#sassy yet bold

[fushitoru]

a song of past romance a royal / greek au gojo fic

pairing ⸺ suitor/king!gojo x princess!reader

summary ⸺ king gojo satoru of ithaca travels to sparta, seeking to win over who they say is the most beautiful mortal woman's heart. so when he sees you upon his arrival weaving under an olive tree, looking goddess-sent, he immediately loses the plot and concludes that it must be you that the tales and legends must talk about. it is not, but gojo has chosen who his queen will be. as gojo continues to break down your walls with his endless devotion and silver tongue, you must decide: will you let duty and your loved ones's expectations decide your fate, or will you choose the man who would defy even the heavens to claim you as his queen ?

warnings ⸺ smut, p i v sex, oral f recieving, whimpering gojo agenda <3, fluff, a big of angst if you squint, some insecurity, pining, banterTM, gojo is really whipped for reader, odypen inspired (this one's for my epic/pjo baddies), extensive greek mythology knowledge not needed, athena is tired of gojo lol, jealousy, helen is a sassy diva, not totally accurate to the lore of the illiad bc i just use the premise, mentions of children/pregnancy at the end if you squint, semi edited, art by @/yunonoaii

a/n my hyperfixation made me write this lol. you dont need to know anything about greek mythology to read this fic it's more of a period piece / royal au :3

general masterlist

You had registered the young man’s presence for quite some time now.

Ever since your beloved cousin Helen—the most beautiful woman in the world, the kallikomos, kalliparēios Helen—had come of age, your palace had been plagued by an unceasing tide of suitors. Even a respite alone in the garden, in peace, was not guaranteed to you; just as the ivory haired suitor (who thought himself furitive) that had been sneaking and skirting around you for a while now, there were countless of men on the palace grounds desperate to even get a glimpse of what the countless legends and tales about Helen had described. 

Though, you weren’t jealous of your lovely cousin—you loved her to death. But it was getting on your nerves, because you had hoped for a quiet evening relaxing under the olive tree you were sitting in. This mn, however, was different.

For some time now, the ivory-haired suitor had been skirting the edges of your sanctuary, moving as though he thought himself invisible. You could feel his gaze, sharp and intent, as you alternated between weaving and reading. His persistence should have irritated you. And yet, there was something amusing about his poor attempt at stealth.

The telltale rustle of grass betrayed him once again. You sighed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear before reaching up to gather it all, baring the curve of your neck to the evening breeze.

The stalker suitor tripped with a loud thud.

You blinked. Then, sighing once more, you set down your spindle and turned. "I know you’re there," you called, unimpressed.

Silence, then a low chuckle.

When he finally stepped into the open, your disinterested gaze lifted—and promptly widened.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. The build of a warrior, yet the face of a prince. A mischievous, almost boyish charm softened the sharp lines of his features, but his striking blue eyes gleamed with something untamed.

Helen would have a field day with him. Like that one thing she said about how she looovedd versatile men, the ones that could manhandle you but also whimper. Or whatever. 

Then, to your utter shock, he dropped to one knee, extending his hand toward you in a bold gesture of devotion. His demeanor was confident, but you saw him sporting a hue of pink on his cheeks. It was rather cute, but any feelings of fondness disappeared at his next words.

"O’ Helen—" the suitor began, his voice rich with reverence, "fairest of all women, whose beauty outshines even the dawn—"

You exhaled sharply through your nose. Of course.

"—permit me but a moment to bask in your radiance, for no mortal man could gaze upon you and remain unchanged—"

Your fingers curled tightly around the threads of your spindle.

"—grant me the honor of—"

"Try again," you cut in, your voice deceptively sweet.

The suitor paused mid-sentence, blinking up at you.

"Pardon?"

You raised an unimpressed brow, tilting your head. "If you’re going to wax poetic, you might at least direct it toward the right woman."

His lips parted, then pressed into a puzzled frown. He tilted his head, sharp blue eyes scanning your face as if trying to decipher a riddle. "But… you are Helen," he said slowly, as if testing the words.

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. "Afraid not."

A pause.

His gaze flickered over you again, as if he could will you into being Helen just by staring hard enough. "Are you sure?"

You gave him a look. "I would hope I know my own name."

His brows drew together, clearly struggling to process this revelation. "But you’re—you’re sitting under an olive tree, looking vaguely divine. Your hair caught the light just now in a way that seemed very… goddess-sent. You have the whole tragic air of someone who is probably devastatingly beautiful and sought after by hundreds."

You blinked, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. You shouldn’t be affected by his bromides, for his words must be a ploy to gain back his image after offending you. "Is that supposed to be an apology?"

He squinted. "More like a logical assessment of my mistake."

You sighed. "Well, your 'logical assessment' is incorrect."

He sat back on his heels, regarding you with blatant skepticism. "I don’t know," he said slowly. "I came here for Helen. You’re here. And you're lovely. Seems like a very Helen thing to do."

You gave him a flat stare in return. "What, exist?"

"Exactly."

You rolled your eyes. "I see why they make you fight instead of think."

At that, the suitor huffed a short laugh, his earlier embarrassment giving way to something more amused, more interested. "Alright," he conceded, crossing his arms over his knee. "If you aren’t Helen, then who are you?"

You leaned back against the tree, allowing yourself a small, satisfied smirk. "The woman you just proposed to by accident."

He blinked. Then groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "The gods are laughing at me."

"As they should," you replied smoothly.

To your surprise, he grinned. "That makes two of us, then," he mused, tilting his head at you. "I get the feeling you enjoy seeing men suffer."

A non committal hum from you. “Maybe, maybe not.” With that, you began weaving once more, giving him the signal that his presence and platitudes were no longer needed.  

Yet, he remained.

You could feel his gaze lingering, heavy with an amusement that refused to wane. He had the look of someone thoroughly entertained, and that irritated you more than anything. Having conversed with him, you knew he was sharper than the average suitor—quick-witted, quicker still to recover from his blunders. Though he had not done anything to overtly suggest it, there was something about him that set him apart. It was a feeling—an air around him, something god-graced.

You paid it no mind.

He had not meant for you to be the one on the receiving end of his affection, and it would do you no good to cling to a man who had come here seeking another. He was meant to lose his mind over Helen, not take interest in you.

"Tell me your name," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

You didn't pause in your weaving. "Why?"

A short huff of laughter. "I figure if I’m already embarrassing myself in front of a woman, I should at least know which one."

You shot him a sidelong glance, unimpressed. "Bold of you to assume you’ll be staying long enough for it to matter."

His grin deepened. "Well, now I have to stay, just to prove you wrong."

You sighed, shaking your head. "You’re insufferable."

"I’ve been told worse," he admitted. Then, leaning forward just slightly, he added, "Though never by a woman whose name I don’t know."

You lifted a brow at him, unimpressed. "And do you have a name, then, mysterious suitor?"

His expression shifted, something proud yet teasing gleaming in those striking blue eyes.

"Gojo Satoru," he declared, as if it should mean something to you. "Of Ithaca."

You hummed, as if considering. "Never heard of it."

He blinked, then scoffed. "Never heard of Ithaca?" He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "A land of brilliant minds, fierce warriors, and some say the most handsome men to ever walk the earth—"

"Ah," you interjected, dry. "That explains it."

He smirked. "Explains what?"

"Why I’ve never heard of it."

A beat of silence. Then, to your dismay, he laughed—fully, unabashedly, as if you’d just handed him the greatest gift in the world.

You huffed, returning your attention to your weaving. "Now that you have a name to be proud of, surely you can be on your way."

"Not yet," he said, far too easily.

You didn’t look up. "Why?"

"Because you haven’t given me yours."

You didn’t miss the way his voice dipped, taking on something smoother, something more coaxing. He was trying to charm it out of you, as if your name was a prize worth winning.

"Perhaps I simply don’t wish to give it," you mused, feigning disinterest.

"Perhaps you’re afraid," he countered.

You did look up at that, leveling him with an unimpressed stare. "Afraid?"

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. "That if I know your name, I’ll never forget it." His gaze flickered to your hands, to the weaving that had slowed ever so slightly. "And maybe… neither will you."

You forced yourself to resume your work, your fingers steady despite the odd flutter in your chest. "You think too highly of yourself, Gojo Satoru of Ithaca."

"I’m told it’s my greatest flaw," he admitted, smirking. "Well—one of many."

You ignored him, the rhythmic motion of your weaving serving as a convenient distraction.

Gojo exhaled, as if relenting—though something told you he was nowhere near finished with you. He rocked back on his heels, eyeing you with unconcealed interest. "Alright, mystery woman," he drawled. "If you won’t give me your name, I suppose I’ll have to keep guessing."

You didn't dignify that with a response.

But somehow, you knew—this would not be the last time Gojo Satoru of Ithaca sought you out.

He had yet to claim your name.

No matter how cunningly he pried, no matter how sweetly he coaxed, you remained steadfast, denying him that small but significant victory.

Satoru had undoubtedly set sail for Sparta in search of a worthy challenge and a faithful bride—but he had not expected to find both in one woman. You were a puzzle, divine and elusive, a riddle spun by the Fates themselves. And for a man who relished the thrill of unraveling mysteries, you were the most captivating enigma he had ever encountered.

Not since the day he bested the enchanted boar—a feat that had drawn Athena’s keen eye and earned him her favor—had he felt such a rush.

He’d dare say you were the first one he’s felt an affinity for, despite the countless of women and candidates he had faced ever since becoming the king of Ithaca.

But before he could ponder more on the thought, he sensed a presence, tensing immediately. Heavy-set footsteps, trying to be quiet in the hallway they were both in.

Satoru crossed his arms, halted where he was. “I know you’re there.”

A laugh barked out in a deep voice. “Perceptive like they say, Gojo Satoru of Ithaca.” 

Satoru watched as Toji Fushiguro sauntered toward him, his movements unhurried, yet carrying the unmistakable confidence of a seasoned warrior. The man was broad-shouldered, his presence commanding, the kind of brute who could cleave a man in half with a single swing of his blade. Yet his grin—sharp, knowing—held more calculation than recklessness.

Toji came to a stop before him, arms crossed, weight shifted onto one foot like he had all the time in the world, smirking. "No wonder Athena’s got her eye on you."

Satoru tilted his head, feigning nonchalance. "I do have a way of impressing gods and mortals alike," he mused. "Though I imagine you didn’t come all this way just to admire me."

“Just assessing the competition,” Toji hums in response, eyes still assessing Satoru. He was trying to plan three steps ahead; unfortunately for him, Satoru was ten steps ahead. 

“There is no competition,” comes Satoru’s cool response. 

Toji studied Satoru for a moment, his sharp green eyes narrowing slightly. Then, with an amused scoff, he asked, "You’re not here to fight for Helen’s hand? Are you crazy?”

Satoru let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if the very thought was amusing. "Helen?" he echoed, letting the name roll from his tongue with deliberate care. He lifted a hand, absently brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. "No, I’m afraid I have no interest in her."

Toji studied him, eyes narrowing. "She’s the most beautiful woman in the world."

Satoru did not deny it. "So they say."

"And yet," Toji pressed, his tone skeptical, "you aren’t here for her?"

Satoru finally looked at him properly, his head tilting, his gaze alight with something teasing, something unreadable. "Not in the way you are." He let the words settle between them before continuing, his tone almost indulgent. "You’re welcome to her."

Toji’s mouth pressed into a thin line. His instincts told him Satoru was not lying, yet something about the Ithacan’s expression, the way he carried himself, the glint in those striking blue eyes—it all made him wary. He had met many warriors in his time, but this was no brute with a sword, no hotheaded prince desperate to claim a prize.

Satoru Gojo was something else entirely.

"So what is it, then?" Toji asked, crossing his arms tighter, his voice edged with suspicion. "You sailed all this way, and for what? A festival?"

Satoru’s smirk deepened, his expression inscrutable. "Let’s just say Sparta has given me a rather interesting puzzle."

Toji scoffed but let it drop, running a hand through his dark hair. "Whatever," he muttered. "If you're really not here for Helen, then maybe you can help me."

Satoru hummed in vague interest. "Oh?"

"I intend to win her," Toji stated plainly. "But I could use an extra hand in ensuring things go my way."

Satoru did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned his gaze upward, as though admiring the vaulted ceilings of the hall, as though considering some grander design that only he could see. Then, with the ease of a man wholly unbothered by the concerns of others, he exhaled through his nose, the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"Don't worry about it," he said at last, his voice rich with something almost too smooth, too assured. "Everything is already falling into place."

Toji stiffened slightly at the words, his war-honed instincts bristling at their implication. He did not like things he could not predict, and Gojo Satoru of Ithaca was proving to be as unreadable as the gods themselves.

His brows lowered. "And what the hell does that mean?"

But Satoru only laughed, turning on his heel, the faintest shimmer of torchlight catching in his silver-white hair.

"Guess you’ll just have to wait and see."

And with that, he strode off, his footsteps unhurried, leaving Toji standing in the flickering shadows, frowning after him.

The great hall of Sparta was alive with the clash of bronze and the roars of men. The suitors, assembled from all corners of Greece, fought with a desperation that could only belong to those who sought glory and the hand of Helen. Blades flashed, spears thrust, and the resounding clamor of shields meeting shields filled the air like the din of battle.

Satoru Gojo of Ithaca stood at the edge of the fray, watching with a detached amusement. He had not drawn his blade, nor did he so much as feign interest in the chaos unfolding before him. Instead, his arms were loosely crossed, his posture relaxed, his sharp blue gaze studying each warrior as though they were mere pieces on a game board.

Meanwhile, you and Helen watched from the shade of a marble colonnade, seated atop a cushioned bench where servants had arranged fruits and wine for the both of you. But neither of you reached for the offerings; your gazes remained transfixed on the chaos below.

You shook your head at the ridiculous display. "It must be nice to be fought for by so many men," you murmured, resting your chin in your palm.

Helen sighed daintily—in a way that was so typically Helen it made you smile fondly—her hair catching the afternoon light like threads spun from the sun itself. “I will admit that it has its advantages.”

You cast her a dry look before gesturing at the men below. “Helen,” you shook your head, sighing exasperatedly, “they’re savages. They’re beating each other senselessly. Does this not disgust you?” Instead, your cousin’s beautiful lips curled up in a knowing smile, teasing you, “Jealous, my dear cousin?”

“No.” But the answer came a little too quickly, a little too defensively. The yells and violence was a display of brutishness—but you would not be truthful to yourself if you didn’t admit that you were a bit envious of the attention your cousin was getting. 

However, one would be a fool to confuse your sentiments for bitterness—as a princess yourself, there were no shortage of men who would be here to get you as a prize, if they did not get Helen. No shortage of men wondering who is he? Who is the man who’ll have the princess as his wife?

But unfortunately, it seemed that your father, the Spartan king Icarius, had other plans, for he would not let any man be your husband so easily. In fact, he did not wish you to marry and be taken away from him.

It was safe to say that not much male attention was on you due to this obstacle.

Helen showed no reaction to your response, but only hummed. “This fighting—sooner or later, you’re going to be in my shoes. You’re going to have to choose at one point, too, my dear.” 

“Says who?” You scoffed, turning your eyes back to the courtyard. “Do not forget Helen, these men want power. Power so they can tower above each other, place themselves above all others.”

Helen shrugged. “So what?”

You shook your head. “Silly Helen. Wouldn’t you prefer some intellectual prowess over some…savage?”  

Before Helen could reply, a shift in the air drew both of your attention back to the courtyard.

The chaos had stilled, if only for a moment. A singular figure stood at the center of it all, his ivory hair catching the wind, his stance languid yet poised.

That suitor.

The gathered nobles whispered among themselves, exchanging glances as Satoru approached the high table where the King of Sparta, Tyndareus, sat watching. The aged king stroked his beard, his expression unreadable as the Ithacan prince stopped before him, offering a bow that barely concealed the glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Your Majesty," Satoru began smoothly, "it seems we have our victor. But before we move forward, I believe there is an agreement that must be made."

The murmurs in the hall grew louder. Tyndareus narrowed his eyes slightly. "Speak, Gojo of Ithaca."

Satoru straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. "These men have come from every kingdom in Greece, each seeking the honor of marrying your daughter. Such a prize, however, comes with its dangers. Whoever wins Helen’s hand will earn not just her love but the envy and ire of the rest." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the hall. "If left unchecked, this jealousy could lead to war."

Tyndareus’s jaw tightened. It was a concern he himself had harbored, though few had dared to speak it outright.

Satoru’s lips curled at the edges, his voice turning smooth, persuasive. "I propose an oath. Let every suitor here, whether victorious or defeated, swear allegiance to Helen’s chosen husband. Let them vow, upon the gods, to uphold this union and defend it should any outside force seek to undo it. In doing so, Sparta ensures peace among the great kingdoms, rather than sows the seeds of discord."

Silence fell over the hall. The assembled nobles exchanged glances, the weight of the proposal heavy in the air. Even Toji, ever the warrior, raised a brow in consideration.

Tyndareus studied Satoru for a long moment, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his throne. Then, slowly, he nodded. "You are wise beyond your years, Gojo of Ithaca. Your proposal is sound. Let it be done."

A herald stepped forward, calling for the gathered suitors to kneel. One by one, they bent the knee, placing their hands over their hearts, swearing their loyalty to Helen’s future husband, binding themselves to an oath that would shape the course of history.

As the final echoes of the vow rang through the hall, Satoru turned his gaze to Toji, his smirk deepening ever so slightly. The pieces were falling into place, just as he had foreseen.

Meanwhile, in your place—where you and Helen were spectating the whole event away from common sight—Helen nudged you slightly, voice hushed in interest you hadn’t seen her display for any suitor yet. “Did you see that—the way he sweet talked my father?” Her gentle eyes widened in a way that could kill a man. “Who is he?”

You had no answer. Because, truthfully, you were wondering the same thing.

The palace gardens were quiet at this hour, bathed in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. The scent of myrrh and olive trees lingered in the air, mixing with the faint salt of the distant sea. You sat with Helen beneath the shade of a vine-laden pergola, her back pressed against your legs as you wove your fingers through her silken strands, carefully braiding them into an intricate plait.

Helen, ever the restless one, sighed dramatically. “Do you suppose I should be flattered or terrified?”

You didn’t have to ask what she meant. The courtyard had been in an uproar for hours after the suitors’ oath had been sworn. Servants gossiped in hushed tones, and noblewomen tittered behind their veils. The future queen of Sparta had just gained the loyalty of every warrior present—whether she wanted it or not.

“Why not both?” you mused, separating another section of her hair.

Helen laughed, tossing her head slightly. “It is one thing to be the object of admiration. It is quite another to be the cause of bloodshed.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, though your fingers stilled when she spoke again, voice full of mischief.

“Did you see him?”

You resumed braiding. “Who?”

Helen turned just enough to throw you an incredulous look. “Who?” she repeated, mockingly. “As if you do not know exactly who I speak of. Gojo Satoru of Ithaca.”

You clicked your tongue. “Oh, him.”

“Oh, him?” Helen scoffed. “Do not play coy, cousin. He commanded that entire courtyard without lifting a blade.”

You smiled, but she could not see you. “That only proves he is cunning,” you pointed out, keeping your voice neutral.

“That proves he is powerful,” Helen countered, shifting as you tugged lightly at her braid. “He held those men in the palm of his hand.”

Barking out a laugh, you continued your work. “Or perhaps he simply enjoys hearing himself speak.”

Helen laughed, tilting her head back against your lap. “You wound me with your dullness. Do you not see? There was something about him. He has the air of a man accustomed to winning.”

You tried not to scowl. Of course he did.

And if Helen had her eye on him, there was no chance for you.

The thought settled in your chest like a stone.

It was not as though you had entertained any hopes—but you were not blind. The way he had looked at you in the hallways, the way he had tried to coax your name from you, the way he had seemed amused by your defiance. It had sparked something treacherous inside of you, something unspoken and foolish.

Because no man, no matter how powerful or wise, would ever choose you over Helen.

You forced your thoughts aside and tightened the braid. “And what of Toji Fushiguro?” you asked lightly, forcing the subject to change. “I noticed you watching him as well.”

Helen hummed, pleased with the shift in conversation. “A brute, but a striking one. I imagine he fights as well as he looks.”

You snorted. “I imagine he thinks with his fists.”

“All the better,” Helen teased. “I should not mind a warrior who throws me over his shoulder and carries me off.”

You rolled your eyes, but you giggled regardless. “You are insufferable.”

Helen twisted, kneeling so that you were now face to face. She reached for your hair, her fingers beginning to weave it into a braid of your own.

“You say I am insufferable, but you have yet to deny that Gojo Satoru is worth admiring,” she murmured.

You sighed exasperatedly, looking anywhere except for your cousin’s eyes. “Must we discuss this?”

Helen’s fingers worked deftly, her expression smug. “It is only natural to discuss the most intriguing men.”

“And yet I am sure you are doing it to torment me.”

“Perhaps a little.” Helen’s grin softened as she studied you. “You would not be so opposed to him if you did not find him interesting.”

You swallowed, looking away. “That is not—”

“You braid my hair with such care,” she interrupted, looping another section of yours. “And yet, you guard your own thoughts as if I am the enemy.”

You closed your eyes briefly, inhaling the scent of lavender and sun-warmed stone. Helen had always been perceptive when she wished to be.

“There is nothing to guard,” you murmured.

Helen merely smiled, finishing your braid with a satisfied tug.

But the knowing look in her eyes unsettled you more than any battle in the courtyard ever could.

Despite coming for Helen, Satoru continuously seeks your presence.

Your presence is intoxicating, even the smallest of glimpses of you enough to induce a feeling, one he’d liken to eating the gods’ ambrosia or drinking the finest nectar. Every time he saw you, it was passing moments in the hallways of the palace or sneaked glances while you were in the garden—your chin up, posture proud. Your eyes downcast as if you had no interest in the countless of men among you. The light only returned when you were weaving, or discussing with your cousin.

