#like it’s beyond even wanting to cry at this point

[mind-intheclouds342]

Do it for them - Co-captain reader x Curly

Previous - Part 9 - Next

You banged on the door of the room where that man was locked up, waking him up abruptly.

"Let's talk"

Jimmy: "I thought visiting hours were over."

He complained, turning around to turn his back to the door.

"Don't try to be funny with me, Jimmy. What the hell did we do to deserve so much hate from you?"

Jimmy: "Don't play innocent, you know very well what you did!"

"Honestly, I have no idea! That's why I'm asking you!"

Jimmy: "Of course, because I was always the shadow of your dear husband. You never turned to look at me again after you got with him, you never smiled at me like you did with him, you didn't even speak to me. It was as if I were invisible to you!"

"Oh, of course I was looking at you!"

Jimmy: "Then why didn't you ever tell me anything?!"

He shouted that, getting up from his bed to head towards the glass that separated them, watching your face to see you when you replied.

"BECAUSE I'VE ALWAYS HATED YOU!"

You screamed with all your lungs, to the point of making your throat hurt.

"You always brought trouble to Curly! He was always so naive, a sucker for approval, of being the good guy in the story, of not letting anyone down! That's why he never abandoned you! I knew better that's why i stopped talking with you! Because you were and are a piece of shit!" 

Jimmy: "Oh, but you talk as if I were the only fucked up one in the story."

"Yes! I admit it! I was also a mess when I met Curly, but I did something, I was able to see beyond that mess I was, he showed me that I could improve, he gave me opportunities that I knew how to take advantage of and become a better person! In someone who could make his mother proud instead of making her cry because she didn't know if he was coming home or not!"

There was a silence when you finished saying that, until you saw him smirk, that reaction you didn't like at all.

Jimmy: "You're right, Curly loves to please, you should know that very well."

"Ugh, for the love of God, I don't know why I try to reason with you, it's impossible."

Jimmy: "But you were the only one who refused to give in to make me happy."

You opened your eyes wide upon hearing that, turning again to the man who still wore that smug smile.

Jimmy: "Just as beautiful and messed up as I am, I thought you would understand me, but then you became a good girl, yet I still hoped you would look at me..."

"Shut up-"

Jimmy: "Oh, and the damn way Curly talked about you, how incredible you are, so kind, hardworking, so beautiful."

"I tell you to shut up-"

Jimmy: "Those lovely moles in the center of your chest that look like a constellation"

"He wouldn't talk about those things with you!"

Jimmy: "I saw it myself"

You felt like you were going to puke at that moment, you didn't want to believe that he had really done something like that to you while you were unconscious, you didn't want your suspicions to be confirmed, you refused to believe it.

"Liar. Anya wouldn't leave me alone, she would lock the nursery door-" 

Jimmy: "Yes, yes, she did that, it was a pain in the ass. Every night when she went to sleep, she locked the nursery with that code that only Curly and she knew... But that place wasn't closed while someone was inside."

"She wouldn't let you get close to me!"

Jimmy: "They were so sweet, Anya staying by your side saying she had to make sure all your signs were okay, and when she left, she would ask Swansea if he could keep an eye on you. But he was so depressed that he didn't dare to stay with you for long, so... I took his place to make sure you were okay."

"In front of Curly..."

You murmured at having to imagine the scene your husband had to witness without being able to do anything about it other than watch.

Jimmy: "That was the funniest thing"

You hugged tightly, feeling a horrible tingling all over your body, as if you were dirty.

Jimmy: "Swansea had no idea about anything, Anya didn't want to talk about it with anyone else. Thanks to her silence, I was able to finally look at that body that you always hide from me, thanks to Swansea's stupidity and feeling sad for his little captain, feeling all guilty and shit."

Swansea: "What did he just say..." 

You turned to see Swansea at the end of the hallway, carrying Jimmy's rations, holding an axe firmly in the other hand; he had managed to hear everything.

"Swansea-"

Swansea: "Open the door, captain"

"Listen - it's not worth it, do you have any idea what they'll do to you if they find out you hurt someone from the crew? Please, I don't want them to lock you up." 

You said immediately, positioning yourself in front of him, trying to get him to see you, but his eyes were glued to the door where he could see Jimmy's face.

Swansea: "How are they going to know? Let's say it was an accident. Open the door!"

You wanted to keep reasoning with him, but you couldn't deny that you also wished he would face consequences for his actions.

You took the axe from his hands, making him look at you annoyed.

"I won't take the risk of you killing him."

Those were your last words before opening the door, Swansea didn't take much more than a few seconds to fully open the door, step inside, and throw himself at Jimmy.

You could hear the sound of the blows, the insults, and the screams.

You stood at the door wide open, axe in hand, watching as the blood spread across the floor with each blow Swansea dealt.

You watched Jimmy and tilted your head, waiting for him to defend himself.

You wouldn't hesitate to cut off his hands if he touched Swansea.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Dying’s Up To Me - No Love Love Prologue

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: This is just straight sad angst. I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry.

Title from Dog Years by Halsey

Word Count: 4k

Summary/Warnings: A Prologue. Takes place 6ish months before Chapter 1. All the warnings. Mentions of suicide, isolation, and SA without depiction (not by Soldier Boy).

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, angst.

You escaped. You’re looking up and down the highway, at the green trees, all reaching up to the warmth of the sun, and you’re free.

You’re really, finally fucking free.

There’s soot and ash and grime covering your body, but you’re fucking free. You’ve been running for almost a day, and you’re about to collapse, but Homelander isn’t going to find you. He’s not allowed to find you. You’ll burn the whole world before you go back to the lab or the white room. You’ll figure out a way to kill yourself before you go back.

Right now, though, is about going. Just keep fucking going, until you find somewhere that hurts a little less. Not home—you don’t think you’ll ever have home again—but shelter. A place to figure out what comes immediately next, and nothing beyond that. Somewhere empty, where you can’t hurt anyone.

You really don’t want to hurt anyone. There are still the screams and pleas of the scientists and guards ringing in your ears, and their callous, arbitrary expressions had haunted your days, but their melting, flame-twisted faces would follow you into nightmares for the rest of your life. But there hadn’t been another way. You have to keep reminding yourself that there really hadn’t been another way, and you’d never do it again. If you have to, you’ll lock yourself away to never hurt anyone again.

At least this time it would be your choice. And Homelander wouldn’t be there. Nobody would touch you, and that would be fine. Anything would be better than these past few years. Loneliness would be simple, compared to eyes on you always. Cruel blue eyes, telling you that you should be lucky and grateful and to stop fucking crying. Red hands holding you down, and a cold body-

No. You won’t think about it. You won’t let him have that power over you. Another rule, nobody is allowed to have that power over you again. To consume your life like that, and tell you a single fucking thing about yourself.

You find a rest stop, and the sign on the side tells you that you’re still in upstate New York, but the highway markers say you’re at least 30 miles from where you started. And you need some food, and water, and clothing, but you don’t have any money. You don’t have fucking shit, except a foreign, painful itch under your skin and scorched cloth covering your body. You don’t even have shoes, but the heat of the pavement doesn’t hurt you, and if you’ve stepped on glass at any point, there’s no evidence of it.

But you’re still so hungry. And tired. And you just want to sit down and wear something that doesn’t smell like smoke and guts and sanitizer.

And there’s a car with the windows open, and a wallet in the cupholder. No owner in site, the lot itself practically empty.

You take the risk—only forty dollars, and the car is a Tesla, so you don’t feel that bad—and shuffle into the rest stop. You can afford some chips, and a water bottle, and so much New York themed clothing someone would think you’re a sponsor of the state. A hoodie, sweatpants, and a baseball cap and sunglasses that you wear indoors for safety. There’s a Wendy’s in the building, so you get the largest, most disgustingly greasy burger on the menu and drop yourself at one of the food court tables. Ignoring any stares in your direction, you focus on the news—playing on a high-mounted TV without sound—and eat.

Things have changed since you’ve last been outside. A lot of things have really changed. That blonde supe, with the light powers who’d only just joined the Seven before you’d died in every way that mattered, has renounced it. Vought, the Seven, the whole supe-kebab. The newscasters are talking about how she’s accused Homelander of being an abusive, manipulative psychopath, that’s a danger to America and everyone alive.

You could’ve told them that. You have three years of testimony to that very fact, plus a little more you never want to think about again.

Queen Maeve is missing. You’d take a safe bet Homelander’s got something to do with that as well, because when you’d seen him last he was sneering at you about how the only people he respected always fucking betray him, and made you promise once more to never lie to him or hurt him or pretend to know better than he did. You had, because you didn’t have a choice, and the rest of that day was locked deep inside your brain, in a place you’d never open.

Someone who’s apparently very infamous named William Butcher—you’d heard that name before, but you’re not sure where—is working with Soldier Boy, who’s somehow alive and also a threat to America. That’s interesting. Not the threat to America part—you’d take a pretty safe bet than any man with V in his body and sparkling TV persona is dangerous and shouldn’t be trusted—but the alive part. It explained Homelander’s complaints of nobody is stronger than he is last time, and his joking, menacing order to the scientists to not make you too powerful.

You didn’t care about powerful. You didn’t really care about most things anymore, and you’re not sure where you’re going from here, but it’s never within a million fucking yards of Homelander, or Vought, or anything else that might trap you and hurt you. Hopefully this William Butcher guy and Soldier Boy will kill Homelander, and he won’t be your problem again. Blondie can deal with the whole those guys are a threat to America thing after, because right now—as long as they’re only targeting Homelander—you just need it done. A dead Homelander, fast, and quick, and done, so nobody ever had to hurt like this again.

From the rest stop, you wander for a long while more. Down the highway, scratching at your skin to keep the fire in your body, never touching anyone, and stealing money out of cars to keep yourself alive. At one point, you find a public library in a small town—hidden deep in the Berkshires with tall trees that shield you in green light from anyone in the sky—and google yourself.

You’re dead. Very dead. Three years ago you’d died by suicide, leaving a note that said you were jumping off a bridge, and nobody had looked into it further beyond that. Your father had written your obituary, calling you smart, and kind, and determined. And that was it.

Nothing left to go back to.

You make two rules. One, you can never touch anyone again, because you can feel what they feel and it’s not fair.

Two, you’ll never be peaceful again, and that’s fine. You’re too broken to live any sort of normal life, and you’ll be alone, but it’s for everyone’s safety. You’re a danger, Vought’s a danger, and Homelander’s the worst danger of all.

Because Soldier Boy and William Butcher had failed you—they didn’t even fucking know you, but you were still annoyed about it—and Homelander was still fucking alive. Soldier Boy was dead himself, Queen Maeve was dead as well, and even though the news said Homelander was on trial for killing someone in broad daylight, you don’t think that will go anywhere. He was pleading innocent, like a fucking cunt, and a jury would buy it. He had—allegedly—killed that guy for his son, Ryan, who was a very sweet looking boy that you’d heard some very confusing things from Homelander about. How Ryan was strong, and he was proud to have a son, even if the son’s mother was a bitch who’d died like a fucking cockroach. How Ryan was still too human, and was being so mean to Homelander, siding with William Butcher over his own father-

Oh. That’s where you’d heard the name Butcher before. He was the guy that Homelander was always complaining about being an annoying inconvenience, ruining his perfectly good life, always trying to kill him when that was impossible.

Killing Homelander was impossible. Soldier Boy hadn’t done it, and even Blondie—you’ve learned her supe name was Starlight, and her real name is Annie January—had said she thought he could. To be fair, every news report you could find said that Soldier Boy went insane at the end, trying to kill everyone around him without remorse, but it really doesn’t matter in the long run, because Homelander is still alive, and unkillable.

You should leave. You should run and never look back, find somewhere far across the ocean with sunlight and grass and a sky that won’t ever be watching you. But you need to see your grave first. It feels important, for some stupid fucking reason, to sit at your grave and ensure that there’s some evidence you existed. Some proof that, at least before, you were loved and safe. A remnant of that part of you, that will never exist again.

It’s not a fancy gravestone. When you find it—after another week of walking and stealing and trying not to scream at the sky in case it hears—it actually looks a little pathetic. It has your name, and your birthday, and the day that you “died”. It says loving daughter and sister, and that’s it. No real epitaph, just loving daughter and sister.

And you can’t bring yourself to leave. You think you might rot away here, because you can’t actually die, but you can stop being alive. In every way that counts, you’re not alive. You’re alone and cold and the wind is biting at your ears at night, despite the suffocating heat of the day. It rains, a heavy thunderstorm that lasts two nights, and you don’t flinch or catch a cold. So you’ll stay here, and try not to think about how you weren’t a loving daughter or sister. Your mother hated you, and you saw your father once a month but barely spoke outside of that, and all your siblings might have loved you, but you’ll never forgive yourself for leaving them.

Your whole life before this had been about helping people, and all that’s left is a gravestone with a lie about how good you were. No legacy, no flowers resting on the grass in tribute. Only you in the dark, staring at a name that might not be yours anymore, and watching the pine trees in the graveyard sway in the wind of the night.

“You knew her?”

You almost jump out of your skin—nobody visits this place, and you’d come to expect solitude—whipping around to see a large, dark-skinned man with an Outkast shirt, gold chain, and leather jacket standing at your side.

“Sorry?”

The man says your name, nodding to your grave stone. “You knew her?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, keeping your face bored and tone neutral. You don’t know who the fuck this guy is, or why he’s at your grave, and you don’t trust it. You don’t trust anything anymore. “Not well, though. You?”

“Never met her.” The man shrugs. “But I’m a true crime fan, thought I’d look into whatever the fuck happened to her.”

Your nails dig into your skin as you force yourself to remain completely fucking indifferent. “I thought she killed herself. Not much true crime in that.”

“Please.” The man makes a dismissive gesture, and you blink. “Nobody ever found a body, and that’s the first fucking rule of death. You always need to see the body.”

“She jumped off a bridge-“

“Or something else happened.” The man is watching you now, studying your face carefully. You’re going to bite off your tongue. “Something more true crime. You knew her. She seem like the type to kill herself?”

You don’t hesitate to answer. “Yeah, actually. She did.”

The man gives you a frown of light surprise. “Really?”

“She wasn’t exactly a happy person.” You mutter, trying not to choke on bile. “I mean, her life was fine, but she was lonely. History of mental illness, maybe she snapped.”

You wish this man would leave. Just fucking leave you alone, so you don’t have to think about this. You had been lonely, but not like you are now. Things had been getting better before, you’d been getting better before, and now nothing would ever be better again.

But the man hums, still watching you, and stays. “Tragic shit.” He extends his hand. “Marvin Milk, by the way. You?”

You recognize that name. You don’t have a fucking clue from where, but you do. And you hesitate too long, because you can’t shake Marvin Milk’s hand, but you won’t tell him your name. So when you finally speak, you see his face twitch, and you have to get out of here.

“I’m nobody,” you say, and cross your arms. A clear, plain signal that you won’t shake his hand. “And I actually have somewhere to be-“

“Fuckin hell, that’s it.”

