb ratio, jiaoqiu and f/heng next time...... sighs dreamily

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. toji witnesses his son’s first steps and it nearly makes the grown man cry.

wc. 1k

tags. dad!toji x female reader. fluff. reader gets called ‘mama.’ life if gege just gave us what we wanted. ending is a bit rushed if you couldn't tell.

“gumi, look here,” you coo at your child who’s sitting in his playpen. you’re laying against some stuffed animals, too tired to move after doing all kinds of chores. the baby looks up at you with curious eyes and you take your chance to make a silly face.

megumi giggles and responds by throwing a small toy your way. it accidentally hits your head, though luckily it isn’t anything too heavy.

toji, who laid lazily on the opposite side of the playpen, watches the scene unfold. he grins once he sees you rub the spot on your forehead, “oi, megumi, careful with y’r mama.”

you chuckle, dropping your dramatic act. you ruffle megumi’s hair a bit before standing up. a yawn escapes your lips and you stretch your arms above your head—clearly in need of a break.

“i’m gonna take a quick nap, honey,” your eyes meet toji’s. your husband nods and sits up with a groan. he’s also sleepy, but he knows that you did most of the work today. he’ll gladly watch over megumi while you rest and regain your energy.

megumi starts to fuss the moment you step out of the playpen. his tiny hands reach out to you—the little boy clearly too attached to his mother. toji shakes his head and effortlessly picks his son up and puts him on his lap, “naw, y’re stuck with me buddy. mama’s gotta rest.”

megumi squirms around and whimpers. he’s clearly not interested in his dad at the moment. toji sighs and tries his best to keep the baby still, but to no avail.

“mama! mama!” the baby’s cries for you breaks your heart. you stop a a couple steps away and turn around with a pout. you notice how megumi is kicking his legs, thrashing around in toji’s arms in attempt to free himself.

you sigh and crouch down, “gumi, mama’s sleepy. . papa’s gonna play with you, okay?”

megumi, of course, does not understand what you mean. he thinks you’re leaving him alone and it causes him to wail loudly. you’re about to console your son, but backtrack when you notice how megumi’s starting to stand up on his own.

his chubby legs are barely holding his body weight up. the balance is hard to find for the baby, yet he still does his utmost best. he nearly trips from just standing.

even toji looks on with wide eyes and a hint of a prideful grin on his lips. he’s silently encouraging his son in his head.

“ma..ma,” megumi babbles. he almost topples over, but toji’s quick reflexes come in handy. a big hand keeps the baby standing straight. the dark-haired man carefully lets go again, however keeps his hand near his son’s body. just in case.

neither toji nor you could believe what was happening. you both watch in awe as megumi’s left foot moves forward—the right one copying that same movement.

your precious boy, taking his first steps right in front of you both to witness. it’s a heartwarming sight. you hold your breath and toji’s lips part slightly. your husband has yet to grasp why this scene in front of him makes him feel so. . . giddy on the inside.

“c’mon! come to mama!” you squeal excitedly and open your arms, encouraging megumi to your best ability. the tiny boy giggles and moves his limbs as fast as they could go. his chubby hands flail around as he quickly walks over to you.

toji stares at his family and that’s when it hits him; how much he loves this peaceful life. his son just achieved another great milestone that he had the honour of witnessing firsthand. it made him happy that he chose this path instead of the more ‘darker’ one.

it also nearly causes your husband to shed some tears from pure joy. but, toji didn’t want to seem too ‘soft’. even if he secretly is for his wife and child.

toji coughs subtly. totally not to get rid of the irritating lump in his throat. a ghost of a smile appears on his face while he got up, immediately moving towards megumi and you.

“good job, kiddo,” toji says as he puts his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. he stares down at megumi in your arms—the little boy getting drowned in kisses and compliments.

your ears twitch. there’s no denying it; the faint crack in toji’s voice. you give your kid a break from your overwhelming affection and tilt your head back. your eyes meet your husband’s.

you grin when you see how he quickly avoids your gaze. something he never does unless he’s. . . “gonna cry?”

toji rolls his eyes at your question. he ignores your teasing by trying to change the subject. he focuses on megumi who’s still going absolutely wild in your embrace—cutely demanding more praise and kisses.

“daddy can also give ya some kisses, y’know,” toji pokes megumi’s cheek, fascinated by the plush fat. the baby stops babbling the moment his dad talks to him. he looks up at toji and then back at the finger still prodding at his cheek.

megumi opens his mouth and doesn’t waste a single second. he goes for a playful bite, though his little baby teeth do no real damage, “yumm.”

you giggle at the way megumi frowns at toji, his teeth holding tightly onto toji’s fingertip. it’s time for your husband to take over the dramatics now.

“hey, that ain’t so nice now,” toji hisses and leans forward until his face is right in front of megumi—a similar frown on both the dad and son’s faces. they really do look alike now that you see them both from up close again.

megumi only bites down more on the finger in his mouth and toji reacts to that by feigning his anger. it’s amusing to see how neither of them gives up first.

but, it’s also rather cute to see how the father-son dynamic plays out in cozy family moments like these.

your eyes focus back on toji’s face and you can’t help but smile to yourself. he’s a good husband and father; always there for the both of you. his own way of showing support for megumi’s first steps is rather heartwarming. plus, the playful banter between the two never fails to make any moment all the more precious.

[ozzgin]

I just finished playing Firewatch and the cozy, lonely vibes gave me another monster idea! You got a summer job as a fire watch for the closest National Park. All you have to do is to sit in your tower, and...watch. For fires. Sounds boring? Worry not, your supervisor is there to keep you company over the radio. Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, obsessive behavior, suggestive ending

"And? What are you running away from?"

"Excuse me?"

You raise your eyebrows at the unexpected question coming from the radio. The deep voice belongs to your supervisor, the man who'll guide you throughout your stay at the National Park.

"No one picks up an isolated job in the mountains out of sheer desire. Especially someone as young as you." He chuckles briefly, then resumes in a more professional tone: "My apologies. You don't have to answer that."

What a strange way to begin the conversation, you think to yourself. Yet this nonchalance and casualty is all you have for the following months. The other watchtowers don't talk much, if at all. You're entirely alone in the wilderness, save for the mysterious man on the radio.

Slowly, you begin to warm up to his chatty nature. He likes to ask a lot of questions. A terribly curious individual, though you can understand his reasoning: he's been working for the Park for over a decade. How does one survive without another human being?

He never leaves his tower, and thus you've never seen his face. He's content, you're indifferent. Occasionally, he'll mention sketching you to pass the time.

"How would you describe your eyes, (Y/N)?" he'll ask between his pencil scribbles. "I see. I'm sure they're beautiful. Why are you suddenly quiet? Have you forgotten how to take a compliment? I'm just messing with you, kiddo."

You haven't witnessed a single fire since coming here, despite the torrid summer heat. Your days are spent hiking without aim and talking to your supervisor.

One morning, you wake up to the grating beep of the radio instead of your alarm. You pick up the small device with an irritated grunt.

"Would you like to meet?"

You need a moment to process the words. Are you finally going to greet the one man who's kept you distant company for weeks? Intriguing. You mumble your agreement, still half-asleep.

As you make your way down the hill, you notice a supply station covered in moss and overgrown vegetation. You check your map, just to be sure. There shouldn't be anything here. What a peculiar thing to stumble upon. You approach the old wooden box and lift the lid carefully.

The musty inside is filled with rows of newspapers and some scattered notes. You pluck one newspaper out, and rest your eyes on the first headline.

"National Park is saying goodbye to its employees. The area will be permanently closed after the devastating fire."

You gawk at the title, then at the photographed location.

It's your watchtower.

You scramble to read the rest of the paragraphs, words slipping behind in your frantic search. This forest has been sealed off for years. You recognize the name of your supervisor in the report: a father of three, loved by everyone, died tragically before a rescue team could reach him.

"Found anything interesting, kiddo?"

You turn around with mild hesitation. Whoever this impersonating maniac is, or what he wants, is rather irrelevant at this point. You're trapped alone with him.

Across from you stands a creature, resembling a chimera more than a human being. Long, grotesque limbs ending in black claws, hollow eyes, and mangled rows of razor-sharp teeth put together in a grin. Monstrous.

You're out of breath.

"That looks great", the creature remarks cheerfully.

"Don't use my voice to talk. It's embarrassing to hear myself like that", you lecture it as you spread out the food onto the picnic blanket.

It switches back to the supervisor's soft, masculine tone.

"Sorry, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

The monster extends one bony hand over your head, fanning out the fingers and dragging them across your hair in gentle strokes. What a precious little human you are.

You did not run away. A terrifying thought: losing you after all the time spent together. It didn't want to chase you down and make it even worse for you. But you stayed, you truly did.

"By the way", you say as you bite into your sandwich, stretching out your legs. "Is it you who prevents the fires? Usually it's a common occurrence here, especially in summer."

You recall the scorching flames from the newspaper.

"Yes. To keep you safe, you understand."

"Not only did you lie to me about the job, but you kept me out of work, too", you whine. "I got bored to death! Days on end!"

You're suddenly pushed down into the blanket, and you stare into the spiraling, empty sockets, confused.

"I can entertain you to your heart's desire, (Y/N)."

Its snout widens in a flirty smile, releasing a bizarre succession of clicks. Is it laughing in its natural voice?

You blush.

"I suppose there are some ways..." you suggest cheekily, unbuttoning your shirt.

[More Monsters] | [More Original Works]

[ebodebo]

Tough As Nails—Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy!

thinking about cowboy!simon riley… MDNI | part one |

next ->

He had become a nuisance. A pest, a headache. Every single adjective you can think of to describe a pain in the ass he was.

Your father's ranch hand, whom he hired all of six months ago, had become something of a bother, an inconvenience to you. He was annoying and stubborn. Narrowed his eyes at you too often for your liking. Scoffed when you would correct him. And scolded you when you would have people on the property when your parents would leave town—even going so far as to kick your guests off the property altogether.

But tonight would be different; it was the Fourth of July. You would happily throw your party in the barn your family owns, on the property they own. You weren't going to let him order you around tonight.

"What the hell is all of this?" Simon seethed, taking in the concrete floor covered in empty beer bottles and spilled grain. His booming voice caused some partygoers to straighten up, though no one dared to speak.

He clenched his jaw at the lack of cooperation. "Huh?" He paused, his fists clenching so hard they began to turn white.

"So, no one can speak?" He walked over to a guy sitting on a bale of hay, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and yanked him off the hay tossing him aside.

"Get the fuck off my hay." He gritted to the guy.

"Where is she?" All he could think about was the little pain in his ass who was responsible for this. The guy he pulled off the hay immediately pointed towards an old wooden outhouse away from the barn.

Simon rolled his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath. "If I come back and any of you are still here." He looked over everyone.

"I will not hesitate to shoot you for trespassing."

Safe to say, everyone in the barn scrambled out of the barn at that very second. Simon turned on his heels and stalked over to the outhouse, where he saw you leaning up against the outside with a guy's hands roaming your body, making out.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" You jumped at the sound of his voice, pushing the guy on you off your body.

"Sim—"

"Don't." He moved closer, standing directly in front of you, pointing his finger at you. "Don't Simon me."

"It's the Fourth of July, Simon. Lighten up."

"Do you realize your idiot friends spilled hundreds of dollars worth of grain and fucked with your dad's equipment?" All he had to do was glance at the guy just kissing you for him to go scurrying off.

"Shit, I shouldn't have left them alone. I wasn't thinking." You curse, looking up at him to meet his eyes.

"Ya, you're right." He stepped closer.

“You don't think." He gritted out before continuing.

"You're impulsive. Reckless."

Your eyes widen at his words. Who does this guy think he is? "Don't forget you work for me."

He lets out a deep, dry chuckle. "Actually, I work for your dad." 

"Whatever." You scoff as you take a step to walk past him.

"We are not done talking." He reaches out to grab your wrist; you swiftly turn your head to look up at him.

"I'm done listening to you." You grit out, eyes full of anger.

"Oh, is that it?" He scoffs out as you take a step away, only to trip over a wide hole in the ground, making both of you topple over, him falling on top of you. He's quick to plant a hand on the ground before, so his entire body weight isn't on you.

After you recognize the pain from the fall, you look up at Simon, who's on top of you, eyes boring into yours. Your pulse increases at the proximity, and your breath becomes more shallow.

His eyes blazed with fury, yours full of irritation. You can't help but glance at his lips, hovering not too far away from your own. This little action made him lose it. His self-control was already hanging on by a single thread, and the look you gave was what finally cut through. His lips crashed onto yours with such force that it took your air away.

It wasn't gentle or tender. It was desperation, months of built-up vexation. It was downright sinful.

You gasp once his lips meet yours but quickly return the sentiment. Your hands move to glide through his light hair, gently tugging on the roots, making him groan.

He yanks his cowboy hat off as he grips your waist to flip you so you are now on top of him, straddling his waist as he sits up.

"I thought you didn't like me." You smugly remark as he connects his lips to the side of your neck, and his hands start undoing buttons on your top.

"Like has nothing to do with this." He murmurs into your neck, lightly nipping at your sensitive skin, making you sigh.

"Keep telling yourself that, Cowboy." You jest, grabbing the back of his neck bringing him back up to your lips, already greedy for another taste of him.

He continues working on undoing your top buttons as his tongue collides with yours, and your teeth graze his own.

He cups your breast over the fabric of your bra as soon as he gets the buttons undone, making you whimper. His hand slips down to grip the fat of your ass as he leans in so his lips are lightly grazing your ear.

"You do it on purpose, don't you?" You could feel the roughness of his voice so close to your ear. You leaned into his lips grazing your ear.

"Do what?" You breathe out as his hand roams from your ass to the front of your belt, gently unclasping your belt buckle.

"You playin' dumb now?" He questioned, gently nipping at your ear lobe. The sensation made you let out a low moan before roughly grabbing his face and connecting your lips back to his.

He matched your hungry kiss, reciprocating an even hungrier one of his own as he tossed your belt off to the side and slid off your pitiful excuse for jean shorts down past your thighs.

He quickly undid his belt buckle and threw it off to the side, sliding his jeans down.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this." You breathe out, reaching between the two of you to release him from the confines of his boxers.

His mouth went dry at your touch. "Do what exactly?" He choked out as you carefully pumped him up and down.

"Ride you." You casually said as you slipped your already-soaked thong to the side to accommodate him. He could have come at your words. He almost did, but a quick relay of the steps to clean an AR-15 suppressed the urge. 

You grip him and slip him inside your dripping cunt, hissing at the contact. He grips your hips and gently sinks you lower, groaning as you grind into him. 

He brought his face closer to plant deep, wet kisses on your lips before groaning into your mouth as you continued your movements. "Fuck. Just like that." 

Your entire body erupted with goosebumps, and your nipples hardened at the sentiment. You grip his shoulders tightly, but before you pick up your pace, you hear a familiar truck pulling up to the gate of your family's ranch.

"Is that—" You begin before he thrusts into you, making you moan and throw your head back.

"So fuckin' sensitive." He leaned into your exposed neck and licked a strip up to your lips that were slightly parted. 

"Better come quick, sweetheart." He pants, gently bouncing you up and down on his cock, fingers digging into the tender flesh on your hips. 

"Wouldn't want your parents to see you riding me. Would you now?" You let out a pathetic whimper, bringing your hand down to swirl circles on your aching clit, while he wraps a strong arm around your waist to hold you in place as he drills himself into you.

Each thurst, each swirl of your finger, made you feel a sense of nirvana you didn't even know was possible to get to. It was pure bliss. That and his dirty tongue were spewing such filthy words that were making you wetter than you ever knew was possible.

"Tell me you're about to come because—” His pleading voice sends a final wave of heat through you.

"Fuck. Yes, I'm coming." You yelp, slipping your fingers through his hair and pulling on the light roots again. He silently curses as he comes, gripping you tighter and pressing your chest against his own.

By the time both of your orgasms subside, he silently and gently eases you up to assist you in pulling your thong and jean shorts back on. Then, he casually fixes his jeans and grabs his belt to put back on.

You glance at him, picking up his cowboy hat from the ground and carefully wiping off some dirt that had gotten on it. Though he doesn't slip it back on his head, as a shock to you, he places the hat on your head. It was a little big on you, so it fell a bit more in the front, slightly covering your eyes.

"Keep it.” He says, bending down to pick up your belt and buckle, gently slipping it around your waist and clasping it. He gently pats the buckle clasped in the front, then looks down at you before speaking.

"You earned it."

a/n: who the fuck even wrote this

divider!

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[prlssprfctn]

The first time, Tim notices someone observing them from afar, it is when they are all settled for a brief dinner together. It is the middle of the week, and Bruce gathered all of them together to... relax. Which is strange but not unwelcome. Everyone is so involved in chattering and bantering that they don't notice a lingering gaze through the window; they don't, but Tim does.

It takes him a few seconds to figure out that it is Jason.

He is not sure if Bruce reached for him to invite, and Jason just declined, or there was no offer to begin with, but Tim knows for sure Jason lurkes behind windows for a few minutes before disappearing in the night.

And the funniest thing? Tim understands him.

He thinks he is not Jason's replacement — never truly was, despite what the other thought — but in a way, they did swap their places. Because in the past, it was Tim, who hid on the rooftops, staring at Bruce and his family, listening to the snippets of their conversations. And now it is Jason.

It is still different, of course. Tim had a choice, and it was his... enthusiastic project, if anything — Jason doesn't really. But if anyone understands the feeling of standing far away from everyone, it is still Tim.

That's why the next time in happens, Tim reaches out.

It is after the particularly easy mission, when Tim spots the red motion on the rooftop. He slips away from Nightwing and Robin, who debate about something with Batman through the comms, and finds himself standing behind Red Hood.

The way Red Hood taps his fingertips on the balustrade makes Tim remember that he is not included in their comms anymore. He wonders how lonely it is, to hear the voices of his brothers, but never being able to grasp the whole conversation they have.

'Hood,' he calls for him.

To Jason's credit, he doesn't scramble in panic, even if it seems that he is surprised by his appearance.

'Red,' he mutters back, instantly defensive. 'What, came to mock me?'

Tim rolls his eyes; he wishes things would be easier with Jason, but they are not, and he can't really blame him for that.

'Had I ever mocked you?' He copies his stance, arms folding in the chest. When Jason tilts his head, almost asking, "Really now?" Tim rolls his eyes again. 'Okay, I did a few times. But it mostly were jokes about your death.'

Jason chuckles.

'Good one, punk. It changes everything.'

'You like jokes about your death,' Tim protests. 'And I know you allow Arsenal to joke about it, so it is not entirely closed topic.'

'I don't remember allowing you to joke about it, though.'

...

This conversation is so fucking stupid. Tim didn't even came here for this, but-

But fine. He still can win.

'So, you only allow it to your friends. Fine. Let's be friends,' Jason chokes on his own exhausted sigh. 'Do you need some friendship questionnaires to fill to be my friend? I can arrange that.'

Jason kindly flips him off under his breath before disappearing in the night, leaving him alone with whining Nightwing and irritated Bruce in his ear.

The next time he stalks down Jason, who in turn is stalking Damian and Bruce, he shoves in his hand twenty three papers filled with bunch of friendship questions — half stripped from internet, half made by Tim that involve the specifics of their jobs.

He doesn't expect anything to come after it, but in two weeks after Jason returns to the city after his mission with Outlaws, Tim finds these papers filled with surprisingly neat, calligraphic answers.

And he gets the printed copy of the same questions, with one page of an additional one, written in the same handwriting, and with a little sticky note atop of it.

Your turn, Timbo.

Tim smirks.

Oh, he will so drag Jason back in the family, somehow.

[yanderedrabbles]

Cheat on me please

How to safely rid yourself of a yandere

There's no easy way to get rid of him. He's too obsessive. Too controlling. Too bloody single minded.

You tried talking through it and he just scoffed and said you were being silly. That you were just too hormonal and would calm down in a few days.

You tried going no contact and he showed up at your door. Hammered at it until the neighbours called the cops and they dragged him away.

You tried being nice about it and all he did was grab your wrist so hard it bruised. His eyes like chips of stone when he said he didn't want to hear it.

You weren't breaking up with him. You had no reason to.

And the worst part? He was right. You don't have a reason.

On paper, he's the perfect man. Attentive. Generous. Handsome. He buys you gifts, he lavishes you with attention, he's funny and charming around your friends.

And he scares you.

Not because of anything he's done. (Perfect guy, remember?) But some instinct deep inside you tells you to be careful around him.

This one's a predator, he's got claws and fangs, he'll fill you with venom and never let go, some ancient part of you insists.

But try explaining that to him. He's so mindlessly logical. He's not going to leave you because of a silly gut feeling. Come on baby, what sort of shitty boyfriend would do that?

And that's why you're down to half thought out, borderline silly plans to get rid of him. Get your hot friend to sleep with him. Catch them in the act. Throw a tantrum and finally get to break up with him.

You can't try and excuse cheating. It's abhorrent. And his logical side will surely see that, right?

One little hitch though. He's actually loyal to a fault.

Part of you finds it hard to believe. Is he really turning down your absolute bombshell of a friend? The girl all your exes were just a bit in love with?

Maybe he's just being cautious. Maybe he isn't lonely and needy enough to risk it.

So you up the stakes. Decide to avoid fucking him as much as possible. And oh boy, does it drive him crazy. He gets irritable and needy and somehow even more horny the longer your dry spell lasts.

And you know that you almost have him. He's just a man, no matter how logical he pretends to be.

You pick a fight over nothing. Blow it all out of proportion and storm out to stay with your parents for a while.

Piss him off just enough that a revenge fuck seems like a great idea.

He ends up drinking at a shitty dive bar and oh what a coincidence, your gorgeous seductress friend just happens to turn up. The last text she sends you makes it seem like she's finally hooked him and you hurry over to her apartment, feeling just a little giddy. Your plan actually worked! You feel like a goddamn genius.

And sure enough, his car is parked at her front door.

For a second, you feel a little hurt. Yes, this is the outcome you wanted. Yes, you deliberately manipulated him to get to this point. But it still feels like betrayal.

When you make it to her door, it's oddly silent for a supposed drunken hookup. But you're too geared up to notice it.

She left her door unlocked like you agreed and you tiptoe inside, your heart going a mile a minute. Her bedroom door is cracked just a little and a shaft of light cuts through the dark of the hallway.

You swing the door open with a crash, getting to ready to cuss him out.

And you freeze.

There's no guilty couple leaping away from each other, no smell of sweat and cum, no illicit rendezvous.

Instead your friend is tied to a chair, her mouth taped shut with silvery duct tape and her mascara running in black streaks down her cheeks. Her eyes lock onto yours and she tries to scream something through the tape.

The door clicks shut behind you.