But Satoru had not been able to see you more than just those miniscule, fleeting moments—it was your accursed father that kept an eye on you during dinners, his withered glare threatening all suitors, as if to remind them: You’re here for Helen, and keep my daughter out of this, for she is not a prize you can easily win.

Little did he know Satoru loved challenges.

So he thanks the gods that an annual Spartan festival is thoroughly celebrated in the palace today.

The hall is the spitting image of revelry. Men adorn their finest tunics while women have braids of flowers and cloths, wine, fresh fruits, and meat are plentiful on all tables. There’s singing, there’s dancing, and, best of all, there’s you.

Satoru’s been observing you for quite some time now. It wouldn’t be fair to call it something akin to a predator stalking his prey; no, you far from being bested by Satoru. More like a bird waiting for all the weaker mates to filter themselves out.

They were like peacocks, the men that came up to you, with the way they flared their artificial grandeur. Each time a young man sat next to you, you remained aloof, giving them nothing but a bunch of polite glances and nods. But it was clear that what ever your responses or questions were, they were nonplussed. Satoru almost felt bad for the fools if it weren’t for how they were encroaching on his time to finally talk to you.

It was the opening that a particularly witless and brutish man had given him—the guy basically leaves the seat next to you, almost in tears from whatever you had said to him, but you only blinked as Satoru approached.

Satoru slid into the recently vacated seat beside you with the grace of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. He draped an arm over the back of his chair, all effortless ease, as if he had been waiting for this moment all night.

"Whatever you said to him, I’d like to hear it," he mused, his lips quirking in amusement. "Though I do hope you go a little easier on me—I’m rather sensitive, you see."

Your gaze flickered to him, unimpressed, though there was something almost imperceptible in your eyes—mild intrigue, perhaps.

"If you are so easily wounded, Your Majesty, then I fear you are not prepared for a Spartan woman’s words."

His grin widened. "Oh, but I live for danger."

You hummed, noncommittal, before returning your attention to the food before you. Satoru, however, found himself transfixed by the way you reached for a slice of fruit, your fingers delicate yet decisive as you brought it to your lips. You took a slow, deliberate bite, and for the first time in his life, Satoru forgot how to speak.

It was absurd, really. He had seen beautiful women eat before—Helen herself had a practiced elegance to it—but there was something about you. Something about the unthinking ease with which you did it, how your lips parted just slightly before closing around the fruit, how you chewed with quiet, effortless grace, unbothered by the weight of hungry gazes that lingered on you.

For a man who had always been surrounded by beauty, who had spent his life sated and indulged, it was utterly unfair that something so simple could leave him spellbound.

Perhaps the gods were toying with him.

"You’ve been staring for quite some time," you remarked, snapping him out of his reverie.

Satoru exhaled a laugh, recovering with impressive speed. "Can you blame me? I’m simply trying to unravel the mystery of how you managed to make that poor soul flee in tears. I’d rather not suffer the same fate."

"Then I suggest you leave now, Your Majesty."

"Not a chance."

You sighed, though there was the ghost of amusement at the corner of your lips. "Persistent, aren’t you?"

Satoru grinned. "And yet, here you are, still talking to me."

He watched as you reached for another piece of fruit, this time slower, as if testing him, watching to see if he would stare again. He nearly laughed—because, of course, he did.

"You truly are hopeless," you muttered, shaking your head.

"Ah, but at least I am entertaining," he countered. "And I do believe I’ve managed what those other poor fools could not—I’ve kept your attention."

You opened your mouth to retort, but he was faster. "Go on, you can admit it," he teased. "I make for much better company than them, don’t I?"

For a moment, you merely regarded him, expression unreadable. Then, to his absolute delight, a soft laugh escaped your lips.

It was small, barely more than an exhale, but it was real.

And gods, it was beautiful.

Satoru leaned in slightly, drinking in the sight of you as if committing it to memory.

"See?" he murmured, triumphant. "I told you I’m quite good at this."

Your amusement lingered, but you shook your head as if in exasperation. "If you say so."

He did not say so. He knew so.

Because despite all the reasons he had come to Sparta, despite all the men who had gathered to win Helen’s hand, Satoru had found himself drawn to you instead.

And he had no intention of stopping now.

But before he could get another word in, a horn sounds, and you nod to him, somewhat apologetically. “That is my call.”

Before he can ask, you head, skirts fluttering behind you as you move to join a growing group of young ladies in the middle. It’s clear the gathering has captured the interest of most of the men that were previously dining. 

You make your way down to the middle, where you arrive at your position—it’s the one you’ve occupied every year. This dance is a show of grace and lineage, a chance for the noblemen to watch and admire, to see which girl carries herself with the most poise, the most elegance, the most effortless charm.

In Gojo’s eyes, it’s easy to determine who that is.

You take your place among your cousins, hands joining as the musicians begin their melody. It is a lighthearted dance, nothing too intricate, nothing that demands much more than the ability to move in time with the others. Your skirts flutter with each step, the long strands of your braid swaying as you turn.

It’s a girlish, lighthearted dance you’ve done since you were little. You and your younger cousins giggle as you go through the motions, reveling in the attentions of the spectators that witness the lovely display with amusement and pure, wholesome adoration.

That is, until you register a special set of eyes on you.

In a specific turn along to the strum of the lyre, you turn gracefully—a move that orients you towards Gojo’s direction. When you finally see his face and notice his presence, it’s like you’re kicked in the chest in a spar with Helen, with the way your breath leaves you.

His eyes are dark, enraptured on you, and only you. Heat creeps up your neck as you move your hands as you’re oddly flustered. His gaze is admiring and is respectful, but the intensity of it—like longing that is toeing the line between lust and pure yearning—makes your heart quicken in a way that you rue your accursed organ, for it to beat so traitorously. When he notices that you’re staring back at him, his jaw—which was clenched—loosens in a smile, but the smile isn’t innocent. It spells out a promise—one unspoken, one that curls at the edges of his lips like a secret meant for you alone. It is the kind of smile that men wear when they know something you don’t, when they have already decided on something long before you’ve even had the chance to argue.

It is sharp. Focused.

It traces the curve of your waist, the sway of your hips, the way your arms extend with each graceful movement.

It darkens.

Heat spreads up your neck before you can help it. The flickering torches of the hall must be to blame, or perhaps the wine in your belly, but you feel warm, too warm, and it is absurd.

Why should you care where Gojo of Ithaca’s eyes linger?

His smirk grows, and it is cocky. Infuriating, even. You snap your head away before he can see how your face burns, resuming your dance with the others, willing yourself to shake off the foolishness that has settled in your bones.

But even as you turn, even as the skirts of your dress flare and the room around you continues its celebration, you feel it—

His eyes.

Still watching.

“Athena, I swear to you that I need her. She is my future wife!” Gojo insists, stomping his feet as he trails the goddess as if he were a child. It reminded the goddess of wisdom of when she first met him—when he had taken down the magic boar she had let loose, showing him of having intellect worthy of being mentored by her. 

But Athena had meant to be a mentor to a warrior of the mind—not this lovesick, pathetic fool in front of her, like a dog whining for food. Athena sighed exasperatedly as another animal she was hunting runs away from Gojo’s sheer loudness. “Enough!” she snaps, but not unkindly. “Who is this princess you speak of, and what kind of spell has she cast on you to become this much of a fool?”

Gojo ignores any insults directed towards him, and instead adorns a bright smile at the mention of you. “She is the cousin of Helen of Sparta, and the daughter of Icarius—”

Gojo is interrupted by a snort. “The same one that swore to never marry his daughter off?”

This gives Gojo a reason to pause. He had not known this fact. “So, how do you propose I—”

Much to his chagrin, the w goddess is already a few steps ahead. “To waste my time on strategy to secure a woman, Gojo, is quite preposterous.

But if you must insist on my counsel, then you shall earn it," Athena declares, turning on her heel to face him fully. Her gaze, sharp as a well-honed blade, sweeps over him, as if assessing whether he is truly worth the effort. "Icarius is a man of reason before all else. He values intellect, discipline, and above all, loyalty. If you wish to stand a chance, you must prove to me two things: one, that she is a wise woman worth of being sought after, and, two, you must prove that you are not merely another suitor blinded by beauty."

Gojo grins, clearly pushing his luck. "So you will help me?"

Athena exhales, the very picture of divine suffering. "I will not gift you the answer, but I will grant you the means to find it yourself."

"Which is just a long-winded way of saying you will help me." He nods sagely, as if he has unraveled the mysteries of Olympus itself.

Athena rubs her temple. "I should have let the boar trample you."

Gojo only laughs, stepping in line beside her as they weave through the woods. His mind is already turning, piecing together what little he knows of Icarius, of you, and of what he must do to win. Because one thing is certain—he will win.

Icarius may have sworn never to wed you off, but Gojo Satoru has never been one to abide by the rules.

You do not want to be here.

All you simply wanted was time in your sanctuary, your olive tree. It remained hidden in the royal gardens, so it’s a wonder that Gojo of Ithaca had found you. Of course, you would have to be a fool to not admit that these suitors’ wit paled in comparison to that white-haired young king. Such as this one, for example.

“My lady, I could not help but notice your fair disposition when I looked upon you,” the suitor grins, his teeth bared like a dog catching scent of a meal. It is not a pleasant expression. You do not react, save for clutching your weaving tighter to your chest. He steps closer, and you take measured care not to recoil, though the instinct is strong. “May you grant me your name—”

“I would have to apologize,” you cut him, already turning away. “My father does not—”

You’re stopped by a harsh grip on your wrist, and you wrench your gaze back to the suitor in shock. 

"You wound me, my lady," the man says, still smiling as if this was amusing. As if he had power over you. Physical power, you suppose, but clearly this man was lacking in intellect, to not have noticed his presence. "You have been so cold to me, and I—"

He does not notice the shadow behind him.

“Ah,” a voice interjects, smooth, easy. “That’s no way to hold a lady’s hand, is it?”

The grip on your wrist slackens, but another takes its place—light, barely a touch.

Gojo.

The suitor’s face twists in confusion, but it quickly shifts to pain as Gojo applies the smallest pressure to his wrist.

“You—”

“She said no,” Gojo interrupts breezily. “And I’d hate to make a scene, so do us all a favor and leave before I decide to break something, yeah?”

With an effortless flick of his hand, the suitor stumbles back, shaking out his wrist as if burned.

Gojo does not spare him another glance. His attention is on you.

“Are you alright?” His voice is softer now, no teasing lilt, no easy arrogance.

You hesitate, unsettled.

“I was handling it,” you say, though it does not come out as firm as you would like.

Gojo only hums, something that sounds like, I know you could, but you’re distracted by his eyes drifting down to your wrist, where a faint mark has already begun to bloom.

His gaze darkens, but you hurry to assure him. “I’ll bandage this, it’s not a big wound—”

He interrupts you. “No need,” gently holds your shoulder, as if imploring you to follow him into the direction he’s started to walk, “I’ll do it myself.”

“That’s not—”

“Look.” He shoots you a look, but it is not unkind nor patronizing. You realize belatedly that it has set your heart aflutter. “I trust that you know how to bandage your wound. But I have had countless like it, so you are with a skilled master in healing. And who knows which suitors may find you on your journey to the physician?

You purse your lips, biting back a retort but failing. “And aren’t you one of the said suitors?”

His lips pull back in an amused smile, and you notice his hand is still resting lightly on your shoulder. “I think we both know I’m different.” You bite back a smile.

“Oh, really?” you remark dryly, but the look in your eyes is anything but. “And how did Your Majesty acquire the title of being different?”

His thumb brushes, just barely, against the fabric of your sleeve before he withdraws his hand entirely, as if sensing that he’s lingered too long. But his smirk remains, insufferable as ever.

“For one, I don’t make a habit of forcing myself upon unwilling women,” Gojo remarks, a pointed edge to his otherwise careless tone. “And for another…” He tilts his head, considering you. “I daresay I might be infatuated in a way they—or you—couldn’t comprehend.”

Your breath catches, but you recover quickly, huffing as you turn away. “All these sweet nothings. Helen will love you.”

Gojo chuckles, stepping ahead of you as he leads the way. “Yet she is not the one I am after.”

You pause. Soak in his words. Outwardly, you roll your eyes and follow him for you were at a lack of words, but inside Poseidon’s storm rages inside you at his words, creating a ferocious whirlpool of conflicting feelings.

His strides are long and easy, as if he belongs wherever he walks, and yet, he slows his pace just enough for you to keep up. The gesture is not lost on you.

The physician’s chamber is quiet when you arrive, save for the distant chatter of servants outside. Gojo does not call for assistance. He merely gestures for you to sit, pulling out a small cloth and a bowl of water, his movements easy and practiced.

“You’ve done this before,” you murmur as he kneels before you, pressing the damp cloth against your wrist.

His smile is unreadable. “I am a warrior, am I not?”

The cold seeps into your skin, making you shiver. Gojo notices. His touch, for all his bravado, is unbearably gentle. You do not know what to make of it.

“You’ll bruise,” he says softly, fingers skimming over the faint marks. “Does it hurt?”

You swallow. “No.”

A lie.

Gojo’s gaze flickers up to yours, and for the first time, there is no teasing in his expression—only something quiet and knowing, something that makes your heart betray you in its weakness.

For a moment, you both fall into a silence, and, to avoid his gaze, you go back to clutching at your hand and staring at it, as if there’s something really intriguing about it. Then, he speaks up. “Want to play?”

You bring your gaze back to him, caught off guard. “What?”

He cocks his head in a direction to which you face, and there you see it: a game board. One to play petteia. 

You turn back at him, blinking. “You play petteia?”

Gojo grins, stretching out with a lazy ease that only makes you more suspicious. As if he has ulterior motives to this. “What, surprised? Strategy games are a warrior’s pastime.”

You squint him. That line of reasoning was rather true, you suppose. Something told you—something being the way he convinced Helen’s father so easily, how he always seemed three, no, six steps ahead—that he was no normal warrior, no normal brute. Huffing, you remark offhandedly, “I suppose a true warrior does sharpen his mind as well as his sword. It’s a pity that you’ll be losing today. To me.”

His smile deepens, and it makes you notice small indents in his cheeks as a result, and the way there’s a rosy pink hue on his cheeks, as if he’s excited to see what you can do.  “Then by all means, put me to shame.”

You settle onto the floor, determined, as he arranges the pieces between you. The rules are simple enough—capture your opponent’s pieces by flanking them on either side—but the way Gojo moves is anything but. He plays with an insufferable sort of confidence, shifting his pieces with flicks of his fingers, as if the game is already his to win.

Until it isn’t, obviously.

He frowns when the click of stone dropped onto the board sounds. You’ve cut off his advancing soldier, trapping it neatly between two of your own.

“Huh,” he muses, tapping his chin. He stares at the board, mind no doubt going at a speed unfathomable to most. His eyes flick rapidly, as if assessing the position of all the stone and calculating all the possible moves and permutations that can salvage him out of the situation you’ve created for him. You maintain your poker face, but inside, you want to smile. You had calculated those said combinations a few steps ago, and it’d be really hard to get out of this. Then, comes out a “That was… unexpected.”

You smile sweetly. “What’s wrong? Did the great King of Ithaca not anticipate that?”

Gojo exhales, dragging a hand through his hair while huffing out a laught. “You’re quite ruthless, aren’t you?”

“I’m practical,” you correct, claiming another of his pieces. “And good at this game.”

Gojo squints at the board, as if trying to decipher where exactly he went wrong. “You do know you’re supposed to let me win, right? My pride is fragile.”

“I wasn’t aware kings had fragile pride.”

“You wound me, my lady.” He presses a hand to his chest, but his movements are distracted as he moves another piece—only for you to immediately trap it.

His head snaps up. “Wait—”

You make your final move, effortlessly cornering his last few soldiers.

Silence.

Gojo blinks at the board.

You clear your throat. “Do you need a moment to process this?”

Slowly, he leans back, shaking his head with something close to awe. “You know, I was planning to go easy on you, but I don’t think that would have helped.”

You grin, triumphant. “I’ll take that as an admission of defeat.”

Gojo exhales through his nose, then tilts his head at you, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes.

“You’re dangerous,” he says, and you’re not quite sure if it’s a compliment or a warning.

“Maybe to an overconfident king who underestimates his opponent.”

That urges out a laugh from him, and he shakes his head. “Trust me, I was not underestimating you. It seemed that I had overestimated myself.”

Before you can respond, Gojo leans forward, propping his chin on his hand as he watches you with something unsettlingly thoughtful.

You don’t trust that look.

“What?” you ask warily.

He hums. “Just thinking.”

“That’s a dangerous pastime for you.”

Gojo presses a hand over his chest, as if wounded. “Cruel. After I iced your wrist and let you absolutely demolish me at petteia, this is the thanks I get?”

“You act as if I owe you something.”

His smirk returns, slow and smug. “Well, since you mention it…”

You narrow your eyes. “No.”

“You didn’t even hear me out.”

“I know you well enough to predict whatever absurd request you’re about to make.”

Gojo lets out a dramatic sigh, tilting his head back. “And here I was, about to propose something completely reasonable. A fair exchange.”

You arch a brow. “Fair?”

He nods, all feigned seriousness. “See, I let you win.”

“You most certainly did not.”

“And I helped with your wrist.”

Your lips press into a line. “Which you did of your own volition.”

Gojo ignores this. “So, as a completely justified request, I think you should let me meet you in the royal gardens.”

You blink. His words hang in the air between you, a casual proposition that somehow carries more weight than it should.

“The gardens?”

He nods. “By the olive tree at sunset. The one where we met.”

“Why?”

Groaning, he lounges back, pushing his feet out while doing the motion. It makes his long legs come closer to where yours are opposite from him, so much that you can feel their heat. Not direct contact, but there. “Have I not made my advances clear by now?” He moves to a sitting position, a more serious look in his eyes as he earnestly looks at you, but you find it hard—despite your usual dry disposition towards suitors—to maintain eye contact, so you opt to look at your hands instead as his next words strike blows to your treacherous heart.

 “Your Highness, I am here for you. You are far wittier than me—I have things to learn from you. You have bewitched me, for I did not know it was possible for a lady to consume my every waking thoughts in such a violent way as you have. You may think me a stranger, and you may think me one of the many foolish suitors here for Miss Helen’s hand, but I will make you fall in love with me. I will show you that despite my pride, I will be a kind and gentle husband.” He exhales, as if steadying himself, but his eyes remain fixed on you. There is no jest in them, no trace of the arrogance he so often wears like armor. Only something raw.

“And I will absolutely not leave this city until you come back to me in my kingdom as the Queen of Ithaca. It may require god-like skill to convince your father to marry me—but I am nothing if not persistent.”

Before you can even begin to form a response—before you can push past the breath lodged in your throat, the furious pounding in your chest—there’s a voice.

"There you are!"

Helen.

You turn just as she strides toward you, golden as ever, a vision of effortless beauty. She doesn’t seem to have heard a word of what was just spoken, too preoccupied with her own delight at having found you.

"I’ve been looking everywhere," she sighs, linking her arm through yours before glancing at Gojo, who, for once, remains uncharacteristically silent. Her eyes flick between the two of you, and then she hums. "I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything?"

Gojo recovers faster than you do. "Not at all, Your Highness," he says smoothly, a practiced smile slipping into place. "I was simply getting to know your cousin better."

Helen gives him a flirtatious smile, but nevertheless turns to you, frowning. “And why are you at the physician’s?”

You feel Gojo’s eyes follow your movements as you shake your head and rise, walking towards Helen. “An unruly suitor. It was a light bruise, it is not a great matter–”

“A bruise?!”

“Come with me,” you hissed, waving her along so she did not question further. It seemed that the room was very warm, for you felt a heat creep up your neck the longer Gojo’s eyes unequivocally stayed on you. 

Helen blinked, at a loss for words, no doubt pondering why you both were leaving Gojo’s presence so readily. “But His Majesty—”

“Cousin,” you snapped, “did you not have a reason to be looking for me?”

Helen blinks, momentarily distracted. Then, as if something suddenly occurs to her, she brightens.

“Oh! Yes, Father wanted to see you.”

You exhale, relieved—only for it to be short-lived, because she doesn’t move.

She remains rooted in place, glancing back at Gojo with a look that is far too amused for your liking. The flirtatious smile returns, softer now, more intrigued.

“But surely,” she muses, tilting her head, “you wouldn’t mind if I stayed a moment longer? It’s not often one meets a man as charming as His Majesty of Ithaca.”

You narrow your eyes. “Helen.”

“What?” she says, all innocence. “We’re simply talking.”

You glance at Gojo, expecting him to look insufferably pleased, but instead, he’s watching you. Not Helen. You tear your gaze away.

It’s only once the two of you are walking through the halls, out of earshot, that Helen sighs, linking your arms again.

“He’s quite something, isn’t he?” she murmurs.

You keep your eyes ahead. “Perhaps. A bit arrogant, though.”

“He’s clever,” she corrects, then gives you a knowing look. “And you like him.”

You scoff, though the heat on your skin betrays you. “I do not.”

Helen only laughs, shaking her head. “Dearest cousin,” she sighs, “I have seen you endure the most persistent suitors with all the warmth of an ice-cold river. And yet, here you are, playing petteia with him, letting him tend to your wounds.”

You do not have an answer to that.

And Helen does not press further. She only smiles wistfully to herself, as if she already knows how this story will end.

…

The halls are silent at this hour, save for the whisper of your steps against the cool stone. You keep to the shadows, careful, quiet. If anyone were to see you like this—wrapped in a cloak, a weaver in hand, slipping through the corridors like a thief in the night—there would be whispers by morning.

But then again, what whispers have ever concerned you?

The thought does not comfort you as much as it should.

Your grip tightens around the weaver, its familiar weight grounding. You brought it with you on the off chance that Gojo, like most men, proves unreliable. You have no reason to believe he will come; his feelings for you could be temporary lust, a second option in case his primary one—Helen—fails. No reason to have entertained his invitation at all. And yet, you go.