Whatever painfully British voice said that came from behind you, and Marvin Milk’s eyes widen.

You haven’t fully turned when something large and explosive hits you, launching your right through your own gravestone and yanking any control over the fire away from your grasp.

You’re burning. The whole fucking world is flame, and there’s no purpose to it. It’s just pain and anger and fire. Trying to find what hurt you—or tried to hurt you, you don’t have a scratch on your body—and hurt it.

You don’t want to hurt it. Your hand has moved to your throat, and you’re gripping yourself with white-knuckles, trying to yank all the fire back into your body. You hate this, and you don’t want to hurt anyone, and people are yelling around you and you’ll never be safe again-

You have to run. Try to get around them, away from them, away from everyone. If Vought, if Homelander, sent them to collect you, you’ll bury yourself so deep in the earth they’ll have to spend a lifetime digging to find you. If they’re the government, they can choke on the fire and smoke—rushing from you like a hurricane, scorching the dirt and grass and night around you—and pass out until you’re far, far away from anyone who will ever know you.

Third rule. The world is burning around you, several voices are shouting Anomaly and it’s making the fire slip further from your grasp, and nobody will be allowed to know you again. Just to be safe, nobody will be allowed past the layer of your appearance and the words that you calculate before they leave your mouth.

People who know you call you weak. And you can’t afford to be weak anymore. There’s so much fucking pain in your body, and you can’t let it control you. You’re moving on pure instinct, trying to just go, fucking run, get away and hide for a million years until this heals itself, but these people are trying to stop you. Through the haze of flame and smoke and pain you can count six of them, but their features are blurred with the rest of the world. They seem to be yelling at each other more than you, scrambling around to try and keep you in the graveyard but away from their bodies. Three of them are running at you, two smaller women and a man, and all of them shouting at the man in particular.

He’s raising something you’re not lucid enough to recognize, but you know it’s aimed at you, and everyone is screaming and shouting and everything hurts-

Something crashes over your body, and the whole world starts to hiss. It’s water—ice-cold fucking water—that’s steaming off your still burning, almost naked body, and it’s brought you down.

But you’re still angry. Everything is sharp and in focus, and now you’re fucking angry. You can see the man clearly before you—Hawaiian shirt, black trench coat, bearded face in a crude smirk that you want to punch—and you’re going to get out of here.

“Pleasure to meet you, Love-“

The man—he’s the British cunt who blasted you through your grave—never gets to finish his greeting. Your punch to his jaw is weak—wrath and a bitter, hollow hole forming in your body from the contact—but your whole body is still alight with flame so it does the trick. You manage push down the guilt that eats you from the twist and sizzle of his flesh, he’ll live, hopefully, and fucking run.

You’re halfway to the graveyard gate when someone tackles you, knocking you to the ground. They’re strong—filled with determination and focus—and you’re burning but they’re not moving off of you. You’re screaming and thrashing, you need to go, this person is touching you and people can’t touch you, can’t hold you, can’t be near you to keep you under them ever again, never fucking again-

“Mon Coeur, you are burning-“

“Unless you got a better plan to keep the human fuckin wildfire down, Frenchie, Kimiko’s gonna be sittin on her until she calms her bloody tits.”

That gets through. They’ll let you go if you calm down.

You don’t know how to calm down. Everything is burning and you can’t calm down, so your hand creeps back to your throat. That’s helped before, yanking yourself down by a brutal anchor, but the fire is out and you can’t pull it back in.

The person above you is suddenly gone, and you think the world might be ending. Everything is burning, but you can’t control your legs or body or brain. Your own screams are hollow in your head, exhaustion settles in your bones, your body aching, and the fire goes dark with your consciousness.

When you wake up—the world a blur you have to blink away—that determination that doesn’t belong to you is still all over your skin, and someone is pinning your arms behind your back. You’re still in the graveyard, kneeling on the grass as dawn cracks the horizon, and there are five people with varying levels of weariness on their faces before you. Watching as you shake yourself awake, their bodies braced as if you might attack them like a feral animal.

You won’t. Right now. You’ll find out who they are, and what they want, then adapt to whatever the situation calls for.

In the breaching daylight, it’s easier to see their faces. Marvin Milk is still there, his jacket slightly scorched—you feel a little bad, it was a nice jacket—and he’s standing next to a shorter, twitchy and wild-eyed man who’s mostly looking behind you. At whoever is holding you. Next to the shorter man is another taller, skinny, anxious looking man, who’s running his hands through his hair and looking around the rest of the group with a nervous expression.

And his side is Blondie. Starlight. Fucking Starlight, in normal people clothing, studying you with a drawn focus and glaring at the man right before you.

William Butcher. You hadn’t recognized him in the haze of your fear and the flame, in the shadows of the night, but that’s him. His face is twisted with a burn, but you’ve seen enough of the news to recognize the fucker.

They’re not with Vought or Homelander. And you still don’t fucking trust it.

You cough, forcing yourself to speak. “What do you want.”

“Look who’s gotten up from her fuckin nap-“

“Shut up,” you mutter, looking over their odd group with narrowed eyes. “I know you idiots, I’ve seen the news. What the fuck do you want from me.”

“That depends,” Marvin Milk crosses his arms, looking you up and down. “You want to tell us who the hell you are, without any lies?”

“Are you going to hit me with a rocket launcher again?”

William Butcher looks like he’s going to sneer something at you, but Starlight cuts him off.

“We won’t. We shouldn’t have,” she shoots Butcher a glare. “In the first place. Please just tell us who you are.”

You chew on your cheek, still not ready to show your cards. “Who do you think I am?”

“We don’t got the faintest idea-“

“Wrong.” You snap. “You clearly have some idea, if you’re bringing weapons and making someone hold me down.” You twist around, and find the owner of the alien determination crossing your skin—a dark-haired, pretty asian woman with an unwavering face—watching you. “You don’t have to restrain me, by the way. I won’t run, and you shouldn’t touch me.”

The woman looks over your shoulder, and Butcher scoffs. “You just tried to bloody kill us, Love, forgive us for making sure you ain’t able to do it again-“

“If I am who you think I am,” you drawl. “Then we both know I could kill you if I wanted to. I’ll talk, but she shouldn’t touch me.”

The wild-eyed man swallows, and speaks with the heaviest French accent you’ve ever heard. “Why may she not touch you-“

“She may,” you shrug best you can with the woman still gripping your arms. “But she shouldn’t. I can feel you,” you turn to the woman once more. “And I can’t help it.”

“The fuck you mean feel her-“

You cut off Milk with a flat look. “I’ll tell you if she lets me go.”

They all exchange looks, Starlight nods to the woman, and when she lets go you’re left alone in your body once more. Empty and tired and alone.

“Awesome,” you rub your wrists, remaining on the ground as the woman rejoins her group. “So? What’s up, cunts?”

They all stare at you, and the tall, nervous one speaks first, rubbing the back of his neck.

“We’re, um, looking for you? I think?”

“And who am I?”

They all exchange frowns again. It’s starting to get annoying.

“You’re the fuckin Anomaly,” Butcher grunts, looking over you and saying your name. Your full, real name. “Dead three years ago, clearly bloody alive in front of us, escaped Vought captivity a few months back.”

“Wrong.” You mutter. “Wasn’t Vought.”

Starlight frowns. “But-“

“Was Vought funded. But not Vought.”

“Homelander, ain’t it?” Butcher smirks. “Maeve said you got an agenda-“

“I don’t have anything,” you snap. “What do you want.”

They want you. To fight for them. To kill Homelander.

You can’t kill Homelander. He needs to die, but you can’t kill him. The sky is becoming blue, and you’re becoming cold in the sunlight, and you can’t fight or kill Homelander.

But you can help. You tell them—almost—all your powers. Fire. Feelings. Fucking healing. You even display that last one, placing a light hand on Butcher’s face and manage not to flinch at the hatred and unending fury in his body, or the way everyone faces curl into disgust and horror as your own face morphs and contorts into burn scars, healing within the same second.

You flinch back from Butcher, and they exchange another set of fucking looks before offering you something. You don’t have to fight Homelander, but that healing thing will be useful, and they don’t want to just leave you for Homelander to find. You can go with them—provided you tell them what happened to you and work with them—and you don’t have to decay into a hollow vessel of pain and fire in the graveyard.

You look at your grave, and it's only ruins. Someone might repair it, but you think it might just stay like that. And you don’t want to stick around to find out. There’s birds singing in the trees, and the sounds of life waking with the day, and you won’t fail yourself. You won’t go back, but you want to be the last person who is reduced to a broken grave by Homelander’s hands.

It’s not like you have anything else to waste what might be immortality on.

So you dig your nails into your skin, and agree to their terms. You leave the graveyard with the Boys—that’s a stupid fucking name for a team, but you don’t tell them that—and make a fourth rule. The first three can be inherent. Don’t touch anyone, never rest, and never let anyone know you are all for survival. They’ll ring in the back of your head without reminder, because they’ll be instinct. Stay free, keep breathing, don’t stop moving or lose control. You don’t have to be alive, but you need to survive. At least until you’ve played your part, you need to keep going.

And that’s the fourth rule. Whatever it takes. You’ll never be alive again, so you need to do whatever it takes. You’ll be whatever you need to be, and Homelander will die. Homelander has to fucking die, and then you can go back to wasting away in the lonely, hollow cold.

But for now, whatever it fucking takes.

End Note: Very silly of me to publish the prologue over halfway through the series.

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[cyberg4l]

┏━ • 𝐁𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐘 𝐁𝐈𝐓 • ━┓

pairing; GALLY x READER word count; 1.8k summary; you’re reunited with gally after a tumultuous few weeks of grieving his death. warnings; mentions of death and grief, canonical type violence, angst, hurt/comfort

A/N: this is set during ‘death cure’. all the characters are above the age of 18. there will be lots of mentions of death, violence, and the flare. if you’re not in the right headspace to read something heavy, then please take care of yourself.

FOR THE LONGEST TIME, ALL YOU HAD WANTED WAS TO ESCAPE THE GLADE. You spent countless, restless nights, sitting under the stars and wondering what the world outside was like. There were times when you truly lost hope. There were times when you didn’t think you would make it out alive - that the only time you would ever get a glimpse of what was beyond the grey, harsh walls would be in your dreams. Or even the afterlife.

Now, as you trekked along the depressing streets, you found yourself wishing for that blissful ignorance again. Ben, Chuck, Gally, Winston. Those names were on repeat in your mind almost every night and every morning. They died so that you could live, and that had to count for something.

You remembered vividly what it was like to see a fellow Glader die right in front of you. Sure, Ben was banished; but he had died long before he was sent out into the Maze. He was dead the moment the infection took hold of his body.

Gally was next. His stubborn nature caused his demise, and Chuck’s too. Clenching your eyes, you blinked away the anger and resentment. Gally had been your friend. He was a hard-headed ass, and too overbearing, but he always took care of you when it mattered. Even if he was grumpy about it while doing so.

There was no place for love in the Glade, but if you had to pinpoint the first and last time you felt it, it would be for Gally. The memory of you begging him to come with you haunted your every waking moment. Tears, blood, and sweat covered your face as you dragged his sleeve - crying, almost falling to your knees to convince him. You’ll never forget the way he looked at you, the way he shook you off his arm like you were some pest.

And you couldn’t forget about Winston. His death was still fresh in everyone’s mind. It was hard to forget the echo of the gunshot that had ended his life - even if it was by his own hands.

A harsh slam woke you from your thoughts. Someone had rammed straight into you, trying to pass you. Looking up, you saw them walk past a cargo truck. A tall man was sat on it - gas mask heavy and tight on his face as he seemingly stared straight through you. You shivered before looking away. The streets were too crowded. Thomas held onto your arm tightly as he maneuvered his way around. Honestly, your search was feeling futile.

If you could go back in time, maybe you would’ve never left the Glade. Maybe Gally was right.

“Over there,” said Thomas, pointing to something in the distance.

You squinted, not quite understanding what he was getting at. In truth, you weren’t even sure how he knew what to look for. The Right Arm hadn’t been heard of in ears. That’s what everyone had said. We were looking for ghosts.

“Thomas-“ you started, wanting to reason with him. Words caught in your throat as a bullet wheezed straight past you two.

All hell broke loose as swarms of bodies shoved and pulled - trying to escape the danger of being shot. Newt and Brenda had disappeared. Whipping your head around, you yelled for them, not wanting to lose another friend to the chaos that this world offered.

Before you knew it, a strong grip dragged you away, and everything went black as a strange fabric went over your face.

“Let me go!” you yelled, looking at the familiar mask on the soldier’s face. You quickly recognized them as the ones who were riding around town earlier.

The car ride had been brutally long. Your muscles ached, and your eyes were sore from being in the dark for so long. Frantically looking around, you tried to find your friends. Surprisingly so, your arms weren’t tied. The only thing stopping you was the almost painful hold on your upper arm. Whoever these people were, they didn’t seem like they wanted to hurt you - or else you’d most likely be dead by now.

You huffed as you were manhandled into a room. There was something about the soldier - something about then gave you a sense of deja vu. It was the way they held themselves, the way their breaths came in ragged gasps as you stared at their chest. Each moment felt like a distant memory that you had seen before. Furrowing your brows, you decided it was your memory loss messing with you again. It was common for you to think you remembered something from your past, just for it to be a fluke.

You were quickly let go, and you jogged up to Newt, wrapping him in a hug.

“I was worried sick,” he mumbled. “Where are the others?”

You shrugged as your eyes scanned around. Spotting Brenda, you nodded to her. There were significantly less of you than you’d initially had begun with. Had they taken the rest to a different location? My heart hammered rapidly against your ribcage as you stepped back. You eyed the familiar soldier, noting the way his shoulders squared back as he stood tall.

You shook your head. I don’t know him. It’s all just fake memories. Get over yourself. Get over yourself-

A shout interrupted the awkward and anxious silence. As Jorge began laying down punch after punch on one of the men, Brenda ran up to him to put a stop to it. All your eyes were looking for was Thomas and Fry.

After everything you had all been through, the thought of losing someone else was unbearable. You couldn’t afford another loss like that. Letting out a deep breath, you watched as Frypan and Thomas stepped up, curiously staring down the soldier at the end of the room.

Words were exchanged, but none of them stuck.

His voice. It sounded like…

“What do you mean same side? Who the hell are you?”

The soldier stopped, his arm flexing as he lowered the gun in his hand. He looked away briefly before slowing pulling off his mask. A buzzed head came into view, and you had almost no time to process before his face turned to look at me.

All you could see was blue. The color of his eyes. The same eyes you had looked into as you pleaded and sobbed. The same ones you had watched the light slowly die out of. The eyes you had so long ago fallen in love with.

Both of your eyes locked onto each other’s, and if it weren’t for Newt’s hands steadying you, you genuinely think you could’ve passed out. It was like seeing a ghost.

All you heard was a loud commotion behind you as you turned to sprint out of the room. Another minute in there and you would lose your mind.