You turn slowly. Like putting it off will make the situation less horrible, less like a dissociative dream.

Your boyfriend looks ragged. His eyes are blood shot and his hair is an unruly mess.

But the worst part is the way he smiles at you. Paternal, almost. Like he's caught you doing something naughty but he's willing to overlook it.

"Come on baby, you didn't think I'd actually cheat on you, did ya?"

His voice is condescending, but under the surface you can hear a cold, terrifying anger.

You swallow. Those same instincts that warned you about him are screaming now.

"What the hell is going on?" You demand, trying to sound angry instead of just afraid.

He steps toward you and it takes everything in you to not step away. He picks up a piece of your hair and rubs it between his fingers. Proprietary, possessive.

"What's going on? You should know babe. You're the one who tried to set me up... As though that skank over there ever stood a chance."

He tsks. "I knew something was wrong the second you stopped sleeping with me."

He leans forward and whispers in your ear, his breath ghosting across your neck.

"I fuck you too good for you to give it up so easy."

You jerk away from him, your eyes burning like you're about to cry. How did this go so wrong?

"Are you insane? Untie her right now! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

He backhands you right across the face.

He's never hit you before and the shock is almost worse than the pain. You stumble, clutching your cheek. Your face feels numb at first and then a sharp, fiery pain blooms across your cheek.

He grabs your collar and shoves you toward the bed.

"Oh baby, you're lucky I love you." His bared teeth catch the light and he looks more wolf than man.

The edge of the mattress digs into your thighs and you fall backward. You're still reeling and he has you pinned under him before you can find the strength to scramble away.

"Thought about killing her, y'know. What kind of whore goes after her best friend's man? You deserve better than that."

His grip is unyielding. A part of you always knew he was strong, but until now you didn't realise how big the gap between you actually was. His knee is between your legs and he brings it up to press against your crotch.

"But then a light bulb must have went off. And I decided to see how things played out."

He laughs and there's nothing warm or welcoming in it at all.

"All I had to do was squeeze her throat a little and..." He grabs your throat and thightens his grip until you see stars. "And she was just fallin' all over herself to tell me about your little plan."

He let's go and pats your cheek with rough little smacks. "It was cute, baby. Really was. But fucking stupid."

He leans down and kisses you. His lips are rough and he bites your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The metallic tang of it makes you gag.

Your instincts were right. He's dangerous and you never should have tempted this monstrous part of him.

He tastes like cheap whiskey and you struggle to pull away. Your chest heaves and no matter how you buck and twist under him, he still keeps you pinned.

When he pulls away, something in your expression must please him because he hums and tilts your chin up. "But it's okay baby. We'll work through this."

He reaches down and tugs at your belt. "And I know exactly where to start."

[atlabeth]

heat lightning

pt 1 / pt 3

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you end up at the heart of the bau's latest case.

a/n: took way too long but here's more gideon reader! just as irritable as ever with some actual human emotions this time around. send help and prayers bc she's gonna need it. and before you ask there will in fact be some more parts to close up this case, i just have to write them first and it may take approximately 10 years. thank you for your consideration

wc: 4.1k

warning(s): reader still has daddy issues, still hates spence, and still argues w gideon the whole time. more angst! typical cm case stuff (a stalker that has taken vulnerable pics of reader) read w/ discretion if you are sensitive to those things. more drama and more tension and more not being a good time for anyone but me

“On your right, pretty boy.” 

Spencer stops as Morgan rushes past him back to his desk, eyes trained on the hallway. 

“Why are you in such a hurry?” he complains. “I nearly spilled my coffee.”

“Gideon’s daughter is here again,” he says. “Did you not feel the temperature drop five degrees?”

Spencer frowns. He opens his mouth to say something when he hears the telltale signs of your arrival: arguing. 

“—so typical of you! I have to drop everything the moment you need me, but it’s like pulling teeth to get you to listen to me.”

Gideon turns the corner with you in tow. He has a duffle bag in one hand and a file in his other, his brow furrowed in frustration. 

“That’s because this is important,” he says. 

“Oh, and everything else I try to get you to be around for isn’t?” 

“You know that isn’t what I meant,” Gideon says, keeping his voice level. 

“This is ridiculous,” you spit. 

“It’s necessary,” he corrects. “I’m not going to play games with your safety.” 

“Oh, yeah,” you mock. “Because you’ve always cared about that.” 

He just shakes his head. “I’m not debating this with you.”

“Why? Because you’ll realize that it’s ridiculous?”

You follow Gideon into his office and Spencer watches him close the blinds. The door slams shut, and though he can still hear the muffled argument he can’t make anything out.

“Oh, great,” Morgan says. “Now we can’t even get Reid to read their lips.”

“I don’t think we need it to know what they’re talking about,” Elle says. “They’ve been arguing since she was brought in.”

“Of course they have,” JJ says. “Gideon sent Hotch to pick her up instead of doing it himself. She sees it as another slight.”

“She sees everything as a slight,” Spencer says. “She hates him.” 

“I don’t blame her,” Morgan mutters. “Not when we only found out about her last month.” 

“Surely this isn’t helping with anything,” JJ says wryly. 

Elle shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Sometimes pointless arguing makes you feel better, even when you’re in the wrong.” 

“That’s enough, agents.” Spencer’s attention—along with everyone else’s—snaps to the top of the bullpen to see Hotch holding a file with the same expression as always. “I need you all in the conference room.” 

“Does it have anything to do with that?” Morgan asks, tilting his head towards Gideon’s office. 

“You’ll find out,” he says. Hotch starts walking to the conference room, the conversation clearly over. 

JJ sighs as she stands up and grabs the files on her desk. “I’ll get Penelope. The rest of you try not to gossip too much.” 

She goes off, and the others disperse back to their desk to finish up some last-minute things before the case takes them away. Spencer can’t tear his eyes away from Gideon’s office, even though he’s not getting anything. 

All he can think about is the last time you were here, when he got caught in the middle of your argument with Gideon—your dad, which was still a little weird—and he can’t help but feel guilty. 

Gideon is a father figure to him, sure, but it isn’t that difficult to end up with that dynamic when Spencer’s the youngest on the team. And he can go into everything about his father leaving and the psychology of that, but it doesn’t matter. Gideon treated him like a son when he had a daughter all along that he’d been neglecting. 

For all Spencer knows, it is his fault. 

“Reid,” Elle says, snapping him out of his thoughts, “you coming?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding far too many times as he catches up to her in a few quick strides. “Sorry.”

“No need,” she remarks. “Gideon’s kid was all anyone could talk about when she first showed up here. This is only gonna make things worse.”

“He can’t really be that bad of a dad,” Spencer says, “right?”

“All I know is that having a parent in the force rarely ends well,” Elle murmurs. She opens the door to the conference room and looks at him. “We can’t be too hard on her when we probably see Gideon more than she does.”

Spencer recalls his meeting with you, how he barely got a word in edgewise while you spent the whole time arguing with someone half the office viewed as immovable. 

“Yeah,” he says distantly. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

-

“Why? Because you’ll realize that it’s ridiculous?” 

Your dad shuts the blinds on all the windows in his office, then closes the door behind you. He sets your duffle down on the floor then looks at you, that infuriatingly even expression still unchanged.

“It’s not ridiculous,” he says. “Sit down and lower your voice, please. We have some things to talk about.” 

“I gathered that when you sent your guy to pick me up,” you say, crossing your arms as he walks over to his desk. “Couldn’t even do it yourself?” 

“Aaron Hotchner is the chief of this unit and one of the most accomplished agents here,” he says. “He lives closer to you than I do, and I asked him to pick you up on his way in because I knew you would be safe with him. Sit down, please.” 

“There it is again. My safety.” You remain standing. “Tell me what this is about. I’m missing work right now— I know you can understand that, at least.” 

He lets out a sigh as he says your name and looks at you. “Can we get through this without any arguments for once?” 

“That depends. Are you going to treat me like your daughter or an inconvenience?” 

“You’re my daughter, I love you, and your life is in danger,” he says evenly. 

You open your mouth to retort, but your dad opens the file in his hands and sets it down on the other side of the desk. You can see from your position that they’re photos, but your curiosity ultimately wins out. You walk over to get a closer look, and any words die in your throat as you pick up the first photo. 

A photo of you. 

You pick up the next one, only to see it’s another picture of you. At least ten photos are tucked away in the file, and they’re all of you. Taken outside your work, at your apartment, on your morning run— god, there’s even one taken through the window of your bedroom, half-naked in a towel after a shower. 

You fall silently into the chair, your heart hammering inside your chest as your eyes dart between all of the photos. You want to crawl out of your skin. 

“What the fuck is this?” you breathe. 

“The heart of our newest case,” your dad says. “It appears that you have a stalker.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes still glued to your oblivious self, “I would fucking think so.”

“These photos were dropped off at my door this morning,” he says, and he flips to the next section of the file, “with that note.”

The erratic handwriting instantly stands out to you as you pick the photocopy up, the lump in your throat growing with every word you read. 

such a pretty little thing. I wonder if she knows it.

you don’t care about her, but I do. she’s just like all the rest of us, everyone that you’ve ruined.

think about your priorities, agent gideon. I’ll be watching.  

“What the fuck is this?” you repeat. Blood pounds in your skull as a distant chill creeps down your spine. “I— I’m one of your cases now?” 

“We’re not sure yet,” he admits. “These only appeared yesterday, but from the looks of it, the unsub has been watching you for a while. Can you pinpoint when any of these photos were taken? 

You stare at him. “Some psycho has been stalking me for a while?” 

Your dad says your name again, slightly strained. “Please. I know this is difficult to think about, but figuring out a time frame would help us.” 

“Difficult,” you scoff. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” 

But it doesn’t have the bite your words usually hold. For once, you don’t think you’re mad at your dad. You think you’re terrified. 

“...Yeah,” you finally murmur, and you pick up one of the photos. “I thrifted a mirror a month ago, and this one doesn’t have it.”

Your dad nods, and he picks up two others. “Neither do these.” 

“So this has been going on for at least a month,” you say bitterly. “Great.”

Your dad says your name, quieter this time, and when you finally look at him his eyes have softened. 

“We’re going to figure this out,” he says. “This is a threat against an FBI agent’s family, and it will be treated accordingly. Forensics is doing tests on all the original copies to try and find a lead. The whole BAU will be on your case—I will be on it, and we won’t rest until we find whoever’s doing this.” 

“Yeah,” you say numbly. “You sure that’ll help? Because it looks like all this is happening because I’m your daughter.” 

“I know this is scary,” he says. “This… this is nothing like you’ve ever dealt with before. You shouldn’t have to deal with it. But you have to trust my team. We know what we’re doing.” 

“Of course you know what you’re doing,” you say. “You’re always here.” 

Your words have no bite behind them, more of an instinct as you grab your purse from the ground. You can feel the pinpricks of incoming tears, and you refuse to cry in front of your dad. 

“I— I need a minute,” you say. “This is all just—” 

“I understand,” he says. “Just don’t go far. Stay on this floor.”

You nod and start towards the door, but you pause right before you reach it. Your mouth opens as you try to think of something to say, but it falls shut just as quickly. You shake your head as you reach for the door handle, but before you get the chance, it swings open and you’re met with a familiar face. 

Spencer Reid, the kid your dad likes more than you. He’s nothing less than surprised to see you, from his stumbled step back, the slightly wide eyes, his hand poised to knock on the door. 

A mumbled apology falls from your lips as you move around him, and you can still feel his eyes on you as you speed off. You wonder what ideas he and the rest of the BAU have drawn up about you since your last visit to the office. 

You don’t really care. 

True to your word, you don’t go far—just to the bathroom. Thankfully it’s close, because the moment you make it to one of the stalls, knees stinging as you fall to the tiled floor, you vomit. 

By the time you’ve expelled the contents of your stomach, it feels just as empty as the rest of you. You stare at the wall, breathing slightly harried and skin warm to the touch, and you resist the urge to punch it. 

You have a stalker. Someone has been watching you for a month—at least a month, maybe longer—and you had no fucking clue, and now your only decent hope lies with your dad and his team. 

Normally, you wrote off anything depending on your dad as fruitless, but this involved the thing he loved more than anything in the world: his job. 

You huff a wry laugh at the thought. This wouldn’t get solved because it concerned you, it would get solved because it concerned his job. 

You stand up and walk over to the sink. You rinse your mouth, then just stare at yourself in the mirror. 

It— it feels strange. Looking at yourself like this, knowing someone has been—still is—watching you. 

You recall their words. 

Pretty little thing. 

You don’t care about her, but I do. 

A chill crawls up your spine. You can’t shake the dread settling all over you. 

What the fuck are you going to do?

You have to trust your dad, but you’ve never trusted your dad. God, he’s not even really your dad. He’s Senior Supervisory Special Agent Jason Gideon, nothing more—the estranged kid is an unfortunate side effect of the estranged wife.

You let out another breathy laugh. Would he even care if this psycho actually ends up killing you? 

You stand there for another couple minutes, time idling in the background as you continue to stare at the mirror. 

You haven’t cried, at least. That’s certainly something.

The door opens ever so slightly and someone says your name. Your eyes flick to the mirror almost immediately as your body tenses, and you recognize her as one of the BAU’s agents. She’s pretty and blonde with sympathetic eyes, and you know they’ve been briefed on your situation. 

If you have to deal with an office of pitying looks, you think you might lose your mind. 

“Are you alright?” she asks softly. 

“Just peachy,” you mumble. “My dad ask you to check up on me?” 

She nods. “You can imagine why Gideon is a bit high strung at the moment.” 

“I’m fine,” you repeat. “I just… needed a second.” 

“I understand,” she murmurs. “Do you still need some time?” 

“What do you need?” 

“Gideon wants to talk to you. It’s best if he explains it.” 

You huff a laugh and shake your head. “Fine. Lead the way, Agent…” 

“Jareau,” she supplies. “But call me JJ, please.” 

In lieu of a response, you walk over to her. She offers a thin smile and holds the door for you, then falls into step with you. A moment of silence passes before she speaks up. 

“We’re going to figure this out,” JJ says. “Your dad is one of the best to walk through these doors. If anyone can solve this, he can.” 

“So I keep hearing,” you murmur. 

-

Spencer watches you hurry off with wide eyes, and it takes a few seconds for him to snap out of it. He’s less surprised by your pace, and more surprised that you actually apologized for bumping into him. 

“Reid,” Gideon speaks up, and his attention snaps back over to his superior. “What do you need?” 

“Is she okay?” he asks instead. He can’t help it—after what Hotch just told all of them, he’s worried about you. 

Gideon gathers the photos back into the file then stands up. “Our job is to make sure she will be.”

“Hotch briefed us,” he says, and his eyes darted back to the doorway almost on instinct. “This— this is crazy. We just found out about her last month, and some guy’s been after her for longer?” 

“What this is is one of my enemies targeting my daughter because they’re too much of a coward to go after me,” Gideon says evenly. “We just have to figure out which one before they escalate.”

“How do you know?” he asks. 

“What you said is true,” he admits. “Hardly anyone knows I have a daughter. Even fewer would know where she lives. Someone who wants to hurt me would have incentive to discover both.” 

“So we look into unsubs you’ve put away that have been released,” Spencer says. “Or ones that are still in, but have family that might be bitter.”

“Exactly,” Gideon nods. “But I have to ask something of you, Reid.”

He frowns. “Anything.”

“We’re working on getting a safe house for my daughter,” Gideon says. “I need you to stay there with her.” 

Somehow, his frown deepens. “What?”

“I need to know she’s with someone I can trust,” he says. “There’s someone after her, and we don’t know who—that means we need to keep this circle tight.”

“So you want me to be her bodyguard?” Spencer marvels. “Do you remember that you had to waive all my physical tests?”

“Less of a bodyguard,” he says. “More just… keeping her company. Making sure she’s alright—mentally as much as physically.”

“Why am I the one that has to keep an eye on her?” Spencer asks. “She hates me!” 

“Don’t take it personally,” Gideon says. “She hates a lot of things.” 

“But it is personal,” Spencer insists. “She hates me because she thinks you like me more than her.” 

Gideon doesn’t seem phased at the comment. “She’s opinionated, but she’s harmless. And right now, I need to know that she’s with someone I can trust.”

“I— I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Please, Reid.” Gideon leans forward, and there’s an uncharacteristic vulnerability in his eyes. "If I'm going to be on this case, I need to know that she's safe. I won't be able to focus otherwise."

Spencer wasn’t going to lie—he genuinely thought it was a bad idea. But… Gideon said he trusted him. And this was his daughter—they might’ve argued, but they still cared about each other. if he could keep Lila Archer safe, he could keep you safe. 

“…Okay,” he finally concedes. “Okay.”

Gideon nods, and he watches the change in his eyes, the slightest bit of tension leaving his shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Just… make sure there are two bedrooms,” Spencer says. “I don’t need her to kill me one day in.”

At that, he cracks a rare smile. Spencer is thankful for it, that he can bring even the smallest amount of levity to Gideon’s life right now. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

-

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Your dad says your name, but you hardly let him finish. 

“No! First I find out I have a stalker, then my whole life’s going to be uprooted until you find them, and now I have to be stuck with boy genius?”

“You know, we’re about the same age—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” you cry, whirling on Spencer.

“I actually don’t talk that much when I’m around you,” Spencer says, his brows creasing. “This is the third time I’ve met you, and I’ve only said nine sentences across those meetings. Thirteen, if you count all of these too.”

You let out a strained laugh as you shake your head, trying to blink back tears. “This is fucking unbelievable. I know he’s practically your son, but this is just—”

“A safety precaution,” your dad interrupts. “Doctor Spencer Reid is another one of the BAU’s finest agents, and he is fully qualified to keep you safe.”

“He looks like a strong breeze could snap him in half.”

“This is not a joke,” your dad says sternly. “None of this is a joke. Your life is in danger—you have a stalker that has been watching your every move for at least a month, and we have no idea what their next move will be. Doctor Reid is more experienced than you in every facet of this, and I am entrusting him to your care. I respect him immensely, and you will do so as well.”

You don’t even look at Spencer, quiet rage simmering beneath the surface as you stare at your father.

“You really don’t get it,” you murmur. “Do you?”

“The only thing to get is that your life is in increasing danger with every moment you spend pushing against me,” your dad says, and he stands up. “Get your purse. Reid, get her duffle. We’re leaving.”

He leaves before you get the chance to do anything—you assume he’s finally tired of you. 

You just shake your head and pick up your purse, and Spencer clears his throat as he reaches for your duffle bag. You wonder if it even has anything useful—Aaron Hotchner was the one who packed it. 

“…So,” Spencer says. “I guess we’re gonna be roommates for a while.”

You huff in fully unveiled annoyance, and you push past him on your way out. 

“Great,” he mutters to himself as he follows you. “So this is what Gideon’s trust earns me.” 

It doesn’t take him too long to catch up to you, despite the unnecessary quick pace you’re taking. You bypass the elevator and head towards the stairwell, and Spencer catches the door before it’s able to slam on him. 

He says your name, but you just shake your head. 

“If we’re gonna be stuck together until this is over, I’d prefer silence.” 

“I don’t really do silence,” Spencer says. 

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of books for you to read in whatever jail cell they throw me in.” 

“It’s actually going to be a pretty nice safe house,” he starts, throwing his hand up against the wall to catch himself from running into it as he turns, because god you are moving fast, “Gideon picked it out himself.” 

“Oh, then it’ll definitely be a jail cell,” you mock. “It’s not like he knows anything about me, so he’ll probably think that it’s perfect.” 

Spencer frowns. “Cut him some slack. This is all just as hard on him as it is on you.” 

You come to a sudden stop, whirling around to face him, and Spencer has to reel to the side to prevent himself from running into you. Had he not already been pressed up against the wall, he would have moved back further, what with the fire blazing in your eyes. 

“I’m not going to cut him any slack,” you spit. “This is the most time I’ve gotten to spend with my dad in months, and it’s only because some creep is stalking me to get back at him. The only reason I’m in this at all is because of his job that he cares about more than me, and now he’s sticking me with the guy that he wishes was his kid. So no, Doctor Reid—I’m not going to cut him any slack.” 

You’re already off on your way again before Spencer even has time to blink, and you’ve made it down the whole last flight by the time he pushes himself back up. 

He takes the steps three at a time to catch up to you, and he once again barely manages to catch the door before it slams on him. He calls your name, finally managing to fall into step with you right before you reach Gideon. He, like a normal person, deigned to take the elevator. 

“You haven’t started arguing already,” he says, passing a glance at Spencer, “have you?” 

“What do you think?” you ask, your arms crossed. 

“I think you’re giving him a hard time that you usually reserve for me,” he says. “Cut him some slack.” 

Your jaw clenches. “I’ve been getting a lot of that lately. Save the profiling for my stalker, will you?”  

“There’s plenty of profiling to go around,” Gideon says. “You two wait here—I need to confirm the safe house location before we head out.” 

“Can we stop by my place before we go?” Spencer asks. “I need to pick up some things.” 

“You have a go bag, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, but I— I wasn’t exactly prepared for this sort of thing when I came in today.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Gideon says. He walks off before Spencer can protest, and he sighs. 

You lean against the wall, your arms crossed with your purse hanging off your shoulder, and for once you don’t pass judgment on his—admittedly small—plight. 

“I changed my mind,” Spencer speaks up, deciding to try and break the remarkably high amount of tension that had built up in such a short time, and your eyebrows rise as you glance at him. 

“About what?” 

“I— I think I can do silence,” he says. “Temporarily.” 

You huff a laugh. “Really?” 

“I don’t really want to annoy you while we’re stuck together in an undisclosed location,” he says. “I don’t know what you’re capable of.” 

And for the first time since Spencer has met you, you actually smile. It’s the smallest thing, just a slight tilt of your lips that’s more akin to Hotch’s moments of levity than anything, but it’s a smile. 

“...Good choice,” you say. It feels like a joke, but Spencer isn’t sure. 

He smiles anyway. You meet his eyes, and for a moment, you’re just another girl. Someone that Spencer could imagine himself stealing glances at in a lecture hall, a regular at his favorite coffee shop that he falls for over the course of an especially cold winter, someone he meets on a night out with the team that he ends up talking to all night. 

You really do have pretty eyes. 

And then your gaze hardens, darts away from him, and Spencer sees Gideon coming back in his peripherals. The moment fractures. 

You’re not just a girl. You’re Gideon’s daughter, you’re in a remarkable amount of danger, and lest he forget, you do in fact hate him. 

Spencer lets out another short sigh. 

At least this safe house won’t have a pool.