You cannot say why.

A foolish impulse, perhaps. Or simple curiosity. Or maybe—

You push the thought away, focusing instead on the memory that surfaces unbidden.

A conversation with your father, just today while you dined.

You had spoken of Helen’s upcoming wedding of the foreign princes and warriors who sought her hand, of the future that awaited her.

Your father had frowned, the lines of his face deepening. “It is dangerous,” he had said, quiet but firm. “To entrust my daughter to a man who cannot ensure her well-being.”

You had smiled then, easy and unbothered, as if his words did not touch something in you. “It is not you he must convince.”

He had looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his gaze, but ended up remarking offhandedly, as if reminding you. “I do not want you to go far from me.”

And you, still smiling, had said nothing at all.

Now, in the solitude of the night, you are no longer smiling.

You know your father’s concern is not unfounded. It is not simply Helen’s future that weighs on him—it is yours.

But it is a strange thing, the way his words linger, how they press against you, heavy and quiet. Not as a warning. Not as a burden. But as something else. Something you cannot yet name.

You reach the courtyard, the olive tree standing tall against the night sky behind a series of trees. You exhale, slow and steady, before walking to reach it, weaver in hand.

If he comes, he comes.

And if not—

Well. You were never the kind to wait idly for a man.

But before you could go on your endless mental tirade of how despicable the male species were, you heard a voice. Gojo’s voice in particular.

Walking closer and closer—to where your olive tree was but not where you were visible, trees providing coverage—you noticed him talking to someone in a hushed, yet excited tone. You use the window of sight allowed by the gap between the trees’ leaves to see him, standing with an owl on his forearm. It’s turned to him, as if paying attention, although exasperatedly, to him while he stands tall as ever, his foot tapping impatiently against the grass.

You hesitate, watching as the owl blinks at him, as if listening, considering his words.

And then it notices you. Its, well, owlish eyes are wide as they lock in on your figure.

With a quiet rustle of feathers, it takes flight, disappearing into the night.

Gojo turns, following its path before his gaze lands on you.

“You scared my friend away,” he says, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

You blink at him. “You were talking to an owl.”

He shrugs, as if this too is perfectly reasonable. “She’s a good listener. A little judgmental, though.”

You give him a look, unimpressed. “I see you’ve finally found an audience that suits you.”

His lips curve into a slow smile. “And yet, here you are.”

You huff, settling onto one of the smooth stones beneath the tree. “I didn’t come for your company.” You hold up the weaver in your hands, as if that alone is proof of your intentions. “I came to pass the time.”

“Ah,” he drawls, stepping closer, hands slipping into the folds of his cloak. “And yet, you’re talking to me instead.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but he only grins, triumphant.

“Tell me,” he muses, dropping down beside you. “Were you hoping—or predicting, with that fast mind of yours—I wouldn’t come?”

You don’t answer right away, fingers idly threading the weaver. The night air is cool, the scent of olives and earth thick around you.

“Would it have mattered?” you ask at last, voice light, careless.

Gojo watches you, and for a moment, he does not answer either.

Then, quietly, as if confessing something neither of you are ready to name, he says, “Yes.”

You inhale slowly, fingers stilling on the weaver as his answer settles between you.

Yes.

It wasn’t spoken in jest, nor with the easy arrogance he so often wielded. Instead, it was quieter, more certain—like an unshakable truth, unburdened by expectation.

You don’t know what to make of it.

You cast him a glance from the corner of your eye. He’s sitting close but not too close, his long legs stretched out before him, arms resting lazily over his knees. His usual grin is absent, replaced by something unreadable, something you cannot name.

The weight of his gaze is different now. Not teasing, not searching for amusement—but waiting.

You look away first.

Your fingers resume their slow, practiced work, weaving delicate patterns into the fabric, though your thoughts are anything but orderly.

“Why are you here?” you ask, voice softer than you intend.

A beat passes before he answers.

“Because you are.”

You swallow.

He leans back onto his hands, tilting his head toward the night sky, moonlight catching in the pale strands of his hair. It makes him look otherworldly, like a figure carved from myth—too beautiful, too untouchable.

“I’m not Helen,” you say after a moment, unsure why the words leave your lips. “You have nothing to gain from this.”

Gojo exhales, a quiet sound, but when he looks at you again, there is something almost amused in his expression—touched with something softer, something more patient.

“Do you think I speak to owls for political gain?”

You huff, trying to ignore the warmth threatening to creep up your neck. “I think you do most things for your own amusement.”

He hums, as if considering that. “You wound me.”

“I doubt that,” you mutter, eyes fixed on your work.

And yet—his fingers twitch where they rest against the stone. It’s small, barely noticeable, but your eyes catch it, and you wonder.

Does he want to reach for you?

The thought unsettles you more than it should.

He exhales again, then shifts, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees, expression thoughtful. “You know,” he muses, “I had a whole speech planned.”

You raise a brow. “Oh?”

“Something about how I was drawn to you the way sailors are drawn to sirens. That you, unlike any other, have made me question things I thought I knew.” He looks down at his knees, lips pulling in a mischievous smile. “But with you, I doubt a night of spilling sweet nothings or perhaps…other things would have swayed you.”

Your fingers still.

“But I think I’ve changed my mind,” he continues, tilting his head. “I think I’d rather just talk to you.”

You stare at him, caught somewhere between wariness and something dangerously close to wonder.

And then, before you can stop yourself, you ask, “What would you have said next?”

His lips twitch, and for the first time tonight, there is mischief in his gaze again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

You roll your eyes, but the moment has shifted, lighter now, though something unnamed still lingers beneath it.

“Keep your secrets, then,” you mutter, returning to your weaving.

“You wound me,” Gojo says again, pressing a hand to his chest as if truly affronted. “Here I am, spilling my heart, and you deny me even a scrap of sentiment.”

You let out a quiet scoff, keeping your focus on your weaving. “Perhaps if your words weren’t so dramatic, I’d be inclined to believe them.”

Gojo gasps. “Dramatic?” He leans closer, an almost boyish grin tugging at his lips. “My lady, I am nothing if not a man of sincerity.”

“Oh? So that speech about sirens wasn’t an embellishment?”

“Not at all.” He sighs, as if suffering under some great burden. “I wake in the morning thinking of you, I lay my head at night wondering if you’ve thought of me at all. It’s agony, truly.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips betray you, twitching into something dangerously close to a smile. “That sounds more like a malady than love.”

“Ah, but love is a sickness, is it not?” He exhales dramatically. “And you, my lady, have made a very ill man of me.”

Despite yourself, a laugh escapes—light, unguarded, like something slipping past your defenses before you can catch it.

And then—silence.

You glance at him, and find him already watching you.

His usual mischief is gone, replaced by something softer, something wholly unprepared. His breath is caught somewhere between his ribs, his lips slightly parted as if the sight of your laughter has stolen the air from him.

And then—

A blush, unmistakable even in the moonlight.

Your heart stutters.

Oh.

For the first time, you allow yourself to study him properly. The sharp angles of his jaw, the elegant bridge of his nose, the vivid eyes that hold yours so intently.

He is very handsome.

The thought settles somewhere unexpected, like an admission you’ve been avoiding.

Before you can dwell on it, something light catches against your shoulder—a drifting leaf, caught in the folds of your garment.

Gojo moves before you can react.

His fingers brush against the fabric near your collarbone, and then linger, featherlight and warm, as he pulls the leaf free. The moment stretches—longer than it should, charged with something unspeakable.

You feel his breath before you see him move, close enough now that the space between you is barely a whisper.

His hand, now free of its task, hesitates—before it trails downward, catching yours in his grasp.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to fill the moment with jest. His thumb traces the back of your hand, slow and absentminded, as if memorizing the shape of you.

Your own breath falters.

His breath is warm in the cool night air, his proximity setting something taut beneath your ribs. You are no stranger to flirtation, nor to men who think they can win you with pretty words, but Gojo—Gojo is different.

Perhaps it’s the way he looks at you now, his usual mischief tempered by something quieter. Or perhaps it’s the fact that, despite his arrogance, despite his clever tongue and tireless persistence, he does not presume to take.

He waits.

A dangerous thing, because it gives you time to notice the way his fingers twitch slightly against the fabric of your sleeve, the way his lips part as if tasting the words before speaking them.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs, tilting his head.

You arch a brow, feigning indifference despite the heat pooling low in your stomach. “Am I?”

His lips curve. “Should I be flattered?”

You hum, as if considering it. “I’m only making observations.”

“Oh?” He steps just a fraction closer, his voice dipping. “And what have you observed, my lady?”

“That you blush quite easily,” you say smoothly, pleased when the faint flush creeps further up his neck. “That despite your grand declarations, you are, in fact, a little shy.”

Gojo lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Shy? My lady, you wound me.”

“Do I?” You tilt your chin up slightly, your voice softer now, your hand still in his.

His gaze flickers to your lips.

Your breath catches, just for a moment.

And then—

His hand moves, fingers brushing along the curve of your jaw before settling at the nape of your neck, his touch deliberate, careful. A question, waiting for an answer.

You don’t grant him words—only the tilt of your head, the briefest lean forward.

It is all the invitation he needs.

He kisses you like a secret, like something to be savored—slow at first, testing, before he grows bolder. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and warmth floods through you, seeping into your bones.

The world is silent save for the soft hitch of breath, the faint rustle of fabric as he deepens the kiss, as you allow yourself to press into him, fingers curling into the front of his tunic.

For a man who never stops talking, he is utterly wordless now. 

When you wake up next in the morning, it is grumpy and tired. Not only were you up late into the night, talking to and…kissing Gojo of Ithaca, or rather, Satoru (while you were drunk on each other, he had convinced you to call him Satoru), but the sound of Helen’s squealing made your head ring, putting an unbearable pressure onto them.

“Helen!” you scold her, throwing a spare pillow at her. She easily dodges while you sit up in the bed, half-heartedly rubbing your eyes to wipe the sleep from them. As she throws herself onto the foot of the bed, you notice and hear the pitter patter of rain, casting a somber gray light in your bedroom that is occasionally interrupted by Zeus’s thunder, as if the god was angered or sharing a premonition. 

Shaking off the thought, you scowl at your cousin, who’s excitedly prattling about things you still have yet to comprehend. “Slow down! Tell me, without spewing all your words at once.”

“Father gave me permission to marry!” she squealed, jumping on you and hugging you closely. She seemed happy, and you loved your cousin very much, even if you did not show it much. Pure affection permeates your countenance, as she continues. “You know I’ve always wanted to marry him, with his big arms and all. He could totally manhandle me, but you knoooww I love the ones that can whimper—”

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your ears as if scandalized (you’ve said much worse to her), but you grin regardless. “Who is the man that you have chosen?”

“Well,” she laughs, flipping her hair off her shoulder, “Gojo of Ithaca is to be my husband, of course.”

Your heart drops to your stomach.

What she says next seems to blur together, not registering because you are shocked, your world almost tilted.

Gojo of Ithaca is to be my husband, of course.

It is then you realize belatedly that Helen seems to be calling out to you, and what you notice the most out of anything on her face is the soft smile she has on her face. One that shows that she is fond of Satoru Gojo, that she has affection for him. And who are you—the girl whose father doesn’t wish for her to marry, one that isn’t to be promised—take that away from Helen, from him?

Gojo has made it clear that he is not here for Helen—but wouldn’t it be better for him and his kingdom (which you discovered last night that he cares so dearly for) for him to marry Helen? A beautiful queen and a wise king. 

What a match.

You swallow, throat suddenly dry, but you manage a smile—strained, weak, but a smile nonetheless.

“Helen,” you begin, voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you, “are you certain?”

“Of course!” she beams, oblivious to the way your fingers tighten in the fabric of your bedding. “Father said Gojo has yet to ask officially, but he will, I know it. And why wouldn’t he? A match like this—it’s fate.”

Fate.

What cruel irony.

You remember last night—Gojo’s hands warm against your skin, his laughter pressed against your lips, the way he had murmured your name like a vow.

And yet—

You look at Helen, golden and radiant even in the gray morning light, her eyes alight with genuine happiness. You love her, truly, and have since childhood. She has always had her pick of men, but there was something softer in the way she spoke of Satoru just now.

The soft smile, the dreamy lilt to her voice.

She wants this.

And what of you?

Your chest aches, but you laugh, the sound lighter than it should be. “You sound quite taken with him.”

“I am,” she beams, watching you. “He’s gorgeous! Charming, too. He told me last night that he thinks my eyes are like the sea at sunrise.”

Your stomach twists and it seems that the panic overwhelms you because all you can manage to do is swallow and nod. “Well,” you look at her with a tight smile, “I congratulate you. Let us discuss this matter further over breakfast.” She smiles and squeezes your upper arm in a goodbye, and the touch of it burns.

You don’t ever make it to breakfast that day.

It continues raining that day, and it’s quite appropriate for how you’re feeling. The feeling of melancholy permeates the air around you as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Usually, you occupy your time by reading or, more likely, weaving, but you couldn’t muster the energy to find interest in that either.

Over a man. What a shame.

You were not one to lie idle—you were constantly praised as a princess wise beyond her years, and it would be wise, in this situation, to move on. Because the man you had grown feelings for is now engaged to your cousin, or, at least, your cousin intends to be engaged with him. And it would be wiser to let it happen, for Helen’s happiness was your happiness.

Sighing, you stuff your face into your pillow and groan, muffled by the linen fabric of your seats. You then decide grudgingly that if you’re not going to leave your room at all, it may be best to shed yourself of your clothing and lay comfortably in your loincloth and mamillare.

But right as you put your hand on your clothing to strip yourself, you hear a noise. 

The sound comes again—a sharp, rhythmic tap-tap-tap, just barely audible over the rain. You freeze, fingers still curled around the fabric of your chiton, half-peeled from your shoulder. At first, you think it might be a stray branch scraping against the stone, wind-tossed by the storm. But then it happens again—more deliberate this time, insistent.

Then, looking at the new objects strewn across your balcony, you realize it’s not branches—it’s pebbles.

You scowl, tying your garments hastily before moving toward the balcony. The rain is gentler now, more mist than storm, clinging to the stone and silvering the world beyond. You grip the railing and peer down—

And there he is.

Satoru.

Drenched from head to toe, hair plastered to his forehead, a frown curving his lips as he concentrates on where he’s going to throw his pebble next. His stance seems urgent, but you’re so caught up on the fact that he’s here, as if he isn’t supposed to be engaged to Helen or be subjected to whatever congratulatory round of alcohol men bestowed upon each other after securing the most beautiful woman alive.

Your heart stutters.

You pull back immediately, breath catching in your throat. You shouldn’t have come to the balcony. You shouldn’t be looking at him, shouldn’t be thinking about this morning when Helen’s voice still lingers in your ears—Gojo of Ithaca is to be my husband, of course.

The pebble strikes the stone beside you.

“I know you’re up there,” Gojo calls, tone indecipherable. “Are you really going to ignore me? After all we’ve been through?”

You swallow and your voice trembles when you say, “Go away.”

His resulting laughter sounds betrayed, hurt. “You don’t mean that.”

“Satoru,” and you don’t know if it’s a plea or a warning. His head tilts, an anguished look on his face as he closes his eyes and sighs.

“You wound me,” he huffs out a pained laugh, “After all, I run the risk of sickness just to see you and tell you that you believe wrong.”

Something is created in you, then. Something dangerous like hope. “What?”

But instead of answering, Gojo crouches, then, in one smooth motion, leaps up, catching the edge of the balcony with ease. You barely have time to react before he’s pulling himself over the railing, stepping onto solid ground with practiced grace.

You stumble back, eyes wide. “I told you not to come up.”

“And when have I ever listened?”

There’s something in the way he looks at you then—an intensity you aren’t prepared for. The air between you is charged, thick with something unspoken, something far too dangerous to name.

He takes a step forward. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

You blink, startled. “Excuse me?”

Gojo exhales, running a hand through his damp hair. “Why would you ever think it would be Helen?”

Your stomach lurches. “She said—”

“She assumed,” he corrects, cutting you off. “But I did not accept her. And you let her do that.” His voice drops lower, softer, a stark contrast to the teasing lilt he so often wields. “Do you truly think so little of me?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because if you do, it will come spilling out—the hope you tried to bury, the ache that settled in your chest the moment Helen uttered those words.

He moves closer, and you don’t stop him.

“Princess,” you can see his ivory lashes with how close he is, his face covered in raindrops, “for how wise you are, you seem to not have caught on. What animal is the emblem of Athena?”

Blinking, you’re taken aback by the sudden quizzing. “Owl, what about it—”

Oh.

He sees the realization dawn over your face, and now his tense expression melts into a bittersweet smile. “The goddess of wisdom has been my companion ever since I was a child, helping me attain whatever I needed the most. Whether it be to gain the knowledge one must have to be worthy of being king, or,” he inhales sharply, vibrant eyes scanning over your face vulnerably, “to gain the power to be able to make the wisest, wittiest, funniest, and most beautiful girl I’ve ever known my queen.

“After all, I have my wit—add a little of godlike power, and even I could defeat your father. Respectfully,” he adds quickly. He looks anxious you realize, as if he is about to make a risky move, a big ask. Something he’s been anxious to ask, but scared to. His eyes are still scanning you and his hands twitch at his side as he says, “I hesitate to make this decision, to ask you still after knowing the true nature of my desire for you—”

“Ask me what?”

His eyes are fixed on you, and you think that both of your hearts are beating very, very fast at the moment. “What do you think, princess?”

The silence that falls is loaded, heavy, and laden with hesitation. It’s as if a vice has caged its way through your heart, squeezing and squeezing until all the things you’ve left unsaid threaten to spill out. Things like I don’t want you to marry my cousin. Or yet, even worse, I want you to marry me. “I would not want to throw out my guesses, Satoru,” you instead opt to say, voice soft. “Things like this must be said directly, to not leave any confusion or misunderstandings.”

His jaw tightens, his breath coming harder as he stares at you, something raw and dangerous flickering in his eyes. “I agree. These things should never be left unsaid.” His voice is low, almost seething, but not with anger—no, this is something else entirely, something desperate. “I love you.” The words are unshakable, like a vow. “And I refuse to sit here and pretend my thoughts of you are anything less than ruinous. I dream of you in ways no other man is allowed to, ways that would send me to Hades with a smile on my lips. You have bewitched my soul, stolen the breath from my body, and most dangerously—you have claimed my mind.” His voice drops, softer now, but no less intense. “I do not know how to make you believe me, only that I would sooner challenge the gods themselves than let you slip through my fingers. The world could promise me tens of Helen, but there is only one woman I would ever choose.” His hand finds yours, fingers tightening, as his next words fall like an oath.

“You.”

Your breath stutters, throat tightening as his fingers tighten over yours. His touch is searing, as if the gods themselves have set him aflame, and yet you cannot pull away—you do not want to pull away.

“Satoru—” His name slips from your lips like a prayer, and he swears under his breath, his free hand coming up to cradle your jaw, thumb pressing just below your lips, as if he is fighting the urge to kiss you.

“I would tear down Olympus itself if it meant keeping you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your cheek. “I would make war with the gods, call upon Athena to guide my spear, and spill the blood of any man foolish enough to think they could take you from me.” His voice is rough, almost a growl, and you swear your knees would give way if not for the way he holds you now, as though letting go would be his ruin.

It is reckless, to let yourself lean into him, to let your fingers curl into the fabric of his damp chiton as though you could anchor yourself to him. But he is an anchor—pulling you into something deep, something dangerous, something you know you will not escape from unscathed.

His nose brushes yours, his lips so close that you feel his every breath, his every hesitation. But you see the war in his eyes, the battle between restraint and desire, and for once, you decide to let yourself be selfish.

So you whisper, “Then prove it.”

And that is all it  takes for him to break.

His lips crash against yours, urgent and claiming, as if to kiss you any softer would be to deny himself the air he breathes. He groans as your hands tangle in his hair, your body pressing flush against his, his own hands no longer gentle but gripping, desperate, possessive. His teeth graze your bottom lip before he deepens the kiss, one hand trailing lower, pressing against the curve of your waist, then lower still—

Thunder crackles, as you gasp out his name. He pulls you both apart, looking anguished as if he’s fighting the urge to keep touching you, to make you moan out his name. Realizing this, you grab his hands and put them on yourself. “My love,” you say, tenderly, and you see how his pupils dilate in response, “you may touch me—”

“Are you sure? For if you say that, I may not be able to stop myself from indulging. Because I will take and take, until you can give me no more.” The way he says it, uncharacteristically serious and brows furrowed, makes you heat up even more, dizzy with lust and your pent up longing for the man.

But your response stays the same, paired with a firm nod. “I am sur—mmmph.”

He smothers you with his lips before you can finish, cupping your jaw until his hands start to move downwards. They move, tracing the planes of your body, and they are relentless in their exploration—they grab you possessively, pushing you closer and closer to him until his hands are below your thighs. Satoru maneuvers you until your legs are straddling his waist so that he can pick you up and carry you to your bed.

After he throws you down like carrying you poses to him as much of a challenge as carrying a light potato sack, he admires you—-thighs clenched, hair splayed around your head like a halo. The skirt of your clothes has inched its way up, exposing your thighs. “Gods, you don’t know what you do to me.”

But instead of playing the innocent maiden, you look at him through your lashes, laughing. “Satoru, time is of the essence. Flattery will get you nowhere—you must show it through your actions.”

You didn’t know what saying his name—and prompting him like that—does to him. He meets your lips in a furious kiss once again, this time hand sneaking up your skirt. He meets the fabric of your loincloth, hooking at its sides and pulling them downwards and downwards, until it is hooked off your ankle (not before Satoru leaves it a trailing kiss there, of course. It is only until Satoru’s eyes hone in what’s in the middle of legs that you realize that you are bare to him. “Satoru, I—”

“I must do something,” he instead responds, and you look at him in confusion. He’s moving down your body as you ask him what he means and if something’s wrong.