Pushing open the door to the balcony, you panted slightly, trying to get your bearings. The cool breeze pinched your cheeks, causing a slight twinge of pain. It was usually warm during the day, but the nights were freezing. In the Glade it had always been warm - never a dull day. Perhaps once every few months you’d get rain, which was always good for the crops, but it was never necessarily cold.

Shivering, you wrapped your arms around you. Weirdly enough you had never been more glad to feel the chill of air run through your bones. It was the only thing reminding you that you were alive.

Alive. Gally was alive.

Burying your face in your palms, you paced around. You spent almost three weeks grieving him. You saw him die - no, correction, you watched and left him to die.

His face tormented you every time you closed your eyes. The tears he cried as he realized he was being left for dead, the scream that had left your body as you were pulled away from the scene. Gally was the first person you had ever truly opened up to. You had been in the Glade for the brunt of 2 years, and over time you’d like to think you had gotten under his tough exterior.

The nights where you both couldn’t sleep. Your head in his shoulder, and his hand intertwined with yours, precariously tip-toeing the line between friendship and something more.

Then, in a split second, it was all gone.

“Hey, firecracker.”

You winced at the nickname. Gally had given it to you on your first week there. He said you would give him a run for his money with the way you snapped and yelled at everyone. Really, it was just because you were scared - especially being the only girl.

You blinked away tears. “Please, don’t.”

Your voice came out more shaky than you had liked. It wasn’t that you weren’t relieved to see him, it’s just that you didn’t exactly end on good terms. Now, seeing him alive and well - and so, unbelievably tall and handsome - it made you question everything.

He whispered your name, and you felt his body heat burn unbearably against your back as he stepped closer.

“Look at me.”

Shaking your head, you clenched your eyes shut, letting a few stray tears fall. “I’m can’t. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The last time you let yourself cry was that exact fateful day. Every single tear in your body had been used up to the point that you weren’t sure you were even capable of crying anymore.

Your back hit something hard, and you soon realized that two familiar arms were holding you to his chest. He breathed in and out, his inhales pressing against your back, indicating and proving that this was real. That he was real.

“How?” You sobbed, leaning into his arm.

Really, you didn’t care how. All that mattered was that he was here. And bit by bit, you would hopefully fix what was broken - regain what was lost.

Shifting around, you collapsed against him, wrapping your arms around his torso and gripping at his shirt desperately. You felt that if you let go, he would disappear. Just as he did the first time - when you let go of his sleeve, and he slipped away from your grasp, like he was never even there.

The only words that you were able to conjure were feeble apologies as you let yourself sob against his shirt. Inhaling his scent again for what felt like a lifetime, you finally felt like things were piecing together. Like you were whole again. Taking a quivering deep breath in, you finally lifted your head to look at him. He was just as beautiful as the day he left you.

He cupped your face as he rested his forehead against yours. You must have stayed like that for hours - or maybe it was only a few minutes.

All you knew was that no words had to be spoken for you both to understand. You were never going to leave each other again.

𝐜𝐲𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐠𝟒𝐥 © 2024, all rights reserved.

[trixy812]

002 - ONE SHOT ♪ I knew it!

♪ -- Content: Nanami x fem!Reader, a little bit angst, unrequited love, with happy ending, Reader!Sorcerer, fluff, with a friend like Gojo, who needs enemies?, Reader and Nanami are both red flags

♪ -- Synopsis: About how you tried to confess your feelings twice to Kento Nanami, and... it didn’t work?

♪ -- An: So, the notes on my first fanfic motivated me to write this one! Thank you very much! I have some more ideas that I am going to write right away. Please let me know what you think; this one is definitely longer and maybe a little bit rushed at the end.

---

You were walking through the halls of the headquarters, lost in thought. Your mind kept returning to the same point: Kento Nanami. You knew that, no matter how much you tried to hide it, he meant something special to you. Since you met him, when you both were merely novices in the world of exorcisms, you felt an immediate physical attraction, and your affection for him began when you noticed his indifferent kindness.

You walked together toward the 7-Eleven, with Haibara talking excitedly about how amazing Gojo was, especially when he was next to Geto. You listened attentively, while Nanami, lost in thought, seemed absorbed as he gazed up at the sky. It was then that, almost imperceptibly, Nanami noticed a young man had dropped his bag of groceries. Without hesitation, he stopped and helped him pick everything up, showing a generosity you admired in silence. The young man thanked Nanami, but without acknowledging him, he continued walking beside you, leaving you with a feeling of warmth beyond words.

Your affection for him had grown over the years, but so had the pain of his quiet rejection. Why did he insist on keeping his distance? You were convinced that Nanami felt something for you, even though he kept reinforcing the wall he had built and didn’t seem eager to bring it down anytime soon.

Nanami was reserved, impenetrable, but there was something familiar in his presence, something you couldn’t ignore. Each time you tried to confess your feelings, Nanami found an excuse, a way to postpone the conversation with a simple, “Another day.” Yet, you were persistent. Even when he distanced himself, you kept trying.

That day, you found him in the common room, reviewing reports. You approached him with a smile, noticing how, as always, he looked at you with that mix of seriousness and restrained affection.

“Are you perfecting your reports again, Nanami?” you said in a playful tone as you sat across from him. Nanami looked up, his expression unchanging.

“There’s always something to do,” he replied, not very interested. You leaned forward a little, watching him closely.

“You know, I was thinking… Why do you always reject me?” you asked suddenly, without any preamble, though your voice was slightly shaky. You knew the question would make him uncomfortable, but you couldn’t hold back anymore. You wanted answers.

Nanami looked at you intently, setting the papers aside. You held his gaze bravely, even though you felt the familiar knot forming in your chest.

“Let’s talk about this another day, y/n,” he said with his calm, yet firm voice. That response you had heard before – in that moment, a mix of frustration and anger washed over you. It took all your willpower not to slap him and yell at him for being so foolish.

“Why not today?” you insisted, your voice breaking slightly. You took a breath and continued, “I know you feel something for me. I can see it; I can feel it. Why won’t you let me in?”

Nanami remained silent for a few seconds, and you felt tears wanting to spill, but you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. He knew he was making you cry, and though that made you vulnerable, it also reminded him that, deep down, he wasn’t as immune to your feelings as he wanted you to believe.

“I’m afraid,” he finally said, with an honesty that surprised you both.

You blinked, surprised. Nanami, afraid? You never would have imagined it. Despite everything, you smiled – a small smile, full of understanding.

“Afraid of what?” you asked in a low voice. “Afraid of caring for someone else?”

Nanami averted his gaze. The common room was completely silent, and you felt the urge to move closer to him, to touch his hand, but you held back. You knew that would make him withdraw, and you didn’t want to lose this moment. He said nothing, but something in his expression changed. You saw it, you recognized it. He knew you were right, but he wasn’t ready to admit it.

Feeling the familiar sting in your eyes, you stood up before the tears could fall. You didn’t want Nanami to see you cry. You said goodbye with a calm smile, as you always did.

“See you tomorrow, Nanami,” you said in your usual cheerful tone. And before he could say anything, you turned and left the room.

Walking toward the garden, you sighed deeply. You stopped for a moment to think about what Nanami had said. Was he really afraid of caring too much? As much as his cautious rejections hurt, you weren’t going to give up. You knew Nanami better than he thought, and you were sure that, in time, he would understand, too.

You walked aimlessly, letting yourself be carried away by your thoughts as you remembered the two times you had gathered the courage to confess your feelings to Nanami (and how both times didn’t go as planned). You knew it wasn’t easy for him, but it hadn’t been easy for you either. Every time your confessions were interrupted, it hurt, but you couldn’t stop trying. It was as if your heart was begging you to keep fighting, even if reason told you to stop.

The first time you tried to confess was during a simple mission in a small town, far from the pressures and bustle of the city. Under a starry sky, without the barrier of your companions or the responsibilities of the headquarters, you thought it was the perfect moment.

“Kento,” you began softly as you both rested by the campfire, “I… there’s something I want to tell you.”

He looked at you, blinking with a serene expression. Just as you were about to confess, Nanami raised a hand.

“Tomorrow, when we’re not in the middle of a mission, alright?” he said with an unshakable calm, as if he hadn’t grasped the significance of what you were trying to say.

That night, you lay in your makeshift bed, frustration simmering in your chest. You kept telling yourself you’d try again.

The second attempt came months later, during a social gathering at the headquarters. This time, you were determined there would be no excuses. The celebratory atmosphere and a few glasses of wine encouraged you to be more direct. You found Nanami off to the side, watching the crowd with his typical serene expression. With courage, you approached him.

“Kento, I need to tell you something,” you began, your heart pounding. “This time, I don’t want you to interrupt me.”

He raised an eyebrow, letting a barely-there smile that could almost seem as teasing. But just as you were about to continue, Gojo appeared, draping his arm over your shoulders with exaggerated familiarity.

“Oh, Nanami! Looks like you’ve got an admirer!” Gojo said with a playful laugh. “Come on, y/n, why not get straight to the point? Everyone in the headquarters knows you’re crazy about him.”

You felt your cheeks burn as you shrugged off Gojo’s arm, while Nanami looked at him with his usual air of exasperation.

“Gojo, this conversation doesn’t concern you,” Nanami replied in a serious tone, though a slight tension in his gaze suggested he knew more than he was willing to admit.

Gojo shrugged and shot you both a last cheeky grin before walking away. But the moment had passed, and you sighed, pretending to laugh and deciding to postpone it again, even though you felt something inside of you twist.

Alone, in the comfort of your small apartment, you couldn’t get these memories out of your mind. You knew you loved him, and no matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t extinguish those feelings.

Nanami was in the headquarters library, studying some ancient texts on curses. Despite his apparent concentration, his mind was restless. Your words, your broken voice, echoed in his head repeatedly. “Why do you always reject me?” … The echo of your feelings, of your pain, tormented him more than he was willing to admit. He knew you had suffered those two times, and although he never intended to hurt you, it seemed he did.

The library door swung open, interrupting his thoughts. Gojo entered, as always, without a care for discretion, carrying his typical carefree air and a mischievous smile. Nanami sighed, knowing that whatever was coming, he wouldn’t like it.

“Nanami, old friend,” Gojo said as he plopped down in the chair in front of him. “I think we need to have a little chat.”

Nanami looked at him for a moment, waiting for Gojo to get straight to the point. He knew that when Gojo had that tone, it wasn’t to talk about missions.

“About what?” he asked dryly.

Gojo leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms behind his head as he smiled in that infuriating way Nanami always found exasperating.

“About y/n, of course,” Gojo replied naturally. “Are you really going to keep ignoring what’s happening?”

Nanami closed his eyes briefly, frustrated. He knew Gojo wouldn’t stop, but that didn’t mean he was ready for this conversation.

“It’s none of your business, Gojo,” he replied, trying to refocus on the book in front of him—or at least pretending to.

“That’s not entirely true,” Gojo continued, in a more serious tone, which wasn’t typical of him. “It’s no secret that y/n has feelings for you. And by ignoring those feelings, you’re affecting both of you. You can’t keep pretending that nothing’s happening.”

Nanami snapped the book shut, knowing he wouldn’t be able to avoid this conversation. He looked at Gojo, his expression hard but also tired.

“Gojo, it’s not that simple,” he said, not bothering to hide his frustration. “y/n is… incredible. I know that. She’s empathetic, strong, and her passion for everything she does is admirable. But I… I’m not what she needs.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, clearly interested in the direction the conversation was taking.

“And how do you know what she needs?” he asked. “Because, from what I’ve seen, what she wants is you.”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Nanami said in a low voice, almost to himself. “But I also can’t give her what she’s looking for. I’m not like her. I’m not an easy person to love.”

Gojo looked at him with curiosity, leaning forward slightly.

“Why do you think you’re not easy to love, Nanami?” he asked with surprising seriousness. “Because, frankly, y/n has shown you the opposite.”

Nanami remained silent, contemplating Gojo’s words. He knew you loved him, and that your feelings were real. But he also knew that his own fear of opening up, of letting go, held him back. You were everything he wasn’t: warm, emotional, able to see beauty in chaos, to love without reservations. He, on the other hand, had built a barrier around himself. He lived a rigid, calculated life, where emotions were controlled, and vulnerabilities couldn’t be afforded—or so he had always believed.

“What you’re doing now is just an excuse,” Gojo added, breaking into his thoughts. “Maybe the idea of someone loving you scares you, but what you’re doing now is cowardly, Nanami. y/n doesn’t deserve you playing with her feelings. You need to be honest, with yourself and with her.”

Nanami looked at him closely. Cowardly. That word struck him deeply. He had always been firm, confident in his decisions. But in this matter, perhaps Gojo was right. Perhaps he had been avoiding his own feelings, thinking he was protecting you, when in reality, he was just hurting you more.

“And what do you suggest I do, Gojo?” he finally asked, his voice filled with exhaustion.

Gojo shrugged, his usual nonchalant tone returning.

“Tell her the truth, Nanami. If you really don’t love her, then be clear and let her go. But if you feel something for her, even a little, stop hiding behind excuses. Talk to her. Because if you keep this up, you’ll lose her—even as a friend.”

Nanami remained silent as Gojo stood up, heading to the door with his usual carefree gait. Before leaving, he gave Nanami one last look.

“Not everyone finds someone who loves them like y/n loves you, Nanami. Don’t waste that chance.”

And with that, Gojo left, leaving Nanami alone with his thoughts and the heavy truth of his words.

Nanami had convinced himself you would try to confess again. He knew you felt something for him; you had shown it many times. And though he denied it to others—and often to himself—he felt the same. Each time you looked at him, with that mix of affection and hope, something within Nanami wavered. So, he decided to wait, believing that your third attempt at confessing would come soon. And when it did, he would finally tell you the truth: he wanted to give it a try with you.

Of course, Gojo didn’t miss the opportunity to notice what he was doing.

“You’re an idiot, Nanami,” he said bluntly, with his usual casual tone. “Are you seriously waiting for her to try confessing again? What kind of plan is that?”

At first, Nanami ignored him, as he usually did with Gojo’s provocations. But this time, his friend’s words lingered in his mind. Gojo was right; it was foolish to wait. If he felt something, why not tell you now? Why prolong the suffering for both of you?

The answer, however, wasn’t simple. Nanami couldn’t help but feel embarrassed as he recalled that night, years ago, when you were 19, and he was 23. A karaoke night and far too much alcohol. He remembered it vividly, though he tried to push it to the darkest corner of his memory. That night, he couldn’t resist. He spent most of it telling you how beautiful you were, how much he envied your personality, your humor, your warmth. You had both gotten too close, too drunk, and full of unresolved emotions.

That night, you kissed. And not only that—you spent the night together, wrapped in laughter, caresses, and a connection that neither of you had ever discussed since then. Nanami had tried to forget, to convince himself it was just the alcohol, the atmosphere. But he knew it wasn’t. You knew it, too. It was because of that night that you kept trying, because you knew he felt something.