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: implied noncon, yandere

fem reader

The way Gojo Senpai is so obnoxious, he doesn’t understand his flirting is making you uncomfortable…

He seriously thinks he’s making you fall head over heels in love with him even when you give him nothing in return to make him think that. He just thinks you’re embarrassed and nervous, flustered by his attention, and that’s the reason you divert your gaze and bite your lip when he has you against the lockers, leaning on his hand with his shades gliding low on his nose—telling you that you have no shot becoming a sorcerer, but that you look too cute in the uniform not to give it your best try. 

“Don’t worry, just say my name, and I’ll come save you,” he’ll say. “You can be my personal assistant supervisor instead.” 

His game isn’t anything to brag about. It's more in line with bullying than flirting, but you pick up on the suggestiveness. That heated saccharine look within his blue eyes can only mean one thing if the way he plays with your hair isn’t enough of a hint already.

But his words are nothing short of derogatory, and all in all, he simply makes you feel gross—a sentiment you thought you put across, but it seems that having six eyes only makes you blind.

It takes Shoko telling him to leave the poor Kohai alone for him to finally understand that you don’t like him. And then he’s just confused and embarrassed.

And a tinge bit irritated.

Gojo knows for a fact he could make any girl want him. Even those who seem to hate him would melt if he gave them the same attention he’s been giving you. Any girl. He could have any girl, but he chose you. And you reject him?

No. He can’t accept that.

“Most girls would be grateful for my attention,” He states plainly after having tracked you down.

Your head snapped, jolting. “Gojo Senpai—” You dropped the mop in your hands with a clatter, having been deep in your own thoughts on classroom cleaning duty. You sighed as the scare settled, giving a breathy laugh, “You scared me—”

“Is that it?” he interrupted. “I scare you?”

You quirked a brow with a tilt of your head. “What?”

“Do I scare you?” he repeated, louder, posted on the threshold in a stance you’d never seen him in—stiff and squared, not his usual lazy laidbackness.

Confused, your eyes looked around as if searching for clues but came up emptyhanded, “Uhm, I don’t understand—”

“It’s a simple question,” he said, cutting you off again, this time with a step into the classroom. He talked slowly, cradling the next words, “Are you scared of me?”

Where it all came from, you hadn’t a clue. But then again, Gojo Senpai has always been rather strange. 

Were you scared of him? It’s not really something you’ve ever thought about. Sure, if you were to go one versus one with him, you’d probably piss yourself. But in a regular setting, you just found him to be as grating as the next person.

“I don’t think so?” you end up answering.

“Good. So what is it then?” His shades were low enough for his stare to skim over. Brighter than clear skies, and yet, somehow, so dark. “Why don’t you like me.”

Oh, so he’s figured it out on his own then. It’s about time. And thank fuck for it—saves you the trouble of breaking it to him yourself. Though you were still left with the unfair task of telling him why.

“Honestly, Gojo Senpai, I’m not, or well… you’re just not my type.”

Stick to the basics, is what you told yourself. There’s no need to drag this out.

“Yeah, I figured. I’m asking why,” he countered, in complete disagreement with your thought.

Still, you wanted to fight for it. “Does it really matter?”

“Yes.”

This conversation was the last thing you wanted, but it seemed the white-haired prodigy wouldn’t leave without having it.

“Well…” you started, still pondering. Maybe he’d appreciate the honesty? He’s a rather straightforward guy himself. “I mean, there’s no way you don’t already know this, but—” You picked up the broom again mid-sentence. “You’re really obnoxious.”

He took a small second before he scoffed, “So? No one else cares.”

It reminded you of arguing with someone half your age—the petty anger in an ill-thought-through comment slung at you as if it carried all the weight in the world. But what everyone else thought of him hadn’t anything to do with you—and even so, out of the people on campus, you’re certain you’re not the only one who finds his attitude unpleasant—they just don’t tell it to his face. 

You had half the mind to tell him to go get a grip, but he was still your Senpai.

“Good for you, I guess?” You weren’t really looking to fight with him, after all. “So you can flirt with literally anyone else then,” you dismiss him and go back to finish cleaning the classroom—glad to have put it all behind you. You were starting to fear he’d never leave you alone.

There’s a woosh, then the hard thunk of your back hitting the wall. Both your upper arms are gripped tight, pinned. When you open your eyes again after adjusting to the impact, you look straight up into the full view of two crisp comet blues.

“You’re mighty rude for a Kohai. You know that?”

Your head stings. You blink crookedly.

“Senpai—”

“Maybe I’ve misjudged you. D’you have anythin’ for show to back that attitude up?” It’s eerie how he says it in the same flirty fashion he would otherwise—even the look in his eyes are the same. But his grip tightens.

“I don’t want to fight—”

“No?” he cuts you off with a pout. “I could've sworn you were asking for it—all but begging for it a second ago.”

You whimper, cowering at the sudden bite in his voice.

“What’s the matter, huh? I thought you said you weren’t scared?”

Your voice comes out weak, “Please, Gojo Senpai, I—”

“Please?” he questions brightly, eyes stark and burning like a stovetop. “Yeah, that’s got a nicer ring to it—suits you better.” The smile that splits across his face is nothing short of unhinged. “But it’s not enough for me to let your disrespect slide.” He licks his lips, and a chill runs up your spine, feeling like caught prey. “Lucky you, I know exactly what price to put on it.”

His mouth devour yours the same way—pouncing like a beast would, with teeth more than lips, then a tongue. You whine as you twist—it’s more instinctive than deliberate when your knee shoots up into the unprotected space between his legs—right into that thing that was rubbing and rutting against you.

You make a run for it as he staggers back with a hiss, but you don’t make it farther than three measly steps before you’re bent over the closest desk.

His fist wrangles your hair, using it to shove you face-down against the wood—the weight of his body on top of your back with his voice raspy against your ear. “We could’ve left this with a kiss, but I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy now.”

Tears spill hotly in a panic, but no matter how much strength you put into lifting yourself up, you remain down. Sobbing, “Let go—help—”

He snickers with a hand under your skirt, spidering delicately up your thigh. “Who’re you callin’ for help, hm? I’m already here.”

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[chuluoyi]

✎ stupid liar

- gojo satoru x reader

no way. impossible. you couldn't possibly be jealous of gravure idol gojo likes so much now... or could you?

genre: jealous!reader vs slightly jealous!gojo, crack, and obviously, fluff !!

note: based on this post :))

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Look, Suguru~ Isn't she pretty?"

Your eye twitched at the sing-song voice, lips twisting into a scowl as you glanced at him from the corner of your twitching eye.

No. You don't care. Not in the slightest.

You stabbed your fork into your cheesecake with more fervor than necessary though.

"Eh?"

"Inoue Waka!" Satoru exclaimed with an enthusiasm that felt almost too bright. "This is her in her newest issue!"

‘Newest issue’ being a bikini special, with the said model lay sprawled in the most revealing piece possible. That indecent photo had also become the wallpaper and lockscreen on your boyfriend's phone, and he shamelessly showed it off with pride.

You steeled yourself. Again. No. It's not a big deal. You weren't jealous, especially not over some... heavily-altered picture of a porn actress!

"Ahh, she does look nice..."

You attacked your now-mutilated cheesecake again, feeling your mood plummet further after hearing Suguru's response. Now you were convinced, all men are dogs!

"—but not exactly my type," he added quickly, his gaze darting towards you. His interest lay more in your reaction, which was why he stirred the pot further: "Is she your type, Satoru?"

Your boyfriend, whether oblivious or intentional, erupted into giddy laughter like a kid. "Ehh... why of course!"

His enthusiastic agreement seemed to echo louder in your ears than it probably should have. The cheesecake, once a treat, now felt like lead in your mouth.

That's it. One more time and—

But then, Suguru's voice cut through your irritated thoughts again, clearly amused. "Well, but I've always thought real beauty lies not just in appearances but in strength of character. Wouldn't you agree, Satoru?"

You knew it, Suguru was indeed the best. You dared to glance up from your plate, curious about your cocky little clown’s response. But you really shouldn't, because Satoru, the absolute cretin he was—

"Why are you getting philosophical all of sudden?" he sullenly grumbled. "Important thing is if she's hot, then she is hot." You could have sworn he briefly side-eyed you before saying, "And no one is hotter than Inoue Waka."

Stupid. Idiot. Insufferable.

Standing up, your patience dissipated into thin air. Your brisk pace made Shoko, who was beside Suguru, to quirk an eyebrow. "Oh, leaving already?"

"I'm going back. Have a practice."

"Ehh? You didn't say?" only now did your shameless boyfriend turned to you fully. "It's still break time—"

"Nanami is waiting for me, goodbye."

You didn't look back even once, too annoyed to notice that Satoru was gawking at your words.

Satoru couldn't believe this. You ignored him. You actually did… in favor of Nanami!

He was starring daggers at how the two of you conversing so amiably across the hall. You were his girlfriend already, but he could barely able to make you look as sweet as you were with Nanami just now. You were always prickly with him!

Okay, but rest assured—with Suguru he may have doubts, but with Nanami, he was convinced he outshone him by a wide margin, perhaps even ten or twenty times over!

"Why are you sparring with him?" he was sulking when he caught you on the way back to the dorms after school. "Why not Haibara instead?"

You scoffed. "And why do you idolize Inoue Waka and not Yuzuki Tina?"

Oh, so that's what this is about. Suddenly, he didn't feel as miffed as a stupid grin split his face. "Ooh, you're looking into gravure idols too?"

"..."

"Heh, if you're doing it for research purpose, that's totally okay~"

"..."

"Pfft, you're so jealous it's so great to watch—"

You halted abruptly, your annoyance now at its peak. Facing your infuriating boyfriend, you leveled a piercing glare at him that caught him off-guard. "Gojo, from today onwards, we're having a ban."

"Whoa, hey—"

"—and in the meantime, you can print Inoue Waka out of your phone, hang her in your dorm and kiss your wall instead—"

"Just a minute!" Satoru interjected, eyes rounded with slight alarm. "Don't be too hasty!"

He looked at you, really looked at you, and saw that you were actually upset.

A twinge of... what is it? Some kind of guilt, he supposed, pricked his chest. He didn't like seeing you like this, especially knowing he had played a part in it. You should be smiling sweetly and catching his heart with it, not frowning like this.

"Hey," he started, his voice softening as a small, sincere smile crept onto his face. You continued to look away, a stubborn pout fixed on your lips. Darn it, how did you manage to look cute while angry too?

"Look at me, I'm all yours, okay?"

That got you to shoot him a sharp glance, and boohoo!—the ice in your heart thawed slightly as you met his smile, which soon evolved into a toothy grin.

But then, in one swift strike, he pulled his phone out and took a snap of your very-not-ready face.

"Satoru!" you screamed in panic, trying to climb over him to pluck his phone. "No! Delete that!"

"Ah ah," he crisply snickers, raising his hand with the phone high above where you couldn't reach. After pressing a few buttons, he triumphantly showed you his phone screen, now displaying your flop picture in all of its glory.

"That's seriously awful!" you grimaced, a look of horror in your face. "Satoru, for real—"

“You’re adorable,” he countered almost immediately, his smile wide and unabashed—the very winning smile that won your heart. “My girl is cute as heck and you know what the best part is? She’s mine.”

. . .

—okay, you were now positively melting. This was irritating, how can you forgive him this easily?

You huffed, raising your chin high to cover the very sizzling heat in your cheeks. "Hmph. Keep that photo then. But I'm still sparring with Nanami though."

"Mm-hmm, whatever. I hope his foul hairstyle won't affect you—"

"Don't badmouth him! Wait, don't tell me... you feel threatened by him?"

"Wha? Why would I!? I have the better face, better wallet—!"

Together, you walked back to the dorms, the evening air somehow felt lighter around you. Satoru's hand found yours along the way, and the two of you kept up a playful banter, followed by shared giggles afterwards.

. . .

What you didn't realize, however, was that there was another reason behind Satoru's happy laughter... his secret little mission had been a smashing success~

Epilogue

“I put too much faith in Y/N. I’m disappointed.”

“We are paying Gojo, damn it.”

Suguru and Shoko let out collective sighs, looking at the two of you. They witnessed your little outburst and that sealed everything.

You used to not give in to so easily. Unfortunately now, you were whipped for that idiot too, enough to get jealous over him.

As Suguru opened his wallet, a realization struck. “Shoko, now that I think about it… why am I always losing these bets?”

“You could just suck… or maybe," she glances him over before letting out a snort. "Your bangs just bring bad luck?”

[nanaslutt]

Bathtime

synopsis: When Uraume informs you about Sukuna's ability to lactate but his disdain for emptying his tits, you know exactly what to do to help

contains: fem reader, you're Sukuna's assistant, true form Sukuna, nipple play, lactation kink, masturbation, dry humping, mention of blood, dirty talk, sexual tension, porn with plot // wc: 6.6k

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Sukuna had grown quite irritable lately, more so than usual. It had been a few days since he started acting out, and you had no idea how to get closer to him to find out what was wrong. Sukuna wouldn't even let Uraume into his chambers to drop off his food, always making them leave it outside the door. It was a gamble whether he would even eat the food at all. 

Sukuna spent the majority of his time locked up in his room, or down the way at a nearby village, blowing off steam. This time when he came back though, he looked worse for wear. His face was in a permanent scowl, his muscles were twitching under his skin, and blood was coating every inch of his body. Not his, but he still looked rough. 

"Sukuna let me-" The king bumps his into your smaller body, making you fall back against the wall behind you, your arms reaching back to brace yourself. Uraume stood opposite from you in the room, catching your eyes before they fell to the floor. They kept their hands together in front of them, watching Sukuna's silhouette disappear from their peripheral vision. When the door to his chambers slammed shut, the loud sound echoing through the halls, Uraume let their gaze drift up as they made their way over to you.

"Are you alright?" They asked, brushing the dust off of your kimono. You ignored their question, your eyes latching on the outside of his chamber doors. "What is his problem? He's always grumpy but... this is new." You said, rubbing the ache from the back of your neck. Uraume sighed and placed their hands back together in front of them, putting some distance between the two of you.

"I know you haven't been this close to Sukuna-sama for very long, but this isn't out of character for him at times. There's a reason for it." You looked back over to Uraume, confusion evident on your features as you tilted your head to the side. "He- He doesn't like to acknowledge it, he's stubborn," Uraume said, averting their gaze. Their expression looked conflicted, their nose scrunched as they stared at the floor.

"Acknowledge what?" You asked, prying further. "Sukuna, he-" Uraume paused to clear their throat before they finished, "he lactates." It took a moment for their words to register in your head, but once they did, your jaw dropped. Just when you were about to question them further, they spoke again. "He knows he needs to drain them, but he hates the act of doing so. Which makes him ignore his problem. As a result, as you can imagine, the feeling is quite uncomfortable for him, making him more... grumpy than usual." Uraume explained, using the word you used earlier.

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, trying to find the right words before you spoke. "How long do these fits of his last?" You asked Uraume. The white-haired chef looked around at the walls that surrounded them, pondering. "His longest fit was two months. It was excruciating to try and care for him during that time, it always is." Uraume said, sighing. They sounded exhausted. 

You wanted to pat them on the back, you didn't know how they dealt with his attitude so well sometimes. "How does he go back to normal?" You ask, fidgeting with the fabric of your kimono absentmindedly as you speak. "All he has to do is relieve himself. He has pumps I keep in the kitchen. If he's ready, he'll come find them." Uraume said, suppressing an eye roll.

You felt bad the chef had to deal with this for decades. Just how many fits of his has he gone through while Uraume was at his side? He probably never thanked them either. You've always looked up to Uraume. They had the kind of elegance and patience you could only dream of achieving someday. You stared at the freshly swept floors of Sukuna's residence. The shiny black tile reflects the light from the chandeliers above you, blinding you. 

"I'll take care of it," You said vaguely, determination laced in your tone. Uraume's eyebrows furrowed together as they looked at you quizzically. "I hate to see you get treated so roughly by him all because he refuses to milk his tits." Uraume's eyes went wide, their hand shot up to block their expression from you, hiding the blush that crept up their face from your use of anatomy language for the man. 

"You- I don't know if you'll have much luck. He's a stubborn man." Uraume said, sounding like they were dismissing your idea. You were about to try and press them further when they spoke before you. "But if you really want to give it a go, I'll take you to where I keep his pumps." Uraume could swear your eyes shimmered at their words.

--

You took a deep breath before rapping your knuckles against the king's quarters, immediately dropping to your knees, the pump tucked away in a bag, slung around your shoulder. "Sukuna-Sama, I ran a bath for you and I-" The door swung open before you could finish your sentence. The door slammed hard against the wall, making you close your eyes, your body tensing reflexively. You saw two sock and sandal-covered feet in your line of sight, making your heart race. 

"Let me help you wash up Sukuna." It wasn't uncommon for you to help Skuna in the bath, help him get dressed, other mundane tasks, so your proposal didn't seem out of the blue. You wanted to give your reason for asking, as you usually just assumed you would unless he said otherwise. But you guessed if you had added that you wanted to help him because he seemed like he was having a hard time lately, he would mistake it for pity, and your head would be severed from your body.

Only Sukuna truly knew your worth to him, so he would never do such a thing, but you thought otherwise. Sukuna huffed out a breath before he walked past you and took a sharp left, heading to the bathroom, where you had already drawn him a bath.

You sighed in relief when he turned another corner, now out of your view. You briefly wondered what the hell you were doing. Hands clasped together in front of you, you pushed open the cracked door of the bathroom. You were met with Sukuna's rippling back, covered in now dried blood from his earlier massacre, contrasting nicely against his pale skin. Your eyes dared to travel down further, starting from his heels, up the strong muscles of his calves, and the tight muscles of his as- 

Sukuna's glowing red eyes peered at you from over his shoulder, making you swiftly avert your eyes, finding the floor of the bathroom. It was hot in the room as you shut the door behind you, locking yourself in with your king. You couldn't tell if the heat you felt creeping through your body was from the steam around you, or something else. 

Splashing of water took you out of your trance and back to the man in front of you as he descended into the tub, the clear fluid overflowing around him, creating a mess on the floor. Swallowing whatever saliva was left in your dry mouth, you walked forward, making sure not to sneak up on him and instead walking around the side of the bath to set your bag on the chair in the corner of the room, a few feet in front of the bath.

You didn't dare to look, but you could feel Sukuna's eyes tracking your every move from the moment you were in his sights. You squeezed your fists into the fabric of the bag, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath as you tried to ready yourself to turn around and face him. 

"You're nervous." Sukuna's deep voice cut through the tense, hot room, creating goosebumps along your flesh. You turned on your heels, making eye contact with him. You tried to ignore the now pinkish color of the skin of his chest in your peripherals, his body warmed by the water around him. "Nonsense, it's just a little hot in here." You explained, making your way towards the tub.

When you reached the side of the bath centered in the room, you reached out to grab the washcloth hanging off the side, half submerged in the water. Sukuna's hand gripped your wrist entirely, his stronghold keeping you in your place. you didn't dare to even breathe. "Lie to me again, you won't like the consequences." You tried to keep your breathing steady as your eyes traced the rippled in the water around his knee.

You nodded, still averting your gaze. The only thing you could hear was how intense your heartbeat sounded in your ears. His touch had been so unexpected. If you weren't nervous before, you certainly were now. Sukuna squeezed your small wrist, cutting off your blood flow entirely for a moment, your hand throbbing at the loss of it. You could feel his eyes cutting daggers through the side of your face. Finally, he released you, placing his heavy hand back along the side of the tub.

You took the washcloth in your hand and walked around the tub until you were met with his wide back. You took deep breaths behind him, trying to steady your racing heart now that you were out of his sight at least. Unfolding the washcloth, already hot and damp with water, you reached out and placed it against Sukuna's skin, not missing the way his muscles contracted under your touch.

Taking care of Sukuna relaxed you, you felt most at a place like this. Your eyes traced the markings on his skin as you rubbed the dried blood from his body, collecting it on the washcloth. You leaned down to your side, crouching a bit as you dipped the rag in a smaller bucket of water, cleaning the blood off of it before you went in again. The water turned a pinkish color from the first wipe. 

"Relax Sukuna, you did a lot of work today." You said, trying to ease him as you rubbed the rag over his shoulders, your other hand holding atop his other shoulder. Sukuna all but grunted at your words, his eyes darting around in front of him, trying to find something worthy of stimulating his vision. Your body relaxed from his tame reaction, the hot water must be doing wonders on his chest. You decided to push your luck.

Moving to the side of him, you brought the rag over his shoulder and around his collarbones, ridding him of the crimson blood there. The water was a big moggy from the blood that had coated the rest of his body, making it hard to see into the water. You could only see blurry shots of his body parts when you dipped the rag into the water.

Sukuna was watching you again, and this time you hadn't noticed. You were too focused on your job at hand, that you failed to notice the piercing red eyes tracking you. You leaned over the tub slightly, reaching the blood that stained his other collarbone. Sukuna was exhausted. The hot water bordering on boiling his skin combined with your soft touch was lulling him away into a calmer headspace.

His chest ached, the feeling standing out like a sore thumb compared to how relaxed the rest of his body was. You noticed his hand on the tub opposite from you had relaxed, his arm now just resting along the side instead of gripping it. You peeked your eyes over at his neck, looking at his face through the corners of your eyes. Sukuna's breathing was even, and his face was still, his eyes shut. You knew he wasn't completely unguarded, he never was, but he was relaxing.

You dipped your hand into the hot water of his tub, your gaze finding his hard chest as you rang out the towel. You couldn't tell if his nipples were red from the hot water, or from his little predicament. Seeing as how his chest was above water though, you could make an educated guess. 

It looked so swollen. Sukuna's muscles were impressive, yes, but you were extremely familiar with his body, and his chest was larger than before. He had kept you away from him for almost a week, so you had failed to notice it before. The skin of his chest looked taut and almost stretched. You placed the rag just above his chest, your eyes finding his face to check if he noticed or felt anything displeasing.

When he gave you no reaction, you dragged the rag down his chest, maybe pressing a little too hard as you went down, but you were determined to ease his ache. You only made it about halfway down his chest before you were being restrained again. This time, Sukuna was more dramatic.

He shot up from the tub, the water reaching about his knees as he kept a strong hold on your arm, distancing you from his chest. Your heart had started racing again, this level of stress seriously couldn't be good for your health. Sukuna's lip twitched in disdain, his eyes sharp and pointed as he glared at you, his jaw muscles clenching under the weight of his teeth. 

You forced yourself to speak, "S-sukuna are you alright?" You asked, feigning ignorance the best you could with how in shock you were from his abrupt actions. Sukuna's breathing stayed quick, his gaze angry. He looked as if he was trying to see if you were being honest, if your words were genuine. More time went by, and his nails digging into your skin hurt you more than you cared to admit. Your arm throbbing where he grabbed you.