You’re interrupted by your gasp as his mouth descends on you, leaving hot, openmouthed kisses directly on your core. His tongue delves inside your lower lips, pleasing the nerves and leaving them singing. He undoes you, leaving your legs feeling like jelly, and the fervor he does it with is nauseating—as if your nectar is ambrosia itself. 

Soon enough, with his reverent worship—and a finger or two added to stretch you out and make you emit embarrassing noises that only encourage him further—you come with a cry of his name. As you roll your hips, riding out your climax, his mouth and head follow and trail your hips, unrelenting in pleasuring you even though you’re overstimulated and left quivering. 

“I—” you blurted, trying to fill the silence after he had just made you taste colors. “I hate you.”

Satoru faux pouts, biting back a grin. “Rude thing to say when I just made you—”

“Don’t finish that!” you shriek, swatting his head lightly as he laughs, kissing his way back up your body. In a tone more shy than you’d like, you say in a small voice, “But I hope we’re not done yet?”

Satoru’s made his way up to your clothed breasts, kissing them tenderly. However, when he hears the question, he stills, looks at you with wide eyes, and he groans, as if surprised by your forwardness. “Princess, the things you do to me.”

He kneads your ass while he stands up, orienting himself into a position to do—that. A voice in the back of your head reminds you that you’re not supposed to be doing this before you get married, but your lust is too strong. And, after all, you trust that there’s no way Satoru wouldn’t marry you.

You feel a slight pressure in your nether regions, and you realize that it is Satoru’s cock. His eyes are on you, blown out with lust, as he continues to stroke the length of it while observing your every reaction. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

With your confirmation, his eyes next left your face as he pushed in, moving slowly and gently. He gauged your features for any signs of discomfort or pain as he moved in shallow thrusts, gradually increasing their length. You gasped, his murmurs and sweet nothings coaxing out your whimpers and whines as he bumped a spot inside of you. As he did, fireworks erupted in the back of your mind, leaving you boneless as he got you closer and closer to your climax once again.

For someone who didn’t experience carnal desires often, you wonder how you’ve gone without this kind of pleasure for so long. Satoru made you feel worshipped, tracing kisses with a love that was almost pious. It doesn’t take you long after that to come once more, thrashing in his grip.

Your climax sheathed on his cock unlocks something in him, for he begins to thrust harder and faster, becoming sloppier and sloppier. His voice is by your ear, whining your name continuously. When he finally feels himself climb over and finally orgasm, he breathes out an “Ah,” and thrusts himself to completely bottom out while his come fills you up, pooling inside of you.

You both stay interlocked for gods know how long. Until Satoru pipes up, voice still unstable and panting, “By the way, it went unsaid, but I’m going to marry you. And you can’t say no.”

Your resulting giggle makes him break out in a big smile before he hugs you, wrestling you both to lie side by side in bed.

It goes without saying, but it all goes smoothly according to plan.

When Satoru had played with petteia with you, he had aimed to show Athena your wit. It is no small claim to defeat him, a king associated with Athena, in the game. The following events further made Athena approve of you and give her blessing. 

So Gojo was already ten steps ahead when he asked your father for your blessing. Your father was furious, of course—he did not want to let you go. After much cajoling and agreement to beat your father, a champion runner, in a race to attain your hand, Satoru wiped his brow. The way your father loved you would be scary to him if he didn’t love you as intensely as he did now. 

And of course Satoru won. Athena got her fellow Olympian, Hermes, to rent out his infamous speed. When he wins, Sparta is in an uproar, including your cousin.

“So, how is he?” Helen asks mischievously. You later found out that day that Helen’s words of marrying Gojo had a purpose—to push you both towards each other, once and for all. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you turn away, with a hmph. Crossing your arms, you pretend to roll your eyes at the knowing look she had.

“I don’t know, cousin,” she giggles, “I heard a couple of voices in your room when I tried to visit you a few nights back. Tell me, does he whimper—-”

“Helen!” 

The day you marry, donning beautiful and regal clothes, Gojo sneaks you away multiple times to kiss you under your veil when no one is looking.

His wedding gift is built by him—on the voyage back to Ithaca, he not only takes you away from Sparta, but the olive tree that you both had met at. He builds the shared marital bed out of the olive tree for his queen with his blood and sweat. It is a symbol of your love, everlasting, and you would daresay that it is the most precious gift anyone has ever given you.

What you give him in return is one fat and giggly baby. Your father grumbles that the child looks too much like his father, but the way he holds the babe—so carefully, so gently—betrays his affection. Helen coos at her little nephew, amused at how utterly soft Satoru has become, how the once-cocky king now spends his days doting on both you and your child, as if he has won the world itself.

And perhaps he has.

After all, Satoru has always been a man of ambition. A man who would scheme, fight, and even defy the gods for what he desires. And yet, as he holds your child in one arm and you in the other, murmuring teasing words against your ear before stealing another kiss, you realize something—

He had never needed Athena’s wisdom, Hermes’ speed, or any other divine favor to win you.

Because you had already been his, just as he had always been yours.

general masterlist

a/n thank u to my very supportive bestie @purplegemadventures i love all ur ideas ml <3 anyways like always all my beta readers are the goats thank you for reading my incomprehensible ideas. it's 5am and there's a mosquito that's hovering near me and im not totally happy w how this turned out but it was fun writing it kjenkjne. i may write more greek mythology aus but i need to lock in on my series....

ppl who asked to be tagged: @heh123321 @melotter

thank you for reading! reblog and comment to let me know ur thots <3

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I LOVEEEEE YOU FICS OMG OMG

If you could be so kind to write a DomgojoxBratreader where he is her academic rival and they are always arguing but they start falling for each other. She is sassy and he matches her energy 🙏🏽🙏🏽

I pushed her back to the wall and said “You done?”

Tags: dom!Satoru x fem!Reader, brat!Reader, brat taming, academic rivals, rivals to lovers, slight angst, maybe hurt/comfort, hea, cursing, smut, mdni, spanking, slight impact play, cunninglingus, unprotected sex, this shit gonna be nasty i fear.

An: This all takes place when they're in a like Jujutsu Tech College... bare with me lmao. It's basically the events from their highschool years, but I made it to where they happened while they were in college, so all the characters are of age here. I looooove the academic rivals trope after I wrote my Hiromi fic 😩 you can read that here if you’re interested! Also, so sorry but this is a long one... 7.3k words...

Thwak!

Your body jolts forward a bit as you’re slung unceremoniously over Satoru’s shoulder. His large palm wooshes to connect with your bottom once more.

Thwak!

“Why is it always the small ones who I can throw around so effortlessly that talk the most shit?” His face is occupied with that shit eating grin as he gives your ass another spank just for the hell of it. There’s nothing you can do about it anyways. He may as well have his fun.

“Put me down, Satoru!!” You whine, trying to jostle your way out of his grip, but he’s having none of it. Your fists pound at his muscular back, but he continues to laugh. Without your cursed technique, you’re really are just a weakling to him.

“Where are your manners, princess? That’s no way to speak to your upperclassmen.” He taunts as he continues to carry you around with ease. “Maybe if you call me senpai, I’ll put you down.”

“Fuck no! I’m not doing that, weirdo!” You huff as your body continues to wriggle in his grasp. Geto watches with an amused look on his face. He makes no effort to stop Satoru’s shenanigans since you really were asking for this by provoking him all day today.

Your cursed technique is the only one that comes close to countering Satoru’s, so you’re the only person he’ll bother training with. However, he’s a complete asshole to train with.

When you’re losing, he gets all cocky and mouthy, talking about how weak and pathetic you are. When you’re putting up a good fight, Satoru somehow gets even more energetic. His cursed energy output increases exponentially, and he gets touchier too because he can’t cope with the euphoric feeling of actually having a challenge.

Principal Yaga was the unfortunate soul who had to tell Satoru that it was inappropriate to bear hug you for so long after a good sparring session. One time, you were trapped in his arms, completely unable to move for almost an hour as he rambled about how much he enjoyed getting that energy out. His face was also coincidentally(?) shoved in your chest. He, of course, claims it was nothing sexual, but you were completely pressed against him. You felt him grow hard against your thigh.

Either way, you always felt like you had a chip on your shoulder. You didn’t just want to he known as the one who could “almost counter Satoru”. You wanted to be known as the one who could beat the strongest sorcerer of today.

Unfortunately, you weren’t strong enough to beat him in combat yet, so you usually provoked him with words. All day, Geto has had to listen to you and Satoru bickering back and forth with each other.

“Well, at least my eyes aren’t off putting to look at.”

“My eyes are beautiful, princess. You’re just mad that you can’t get a date meanwhile I have girls falling all over me.” Satoru of course childishly stuck his tongue out at you.

“Bold of you to assume I can’t get a date.” You fire back with a small huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Oh? Does the princess have a date? Make sure to let me know how that goes.” Satoru laughs, and his hand ruffles your hair uncaringly.

“You can ask your dad tomorrow morning how it went.” You’re use to Satoru’s sass by now, and you know how to perfectly match his freak as some would say.

Satoru shoots you a small glare, which only elicits a giggle from you. You decide to push it further. “Yeah, I’m thinking about giving you a sibling. What do you think about that, hm? Maybe we’ll make another six-eyed freak with the limitless technique, so you aren’t that special.”

Satoru’s nose twitched in disdain. Not only did he not like the thought of not being special anymore; he despised the thought of you sleeping with his dad.

And that’s how you ended up thrown over his shoulder as he carried you towards the training matts. “Quite the mouth on you, princess. If only you could fight as good as you yap.” He smirked as he gave your ass a light spank. Once he realized the amount of control he had over you in that moment, it was game over for you.

“Let me go, Satoru!” You shrieked as Gojo continued to manhandle you over his shoulder. After a good twenty minutes of him holding you up, Suguru finally spoke out.

“You two are starting to sound like an old married couple. Put her down, Satoru.” Geto’s calming voice finally laid down the law to which Satoru reluctantly abided by, allowing for your feet to touch the floor.

You caught your breath as you were put down. It had been taxing to wrestle in his arms and scream for him to stop it. He knew you couldn’t activate your cursed technique while had full control over your body. Plus, if you were to activate your technique, you would’ve likely hurt Geto in the process. Satoru knew you wouldn’t even entertain the risk.

While Satoru was Suguru’s one and only friend, you were more like a little sister at Suguru’s side. He was the only one who didn’t view you as “Satoru’s counter”. To Suguru, you were just “y/n”. He saw you as an underclassman with an unprecedented level of potential.

He also often helped you with your studies. While Satoru was technically the brighter one of the two, Suguru was a true teacher. He explained even the most complicated topics to you, much to Satoru’s displeasure.

You didn’t miss the scowl on Satoru’s face each time you came up to both of them to request for Geto’s help. You didn’t miss the way he’d stare at both of you with a slight pout and how he’d try to tell you the answer before Geto could explain it.

You figured that it was just Satoru being spoiled. He didn’t like not being the center of attention when it came to you and Geto.

Satoru turned towards you, and he opened his mouth to continue on his little beratement of you when the door to the training area was abruptly opened. Principal Yaga stepped through the doors and called Gojo and Geto to his office.

The principal ended up sending the two young men out on a mission, and that was when everything changed between you three.

*** *** ***

Things between you three went dry for a while. You knew the details of what happened, but you didn’t dare talk directly to Satoru or Suguru about it.

Both of the men went their own separate directions, leaving you behind in the dust as if you were a child of divorce. Satoru took on an ungodly amount of training, barely ever at the dorms to do anything. Suguru occupied himself with a massive amount of missions.

Suguru was getting skinnier too. His long black hair was becoming thinner by the day, and he always looked so painfully tired. You felt like you would be a burden on him if you asked for any help from him.

Satoru was training so much, putting on more muscle in every place of his body. He didn’t ever invite you to spar with him anymore. He never taunted you in the hallways or even made direct eye contact with you.

They were both so preoccupied in their own grief that they seemingly forgot about you.

Things didn’t stop there either.

Haibara’s death shook Jujutsu Tech to its core. Nanami dropped out of the program. Suguru dropped out and was now a wanted criminal. Shoko wasn’t on the teaching path anymore, moving to learn more RCT to prevent something like this from happening again.

It was just you and Satoru on the teaching path. “Class” if you can even call it that - was so depressing that you barely bothered to show up for lectures anymore. Satoru was taking on every single mission, filling in for Suguru, Nanami, and Haibara’s absence. He wouldn’t even speak to you about Suguru or anything else for that matter.

Feeling so incredibly alone, you were curled up in your dorm late one night. Your face was sticky from tears, and your breath was so uneven. You just needed to talk to someone.

You didn’t think he’d answer, but Suguru sounded happy when he picked up the phone.

“Y/n, how are you?” His voice was like a double edged sword. It was so comforting to hear his voice, but you also remembered the lives he took.

You two spoke for over two hours. You vented out every single grief and complaint to him while he calmly tried to convince you that Jujutsu Tech was a waste of your time.

He was so good at buttering you up, making you feel like his way of thinking even made sense. You were so desperate for a friend; you couldn’t care less that you were essentially signing yourself up for a cult.

“Come to me, y/n. We could do great things together. It’d be like old times. I need you here with me.” A cult leader preying on someone when they’re at their lowest.

You agreed, hanging up the phone to start packing your bags. You couldn’t take living here anymore anyways, not after everything. Satoru probably wouldn’t even notice that you’re gone.

Quietly creeping down through the dorms, duffle bag in hand, you flinch when a sudden hand grips your shoulder from behind. You let out a sharp gasp followed by a small cry before you turn around quickly.

Satoru was standing behind you, no humor in his face at all. He was shirtless. His abs and muscular arms were on full display as he was only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, and his hair was slightly damp from a shower.

“Where are you going?” He asked in a tone you’d never heard him use. He was being stern with you as if you were a child.

You shift uncomfortably underneath his gaze before you brush his hand off your shoulder. “I’m going to go stay with a friend.” You give him a half-lie, not able to tell him to his face that you were leaving.

“Pretty large duffle bag for going to stay with a friend, don’t you think?” His hand effortlessly takes the duffle bag off your shoulder, and he pulls it away from you before opening it, taking notes of the contents inside. “I don’t know why you bother lying to me. My six eyes know when you’re not telling the truth.”

You try to take the duffle bag back from him, but he dodges and bats away all of your attempts. “I wasn’t lying!” You shout, getting frustrated and impatient with him. “It���s not like you even care. Give me my shit back.”

Bright blue eyes look up at you, and his pupils dilate, the size of small pinholes. “I don’t care?” He asks before letting out a humorless laugh. It’s eerie seeing him like this, like a stick that just about to snap if anyone applied anymore pressure to him.

“You don’t. You don’t even talk to me anymore, even when I try talking to you! You and Geto completely blew me off.” Hot tears burn in your eyes as you’re forced to face how you feel right in front of him. “At least Geto wants to talk to me now.” You murmured quietly, shifting your gaze to the ground.

“You talked to Suguru?” Satoru asks, eyes wide and full of anger. His palm comes up and grips your hair pulling it back so you’ll look him in the eyes.

You let out a sharp hiss as his fingers are digging into your scalp. “Let go of me!” You shout, trying to free his hand from your hair.

Things finally start to click in Satoru’s head. You were leaving him, leaving him to go stay with Suguru. His stomach coiled in white hot rage and jealousy. Could you not see all he had done for you? Yet, you still choose Suguru, who had done nothing for you.

Your body feels weak and unstable as you’re suddenly teleported to the training mats in the gym. “Satoru, what?” You ask as you look around as best as you can. He finally frees your scalp.

“You want to go be with him?” He asks before throwing your duffle bag against the door. He then leans over and starts to stretch his legs. “You’ll have to beat me. Prove to me that you’re strong enough, and I’ll let you go. I won’t keep chasing you.”

"Satoru, you're talking crazy..." You reply as you glance over to your duffle bag that was slumped against the door. You had no want or intention of fighting Satoru. "I'm allowed to drop out if I want."

"So what? You just quit? You're just going to let me win like that? Bullshit, yn. I know you better than that." Satoru's eyes bore holes into the very depths of your soul. He does know you better than that — knows that you're not one to back down from a challenge.

Your jaw tightens as you watch him, anger coiling in your stomach. He can never just let you have what you want. Everything was a fight to him. He always gets what he wants because he's the fucking starboy of Jujutsu, and you're just "close enough" to his counter.

You rip your sweatshirt away from your body, tossing it off the matt. Your torso was clad in a thin tank top that you didn't necessarily plan on letting anyone see. You roll your neck. If he wanted to fight, you'd give him one last one.

"Atta girl." He whistles with a smug grin. His body is still in a fighting stance, waiting for you to take yours.

You don't even bother to respond to his praise. You know he's only acting like this to get under your skin more. "Make it count, Satoru. This will be the last time I ever fight you."

"Oh, I make it count each and every time."

It's not long before you two are completely at each other's throats. The amount of cursed energy emitting from the training area was absolutely devastating for the school. Building foundations literally shook. The lights flickered constantly, and a few even blew.

You two were lucky it was in the dead of night. If anyone was awake to witness this, they would've already put a stop to it, but most citizens must've chocked the movements up to small earthquakes in their sleepy haze.

Your body was tired and bruised, but you weren't going to give up. You wouldn't tap — no matter how many times Gojo put you in different submission positions. You always managed to break free and hit him with your elusive technique — something his infinity couldn't recognize.

He had grown so much stronger since your last sparing session. All of the training and missions had done him well. His chiseled body felt heavier against you. His grip was tighter. He was faster, stronger, and smarter.

Strangely enough, Satoru was mostly silent during this fight. He didn't taunt you or call you pathetic like he normally did. Besides his quiet grunts and growls from blows or primal rage, he was deadly silent.

This was serious to him. This wasn't like a fight with a meaningless curse. This wasn't like a cute little sparring session with you back in the day. This was you, and your role in his life. He would be damned before he let you fucking quit and leave him.

"Come here." His voice was deeper, rougher — predatory almost as he went in for another submission. His eyes were trained on you, and he had one objective in his mind: to keep you.

You slipped up, misjudging Satoru's distance from you. Before you could evade him, Satoru's large calloused palms gripped the underside of your thighs, and he lifted your body up with ease, shoving your back against the wall.

"You done?" He growled lowly against your ear, his breath fanning against your skin. His chest was rising and falling harshly. He was also bruised, but he'd fight you for the rest of eternity if it meant you wouldn't leave him.

Your breath was faster than his — literally panting as you took the moment of reprieve and rested against the wall. It had been so long since you too had sparred, you almost forgot how handsy he could be with you in the middle of fights.

His slender waist was between your thighs, still only covered by his grey sweat pants. His abs were glistening in sweat, and his hips created a perfect V dipping into his waistband. You instinctively had your legs wrapped around him — making him support your weight.

"I'm not going to let you win." Your voice is low and shaky from the fight. Your nerves were wound up after the night you had.

"Then, stay. Keep fighting me." His body pressed closer to yours. If anyone walked in on you two, it would definitely appear as if you two were doing things other than fighting.

"He needs me, Satoru..." You murmur, turning your head away from his. Suguru said it himself. He needed you. Satoru just wanted you to keep playing catch up with him.

Satoru's jaw clenched, and he pushed your back against the wall harder. He supported your weight with one of his hands and his waist as his other hand roughly grabbed your jaw. His fingers digging into the soft skin of your cheeks, forcing you to look at him.

"If he needed you so fucking badly, why did he leave you here with me?"

You look at him with lost eyes as the reality of the situation finally starts to sink in. Your big brother, Suguru, had changed into someone you could hardly recognize. You tense — immediately trying to push those thoughts out of your head.

He can recognize that you're still trying to deny it. He jolts your body a bit, making your eyes snap open to look at him again.

"I need you, yn." His voice is raw. He's almost pleading with you. He sounds so convincing, but you can't help but doubt him.

"No, you don't..." You whisper as tears sting your eyes. Suguru didn't need you. He hadn't even bothered to call or text you. If he needed you so much, why didn't he reach out?

"Oh really?" Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. "So, I'm just fighting you at three in the morning for fun? I'm just fighting to keep you here with me for the thrill of it." His hand is unwavering on your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eyes as he speaks.

His eyes look so tired and drained. If you left, how would he have any moments rest. He's barely sleeping now as it is, and if you leave, he'll have to take on your missions on top of everything else.

But something tells you it's not even about that. This fight is the closest thing he's felt to human connection in months.

The rawness of his tone and emotion tugs at your heart strings, but it still feels like you’re giving up to him.

“Fighting at three in the morning sounds typical for you. You just don’t want to lose your favorite punching bag.” You spit back at him.

His hand — so pale and veiny — trails down from your jaw to your neck, and he squeezes just hard enough to make you feel all tingly inside. “Is that what you think? Do I need to fuck some sense into you?”

Your face warms from his crude words, and your hands squeeze his shoulders. His lips curl into a smirk as he witnesses your inner struggle, but he knows the truth. His six eyes know your tell: the way your thighs squeeze around him as if you’re trying to subdue your arousal.

He knows good and well that your pretty cunt is weeping for him, but he’s not going to give into yours or his own desires yet.

“I didn’t fight Nanami when he left.” His voice is back to a steady state, speaking the words carefully to ensure you understand what he’s trying to convey. “I even had the opportunity to fight Suguru to come back. I didn’t.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, making it feel like your stomach flipped upside down. You want to open your mouth to speak — to demand to know why he didn’t fight them to stay, but his hand was still firmly wrapped around your slender throat, holding you back from talking.

“How dense can you be, princess? It’s always been you. No one else.” A heady whisper against your ear. His hand subtly relaxes on your throat.

Then, you remember all the looks he gave you when you’d ask Suguru for help. You remember the times he would fight or outright just butt into your conversations, demanding to be the center of your attention.

“I knew you wouldn’t win, but even if you did, I lied. I’d still chase you. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I just let you slip past me.”