However, you never tried to confess your love again. The days passed, and that declaration never came. Instead, you started seeing someone else. Mako, a civilian man, wealthy, who had impressed you with his charisma and lifestyle. Nanami tried not to think much about him, but every time he heard Mako’s name, a pang of jealousy ran through him. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he couldn’t help it.

Gojo, of course, didn’t let him live it down.

“Jealous, Nanami?” he teased every time Mako came up in conversation. “I told you; waiting wasn’t a good idea. Now you have competition, and he’s quite a catch. Rich, kind, civilian… nothing like a grumpy exorcist.”

Nanami would only look at him with a mixture of irritation and resignation. He was jealous, of course. But he wasn’t about to admit it. Instead of facing the situation directly, things between you and him began to change. You saw each other less in person, but you started talking a lot more over text messages. Something curious happened in those conversations: you began to flirt. Not in an obvious or blatant way, at least not at first, but there was a constant tension, a spark that ignited every time you talked.

Nanami, true to his stoic personality, kept his tone dry and direct, but you knew how to read between the lines. His flirting was subtle but loaded with intent, making it all the more impactful.

The flirting went on for weeks. Both of you knew what you were doing, but neither of you took the next step. Nanami was still tormented by his fears, and despite being with Mako, you couldn’t help but be drawn to your conversations with Nanami.

Until one night, everything changed.

You, Mako, Gojo, and Nanami went out with other friends for a karaoke night, just like when you were younger. The atmosphere was almost a replica of that time when you and Nanami had crossed that line you’d never talked about since. With a few drinks in you, you felt more relaxed and natural. You were singing, laughing, and having a great time, although Nanami couldn’t help but notice Mako constantly by your side, attentive, as if trying to claim his territory.

Nanami couldn’t stop thinking about that night years ago, about how he had been the one by your side, telling you how beautiful you were. His eyes followed you whenever you moved, and the weight of his jealousy and regrets was overwhelming.

Gojo, naturally, didn’t miss a chance to tease him.

“Bringing back memories, Nanami?” he asked in a low voice, nudging him. “Seems like history’s repeating itself.”

Nanami gritted his teeth. This time, though, he wasn’t going to sit idly by. He knew that if he didn’t do something soon, he’d lose you forever.

Nanami lingered in the corner of the karaoke room, watching you and Mako enjoy the night. The dim lighting, the laughter of friends, and the festive atmosphere surrounded him, but he couldn’t shake the growing feeling of discomfort. The memory of that karaoke night from years ago haunted him. You looked radiant, just as you had back then, but now your attention was on someone else.

Gojo, reveling in the opportunity to tease him, looked at him with a smug grin.

“What’s wrong, Nanami?” he asked, smiling in satisfaction. “Don’t like seeing her with someone else? You know it’s your fault, right?” he added, taking a sip of his drink. “Are you going to keep waiting, or are you finally going to do something?”

Nanami didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on you, laughing as Mako attempted to sing a romantic ballad. Despite the smile on your face, Nanami noticed something—a small distance between you two, an invisible barrier that only he seemed to see. Even though you were with Mako, your gaze briefly drifted to him, and that fleeting moment filled him with both hope and despair.

He couldn’t take it any longer. The silence between you, the growing distance, and the unresolved tension were consuming him. Nanami had waited too long. Gojo was right—it was foolish to think everything would resolve on its own.

“I’m going outside,” he muttered to Gojo as he set his drink down and stood up.

Gojo raised an eyebrow, surprised by his friend’s sudden move.

“Going outside? Just like that?”

“I need some air,” Nanami replied, not stopping to explain further. He didn’t have a clear plan, but he knew he couldn’t stay there watching you slip away.

He left the venue, feeling the cool night air hit his face. He walked a few steps, trying to clear his mind. However, the memories kept flooding back. That time after karaoke, how everything had changed between the two of you. He remembered how you had laughed on the way to his apartment, how you had rested your head on his shoulder in the taxi, and how, in that moment, everything seemed to fall perfectly into place. The way he had looked at you and told you, without hesitation, how beautiful you were.

Nanami ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He couldn’t stop thinking about you that night. Because that time, when you reached his apartment, there had been no doubts, no questions. It was just the two of you, wrapped in a connection that, though unspoken, had always been there.

Suddenly, the karaoke door opened behind him. He turned to see you. You were watching him with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Are you okay?” you asked, walking toward him as the wind played with your loose hair. “You seem… distant.”

Nanami stayed silent for a moment, taking in the way the streetlight illuminated your face, making you look so soft, so vulnerable.

“I’m fine,” he said at last, but his tone betrayed him. He wasn’t fine, and you knew it.

You took a step closer, crossing your arms as you looked him straight in the eye.

“I don’t believe you,” you replied, your smile soft but full of concern. “What’s going on, Kento? You’ve been acting strange all night.”

He sighed. He couldn’t keep running from this conversation. He had waited too long, and that third attempt at a confession would never come. You had moved on. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t finally tell you how he felt.

“Do you remember that night, five years ago, after karaoke?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked, surprised by the shift in topic, but you nodded quickly.

“Of course I remember.” Your tone was careful, not sure where Nanami was going with this. He looked down, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and nostalgia.

“That night…” he began, his voice lower than usual. “I said things I maybe shouldn’t have said, and I did things I… hadn’t planned on doing. But I can’t stop thinking about that night, y/n. It was the only time I was completely honest with you. And since then, I’ve been lying to myself.”

You looked at him, narrowing your eyes slightly, as if trying to decipher his words. He didn’t dare meet your gaze directly.

“I’ve been a coward,” he admitted, with a bitterness that burned his throat. “I ignored you, y/n. I kept acting like I didn’t care. And I did it because I was afraid. Afraid of what it would mean to feel something so… deep for someone like you.”

You didn’t speak for a moment, clearly taken aback by his confession. The silence between you lingered, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence filled with everything left unsaid over the years.

“And now what?” you finally asked, your voice softer than usual. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Nanami took a deep breath. It was now or never.

“Because I don’t want to keep waiting for something to happen,” he said, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. “I don’t want to see you with Mako or anyone else, because I know I still feel the same way about you. I’ve felt it since that night, and I can’t keep denying it.”

You looked back at him, your eyes searching his for some sign that this was real.

“You took too long, Kento,” you said, shaking your head. “But… I think I was waiting for you to tell me, too.”

Nanami couldn’t help but feel a weight lift from his shoulders. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he was doing the right thing. He couldn't believe it—a sense of relief mixed with excitement welled up inside him. But before he could say anything more, your expression shifted, and you looked away, almost hesitant.

"I'm sorry, Kento," you said, your voice trembling but resolute. "My commitment is with Mako now. I can't keep living in the past."

Your words hit Nanami like a punch to the gut. You looked at him with a mixture of sadness and firmness, and he struggled to process what you were saying. Nanami felt frustration and anger start to rise. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You—the same person who had tried to confess your love twice—were now walking away from him as if those feelings had never existed. And the coldness of your rejection only intensified the anger he felt.

“You can’t be serious!” he shouted, unable to hold it back. “What the hell, y/n? Twice! Twice you tried to tell me how you feel about me, and now you’re saying it all means nothing?”

You looked at him, stunned by his outburst. You crossed your arms and took a deep breath, staying calm, but he could see the hurt in your eyes.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Kento,” you warned, your tone more serious than he’d ever heard. “You have no right. I gave you so many chances, and you chose to ignore them. You can’t just come to me now, after I’ve moved on, and demand that I come back to you. It doesn’t work like that.”

Nanami clenched his fists, unable to grasp how things had spiraled so out of control. But you didn’t give him more time to respond. You turned on your heel and walked back toward the bar. He watched as you went, his heart pounding, and just before you stepped back inside, he saw it: the kiss.

You went over to Mako, who welcomed you with a warm smile. Without a word, you took his face in your hands and kissed him with an intensity Nanami knew wasn’t genuine. That kiss wasn’t for Mako—it was for him. It was a direct blow to his ego, to his feelings. And it hurt more than he ever imagined. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. But the image of that kiss was seared into his mind, a painful reminder of what he had lost. Of what he had let slip through his fingers.

The days that followed were a silent agony. Nanami was not speaking to you, and although he saw you sometimes at the exorcists’ headquarters, your interactions were tense and filled with awkward silences. Even Gojo, who usually couldn’t resist teasing, had stopped with his jokes. Everyone could feel the tension between you.

A few days after the incident, you sought him out. Your demeanor was calmer, but he could see the discomfort in your eyes.

“Nanami, I’m sorry about what happened,” you said softly, avoiding his gaze. “I shouldn’t have kissed him like that in front of you. It was cruel, and I did it just to hurt you. It wasn’t right.”

Nanami looked at you in silence, his anger still palpable, but his tone was calmer than before.

“Why did you do it, then?” he asked, unable to hide the pain in his voice.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair.

“Because… I felt trapped. You ignored me so many times… and now that I’m with Mako, I don’t know. I wanted you to feel what I felt because of your indifference.” You spoke without much thought, saying whatever came to mind.

Nanami nodded, accepting your apology with a feeling of resignation. He knew things between you wouldn’t heal overnight, but at least he now understood a bit more of your pain.

Weeks later, you ended things with Mako. The news didn’t surprise Nanami, though he couldn’t deny feeling an unexpected sense of relief. Things between you two were still tense, but gradually, you began talking again. What started as casual exchanges soon turned into something more playful. The flirtation that had once only existed through messages resurfaced in public, more intense than ever.

You were bold, direct, and your comments often made others in the group blush. Even Gojo, usually so laid-back, seemed affected by the way you and Nanami exchanged subtle remarks.

One afternoon, when Nanami was finishing up some reports, he found a note on his desk. The paper was simple, unadorned, but he recognized your handwriting immediately. He opened it with curiosity and couldn’t help but smile at the words:

“I tried to confess twice. You tried once, so it’s still your turn. If you really want to be with me, I want to hear it. I don’t need some big romantic declaration. Just be you.”

Nanami stared at the note for several minutes, pondering what it meant. He knew this was important to you. The time had come for him to be honest, too. And although he wasn’t the type for grand romantic gestures, he would do this in his own way. Just like you’d written—he just had to be himself.

The confession came the following day, during a mission. You were fighting side by side, as you had so many times before, but this time there was something different in the air. When the battle ended, both of you panting from the effort, and as the cursed spirits dissolved, Nanami turned to you.

“y/n…” he said, without hesitation, “I love you. I always have.”

You froze for a second, your eyes widening with surprise. Then, a small smile formed on your lips. Nanami took your hand, pulling you close to him, and whispered in your ear, “It’s amazing how, since our first kiss, you’ve only grown more beautiful each day.” You couldn’t say anything more because Nanami, with his other hand, held your waist, pulling your body against his, and kissed you intensely as no one had ever kissed you before. He kissed you with so much passion, as if he were trying to apologize for all the pain his indifference had caused you. Tears of happiness began to stream down your face. As you parted from him, you felt nervous and excited at the same time, and you could only muster a weak joke.

“So, after all this time, it only took you five years to kiss me again?” you joked, and Nanami’s soft laughter filled the air.

“I’m sorry,” he said, with a mix of shyness and determination. “How about we don’t wait that long for the next one?”

[yelldeadcellvrremix]

While I can agree with some of what's being said here, my issue isn't about whether Kat's treated all niceys in the story itself. To summarize another, tangentially related tumblr post "Female characters being given respect by other characters does not equate to the writers giving them respect."

I'll start by tackling this line specifically:

"If you're going to say "she never has a gun, she never fights, she never stands up for anyone, she's helpless" then let me ask you: Why does lethality, aggressiveness and being "cool" the only thing that would matter about a female character and for her to be taken seriously?"

Yeah, I agree. A physically strong female character isn't automatically a narratively strong female character. But I don't care about whether Kat can hold her own in a physical (or spiritual, idk) fight. The question I wanna know is this: "Is she her own character? Am I able to point to ways that she's believable and compelling?"

And the answer, in my opinion is, frankly... not really. She doesn't have much dialogue beyond what is strictly necessary for exposition purposes. I can't tell you her personality other than "she's the sensitive but smart one", which seems like something, but there's no further depth to that. I know nothing about her that isn't tied to what she serves in Dante and Vergil's story, which I'll admit she does serve pretty well in, but she doesn't seem to go through any character arc beyond which nephilim she ends up joining at the end. If the comic is considered to be canon, I'd argue that Kat matters more to Vergil than Dante, but the writers of the game specifically sure as hell didn't feel like giving us a chance to explore the weight of the closest friend (and ex-lover) she had betraying her and his own morality.

If we're just talking about her, then need I remind you the final chapter has Dante literally defending her

See, that's the thing. Why couldn't SHE be the one defending HERSELF? You bring up her role in the game's narrative about freedom, so then why couldn't she have been the one to speak up? Not much writing needs to be done to change this, but it makes her feel all the more impactful.

But having clunky writing isn't the worst thing in the world compared to why Kat even exists.

I distinctly remember Ninja Theory stating that they wanted Kat to avoid the sexualization of DMC's other female characters, but here's the thing with that: The best faith interpretation of what they meant by that was "we want to make a well-written female character and we don't want to reduce her to eye candy, like what happens when DMC makes their female characters."

The worst faith interpretation, the one that's passed around as what Ninja Theory actually stated, which I am really fucking hoping is the result of a long game of telephone from angry fans is: "Kat's not like those other DMC women! She actually dresses modestly! She's not a WHORE and a PROSTITUTE like them!!!"

But I don't think what exact words they said matters because what they showed in the final game is significantly more telling. You've said that Lilith exists for discomfort, but what about that discomfort actually matters in the overall narrative or themes of the game? You'd think that DmC: Devil May Cry tackling the ills of society (albeit terribly) would've used Lilith to make a point about how bad the oversexualization of women is, but that isn't a point they cover at all. In fact, the game seems to go backwards on this in a "promiscuous women don't deserve respect" kind of way? Everybody's already talked about how cringe that "The world is your bitch, as am I" line, but I think it really shows what kind of character Lilith is in the meta sense. Lilith, through simply being a scantily clad woman, is given significantly more scorn and hatred than the other villains.

And do I have to bring up the sniper rifle abortion scene? You can argue that it's serving to show Reboot Vergil discarding his own morality, but 1. That isn't the focus at all; The focus is on Lilith's suffering causing Mundus to come out of the woodworks to face the trio directly, and 2. They could've shown this in literally any other way besides a sniper rifle abortion. Like I just feel like Vergil could've done anything else except do the sniper rifle abortion. I'm unfortunately obsessed with Reboot Vergil but this is the one thing that I wish didn't happen.

It's 4 AM when I started writing this and 5 AM as I complete typing; If I said anything out of pocket or whatnot, it's the result of that. Any frustration in my writing is meant to be towards Ninja Theoy and Capcom and not you, tumblr user 4dmc.