"Not. Not there." Sukuna said, sucking in a deep breath. You stayed quiet, mustering a confused look on your face. "My pecs. Do not touch them." He clarified, seeing as how you didn't understand his words the first time. You nodded quickly, keeping your lips firmly shut. It was only then that you realized you were face to face with his crotch.

Sukuna had been naked in front of you countless times, but that doesn't mean you got any more used to it. You've never fully got a glance at his... down there, always stopping yourself from leaning into your desires and looking at him. For some reason in this atmosphere, you wanted to look so bad. More so than you ever have before. You were usually good at curbing your arousal for the king, but it was growing harder and harder the more time you spent with him.

Sukuna squinted his eyes at you before he crouched back down, two of his hands grabbing the sides of the tub as he descended back down, his face now coming more level with your own. You softly pulled back against his hand, reminding him he needed to let you go.

He obeyed seconds later, his eyes staying locked on your face the whole time. Dipping the rag in the water, you swirled it around, pretending you were cleaning it off good before you spoke. "Sukuna-sama, may I ask you something?" You said softly, not wanting to irritate him further. Sukuna stayed silent. Your eyes found his when he failed to answer, that's when you noticed the curt nod he gave you.

Looking back at the rag, you rang it out with two hands, the water droplets creating rings on the surface. "Forgive me for asking, but why am I not allowed to wash you there?" You asked, furrowing your eyebrows as you spoke, trying to give him the impression you really didn't know his situation. "You're... there's still blood on your chest." You added.

Sukuna's eyes stayed locked on yours, an unreadable expression on his features. "The water will wash it away." He responded, ignoring your question. You returned his words with a short nod of understanding. You knew better than to expect Sukuna to admit to you he was in pain. He wouldn't even admit it to himself. 

You dragged the washcloth along the side of his torso, along his ribs just under his arm. Sukuna's lip twitched, the pressure from his chest extended to the side of his pecs as well, making your touch irritable, but Sukuna was able to control his reaction, miraculously. 

You noticed the water shift with him as he pushed his hips forward, sliding down into the water more as you scrubbed his body clean of the blood. "Would you like me to abstain from touching you here too?" You asked, keeping your eyes on his chest instead of his face when you asked the question. "If I don't want you touching me somewhere, you will know," Sukuna said, his eyes squinting at you as he spoke.

Before you could stop yourself, you let out a soft laugh. More like a soft breath of air passing through your nose, but the small smile on your face made the sound have a direct correlation. You corrected yourself immediately, clearing your throat you distanced yourself from his body a bit and dipped the towel back into the water.

Walking around the other side of the tub, going behind him to escape his gaze for a moment, you started cleaning the blood off of his left side. You pressed your fingers along the sides of his ribs, making small circle motions almost at the end of his pec, giving him small relief through the discomfort. Sukuna was now staring at the ceiling, his jaw bulging under the weight of his teeth each time you pressed against the side of his sore pec.

Just when you were about to move on to another part of him, as you were dragging your hand away from the underside of his chest, a small white drop of fluid dripped down his chest and met with the water below him, right next to your hand. You froze in place, watching how the milky color faded into the crimson water, becoming the same shade.

You peeked your eyes up and noticed Sukuna was still looking away, meaning you could investigate a little. Biting your lip, you repeated the same action, rubbing right under his chest. This time though, you kept your eyes on his red nipples, as you had a pretty strong indication of what had happened, and you didn't want to miss it this time.

As you pressed against him, sure enough, another white droplet dripped down his chest, following the same trail as the last. The small droplet left an off-white streak along his pale skin. You pressed your thighs together, you had no idea the sight would be so erotic. Hell, you were starting to think you were going to be unsuccessful in your endeavors with getting to relieve Sukuna.

While you were ogling his tits and subtly rubbing your thighs together, trying to diminish the heat that was forming between your legs, Sukuna had dropped his eyes on you. You were foolish to think he wouldn't feel himself lactating, and especially stupid if you didnt think he wouldn't pick up on how you repeatedly rubbed him in the same spot.

Sukuna watched carefully as milk spilled from his chest, your watchful, lidded eyes not missing a single second of it. "Are you having fun?" His voice echoed in the hot room, making your hair stand on edge at the sound. You swallowed hard, slowly retreating your hand away from him. You let your eyes trace his tattooed skin up and up and up, until you were met with his face, which looked almost amused.

"You planned to do this all along didn't you?" He accused, making your eyebrows shoot up in shock. You distanced yourself, dropping the rag in the tub with him as you waved your hands in front of yourself. "N-no Sukuna, I just- I noticed it just now." You explained, looking anywhere but his face. "I put the pieces together just now. Y-you told me not to touch your t-" You quickly corrected yourself, about to use an extremely inappropriate word to describe your boss's pecs.

You cleared your throat before you spoke. "-Chest, and when I saw the liquid just now I-" "What did I say about lying?" Sukuna interrupted, making you find his eyes swiftly. You furrowed your eyebrows together, a drop of sweat sliding down your face. "Do you think I wouldn't hear you talking to Uraume in the hall? You were a mere ten feet away from my quarters, you think my hearing is so inefficient?" 

You felt all the blood drain from your face, your jaw falling open in tandem, you were going to die here. "Looks like I wasn't hearing things then," Sukuna smirked, your reaction giving everything away. Your skin was vibrating, and the heat you felt between your legs was gone in an instant, only fear remained inside of you.

Sukuna smiled, resting his head in his hand as he looked you up and down. "Well? Aren't you going to defend yourself?" He asked, a smug look on his face. 

You decided it was now or never, he was already for sure going to kill you. Might as well fess up. "I- if you knew, why did you let me go when I touched your chest the first time? Surely you knew my intentions." You asked, keeping your distance. Sukuna's smile grew, smile lines forming around it. "It's fun to tease you." He said shamelessly like the sadist he is. You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to look away from his intense gaze.

"Uraume tried to talk me out of it. If you're going to take this out on anyone, take it out on me. I couldn't stand seeing you treat them so harshly, so I took your pumps and ran you a bath, hoping I would be able to relieve you somehow." You blabbed, keeping your hands firmly in front of yourself. Sukuna clicked his tongue in his mouth, his eyes having a darker look in them after your confession.

"I half-assed ambush." He responded. "Just how did you think you were going to get those horrid things on my chest without me noticing? Hm?" Sukuna asked, his tone becoming harsher when he spoke of the pumps. You took in a deep breath and turned your head to the side, looking at your bag which had the pumps tucked away.

"Worst case I was going to ask you straight up and see if you cut my head off or not." You replied. Sukuna laughed at how casually you spoke to him, you must really think you were going to die. "But you surmised deceiving me would be better than being direct?" Sukuna challenged, his eyes giving you a one-over while you weren't looking. 

The atmosphere had gotten hot again. The heat started returning to your body the longer you stayed alive. Why hadn't he taken your life yet? You looked back to him and nodded, not giving him any more of your reasons, you had spoken enough. Sukuna dropped his hand back down along the side of the tub and tipped his head back, his slanted eyes staring at you from behind his bottom lashes.

"Ask." He said curtly, his fingers tapping along the side of the tub. You blinked at him, considering his words carefully. After a long beat of silence, you spoke. "Sukuna-Sama, may I help you relieve yourself with the pumps?" You asked, keeping your eyes on his. His toothy grin made you throb under your robe. "No." He replied. You still kept your eyes on him, challenging him.

"Ask again." He demanded, tipping his head to the side. "Sukuna-Sama." You paused at his name as you figured out the meaning behind his words. His disdain while he spoke about the pumps must mean he didn't want to use them, but what other way was there? Possibly he couldn't mean...

"Can I relieve you?" You asked, leaving out the part about the pumps. Sukuna released a soft laugh, amused and impressed at how quickly you had figured out what he wanted you to ask. "And how will you relieve me?" He pushed further.

The vagueness in his words made you fight the urge to press your thighs together, a fire burning hot between them. "Anyway, you'd like me to, Sukuna." You replied, not even daring to blink as you tested him. Sukuna licked his lips before tipping his head back down, looking at you straight on. "What are you waiting for then?" He challenged, his knees poking out the top of the water spreading to make room for... something, or someone.

You slowly walked up to the tub, your eyes never once leaving his. "Perhaps we should change the water first." You replied, leaning down to the drain on the outside of the tub. Sukuna's hand grabbed the back of your neck firmly as you leaned down, stopping you from moving any further. "That won't be necessary." He replied, pulling you upwards.

"You aren't afraid of a little blood are you?" He teased, one of his eyebrows raising in amusement. You shook your head, placing your hand on his that still held the back of your neck. Sukuna released you, the smile still evident on his face. Your heart was racing a million miles a minute. He wanted you to get in the tub with him right? That's why he said that? What if you were interpreting his words wrong? What if-"

"Get it. Keep me waiting for another second and I'm changing my mind." Sukuna's deep voice reverberated through your body, shutting down any insecure thought that popped into your head. He was fibbing, there was no way he could go any longer without having his chest milked, he was so sore but his teasing was the only way to get you to hurry up.

You pulled the bow keeping your robe together undone, the thick fabric falling off of your body, exposing a thinner, white robe underneath. Sukuna felt saliva start to pool in his mouth, he could see the figure of your body almost perfectly now, and he would see it even clearer once you got in the water with him. You kicked the kimono to the side and grabbed the edge of the tub.

You swung your leg over it, dipping it into the blood-stained water. Immediately the temperature made you tense the muscles in your leg as you inhaled a sharp breath. "There you go." Sukuna said softly, his large hand grabbing your thigh, pulling you into the bath with him. If the atmosphere didnt feel tense and intimate earlier, it sure as hell did now.

You slipped on the bottom of the tub when your foot reached the bottom, your kimono getting drenched with the water around you, making the fabric sheer as you reached out and Grabbed Sukuna's shoulders, bracing yourself. Sukuna tsked, blinking away the water that had splashed in his eye before your waist was being grabbed with two hands and you were pulled into the water, your thighs straddling his pelvis, just above his...

"Didn't know you could be so clumsy." Sukuna teased, making your face turn bright red as you retracted your hands from his shoulders, sitting back. He kept a strong hold on your waist, keeping you against him. "I wonder what else you're hiding from me." Sukuna purred, tiping his head at you. You swallowed hard before looking down at his chest, swollen and irritated.

It felt like millions of little needles were pricking your skin from the heat, but the sight of Sukuna's chest in front of you distracted you enough for the pain to not feel unbearable. "How- how do I go about..." You stuttered softly, fidgeting with your hands in front of you. "Ask your question in a way I can understand. You aren't a child." Sukuna retorted, making you scrunch your eyebrows together in embarrassment.

His glowing eyes on you didnt help how nervous you were feeling. "The liquid that came out of them earlier, what was it?" You asked, backtracking to make sure you knew exactly what you were dealing with. Sukuna looked unimpressed, staring at you like you were dumb. "What do you think? Surely you can't be that dense," he responded. You felt the vein in your head throb, was he incapable of answering a question straight on?

You were hesitant to ask your next question. How you should get the milk out. Usually, mothers would breastfeed or use a pump to get the milk out, was it really the same for Sukuna? "Why do you produce... milk?" You asked, reaching out slowly before softly placing your hands on his chest with featherlight pressure.

"I'm not a mother if that's what you're asking," Sukuna said, a hint of humor behind his deadpanned answer. You didn't even know he was capable of making jokes. "Of course not." You responded, softly squeezing his chest, resulting in a long inhale from the man underneath you, his nails digging into your waist.

Sukuna's eyes fell to your chest, which was not soaked with the water and sheer. Unfortunately for him, you were wearing a bra, but the sight of it through your now-see-through clothes was a treat nonetheless. "Just do what you feel is right." He answered your unspoken question, his eyes lazily sliding back up to find yours.

With a nod, your eyes left him and dropped down to his tatted chest. You unknowingly wiggled on his lap before you groped his chest harder, resulting in Sukuna rolling his head to the side. You pressed the tight muscles together, rubbing his chest in circles, trying to increase his blood flow there. Sukuna's eyes shut halfway at the painfully pleasureful. 

You worked your hands from the outside of his chest inward until you reached his nipples. You felt yourself throb between the legs repeatedly, the pace almost matching that of your heartbeat. You had no idea how worked up this would make you. Sukuna winced, almost unnoticeably, when you squeezed your hands right around his nipples, a white stream trickling down his chest.

You wanted to apologize, but once again didnt want him to feel self-conscious about feeling the pain. Sukuna rolled his eyes, his lip twitching at the feeling of his tits being milked bringing him relief in more ways than one. His cock had been hard from the moment you had started bathing him, his teasing and your facade of not knowing what you were doing to him only riled him up more. 

The pressure of your hands stimulating his irritated chest outweighed the pleasure with the discomfort, leading Sukuna to grip your waist harder and groan. "Use your mouth, this method is insufficient." He growled, his voice coming out more hoarse than before.

He wanted you to... suck his nipples? You knew better than to ask any follow-up questions, Sukuna was clearly irritated enough. He was at his breaking point. You squeezed your thighs around his torso, trying to press your clit against his lower tummy to bring yourself some relief, completely forgetting that his body was a part of him and he could feel everything you were doing.

Sukuna stayed silent about your arousal for now. With a soft nod, you leaned forward and latched your lips around his nipple, waiting a brief moment to gather yourself before you sucked. Sukuna immediately groaned, and you made a noise of surprise as his milk flooded your mouth, the taste of it sweeter than you imagined.

Sukuna's hand pressed firmly against the back of your head, his low groans filling the bathroom as you sucked harder, your tongue lapping over his nipple occasionally, soothing the bud. Sukuna groaned through his teeth, his head tipping back as he relished in the feeling of his chest being milked. 

Countless times he's had to relieve himself with the pump, and never once has it ever felt like this. Sukuna's cock twitched repeatedly with the need for attention each time you suckled around his nipple. "Yeahhhh, yeah this is doin' it." Sukuna groaned, shaking his head back and forth as he looked down at you. You peeked up at him, moaning around his nipple as you did your best to make eye contact with him, your eyebrows furrowed.

"Can't tell who this is for with how much yer rubbin' on me." Sukuna teased. He was right, you had been so absorbed in sucking on his chest that you failed to realize you had been steadily humping against his lower abdomen, giving your clit some much-needed friction. You stopped and pulled off of his chest the moment he exposed you, his hand still holding the back of your head.

Milk dripped out from his nipple, running down his chest. "I didn't say you had to stop, did I?" He corrected, raising his eyebrows in an unimpressed manner. "I told you, didn't I? Do what you have to do." 

You nodded quickly with a hot face before you leaned down and latched your lips around his other nipple. A loud, long groan was released from Sukuna's longs as you started sucking, some of the milk you were unable to swallow spilling out from your lips and down your chest. Sukuna pulled his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes threatening to roll back in his head at the nipple stimulation.

You heard a sloshing sound behind you. At first, you thought it was your body creating the noise now that you were grinding your cunt on his pelvis freely, but you quickly realized it was something much different when you felt his hand repeatedly bumping against your back. Sukuna was jerking off. 

"So eager huh?" Sukuna teased, his voice much darker and needier now. Sukuna was wasting no time with teasing himself by taking things slow, your tongue flicking against his nipples made his balls ache with the need to drain them, so that was exactly what he was going to do. Pulling back from his chest you sat up and began tweaking with the swollen buds, making milk leak down them.

Sukuna's hips jolted under yours, making your body jump against him. "Almost there, they're almost empty." Sukuna nodded, his eyes fluttering in their sockets. You weren't sure if he was talking about his situation under the water, or his chest. Nonetheless, you leaned forward and took a nipple back into your mouth again, sucking harder, trying to drain him completely. 

Your own humping was thrown off as Sukuna began fucking up into his fist, the tip of his cock poking you in the back each time he did so. The water sloshed around you, spilling out on the floor from the tub. "Uh-huh. uh-huh, keep sucking, keeeeep fucking sucking." Sukuna demanded, his head falling back along with his jaw.

His jerking was sporadic now. You moaned and whined around his nipple, your sounds coming out choppy and high-pitched from the movement of his body under yours. His pelvis was bumping forcefully against your clit, it almost felt like he was fucking you like this. "The other one, suck the other one, do it now." Sukuna groaned, his nails digging against your scalp, leaving a mean tingling sensation against it.

Sukuna's chest felt empty and much less taught than before, the previous throbbing all gone, save for the throbbing of his nipples from the pleasure you were giving him. Your lithe fingers tweaked the nipple you weren't sucking as you obeyed him and switched to the other, only getting small drops on your tongue now. You had truly sucked him dry. 

Sukuna's hips lost their rhythm, his body going taught under you as his arm went stiff, doing the best he could to jerk himself up to his high. His jaw fell open further and his eyes rolled back in his head. A long, deep groan was released as he came. Long white ropes of cum shot out from his cock right against your back. He rubbed his tip against your skin while he jerked himself off, working himself through it with your help.

His cum mixed in with the water around him. His balls twitched and clenched as they pushed out every last drop of his cum. Pulling away from Sukuna's nipple you pressed both hands against his now empty chest and started humping against his lower stomach, his hard pelvis muscles rubbing perfectly against your clit, making your head spin.

"Nghhh- S-sukuna-" You cried absentmindedly, resulting in a large hand smacking over your mouth, followed by an amused laugh. "Yeah yeah, get yourself off on me but be quiet about it, don't need anyone else hearin' you cry my name," Sukuna said breathlessly, his hand still holding the base of his now spent cock as he watched you finish yourself off.

His hands around your waist tightened and helped you rub yourself along his muscles when he noticed you were having a little trouble the closer you got. "You gonna cum?" He asked, furrowing his eyebrows at you, a hint of neediness in his voice. You nodded, your moans getting muffled by his hand. "Cum then, I'll help you," Sukuna said, pressing you harder against him, bringing more friction to your sensitive clit.

Your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling, now only seconds from crashing down into your high as you rubbed your needy pussy on him. Sukuna nodded at you, his jaw falling open in a small o, occasionally cracking into a small smile as he watched your eyes and eyebrows twitch and furrow in tandem. 

Your hand left his chest to wrap around his arm at the last second to ground yourself as your orgasm hit you. "There you go." Sukuna drawled, smiling to himself as your body jerked forward and your hips stopped moving on your own. He helped you move against him. Each time your throbbing clit bumped into his lower abs while you came another loud muffled moan was caught behind his hand. 

When you tapped repeatedly against his large arm, he loosened his grip on your waist and released your mouth. A string of saliva connected from your lips to his hand, something you would've been embarrassed about if you were in a clearer mindset. 

Sukuna pat your ass a few times under the water, trying to coax you back into the real world. "That felt good, huh? Looked like it felt good." Sukuna teased. Your eyes were all out of focus and your chest rose and fell heavily with every deep breath you took. "Don't get sleepy on me now, still gotta clean this mess up." 

You wanted to roll your eyes at his audacity. You just drained his tits and came on him and he was already telling you to clean up? "A...A thank you would be nice." You said, wiping your hand over your eyes, getting the sweat off of your face. Sukuna smiled before his hand gripped your chin firmly, shaking your face back and forth. 

"I think the cum I spilled was thank you enough." He said snarkily, making you sigh. He laughed at your irritation, glad to see you were coming back. "Have Uraume throw the pumps away when you get finished here." He said, making you tip your head to the side and look at him funny. 

"I don't think I'm going to need them anymore."

[rmview]

hard to handle | san, m.

summary: san, a cocky boxer with a notorious temper, meets his match in his resilient physiotherapist who refuses to quit despite his antics. he does a good job keeping you at a distance, but during a playful bout, unintentional feelings surface and cause things to get a little physical.

pairing: boxer!choi san x physiotherapist f!reader

genre: boxing!au, pwp, tension, smut

words: 4.2k words

warnings: explicit & messy & unprotected sex, mean!san, cocky dom!san, big cock!san, sub!reader, size kink, pinning/restraining, teasing, clothed grinding, biting, praise, marking, fingering, clit play, orgasm control, edging, handjob, penetrative sex, choking, tears, creampie, almost public sex (?) and voyeurism themes — they’re in a public room with the door unlocked, interruptions.

minors do not interact! | masterlist | more ateez content

“you’re not allowed to quit.”

the words came sharp and sudden, slicing through the air with the same precision san delivered in the ring. you froze mid-stretch, hands stilling over his sore leg. slowly, you turned to meet his gaze, confused by the uncharacteristic weight in his tone.

“…okay,” you replied cautiously, trying to gauge his mood.

san’s brow furrowed deeper, and the irritation etched across his face didn’t waver. “coach kim told me you were planning to leave,” he pressed, voice edged with something almost accusatory.

you blinked, letting his words settle. with how insistent and demanding san was, it wouldn’t have surprised you if that rumor had sprouted legs and started running. after all, you weren’t the first physiotherapist to step into this circus — and judging by the quick turnover before you, most had found the door far more inviting than the job.

but you stayed.

why? it wasn’t some deep-seated need to prove yourself or a traumatic past molding you into a masochist. no, it was simpler than that: the paycheck was solid, and once you learned to see past san’s gruff exterior and insufferable tendencies, he was just… tolerable. like dealing with an overgrown five-year-old throwing tantrums in the body of a professional fighter.

“well, coach is wrong,” you said, shrugging as you resumed your careful movements on his leg. your voice was calm, steady, not betraying the flicker of amusement rising in you at his sudden concern.

but san wasn’t convinced. his dark eyes narrowed as if searching your face for a crack, a lie, a tell.

“he said you’re thinking about it,” he countered, his scowl deepening. “you can’t leave. i need you.”

it wasn’t romantic — far from it. his words came out firm, almost commanding, the way you’d expect from someone used to giving orders. someone used to winning.

still, something about this moment felt different. the commanding façade faltered ever so slightly, and there was a flicker of something raw in his voice. vulnerability, maybe? you weren’t sure. but it was there, buried under the frustration, and you couldn’t ignore it.

what was his deal? what was it about the idea of you leaving that got under his skin?

you paused again, letting your hands rest gently on his leg as you glanced up. his expression hadn’t softened, but you could see the edges weren’t as sharp. your lips twitched, a small smile creeping in despite yourself.

“are you sure coach kim wasn’t just teasing you?” you asked, your tone light as you tried to ease the tension. “you know, considering your, er, personality? because honestly, i haven’t thought about leaving.” even though it’s the saner option, you thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

san huffed, leaning back against the mat, his lips pressed into a thin line. he looked at you for a long moment, his jaw clenching before he finally spoke. “are you calling me a problem?” his voice was low, sharp, and cold enough to send a chill down your spine.

your breath hitched as his piercing gaze locked onto you, unrelenting and unreadable. his tone alone made your stomach twist, but it was the way his leg pulled away from your hands that had you stiffening. the dismissal in his actions was clear — he didn’t want you there.