“Asshole.” You finally managed to speak, earning a dark chuckle from him.

Thwak!

His hand that had been supporting you slapped against your bottom. The familiar sting causing you to let out a breathy gasp.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you princess?” His hand unabashedly caresses your bottom, soothing the pain.

“I don't think you'd like me as much if I did." You respond gripping onto his shoulders as your body is under his control.

Thwak!

"Probably right about that." He murmurs before he leans into you. His pale blue eyes were half-lidded as he took you in. He's grown tired of denying himself. He's devoted his life to Jujutsu. Now, he just wants to finally do the things he wants to do, and you just so happen to be at the top of his list. "Are you going to play nice, or do I need to keep reminding you who's in control here?"

“I’m letting you have control.” You hiss. Probably not the wisest decision, since Gojo merely lets out a dark laugh. His hand tightens back around your throat, and your back hits the wall with a small thud.

“You’re going to eat your words, sweets.” He mumbles lowly, towering over you as he has full control over your body. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this? Do you even know what you do to me?”

His hardened length presses right against your core as if on cue, and he lets out a small groan from the contact. You bite back a noise that would let on your arousal because fuck… you’re wetter than you should be right now.

Too bad Satoru already knows the truth behind your flushed face and heaving chest. His six eyes really give him the advantage.

“I’m going to have fun with you, princess.” He quietly laughs as he drags his hips up and down, giving you the smallest bit of friction and pleasure. Both of you let out respective pants and noises — both of you were such a mess for each other.

Just when you were finally getting use to his rhythm, Satoru pulled back harshly, letting your feet touch the floor once more. Your legs subtly tremble as you stand on your own. You were still so exhausted from the fight, and now, you were feeling needy on top of it. It was like a perfect mixture for disaster.

You clench your jaw, not wanting to just give into him just because he said some really thoughtful words and looks so devilishly handsome. Sure, you were probably going to fuck him if he kept going, but you were not about to sit there and beg him to fuck you. There’s a perfectly good vibrator stashed in your duffle bag for this exact reason.

You start to walk towards the doors. Though, you weren’t planning on going to Suguru. You’d just… go stew in your dorm about how infuriating Gojo is, and then you’d get your frustrations out in a different manner.

“Oh no you don’t.” He says with a playful nature as he roughly grabs you right back up in his arms. “Gonna make me really work for it, aren’t you princess?” He carries you, despite your honestly pitiful attempts at getting away from him, and he bends you over one of the bleachers in the training area.

“Sato-“

“Shut up.” He lowly growled before grabbing something out of his pocket. His black blindfold crumpled in his hand before he reached over your back. One of his large hands grabbed your jaw, forcing your mouth open, and his other hand shoved his blindfold into your mouth.

“If you spit that out, I’m replacing it with my cock.” He warns lowly before letting out a small laugh at your panicked expression. Your face is so red from pure embarrassment of the situation. It doesn't help when Satoru's large gruff hands grab ahold of your shorts and yank them down to your ankles. Anyone could walk in here right now. Sure, it was late at night, but Yaga was notoriously a light sleeper.

Before you could even think about spitting out his blindfold and cussing him out, a harsh slap clapped against your bottom. Your teeth clamped down on the blindfold, masking a husky moan. Satoru definitely had a bit of an obsession with spanking you.

His eyes devoured you as your ass rippled. His hand gently rubbed your poor abused flesh before he spanked your other cheek. Your body jolted forward. A small muffled whine came from your lips, but Satoru knew you loved this.

You were practically dripping all over the bleachers for crying out loud. "Messy girl~" He taunted with a small laugh. "I think she's cryin' for it, sweets. She wants a spanking too."

You quickly start to shake your head, your body tensing at the thought. His fingertips gently smacked your drooling cunt, causing for an obscene wet noise to infiltrate your ears. You can't even stop the moan that's muffled from his blindfold. Your vision goes a bit blurry from tears of stimulation and slight pain, but fuck, it makes you clench around nothing. You were practically aching to be filled.

"Mmm~ you liked that didn't you, princess?" His hand rubs over your ass, groping you so shamelessly. "One day you might actually learn that I know your body better than you do..."

His finger trailed between your soaking wet folds, spreading your wetness around your clit, drawing out a shaky moan from you. Your legs started to lightly jitter, and it felt like your knees would give in any moment now.

"Poor, poor thing. You look like a newborn deer trying to learn how to walk." He taunted as his fingers circled around your entrance.

You were half tempted to spit the damn blindfold out, but you knew Satoru wouldn't hesitate to keep you gagging around his cock for hours if you kept being disobedient.

Another small slap to the button of nerves sent you forward. Your eyes fell shut as you savored the sensations tingling straight from your core. Your knees went inwards, and you had to support your body with your arms on the bleachers.

"That's it... Who's a good girl?" Satoru breathily purred from behind you. You were such a fucking beauty like this, finally caving in to your desires. You wanted this as much as he did. There was no point in denying it. His fingers went back to rubbing tight circles around your clit to soothe the little painful shocks.

You couldn't even formulate the words to tell him just where he could shove his dick. His ministrations felt like pure heaven, and your stomach tightened slightly. If he didn't slow down, you were sure god was going to come down and pluck you from the Earth.

Seeing the accumulation of energy with his six eyes, Satoru knew exactly what was going on. He smirked as he continued rubbing the swollen numb between his fingers. Your poor wet pussy making the wettest clacking noises he's ever heard. His mouth was practically watering for a taste.

Dropping to his knees behind you, Satoru wasted no time burying his face directly into your cunt. He immediately went to work, using his fat tongue to lap up all of your delicious juices. He gave you tender kisses of encouragement.

"See how you're treated when you're being good?" He taunted lowly right against your cunt. The vibration from his words had you clawing at the bleachers for mercy.

You whined and slightly thrashed, trying to fight the orgasm that was threatening to take over. It was too much- You couldn't cum all over Satoru's face right where you two had spent the most time at each other's throats!!

His tongue prodded at your entrance, and he moaned as he felt your wet velvet heat. You were made to house his cock in there -- he knew it. He'd always been god's favorite, so it made sense that god would bestow such a wonderful woman with the most delicious pussy to him.

His thumb rubbed tight circled around your clit as his tongue flicked in and out. It wasn't a minute later before you were basically gushing into his mouth. A muffled squeal left your throat, and you tried to claw away. Your cunt clenched and clenched, and Satoru nearly pitied your slutty pussy. It really just needed to be filled with dick. His dick.

His hands braced your thighs as he gave you a few more sweet kisses straight to your core before he stood up. He slid himself between you and the bleachers so he could hold you up. Your body collapsed against his chest, and you panted heavily. Not even your best vibrator and favorite smutty book could get that sort of orgasm out of you.

"Don't bite me." He warned with a ragged laugh before his fingers delved between your lips and pulled the blindfold out of your mouth. You didn't have the energy or resolve to even say anything to him. Instead, you opted to bury your face in his bare chest.

"My poor princess. Did I wear you out?" His voice was still teasing, even though he literally knew that he just made you see stars.

"Shut up, 'toru." You mutter into his chest, causing for his heart to swell. He loved that nickname, and he loved how you were like a cat pretending like you didn't like being pet by him.

His fingers pressed beneath your chin, and he pulled you up to look at him. Now, his dick was swelling from how precious your face since you were so fucked out already. Wordlessly, he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage. Getting your pussy ate from the back by him was one thing, but now, he was being all sweet and kissing you?? You can remember all of his sweet words and how he looked when he said them. He was being genuine. He really had feelings for you this entire time.

You wanted to stomp your foot on his toe for taking so long to finally tell you, but his kiss was so sweet and intoxicating. You took a deep breath before intertwining your lips with his.

The sound of lips smacking together filled the training area. You felt the air shift around you. Your passion started to burn hot within the kiss. Both of you chased each others' lips like it was a goddamn need — not a want. Your head actually started to spin as he gripped your jaw and started to nip at your bottom lips with his teeth.

You pulled back - nervous as to why you didn't feel good. Your eyes widened as you took in the change of environment. You were in Satoru's dorm, sat upon his bed. His room was surprisingly clean and warmly lit by a Himalayan salt rock lamp right next to his bed.

"Sorry sweets, I felt like taking this somewhere more private." Satoru merely laughed as his body towered over yours. "I wanted to be able to take my time with you." His voice dropped down an octave, whispering into your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you watched him hook his thumbs into the waistband of his grey sweatpants. They did absolutely fuck all to hide how his dick was straining directly against the fabric. He had a huge tent right in his pants, and his cock had created a small dark stain right on his crotch area from leaking copious amounts of pre-cum.

Once his pants were down, your eyes marveled at just how pretty his cock looked in the warm glow of the lamp. His dick was long, and he had such pretty veins decorating the underside and side of his cock. His tip was flushed a pretty cherry red, and he had a pearl of pre-cum leaking from his slit.

"Aw you flatter me, sweets~" Satoru laughed as he petted the top of your head, affectionately ruffling your hair. You scowled up at him, only making him laugh more. There was nothing like seeing you all defiant and pissy with him... except for seeing you all fucked out and pliant under him.

"C'mon~ give it a kiss." He demanded as his long fingers tightened around your hair, guiding your plush lips straight to his dick. You would rather die than give into him like this. Your legs kicked out from you, kicking him straight in the shin.

He hissed quietly from the pain before giving you a dark grin. "You know, I wanted our first time to be sweet and passionate, but you make it real fucking hard to be nice to you, princess." He let go of your head before shoving you back onto the bed.

"Maybe because you make it real fucking hard to want to be nice to you." You retorted as your eyes narrowed. He settled between your legs with a small grunt. Even while you were arguing with him, your cunt was still soaked.

He was almost tempted to take the words out of your mouth by giving you more of his tongue, but his cock had been neglected long enough. "You didn't seem to have a problem after I gave you your best orgasm." He commented with a lopsided grin.

You stayed still against his bed swallowing harshly. Were you two really about to...? Just hours ago, it felt like you two were trying to kill each other. Hell, two days ago, it felt like he had forgotten you even existed.

"This doesn't make up for anything, Satoru." You warned as you kept your gaze hardened. Your body was to receptive to him to deny that you wanted... needed him, so you weren't even going to deny yourself the pleasure that he could give anymore. But this didn't make up for the fact that he had seemingly left you behind for months...

even if he only did that so you didn't have to bare the weight of his mistakes with the star plasma vessel..

even if he only worked himself to death so you could try to focus on your studies instead of being thrusted into being overworked with missions after Suguru and Nanami dropped out...

No, this didn't make up for any of that.

His touch softened as he cupped your cheek in his hand. His thumb stroked your smooth skin, gazing down at you like he was holding the world in his hands. It made you want to squirm and hide.

"So, this is meaningless for you?" He whispered quietly into your ear as his cock slipped between your sopping folds, grinding the underside of his length against you.

Your words got caught in your throat as you gasped for air. You felt your face immediately warm. Shit, you hated feeling this vulnerable... especially in front of your sworn rival.

"Am I only as useful as that cute little vibrator you stowed in your get-away back?" Satoru continued. His hips rocked back and forth, and you found yourself getting squirmy with each time his tip bumped against your entrance.

He was just too damn big to slip inside. It'd take work and lots of perseverance. Luckily, Satoru seemed to be surprisingly patient in that regard.

He groaned as he felt your slick coating his cock. Your body was fucking made for him: made to be his counter and made to take his cock.

You hid your face in his muscular shoulder, stifling a small whine. Damn his six eyes. That vibrator was a godsend some nights when you were stuck being alone.

"Answer me, princess." He drawled as one of his hands reached back to hold your head gently as if he were embracing you. His hips kept a steady rhythm, driving you mad.

"N-no..." You stuttered out, cursing your voice for betraying your arousal.

"Aw, sweets." He cooed in your ear, moving his hips with a bit more conviction now — testing the waters of pressing his giant cockhead against your entrance before going back to dry humping you.

You let out of noise of frustration, hating how easily it was for him to tease you like this. You knew it was going to hurt, but fuck, you were going to cry if you didn't get some relief soon.

"Shh, shh, I'm gonna give you what you need, sweets." He whispered into your ear, pressing a tender kiss to your cheekbone. "You gotta be a good girl for me though."

His arms cradled you as he peppered your neck in kisses. Your hips were rolling to meet his with each thrust. The slickest noises between you two filled the room as his long cock continued to rub against you.

"I'll b-be good, please." You finally choked out, giving up on arguing with him. You were too desperate now. There was no point in trying to hide it.

Satoru doesn't even attempt to hide his smug reaction to you being all submissive and needy underneath him. He drags his hips all the way back until he pushed himself forward — splitting you wiiide open for him.

"Fuck!" He groaned as your tight wet heat enveloped him, practically sucking you straight inside your sloppy pussy. One of his hands reached up and gripped the headboard for support. His back muscles flexed from the new positioning.

"Sh-shit-! Wait, T-toru... ah~! It's not g'nna fit!" You cried out, nails digging into his flesh as you tried to cope with the intrusion of his thick cock.

"Should've thought about that before you fucking begged for it, princess. Now, you're gonna shut the fuck up and take this dick like a good girl, yeah?" His voice was rough with need — no longer teasing. No, this was just primal domination now.

His cock continued to painstakingly shove it's way between your spongy walls, making room for himself right inside you until he was buried to the hilt. His hand had a vice grip against the headboard, and it took all of his mental fortitude to not bust immediately.

He made the mistake of looking down at you. Goddammit you're too pretty like this while taking his dick so well. Your lips were parted as just a small dribble of drool seeped out of the corner of your mouth. Your eyes were glassed over, and he could've swore he saw hearts in your pupils as you looked up at him.

All your attention was finally on him.

His hips set an unforgiving pace, fucking yours directly down into the mattress as he used his headboard as leverage. At least no one was in the dorms anymore besides you and him. There was no one to bother with how obscenely loud you were whining and moaning for him.

Though, Satoru would've still faced his peers with a shit eating grin the next morning if they still lived here. He was so damn proud to finally have you underneath him.

"T-toruToru~! Toru, oh fuck me~"

"At least that smart mouth of yours is good for something." He growled as his cock continued to rudely bully its way directly to your womb. Your legs were barely able to stay wrapped around him as he pounded his hips against yours.

His white hair stuck to his forehead as sweat started to build up for both of you. He usually hated the feeling, but nothing could tear him away from your sweet, sweet pussy right now.

He huffed as he shoved your legs up onto his shoulders, forcing you into the meanest mating press you could imagine. Your eyes rolled back as you practically kissed your last coherent thought goodbye.

Satoru fucking Gojo was going to had already fucked you stupid.

His cock was ruthless, pressing drabbles of precum directly against your cervix. His hips were practically drilling into you out of sheer muscle memory at this point. He just wanted to rut into until the day he died.

"Yeaaah~ look at you now, princess. Ngh.. can't talk back to me now, can ya? Did Toru fuck that.... mmm- poor little brain of yours stupid?" His hand let go from the headboard, gripping your cheeks with his pointer finger and thumb to make you look up at him. Your mouth parted for him as you gazed up at him.

He gathered a small bit of saliva in his mouth before he directly spit into yours, earning a wanton moan from your lips.

The bed continued to squeak and rattle from the repeated abuse. The headboard was now knocking against the wall without his hand to stop it.

"T-toru.." You cried, trying to warn him of how your tummy was tightening. It felt like every cell of your body was working for this orgasm. Your back arched as you felt yourself tighten around him.

He was already ten steps ahead of you, literally seeing your orgasm before it came. "Cum on my cock, princess. Go ahead. 's okay. I got you." He murmured into your ear right before he felt your gushy walls constricting around him, practically trying to milk his cock.

Goddamn, was it working.

A groan ripped through the air as his dick pulsed inside you. He had been holding on for all this time. He couldn't stop the groans and whimpers that fell from his lips as he finally let go and filled your cute cunt to the brim with his warm cum,

You two stayed still, catching your breaths, and neither of you dared to talk and ruin the moment. It was a silent agreement. Neither of you could fight the attraction between you two any longer.

"I missed you." You finally spoke up quietly. Satoru was vulnerable earlier after the fight. It was your turn now.

"I know." He responded quietly. He regretted taking so many missions and hiding from you. It was his way of trying to make the best out of a shitty situation, but all it did was make both of you unhappy. His nose nudged your cheek gently. "I missed you too."

His lips pressed soft kisses along your jaw. He would take more time later today to fully explain the breadth of his feelings for you, but for now, he was happy to pamper you in affections and aftercare until you fell asleep from overexertion.

Also... he would definitely have to make up some sort of story to tell Yaga and explain why your duffle bag was still in the training area... and why it had a pink vibrator inside.

FUCK FINALLY THE END.

[valyriandreamer]

𝔇eformed 𝔇og

summary: in a strained marriage of political convenience, you and Jacaerys Velaryon are often at odds. But when Jacaerys brings a small creature as a peace offering, something the ladies at court seemed to all enjoy, apart from his stubborn wife.

paring: jacaerys velaryon x reader

The sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, casting the Red Keep in the soft hues of evening. The large stone walls of your chambers were bathed in the warm glow of flickering candles, but their gentle light did little to soothe the irritation that simmered just beneath your poised exterior. You sat on the edge of a chaise, your hands fidgeting with the intricate embroidery of your gown, your thoughts tangled in the heated exchange from weeks prior.

It wasn’t unusual for you and Jacaerys to argue. From the moment you were wed, it had been clear that your marriage was one of convenience, not affection. You, the daughter of a powerful magistrate from Pentos, had been brought into this foreign land with the expectation of securing an alliance. Jacaerys, heir to the Iron Throne, was burdened with the weight of responsibility and political machinations. Love, in this case, had never been part of the arrangement.

Your differences—cultural, personal, and otherwise—had been apparent from the start. Where you were bold, confident, and unapologetically sassy, Jacaerys was serious, driven by duty, and far too level-headed for your liking. You had been raised in the courts of Pentos, where wealth and power meant indulgence, and you had never been denied anything. The transition to life in Westeros had been jarring, to say the least.

A small sigh escaped your lips as you stared at the fire, the memory of your latest argument still fresh. It had been over something insignificant, as most of your disagreements were, but the wounds it left behind lingered. Jacaerys had tried to apologize, of course, sending flowers and trinkets to your chambers, but you had not been so easily swayed this time. You were stubborn, after all, and you were not one to let him off the hook that easily.

Just then, a knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. Before you could answer, the door creaked open, and Jacaerys stepped inside. In his arms was the strangest creature you had ever seen—a small, fluffy animal with large eyes and a squashed face. You narrowed your eyes at it, unsure whether it was meant to be some kind of dog or a rabbit.

“Is.. is that some sort of deformed bunny?” You asked, head tilted to the side as you state at the small mutt in the prince's arms.

Jacaerys’ smirk was apparent as he closed the door behind him. “A deformed bunny?” he teased, his voice rich with amusement. “I expected something more creative.”

You huffed and crossed your arms, refusing to meet his gaze. “I still think it looks more like a bunny than a dog,” you muttered, glancing at the animal in his arms. The creature gave a soft whine, wiggling its nose.

“I think you know very well that it’s a dog, and you’re just trying to annoy me,” Jacaerys countered, taking a few steps closer. There was a certain charm to the way he moved—graceful yet deliberate, as if he knew exactly how to play the game of diplomacy, even in your marriage.

When he reached you, he gently lifted the puppy toward you, but his other hand moved to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The intimate gesture caught you off guard, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you shot him a pointed glare, though your heart stuttered at the sudden closeness.

“Or,” Jacaerys continued, his tone softening slightly, “perhaps there are no small dogs in Essos? You might be unfamiliar.”

You snorted, finally allowing yourself to look at him. “We have dogs in Pentos, Jacaerys. Large, beautiful ones. Not whatever this is,” you motioned to the puppy, though there was no real bite in your words. The creature was, admittedly, quite adorable.

Jacaerys chuckled, setting the puppy down on the chaise beside you. “This is a gift. I thought it might cheer you up since flowers didn’t seem to do the trick.” His voice was sincere now, and though you were still annoyed, you couldn’t help but soften a little at the thought. He was trying, at least.

The puppy immediately wriggled toward you, its tiny paws tapping against the velvet of the chaise. It nuzzled into your side, letting out a soft whimper as if begging for attention. You stared down at it for a moment, then reached out to scratch behind its ears.

“You think this will fix everything?” you asked, though your voice lacked its usual sharpness.

Jacaerys sighed, his smirk fading into a more serious expression. “No. I know it won’t. But I don’t like it when you’re angry with me.”

For a moment, you didn’t respond. The room was quiet except for the crackling of the fire and the soft sounds of the puppy. Your fingers continued to pet the small creature, and your eyes focused on the flames as you mulled over his words.

“I don’t like being angry with you either,” you admitted quietly, though the words felt foreign on your tongue. It wasn’t easy to admit vulnerability, especially not with him.

Jacaerys knelt in front of you, his brown eyes searching yours. “Then let’s stop fighting like this. I know we’ll never agree on everything, but I don’t want to spend our marriage at odds. We’re supposed to be a team, aren’t we?”

You raised an eyebrow, still hesitant to let go of your stubbornness completely. “A team?”

He nodded. “Yes. I know our marriage wasn’t exactly our choice, but that doesn’t mean it has to be miserable.”

For the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of something other than frustration toward him. Perhaps it was the honesty in his voice or the way he looked at you now, as if he truly wanted to bridge the gap between you.

With a sigh, you finally relented. “Fine,” you muttered, though a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “But next time, don’t bring me a deformed rabbit.”

Jacaerys grinned, his eyes lighting up at the sight of your smile. “I’ll make a note of that.”

You reached for the puppy, lifting it into your lap as it licked your hand eagerly. “What is its name?” you asked, your tone now more playful.

“I thought I’d let you name it,” he replied, standing and moving to sit beside you on the chaise.

You hummed, considering for a moment. “How about... Bunny?”