The mainline Devil May Cry games being misogynist in a "We respect women enough to create well-written female characters, but we don't respect them enough to use them again for anything beyond eye candy" way

Vs

DmC: Devil May Cry 2013 being misogynist in a "We don't respect women. At all. We're blatant as hell about this, so we aren't even gonna try to make them well-written" way

I enjoy both series by the way, and pretending to give respect is still as bad as giving no respect; I am simply making an observation here and I think we should be able to recognize the flaws in our media, no matter its objective quality

[recareels]

._.

[coridallasmultipass]

Just wanna remind everyone that it's NEVER okay to tell someone to die.

You don't know how hard they're fighting to stay alive every day. Or if they don't even want to fight for that any more.

[nauticalfools]

.

[moe-broey]

Jacket!!!! Ye olde varsity I got at the very beginning of my transition thinking "Oh fuck yes I am going to pass so hard in this" and. Well. It never worked I just have never passed a day in my life I don't think 😔 Eventually it just became a beloved test subject and has since gone through a bit of a transition itself LMFAOO

Some Notes:

> A lot of the decorations are taken from old backpacks I loved dearly that got absolutely fucking destroyed by the weight of all the shit I'd lug around in highschool LMFAO (sketchbook, diary, all kinds of notebooks...). Never had the heart to get rid of them. Specifically: The pink zippers, the holographic pockets, the glow in the dark stars, and the holo angel wings!

> The pink/blue checkers are from a small decorative quilt I thrifted years ago, I wouldn't be surprised if it was handmade (it's super soft material, btw! Important LMAO). I only took out one line of squares, I plan on stitching the rest of it back together (haven't done it yet though LMFAO). The reason for this was to upsize the jacket, so I can button it without it clinging. The pockets were added for funsies ESP cause it lined up very well and aren't really practical LMFAO (BUT YOU CAN PUT THINGS IN THEM! If you want!! 🎉🎉🎉)

> The patches (esp the name/pronouns one) were the first additions actually. Eventually more and more things were added, but I will say all the pins on the opposite side of the patches were haphazardly placed for a concert I VERY BADLY wanted to look good for LMFAOO (that's when the stars were added too! Fighting for my life on the car ride over speedrunning sewing and trying not to throw up about it AHAKHSKSHDK)

> Spike placement may be odd and I'd like to add more, but also I do frequently still carry around big heavy backpacks so I have to take that into consideration. Which is also why the wings have been bolted on. Those motherfuckers are NOT going anywhere LMFAO (has a really cool visual effect too!!)

> The material of the jacket itself (sort of a swishy windbreaker fabric) IS ABSOLUTE ASS TO WORK WITH. BY THE FUCKING WAY. IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING. I would NOT recommend it to anybody ESPECIALLY someone who is just starting to fuck around and find out. I literally am just sticking it out bc of the sentimental value this fucker has to me 😭😭😭

This jacket was my first plunge into customization and punk fashion, I didn't have a plan and still don't have one (and I think it kind of shows lmfao). I do worry that it's too soft and cutesy. Kind of the whole point for me, when it came to leaning heavy into punk, was to feel sharper, like I had some bite to me. I might be getting closer, but I think I'm still just kind of a silly guy LMAO. But, I do think in a way, esp as my first project, it represents me well -- where I started, what I loved before the beginning, what I tried desperately to be, what I still wish for, reuniting with the things I loved and embracing them in a brand new context. It's still an ongoing project too! So maybe as I keep growing, it'll grow alongside me, maybe finding that grit I've been striving for along the way.

[josecariohca]

.

[youssefguedira]

One of the fan casts I’ve seen a lot is Hunter Schafer as Zelda. Thoughts?

image for reference because i had to google who hunter schafer was

i could back it? she'd definitely be able to pull off like. oot or twilight princess zelda (by looks alone i haven't seen her act) really depends on what they're doing story wise. but ultimately i don't particularly care what the actor looks like as long as they are believably link or zelda to me and i just. don't think the kind of "major hollywood actors" that people toss around when talking about it could really have that effect because they're too recognisable? if that makes any sense. also a bit of a tangent but i don't know if i WANT the zelda movie to adapt an existing game or a new one, though if i had ti guess it'll adapt something connected to botw/totk and that timeline if it is in any way tied to a game because nintendo is generally trying to move away from the 'traditional' zeldas so to speak

for context this is the hypothetical cast in the article i was reading earlier:

like i respect timothee but i think seeing him as link would just make me laugh. he's a perfectly good actor i just don't vibe with this. mr. holland. can we be serious here. respect the inclusion of dev patel and steven yeun but i think this would only work in a post-oot movie that was a tragic retelling of what happens to the hero of time / an exploration of the effect of All That. which won't happen but i think they could pull it off. we're very much dependent on how old link and zelda will be but if i HAD to pick from this list i'd say aramis knight (in ms marvel) because he's not as immediately recognisable and also he's around the right age for Link That Lives In My Head

moving to the zeldas. florence pugh are you KIDDING me. again i respect her i think ms pugh is very talented. but i don't think i'd want her to play zelda. ultimately it comes down to the fact that link and zelda are almost always teenagers and i want the movie to lean into that. especially because AGAIN this won't happen but i would like an examination of the impact of being declared Saviour Of The Entire World at approximately 12-17 years old. though i guess this could also work with an adult link and zelda but that would lean towards more of a drama than a Big Action Fantasy which is what this will be. zendaya again can we be serious i don't think this would work. personally i'd go w/ kathryn newton or stephanie hsu on this list tbh. or hunter schafer i think she'd be a pretty good choice on vibes alone but ive never seen her in anything (euphoria?)

the article also included these as cast possibilities for minor characters and when i tell you some of them made me choke on my water

i respect natasha lyonne as navi because that could be funny. the others are just. really. something

sorry this answer was super long and also not coherent i should inform you that i am running on approximately 2hrs sleep today. so. but if anyone wants to further discuss zelda PLEASE do i am going through a mini phase rn

also as a second tangent. my ideal zelda plots:

skyward sword zelda during her time on the surface because you could have some REALLY good conflict between her goddess side and her human side and the way she slowly realises she has to manipulate link

zelda becoming sheik in oot!!

my roommate pointed it out the other day but i haven't been able to stop thinking about it since: majora's mask stop motion movie in the style of gdt's pinocchio. directed of course by mr Fucked Up Fairytale del toro himself

[celestial-sapphicss]

.

[thedreadvampy]

I mean sure, I can understand this perspective, but I'm not sure whether most people feel less shaken to be thrust into conversations about "self-unaliving" than conversations about "suicide"

and I for one as a survivor would much rather unexpectedly encounter somebody talking about "rape" than somebody talking about how funny it is to have sex with somebody when they don't want to, a normal thing that doesn't need to be named because it's So Normal.

which is to say. this is a post about words. the words are not the distressing thing about the discussion. the distressing thing is the distressing thing about the discussion. sugarcoating, dodging or renaming the distressing thing doesn't make it less distressing but it DOES often make it harder to have a frank discussion about it or address it in serious terms.

[pinch of salt: solid probability from their blog that this person is a Literal 14 Year Old and the perspective from 30 and 14 are very different. I do stand by all the points I'm making but I think this conversation lands a lot different for people at different life stages - there is something to be said for the general issue that the internet has flattened social groups to the degree that I as a 30 year old can make a post to my audience of largely adult millennials that immediately enters the same conversational space as people half my age and still in school. that seems. ungreat. as the primary way we engage in conversation. but I don't have solutions to offer.]

you gotta be able to say "die"

you gotta be able to say "suicide"

you gotta be able to talk about "sex"

they're uncomfortable topics, YEAH for SURE

because LIFE is uncomfortable. Death and suicide and sex and pain are straight up going to happen. not having words for the way it discomforts you doesn't make it more comfortable, it just makes you less able to reach out about it.

even more vital, you gotta be able to say words like "rape", "abuse", "queer" or "racist". cause we fought fucking hard to name those experiences. to identify "rape" as distinct from "sex" and "racism" as distinct from "acceptable behaviour" and "queer" as distinct from "invert"

like the function of communication is not to minimise immediate discomfort. we gotta be able to talk about stuff that's hard or sucks or causes difficult conversations.

[vault81]

fewer than I thought there was going to be!

[homunculus-argument]

Character idea that I had at some point: A dance teacher who had to give up his own highly promising career as a performer after an injury, and now makes his living giving lessons to children. He comes off as stern, serious, and frighteningly strict, and even some of the parents have a hard time believing that the kids genuinely like him and enjoy the lessons. Which, to be fair, are frightening to watch with no context of what this is about.

The children go through their practices with downright eerie, automation-like, coordinated synchrony, with stern and focused looks on their faces, while the teacher circles them, observing and correcting, brandishing his cane like a weapon and every once in a while dramatically lamenting about how "you little vermin can't do anything right", and occasionally the music stops and the only sounds coming from the studio are of kids running and screaming while their teacher bellows about teaching them a lesson.

This, however, is all just method. He started the first lesson with the children by proposing a game: How about they play flea circus, where he is the cruel evil ringmaster and they are all his poor suffering little fleas. One of the girls starts crying, protesting that she doesn't want to be a flea. Well, how about mice? Mice are cute. The children accept these terms, and ever since they've spent dance lessons playing Evil Circus.

For reasons beyond adult comprehension, children of a certain age really love playing pretend in a setting where everything is Dark And Horrible And The Worst, and Evil Mouse Circus is exactly that. And whenever he picks up that the kids are starting to get too genuinely nervous or agitated, that's when he goes "that's it I'm going to beat all of you" which is their cue to take a break to run around screaming, while he chases them. He won't catch them and isn't even trying to, the kids just need to let the nervous energy out.

It looks horrible to an outside observer, but the kids are having an excellent time playing circus mice.

[alexiroflife]

jjk men reactions & aftercare when you use your safeword…

headcanons list

MDNI, highly suggestive content, smut themes, overstimulation, mentions of discomfort/pain, spanking (suguru), etc.

gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

-> all i could think of when writing safe words was this from that one rick & morty episode please help

satoru gojo:

satoru gojo, before his relationship with you, was a full-fletched virgin.

while people close to him like suguru, before he left jujutsu tech, or shoko would have been able to tell anyone this fact after having known him for so long and so well, in satoru's later years, he finds that everyone assumes he has a rather promiscuous past before settling down with you.

he understands. quite frankly, it doesn't surprise him at all. he's a flirty personality with a sickenly gorgeous face, with the confidence and arrogance of a well-seasoned slut. he does not exude the energy of a person who went twenty-four years of his life without having sex with anyone. he had received and given oral maybe a few times in his early twenties, but he had never gone beyond that.

you're his first at twenty-four and you're his one and only from then one.

despite his lack of physical experience, satoru, unsurprisingly, is incredibly skilled with the use of his body. there's truly nothing that gojo can not do perfectly. he's seen enough, studied the physical reactions you have to him even when you're just speaking, knows you enough to treat you well without having had to fuck a million people beforehand.

and because you are satoru's one and only, he fucking worships you. he gets drunk off of you. he goes insane for you every single time the two of you are together intimately. while his stamina is incredibly high, his desperation proceeds him and his ability to maintain control is drastically lacking whenever he's got your pretty legs quivering over his head as his tongue licks greedy stripes over your puffy clit.

satoru is spoiled. he gets what he wants and does what he wants when he wants it, and he absolutely expects to get exactly what he wants from you when the two of you are in bed, which is to make you as much of a mess for him as he is for you. he wants you shaking, he wants you begging, he wants you crying for more as you struggle to handle just how good he makes you feel, and every single time, he succeeds.

the thought alone of pleasing you renders him dizzy, and his mind often wanders in the middle of meetings when he's supposed to be focused on the course schedule for the first years over the upcoming next few months. satoru is completely and utterly whipped for you, and with his greedy, mindless desire to hear you moaning for him into the early hours of the morning, he can tend to get a little out of hand.

satoru has never made you feel any less than heavenly, any less than adored, any less than cherished. he satisfies you in indescribable ways, and you're admittedly as head over heels for him as he is for you. he's soft, but then he's wild, whiny, relentless, sloppy, yet always so damn good. he pushes you to just the right limits, drawing out physical reactions you hadn't even known to be possible before him, and talking you through it all. though he's always on the brink of going too far, he never has.

so that is why you are close to panicking now that your legs and your throbbing, overstimulated pussy have gone numb with a rather unfamiliar tingling sensation.

you don't even think you can see anymore. you're long past an acceptable point of lack of functionality, and you can't even think. you hear satoru's voice murmuring as it always does, babbling on in his far-gone state as he pulls you closer for another round. the two of you started this when the sun was out, midday, and now, the sky is pitch black and the clock reads almost midnight, not that you can even tell.

you can feel satoru everywhere, hands flying to any patch of skin he can possibly find, yet the sensation is detached from you. you take a few seconds before realizing that you can hardly breathe, and your body is so spent you can barely move.

satoru, above you, is gone. exceedingly pussy drunk, having came more times than he could count in your mouth, on your stomach, on your back, inside your cunt, and yet he still seeks more. it's like his mind and body are on autopilot, searching for you blindly without any indication of how far he has gone or when he should stop. he's just as fucked out in the brain as you, but the only difference is that he somehow has more energy to spare. his dick is somehow still jumping to life, and you suddenly remember that this is satoru gojo you're talking about.

on the battlefield and in bed, he's a monster, unlike any other.

"c'mere, pretty, just-just one more, gotta feel you," he rambles, panting heavily as he tugs you closer and roams his crystal blue eyes over your trembling body. his sense of logic is skewed, the flags are not registering. he only sees you, and he is eager. he's so in love, so intoxicated by you, he's lost his damn mind.

"y'so gorgeous for me, baby, such a good pretty girl. my good pretty girl. love this pretty girl's pussy, so-so good for me. so good."

and there he goes, on and on about how he wants you, what you do to him, how perfect you are, and you can't even hear it. your ears are ringing. where the hell even are you?

satoru's moving to caress over your body, detailing the softness of your soaked skin beneath his palms before his hands meet your soaked cunt again. he's prying at your weak thighs, ghosting his fingers over your clit hungrily, and the second you feel the tip of his finger so much as graze your bundle of nerves, you're momentarily revived. you're gasping and pushing him away, crawling back.

satoru watches you, brows drawing together. he goes to reach for you again, but then you hastily breathe out. "purple! purple, purple, purple," you wail, body twitching as you curl in on yourself.

the moment your safeword falls on satoru's ears, he's snapping out of it. his blown pupils suddenly shrink and he reconnects with the world around him, with you, the way your heart races, the way you can hardly speak, the way you can't even lift your head from the pillow.

he looks down at the drenched state of your sheets, then back up at you, shaking, and he's finally back.