“i…” you faltered, feeling the weight of his words press against you. “of course not, san. you’re not the problem.”

your voice was soft, careful, an attempt to diffuse the tension. but his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched, signaling that your words did little to soothe his frustration.

“then leave,” he snapped, turning his head to the side, arms crossing over his chest like a fortress. “i don’t need you.”

his dismissal stung more than you’d like to admit, but you swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “i’m not going anywhere,” you replied, your tone hushed but steady, a small smile twitching on your lips. “i enjoy working with you too much.”

he scoffed, his lips curling into a mean sneer. “don’t bother lying, princess, you’re terrible at it.”

his words were biting, but the way he leaned slightly closer didn’t go unnoticed. he was testing you, waiting for you to crack under the weight of his intimidation.

“i’m not lying, i wasn’t lying.” you whispered, shaking your head. “just teasing…”

“well, stop it,” he growled, his voice dropping an octave. the air around you grew heavier as he glared at you. “it’s annoying. i don’t like it.”

“i know,” you murmured, your voice almost playful as you reached out, lightly brushing your fingers against his arm. “but that’s exactly why i do it. you’re kind of… cute when you’re like this.”

his eye twitched at your words, and the next thing you knew, he moved. with one swift motion, he shoved you back against the couch, his body towering over yours. his knee pressed into the cushion beside your hip, locking you in place, while his other hand braced against the armrest, boxing you in completely.

the weight of his presence stole the air from your lungs as he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours. the glint in his eyes was sharp, teasing yet dangerous, and his lips curled into a sneer that sent a shiver down your spine.

“cute?” he repeated, his tone mocking as he pinned your wrists above your head. his grip was firm but not enough to hurt, though the dominance in his posture had your heart pounding.

you stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, your cheeks heating under his intense scrutiny. “san…” you started, but your voice faltered.

he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours. “do you think you’re immune to being kicked to the curb just because you’ve been here the longest?” he murmured, his voice low and laced with warning.

your lips parted, a soft laugh escaping despite the way your body trembled under his. every part of you that he touched sent sparks flying through your veins, down your spine and between your legs. “you’d never. i’m your favorite,” you whispered, trying to mask your flustered state with a teasing edge, your words holding truth.

his expression hardened, but he didn’t pull away. instead, his grip on your wrists tightened slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “you wish,” he scoffed, though the slight hitch in his breath betrayed him. that and the subtle twitch of his cock in his shorts that you definitely felt from how you froze.

you weren’t sure whether to feel thrilled or terrified, but one thing was certain: you were treading dangerous waters, and san didn’t look like he was about to let you off easy.

“...this is a very risky, er, position,” you choked out softly, voice slightly strained. your gaze flickered between his narrowed brown eyes, to the door of the break room that you both were in, it’s door unlocked. your thighs rubbed together almost unknowingly and you resisted the urge to squirm. you were trapped.

“mhm.” san hummed dismissively, his gaze not leaving you. every twitch in your expression was noticed by him, especially the growing warmth on your cheeks and ears, that made him smirk. “and?”

“and coach could walk in...” you cleared your throat, mind fogging and something in the pit of your stomach clenching. you couldn’t imagine the look on the old man’s face if he walked in and saw you under the star fighter you were supposed to be healing. “it would be embarrassing.”

san chuckled, and your gaze snapped to his. it was mocking and you shivered — from fear or arousal, you didn’t know. “why? we aren’t doing anything... yet.”

“yet?” your heartbeat was wild, throbbing in your ears. you were sure san could hear it. if he was being so mean, he definitely could and was taking advantage of how meek you were. he knew you could never say no to him, not that you wanted to. “what do you — mmpf!”

the next thing you knew, you felt a tongue slipping past your lips, swirling inside your mouth. your breath was stolen from you, and with his free hand, san grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them to the couch, using his body to keep you in place.

it was a sloppy and dominating kiss. he explored and claimed every part of your mouth without pulling away. his body pressed against yours, and the kiss slowly grew more heated. his hand wandered down your sides, squeezing them softly for a moment before he pulled away from your lips, breaths mingled.

san studied your expression, eyes still narrowed in a cold glare. he smirked at how out of breath and dazed you looked, and pushed his knee between your thighs to part your legs. you were practically shaking and san didn’t even do anything yet.

“stupid.” he mutters out, tone rough and husky. leaning down to your neck, san began sucking on the sweet spot under your jaw that made you squeak.

his body pressed against you, almost uncomfortably, and you were practically trapped underneath him. your wrists were still pinned down, and you were hyperaware of every ridge and pane of his body on top of your curves. his broad chest, beefy arms, strong thighs and hard cock were suffocating you, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“you’re so stupid and cute, i could eat you right now.” he rasped, lifting his head to look down at you. his face was inches from your own. san looked obsessed.

you shivered at the unusual glint in his piercing glare, his smirk almost evil and you flushed. “eat me?”

“every last bit.” his voice was rough. a stark contrast to his actions. his hands would rub up and down your sides gently, his face still close.

a low and sensual growl spilled from between his lips as he kissed you again, lips rougher. he brought one of his hands up to thread into the hair at the base of your neck, tilting your head so he could have more access to your lips. his arm wrapped around your waist, tugging your body as close to him as possible.

everything was fine — as fine as san eating your face off could be — until you felt something long and hard press right against your clothed clit. “ngh... san!”

he merely chuckled against your lips, sharp teeth tugging your bottom lip, and then smoothing the sting with his warm tongue. “what?”

“i’m...” you started, but were unable to continue, gasping when you felt his hips grind against yours once more. small sparks shot from your clit to your spine, and you arched softly, voice a pitch higher. your pussy clenched around nothing. “...sensitive.”

“i know.” san groaned in your neck, and you felt his thick fingers of his free hand undo the drawstrings on your uniform scrubs. he silenced any of your gasps with another kiss, slipping his fingers into the front of your pants to push past your panties. you barely had time to register his next actions, until you felt the rough pads of his calloused fingers run over your quivering clit and folds.

your wrists were still held down with one of his hands as you moaned shakily, eyes squeezing shut. you felt san’s long fingers smear your slick all over the folds of your cunt, cursing lowly under his breath.

“fuck, you’re so wet.” he exhaled, his fingers circling your swollen clit and making you twitch. the feel of you writhing under him, feeling you squirm and hearing you moan, it only made san want more. he leaned down, his lips on your neck, nipping and sucking as he slipped a digit into your pulsing pussy, feeling your tight walls clench around him. “fuck.”

san gritted his teeth and, his body trembled with restraint.

“san... ah...” you squirmed softly as you felt his fingers pump and prod your spongy walls, gushing wetness the longer he stretched out your cunt. your eyes were glazed, and your arousal was dripping down his knuckles the longer he curled and scissored you open on the couch. “we... we shouldn’t be doing this.”

the sounds of your pretty voice, the feeling of your hips moving against his hand, the soft moans and gasps — san was losing himself in you. he added another finger, feeling the heat of your cunt around his digits, wanting to hear those sweet sounds of yours. “oh?”

“t-the door... it’s unlocked.” it was a miracle you could still think from how deliciously he played your cunt, but your ears were still hyperaware of the faint yells and sounds of sparring from the main gym. you throbbed around his fingers, almost in fear of being caught.

san grunted, reaching as deep as he could with the tips of his fingers before slowly pulling the digits out, and glancing down to see the way his skin glistened with your juices. “doesn’t matter.”

“but...” “but nothing.” san scoffed and sat back on his knees, undoing his shorts and pushing the cloth down along with his boxers so his hard cock sprung out. the veiny length was twitching and leaking precum from the angry red tip, and your flushed gaze was drawn to the sight while you rubbed your sore wrists. he used your slick smeared on his fingers to pump his hard cock, taking in the sight of you panting and sprawled half-naked on the break room sofa, thighs parted and folds glistening. “the only one coming in this room is you.”

your gaze met his smirking one and you tried to scowl softly, propping yourself up on your elbows shakily. “very funny.”

“i’m not done with you, princess.” san crawled back over you, pushing his face in your neck to nip at that spot that made you squirm, shifting between your legs.

you were so tired of him toying with you that you reached out to grasp his cock with your hands, experimentally stroking the hard length. your fingers couldn’t even wrap fully around the girth of his thick shaft, but that didn’t stop you. san let out a choked groan, his teeth gripping the flesh of your neck as you flicked your wrist at an agonizingly slow pace.

it was your first time fisting a cock and your hands were almost shaking. yet you loved the feeling of the large man practically turning into jelly above you from a few strokes. it only motivated you to try and squeeze tighter, pumping up and down, as your flustered gaze met his weak one. san was still trying to keep up his facade, but not for long.

san couldn’t hold back any longer. “that’s enough!” he hissed weakly, smacking your hand away and pulling you to lie back down on the couch, while he positioned the bulbous head of his thick cock at your entrance. “no more playing around.”

san was looking down at you, his eyes dark and focused, his body trembling with restraint that was held by a thread. he was so tightly wound and needed to cum now, before he actually lost it.

“o-okay...” your clit throbbed as he rubbed his cock against your wet folds a few times. your eyes were almost hazy from pleasure, and you pawed at the leather of the couch for stability. suddenly san couldn’t hold back any longer.

he grabbed one of your legs, to rest it over his shoulder, and pushed it up before he leaned over you, his body hovering above yours as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin on your neck. san’s hand gripped one of the small throw pillows for a moment, moving it underneath your hips, and then he slowly started to push his cock forward into your entrance.

as he sunk his thick shaft into your cunt inch by inch, the feeling of you clenching around him, the feeling of your breath catching in your throat, the way your body shook at the slow bottoming out — san’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head.

he grunted through his gritted teeth, his hand leaving the pillow by your hip to reach up and grasp your wrist, to hold it down again. san looked down at your face, his hips rocking slowly at first to get a feel of stretching out your small stretchy cunt, as his words came in short bursts. “god… ah… just like that…”

“san...” your voice was a soft breathless whimper, the sight of him above you making you quiver and clench more. all your dazed eyes could see was a beefy and sweaty san on top of you, jaw clenched and grunting, and you nearly came on the spot. “y-you... you... i hate you.”

he sight of you below him, so docile, flushed and soft, made his chest swell with something, his lips pulling into a slow mocking grin. “yeah?”

san was so desperate, so fucking hard at the thought of claiming you all night, to mark you and keep you under him. you had no idea how much he needed you. how could you, when he’d never said a word?

your cunt was so tight and warm. like nothing he’d ever had, or imagined in his long showers after training, eyes closed and fisting his cock for a quick release while he wished it was your cunt milking him instead. now, having you under him for real felt like a fever dream, and san’s hips had a mind of their own from the way his thrusts started to pick up pace.

“yeah.” your breath hitched softly, already forgetting your previous train of thought from the way san’s hips angled. the tip of his cock continued to repeatedly bully the spongy sensitive spot in you, making you see stars. “you’re so mean to me... all the time... a-and... and...”

you trailed off, eyes squeezing shut softly as you nearly found yourself cumming all over his cock. san was close too, and he just needed a few more thrusts before —

knock, knock.

fuck.

both you and san froze, and for a moment you felt your soul leave your body. whoever it was, could just twist the knob of the unlocked door and see you sprawled under san, with your leg over his shoulder, and his cock buried ten inches deep in your cervix.

“san, sparring practice in ten minutes!” coach kim called out cheerily from behind the door, unaware.

“we’ll be out soon.” san’s voice rumbled, and your wide-eyed gaze snapped to him, clenching almost in fear. san felt the twitch of your walls and glanced down at you, something almost evil lighting up in his eyes. “doc is still busy working on my bad leg, aren’t you doc?”

the color drained from your face when you felt san’s hips resume their thrusts, and you almost fearfully tried to push him away. shaking your head, you tried to stop him and whisper-yell, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to say a word without moaning shakily, so you stayed silent. something neither san, nor coach would let you do.

“is everything okay in there, doc?” coach kim asked, as you squirmed under san, his large palm holding your hip in place under him, and your ankle in place over his shoulder. his thrusts were still quick, aimed to make you and himself cum as soon as possible, whether coach walked in or not.

“answer him.” san’s lips brushed against your ear as he whispered hotly, smug. “you don’t want him to — fuck — come in, would you?”

it was hard to gather the courage to speak without screaming, especially when you opened your mouth, and the asshole above you took that as the exact moment to decide to rub your clit, coughing softly to disguise your noises. “i, uh, — ngh — we’ll be coming! in sometime... just... go on, coach... no need to — stop that! — wait up!”

you blurted between whimpers, trying to swat san’s wandering hands away as he pinched and rubbed all sensitive spots on your body, even dipping down to bite at your clothed nipples. you were still on edge as coach could walk in anytime, but that didn’t bother san. if fact, his hips pistoned into your cervix at a mind-numbing pace, all thoughts blown from your mind.

“you heard the man,” san grunted in your ear. his smooth skin was drenched in sweat, slight red marks left on his shoulders from your nails, and his brows were furrowed in concentration. “we have five minutes to finish.”

you let out a strangled noise when you felt the sudden onslaught of stimulation, his large palms grasping your hips as he fucked you hard. guiding your hips to match his, san made sure his hips were angled to fuck right up into your womb, smirking to himself when he noticed the slight outline of his cock bulging from your stomach. “t-there’s no way... that we can f-finish... in 5 minutes...”

“you wanna bet?” san rasped, forcing his mouth on yours, kissing you deep and slow, his own grunts and sighs barely muffled by his lips. san could feel you tightening around him, hear the breathy, soft pants coming from your lips.

how could he hold himself back when you responded so eagerly?

san pulled his lips away to look down at you, his hand leaving your leg to grasp at your throat, his calloused thumb resting on your jaw, and his grip firm. you looked so good under him like this.

“that’s it, princess,” san groaned, his hips pushing forward, his voice uneven from all the pleasure. he didn’t think he’d last the next 30 seconds, let alone 5 minutes.

but he wouldn’t cum before you. that would almost be insulting, making sure to use his free hand to fondle your swollen clit, bringing you to finish as soon as him.

“san!” you cried out, already feeling your release building. you tried to bite at your knuckles to keep yourself quiet and muffle all the whimpers and gasps that could reach outside the room. your nails dug into his biceps, eyes squeezing shut.

both of you were so close, san’s hips moving more erratically, and your body losing control. your voice was choked and a pitch higher, every noise you made streaming into soft sobs, tears blurring your eyes. you felt too good. “san... i’m gonna...”

san could feel your body trembling, your breathing getting shallower, and when you spoke, it only made him feel closer. he panted, his breath coming out in hot, uneven puffs, his nose rubbing against yours, his hand on your throat tightening.

“go on… squeeze that cunt of yours tight… i’m almost done.”

you didn’t need to be told twice, and when you squeezed so beautifully for him, san lost himself.

he came with a strangled groan, his movements stuttering, his hand squeezing on your throat for a moment. his eyes squeezed shut as white hot pleasure coursed through his veins, his mind blanking out and ears ringing. for a few moments, he thought he saw the pearly white gates of heaven, as he unsteadily pumped ropes after ropes of his hot cum into your pussy.

you could feel your insides being painted white while san grunted curses under his breath, the hot seed almost burning your walls. he made sure to thrust a few more times so his cum filled your insides snugly, fucking it deeper.

your overstimulated whimpers were what bought san back to reality, the ringing in his ears fading as he looked down at you, disheveled and naked waist down, his cock still buried deep in your cunt.

he was momentarily distracted by the sight of your puffy folds wrapped around the base of his cock, a creamy ring of cum around his shaft. he felt himself twitch, just barely suppressing the urge to fold you in a mating press and take you again.

“still hate me?” his voice was slightly strained. san couldn’t find it in himself to pull out yet. his gaze flickered down to your disheveled shirt stretched over your chest, and he couldn’t help but grasp your breast and squeeze. he’d play with them next time.

you were too out of breath to reply or swat his hand away, exhaling shakily as you slowly got down from your high. “i’m still deciding.” you needed a moment, or ten, to get your thoughts in order. “and you didn’t finish in 5 minutes, you took 8.”

“whatever.” san chuckled, nipping your cheek playfully.

he slowly pulled out, his muscles tired. but he wasn’t fast enough. because the next thing you knew, there was a soft click, and the two of you didn’t even have time to freeze, before the break room door swung open.

“san, you little shit, you’re late for — what the fuck!?”

author note: my first smut fic, yay! if this sounds familiar to you, it’s because this plot is heavily inspired by the love of my life, joo jaekyung from the bl manhwa jinx (he’s the best guy around)! please do interact and tell me what you think! also, i made the banner myself so pls show some love if you think it looks nice :3

tag list: @tsukisrants ; @dawn-iscozy ; @vixensss

[thesilmarillionblog]

COME CLOSER

Summary: Reader asks her friend, Soldier Boy to take her virginity.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: +18! (MINORS DNI), virgin reader!, smut, language, rough Soldier Boy, beard kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, friends with benefits

Word Count: 4052

A/N: English is not my first language.

You grabbed the gun from Ben's suit and placed it in your bag without even waiting for a response since you knew he wouldn't refuse you. “May I take this?” you said. “Just for safety issues.”

Ben joined the team to kill Homelander months ago, and because you two have been on missions together for so long, you two have kind of gotten to know one another. He frequently teased you, and most of the time he really got on your nerves. Another thing Butcher's wanted from you regarding Ben was to make sure you kept an eye on him while he was high or furious. 

He sighed, “You are already in safe hands,” and then gave you a little push toward the car, where Butcher and the other members of the team were waiting. “You know that you are something different. Trying to protect yourself with a firearm in spite of the fact that you already have three supes with you, me included, who are the strongest and greatest.” 

“After the job is completed, even the biggest dicks become smaller. I wonder if your gigantic ego will ever be smaller one day, Ben.”

“Not mine,” he winked at you in between his laughter before the two of you entered the car. “How on earth does a naive virgin speak like that? I must discipline your dirty mouth at some point.” 

He pushed until you reached the other side of the seat, and you muttered, “Shut up.” Your face flushed. “You leave no space for me.”

“Do I look like your personal driver?” Butcher growled at Hughie to come in too, questioned in a disapproving tone. Then Butcher turned back to Hughie, who was sitting in the passenger seat, and said, “Where the fuck is your girlfriend?”

“She arrived earlier with the others. They were driven there by Frenchie already.”

“Will you shut up and drive?” Ben messed with your hair for a while while ignoring what you said that he was going to ruin it, saying to Butcher in an irritated manner. 

“Good boy gone bad, huh?” Ben ignored you and filled the entire seat between your complaints. Butcher murmured, “Let's fucking have some fun there since we may not be finding any free time soon, Navy girlies.” 

Luckily, Butcher managed to locate a club devoid of supes, but it was still massive and insane, complete with loud music. Hughie's gaze found Annie right away, and Butcher followed after him while he winked at the girl who was staring at him with a chuckle. 

You gave Ben a drink and complained, “Do I have to babysit you?” Even though all of the girls were capturing his attention, he was undoubtedly hearing what you were saying. 

He patted your head and said, "Babysit me?" with a look of astonishment. "Sweetheart, it's me who has been watching you for several months. After all, it's easy for you to get into trouble." 

"Me?" As he messed with your hair, you giggled and attempted to push his hands away. "You're always on the verge of being furious for no reason at all, and I have to keep your ego boosted when you are about to lose it." 

"Or maybe I act it this way to get you even more anxious; what do you think? Your human face looks so funny when you're trying to calm me," he smirked and remarked with arrogance. 

Punching him in the chest, you said, "You're impossible," although your wrist ached. You sighed in agony, "Fuck, Ben," and made sure everything was okay by looking at your hand. Thankfully, there were no physical wounds. 

"Why the fuck have you tried to punch me now? Haven't you still learned I'm built to last?" he complained, gently massaging your hands. 

You muttered, "You're so annoying," while he sighed and released your hands. "I can't imagine why almost nobody likes you." 

"All you do this evening is talk rudely with that lovely mouth of yours and spit poison. Also, you are to blame. How many times do I have to tell you not to try to punch me? Wish to adopt a tough-ass persona? You're just a little sensitive, soft doll," he continued to tease, causing you to flush with rage. 

"Remember the day I gave myself a Temp-V injection? When I really punched you, you seemed rather surprised, and I'm sure it hurt." 

“I didn't think being a temporary Supe could happen, and that was a while ago.” Ben continued to smirk and replied, “Keep that in mind. I was merely trying to comprehend the change in your scent when you unexpectedly struck me and pushed me against the wall. You know, I should have been doing that. Of course, I'm not referring to the punching; rather, I'm speaking to the second one, but more gently.”

Ben flirted with you, giving you a tiny pinch on the chin and a wink. He was perhaps the most flirtatious man ever, but the reason he acted this way was that you told him you were a virgin, and even when he understood you were becoming too shy and a little anxious, he continued to tease you verbally. You didn't feel uncomfortable about it, though. 

“Whatever.” You rushed to end it, fearing he would start talking even more profanely. You tried to silence him by putting your palm over his mouth. “When are you going to shave this beard? It's really lengthy.”

He murmured, “I thought you liked it longer and thicker,” as he combed his facial hair. 

This time, instead of being annoyed, you giggled. “You're impossible.” 

You said, “I'm going to check on Annie and others,” feeling a little guilty for something you didn't even understand when you saw him searching for women who fit his tastes. “So that you can have your fun.”

Ben, who had just bought a drink for himself, approached a redhead who had been staring at him passionately ever since he entered the bar. You led the way to join Annie and the rest of the team, but you were carrying a heavy weight that you couldn't quite explain. You did your best to ignore the stupid ache in your heart and laugh out loud at Butcher's half-made-up stories. It was a rare, heartfelt moment of calm after months, shared by all of you as you briefly watched the redhead woman take Ben's head and lead him to the second floor.

Ben's social batteries ran out after a few hours, and when he got into a fight with Butcher, you volunteered to take him home in your car because you were starting to have headaches too. Annie and Kimiko were dancing in the center; it appeared like they were just getting started. Either their heightened enthusiasm was to blame, or you simply didn't feel like having fun at that particular time. Ben was the source of your annoyance because he preferred to spend his time in the club having fun with other women and left you kind of alone.

You just said, “I will drive Ben back; just stop arguing for once,” and snatched Butcher's keys. “I assume everyone will be arriving home late. It appears that Kimiko and Annie won't be calling it a night anytime soon.” After observing them for some time, they realized you were right. Kimiko was high as fuck.

Ben didn't have a shower in his own room, so he quickly took one in yours once you drove home. Surprisingly, he hasn't complained to Butcher about it in any manner, and you've allowed him to use yours anytime he needs to, even if he occasionally takes a shower a bit too frequently, leading you to believe that he does it on purpose to irritate and enrage you so that you two can argue. But no matter what, his unique word choice never failed to make you chuckle.