Jacaerys groaned, though there was a laugh in his voice. “Of course you would.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, the tension between you eased, replaced by a sense of camaraderie. You still had your differences, and you probably always would. But at that moment, with the puppy—Bunny—in your lap and Jacaerys beside you, the future didn’t seem so daunting. Maybe, just maybe, this marriage could become something more than just an arrangement. 

[mocchiixxx]

Twice the Trouble, Twice the Love

(Vernon X Reader)

Genre: Fluff, Crack, Established Relationship

Summary: Dating you is like having a second Sungkwan in his life—loud, dramatic, and endlessly entertaining. Vernon wouldn’t have it any other way.

Vernon always knew dating you would be an experience.

But he didn’t realize he had basically signed up for double the Sungkwan energy until he caught you both arguing over which shade of pink is the superior pink.

"You cannot tell me that pastel pink isn’t elite!" you exclaim, hands dramatically thrown in the air.

Sungkwan scoffs, crossing his arms. (Cue the bombastic sassy side eye of him) "Bold of you to assume hot pink doesn’t carry the entire fashion industry on its back!"

Vernon, sitting between you two, sighs. "Again with the pink debate?"

You and Sungkwan both turn to him with the same exact look of betrayal.

“Hansolie, this is important,” you say seriously.

“Yeah, Vernon,” Sungkwan adds, nodding. “Pick a side.”

Vernon blinks. “...I refuse.”

"TRAITOR!" you both yell at the same time.

Vernon groans, rubbing his temples. He should’ve seen this coming. The two of you are basically one chaotic brain cell split into two people.

It was already bad enough when just Sungkwan would drag him into random debates about things like which bread brand is superior (spoiler: he does not care). But ever since you came into the picture?

His life has become twice the dramatic sighs, twice the debates, and twice the exaggerated reactions to literally everything.

And yet, Vernon finds himself grinning at the chaos.

Because despite all of it, he wouldn’t change a single thing.

—

Later that night, after Sungkwan leaves muttering about how 'Vernon's loyalty is questionable', you flop onto Vernon’s lap, stretching like a cat.

He quirks a brow. “Comfortable?”

“Very,” you hum, resting your head against his shoulder. “Your lap privileges have been granted.”

“Oh wow. I’m honored,” he deadpans, making you giggle.

Vernon wraps an arm around your waist, resting his chin on top of your head. You’re warm against him, the scent of your shampoo filling his senses, and for a moment, he just lets himself be.

It’s funny. Your personality is the complete opposite of his—you’re loud, dramatic, and never afraid to speak your mind. But somehow, it fits.

Because while you’re busy bringing the chaos, Vernon is there to ground it.

“You love me, right?” you murmur, tracing patterns on his sweater.

Vernon chuckles, tilting your chin up so you meet his gaze. “Obviously.”

“Like, a lot?”

“A ridiculous amount,” he confirms.

You grin, leaning closer. “Damn. You’re down bad for me.”

Vernon groans, flopping back against the couch. “Unfortunately.”

You burst out laughing, and the sound is his favorite thing in the world.

And as he pulls you in closer, Vernon realizes—no matter how chaotic you are, he’s hopelessly, completely, and unapologetically in love with you.

Even if it means dealing with double the Sungkwan energy for the rest of his life.

And honestly?

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

[hanasnx]

Omfg thank god you’re in on the daddy soldier boy shit

I feel like he’d find it really funny if you were being sassy/bratty to other people but god forbid you do it to him. He’d squish your cheeks real hard and very sexily tell you to “cut that shit out right fucking now or so help me god-” and you know you’re in for it when y’all get home.

BRAT-TAMING — s.boy

“ she got a real ass, but her personality real fake / that’s a real shame / no play, no games ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | the boys. NOTES. heavily inspired by @glossykissies legendary soldier boy works which i binged today bcos i miss him. WARNINGS. fem reader ノ unestablished relationship ノ suggestive content ノ degradation: slut shaming, calling you a bitch, calling you stupid ノ age gap ノ brat taming ノ sexual harassment technically ノ humiliation.

SOLDIER BOY’s got a little bit of a soft spot for you. everyone with a pair of eyes in their skulls can see it. there’s a prick in the corner of his lips when you say anything, like a condescending response is forming on his tongue at-the-ready to make you feel stupid just ‘cause he likes the way you scoff indignantly. he asks, “where’s the kid?” when you’re not around, an incredulous and questioning gesture with his arms at his sides. the kind of judgmental arch to his brow that makes hughie nervous enough to quietly consult butcher as to how bad would it really be if they took you on this mission just to pacify him. the amount of times kimiko has caught the old supe red-handed when he tilts his head in that specific way that conveys he’s checking out your little ass. oh, yeah. it’s pretty clear ol’ ben’s got it bad for their temp.

for all his silent compliments regarding how he really thinks of you, soldier boy’s hard on you too. he treats you way differently than the rest of the boys do. they’ve gotten used to your personality—which they graciously describe as “bold.” you’re not going to hand out exceptions to the new guy, no matter how intimidating he tries to be, you lost respect for soldier boy as soon as he made a pass at you and called you a slut in the same breath. you’re not afraid of him, you largely try to ignore him if you can afford it, even while you’re being used as a lure to get him to do what the boys want him to do.

it’s that lack of fear that plays you right into his hands. he’s expressed to the room how he thinks “she’s just some bitch that walks all over you pussies,” and “if you’d just have the balls to put her in her place she wouldn’t be such a fuckin’ problem.” it’s said as advice, but he really doesn’t give a fuck how you treat people, as long as you don’t send it his way. now he’s got it in his head that it’s his job to knock you down a couple pegs. so when you refuse to look him in the eye for the umpteenth time, nails clacking on the touch screen pad to monitor data points, you toss some little line at him. it’s some reasonless jab that you don’t even fully register is coming out of your mouth, “why don’t you mind your business, old man?” and after a day of taking cracks at him, making him feel like he’s wasting his time here, telling him his freedom is a courtesy—he’s done.

callused and rough fingers claw into your jaw, scraping your buccal against your molars. your eyes fly open, wide and confused as an ache sets in your cheeks pushed together. your lips pout out involuntarily, and your head is forcibly pivoted towards the towering figure to your side as he snatches you. it happens so fast, you don’t even fight it, gulping as you’re bullied right into submission. “listen, little princess,” he spits the word, and you peer up at him with curious batting lashes. his square chin juts, speaking through his teeth as he stared down at you like you’re scum, yet his tone is surprisingly level. it’s cold, low, and threatening. “i’ve had it with your shit. so get smart, or i’ll show you who’s boss. you got that?” while in his vice-like hold, you nod dumbly the best you can, having been corralled into a sub-space, you’d be embarrassed if you were self aware of how your puppy dog eyes beg up at him for a second chance. he jostles you with a jolt of his forearm, and your neck gets whiplash, “i wanna hear you say it.” suddenly you see how big he really is, how his eyes are green.

“uh-huh.” you reply, your brows upturning as you give him a watery gaze. even if it’s fucking pathetic, he doesn’t push it. at least there was something coming out of your mouth besides mindless bitching. he lets his lesson sink in, and he releases you with a jerk, making you sway back with a proper sting in your face.

you rub it cautiously while his heavy boots thunder against the floor taking his exit. a little sheepish, mostly humiliated, you look around the room to the shocked audience, and butcher takes a deep swig from his flask with a scoff.

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[aligned-starz]

Mixtape - Mattheo Riddle

. * ꙳ ✦ ⊹Pairing : mattheo riddle x fem!reader

Warnings : fluff, use of y/n y/l/n, happy ending

Summary : who knew mattheo could be so patient?

Song : Somethin' Stupid - Frank Sinatra, Nancy Sinatra. * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

Word Count : 3,612

Mattheo Riddle's reputation preceded him: notorious for his quick temper and razor-thin patience. His tolerance for delays could be measured in mere molecules. For most, the prospect of having Mr. Riddle wait on them was akin to receiving a rare blessing or witnessing a miracle. Yet for Y/n, it was just another day in the life.

However, if you were bold enough to confront him about it, he would vehemently deny it, insisting that he never waits on anyone.

"What do you mean you don't wait on anyone, mate? Y/n's got you waiting like a dog on a leash," Blaise quipped, earning chuckles around the Slytherin table. Mattheo shot his friends a glare, a familiar grumpy expression settling upon his face at their teasing. It wasn't anything new.

"Aww, look at the state of you, you big softy!" Pansy's laughter and jest seemed to aggravate him further, evident in the forceful grip on his fork, which tightened by the minute. Theodore observed his friend, noticing something amiss. Mattheo would typically retort with a snarky response, but now he seemed so lost in thought.

Noticing his unusual change in demeanor, the group silently decided to shift the topic, directing their attention to Berkshire, who had become the target of their ridicule.

Lorenzo had recently found himself in an embarrassing altercation with the revered potions master. It marked one of the worst instances of public humiliation he had ever endured. Picture this: he was already five minutes late, had brought the wrong set of books, stumbled over his words while responding to Snape, AND managed to blow up his and his potions partner's cauldron.

Naturally, this series of blunders led to a sassy and cold scolding from Snape. To say that Lorenzo was left blushing scarlet by the end of class would be an understatement.

"Hi Matt!"

Clang! The loud sound of the fork hitting the cool stone floors of the grand hall echoed through the room, accompanied by Mattheo's accidental knee bump in surprise, drawing everyone's attention at the table. If that fork could talk, it would likely express gratitude for your sudden appearance, saving it from the clutches of Riddle's vice-like grip. As Mattheo turned toward you, the frostiness in his gaze thawed, replaced by a gentle warmth in his brown eyes.

Just a moment ago he was lost in his thoughts about you. Did he think of you so much to the point he had conjured you up in front of him? Where the hell did you come from?

Nott smirked at the interaction, Merlin's beard, this guy is whipped.

"You seemed to have dropped your fork, here." you remarked, catching his attention once again. His eyes followed your movements as you gracefully crouched down to retrieve the utensil from the floor. Standing back up, he met your gaze through his long, soft eyelashes while you held out the fork for him to reclaim. And in a trance-like state, he slowly reached out and took it.

Your hands touched. In that moment, a foolish part of him yearned for more, to pull you close and envelop you in the warmth of a hug, to allow himself to be vulnerable for once.

The soft snickering of his friends broke him out of his trance, and with a quick motion, he turned away from you.

"Thanks." His response was brief, but it brought a smile to your lips.

Despite the sudden change, he had subtly shifted along the bench, creating space beside him. It felt like a silent invitation for you to join him. So, without a word, you took your place and set down your plate, inadvertently brushing the back of your hand against his. Perhaps it was unintentional.

Mattheo froze once more, wrestling with his impulses. It took considerable effort to restrain himself, but there was something about you that stirred a tumult of emotions within him. Something that tempted him to lean in and shower your face with kisses. It was beginning to unsettle him.

He withdrew his hand and discreetly tucked it under the table, his gaze fixed downward, brows furrowed in frustration at the escalating intensity of his emotions. His friends looked at one another knowingly, before they continued to chatter about other topics.

As you settled beside him, he couldn't help but notice the subtle fragrance of your perfume, a scent he seemed to encounter every time you were in close proximity. It carried notes of vanilla, with a delicate hint of cherries. The aroma enveloped him, not in a way that hurt his nose, but in a way that stirred a dizzying sensation within him. His heart quickened its pace, and a tightness settled in his chest, each breath seeming to draw in more of your intoxicating essence.

Like smoking a blunt, but knowing it’s good for you.

You joined the chatter, contributing your opinion to whatever topic the group was discussing, he turned his head in your direction. His gaze traced every curve and detail of your face as you spoke. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you laughed in response to something Pansy had remarked, and he felt his own lips instinctively mirror the gesture.

He was going to say something, a witty remark or anything to get you to smile even further. But somehow he couldn’t find his words, his attention consumed by your captivating presence as he struggled to form a coherent sentence. Every gesture, every word you uttered seemed to mesmerize him. You’ve made THE Mattheo Riddle, speechless. 

Suddenly, Cedric Diggory approached, clad in his yellow and black robes. Mattheo felt a pang of discomfort stir within him as he watched your attention shift to the newcomer, your smile widening in greeting. He clenched his jaw, his gaze flickering between the two of you, a knot forming in his stomach.

“Y/n, would you like to continue our herbology project? We could get started early.”

His statement abruptly halted the lively conversation around the table. The group exchanged puzzled glances with one another before collectively turning their attention to Riddle. The air grew tense as the weight of his words settled over them, leaving everyone momentarily speechless. Except you, who smiled and chatted with the boy.

A profound sense of jealousy surged within Mattheo, causing his smile to form into a narrow line. You were too nice and oblivious to even notice the abrupt hush that fell over the group.

It wasn't that they disliked Diggory—far from it. It’s just that the group was well aware of Mattheo's possessive tendencies, especially when it came to the girl Cedric was currently chatting with. Their concern wasn't about Diggory himself, but rather the potential for Mattheo's jealousy to stir up trouble.

They all watched the boy closely, anticipating a cutting, sarcastic remark to shatter the silence. But it never came. Instead, he merely averted his gaze, displaying an unusual patience. As you stood up to resume your herbology project and leave, he offered you a gentle smile, a stark contrast to the tension everyone else felt.

The silence deepened after you left, each person at the table coming to their own realization. He didn't just like you. It became evident to all of them that Mattheo was deeply in love with you, so much so that his usual bad behavior seemed to dissolve in your presence. His rough edges softened, revealing a side of him they had rarely seen. It was incredibly uncharacteristic of him, unsettling his platinum blond friend. 

"Gods, so it's true then, you love Y/l/n." Draco scoffed and broke the silence, his voice a mix of bewilderment and surprise. Pansy quickly turned and swatted the back of his head, offering Mattheo an apologetic look. Mattheo appeared to be on the verge of exploding, his emotions barely contained as Draco's words hung in the air.

"Oh, fuck off, you ferret," he retorted, his voice laced with irritation. His words were sharp, cutting through the tension as he struggled to keep his temper in check once you were gone.

Malfoy's eyes widened as he coughed, his face flushing a deep red in response to Mattheo's remark. It was clear that the notorious "ferret" incident was something they would never let him live down. The group burst into laughter at the joke, everyone except Mattheo. He remained silent, still grappling with the complex emotions he felt towards you, unable to join in their mirth.

"And so he returns. Y/n leaves for a moment, and the devil horns sprout back," Blaise remarked, his words drawing Mattheo's attention. Mattheo's brows knitted in confusion—what did Y/n have to do with any of this?

"What are you all implying?" He gently shook his head, scanning the faces around the table. Each one met his gaze with a sly smirk, leaving him increasingly puzzled by their shared secret.

"You've got it bad for her, Mattheo. It's painfully obvious," Pansy declared, her words echoing the unspoken sentiments of the group. All eyes turned to Mattheo, anticipation hanging in the air, as if they were silently urging him to acknowledge what they all saw. Perhaps hearing it from someone else would finally make him realize the meaning of what he had felt.

“I like her?”

FLASHBACKS. * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

After a few hours at The Three Broomsticks, the group collectively decided to walk home because of the growing crowd at the pub. In the midst of Hogsmeade’s bustling streets, Mattheo trudged along with his friends, their laughter filling the air. Yet, despite the light atmosphere, Mattheo felt the weight of a particularly bad day settling upon him, rendering him silent. 

He’s had a day full of disasters. From sticky butterbeer being spilled onto his sweater, to losing his favorite mixtape. The night sky filled with stars seemed to look upon him with pity, so much so that a sudden downpour of rain drenched the group. They shrieked and laughed as they ran away, leaving behind a Mattheo Riddle who also wanted to run, but noticed the untied state of his shoelaces.  

Mattheo quickly bent down to tie his shoelaces with a loud sigh. Raindrops pelted his back, adding to his already dampened mood. While his tipsy friends were away from his sight, Mattheo's thoughts lingered on the frustrations of the day, his mind clouded with a sense of fatigue and discontent.

He observed the droplets as they splashed around him, forming a small puddle beneath his scuffed Converse shoes. Without so much as a glance at his reflection in the water, he stoically continued to tie his shoelaces, his expression unreadable. As he moved to tie his other untied shoe, a sudden shadow eclipsed his vision, drawing his attention away from the task at hand.

With furrowed brows, he lifted his gaze, a blend of surprise and confusion crossing his features. However, his expression swiftly transformed into one of astonishment as he registered whose presence it was. There you were, holding your leather jacket aloft to shield Mattheo from the relentless rain. Stunned by your unexpected act of kindness, he found himself momentarily frozen in place.

“Well come on, hurry up!” 

Mattheo found solace from the Slytherin party amidst the rows of books, his headphones nestled snugly over his ears. Lost in the melody of his music, he was oblivious to the world around him, the rhythmic sounds escaping from his headphones and gently permeating the tranquil atmosphere.

Beside him, you sat down to accompany him. The library was completely silent, everyone else was probably at the party your friends had thrown, rendering the place empty. However, the muffled strains of Mattheo's music began to seep through his headphones, dancing faintly in the air.

You listened quietly as Mattheo sat with his eyes closed, completely engrossed in the soft melody emanating from his headphones. A gentle smile graced your lips as you watched his relaxed demeanor, his lips slightly parted while his chest rose up and down, the soothing music seemingly transporting him to a quiet state of mind. With his wounded nose, and bruised knuckles, who would’ve guessed he was listening to this kind of music.

"But then I go and spoil it all, by saying somethin' stupid like, I love you."

You tilted your head, you didn't recognise this kind of music at all. Same as to the tape you found in the courtyard. Curiously, you tapped Mattheo’s shoulder, scaring him out of his tranquil state.

“Shit! Y/n, don’t sneak up on me like that.” Mattheo cursed in surprise, quickly pulling down his headphones and turning to face you, a mix of caution and annoyance in his eyes.

“What are you listening to?” you asked, genuine curiosity evident in your voice.

Mattheo hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his response. Finally, he met your gaze and replied, “Somethin’ Stupid, by Frank Sinatra.”

“Muggle music?” you questioned again, intrigued by his choice.

Mattheo sighed, turning back to face the table and crossing his arms. The solitude he had been enjoying was now broken by your company. “Yes, muggle music,” he replied, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “You wouldn’t know it.”

You silently absorbed his vague answer, a soft smile forming on your lips. Bending down to pick up your bag from the floor, you rummaged through its contents until your fingers brushed against what you were searching for. With a sense of anticipation, you pulled out a small, box-shaped mixtape. Scrawled across its surface in marker were the words, "The Smiths."

“Muggle music huh, like this I presume?” You held the mixtape up within his eyesight. Mattheo's eyes widened slightly in recognition as he realized that the mixtape you were holding was his own. He uncrossed his arms, a mix of surprise and gratitude washing over his annoyance.

“You found it,” he breathed, his voice tinged with relief.

You nodded, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “It was lying in the courtyard. I figured it must be important to you since you’ve mentioned before that you liked muggle music.”

Mattheo's expression softened, tilting his head with a smile, touched by your gesture. “You remembered?.. It is. Thank you.”

As he took the mixtape from you, his fingers brushed against yours, sending a jolt of warmth through you both. In that fleeting touch, a connection seemed to spark between you.

You've always been friends, but it was always just friends. Not close friends, or bestfriends. Just friends.

The library's quiet enveloped you once more, but now it was accompanied by a newfound sense of comfort and understanding. As Mattheo took out the previous tape, and put in his favorite one, you couldn't help but feel that this chance encounter had brought you closer together in an unexpected way.

Mattheo paused, a thought forming in his head.

"Do you wanna.. listen with me?"

The flickering light from the cauldron cast long shadows on the potions classroom walls. Mattheo stared in frustration at his potion, which was bubbling in all the wrong ways. He let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"That's it. I can't do this. I’m a lost cause," he muttered, pushing the textbook away and slumping back in his chair.

You shook your head, a determined smile on your face. "You’re not a lost cause. Come on, we can work on it together. Potions is tricky, stop being so hard on yourself."

Mattheo looked at you, doubt etched in his features. "I’ve tried and tried, so many times I’ve lost count. It’s hopeless." He thought of Malfoy and his other friends who had tried countless times to help him pass this project, only to give up defeatedly.

You leaned in closer, your eyes filled with encouragement. "It's not hopeless. Let’s go through the instructions again, step by step."

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you grabbed the book and turned it toward him again, pointing at the list of ingredients. "Remember, you need to add the crushed pearls after the rose thorns. Not before."

Mattheo glanced at the instructions, "How do you remember all this?"

A smile spread across your lips as you chuckled softly. "I actually really enjoy this class. It reminds me of cooking. But enough about me, focus Riddle."

He turned his gaze to you and laughed softly, watching as you explained the potion once more. He noticed the twinkle in your eyes as you talked about a subject you loved, the way your hands moved to make gestures, and how your hair framed your face perfectly, even as the cold wind tried to blow it away. You looked like his favorite mixtape—captivating and cherished.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he turned back to focus on the potion. Despite his earlier frustration, he found it hard to concentrate when you were all he could think about now. But he wanted to impress you.

With your patient guidance, Mattheo carefully measured out the ingredients, adding them in the correct order this time. As he followed your instructions, the potion started to change color, transitioning from a murky brown to a shimmering gold.

A flicker of hope sparked in Mattheo’s eyes. "It’s actually working."

You smiled brightly. "See? I knew you could do it."

A loud laugh of triumph escaped from Mattheo's throat, and as he continued to brew the potion from memory, the shimmering gold color shifted into a soft beautiful pink, with a mother-of-pearl sheen.

"Well Mr. Riddle, I think we have a love potion."

He looked at you with gratitude in his eyes, acknowledging your role in the successful creation of the potion. You could've very easily given up on him, but you didn't.

"Give it a sniff!"

Mattheo leaned over the cauldron, inhaling deeply as the Amortentia potion began to release its powerful scent. His eyes widened in surprise, then softened with confusion. He straightened up, a puzzled look on his face.