"baby," he coaxes in concern, crawling up to meet you. you don't even open your eyes when he hovers over you. you simply squirm, murmuring nonsense as chills rack you and your feet kick out. you're absolutely done. "fuck, baby. hey, you there with me? (y/n)?" he cups his hand over your hot cheek, worried eyes taking in the sight of you. he's never seen you like this before, and it's jarring. how long have you even been like this? did he seriously not notice that you had been spent for a while?

your hands go to push at his chest, but he stops you gently, holding your wrist and hushing you. "it's okay, princess, you're okay. you're alright... fuck, baby, look at you. you can't even understand me, can you?"

as expected, you don't show any indication that you can hear him. instead, your body slowly melts back into the sheets as though registering the shift in satoru's mannerisms and tone. you relax, slumping, and satoru almost thinks you've passed out.

"uh uh. don't pass out on me, pretty. come on," he urges you gently, patting your cheek. you groan and stir, at least showing him that you are still conscious. "okay, that's good, baby. that's a good girl, come here."

he pulls you into his arms, enveloping you in his safe embrace. your cheek falls against his bare pectoral and you hum, nuzzling into him as he holds your head close, petting over your hair and watching you carefully. satoru struggles to gather himself as well as he holds you, breathing heavily and twitching against your body whilst bringing himself back to reality.

you continue to rub your face against him, and he looks down at you, brows knitted together. fuck, he feels awful. he hadn't meant to push you this far.

"(y/n)?" he calls your name again, a rather rare occurrence. you take a moment to hum drowsily after a few minutes have passed. "can you hear what i'm saying?"

"...mhm," you hum again brokenly.

"yeah? you can?"

this time you only nod, and he sighs. "are you okay, pretty? are you hurt?"

"mm-mm."

"you sure?"

"y-yeah, tor..."

you don't even finish his name as you sink further into him. satoru kisses your cheek, then your temple. "okay, i get it now. i did too much? i went too far?"

"mhm," you whimper, and his arms tighten around you.

"i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, i should've known better," he apologizes profusely. "i got carried away, i wasn't even thinking. i wasn't even there myself- but that's no excuse. i'm sorry. stay with me, pretty."

slowly, your arms slide to wrap around your boyfriend's neck, and he melts like sap into you, cooing gently and showering you with kisses. he can feel your rapid heartbeat against his chest, your soft pants fanning on his cheek, your abdomen tightening and releasing with your shivers.

"you're so sensitive. i got you good, huh?" he observes. "i'll go easier, next time, pretty. okay? you did so good for me. you always do such a good job. just keep those pretty eyes closed and rest. i'll clean you up in a bit."

you nod meekly once more, cuddling impossibly further into him. you doze to the sound of his assurances, of his tender voices telling you that you’re safe, that satoru’s got you, that he’s so proud of you. he lets you rest before he has to wake you again to help you get ready for bed and to clean you properly.

he loves you so much. so so much, and despite him going overboard, his heart swells with relief at the fact that you feel comfortable enough to tell him to stop.

suguru geto: suguru is truly a kind and loving man. he's gentle and meticulous in the way he cares for you. he always makes sure that you have everything you need and that you're cared for the way you deserve to be cared for. and in bed, he's almost teasing with the way he loves you. he's sweet, keeping his searing lips to your ear as he floods your brain with declarations of future promises, of making you happy, of practically laying down his life if it means listening to you call his name over and over.

he's got a mouth on him, one full of filthy affections, and he gets you off on the sultry sweetness of his sugary tone constantly. he'll be knuckles deep inside you, kissing your cheek almost innocently as he murmurs seductively to you his devotions.

"you squeeze me so nice, sweet girl. you look so fucking beautiful like this. that's right, angel. feel it. feel my fingers stretching you out so good. fuck, i could finger you like this every day for the rest of my life. would you like that, angel? hmmm?"

he always makes sure you respond, as well. he's pulling orgasm after orgasm from you and urging you to speak while doing so, no matter how far gone you are. he's not satisfied until your angelic little voice is breathing out to answer him unsteadily, your words warming his heart and hardening his dick without fail.

nevertheless, despite suguru's generosity, he has the tendency to be so mean when he's agitated.

suguru has a pretty terrible attitude, and though it's not often on display when he is irritated, particularly by something you say, he's an entirely different beast.

his honeyed tone still remains when he punishes you, yet it's laced around far less pretty words. he teases, mocks, judges, and at times, it's enough to make you cry or second guess yourself if you were to hear him go on like this in any other setting.

suguru's presence is incredibly domineering aside from his normally gentle demeanor. when push comes to shove, he is still a man capable of murder, a man harboring the hatred of an entire species, and a man who manages to uphold his connections and his legacy through his cult by means of manipulation.

suguru is nice, yes, but he's also kind of a bully.

the dark-haired man doesn't find himself taking out his irritations on you often. he only deems it necessary to do so when his irritation is inspired by you, and while he has attitude issues, you mirror his tenfold... and he does not tolerate you doing so one bit.

now, you know suguru very well and are very accustomed to how he handles you when he's pissed off, but tonight, he's showing no mercy.

he's had you splayed over his lap for what feels like forever, your ass pointed upward and your wrists bound before you as you muffle your whimpers as best as you possibly can. you don't even remember what you had said or done to get suguru so worked up, but you know that your ass is stinging horribly and is likely marked up with several red angry hand prints, yet suguru is seemingly still far from finished with you.

you've tried crawling away multiple times, but his strong hands always pull you right back, keeping your back arched and your ass up for his access.

"don't cry now, angel," he says, voice dark as his hands roam over your ass. you tense as he gathers a handful of the fat into his fingers, squeezing tightly before raising his hand to smack down hard again with no warning. you lurch forward with a sob, your legs trembling harshly. "you weren't crying earlier when you were running your mouth so much, were you?"

"sugu," you hiccup, desperate for a break. "p-please..."

"nuh uh. you can't 'sugu' you're way out of this one," geto says, eyes heavy and dark as they look over the marks he has left behind. "after all, you're the one who wanted this."

"n-no," you deny pitifully.

"no?" he bites down hard on his teeth as he smacks you again, watching your plump flesh jiggle with the motion. he groans under his breath, sliding his hands over you again as you cry. "really? i could have sworn by the way you were talking to me, this was the only outcome you were looking for."

you can hardly hold yourself up anymore. your face falls flat on the bed as your body shakes with your laments. you don't know what number of spanks you're even on. was there ever a set count to begin with?

you try to reach a hand back, but you forget that your wrists are tied before you, leaving you with absolutely no defenses and suguru with the upper hand.

suguru roughly grabs a handful of your hair and pulls you up, looking over your tear-stained face with a quirked brow. "what's the matter? can't handle your punishment?" he taunts, eying you intensely.

you sniffle, eyes unfocused. your lips part to answer him, but he beats you to it, landing two more smacks to your backside, and you're seeing stars. the strike of his hand is starting to burn, stinging agonizingly over your skin. your ass is buzzing, throbbing with its own bruise-induced heartbeat.

you feel more tears break past your eyes and your brows scrunch up. "that won't do, angel," suguru says. "i must've gone too soft on you."

who goes to land one last strike, and you can't take it anymore. you're kicking away as best as you can, panting with your cries as your voice goes ragged.

"rose!!" you call, completely beyond yourself. "please, no more, please- i'm sorry! rose!"

suguru freezes, his hardened facade washing away. he breaks past the air of anger that he's been submerged in and sees the way you cry as he holds you up, your pearly tears dribbling past your chin as you continue to beg him to have mercy on you under your trembling breath.

"shit," he curses, slowly releasing your hair and easing your head back down. "i hear you, angel. loud and clear."

he hastily undoes your bind and tosses it to the side, setting your wrists free. you quiver, sinking over his lap. suguru catches a glimpse of the marks he has left once more, watching the blooming of purples and reds spread over your poor bum. he hadn't realize how bad it looked before, but he sees now just how hard he's been hitting you.

"fuck, angel, i'm sorry. i'm sorry."

his hand runs over the small of your back and he ducks down to the side of your face, which is still concealed as you cry. his brows curl and his heart lurches forward, his touch upon you now soft and delicate.

"(y/n)?"

"why'd y'spank me so hard," he hears you question into the blankets, speaking unstably amid your tears. suguru's heart drops then and there, and his entire demeanor shifts upon seeing what he's done to you.

"oh, sweet girl, i'm so fucking sorry. i'm sorry," he whispers to you soothingly, attempting to calm you. you're a wreck over his lap, shaking violently. "i don't know what happened. i don't know why i did that. i'm sorry, baby. i'm sorry."

he hisses as his thumb ghosts over his handprints, and even that has you jumping suddenly. "okay, i won't touch. i'm- shit, i really marked you up. that looks like it hurts so bad, angel, i'm sorry. i was being a dick. i don't know what came over me."

suguru slowly helps you up when you don't reply to him, and once he's got you slightly upright, you fall into his chest as you sob. his arms wrap over your upper and lower back securely, face burrowing into your shoulder. his long hair tickles your bare skin gently, his comforting scent consuming you, and you are reminded of your boyfriend's sympathy once more.

"a-are you really t-that mad?" you hiccup into his shoulder, dampening his skin with your tears.

"no," he tells you. "no, i'm not mad anymore. that wasn't- i just got carried away," he repeats. "you're okay, angel. you're perfect. i let my emotions get in the way too much."

"fe-lt like you hated me..."

"what?" he frowns, pulling back to look you in the eye. your red eyes meet his sorrowfully, and you sniff, searching for the kindness of those hazel eyes you so adore. you rediscover it the moment you look at him. "hate you? (y/n), no. don't say that. i could never hate you. i love you," he brushes your tears from your eyes and you whimper. "you're my sweet girl. my perfect angel. i would never," he says gravely. "i can't believe i made you feel that way."

"you spank hard," you pout, and he kisses your puffy lips, smoothing his hand over you hair and stroking your neck.

"i see that now. i'm sorry. i won't do that again," he kisses you again. "i'm sorry. i hate to see you cry like this. this isn't how i should make you cry."

suguru looks around and locates the bottle of water he left on the dresser prior. he leans forward, careful as to not agitate you, and grabs hold of it. "here," he unscrews the bottle around your waist and lifts it to your lips. "hydrate, baby. you need it."

you pucker your lips around the bottle as he eases it upward, easing the fluid into your mouth as you drink. "that's my girl."

once you're done, he leans down to put the bottle on the floor and slowly guides you off of him and onto your stomach after kissing your lips once more.

"what do you want, angel? ice? you want me to massage it?" he asks you, craning down by your ear as you press your cheek to the pillow and look at him tiredly.

"both," you say softly.

"yes ma'am. i'll be right back."

suguru spends the rest of the night treating you, rolling his cool hands ever so carefully over your bruises, cupping your ass, and massaging out the stings to increase blood flow. your brows arch and you moan into the pillow as he does so.

"i know, i know," he murmurs. "promise, i'll make it better. try to calm down for me."

he's kissing softly over the handprints, whispering endless apologies before applying ice every now and then. eventually, the pain begins to calm and subside as your senses dull, and suguru rubs circles over your waist.

"sugu?" you mutter after an extended period of silence.

the dark-haired man ducks down, gazing over your now serene features. "hm?"

he sees the corners of your lips pull upward subtly as you close your eyes. "you're mean, you know that?"

he puff of amused air blows through his nose as he nods, stroking your temple. "i know. i'm the meanest, angel. i'm sorry."

kento nanami:

kento nanami is a man among men, a perfect gentleman, the blueprint for all partners. he loves you dearly, and he takes any chance he can to show you or remind you of this love he harbors for you.

nanami treats you as though you are the only womann to grace this planet, and in many ways, that is exactly how he sees you. he dotes on you and makes you feel as though you are a queen among peasants, sending you flowers nearly every day, writing you sweet letters, cooking you dinner, keeping his hand to your waist to guide you close to him when you walk around in public, cooking your meals, and buying you every possible thing you could ever even mention wanting.

he's an angel. he's your dream man, and he's all yours and you're all his.

when kento is intimate with you, he likes to take his time. he likes to drag out every second of his fingers touching you and his lips ghosting over your body. he likes to admire you, every single part down to the last detail. he is never in any rush, and why should he be? why would he want this to end? you're his lovely woman, and you deserve every second of pleasure he has to offer you.

he handles you so lovingly, holding your gaze and intertwining his fingers with yours as he strokes into you deeply, a haze of raw passion capturing you both as you breathe into each other, fall into one another's longing gazes, and intertwine like pretty strokes of paint mixing into one another on a canvas.

he's enamored by you, kissing over your neck and listening to your pulse against his skin as he makes love to you, keeping you close, flush to him. tendrils of soft blonde hair sprinkle over your forehead as his lips meet yours, bodies rocking passionately. you can feel the fondness in the way he presses into you, the way he holds you, and you feel so feather light as your head floats into the clouds and heaven encaptures you in the bliss of his hold.

nanami is afraid of hurting you when you have sex. he tends to always handle you with care solely because of this fear of his, and while he has his moments of letting just a little bit more loose, of handling you just a little bit rougher, of pushing in just a little bit deeper, he doesn't want to overwhelm you to the point where you are in pain.

you, of course, spur him on and encourage him to let go. you don't believe that nanami would ever hurt you, or at least do so to the point of irreversible damage, but he still gives you a safe word to use for any time you may feel more sensitive than normal or need a break or simply want him to stop because he's making you uncomfortable. you never thought that you would need such a thing with him, but you had unfortunately been wrong.

it isn't even nanami's fault, per say. you like to push yourself more than nanami really approves, and while you can handle it just fine, you find a moment when you overestimate yourself.

you've been riding kento at his desk chair, your hands gripping his shoulders as his hands clutch your hips. his head is tossed back, normally neatly combed haired tousled messily, and his chocolate eyes drink you in through heavy lids. a chorus of hushed moans leave your lips as you work yourself down onto him, rolling your hips, grinding over him, and sliding up and down swiftly.

the blonde's lashes flutter as he watches you, a sight so beautiful and a sensation so purely exquisite that he can not bear to look away.

you lean down to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your chest to his unbuttoned dress shirt. his hands run over your back on instinct, eyes falling closed as he pants into your shoulder.

"ken," you pur into his ear. "fuck up into me, please..."

and normally kento would think on it more, but hell, you just feel too good for him to deny such a polite request. he obliges, gripping your hips and holding you down, planting his feet securely into the carpet and sheathing his throbbing length upward and into your welcoming, gummy walls.

"oh, sweetheart," he groans, wrapping his arms around your waist and burrowing his nose into the crook of your neck with furrowed brows. "you feel so perfect like this."

"fuckkk, ken," you whine.

after a while, you push yourself down at a faster pace, attempting to catch up with his strokes and speed him up. kento grunts, holding you tighter and understanding the message as he thrusts up into you faster.

soon, the sound of his hips slapping into your ass lifts into the air throughout his home office, and you're whining into him, rutting yourself down with him.

nanami's groaning into you, pace a bit wilder as he mimics your behavior. he's got a hand slid up your neck and into your hair as the other holds your waist down, no longer allowing you to move the way you had before as his thrusts proceed.

you're squelching around him, moaning prettily and growing louder by the second until nanami shifts slightly, sitting up straighter and holding you still as he fucks up into you.

he's rougher, as you had physically and verbally requested of him. while this isn't the first time he's handled you a bit harder, it's the first time you feel the weight of his tip bruise your insides with his position, his speed, and his access.

you gasp, breath hitching in your throat as pleasure rather quickly transitions into discomfort, and you squirm. you want to take it, you love taking him so much, but the longer he pulls you further into the harsh push of his dick into your cervix, the more painful it begins to feel.

you grip into nanami's hair, squeezing the muscles in your face as you breathe out heavily. it only takes a few more thrusts that slam into you way too harshly before you tap against his back.