As he was taking care of himself in the bathroom, you considered something you had long since ignored: your virginity. You could never go one step beyond, not even if you were in your mid-20s. You just didn't want it to be just one fleeting, pointless act, and you didn't feel anything at all. Perhaps you were a shamefully traditional person who was eagerly awaiting the realization of your real fate.

Ben used to make jokes about your virginity, which you didn't mind, but tonight it kind of got under your skin and made you feel uneasy, like there was something wrong with you. It just didn't seem right at all to be a virgin in your mid-twenties. 

“You appear to be lost in thoughts. What's consuming your mind so much?” Ben queried. 

His long beard and damp hair were pouring over the floor as he emerged from the bathroom, his thick, muscular belly wrapped in a towel. Your eyebrows are raised between your sighs. Though you always knew he was extremely attractive, he seemed even more so at this moment. 

Ben glanced at your short dress too, seeing that you were staring at him as your lips parted slightly in a hint of yearning. He smirked, conceited, seeing your legs pushed together. 

“I think I can make a guess.” He walked over to sit on the bed next to you and mumbled. 

You hesitantly said, “I was thinking something,” not quite sure what to say exactly. 

“About?”

You abruptly asked, trying not to flush too much as you moved the bed and fully turned your body to face him. “Would you take my virginity?” 

Ben exclaimed, “What?” with his lips parted in wonder as he tried to understand what you meant and raised an eyebrow. 

“You already heard me.” 

Ben laughed and ignored your request, saying, “Are you drunk or do you need to jerk off? You're going to be a good nun when you grow up.”

“I'm serious here,” you said, blushing red from embarrassment and rage at the fact that the fact that he didn't take you seriously at all.

Ben's mocking expression changed to one of confusion as he realized you were serious. “I thought you were waiting for the love of your life or something. Why did you change your mind all of a sudden?”

“I wasn't waiting for someone,” you denied right away. “I decided being like this bothers me, and I want to change it.”

You continued, “We have known each other for months, and I think we kind of formed a good friendship during this time,” before he said anything, you added, “It must be okay to ask your friend for help, and it's better than to be with a total stranger, right?”

“I'm not the right person to share something like that.” Ben said in a serious tone, “I don't know why you made this decision so quickly, but you'll regret it tomorrow, I promise. If you are horny, I can give fingerfuck you, though.” It was clear that he was not hearing you clearly. 

“It's not really that significant, is it? I didn't wait for someone right away, as I had said. If I knew I would regret saying it, I wouldn't have said it in the first place. What's the purpose of friends?”

Hesitantly, you reached out to touch his damp arms to gauge his reaction while also conveying your concern. You felt your small confidence begin to fade as you noticed he was staring at you with the same expression, so you brought your hands back to yourself. “Well, of course I won't try to convince you to take my virginity if you don't want to get into such an intimate interaction with me,” you said, trying not to seem offended or disappointed. “It's a different issue.”

Your heart raced under your thin dress as you anxiously awaited his response. 

“I would fuck you with pleasure; it's not that I don't want it,” he added, examining your bare legs and breasts as they rose and fell in time with your heavy breaths. He whispered, placing his rough palms on your chin. “But I can't promise it won't hurt, and I don't want it to be just a one-time thing.”

You muttered, “I know it's going to hurt,” and at last he relaxed and seemed to agree. 

He smirked and continued, “I'll fuck your cunt whenever I want,” staring right into your eyes and making you tremble at the sensation. “You'll spread your legs for me and beg me to fuck you.”

“It's better,” you said as his hand lowered to your throat, causing you to become even more thrilled. You chuckled awkwardly and murmured, “Practice makes perfect, right?”

Your lips parted in ecstasy as his thumb massaged your hardened nipple, and he gently pinched it between his fingers through your dress. He didn't even slightly break eye contact with you, as if he wanted to watch every move you made. 

Ben mumbled, “I wonder if you're dripping under there already,” as he climbed on top of you. Feeling uncertain about what action to take, you placed your quivering hands on his large chest. 

His palm stroked your pussy through your underpants, and you clenched around nothing, murmuring, “I feel like it.” You were already embarrassingly drenched; you knew that. 

“Ben,” you murmured quickly, and his hand instantly froze there. He stared at you, confused, not knowing if you wanted to stop or not. You grabbed his wrist and stopped him just as he was about to return his hand to himself. “Can you do the entire job for tonight” you said in a hesitant manner. “I have absolutely no idea what to do.”

Ben surprised you with a kiss on the forehead and said, “Of course I'll do the entire job. You just lay down and relax. I'm going to take care of you well, okay?”

You nodded quickly, trusting that Ben knew what to do when he started to rub your pussy through your underwear again. Your hips rose higher to meet his movements as he played with your clit with a gentle thumb. “Let's get rid of your dress, huh?” he said, helping you to remove it from your body. You were lying under him naked, except for your underwear.

You wanted to hide your body with your hands because you felt a little shy, but you forced yourself to look at him with courage because you wanted this to be good. Even if he was already erect under the towel, he ignored his own needs to give you the pleasure you needed first.

Then he pinched your nipples once more and added, “You have such lovely tits.” Before you could respond, he put his warm lips on one of your tits and started sucking, giving you very light bites. You were a little scared that he could harm you because you had a big power imbalance since he was a supe, but you chose to put your trust in him because you knew he had experience having intercourse with normal people just like you.

As he continued licking both of your nipples, you placed your hands behind his hair and pulled. You pushed his head to your tit as you raised your hip to match his movement, but you moaned loudly when he ripped off your panties and inserted one of his meaty fingers inside of you slowly, even though you were trying really hard not to scream. It was difficult to take even one finger, so tears welled up in your eyes, but you didn't want to ruin the moment.

Groaning, “Fuck, you are tighter than I expected,” he lifted his head.

When he noticed your pained expression, he began to gently massage your clit with his thumb once again. Thankfully, this helped you feel better, and after a while, you began to slowly tighten around his finger.

He asked in a rough voice, “Do you like me fingering you?” and continued to push his finger in and out. “Your pussy is so adorable and swollen. You so desperately need me to fuck you raw.”

He commanded, “Tell me it's just for me,” tensing up his motions as you continued to tighten around his finger.

You said, “Just for you,” and he attempted to press another finger, but you were simply too tense to take it. You said, “Ben, be slow,” in a panic.

“In order for you to take me easier, we need to properly prepare your little pussy. Now spread your legs and don't cover that adorable cunt,” he gave another command. It was then that you realized you were attempting to press your legs together.

You spread your legs so he could see you as per the directions he gave. You let out a loud cry of pleasure and agony as he carefully inserted another finger. Ben swallowed your groans and stretched you with two fingers, his warm lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss.

You were moaning inside his mouth while his tongue and fingers dominated you. Ben felt your wetness on his fingers, your hips rising to match his rhythm, and he felt like he might come without even touching himself.

With a harsh voice, he commanded, “Cum on my fingers,” and proceeded to fuck you while your walls tensed up. With a loud moan and his name between your lips, you nailed his biceps while he watched you orgasm under his touch. “Good girl. You are so easy to make cum. Fuck, you're a needy one.”

You continued orgasming and wetting them while Ben held your fingers within. Even though your pussy felt extremely sensitive, he continued to finger you without giving you a minute's break after your climax had passed.

“Ben, it feels sensitive.”

“Fucking take it,” he growled. “You'll come as much as I want you to.”

You muttered, “I don't think I can,” as your legs continued to shake uncontrollably.

“You can and you will,” Ben responded, and he proceeded to fuck you even more forcefully than before.

The bedroom was filled with obscene noises, and your eyes welled up with tears of pleasure.

“Cum to me,” he commanded again, and you instantly clenched around his fingers. Putting your hands over his head, you kissed him, pressing your lips to his in an attempt to stop your moans.

As you orgasmed, you sensed him grinning slightly against your lips throughout the kiss. He whispered, “You're so fucking tight, you're almost going to lock me inside your pussy,” as you calmed down after your climax subsided. “I guess you're ready now.”

Your eyes widened with fear and dread as he removed the towel from his belly and threw it to the ground, revealing his firm cock. Ben began to give himself brief strokes while spreading your legs apart. Aware of your discomfort, he smiled slightly at you. “I'll do my best to be gentle. You're enough soaked already.”

You nodded to him, waiting tensely as you watched him pump himself between his rough hands. You tensed up abruptly as the tip of his cock touched your entrance, and he took himself in hand after giving it enough strokes.

He said, “Relax,” and kept pushing the tip inside. “Fuck, take it already.”

You attempted to let him in, your legs trembling with desire and dread, but you couldn't stop clenching.

You whimpered, your eyes welling with tears, as he thrust his cock inside with a forceful move. You also pulled his hair around his neck. Your hips were being held in place by his hands, preventing you from moving them. You were certain that it would bruise badly.

You cried out in fear, “Ben,” as he persisted in pushing. Tears fell from the corner of your eyes onto the covers when you were nailing his arms.

He groaned, “Calm down,” and gave you some time to relax. “It's just the head.”

“Sorry,” you said, ashamed that you weren't able to bear pain and adding unnecessary difficulty to the procedure.

His eyes widened at the sight of your face, and he planted a gentle kiss on your forehead. He whispered, “Hey, it's okay. You take me so good, so warm,” in between kisses and proceeded to place his cock inside of you once more. You knew it was a major step for you when you felt like he broke your hymen. This time, his hands gently remained on your hips as he sensed a change in your feelings.

Thank goodness, you relaxed between his kisses and compliments, and your wetness allowed him to enter at last. Ben gave you time to get used to his size after his cock completely filled your insides.

After planting another hard kiss on your lips, he asked, “Are you okay now?” and stroked your cheeks. 

You responded, “I'm okay,” as the agony lessened and you began to get pleasure from his cock pulsing inside of you. 

Ben put his hands on the sheets, and as he started to move slowly inside of you, you locked your legs around his hip. 

He groaned, “You're so tight around me,” as he began to move faster. “I should have fucked you sooner.”

He gave you quick kisses, and his bushy beard tickled your chin as he began to fuck you quickly and roughly. “I'll turn this little cunt addicted to my cock.”

As you continued to moan beneath him, he gave another order: “Tell me you want me to fuck you hard.”

You murmured, “Please,” and he slowed down. 

Ben wrapped his hand around your neck and said, “Beg me properly,” but he wasn't using force against you. 

You sighed, “Fuck me hard, please, Ben.” You moaned as you saw his mucsles stretching as he continued to penetrate you quickly and roughly. Your hands nailed his chest and broad abdomen. 

He put your legs on his shoulders and stated, “I'm going to fuck you every day; make you my little cumslut. Do you enjoy having your friend fuck you? Does this turn you on?”

When he kept talking filth, you couldn’t stop clenching around his cock.

He moaned, “Fuck,” in between hard strokes. “Look at this pussy clench. You really get turned on by it.”

Ben intensified his movements as your legs trembled with pleasure around his hips, and you felt your climax strike with a loud moan and a cunning sneer on his face. You tried biting your lip to muffle the moans, but it was difficult as Ben fucked you raw, on top of you, dominating your whole body. 

He whispered, “I'm going to fuck your face another time,” and put his thumb inside your mouth. “Suck it. Prove to me how much you crave my cock inside your mouth.”

You groaned in displeasure as he slowed. Ben strictly said, “Suck it, show me how badly you want my cock inside your mouth, and I'll fuck you as you need,” when you lifted your hips to get him to return to his previous rhythm. 

With the expectation that he would like it, you put your lips around his thumb and started to lick it with your tongue. 

He mumbled, “Fuck yes, gonna cum inside that mouth,” and started fucking you quickly and roughly once more. 

He muttered, “Almost there,” and continued to fuck you while staring at your bouncing tits. 

His hardness continued to throb inside of you as you tightened around him one more time and orgasmed. He moaned and spilled inside of you, filling you with his thick and warm ropes. 

Ben continued to fill your pussy as your climax subsided. You felt incredibly satisfied because you felt so full of his seed. 

When he was finished, he carefully pulled out his cock, exposing the blood at the tip. Ben gave you a long, hard kiss on the lips when he noticed you were staring at it. 

You offered him a tiny smile as he whispered, “Come closer,” and he embraced you with his large arms. “Are you alright?” 

You continued to stroke his beard while responding, “Yes.” Actually, you've never felt better.

You can check my MASTERLIST for more.

[norikuna]

THE BOLTER ★ naoya zenin

prologue ⋆ ★ whoever said 'love at first sight' was lying, this is more like loathe at first sight. unfortunately, it seems like you and naoya zenin are stuck in the same boat together.

but at least the two of you can put on a great show.

pairing ⋆ ★ naoya zenin x reader genre tags & warnings ⋆ ★ afab!reader, arranged marriage, enemies/rivals, first meetings, outdated views on marriage and wives, public consummàtion, éxhibitionism, voyéurism, ooc naoya to a point but he's still a massive jerk, aphrodisiàcs, mild overuse of bloody/fruit symbolism, oràl (f. receiving), reader pushes naoya into a koi pond, gojo cameo (he wants to go home 😱)

word count ⋆ ★ 9k a/n ⋆ ★ i watched my lady jane 😭 could be a part two to this, or series of husband!naoya but idk...🤷‍♂️

"Stop fidgeting. You look like you're about to bolt any second," Naoya mutters, his voice low, biting through clenched teeth. Sharp, amber-glazed eyes slide sideways to lock onto you, dark brows pulled together in irritation. He's still got that plastic smile in place for the elders, a façade of civility that's only skin deep.

You meet his gaze with a smile that could cut glass, all sweet and syrupy, the kind of smile a bride's supposed to wear. Serene, demure, perfect. But you know better, and so does Naoya Zenin.

Oh, how I wish I could just walk right out of here, you think, lips curling just a fraction. You can barely keep the sneer from slipping through. "Well, I'm looking for the nearest exit," you murmur, barely above a whisper, voice as sweet as honey, "All I can smell is that stupid cologne of yours, and it's making me sick. Did you seriously bathe in it, or something?"

You can see the flush violently flash over peach-toned skin, first his cheeks, and then the tips of ears. Naoya's fingers twitch, hidden beneath the voluminous green sleeves of his haori, betraying his irritations. You can tell he's just dying to throttle you right about now.

"No wonder your clan sold you off like a broodmare," he hisses, venom dripping from his words, sickly sweet with malice, "I bet they couldn't wait to get rid of you."

You heroically bite back the urge to stab him with something sharp. You know it would have been so easy, to have a blade hidden in the folds of your robes. God, it would feel so good to shove it right between his ribs.

Instead, you take a delicate step forwards, sandals clicking softly on the polished floor. The attendants bustle behind you, their soft paces blending with the thick air that's rich with incense, pine, and the sweet smell of roasted chestnuts.

"How sad that Naobito Zenin had to buy a wife for his youngest son. Desperation really doesn't suit you, Naoya," you keep your tone placid and amiable, "Though, let's be honest, most things don't really look good on you."

You can feel Naoya bristle next to you, the faintest tremour in his posture. It feels nice to have struck a clean crack through his iron-clad composure. Victory tastes so sweet.

Without missing a beat, Naoya slides his hand over yours, the picture of practiced, marital tenderness as the two of you approach the threshold of the feast hall. All eyes are on you now, the guests straightening in anticipation. But the slender pads of his fingers are pinching at the flesh of forearm, sharp enough that they would be leaving an impression.

You wrinkle your nose, fighting the urge to wince. His grip is painful, and even though you want to pull away, you're not giving the moron the satisfaction of hearing you gasp.

"Yes," Naoya murmurs, too charming to be sincere, his voice dripping with false affection, "And how sad that out of all the mouthy, insufferable wenches in the world, I got saddled with you."

"Well, someone's mad," you sigh melodramatically, lowering yourself onto the cushions at the head of the table, folding your legs beneath your copious layers of silk, "Stay mad. And ugly."

Your new husband scoffs, sinking beside you, as his long limbs stretch out with lazy grace before crossing them. He looks far too comfortable for your liking. You wish someone had scattered tack needles under him, just to watch him yelp.

You watch quizzically as Naoya reaches across the low table, drawing a slice of pickled radish from the porcelain bowl. You watch, blinking, curious even as well-manicured nails balance the slide between elegant fingers.

He just flings it at you. The sodden radish hits you square in the forehead, the cold and wet slice dropping into your lap with an unsatisfying plop!

Bitch.

See, you already had been having an awful day. The kind that dragged you through the mud and left you feeling as though you had been drowned in your own perspiration.

Trudging through the gates of the Zenin estate, as the sweltering summer heat drowned you in sticky humidity. The estate was sprawling, its grandeur suffocating — all sharp angles, and lacquered panels of wood. Meticulous gardens designed less for beauty, rather for flexing obscene amounts of wealth.

The Zenins did not lack for wealth, that was for certain. But taste? Subtlety? Humility? Those were luxuries that they couldn't seem to afford. Whoever said money couldn't buy class had clearly been familiar with the big three clans of the jujutsu world.

It wasn't just the heat. It wasn't just the estate. It was all this, from this stupid contract to the commitment, to your life here. Your new home.

The summer heat clung to you, heavy and wet, like a damp cloth draped over your shoulders, sapping any energy you had left.

Eventually, you'd given up entirely on the elegant cushions and carved chairs of your new quarters, opting to morosely plant yourself cross-legged on the cool, polished floor. It wasn't graceful, but at least it was comfortable.

Attendants fluttered around you like busy little bees, arms laden with swathes of silk and intricate jewellery in shades of forest green. They moved in perfect sync, as though their every motion was rehearsed for the new bride. And you, well, you were supposed to sit still, look pretty, and wait for whatever nonsense came next.

But fuck that. Proper propriety be damned. The heat had you feeling too raw, too suffocated. So, you had been stripped away from the layers of heavy silk and ceremonial robes. Left in nothing but a thin, creamy-white cotton yukata. It hung loosely from your frame, clinging to your skin in the oppressive humidity, beads of sweat gathering at the back of your neck.

And just as you had settled into the most brief, fragile sense of peace, the soft groan of a sliding door shattered it all. A servant stepped inside, shoulders stiff as their eyes fell upon you. As though they could sense your sour mood.

"He will see you now," the servant said, eyes lowered, voice tight, "In the gardens."

He. Naoya Zenin. Your soon-to-be husband, for the evening's grand spectacle and festivities.

A pit began to twist uncomfortably in your stomach. You had never even met this man. Hell, you didn't even know what he sounded like, nor what he looked like up close, what kind of man he really was.

Everything about this arrangement had been handled by clan elders, who were more concerned with keeping up appearances than with any personal connection. Their mouths were always full of flowery promises, and backhanded compliments, none of which did anything to ease the sinking feeling that made a home in your gut.

The reviews on Naoya Zenin though? Those were more consistent than the elders' pleasantries.

Arrogant? Check. Irritating? Beyond measure. A man with a superiority complex the size of the country? Absolutely, what a shock. Naoya Zenin was the youngest son of one of the wealthiest clan heads in Japan, so entitlement practically ran through his veins as though it were his birthright.

The one thing everyone seemed to agree on, though? The man was handsome, fine-featured. Of course, they'd say that to placate you, as though a pretty face could somehow excuse all the other bullshit. But you weren't quite in the market for a glorified Adonis as a trophy husband.

With a resigned sigh, you trudged forward. Each step felt heavier than the last, the sound of your sandals echoing on the winding stone path that stretched out before you. You tried to ignore the fatigue that settled in your bones, the faint feeling akin to that of a medieval monk walking towards his doom.

Your first impression of Naoya Zenin? You didn't like his voice.

"Weren't you meant to be here an hour ago?" He's calling, tone smooth and melodic. But there's a languid air about it, and whiny. You don't know nor understand why, but it makes your skin crawl.

You narrow your eyes at the back of his figure, perched lazily on a rock, legs swinging carelessly over the edge. Naoya's broad back is turned to you, gaze fixed on the iridescent koi gliding lazily through the pond beneath him. He hadn't even bothered to look at you yet.

First impressions were everything, so you did your damn best to hold back from snapping, "My apologies. There was a...delay," you bite out, your fingers tugging impatiently to tighten the sash of the thin robe around your waist.

You had half a mind to just turn around and leave, but no, it just wasn't in your lucky cards. Not when your family had practically signed you away to the Zenin clan, forevermore and all that nonsense.

Naoya lets out an exaggerated sigh, all long and drawn-out, as though your presence is enough to inconvenience him. His head tilts lazily, turning just enough to throw a half-lidded, uninterested stare in your direction.

"Well? Don't just stand there. I'm not going to bite."

The restraint it took to not roll your eyes could have won you sainthood. Still, you refrained. Barely. You hoped your expression conveyed what you really wanted to say. I am mentally chasing you around with a big stick and a hornet of wasps, but I'm refraining because I'm polite and I was raised right.

Reluctantly, you step forward, just as the wind picks up while you move. Sweeping the light cotton fabric around your legs in a way that made you wish for anything but these damp robes. You certainly don't miss at how Naoya's golden eyes widen in mild interest, tracing every curve of your figure. Warmth flushing down the back of your neck, and not just from summer's golden glare.

But then, your betrothed scowls, "Too good for the Zenin robes, are you?"

You cross your arms over your torso, the motion defensive. Naoya's gaze suddenly drops again to the pushed swell of your chest, lingering far too long.

"It's hot."

Naoya suddenly shrugs, all primped arrogance in his charcoal-gray and forest-green robes, like some ashen leaf springing obstinately out of cold winter ground. "Whatever. You seem adequate, I suppose," he flicks a hand dismissively, "I don't care for this attitude of yours, but you'll do for everything else."

"I'll do?" Your voice pitches an octave higher, incredulous, "What the hell does that mean?"

Naoya begins counting on long, slender fingers. As though he's sizing you up, checking boxes, "What do you think I mean? Just the usual requirements for a wife. Pleasing to the eye, which you are, I'll admit. But it's much less pleasant when you aren't smiling."

You spot a loose stone skittering on the mossy earth. You could absolutely brain him with that, right here. Right now.

But the man doesn't let up, "And of course, childbearing hips." He's waving a dismissing hand, "Well, clearly, I can see you have those. Tch', don't make that face. And a bit of wit for conversation — I refuse to marry an empty airhead. I mean, can you imagine?" Naoya's laughter is sharp, all glossy red lips over sharp fangs, "Docile, obviously. I think that might need some work, but — hey!"

Before you could think better of it, your hands are on him. Pushing, shoving, your frustration boiling over as your palms meet the flat, toned planes of his chest. The satisfaction of sending him tumbling back, of stupid, pretty golden eyes going wide as he flails, arms caught in the air. Priceless.

And then, with a splash! He disappears into the pond, the koi scattering like flashes of colour. Your betrothed surfaces slowly with a snarl, water dripping from his golden head of hair, plastering it flat. A piece of moss hangs awkwardly to Naoya's template as you stand over him, chest heaving.