"That's odd," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "I don't smell anything distinct, no new smells."

You furrowed your brows, leaning over the cauldron yourself to sniff the potion. Yet, no new smell arose. All you could smell was Mattheo's scent, and all he could smell was your scent. Both that have already been lingering in the air the moment you stepped into the classroom together.

"Huh, maybe I brewed it wrong?" He defeatedly sighed.

Mattheo was on his way out of the common room, ready to meet up with his friends for their usual late-night hangout. The laughter and chatter of Blaise, Draco, and Theodore echoed faintly from down the corridor. He was just about to push the door open when something made him pause.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar figure curled up on the couch by the fireplace. You were fast asleep, a textbook resting open on your chest and a few loose parchments scattered around you. The soft glow from the dying embers of the fire cast a warm, flickering light across your tired face.

Mattheo hesitated, torn between joining his friends and staying behind. His eyes softened as he watched you, noticing the way your hair fell gently across your face and how your breathing was slow and steady. You looked so serene, a contrast to the usually bustling common room.

Unable to help himself, he quietly walked over to the couch. Carefully, he gathered the loose parchments and placed them in a neat pile on the table beside you. He gently closed the textbook and set it aside, making sure not to disturb you.

Instead of leaving, Mattheo decided to stay and look out for you. He settled himself beside you, carefully plopping himself down to sit. You stirred slightly in your sleep, and Mattheo smiled softly, reaching out to adjust the blanket draped over you.

With you resting, Mattheo decided to make himself comfortable as well. He shifted slightly, allowing you to rest your feet on his lap. He pulled out his headphones, making sure his tape player was at a low volume. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes peacefully at your presence and the music playing in his ears.

END OF FLASHBACKS. * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

"Earth to Riddle," Draco said, waving a hand in front of Mattheo’s face. "Where are you, mate?"

"I like her."

Mattheo opened his mouth to speak more, but then closed it again, feeling a rush of clarity. He liked you. No, it was more than that—he realized he was falling for you. All those moments together, your kindness, your patience, your laughter—it all made sense now.

Without another word, he stood up abruptly, his friends laughing at his late realization. "I have to go," he said, his voice firm with determination.

"Yeah! Go get her tiger!" Theo cheered.

Mattheo ran out of the Great Hall, his heart pounding in his chest. He needed to find you. He needed to tell you how he felt.

The cold air nipped at his ears as he ran down the corridors, but he didn't care. His mind was consumed with thoughts of you. He recalled the softness of your voice, a soothing tune to his often restless thoughts, like the songs he uses to escape. He thought about everything he loved about you—the way your eyes sparkled with understanding, your infectious laughter, and the small gestures that showed your kindness.

Your patience with him stood out the most, especially during times when he struggled and felt like giving up. You always believed in him, offering encouragement and support even when he couldn’t find it in himself. Each memory of you fueled his determination, propelling him forward through the chilly air.

He sprinted down the corridors, ignoring the curious looks from other students. He knew where you’d be—near the Herbology classroom. As he burst out of the castle doors and ran toward the greenhouse area, he saw you standing there, leaning against the wall, completely unaware of the whirlwind of emotions that had driven him here.

You turned as Cedric pointed at Mattheo, a confused look both on your faces at the sight of him running toward you, when suddenly he shouted,

"Hey Y/n! I love you!"

My first upload received so much attention, I DID NOT EXPECT THAT AT ALL. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who commented and reblogged. It means a lot to me that people enjoyed my writing, and I hope you all enjoy this one too. To be honest, this work could've been better and I've been putting off finishing this since like forever. But @taylorisamastermind 's kind words inspired me to finish. Again, if you notice any grammatical mistakes, no you didn't!

Thank you everyone! xx

[my masterlist⋆｡°✩]

[moonlight-tmd]

Imagine Bee just making a harem with all the Decepticons he fucks. (possibly continuation of this)

So, Bee- you cannot tell me this lil fuck isn't the most charismatic fragger on earth. He has ways and lines that would make the coldest of warriors swoon.

When the Decepticons arrived on earth, he wasn't much interested. But then he started eyeing the big, curvy mish mash that was Blitzwing. He took a slow approach, little flirts here and there, a seemingly unintended compliment. Then when Blitzy started showing signs of his courting working he decided to spice things up. Bold pick-up lines, moving in a way that'll make them end up in a compromising position, sending winks and kisses across the field even.

Blitz was a mess and panicking on what to do, the final straw however was when they got trapped in a factory with a gas leak and got somewhat drugged. Bee's flirts became almost-drunken praises and affection and Blitz could do nothing but listen while the fumes intoxicated him and warmed his inside with unexpected lust. Somehow he ended up on the floor and Bee took that chance to climb on top and seduce him with all he got.

Blitzy gave in and Bee made sure he'll enjoy himself while no one is there yet to rescue them. He made sure Blitzwing got all the love he deserved and all the pleasure Bee could provide.

It soon became apparent to a certain someone that Bee was doing something shady. Shockwave knew Bee tended to do stuff behind everyone's backs for fun so when he hinted at having a secret fragging buddy to Longarm he became somewhat interested. Bee had a one night stand with Longarm back in bootcamp once or twice and Shockwave remembered that very well. He however chose not to act on it... But Bee certainly did.

When being taken hostage to Decepticon base, he got a chance to chat with the mini as Shockwave with no one around. He didn't say much, he mentioned a fake rumor that he was having an affair with someone but not much. Bee however saw the opportunity. He sprang into action and smoothly redirected the conversation to his advantage... Shockwave was... well, shocked to wake up in a warehouse with the mini grooming him after the nightly show he provided.

While on one of his patrols, he was kidnapped by Starscream. The mech threatened and showed his superiority mindset to him. A banter between the two arose and Bee, playing the sassy jerk, told him he was just jealous that he hadn't had his spike yet.

"What? You haven't heard?" He said when Starscream got baffled. "Half of Megatron's underlings are satisfied with my services, ask anyone. They'll tell you aaall about it."

It was true that he fragged few of Megatron's commanders, Blitzwing and Shockwave being the repeating individuals, but he also had a fair share of one night stands with other various soldiers in exchange for keeping himself alive. (except Lugnut, he's meg-sexual so it would never work.)

Somehow Star could not pick his mind together after that and Bee persuaded him to try it out of spite. He laid on the berth, blush coating his disbelieving face while Bee caressed his wings. Bee tried to get him to speak and get an opinion but all he did was scream for him to get out. Star absolutely hated to be proven wrong. But that didn't stop him from craving more and kidnapping Bee for a frag from time to time.

While it was easy keeping everyone satisfied while separated, it got a bit messy once Starscream tried to raid the Decepticon base again and got into a lil bit of a fight with the other two. He threatened Blitzwing about knowing what he did and Shockwave was just so confused. He thought only he was sleeping with Bee and without thinking admitted to doing that. They all had an argument before realizing Bee was doing all of them all this time.

The next time Bee was supposed to meet with one of them, all of them were there and not happy. An argument arose and what initially was about Bee not being loyal shortly got replaced with jealousy of one another and fighting to keep the mini for themselves.

Bee managed to calm them down and make them get along; they can share, there's enough of him for everyone. And he would love to keep all of them.

While all of it began with fragging sessions, sooner or later it evolved into an actual loving affair. Bee was incredibly smooth and tactful and knew just what to do with each and every one of them.

Blitzy was easy to please, while harsh on the outside he was weak to affection. Bee spend most of the time with him just pampering him with praise, kisses and cuddles. Blitzwing practically melted right under his touch and Bee loved to spoil him by handfeeding him treats.

Starscream was a bit different as his personality and self-centered attitude proved to be quite a challenge for anyone to court him. But Bee didn't mind, he praised his beauty and called him royalty while also grooming his wings and the rest of his frame whenever they met. Treating him with equal love and respect that Starscream found himself reciprocating in his own way.

Shockwave wasn't as touchy as the other two, but he certainly wasn't any less favorited. Bee urged him to talk about science and things he liked even though he didn't understand most of it. He loved listening to Shock talk about something with passion and tell him things no one else would deem interesting to hear. On rare occasions he let Bee pamper him a little; giving kisses and taking care of his claws.

Sometimes all 4 of them would meet somewhere hidden and have fun. Each would take turns with Bee and the others would enjoy the show and themselves in the meantime. Or just to simply enjoy the time together and cuddle. Bee still sometimes fragged random cons that happened to stumble into him on patrol but he gave all his attention to his most favored ones.

Imagine reactions of everyone when they find out about this- like, I bet Megs caught all 4 of them in berth in some unused section of the mines and Bee, instead of saying anything else, just offered him to join. Of course the only thing he did was leave without a word. But it wasn't until he decided to confront the rest of Team Prime shortly after that the shit went crazy. None of them would ever think that the Warlord would be standing in an open field with a peace flag only to say "Can any of you please explain why is your scout berthing half of my army and making a harem out of my commanders?"

Yeeaaaah, they needed a lot of context from Megs before finally realizing what was happening. Of course, as soon as Bee returned to base he was interrogated by his not that happy friends. He surprisingly made few good points on his position but they still weren't happy with him.

"Haven't you noticed?" He asked, making everyone confused for a moment. "It's been quite peaceful around Detroit lately, without all those 'con heists on resources."

"I am single handedly preventing colossal damages to the city and keeping your afts from getting injured in fights. So, you're welcome." All of them just stared at him as if to ask 'is he serious right now?' The only one to break the silence was Prowl, who most likely haven't thought long enough before speaking. "...He's kind of right though."

So that's a situation they have. None of them knows how to deal with it and Megatron is not happy that his soldiers are so easily persuaded into being useless. Bee is questionably but effectively destroying the 'con forced from the inside. All of them hate it but they can't do anything about it.

[just-a-ghost00]

Who is your secret admirer? 👀

If you feel like someone’s been eying you and you would like to check if your intuition about them is right, then this reading is for you. There will be a part two covering whether you know them or not and what this person admires about you.

There will be three sections for each group :

1. Their physical traits

2. Their personality

3. Complementary info using key words based on the letters you get

Group 1 🌹

Their appearance - 10 of wands, The Sun, 9 of pentacles, 2 of swords, Queen of cups, The Fool, Strength, Death, Movement, with a special appearance of the 7 of swords

This person is a busy bee. They look really tired or like they’re constantly in a rush. This person tends to avoid your gaze. They are quite charming and cute, their body has a good balance. They are rather slender and slim. They look strong though. Like they lift weights or something. This person can be quite intense if they want to, especially because they are so athletic and well off financially. But they are super humble so even though they know they look good, they do their best not to brag about it. So this person tends to dress casually, they wear clothes that don’t always fit them or bring the best out of their looks. They wear sporty clothes often like some kind of camper’s bag or running shoes. Their eyes is a key feature of their looks. They’re sweet yet bold. A fair mix of flirty and shy. This person could be really versatile in how they look around you. They are the sexy cute type, the type of person that attracts people with their brains more than their body. Though they look like a snack in this case. This person could be a swimmer so their arms and torso/back could be something that stands out compared to the rest of their body. They look like they would give the best hugs ever. 🤩

Their personality - The Tower, 4 of cups, The Hierophant, The High Priestess, The Lovers, 8 of wands, The Sovereign, Dare to dream, Transmute

Let me tell you, this person is hot AF. There is a stark contrast between their looks and their personality. This person looks so innocent but deep down they are soooo horny and dominant. No wonder this person wouldn’t look you in the eyes : they were too busy looking at your chest. They love it to a fault! They fantasize about you a whole lot. When it comes to who they are on a more general basis, they are very confident. They are a leader. They are wise, they know their worth. This person is a loner and they have strong boundaries. They don’t lose their time with what they’re not interested in. Same goes for people. They only engage in conversations with people that can match their intensity or bring something to the table. If they deem you unworthy, they would have no problem cutting ties. This person is very clever. They are constantly thinking. They are also super intuitive. Like the Hierophant and the High Priestess combo is super connected. This person definitely believes in a higher power, no matter how they label it. With the lovers and the 8 of wands, this person is quick to fall in love and very passionate once they know where they stand with you. They enjoy the banter a lot. They’re a sapiosexual. Not only are they excited by your looks but they also love your sassy and witty nature. The Hierophant / High Priestess / Lovers combo makes me think that this person is engaged but would gladly have a sneaky link with you anytime. The Tower and 4 of cups combo tells me that they like to challenge perceptions of others but don’t like theirs to be challenged. Let me tell you this person was not mentally prepared to meet you. You have put their world upside down to say the least. They can’t control their desire but they try really hard to repress it.

Complementary info - G I E A T Z I C R Y D A P L U

Words I’m picking up on : gay, guy, crazy, day care, guitar, cry, play date, icy gaze, player, age, gap, duty, large, diaper, price, duality, cage, pirate, trail, page, trace, guard, place, Italy, palace, rule, party, lace, Gael, Gail, Gaelic, Zac, Celia, Alice, Alicia, Ciel, Dalia, Ali, Lyra, Lydia, Craig, Giulia, Caty, Zara, Algeria, cute, cutie, prize, prude, girly

Group 2 ❣️❣️

Their appearance - Two of wands, White Numen, 7 of cups, King of cups, four of pentacles, 9 of wands, Power, Fate, Get creative

Okay this can be quite specific but for some this person is a farmer or someone that creates with their hands in a more general sense. Their hands, arms and upper body area are key features of this person’s look. They look intimidating, a bit stern, guarded for sure. Like the type of person that shouldn’t be messed with. Everything about them is meaty and juicy, even the D / the C. Their sense of style is pretty flowy. They like oversized clothes. Things that are practical and that they wouldn’t mind getting dirty 😉😉 They have a daddy / mommy vibe to them. They look like they’ve been through a lot and they can’t be bothered. Like you can’t fool them. They look mature. We got some DILFs and MILFs here lmao If they’re a man they got the full beard and grey hair sticking out here and there, if they’re a woman they got the long lucious hair and flowy sundresses that enhances their beautiful clivage. I’m specifically picturing for women their beautiful fuppa born from the birthing of beautiful children. This person is very sensual. And their sensuality comes from years of experience and knowledge, of working on themselves and providing for their family. They look very trustworthy and clean. Very healthy. Those are the type of people that are active on a daily basis, either because of their job or because they indulge in a lot of outdoor activities. They could like running or gardening. We also have artists here. Painters, musicians, sculptors, writers even. They kind of have an other worldly appearance. Like a Greek god/goddess that would have decided to walk among the mortals.

Their personality - knight of cups, queen of cups, Hierophant, page of swords, king of swords, page of pentacles, Love, The Sage

This person is very sweet. They are understanding, kind, patient. They love everyone. They are very contemplative. They like to make their own mind when doing something for the first time or meeting new people. They aren't the kind to gossip or take gossip seriously. They value traditions and respect more than anything else. They were educated quite strictly but it has done this person good. If they're a man, they were taught how to treat women fairly and consider them as their equal. If they're a woman, they were taught to support and uplift other women. They have a lot of knowledge and like to learn. They like to be challenged and mentally stimulated. They enjoy psychology, reading, writing. They know how to set boundaries and be ruthless in certain situations but they're also empathetic, able to compromise and find solutions that are beneficial to everyone. They feel very feminine. They take after the feminine figures in their life, especially their mother. They are nurturing and protective. They like to value others but also inspire and be inspired. They aren't afraid of being vulnerable, of making mistakes or stepping into the unknown. They have a lot of love to give. They are very romantic, even idealistic and naive at times. This person coul be a teacher or a healer of some kind. They were taught never to judge nor to belittle, never to think of themselves as superior to anyone, never to deny anyone of their love, respect or help. They gladly share what they have, help people out, show the way when needed. They are a chosen leader. They don't aspire to be one but people end up following them because of their sincere and pure nature. They have a lot of charisma and natural charm that doesn't feel forceful. They're in tune with their emotions and understand others' well. I'm getting that for some of you, this person enjoys poetry and/or romance novels.

Extra info - S E L I M A T A I I T U I R A

Words I picked up on : Selim, Selima, Rituals, trials, meat, Islam, rate, mates, teams, salute, émirats (French for emirates), emails, Italie (Italy), sutra, tiramisu, restau ( short for restaurant in French), amitié (French for friendship), Mauri (people from Mauritania), militaire (French for military), Mistral, Australia, Lisa, Asia, Israel, serial, laser, taser, Semirat, Rasul (Arabic for Prophet/messenger), Sami, Sam, Salima, Salim, Salem, Salam, Ismail, Smail, Islem, Tiamat, Tiamut, Mali

Group 3 👑♥️

Their looks - queen of pentacles, 6 of swords, 10 of wands, ace of pentacles, Death, The Lovers, Get Curious, The Sovereign

They look athletic and agile, a bit like a monkey. I thought of pirates for this group. I'm kinda picturing Monkey D. Luffy. This person could be a One Piece fan. They may have some similarities with this character. For those of you that don't know who this is, here's a GIF of the character to kinda get an idea (it's the guy in red).

Their limbs could be super stretchy lmao They just appear very trustworthy but also a bit reckless. But more than that, they look like they've been through a lot of stuff. Despite that, they're still pretty optimistic and want to believe in humanity. Just like the character, I guess. They look like the world's weight relies on their shoulders. They could have dark hair and eyes. They also look really young and unique. Their style can be a bit surprising. Like maybe they wear stuff that's not considered typical for people like them. They like rather flowy clothes that make them feel at ease. They also like contrast. They experiment a lot with their clothing style. So they can switch from one extreme to the other depending on their mood. It's like everything suits them. There's always something regal about them. They have a long neck or the way they stand and carry themselves makes them look like they come from a noble family. They always walk or talk slowly, they have an intense gaze. Key features of this person could be arms and eyes. They have this mischievous glint in their eyes, one that says "life is fun and if you don't think like that then I'm gonna make sure you do when you're with me". Honestly they're mostly a goofball and people might not take them very seriously based on their looks.

Their personality - 4 of pentacles, king of pentacles, Death, 2 of swords, Wheel of fortune, King of cups, The Pillar, Compassion

This person is deep. What they show is nothing compared to who they are. They are so mature and wise people would be shocked once they know them. They hide a lot of their scars, their doubts, their wealth and abundance. They don't trust people easily. They have to make sure you're worthy first. But once they trust you they give you their all. They have a happy go lucky personality with the people they trust the most. But they are ruthless with the ones they don't like. They have a strong moral compass and support their loved ones whole heartedly. This really matches Luffy's energy. If they feel like someone was unfairly treated, they would do anything in their power to get retribution for them. They may have a savior complex. They think rationally and take everything seriously, even the little things. They are dedicated to their work and their loved ones. They are an example for people around them. They like to take under their wing people that have been hurt, left behind or misjudged because they know what it feels like to be rejected or misunderstood. Their mind can get a bit negative sometimes. They tend to be harsh on themselves but extremely kind toward others.

Extra info - M U R R A K E A A Z E Y O N B

Words I picked up on : bronze, key, year, Amazon, bear, aroma, Kobe, Azurro, Manabu, bee, Roza, Zakary, Zakarya, Ryuk, Ruben, Roy, Akon, Marzo(March), May, Bron, Ryan, Marny, Zayn, karma, Roma, mabrouk (Arabic for blessed/lucky/prosperous), amaze, amen (either the Latin expression to end prayers), aman (Kabyle for water), Mary, Mauro, Amano, Arman, Armen, Korea, Zara, armor, amore, Kenya, Keny, Mokran, Yen, Ben, zen, yakuza, Kurama, Yan

[dewdropdinosaur]

Only For You

ALASTOR X READER Summary: You are beautiful there is no doubt about that. But Alastor would prefer that you kept that beauty only for him Warnings: NONE. Just sassy narrator as always(I will applaud anyone who figures out who the snarky narrator is of my stories) This was a request for the lovely @anon-of-the-void. Enjoy darling! REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN. See pinned post for rules.

In the heart of Hell, where the shadows danced to the tunes of torment, there resided a figure unlike any other – Alastor, the Radio Demon. He ruled over the airwaves of the infernal realm with his charismatic voice and sinister charm, a being of darkness wrapped in the allure of the old radio era. Having a penchant for old-fashioned charm and a twisted sense of humor, he found himself entangled in an unexpected romance with a fellow sinner….you.  There was a peculiar softness within Alastor, a hidden warmth that few dared to perceive save yourself. It was in the tender glances he shared with his beloved, the unspoken acts of service he provided and yes…even his certain shall we say—possessive nature. 

You were Alastor's almost in every way opposite. Which made it hard for many of the Hotel’s residents to understand how you even got together in the first place or even got along(That dear reader is a story for another time)

You exude confidence and have no qualms about your appearance. Proud of your demonic allure, you revel in showcasing curves and radiant skin. Yet, all of this sexual tension that is exuded was for none other than the Radio Demon himself, and for your own sense of amusement of course. Flaunting oneself for all of Hell only to be uninterested and leaving both men and women alike all hot and bothered was particularly entertaining one could speculate. 

Alastor, however, was not as open-hearted about such boldness from you. His possessive nature stirred within him, a jealousy that simmered beneath his charismatic facade. Oh how the screams of many who had dared look at his darling for a second too long made a horrific melody over his radio tower…You had long since tried to stop him for it was pretty much a futile effort at this point. Despite being the only one privy to what lied beneath your revealing clothing, the red demon still felt the swells of envy within him. He craved attention and that your beautiful soul only be turned in his direction and for him only. When you in the nude simply invited Alastor in the bathroom while showering for a chat. Poker was a common pastime while doing your makeup, to which he would often let you win, or listening to LPs while you both danced around half dressed. 

One fateful evening, as the shadows draped the corridors of Hell, Alastor and you found yourselves amidst a gathering of the Hotel residents and staff. Your laughter rang through the air, form draped in silken garments that accentuated every curve, every line of demonic beauty.  Wearing an outfit that highlighted everything, your fiery eyes sparkled with mischief. Alastor couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and possessiveness, his snarky smile masking the growing jealousy within him. He watched from afar, his ruby eyes ablaze with a mixture of desire and resentment. As the eyes of Hell lingered upon you(mainly Angel and Sir Pentious, the latter unable to help himself, poor gentleman), a surge of possessiveness consumed him. With a snarl disguised as a smirk, he approached your side, wrapping his coat around your shoulders; his voice dripping with honeyed venom.