"ah- ken, ken, hold on- mm- yellow!"

nanami stops even before the word leaves your mouth, pulling you off of him with haste as you wince. he sets you back down on his thighs, and you can feel his length twitching against your ass as he looks over you with pinched brows.

he looks so pretty, still thoroughly consumed with lust, captured by worry for your well-being. his hands remain on your waist as he looks over you sternly. "tell me where sweetheart. how did i hurt you?"

you already feel bad as your walls clench around nothing, rather disappointed in yourself. you tremble slightly, looking down. "sorry- i just... it just started hurting for a sec."

"i was going too roughly?" he asks you for clarification, warm brown hues of care looking up at you. he looks torn, devastated that he had broken the one promise he had made to himself about harming you in such a vulnerable state.

"it wasn't you, ken, i didn't think it would hurt that much," you say dejectedly, a tad woozy from the way you had just been handled. it wasn't as though you didn't enjoy it, your body had just reacted differently and reminded you of your limits with taking ken in such a way.

"of course it was me, honey, i'm not sure what you mean," he says softly, his thumb smoothing over your spine. "i'm so sorry, sweetheart. i never meant to hurt you. i must have allowed myself to get too worked up."

"it's okay, ken," you shush him, taking his face gently in your hands. he gazes at you, frustrated with himself but eyes so full of love for you, the darkness in his eyes still swimming about. "you always tell me to reel it in, but you just make me feel so good. i always want more of you. i pushed a little too hard."

"honey," nanami begins, taking one of your wrists in his veiny hand and turning to press a kiss to your palm. "i still would never blame you in this situation. i know better. i apologize sincerely. how badly does it hurt?"

"...it's not that bad, ken. it was just a sting."

"it doesn't matter," he shakes his head. "i think that's enough intimacy for today. i can not stand the thought of hurting you any further."

you give him a sad look. "but it wasn't all your fault, ken," you frown.

nanami smiles at you softly and leans in to press a long, gentle kiss to your lips. he pulls away from you and meets your gorgeous eyes. "i love you, sweetheart," he declares so warmly, so honestly and you return the sentiment without a second thought, heart thrumming.

"i love you more."

"let me run a bath for you, okay? then after, we can relax and order some food. i can give you a nice massage, too. how does that sound?"

"...can i massage you too?"

nanami laughs slightly. "darling, i'm not the one who got hurt."

"i don't care. i wanna help you relax too. you always have so much tension."

"i'm relaxed any time i'm with you. and you certainly were helping me relax a few minutes ago. perhaps, a bit too much."

you pout and he kisses you again, his soft lips warm and enticing against your own. "ken," you murmur against his lips as he draws himself back, rubbing his palm over your spine and sliding your shirt back down from its scrunched state.

"yes, my love?"

"i still want you."

he gives you a firm, warning look. "(y/n), i said that's enough. you need to rest a bit. you just said that you have the tendency to push yourself when it comes to sex."

"i know, but," you push your bottom lip out and lean back up against his chest, arms draping over his shoulders again. "it doesn't have to be sex. you can just... eat me out."

you feel nanami's chest stutter against you as he breathes out heavily. "you're playing a dangerous game, you know that?"

"please?" you beg, dragging your nose against his neck. "you're always gentle. and it feels so good... all you have to do is hold me down, i won't get hurt in any way with your tongue on me, i swear."

a groan rumbles in nanami's chest and you can feel his dick twitch back to life against you. you smile lazily, leaning back to look him in the eye. "pleaseee?"

"only if you behave," he accepts, raising his brows. "i'm serious. i will go the pace i want to go, and you'll take it. slowly."

you bite the inside of your lip and nod, a pretty smile gracing your face. nanami hums, curving his hand over the back of your head and bringing you to his lips again.

"what am i going to do with you?"

choso kamo:

your brown-haired boyfriend is new to a plethora of human emotions and habits, yet sex is one thing he adjusts to rather eagerly and skillfully thanks to your influence.

choso is ever so inquisitive, seeking to explore every part of you so that he can ingrain your body and its incredible functions into his mind, so he can adapt, so he can improve, and you can confidently say that he proceeds to do so with each passing moment he studies, loves, and cares for you.

choso gets pretty flustered by you easily. you introduce him to not only a world of your love and affection, but a world of vulnerability, pleasure, and sensual exploration. he learns fast, the goal of making you happy driving him forward into picking up on the things you show him incredibly swiftly.

he's so handsy with you, unsure of how to properly convey all that you make him feel so he frequently clobbers you, enveloping you, consuming you in a needy daze, repetitively chanting about how he loves you and how beautiful you are, and how amazing you make him feel, how he never wants to let you go. he's pathetically obsessed with you, longing for your touch at any given moment yet he always allows you to initiate your intimacy first before he completely drowns in you. he's still working on managing himself around you as well as his own urges to refrain from acting out of line, being too forward, or misreading situations. he wants to be perfect for you, and never in your relationship does choso ever want to misstep or misread what you want.

getting him to vocalize when and how he wants you is one thing, but once you've started, sending him a text about how you need him, or running your hand down his thigh a little closer to his crotch underneath the table, or giving him that certain look in your eye that can only mean one thing, then he's completely and utterly unraveling at the very second you give him the green light.

choso's sloppy and uncoordinated but it doesn't matter and he doesn't care because all he's after is you, and when he has you, his brain goes numb, his hands, his dick, his everything are acting with a mind of their own.

the two of you are hot gasps and nasty sloppy noises as the purple eyed man above you pleads for you, though you're right there, aching for more until he can't even breathe.

you think choso is so beautiful like this, lips parted and brows curled as though he's going to cry from the euphoria. his brown hair falls over his shoulders and sticks to his forehead, free from the updo that he always wears, and for someone who can manipulate the blood in his body, he is beet red in the face as he watches the way he disappears into you.

choso would never hurt you. not in a million years. he would die before he hurt you, standing in front of oncoming traffic and sacrificing himself for the sake of your life.

therefore, when his crooked fingers are rocketing into your sopping walls as you cream over and over on his three digits, his lips slurping over your clit with your fingers lace into his hair and tugging at his scalp, he doesn't expect you to stop him.

he's only thinking of how you taste so sweet on his tongue, how your gorgeous pussy makes that squelching noise the deeper he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, and god, the way his dick twitches every time you pull at his hair- he can hardly tell if you're trying to yank him away or to pull him closer at this point, but he's not even thinking about that. he's not thinking at all.

he’s groaning and humming into you, whining in between breaths about how he just can’t get enough, but his fingers are beginning to thrust too fast, too far inside of your walls.

his noises shift between guttural, deep growls and shaky, heavy-pitched breaths. though you love every sound, you begin to feel yourself rejecting the feeling as it grows far too swift, too hard, too overpowering.

"c-cho," you whimper, your thighs moving to push you away, but he keeps you down with his free forearm to your lower abdomen. "baby, i c-can't- ah!"

his noises rise over your pleads and he doesn't stop, and you can feel an uncomfortable knot building in your stomach in addition to the ache inside you. you wince, the overlapping sensations proving to be way too much at once.

your hand pushes at his forehead rather harshly. "cho-! ngh- pinaepple!"

choso's brows twitch as he processes what you just said, his mind still not completely comprehending, but after a second or two, he rips himself away as though he's burned you.

panic swirls in his violet eyes, his saliva and your slick shining over his chin up to his nose. he looks up at you over your thighs, but you don't see because you're leaning your head back in relief and breathing heavily.

"did you just say your safeword?" he asks in a rush, ensuring that he has registered your words properly.

you nod stiffly, furrowing your brows. "y-yeah, m'sorry," you breathe. "i couldn't take anymore."

choso's pupils shrink as though you've just told him that all life is ending as you know it. his heart hammers through his chest, and he instantly peels away from your now cold sex to swipe his fingers on the bed, ridding himself of any reminder that he has pushed you too much.

he crawls up to see your face, caging his arms over you. his muscles tense as he looks over your expression, brows knitted and eyes glossy. you eventually open your eyes again, having sensed his presence over you.

"(y/n), i'm sorry," he apologizes so earnestly like it's the very last thing he'll ever say to you. he's suddenly deadly serious, firm, and ashamed of himself. "you've never used our word before. i... i didn't realize what i was doing to you."

"cho," you say his name softly. he tilts his head further down to you, his brows curling in sadness. "it's okay, baby. stuff like this happens."

"what do you mean?" he frowns, hand coming over your cheek the moment yours lifts to hold his. "this has never happened to us before. i'm not sure how i let it, either."

"i just mean in general," you clarify softly. you can feel your eyes growing heavier and your speech slurring. choso notices as well, keeping his hand on your face so that you remain with him, cognizant of his gaze and his touch.

"this has happened to you before?" he asks, slightly horrified and simultaneously agitated by the very idea. "when? with who?"

"baby, i'm trying to tell you mistakes happen," you laugh softly. "no, this hasn't happened to me before, but i'm saying we have a safe word for a reason for when these things do happen."

"oh," he murmurs. "but i never wanted you to actually have to use it..."

"well, how else would we learn about each other if we didn't run into things like this?" you smile warmly at him. choso's face blooms with further heat, humming to himself as he looks at you.

"tell me."

"tell you what?"

"tell me exactly what it was that i did. i'll be sure not to make the same mistake twice. i swear. i'm so sorry for hurting you," he declares, determined.

"it wasn't that bad, love," you assure him.

"i still want to know. i need to know."

"it was just the way you were using your fingers, and i was already super sensitive."

"...so, you don't want me to use my fingers on you anymore?"

"oh, god, no," you say, and you can see choso visibly relax.

"oh... okay, good. i would have stopped if you wanted me to, but i was hoping that wasn't it. i love fingering you."

your tired smile spreads as you lift your other hand to curl into his hair, scratching gently. his lashes flutter, heavy eyes matching your own. "i love when you finger me too, cho. just maybe next time, be gentler... only because you'd already made me cum so much. my body was just tired and i don't think it could keep up anymore."

he nods, taking in every word you say. "i understand. that makes sense, i'm sorry. i should have checked on you and asked."

"it's okay, baby, you don't have to keep apologizing."

"but i just can't stomach that i-"

"it's. okay," you whisper slowly, pulling him down to meet your lips with his in a delicate peck where you can smell yourself on his breath.

he sighs when you pull away, face twisted irritably. "are you sure, baby? you're not just saying that?"

"of course," you say softly. "it was just one little thing. that's all. i'm okay."

choso almost looks reluctant to accept your dismissal of the situation. he somehow feels like he needs to be reprimanded more for it, and you can tell simply by the way he stares at you.

"cho," you giggle. "stop, i told you i'm fine."

"i know. you're too sweet to me, (y/n)," he murmurs. "i wanna make it up to you. can i? is there anything i can do to make you feel better? please tell me."

you swoon internally at just how much cares. "can you just cuddle me please?"

"yes. absolutely, yes."

the brunette moves to kiss your forehead, then helps ease your legs over so that you are settled comfortably over the bed. before he lays down, he is reminded of the dampness beneath you, coating your inner thighs and creeping up to your belly button.

"love, do you have a towel?" he asks you gently as you start to curl over to him. "i need to clean you up, don't i? i made kind of a mess."

"later, cho," you mumble tugging at his bicep. "just want to be close to you right now."

he's torn momentarily. he's always quick to cater to what you ask of him, to just silently yet happily comply with whatever you need, but he knows that the second he gathers you in his arms, sleep is going to take over the both of you as it normally does after sex. the last thing he wants is for you to be laying in a sticky pool of your own arousal. he imagines you waking up uncomfortable, and it doesn't sit well with him.

"hold on a minute," he tells you. you look up curiously as he kisses your cheek and slides his arm slowly from you to stand. your hand slips into his before you release him reluctantly.

"cho?" you call him with big eyes, and the brunette almost gives in right there.

"just one more second. i remember us always doing this, and i don't want to neglect you now."

"...but-"

"one second. i promise, love."

you sigh and accept it. the moment you say okay, choso is practically sprinting to your bathroom and back with a towel. you can't help but smile gently as he hurriedly, yet gently, cleans you dry, holding your legs in his palm and easing them to the side when he's done.

"do you have to pee?" he asks you rather bluntly, gazing up at you as he folds the towel and places it on the ground.

you groan at the thought. "yeah, but i don't feel like it."

"that's okay. i'll take you."

"to pee?" you quirk a brow.

"yes?" he answers as though you questioning the thought is absurd. "i don't want you to go yourself. you're tired."

"yeah, but then that means you'll just be listening to me."

"(y/n), i've seen every part of you. i don't care about watching you pee."

"why would you want to hear or watch me in the first place?" you whine.

"to make sure it doesn't hurt you when you do."

"cho, baby, you did not hurt me that bad. oh my god," you run a hand over your face and shake your head with your laughter.

"i just want to make sure you're alright. i can close my eyes if it helps," he says stubbornly, leaning down to gather you slowly into his arms. your arms go to wrap over his neck as he lifts you up and walks you off.

"it's honestly fine whatever you do, cho, i just think it's a little funny."

"to worry?"

"nooo," you sigh, knocking your head against his shoulder. "nevermind."

choso responds with a peck to your head before sitting you down in the restroom. once the both of you are settled, you're back in bed under the covers. choso holds you with your back to his chest, palming soothingly over your abdomen as you drift off to sleep with the feeling of his chest rising and falling against you.

"(y/n)," cho's voice rumbles into you. you hum contentedly half asleep, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "thank you for being honest with me. i love you. i love you so much."

"mmm. i love you too, cho. thank you for always listening to me."

toji fushiguro:

toji, mentally and physically, can not get enough of you, especially after long stressful days on the job. when he comes home from work and is greeted by the sight of your pretty face after having had guns pointed at his head, blood spilling on his face, and the weight of exhaustion and sore muscles hanging on his back, seeing you is like seeing the gates of heaven after death.

the assassin is always so quick to fall over you, pressing you to him and smothering you in long, deep, hot kisses as he walks you back or picks you up to carry you to your bedroom, or to the shower, or hell, even to the countertop in the kitchen.

toji fucking loves being inside you. he loves tasting you on his lips, feeling you clench around his fingers, watching you squeeze over his heavy cock as he sinks into you with a guttural groan and a devilish smirk. he loves the way your soft skin feels beneath his calloused hands, he loves licking the salty-sweet sweat from your neck as you toss your head back, he loves the sound of your pussy gushing around him with each slow stroke that inevitably transitions into ruthless pounding.

god, he loves fucking you as much as he loves you, and the moment he's got you in his arms with a week of stress pent up within his chest, he's pouring all if it straight into the way he fucks you, and he gets lost in the euphoria that is you.

you're such a pretty thing beneath him, so small compared to his bulking frame, and he is obsessed with it. one second, he's stroking in leisurely, absorbing every second of the way he slides his girth between your gummy walls, soaking up the way you greedily drag him back in with each thrust. and the next, you're in a mating press and he's grunting into your mouth through a sloppy lip lock, slamming in rhythmically, stilling his cock inside you for a second longer each time so that you can feel just had deep he is, just how deliciously he's stretching you open. hell, he doesn't even know when or how it happens. he just knows that you have him whipped, and his stress melts away with each drag of his seed he pumps into you after the umpteenth round.