"Harebrained! Idiotic! Empty-headed! Shallow, pompous, arrogant!" The words tumble from you, reckless and from the depths of your sudden-found hatred, "Rocks for brains! No wonder no-one wants to marry you, with that stupid, backwards nonsense. And your voice, it's stupid! And, well, there's clearly a lightbulb off in that oversized skull of yours. Don't you ever, ever say things like that to me again!"

For a moment, Naoya says nothing. He's only staring up at you with his mouth pressed into a thin, flat line. You realise in that brief silence, that you betrothed bears an unsettling resemblance to an angry, speckled hyena.

Rather than offer a rebuttal, or heaven forbid, an apology, a sodden arm shoots forward, fast as a viper, clamping around your ankle. And the world tilts.

"Don't you dare! Wait — no!"

He yanks at you hard, and with a sharp yelp, you tumble straight into the water beside him. Cool, refreshing water slaps your face as you sputter, wiping thin algae from your cheek. The koi scatter, unimpressed by human antics.

You're gasping as the chill must surely be soaking through your thin yukata, giving...quite the view to the eyes of others. No wonder Naoya's suddenly smirking, and you can see rosy lips part to deliver some awful, sleazy comment.

"Not a bad sight, don't you — mmph!"

You've scooped as much water as your hands can manage, flinging it straight at his face — watching as Naoya Zenin splutters, pinning you with a glowering stare that could cut through glass.

You were still simmering hours later.

The sun had already shifted, sinking deeper into the afternoon, but the humidity clung to the air like a thick and suffocating blanket. You were scowling at absolutely nothing, letting the maids drape you in layers of deep, emerald silk that shone like fresh leaves after the rain. Edges embroidered with delicate golden vines and flowers that twisted around your limbs.

You barely felt the soft hands of the maids as they pressed cool, rosewater-soaked pads to your cheeks and the crook of your neck. Idly wondering if they had plucked out every last remnant of pond water and scum that clung to your hair.

One of the older woman, with a sharp and matronly face, walked up to you, a platter balanced gently in her hands. At first, you didn't even register what she was offering, too preoccupied with nursing your own misery. But the food looked absolutely perfect, delicate rolls that had been sliced so neatly they could have come from an Imperial painting.

You raised an eyebrow, "Shouldn't I eat after the ceremony?"

The woman gave a knowing glance to the other maids, but then her gaze flicked back to you. Careful. "This will help with your appetite for the latter half of the ceremony," as though she were choosing each word precisely, "It is...custom. Master Zenin would also partake in this tradition. It will make things easier."

Easier, huh? You stare at the plate again, and not that you didn't appreciate it, but if they really wanted to settle you nerves — they could have offered you a rolled blunt. But sure. Why not?

With a little sigh of resignation, you popped one of the sweet rolls into your mouth. The flavour was fresh, like citrus. Something like yuzu, perhaps? There's a hint of honey, and an odd aftertaste that lingers at the back of your throat, a touch bitter. You narrow your eyes, for it is something like ginseng.

You take a second roll, letting the smooth cream slide along your tongue, as you click your teeth. Well, if it would calm you down enough to keep you from throwing Naoya Zenin off the temple stairs, then...sure. You'd eat the whole damn platter if it meant you would be able to fight the urge to punt bricks at him.

And so, this circles you back to the beginning your sordid tale. The rooms buzzing with voices, and clinking porcelain in celebration, but somehow, all you can focus on is the man sitting beside you.

Naoya's practically been ignoring everything on his plate, pushing food aside with passive disinterest. Meanwhile, you've been aching for a good meal, your hand moving to scoop another bite of soft, fragrant rice. The nobles and elders have been weaving their way around, painted with polite and practiced smile — an endless cycle of verdant-draped Zenins, crimson-robed Kamos, and more clans all looking to suck up to Naobito Zenin.

There's another man, swathed in a vibrant, dark blue. You watch as Naoya stiffens as the white-haired man doesn't bow, just shuffles forward. As though his presence is more of a courtesy rather than a display of genuine well-wishes.

"Gojo," your husband is muttering, petulant all of a sudden.

The white-haired man grunts, blindfold wrapped around the upper half of his face, "Zenin." You swear you can feel his eyes on you, and there's something unnerving about the way he moves through the room, as though he can see much and more, without nary a glance.

So, that was Gojo Satoru.

You feel someone tug at your sleeves, and Naoya's golden eyes are still fixed on Gojo's broad back with a sharp, defensive gaze, "Stop looking. It looks stupid as fuck. And he'll still see."

You blink, wrenching your arm away from his cold grasp, "How? He's got that —," you gesture to your eyes, "That thing on."

Naoya scowls, fangs poking underneath curled lips, "Trust me. He can see better than anyone here."

"Is that why you're scared of him, or something?"

Naoya's jaw tightens, and he reaches for a platter of fruit, a pomegranate globe falling into the palm of his hand, "I am not. Tch', watch your words."

"Or what? You'll push me into the koi pond?" You snipe, watching him, fascinated despite yourself. His hands are elegant, precise, even. Tearing into the fruit with a casual brutality that makes something flicker oddly deep in your chest.

The juice, rich and ruby red, drips lazily down his fingers, following the slope of his knuckles. Staining the fine silk of his sleeves in a losing fight. As though the fruit had been desperate to remain whole before Naoya split it.

How strikingly brutal to witness. There's something almost obscene about the mess he makes, how the juice is pooling thinly on the silk. How the sweetness of the fruit is ruined by the way it's overpowered.

You think your new husband is the kind of man who would see a dangerous sort of beauty in the way he wrecks things.

But Naoya has surely noticed your stare. The corner of his rose-teak mouth twitches as he looks up from his conquest, fingers still dripping with thin crimson.

"Something wrong, wife?" He's asking, voice slick with amusement. You faintly wonder why there's a low buzz in your ears.

The question is sharp-toned, but there's something underneath his smooth voice that almost dares you to continue watching. As if he's aware of the effect of proxy brutality. You want to scowl, to look away, to prove that you aren't transfixed by the bleeding mess of an awful man.

"Nothing at all," you reply, and voice is colder than you'd intended — all to mask the faint trace of fascination that lingers in your tone.

Naoya glowers at you, lazily lifting his hand to capture the blood-red streak with the tip of his tongue. The faintest trace of wine marking the curve of his jaw. What an oddly intimate gesture, one that shouldn't be nearly as captivating as it is.

With a casual flick, he's breaking off a piece of the pomegranates flesh. White and succulent, with the little arils clinging to the flesh like jewels.

"Be a good wife, and open your mouth."

You glance down at the fruit in his hand, irritation flickering at the back of your throat. Licking acidic flames in your chest, "I'm not hungry anymore."

Naoya doesn't even bat an eye, his gaze already bored as he leans back, unimpressed by your resistance. Infuriatingly arrogant in his manner, "Don't want people thinkin' there's something wrong with my bride. Go on, open."

With a sharp, deliberate sigh, you part your lips. Heat suddenly coiling tight sinews around your hips. Eyes locked onto his hazy, copper gaze with the slightest flicker of defiance.

Naoya tips the arils into your mouth, and you take the opportunity to nip at his fingers, pointed and sharp. Just enough to make him jerk back in surprise. His eyes narrow, and for a moment, you see conflicted disgust flash across his face.

But the taste, the sweet and tangy burst of juice on your tongue, it catches you entirely off guard. It's blooming across your senses, like the most unexpected pleasure. The tartness of the fruit lingering longer than you'd anticipate. Despite yourself, you almost lean into it.

Naoya's expression tightens as he wipes his hand on the edge of his robes, so irritated. But a flicker of something darker passes across his features. Whether it's annoyance, or loathing, or something else, you cannot tell.

"Better now?" Naoya mutters, voice thick with irritation as though you'd personally dragged him through a field of thorns.

"All thanks to you," you reply, sardonic sugar snapping through your teeth. Wiping the corner of your mouth with a lazy swipe of your thumb, smearing away the fruit's crimson stain.

Naoya's grumbling something under his breath about summoning Ten Shadows to whisk him out of this ridiculous wedding feast. Something far more sharp and acerbic follows, but it's not able to cut through your growing haze.

You're about to respond when his hand — warm, and rough, replaces your own. Thumb pressing against your lower lip with a firm, almost possessive and angry drag. Wiping away the sticky remnants of the juice.

Without thinking, or without fully understanding why, you let your tongue dart forward, brushing the pad of his thumb. A slow, deliberate gaze. Teeth follow, with dull pressure, as you pull the digit just a little further into your mouth.

You can feel the shift almost immediately.

Naoya goes still, the barest hitch of breath betraying him before he yanks his head back like you'd scalded him. But not before you catch the faintest tremour in his grip, or the way his sharp eyes darken. His neck flushes, a telltale searing burst of heat creeping up beneath the golden fall of his hair.

"They give you something before the ceremony?" His tone is off, almost accusing, as he's clearing his throat. Glowering at you, as if you're to blame for the crack in his insurmountable arrogance.

You shrug, fingers brushing the rim of your shallow cup. Letting cool water trickle down your suddenly parched throat, "Yeah. Something 'bout relaxing me. Or making things easier." You frown, a little breathless, wondering why heat coils in your chest, and prickles at the nape of your neck, "It didn't do anything at the time though."

Naoya stares at you for a beat too long, his teeth catching his lower lip. Worrying the plush, pink flesh — dragging a thin, cold hand through flaxen hair, rifling pale green roots.

And then, your new husband's scoffing, "Same here. Not that I need help performing there." His gaze is sweeping over you again, slow and deliberate. His eyes trace the curve of your mouth, the swan-slope of your throat. The heat of his amber eyes make your skin prickle, tugging at something just beneath the surface.

"I think you'll make it easy enough."

Your pulse kicks against your ribs. Eyes snapping to him, ignoring the dull throb low in your groin, and how each breath of air seems so much sweeter and heavier, "Make what easy?"

Naoya's expression wavers, just for a second — enough to give you a glimpse of his own faltering composure. As though he's genuinely fearing that you're that clueless, cocking a dark brow with an edge of incredulity.

"You don't think that platform's there for show, do you?" He's knocking his head back towards the dais behind the two of you. The plush, emerald cushions scattered over velvet drapes that pool at the sides. Ornate and so uncomfortably obvious for all those who have eyes.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Naoya's metallic eyes glint with triumph, watching the realisation dawn on your features like it's the best entertainment he's had all evening. His lips curling into something that's more of a lion's grin, rather than a smile, "You're not that stupid, are you?"

"I'm not!" You snap, "I just didn't think — I didn't realise, it was going to be...there." You're jabbing a jewel encrusted finger at the platform, not caring which fussy elder sees.

Naoya's grin sharpens, teeth flashing with unrestrained, wolfish amusement. Jerking his chin towards the dias, "Yes. Right there. What'd you think? Some privacy, or maybe, a little mood lighting?

Your scowl hardens like stone, "Well, no. But —"

Your husband sarcastically interrupts you, chopping the air with one hand, "No, no. You're right. Why didn't we think about setting the mood? Lanterns, maybe? Candles, or how about a live string quartet for m'wife just because she said so?"

Your glower deepens, a slow burn crawling beneath your skin. You forgo the water this time, opting instead for the nearest cup of sake. The burn of it sears your throat, a welcome distraction.

"You'd think people would drop this kinda' thing by now," you mutter, swallowing hard as the air seems so much warmer, "It's the 21st century, for god's sake."

Naoya shrugs, the silk of his robes shifting as you can watch a thin drop of perspiration roll into the crook of his neck — you wonder if he's just as affected as you are right now. Wondering who will crack first. "I don't mind watching. Or being watched."

The sake nearly comes back up, "You're obscene."

A soft hum, dark and amused, slips from his throat. Then a finger, his finger, hooks beneath the curve of your jaw. Titling your head towards him with a hardened pressure that feels surprisingly gentle in this hazy state.

"M'wife wants me to take them out instead?" Naoya's voice is a lazy drawl, but there's a dangerous gleam in his amber-shard eyes. Thumb skimming lower, tracing the delicate dip of your collarbone as a shiver prickles down your spine, "Force them all away so I get ya' all to m'self?"

You swallow hard, breath hitching as his hand lingers, "Yeah. Because I'm sure you could take on an entire room of sorcerers. Jus' so we could —"

The corners of Naoya's mouth twitch, his eyes dark with something almost hungry. And jeering, "Just say the word."

Your gaze flickers to the far corner of the room. Gojo Satoru sits there, arms folded across his opulent, oceanic yukata. The head of the Gojo clan looks thoroughly put-out, sandwiched between two elderly women that gossip into his ears. His white hair gleams under the warm lanterns, and you're certain that Six Eyes can catch every word being passed through this room.

"No-one can land a hit on Master Gojo," you murmur, voice slow and syrupy. The heat in your blood feels unnatural, liquid fire curling beneath your skin, pooling low in your belly. Your head is swimming by now, heavy and light all at once.

And there's Naoya's stupid, stupid cologne. Something dark, and wooden. Edged with a sharp spice, clouding your senses and tangling with the sweet, heady ache that builds in your chest. It's all too much, his nail dragging into the tender skin of your neck. Just over your jumping bulse.

The worst part? Your body betraying all rational thoughts, leaning into your husband. To find yourself closer to this man that you do not like. Entitled. Arrogant. The heir to the Zenin clan is fuckin' awful.

"Mhm, perhaps they can all watch then. Stay as I fuck my wife, yeah?" Naoya says, low and quiet. But there's no softness to it, only possession. A claim that crackles at you, sends you hurtling towards no good end.

"You know I don't like you, right?" You breathe, marvelling at how little it would take to close this distance, with nary a care for whose eyes have turned to you now.

A huff of laughter escapes your husband, warm and bitter, "I don't quite like you either." His hands have found the edges of your robes, teasing the silken fabric, and for a moment, Naoya Zenin looks almost thoughtful. Except that priggish smirk never quite leaves his face. His peach-tinged skin flushes darker, and his glassy eyes flicker, "But they wanted a show, right? Wanna' give it to them?"

You don't even wait to consider. Ignoring the protests of the elders, who jump and claim that these things have to be done in all due time, with proper ceremony.

The kiss is fast, furious. Lips crashing into his before the words have fully left his mouth. You taste rich and tangy fruit on his tongue, and it's both maddening, and so sweet, mixing with the sake that's drenched your mouth.

Naoya's faint sound of surprise, the soft grunt as he sinks into the kiss? Hiking a toned arm around your waist to pull you closer as the audience gasps? That's a victory.

You drag your mouth back, letting clingy and cloying strands of slick linger in between your lips. You've been pulled right onto your husband's lap, perched on his emerald, jewel-toned haori. Taking in the sight of Naoya briefly speechless, warm and angrily flushed.

"Not playin' fair," Naoya seethes, "K-know your place, wife."

But you're too far gone now to entertain his bullshit, pawing at the edges of his robes. Swivelling your hips down so you can have some pressure applied where you need it most. Right over there, a thick and solid curve that has the both of you gasping, "M' so, hah, feelin' so faint."

Naoya groans, and curls his fingers over the nape of your neck, forcing you to look down at him from your perched position, "L-listen to me all proper, an' I can fix that."

"Enough!" A sharp voice cuts through the heat between you, splintering like glass shattering on stone. You blink, dazed as dew begins to gather on your lashes, just in time to see a twitching elder standing at the edge of the room, face blotchy red beneath a crown of thinning white hair. He's shaking a bony finger in your direction, pale robes swishing, "Enough of this depravity!"

"There are proper proceedings to this ceremony, to this consummation." His voice is rising, veins straining in his neck as the room is silent, "Not whatever this is!" Waving his hands now, as though his gestures are enough to warrant purification.

You try to muster some level of embarrassment, some shame as the eyes of the room fall on the two of you. But all you feel is a thick ache and thrum of heat still simmering, pulse skipping in your throat. Your lips tingle from where they touched Naoya's, tasting of sake and sugar, and —

Oh. His lips. You glance at your husband, whose mouth is still glossy and swollen from your kiss.

Naoya's barely turned his head towards the outburst. He's already running his hands down your robes, doing his utter best to undo whatever he can. To lave sharp fangs over skin, and leave blooming marks. He's languid, half-lidded, with a wicked spark of amusement dancing in his eyes.

He looks thoroughly unbothered, tongue flicking lazily over his lower lip, "Proper proceedings?" Naoya drawls, the corner of his mouth tilting into a smirk that makes you desperate to catch it, "Isn't a little late for that? Hah, I mean, ya' spiked m'wife and I. How are y'not shocked when she's panting over me like a bitch in heat?"

The elder turns a deeper shade of red, spluttering as he gestures to the raised dais and neatly arranged cushions. You press your lips together to hold back a thin whine. Naoya, having pawed at your ceremonial robes enough, has been sinking teeth over the swell of your breast, making you gasp.

"The platform! The customs and —"

There's a crowd of eyes on you. The elders, the clan heads, the nobles, the sorcerers. All of them, scattered through the room, lingering like ghosts. Some, you think, have left for sanctity. You're not sure when, your mind is still a haze of warmth, and confusion, and lust. Too caught up in the way that Naoya's fingers brush and dig into your waist.

But there are others still here. Stubborn, and not powerful enough to grant themselves leave, and so, they cannot claim the right to exit. You're aware of silent whispers, of the way they lean in and keel over. Faces pinched in curiosity, discomfort, as though you're a prized creature in a zoo that they both hesitate and marvel to look upon.

With no choice but to watch the Zenin heir with his hand on your waist, his new bride of the clan. The future madam that they're now forced to acknowledge.

"N-Naoya," you mumble, tearing your nails into the fine haori. Some desperate hope to expose searing skin to the air, already sweltering in the summer heat, "Can't we jus' -"

Your husbands tuts, pressing a firm finger to your candied lips, "Shh! Gotta' make sure m'silly wife knows how to speak up. So everyone can hear, try again." He sounds almost pained, and you wonder how Naoya Zenin hasn't absolutely lost his mind by now. For you feel as though gauze has been draped over you, casting a veil over your senses.

You hear someone mutter disdainful murmurs, something about a spoiled Zenin brat indulging his good-for-nothin' wife.

You can see the flash of anger, and the promise of blood cross Naoya's face, so you seek to roll your hips against his once more, "Jus' thinkin', y'know," you gasp against his slack jaw, "Why don't we jus' move to the platform? I mean, they wanna see, right?"

Naoya's nodding, sandy hair falling into his eyes, "Hah, yeah. That's right. Wanted a show, and that's what we said we've give, jus' gotta hope you can keep up."

He's sweeping you up, hand tight around your wrist as he pulls you over in a brief stumble, pushing you down over the dais. Over green, plush sheets as he splays you out, "Better like this? Tsk, 'ts for me to decide, not you, wifey. And 'm thinking, I like this view so much more."

You're struck by the sight of Naoya Zenin, and it hits you like a sudden wave. Sharp, and bitter, and so impossible to ignore. It's that feeling again, the way you had stomached the creamy rolls on the platter. The same kind of cloying tang that hits the back of your throat when you swallow too fast. The ginseng, and sweet citrus.

His eyes are still glassy, pupils unfocused, and it's the shimmer of tears clinging to the dark, long lashes framing his eyes that make you pause. Crystalline, fragile. But he's already ahead of you, moving faster than you can think, swatting your hand away with forceful grace, pressing his mouth to the corner of yours.

"You jus' gonna keep lookin' at me?" You murmur, reeling from the searing heat of his mouth. Taking in the sight of mussed golden hair, green roots entirely out of place. The divot of creamy, tanned skin from where his robes have loosened.

Naoya blinks, shaking his head as if he's trying to clear it, "You gotta' tell me where you wan' it first." Lips parting, as if he's suddenly not sure what to say to you, like he's drinking in the sight of you and he can't stop.

He's patting a hand to your chest, cupping the swell in your robes, "I don't know if you wan' me here," and then, he's dragging a hand lower still, hand folded over the thick robes that cover your thighs, "Or, here. Probably got ya' weepin' like a poor, little slut down there."

You scowl back at him, "Watch it, 'm not a slut."

Naoya grins, all wolfish canines, "Wasn't talkin' about ya'. Was talkin' about her." Giving you a loving pat in between your legs, "Thinkin' if I pushed these stupid robes right up, everyone could see you drip right onto my waiting hand."

You gasp, pushing your hands onto his broad chest, groaning as his fingers trail further down. Pulling the silk of your robes up further, so your thigh meets cool air, "Can I request a-anything, then?"

Naoya hums, lips pursing as his brow quirks, mocking even, "Wasn't planning on givin' in to ya' so easily, but just this once. Only 'cause it's our wedding night, don't you think?"

"Wan' your mouth."

You see a flash of something pass over Naoya's face. As though he's warring with himself, some obstinate spirit telling him otherwise, but he shakes his head, almost amused, "Y'know, I should have sent ya' back the minute you pushed me into tha' stupid pool. Shoulda' demanded another one. A wife that isn't so mouthy."

He's chuckling now, splaying your thighs further apart with rough hands, an odd sort of deference painting his fine features, "And now look at what you've got me doin', hey?"

Naoya's tutting at you, shaking his head in faux disappointment when you whine in embarrassment, "This is what you wanted, right? For me to show e-everyone jus' how wet you are. I mean, hah, look at this."

Pinning the thickest part of your silken robes over your abdomen, so your legs were bare, parted so he could slot in-between. Amber eyes almost bewildered as he took in the deep, swollen outline of your glossy cunt underneath flimsy garments, "Sittin' there like this, the entire time?" Naoya whistles low, cold and cutting, "I mean, fuck, ya' can really see everything here."

"Shut u-up," you sputter, hearing your own pulse thrum in your ears, in-between your legs. You barely have a chance to take in syrupy air once more, for Naoya's hand is there, swift and firm, pressing over your mouth. Fingers cool against your skin, it's not harsh. But it's forceful enough to swallow your words, as his eyes light up with that familiar, mocking amusement.

"Careful now, wifey," he's grinning, looking far too pleased, "Ya' don't get to give me orders, 'm gonna be doing you a favour."

Naoya doesn't seem burdened by this, not at all. In fact, if anything, he looks downright pleased, like the sight of your weeping, drizzling cunt before his eyes is a golden opportunity that he intends to savour.

He's got an icy finger sliding over the waistband of your gauzy, flimsy undergarments, toying for a brief second. You can see it in the way his beastly fangs curl into a grin, like he's getting off on the scandal of it all. Of having everyone watch in quiet silence as he suddenly tugs. Hard.

The fabric splits with a squelching hiss, thick and sludgy, as you gasp, feeling the heat throbbing in your pussy swell as the cool air hits where you're most sensitive, "You ass, t-those weren't cheap."