"fuckin' hell, doll, keep drainin' my cock just like that. thaaaaat's it, pretty baby- hah, fuck- take me so deep inside this perfect lil' pussy..."

toji has always been well aware of the size difference between the two of you. he's always been a freakishly large man, and that fact of course applies to the generous width of the monster he carries between his legs. he knows you struggle at times when he has to take a good minute or two to help you relax as he eases himself into you while you whine, that his size can be a bit overwhelming, but you've accustomed to him so well that he completely forgets about how much stronger, heavier, and bigger he is- especially so when he is stressed.

he is, however, unfortunately, reminded after he has curled your lower half up from the bed with your legs over his shoulder. your knees are hovering by your ears as he plants himself over you with his feet on the bed, holding onto your hips and pounding himself down into you almost vertically, keeping you flush against his torso.

his day had been particularly long and grueling, and the job he had been on took far longer than expected just for his client to argue with him about some bullshit once he had finished. toji's irritated, and he's fucking you like he is.

normally you don't have much of a problem with that, but this position he's got you in has you widening your eyes and practically screaming. he's too deep, pushing in too hard, and this angle gives you no room to squirm away or for his dick to angle anywhere but straight into your guts. it hurts, and his face is tense with blazing jade irises of fury, fingers digging into your skin bruisingly, and he's on the verge of going impossibly harder.

you choke, scrunching your face and moving to press against him. when he starts to reach for your hand and pin it down, you shout.

"orange!" you cry. "stop, toji, orange!"

he instantly stills, face falling as he stares down at you in shock. "oh shit, baby, for real?"

you nod quickly with a tight face and he's retracting within seconds, pulling out carefully and bringing your legs back down to the mattress.

"fuck, alright," he says, climbing over you and pulling you down gently. "sorry, baby, was it the angle?"

you don't say much, only nod again as you fight the tears that prick the corners of your eyes. you keep your eyes closed and toji wraps you up, laying back on his side and pulling you into his chest. he feels your legs twitching against his and your shoulders shaking as he holds you, and remorse floods his chest. "talk to me."

"w-was too deep, toji," you shudder, whispering shakily into him. "s'big, and that angle- it hurt."

toji's heart clenches as he holds you tighter around your shoulders. he kisses your forehead, pressing his lips to your hair. "i didn't realize, baby, i'm sorry."

"i told you it was too much..."

"i know, doll, but i didn't think you meant it. you usually don't."

"s'why i said... the word."

"yeah, you did. you did exactly what you were supposed to. good girl, doll," he praises, rubbing over your back slowly. he's never seen you look so pained in such an intimate space with you. the way your brows were pinched angrily when he looked up, the way your teeth bared in a soft grimace, the way you pushed against him and wanted him to get off, it breaks his heart. he feels like a complete piece of shit, especially so because he didn't notice until your safeword came flying out of your mouth.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes again. "i should've been payin' attention. i had a bad day... fuck, sorry."

you can tell he's remorseful, and that combined with the fact that you've been fucked stupid for the past hour and a half has you shaking your head against him forgivingly, head dizzy as you finally take a moment to collect yourself. "it's okay," you mumble into his neck lightly.

"it's not, doll. it ain't even fun or sex anymore if i'm hurtin' you," he frowns. you make a soft noise but don't respond to him verbally. toji looks down at you, gently lifting your head to catch the fuzzy look in your eye. "you hearin' me? you okay?"

you nod dumbly, a hint of unease pinching your brows when your legs twitch again and the ache in your core throbs. you burrow your face in toji's neck and he sighs.

"i gotta get you cleaned up, doll. then i'll make up for it."

"wait," you mumble the moment you feel him pulling away. he stops as you cling to him, peering up at him through sleepy lashes. "don't go."

"i'm just gettin' you a towel. i'll be right back."

you look at him sadly once he has completely torn away from you and stood at the edge of the bed. he watches the way you bring your knees to your chest and look up at him with sleepy, desperate eyes. toji exhales, tilting his head.

"you want me to take you with me?"

"yes..."

he allows himself to smile lightly in amusement. "alright, but you're not walkin' anywhere, you understand?"

he leans down and you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. he hoists you up cautiously by your bum, allowing you to wrap your legs around his torso. you cringe slightly at the action, your legs burning after having endured such exertion, and toji can feel you shift against him as he holds you with one arm by your waist.

"that's not comfortable, is it?" he turns to your face, but it has already disappeared into his neck. you don't respond and toji exhales at the stubborn clinginess that you resort to in this fucked out state at the cost of your comfort.

he aids you by holding one of your thighs gently as he walks to your bathroom to retrieve the things he needs. with one hand holding you and the other gripping some cloths, he carries you back into your room and sets you softly onto your back on the cushions.

he gently unwinds your legs from around him and kneels on the bed beside you. he ducks down to kiss you softly, and you hum in satisfaction against him before he pulls away, stroking your forehead.

"close your eyes, doll. let me take care of ya."

a warm rag runs over your body, wiping over dark hickeys and lines of sweat. his lips follow in the cloth's wake, kissing over any part of you that he deems he has treated too roughly in his haste to relieve himself of stress.

he reaches your thighs, where the most pain resides, and presses his lips to them softly. his fingers run over your calves, up the sides of your plush flesh and he proceeds to pepper kisses between your legs, swiping the cloth over your damp entrance tentatively, keeping his eyes on your face to ensure that he isn't further harming you. you do jerk slightly, but that is the extent of your physical reaction.

"i got you, don't worry."

the second you feel the cloth leave you, toji's hands are pulling you up again, moving you around so that he can lay flat on his back beside you. you open your eyes, watching him curiously.

"come lay on me, baby," he guides you by your arm.

you do as he says, easing yourself chest-first onto of him and allowing your body to sink into his heat. his hands come over you and his palms work into the knots in your lower back, over your bum, and in your shoulder blades. he kneads into the balls of tightness, rolling over and rubbing them through lazily.

your eyes flutter at the relieving sensation, the green-eyed man's rough hands smoothing to rid your body of excess tension. "there you go," he kisses your shoulder. "i'll make you feel better, i promise. no more pain for my girl."

"love you, toj," you whisper sleepily into his skin.

"love you too. i'm sorry for hurtin' you. i'll be more careful."

ryomen sukuna: you know sukuna to be rough in all aspects of his life, and that certainly does not change when it comes to the two of you having sex- in fact, that very trait of his is enhanced. the moment he slips inside of you, he's pushing your head face first into the pillows, gripping your waist or your thighs or your throat with his large palms as to prevent you from running away, spitting into your mouth, fisting your hair, leaving red bite marks in his wake, anything he possibly can to remind you that you are his to devour whole.

you've always enjoyed the way he tosses you around or fucks you over the velvet pad of his throne, or holds you almost violently by the thighs in the air and spears you down on his ungodly thick cock while sitting at the edge of your bed with his feet planted into the floor. he knows he's not gentle with you, but aggression is the only way he knows to take you by, to show you how much you drive him fucking crazy, to bask in your enchanting screeches and your doll-like, hazy expressions.

and like the good girl he knows you to be, you take him every single time, and it spurs him on. it encourages him to plow harder, to grip tighter, to render you completely immobile beneath him as he ruts himself into you like it's the end of the fucking world and the only way for him to survive is to fuck you like a worthless whore, though you're nothing close to one.

while he always leaves you in a pool of your mixed fluids on the verge of losing consciousness, shaking like a leaf kissed by the breeze, you've never expressed an inability or refusal to handle him. you take him so well for a human, and sukuna's captivated by your strength, your insatiable desire when he's bullying his dick into your swollen cunt. while you get overstimulated, or hell even beg him to go slower or softer, he knows you don't really want him to stop because you haven't uttered the one word that he told you to reserve only for the times you feel you are beyond discomfort.

that is, until a few seconds ago, when the muffled word rips from your hoarse throat through the ball of your panties he's stuffed into your mouth.

sukuna's on top of you, pressing his heavy weight over your back with his arms wrapped under your frame and his thighs crushing in on your on. you're on your stomach, tears dribbling from your eyes and down your face as sukuna finally stills inside you after having thrusted painfully into your cervix over and over. he's so deep inside you, and he wants you to feel. he wanted to see how much further he could break you in, but clearly, he had mistakenly forgotten that you are still fragile.

the king of curses' eyes go wide, and he rips an arm from under you to tear the gag from your mouth. you heave out a sob, face falling into the pillows as you murmur your safeword again, a string of practically unintelligible spent moans that only sukuna can understand because he's never heard you utter that word before.

"red, red, red," you snivel, and sukuna's face relaxes.

"i heard you," he murmurs gruffly. "give me a moment."

you whine as your entire body collapses with the withdrawal of sukuna's arms from your body. he sighs heavily, looking over your marked skin as he smoothes a hand up your spine. you flinch with a whimper, and he clicks his teeth.

"this is what happens when you grow cocky."

"h-hurts, kuna. too hard," he thinks he hears you simper.

"never heard you say that before," he murmurs. "know your limits, woman."

he slowly eases himself out of your warmth with a clenched jaw and angled brows, watching your arousal gush onto the sheets the moment he's pulled back. you jump and curl further up into the pillow.

"oh my, how far have i taken you this time?" he hums, watching as you squirm under even the slightest touch he gives.

"ryooo," you whine.

"alright, alright," he comes back down over your limp body, curling his fingers over your forehead to pull your face up and gently brush your sweaty hair away. your eyes are closed as he turns inward to look over you, caressing your damp cheek softly. you're so warm, so shaky beneath him. your brows are pinched together in pain and exhaustion, and your lips are wobbling. hell, he's never seen you look so weak before.

"hey," he coaxes gently, voice rumbling tenderly against your back through his toned abdominals. you're releasing a series of trembles, broken hums, likely unsure of where you even are, and sukuna curses internally. he softens. "what do you need, peach?" he asks you in a low whisper.

your response is near incomprehensible, but sukuna is already thinking and moving before you even open your mouth. he exhales heavily and presses himself back up so that he can stand and gather you in his arms. you whimper when he goes to delicately flip you over.

"relax," he orders softly, smearing the wetness away from your cheek and smoothing his hands over your heated skin. you obey him to the best of your ability as he pulls you up.

as though it is muscle memory, you lean into his bare chest once he is holding you bridal style. you continue to tremble, and sukuna's crimson eyes roam your body carefully. he's truly done a number on you this time.

normally when it came to baths, sukuna would have one of his servants or uraume run them for you, but instead, he feels the need to take the duty on himself as he carries you into your large connected restroom. he sets you down within the inhumanly large royal tub slowly, and the moment he pulls from you, you reach for him lazily in retort as your head rolls back against the rim.

"be patient, i am not going anywhere."

he reaches to turn on the faucet as hot water streams around your feet. he's hasty with his movements, focused, knowing that you do not desire to be cold in this moment. he stands to retrieve the oils and soaps he's purchased solely for your pleasure and sits back down beside the tub.

"open your eyes," he reaches in to cradle your chin. you scrunch your lids and tilt your head to him, peeling your blurry eyes on his command. "lavender or peppermint. pick one."

your eyes weakly drift to the array of bottoms lined on the ledge. "lavender," you request tiredly.

your voice is so small, so light, a heady contrast to the way you normally challenge him with your playful tone. sukuna looks at you momentarily, soaking in your sweet mellow state, before retrieving the said bottle and pouring it into the rising steamy water.

he keeps a hand on your shoulder, rubbing over a bite mark with his thumb, as bubbles, soothing fragrances, and petals fall into the tub one by one. the hot water crowds over your bare skin, alleviating the dull ache between your legs and the stings of the marks on your skin.

sukuna holds an intense look of focus, swishing his arm around the water to ensure that all the properties he has included mix together well. you watch him, dazed, cheek propped against the porcelain with heavy (e/c) eyes studying his attentiveness. he feels your eyes on him, but only raises a brow at you once the bath is finished.

you truly aren't all there.

sukuna rises to his feet, slipping his arms behind you and under your own to hold you up as he steps inside with you.

you let him manuever you, your body too exhausted to dare to try to move. he pulls you flush against his chest, his thighs crowding over your own. you sigh out, leaning your head back against his shoulder as he brings a cloth over you, washing away remnants of spit and cum, massaging into the aches of your body wordlessly.

his chin comes down over your shoulder while his hands wind over your waist to stroke your legs. his fingers dance gently over your inner thighs, up your abdomen, ghosting over your neck. he's everywhere, and for the first time, in a supple, tender way, as though he is polishing glass that he does not wish to break.

you're humming, breathing steadily, chest rising deeply and slowly. sukuna's hands curve to smooth over your tits, and you flinch, leading him to smirk lightly. "sensitive, are we?" you pout, brows curling, and he turns his lips to your neck. "calm down, brat, i'm not going to push you. keep still."

his palms work over the sore plush of your breasts and you melt, arching into him as he massages over you with such care. a weak moan threatens to escape you and sukuna shakes his head. "do not. that is what led you here in the first place."

his hands release your tits and follow the curve of your body downward once more. he continues his massaging and caressing of your body until you're no longer twitching.

his hands fall over your hips, smoothing over your stomach. he lifts up slightly to look down at you. "are you still in pain?"

you take a moment to respond, but eventually, your eyes open again and they meet sukuna's lax gaze. despite the permanent angle of his brows, he appears calm before you, mutely compassionate.

you lean against him, holding his gaze, and shake your head slightly, a bit of your senses slowly returning. "only a little between my legs," you murmur.

he hums. "and how would you expect me to tend to this pain?"

you don't say anything, but the soft glint in your eye speaks for you as sukuna's hand slowly trails down your stomach and past your clit lightly. you inhale sharply, still thoroughly sensitive.

sukuna's eyes look over the whole of your face. "do you wish me to massage your sore cunt from the inside? is that what you so desire?"

you moan out a gentle sigh, heavy lids falling over your eyes in a blink as you nod helplessly against him. "slowly..." you murmur.

"you are insatiable," he mumbles lowly. his fingers ghost over the lips of your pussy, circling them gently before sinking past and sliding into your warm walls.

your mouth parts and your head knocks back as sukuna watches you closely. the water swishes around your legs as you move, sukuna's lips crushing slowly over your mouth.

"i suppose i can assist as a reward for you speaking up."