Naoya rolls his eyes, amber disappearing into white, "So?" He's drawling, looking up at you from between your thighs, "What, you think I'm some broke bitch?" He's popping a single, long digit into his mouth. Having swiped a curious hand through your glistening folds, marvelling at the slick, translucent strands that followed him. Tongue flicking over the tip like he's savouring something, "Fuck, you're kinda' sweet. Heh, who woulda' thought?"

You open your mouth to protest, but he doesn't even give you the chance. Not even a mere second to form the words, for his hand is patting your cheek. Leaving something sticky and cool lingering on flushed, warm skin. Your own arousal glimmering in the lantern light, upon your skin, for all to see.

It's as if Naoya's humouring you, and it's almost affectionate. If not for the edge in his voice that makes you tighten your thighs around his shoulders, "Don't worry y'dumb, little head about it. Y'know, shit — almost lost a drop there, you know, you're the future Madam of this clan now, right? Anything you want, you'll get."

And he's giving you a look now — head tilted just so, almost tame. Like a promise wrapped in docility. Almost. If you didn't know of him more, if you weren't already simmering with tampered fury from your first meeting, earlier in the day, you may have been fooled. Might have fallen for the gentle downturn of his lashes, like ink pooling on creamy skin. The slow, deliberate way he puffs a small breath against your glossy cunt. Doing you a favour, indeed.

His grin is all teeth, unapologetically smug, as though he knows what you're thinking. Knows that he's destined to clash with you, to draw proverbial blood and blades whenever it amuses him, but he's got you right where he wants you now. Under him, and splayed wide.

Your waiting cunt pooling sweet juices over his wandering fingers — the sharp tip of Naoya's nose twitching before ducking and brushing through your glistening folds. A satisfied chuckle when you arch your spine, desperate for more friction.

"Not that patient, are ya'?" But you don't think you'd be wrong in assuming that Naoya can't hold out much longer, for the crack in his voice betrays him. That melodic, charming, insolent tone giving way to a deeper rasp, like granite grinding against the earth.

You don't know what comes over you, carding a hand through golden, soft locks of hair. Digging into pale green roots, "Think your audience is gettin' bored?"

Naoya almost, so very almost, purrs at your nails digging into his scalp. Pushing himself into your trembling cunt, letting his tongue paint a thin, long stripe right through your throbbing pussy. Reaching up right to your swollen clit, briefly flicking over it.

And now, Naoya is not a sentimental man. Fuck that, he's never been one for gushing, and roses and nauseating sweetness. But this may very well be the first time that he's ever understood what it means to be pussydrunk.

For he's shooting amber eyes up, to where your expression has twisted, almost blissful and idyllic compared to the frown that's been marring your face all day. He'd hate to say it, but he's almost content as the sweet moans that fall from your plush lips, over and over.

"T-that's good, hah, Naoya, 'm — s-so good," You're cracking an eye open to see your flaxen-haired husband snickering, enjoying how damn sensitive your puffy folds are to his ministrations. Only the mild, quiet shuffle of the elders harkens you to their presence, them bearing witness to the consummation.

"Yeahhh," Naoya drawls, angling one bare thigh so it sits over his shoulder, where his robes have slipped right off, "Good, huh?"

"S-surprisingly."

He pinches at your clit in retaliation, just lightly enough that it sends a jolting sensation through your quivering form, but not enough to bring sheer relief, "Watch your whoreish mouth, wife. Could jus' leave ya' here, high and dry." And Naoya's scowling, but despite himself, still pushing his pulsing tongue to the very apex of your core. The glossy, winking entrance where he meets little resistance from your waiting, gummy walls, "Could jus' leave ya' here, and have you rub one out yourself in front of everyone, so you can get off on your own."

You should be ashamed, flushed and embarrassed at how he's speaking to you. There's brief fantasies running through your mind, of strapping your husband down and taping his mouth so he can stop running it so crudely, but you file the thought away for now, arching your hips further into him. Dragging your sloppy, leaking cunt over his face — something he surprisingly welcomes.

Naoya, who's leaning deep enough in between your thighs for the golden strands of hair framing his forehead have been dampened by your arousal, a darker, sandy shade. Pouty lips covered in sweet, tangy sheen, and sticky from munching at your glossy folds.

"Bet they're all watching you," Naoya grins, with little warning as he slides a slender finger into your cunt, immediately curling it in search of some spot, "Bet they're wishing it was them in m'place. Tastin' you like this."

You can't help the involuntary clench of your walls at his words, and Naoya's eyes widen, lashes blown long enough to kiss his eyelids, "Mhm, you like that. But hey," your husband's pumping determined fingers in and out of your cunt, rummaging and massaging at sticky walls, "You're my wife now. Mine to fuck, they can't have what o-only a Zenin can have."

"Can y-you —" You're writhing now, legs spread even wider and you frankly don't care at this point who can see the light reflect your dripping cunt, "A bit f-faster, hah." Let them see, right?

Isn't that why they had you all dolled up, squirming in your seat during the feast so they could watch you fall so undone? And fuck, Naoya would probably slit the throat of another man who dared breathe what he saw this night, if not for your honour, but for his own ego.

"F-faster? Greedy, tch' and you said you w-weren't a pretty, little, slut!" Each word is punctuated with his fingers falling in a curved arc through the air, smacking down over your drooling pussy. Sending sloshes of slick spattering over his finger tips and the edges of his robes, "That's it. Jus' keep your hips like that."

"Heh, hope the lot of ya' are paying attention because she's p-pretty close right about now."

You don't even know who he's speaking to, or where his words are directed because it's an endless rotation for you now. Circling your hips over Naoya's nose, with him greedily lapping at your cunt, with a satisfied look in your eye that just screams of him planning to hold this over your head for at least six months.

You're practically soaking Naoya's smug, beautiful face, smearing translucent mirror-sheen over his chin, and he's pistoning clever, cruel fingers in and out of your tight heat. Messily toying with your throbbing clit, pulling at and under the hood until you're heaving for gasps of sweet air.

"B-bet you'd feel tighter around my cock, y'know that?" Naoya grunts, lips curling to suck around your clit, "Was plannin' to take ya' right here, but think 'm a bit greedy now, hah. Show's gonna be over soon for these cunts, but 's only jus' beginning for us, wouldn't you say, wife?"

You're certain that he must have left bruises at your hips now, right over your groin as he drags you impossibly close to himself, as though he's determined this public display will leave no question as to whether the heir to the Zenin clan can pleasure his wife to the point where you're practically trembling, and abandoning your loathing of the man, temporarily. Just to squirm as tears hang from the edges of your lashes, gleaming from the stimulation, "Wait, w-wait, 'm gonna, I think 'm gonna —"

There's a satisfied noise from Naoya, almost like one of relief, though you know he would be loathe to admit just how affected he is by your climax.

There's a shooting, fleeting sensation in your abdomen. Tremours of pleasure practically streaming and gushing out of you, as you see little else but stars and streaks across your vision, "S-so good, Naoya, fuck. Fuck! I think 'm still cumming, hah, oh my god."

You're hardly even aware of the gushing slick that sprays across Naoya's face and how briefly stunned he looks, and so utterly pleased with himself as you ride out your high. You certainly don't miss at how he almost doubles over, as if there's an equally tightening sensation in his groin as well, pleasurable just from the sight you spread bare for him.

The look on his face cuts sharp — triumphant, smug in a way that speaks of retribution. As though he's just scored the first point in a game that's only just begun.

Before you can so much blink, dazed from your orgasm as heat continues to throb between your thighs, Naoya's arm tightens around your waist. A quick, practiced motion that pulls you flush against him. He's grinning like a man who's already won, a faint and cooling flush now painting his features in some blissful afterglow.

But then, he kisses you. Rough, messy, sloppy even. His lips are hot and unrelenting against yours, a press of teeth and frustration that's more greedier than anything he's done so far. "There, that's it. Tastin' yourself, aren't you?" Naoya's murmuring, nipping at your lower lip.

His arms shift, and he's scooping you up effortlessly. Tilting your world for the second time that day. You're cradled sideways in a bridal hold, against the broad frame of his chest, as his fingers are splayed possessively over your still bare hips. The bastard doesn't even break a sweat.

"Put me down," You scowl at him, but the recent climax is still painting your breathy vocal cords, lacking the heat you had hoped for.

Naoya's golden eyes glitter with amusement, "Nah. We're jus' getting started, don't you think?"

You instinctively grip his robes for balance, and you can feel your husband's chest rumble with laughter, rich and infuriating, "I'm starting to think this whole hate game is a charade, or a ruse. You actually like this."

"I'm starting to think you want a concussion."

Naoya makes a faux-move to drop you, to have you pile to the floor in jittery limbs and crumpled silks, as you desperately cling to him tighter, "Mouthy woman. Can't stand that. Don't like you at all."

The elders, a cluster of now pale-faced men who look like they've just swallowed their own tongues, gape in stunned silence. Their eyes dart between you, rumbled and flushed — thoroughly compromised with the slick that still runs down your thighs. And the heir of the Zenin clan, whose lips are still moist, glistening faintly.

Your husband's tossing them a lazy, half-lidded gaze over his shoulder, "Well," he says, dragging the word slowly, "Like I said, show's over." His voice drips with mock reverence, "We're going."

"Where?" One of the elders, bold or perhaps just stupid, dares to croak, voice thin and trembling like dry parchment.

Naoya stops, just for a breath. His gaze pins the man, golden eyes cold and dangerously amused. "Where do ya' think?" Words like a blade, dripped in honey, "Our quarters, 'course."

He doesn't wait for a response, doesn't even glance back as he pushes past the screen door with you still cradled against his chest. His momentum sends it rattling against the frame, and the hushed, horrified whispers that follow are clearly music to his ears.

You glance up, your pulse a rapid thrum against your throat as you take in the faces of the nobles you had excused themselves earlier, milling outside. They shuffle uncomfortable, some pretending they have somewhere better to be. Others frozen in a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled disdain.

Gojo Satoru is still there too, leaning against a wooden fixture, his jaw tight, as though he's working through something unpleasant. Glowering and grumbling something about leaving Tokyo for this, about the Zenins having no class as usual, and you get the idea that unlike last time, his blindfolded gaze is sweeping anywhere but you.

You bite back a smile.

"But...but the consummation!" The elder follows through the doors, his voice thick with outrage, "How can we be sure — the ceremony, it requires —"

Naoya doesn't even let him finish. You can feel the smirk against your temple, pressing over the shell of your ear, "I did all this," he's splaying your robes aside, "With jus' my mouth. Think I can do even better with my cock. Don't worry," He drawls, "I'll make very sure it's all handled."

"I'm going home," Gojo Satoru loudly announces, to no-one in particular.

[soleilapproves]

You suspect that Simon might have a crush on you (much to your happiness). So you decide to harmlessly manipulate him into admitting it by asking him to set you up with one of his friends.

Note: fem!reader

main masterlist

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r/advice

u/throwaway123:

How do I (F) subtly find out if my friend (M33) likes me?

Replies:

u/sudsysoap: there’s no need to be subtle. ask him to sleep with you lmao [+50, -10]

u/pricetag: agree with u/sudsysoap, men will sleep with anything as long as it has a hole [+30, -20]

u/log1cal: ask him to set you up with his friends. I did that and now we have 2 kids and a third one on the way. That prank will work wonders [+100, -7]

You had a feeling that Simon liked you. It felt obvious. He would walk by the street on the sidewalk to protect you, brought you deadbolts for your mangy apartment that you only live in for the cheap rent, would buy you groceries when you were too tired to leave your bed, and of course, would be very patient with you when you’d be feeling irritated.

Okay, maybe, he just treated you like how a best friend should but that still wouldn’t explain why he’d come to your apartment, in your crime ridden neighborhood and cuddle with you right after deployment. Not even bothering to shower before laying himself down on you like a starfish.

“I just want to feel warm,” was his answer whenever you’d ask him why he did so.

You never complained though. Instead, you relished the feeling of his heavy and exhausted body against yours. Enjoying the almost territorial hold he had on you. Like most friendships, it was a symbiotic relationship.

You both never kept much from each other. Obviously there were many aspects of his job that you couldn’t ask about and you respected that.

However, you both had hidden feelings and neither of you wanted to put your cards on the table out of the fear of rejection.

You watched as the man scarfed down his Sunday breakfast- a sort of inside tradition where you’d both go to a cafe near your apartment and scarf down food. It always happened on the first Sunday after his return from deployment.

The words from that one Reddit comment lingered in your mind.

He felt your eyes on him from your end of the booth and placed his fork down, still in his grasp. “Somethin’ on my face?” his gruff voice asked. 

“No, I’m just wondering if they even fed you at all.”

He let out a sarcastic ‘ha’ and went back to eating. You were getting antsy to the point where you began to pick at your hash brown with your fork, the crisp golden patty crumbling with every poke.

You wanted to try the trick so bad.

But what if he doesn’t like you like that? What if he does end up setting you up with a man you aren’t interested in because you decided to be sly for a moment?

Fuck it. At least this would be the least explicit way.

“I’m so tired of being single,” you huffed as you leaned back into the leather cushioned booth. Simon did not give any sort of reaction. Instead he directed his attention to his coffee as he mixed it with some zero calorie sweetener.

“All the guys in this city are so weird. I’ve done everything to get a boyfriend,” you continued to complain. Simon sipped his beverage and looked through the menu again (probably for a second helping of sausages).

Still no reaction. Sometimes you wondered how you even became friends with him.

“Wait, I know.”

His demeanor changed as his blue eyes flit to your figure. “You should set me up with one of your military friends,” you said as you smiled like a scientist who had just made a great discovery in their field.

Simon beckoned you over with his hand. Confused, you slid towards his end of the booth. “What?”

He lightly knocked on the top of your head like it was a door. “Thank God,” he muttered out.

“What was that for?” You replaced his hand with yours on your head, checking to see if he was trying to remove any lint.

“Tryin’ to check if your skull was hollow.”

“Fuck you, Simon. All I did was ask for a favor.”

The man folded his arms, biceps begging to be let out of the confinement of his sleeves. Your heart couldn’t help but beat a little faster at the sight.

“Is it because I’m not pretty?”

“Where’d that even come from? I-“

“So you agree that I’m not pretty,” you imposed before huffing and turning away from him.

“Oh my—fuck, just listen to me.”

You open your mouth to say more but you decide to give your friend a break.

He cleared his throat and turned your shoulders towards him. Your skin burned when his calloused palms situated themselves on you. “First of all, you’re not ugly. You’re basically out of their league.” You never understood why he couldn’t just compliment you like a normal person.

“Second, you deserve someone who will actually give you all their time. Something my military friends can’t do. You’re not going to be a priority.”

You felt like shrinking in your seat. His reasoning was ambiguous. You couldn’t tell if he was denying your request because he didn’t want your heart broken or because he actually liked you.

“Oh, okay.” You looked away from him in embarrassment. So much for miracles.

“Besides—“

He then went on to replace the deconstructed hash brown on your plate with his non battered one.

“—you might find someone if you look hard enough.”

Your head perked up. Was the ever so candid Simon Riley hinting at something?

“What do you mean?”

“Go out with me.” No beating around the bush anymore.

“Very funny, Simon.”

“I’m not good at making jokes. I like you.”

Oh.

OH.

You made a mental note to thank that one Reddit comment later. Trying your best not to smile, you let out a deep a breath before speaking. “Truth be told, I like you too. I don’t just let any man barge into my house and lay with me.”

“You’d better not,” Simon said as he pulled you into his side and then pushed your head close to his with his hand behind your neck.

“Been waitin’ for you to admit that,” he said before leaving a deep kiss on your mouth.

[velarisdusk]

No Room for Error

Azriel x Reader

word count: 1.5k content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, az does not pull out (as is typical with my fics lmao), hate sex, explicit language ] summary: Your heated argument with Azriel during a mission turns into an unexpected, yet not first-time, encounter in a broom closet. author's note: AZ AND Y/N SPIES AZ AND Y/N SPIES AAAAAA i've been wanting to write this one for a while, i'm happy it's finally in existence somewhere outside of my brain and writing drive lol ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

“You really couldn’t wait to make your move, could you?” you snap, frustration leaking into your voice as you shift again, the small space feeling tighter by the second. “We’ve been plotting this mission for months, Azriel.”

“I’m getting the job done, aren’t I?” His tone is dismissive, the usual bite to it harsher. “Maybe if you focused less on talking and more on following orders, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Following orders?” You scoff, pressing back against him involuntarily, even though you’re not sure if you want more space or less. “Maybe you’d actually listen to me if you stopped thinking you know everything.”

“I do know everything,” he growls in your ear, a dark edge to his words that makes something inside you tighten. “But you’re too busy trying to prove me wrong to realize it.”

“I’m not trying to prove you wrong,” you retort, voice sharp as you shift against him again. “You’re just impossible.”

His breath huffs against your skin. “And yet, here we are,” he murmurs, tone low, barely hiding the edge of amusement. “You’re not exactly walking away.”

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, shifting uncomfortably in the cramped space. “I should’ve completed twice as many missions as you by now. This was supposed to be my assignment, not yours.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Azriel snaps, his voice tight with annoyance, the tension between you both palpable. “Maybe if you didn’t rush into things all the time, you’d actually finish your missions instead of barely scraping by.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job,” you retort, clenching your teeth as the walls feel like they’re closing in. “I’m just fine without your help, Shadowsinger.” You spit out the title like it’s venom, though the words feel hollow as soon as they leave your mouth. The competition between you two was fierce—always had been.

“It’s not about help,” Azriel mutters, shifting just enough that you feel his presence even closer. “It’s about keeping up. You always think you can do everything on your own, but in the end, you just screw it up. It’s like you're trying to outdo me for the sake of it.”

“Outdo you?” You laugh bitterly, barely able to move without pressing into him. “I’ve been outdoing you for months, Azriel. You’re just too arrogant to see it.”

His laugh is low and dark. “If you were outdoing me, we wouldn’t be stuck in this closet right now, would we?”

“Oh, you think this is my fault?” You almost scoff, your words dripping with irritation, but the heat between you is undeniable now, thick with more than just frustration. “Maybe if you didn’t play the lone wolf every damn time, we wouldn’t be here.”

“I didn’t play ‘lone wolf,’” he growls. “You’re just too proud to accept I’m better at this than you.”

Your hand moves, fumbling to adjust—or maybe to steady yourself—and the shift in position has Azriel’s breath catching. The sound sends a rush of heat through you, though you’re still unwilling to admit it aloud.

“Better than me?” you ask, voice dropping dangerously low, your lips curling into a sharp, humorless smile. “That’s rich, coming from someone who’s been riding my coattails for months. Admit it, Azriel, you can’t stand that I’m winning.”

His hand tightens at your waist, and his next words are spoken with deliberate, biting calm. “Winning? You’re delusional. You’ve never beaten me, and you never will.”

Your lips part for another retort, but the words die on your tongue, the sound morphing into a moan as he moves. The shift in position presses him against you in a way that makes your breath hitch, his body hitting that spot deep inside you.

A faint sound of footsteps outside the closet snaps you back to reality. You barely have time to register it before Azriel’s hand is covering your mouth, his fingers warm and firm against your lips, stifling any sound you might make. His other hand grips your hip harder, pulling you even closer as he continues to thrust into you, each movement making you feel him deeper, the rhythm brutal and unforgiving.

“Do you want them to hear you?” he growls low in your ear, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “Want to fuck up the mission? Want to give us away?” His voice is tight with barely-contained pleasure, his breath hot against your neck. “You better keep quiet, sweetheart. We can’t afford mistakes.”

You can feel the cold leather of your pants bunched up at your thighs, the heat of his body pressing against you, the sensation of him pushing against you with every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure that make it even harder to keep silent. Your body trembles beneath him, every instinct screaming for release, but the fear of getting caught only makes the tension sharper. 

A desperate whine escapes from your throat, muffled by his hand, and you feel him pause. The sound of footsteps somewhere outside the closet slows, a beat of silence hanging heavy in the air. His breath hitches slightly, but his grip moves up to your waist, and then, in one fluid motion, he presses his hips harder against you.

“Am I going to have to tell Rhys that you cost us months of work?” His words are a dark tease, but the edge of warning lingers in his voice. He pulls back, only to thrust forward again, his hips grinding into yours with slow, powerful force, each movement designed to make you feel every inch of him, to make sure you can’t forget for a second what’s happening. “Think about that, sweetheart. All of this… for nothing.”

Your breath catches as he shifts again, his rhythm turning into something deeper, more intense. The tight space only heightens the feeling of him—every inch of his body pressed against yours, making it impossible to escape the raw heat between you. He grinds into you again, his control slipping as the pressure mounts, but his voice stays dangerously low.

The footsteps outside fade, growing softer as they move away from the door. Azriel’s grip loosens slightly, and he pulls his hand from your mouth, his breath ragged against your skin. You can’t hold back anymore. 

“Please, Azriel, don’t stop, I need it,” you whine, the words slipping out before you can stop them, desperate for more. 

His response is immediate, cold, and calculating. “You don’t need anything. You want it.” His tone is firm, void of any tenderness. “You always want more, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, he shifts again, thrusting into you with a deep, controlled force that makes your body seize in response. His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips, using the grip to pull you onto him again and again.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, voice low but commanding, “do you always beg like this? Is this how you get Rhys to give you assignments I’m the obvious choice for? Or am I the only one who gets to see this side of you?”

Your heart races, his words swallowing you whole. But you’re beyond caring now, beyond anything but the feeling of him inside you. His hips grind into you with a brutal, possessive rhythm, and you can’t help but let out a moan, your back arching as you press against the wall. You can feel the pressure building, every part of you straining for release, but his control is absolute, keeping you on the edge, making you ache with every moment. You know you can’t hold back much longer. 

With a final, deep thrust, he shudders, his body tightening as he finishes inside you. His breath is heavy, ragged against your neck, and he pauses, just for a moment, as if to savor the feeling of you beneath him. 

Azriel pulls out slowly, his movements deliberate, and you feel a brief emptiness where he was. Without a word, he tucks himself back into his pants with calm efficiency, as if there were nothing out of the ordinary. 

“Pull your pants up,” he says, his tone cool, detached. There’s no hint of the intensity from moments ago, as if he can shut it off in an instant. 

You blink, the haze of pleasure clouding your mind as you slowly process his words. What? You’re still trying to make sense of everything when he pulls back as far as the cramped broom closet allows, glancing at you with that unreadable expression. 

“We’ve got shit to do,” he shrugs, voice colder now, businesslike. “Maybe I’ll stop by your room tonight.” There’s a dangerous flicker in his eyes as he says it, but it’s gone before you can even react. 

He opens the closet door and steps out, holding a hand out to you. You hesitate for a moment, still reeling, but you take his hand, letting him pull you back out into the hall.