“Here my dear, you must be cold.” Leaning down to whisper in your ear, he spoke so only she could hear “Darling, must you parade around like a succubus on display?" Alastor quipped, trying to hide his true feelings behind his charismatic persona.

You chuckled, a demonic laugh echoing through the chaotic streets. "Oh, Alastor, dear, why hide what I have? It's a crime to keep such beauty under wraps." Turning to face him, laughter dancing in your eyes. “Must you always be so possessive?” You teased with a voice so close to a melody that stirred the depths of his being.

Alastor's snarky smile faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of insecurity. "I just prefer to keep you all to myself, my dear. No need to share your radiance with the whole underworld."

However, not one to be controlled and quite liking to rile up your partner, you sauntered away from Alastor. With a mischievous glint, after taking off his coat and handing it back to him, you teasingly exposed more of your demonic allure. The other demons ogled in admiration(except Husk who knew better than to get between his so-called boss and his partner….also a story for another time), and Alastor's jealousy reached its peak.

Alastor's smile faltered, his grip reaching out towards your form and  tightening around your waist. "In a realm where darkness reigns supreme, one must guard what is precious," he replied, his words dripping with thinly-veiled jealousy. Little green lights flickered around the hotel as the shadows smirked and moaned, yet you stood there unafraid. 

Determined to claim your attention for himself, Alastor conjured a stylish black coat from thin air and draped it over your bare shoulders. "There, my love, let's keep a bit of your mystery, shall we?"

Laughing heartily and not bothered by the sudden cover-up, you relented. "If it makes you happy, Alastor, I'll indulge your possessiveness." Walking your fingers up Alastor’s chest to adjust and fix his bow tie, you flashed a soft and genuine smile up at your partner. 

"My dear Radio Demon," you whispered, breath warm against his ear, "there is no need for jealousy. My heart belongs to you and you alone."

With those words, Alastor's doubts faded into the abyss, replaced by the warmth of the embrace. In the depths of Hell, amidst the chaos and the shadows, love had found its way into the hearts of demons, a flickering flame in the darkness that refused to be extinguished.

“And besides my love, you know I never much cared for that kind of attention from anyone but you anyway.” 

As you and Alastor  continued your stroll through the Hotel while mingling with guests, Alastor clung to your side; content that he had, at least momentarily, subdued his jealousy. Little did he realize that love in Hell was as unpredictable as the flames that flickered throughout the underworld, and the dynamic between the snarky Radio Demon and his confident partner would continue to evolve in the fiery depths of their unconventional romance.

[razorblade180]

Yang:All I’m saying is a good Full Nelson could’ve helped the situation.

Blake: I don’t think that works against Xenomorphs.

Yang:But nobody ever tries in the movies. Just step on the tail too and- oh.

There’s a sock on the dorm doorknob

Blake:Huh…I guess we’re seeing another movie.

Yang:Works for me. Hopefully Weiss will be less sassy after scoring.

Blake:What makes you think Ruby isn’t behind the door?

Yang:Pfft, no, no, no, no, I don’t have to worry about that yet. She sweats shaking a person hand. It’s definitely Weiss.

Blake:Could be both of them.

Yang:My little sister isn’t currently behind this door.

Blake:Okay~

Yang:Don’t do that. Ruby is probably somewhere trying not to pass out from embarrassment after seeing the sock herself. I mean who would think Weiss would be so bold and forward?

Weiss:Nobody, because “she” isn’t.

The black and yellow of team RWBY whip their head around to see the girl crossing her arms as she stared at them with mild blush.

Weiss:Are they done yet?

Yang:…..

It felt instantaneous. The moment Yang so much as twitched her body, a glyph was in front of the door and Blake had her in Full Nelson as she started dragging her away.

Blake:Maybe you’re right. This is a handy hold.

Yang:Release me.

Blake:I don’t have siblings, but this feels like one of those pivotal moments where you be supportive and not ruin something as it’s happening.

Weiss:As a younger sister, Blake is correct. Look at it like this, there’s only three reasonable options. If it’s Penny, you lose. If it’s Pyrrha, you lose. If it’s Jaune, you still have to fight Pyrrha.

Yang:That won’t save them from my wrath! And if it’s none of those three?

Blake and Weiss:Then we’ll help you kill them.

Ruby:Who are we killing?

WBY:*turn around* Ruby!?

Ruby:*workout gear* H-Hi? How was the movie?

Weiss:Who’s in our dorm!?

Ruby:Huh? Oh, Coco paid me to use it with Velvet. Because their team was tired from a mission.

Yang:Oh cool.

Weiss:Cool!? You can’t just rent out our-

Ruby:I swapped our sheets and charged half of Yang’s weight in lien.

Weiss:Outstanding.

Yang:My weight!?

Blake:Even when you win, you lose. *lets go* I guess you were right not to worry.

Ruby:Did you think I was in there? A third of my social circle is in this hallway. And the rest are across it.

Weiss:Yeah you need more friends.

Ruby:I’m not taking that from you.

Yang:Welp, now that my adrenaline is calming down, let’s go grab a bite or something. Honestly I feel bad. I’m sure Velvet heard some of that.

Ruby:That wouldn’t surprise me.

Blake:We’ll apologize later.

All four of them walk away in peace, their team life remaining in tact.

Several minutes earlier, inside the dorm.

Yang: *being aggressively loud outside*

Ruby:*puts on shirt* Yeah, so I’m just gonna fly out the window, then come back up through the corridor and lure them away so you can escape.

Jaune:I thought your sister liked me?

Aggressive struggling continues

Ruby:Let’s not take risks.

Jaune:Yeah I like my life. Fortunately, *pulls out scroll* Coco said she’d do me a solid for helping Velvet out. Heh, she already said “go for it.”

Ruby:Should I be jealous that you have such a cool girl’s number?

Jaune:Not after what we’ve been doing. I don’t know about you but I’m still convinced this is a dream.

Ruby:*kisses cheek* I know~

Yang:That won’t save them from my wrath!

Ruby:..Let me go prevent a nightmare.

Jaune:Please and thank you.

[in1-nutshell]

Hello and is it okay to request TF with this idea?

Fem Buddy as a cybertronian (or Terran) and has a twin bot. They've been raised on earth and by humans, since they were babies and They don't know anything about Cybertron, they still loves/cares Earth and anything on it

They're famous or celebrity twins on earth. (like being genius, performer, artist, model, YouTuber, actor, or others, you choose). They do love it, the fame, the happy faces that humans get when seeing them, but They sometimes wondered where they came from.

Fem Buddy and Male! Twin are both inseparable, caring for each other, they sometimes speak/act in unison, having same and/or sharing thoughts, and had great teamwork/synchronization, and yet had teasings/sassiness in a mild way

Yet Fem Buddy and Twin have differences

Fem Bot looks like a Decepticon, has an reclusive yet timid and good-hearted, yet sometimes expressive with closed lip, also being supportive (and somewhat child-like or oblivious/innocent) twin.

M! Twin, he looks similar to an Autobot, known for being a leading/leader twin, having energetic, bold, and pompous yet somewhat mature, or something like spoiled prince yet mature and has smart personality, often showing his sharp teeth, whether he's smiling, frowning, etc., also being very protective/ aggressive for his twin.

You can add this idea if you want:

Autobots' human friend/kid(s) have been a fan of the twins (and probably had a celebrity crush/es on them), before the cybertronian thing, and they introduce the Autobots to these Celebrity twins via media of sort?

I apologize if this is complicated or I've been requested a lot. Thank you so much and also take care of yourself.

(also Happy Decepticon Day!)

Finally! I got to this one before it got erased! Again!

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy Twin's who live on Earth

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Cybertronian reader

TFA

The name Issac Sumdac was one well known throughout the city of Detroit.

It was also a little-known fact of his daughter, Sari Sumdac, who was almost always accompanied by two of his most astounding looking robots.

A tall one and a small one.

Affectionally given the names Sonia and Syrus.

Sonia was the larger bot that was often seen walking the grounds of the Tower, presumably as a guard bot.

It seemed like the bot fit the job having such a large, and sharp framework.

Perfect for intimidating any trespassers.

As intimidating as the bot looked, Sonia’s family knew that she was a shy bot who just so happened to look like she could end someone with her pinkie.

A couple of tourist are looking at the big bot from a distance. Tourist 1: “Do you think it can think?” Tourist: “No way, its just a machine.” Tourist 1: “But if it could…” Tourist 2: “Probably thinking on how to annihilate human kind. I mean have you seen the size of those fists!” Meanwhile with Sonia… Sonia: “I think I’ll go visit the red birds nest before lunch time.”

Around her family, Sonia was a bit of a pushover for her younger siblings.

She couldn’t help it!

They had a mastery of the puppy dog eyes she had yet to conquer.

But make no mistake, if there is even the notice of a threat to Sonia’s family, she is making sure to get them to safety before dealing with the situation.

Sari loves hanging around Sonia’s shoulder and loves doing random trust falls with her.

The Professor has lost count of the number of times he has had to buff out dents in his eldest daughter’s frame.

Sonia loves her younger sister to death but she needs to stop giving her near death experiences.

Sonia is with the Professor watching Syrus playing with Sari play. Professor Sumdac: “You know you could always join them, Sonia.” Sonia looks at him. Sonia: “But what if I hurt them? I’m too sharp and big” Professor Sumdac: “It would be on accident. We both know you would never actively harm them.” Sonia still looks a bit conflicted but ends up joining the pair in ‘Mega trust fall’. Professor Sumdac winces a bit as both Syrus and Sari fall from a ledge and Sonia cushions their fall. Professor Sumdac: “Maybe I should have talked to them about taking it easier on their sister…”

Syrus was the smaller bot.

Often seen giving some tours around the Tower for guests and tourists.

His energetic and charismatic personality fit well for the tours.

He is the closest with Sari.

Don’t get him wrong, he loves Sonia, but his baby sister is way more fun to hang out than Sonia the worry wart.

Both love playing around the Tower’s private grounds, letting their imagination run wild.

On the occasion they do decide to make the day an adventure, they both know that if things get too hairy, Sonia was always one call away.

No one in their right mind would DARE mess with them when Sonia was in her protective mode.

Sonia is just minding her business when she gets a call. Sonia: “Syrus? What—” Syrus: “Can you come get us? We might have gotten in a bit of trouble…” Sonia is already tracking down Syrus location. Sonia: “What happened? Are you and Sari okay?” Syrus: “Well… we might be hiding from Fanzone’s new rookie cop.” Sonia: “And why?” Syrus: “To be fair, he started calling Sari a brat… and we might have put a virus on his phone… and currently hiding in the park.” Sonia: “… Give me 5 minutes.” Syrus: “Yes!” Sonia: “But you two are explaining to Dad why your in this mess.” Syrus: “…Hey big sis—” Sonia: “Don’t even think about it.”

That being said, Syrus is almost, if not more protective of his family than Sonia is.

While Sonia can handle certain things being thrown at them, she has a hard time standing up for herself.

That’s where Syrus usually comes in and stands up for her.

Syrus has no problem chewing out anyone who goes after her.

Both robotic siblings are ready to choose violence if someone decides to go after their squishier family members.

The topic of the bots creation has been a hot topic for years, mainly kept up by Syrus constantly pestering Professor Sumdac about it.

Sonia stopped asking a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about it from time to time.

Especially looking at other, less emotional robots.

She is simply content with her life keeping her father and siblings safe.

Now, to the day the Autobots wake up…

Sonia was away on a nearby island trying to help Sari with her project on bird nesting sites.

Syrus is beside Sari’s side the entire time the Autobots are going around.

Absolutely blown away when the bots reveal that he is a Cybertornian like them.

Even gets a vehicle mode from them!

Every single one of the Sumdac’s remember at the last second that they had forgotten to mention the whole incident to Sonia.

The Professor swears he can hear Sonia’s ‘blood pressure rise in less than a couple seconds when he talks to her over the phone.

Syrus and Sari are in charge of telling the bots about their older sister.

Sari: “You guys are gonna love Sonia!” Optimus: “Sonia?” Syrus: “That’s our big sister.” Bumblebee: “Like human or bot?” Syrus: “Bot—Sari! She is going to flip when she finds out she’s an alien too!” Sari: “I bet she’s gonna watch all those alien movies with us now!” Ratchet turns Prowl. Ratchet: “I swear if this ‘Sonia’ is like Syrus…” They both share a look of slight dread. BOOM! The ground starts to tremble a bit. Bulkhead: “What is that!?” Bumblebee: “You think it could be the Decepticons?” Sonia appears at the front door venting heavy with panic in her optics. All the Autobots are ready to attack when Syrus and Sari run to the bot. Bumblebee: “Sari! Syrus!” Both jump up as the larger bot kneels and holds them both to her chassis. Sonia: “Your okay! Wait are you?” Sonia looks at both of them from head to toe trying to see any signs of harm. The bots are just stunned. Syrus: “We’re fine Sonia, but guess what! We’re aliens! Just like the Autobots!” Sonia finally looks up at the bots and looks just as surprised as Syrus had when he first met them. She shyly goes over and takes her servo out. Sonia: “Its nice to meet you all. I take it you helped keep Syrus and Sari safe?” Optimus blinked a bit before slowly shaking her servo. To his surprise, she was very gently in handling it. Optimus: “Yes, and you are Sonia?” Sonia smiles a bit while placing both her sibling on her shoulders. Syrus stops her. Syrus: “Wait! Sonia look what we can do!” He proceeds to transform into a car and drives a bit around the Plant. Sonia: “Wait we can do that!”

[ohimsummer]

✎ . . .❝ NAUGHTY GIRL. ❞

— minors dni, gojo x afab! reader, they’re both sassy, poly! stsgverse, he plays w/ your tits, sequel to “YOU LITTLE THIEF!”

A cool breeze awaits as you burst into mostly darkness. There’s a few headlights in the parking lot, other patrons coming or going. Glancing back, you catch sight of Gojo nearing the shoe rack. You curse his longer legs, and the color of Geto’s car which blends into the pitch blackness outside. You decide to run in the vague direction of where he parked, hoping it yields results that aren’t Gojo immediately catching up to you. Hopefully people don’t find you too suspicious, the way you’re ducking and weaving through cars to stay out of sight. Gojo’s nowhere to be found whenever you peep back to spot him. It raises the hairs on your arms, makes things a lot more suspenseful as if you’re trying to avoid some kind of knife-wielding murderer in a horror movie.

You finally spot Geto’s car, close to the back of the lot, and dive behind it so you’re next to the driver’s side door. Catching your breath takes a few seconds — you’re lucky his alarm isn’t activated to give you away. Approaching footsteps raise your heart rate, but it’s just some gaggle of teenagers walking by. Or a young a couple on their way inside. Not yet a white-haired man looking to do you harm (take his phone back).

Quietly, or as quietly as you can on gravel, you lift yourself up to peek through Geto’s dark, tinted windows. Despite being akin to a lighthouse tower, Gojo is nowhere to be spotted. It dawns on you that he might also be using cars as refuge. Perhaps if you looked underneath, you’d be able to spot him? Alright, let’s see, you think, lowering and regretting the idea as soon as your knees meet harsh rock. You look back, forth, back again. Nothing. What in the hell…?, you rise back to your feet, not noticing the looming, dark shadow approaching with abnormally quiet steps. Where the fuck did he go?

“Gotcha!” And Gojo muffles your terrified shriek with a large hand, other hand on your waist to pin you to the black car. “Aww, were you lookin’ for me down there, gorgeous?”

Brows drawn together, you inspect the place behind him, too concerned with how in the world he got behind you. He lets you strip his hand from your face to question him. “Where did you come from?”

Gojo grins, tilts his head a little to the side. “Can’t go around revealing my secrets now, can I?”

He takes delight in your unamused look, and your scoff. “What are you, a magician?”

“Nope, but you are. So make my phone appear, right now.”

“Or what? Are you gonna pat me down, Mr. TSA?”

Regret, immediately, as he rolls his eyes in thought. “Actually. Yeah, I am!”

You watch as Gojo pats your arms, waist, legs, one bold pat on your behind, before patting at your shoes. “You think your phone could fit in there?”

He looks up, and the sight of Gojo on his knees before you kind of makes you feel powerful. Like a deity. “I have to be thorough.” He pats you a little harder on the way back up, avoiding your chest, and pouts when he still finds nothing. “The hell? Where is it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Brat, he thinks. Gojo’s hands squeeze over your waist, pressing you against the car again. He leans over you until your foreheads are almost touching. “Give it here. Crook.”

That only prompts your giggle in response, e/c eyes never leaving the blues of his. Your hands fiddle with the edge of Gojo’s shirt, and he opens his mouth for another word before there’s a vibration from your chest.

Both pairs of eyes flicker to the faint glow beneath your shirt, and the bravado plummets from your face. “O-oh…”

He looks back up to grin at you. “Found it. I’ll be taking it back now.”

Before you can complain, Gojo slips a hand beneath your top, working his way up until it rests atop your bra, where he finds his phone half-tucked inside. Your breath stutters when his fingers slip underneath, smoothing over your nipple as he pinches the phone and tugs it downward. His other hand glides upwards to take it, and Gojo slips the phone in his pocket, but leaves one hand resting against your bare breast.

“Naughty girl.,” he scolds, thumbing over the stiffening bud. “Why was it in there huh? Did you plan this out?”

You fumble for a response. “I–, no–“

“Because,” a roll of your nipple has you arching into Gojo, where he wraps an arm around your waist. “You could’ve just asked, if you wanted me touch you. Use your words next time, baby.”

His lips make a home on your skin, placing gentle kisses along your neck, jawline, cheeks. It drives a series of mewls and whimpers from you, causes your thighs to clench together around his leg. “G–et off m-me, I’m going back ins-side.”

“Tryna run away again?,” Gojo mocks you, nipping at the sensitive part of your neck. “Cute. Sure, we can go back inside.” He gives a hard suck on the skin, sure to leave a mark, before pulling away to catch your hazy eyes. “You gonna behave for me?”

Even though Gojo can see right through you, needily panting and pushing your chest further into his palm, you still choose to be a little difficult. “Behave? Like some puppy—“

You yelp, him having tugged at your nipple, pinching it between his fingers. “Yep, like my good girl. Play nice, no more stealing or it’s wraps, got it?”

There’s an underlying threat in his statement, one that prods at your curiosity. But you decide to play along for now. “Fine.”

He gives your face another kiss, close to your lips. “Don’t like the way you said it. Again, with less attitude.”

“I didn’t have an attitude.”

“Well, you definitely have one now, so do it again.”

You roll your eyes, catching his expectant stare. His hand twitches at the bat of your lashes, the jut of your lip, eyes widening in an adorable pout. “I’ll be such a good girl for you, Satoru.” The way you purr his name is like gold in his ears. Gojo can feel a throbbing within his pants, but his hands retreat for now to leave you be. You’ll be sure to act up again, and he’s gonna let you have it when you do.

tagz: @staryukis @anthoosies

[thecaptainofcosmichorrors]

Hello, can I request Pure Vanilla x reader reverse comfort? I think it's confirmed that he has very poor eating habits. So maybe reader comforting him about it

[Why, of course! Thank you for being my first offering! (No seriously, I really appreciate the request; I think you’re right, but even if it isn’t, it’s canon in my head, so we ball!) I shall call you, Og Anon—wait, actually, I have just gotten word that they would like to be called something else—welcome to the collection 🥀 anon]

Some Long-Needed Care

Pure Vanilla Cookie x Reader, except this time he gets taken care of!

[Warning/notes - fluff, establish relationship, reader is a little cheeky but we love a good sassy reader!]

Pure Vanilla had been swamped between checking in on the cookies of his kingdom, attending meetings, and even giving aid to Gingerbrave and his friends; but in the midst of all this, who was taking care of him?

You entered his studies, the warm light of morning poured in and acted as the only real keeper of time; if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve assumed that he had just started his work—ever the early riser, but you knew better to believe that. Countless books were sprawled out on the floor, not to mention, the incriminating lamb was still on; he hadn’t went to sleep yet. Pure Vanilla didn’t acknowledge your presence, far too caught up in his pursuit to even notice your arrival—not that you mind. Actually, it only encouraged you further.

Traversing the room, you finally made it to the center of it; your lover. Being so close, only now did he notice you and while he did tense a bit; he was quick to relax at the sight of you. “Oh! I didn’t see you there.” Clearly, though you still entertained him as his tired eyes scanned the entrance before back to you. “How long have you been standing there dear?” You chuckled before taking a seat next to him, “Long enough to know that the love of my love haven’t slept yet.” Pure Vanilla looked at you, almost surprised at your bold assumption. “You fret too much love, it hasn’t been that long; I’ll sleep before morning.”

You deadpanned, if he wasn’t such a concerning state; you could’ve laughed at the sheer irony of his statement, but there was no time for that. Pure Vanilla stared at you curiously, watching as you gestured to the window. “Nilly, it’s already morning.” For a moment he looks surprised, glancing over to see that… yes, it was in fact, morning. “Now that I think of it, when was the last time you’ve eaten?” Pure Vanilla was in the motion of defending himself from your onslaught of interrogation when a grumble blew his cover. He looked at you sheepishly as you only sighed at his antics.

“Look, I know you want to take care of everybody else; you need to take care of yourself as well.” You started, taking his hands in yours. “I love you too much Pure Vanilla Cookie for you to not care about yourself!” You always had a bit more of an edge to you than him, but you couldn’t help being passionate; especially when it came to him.

Pure Vanilla rubbed his thumbs along the back of your hands, as if to soothe you—even now, he was worried more about easing your worries than himself. Classic Pure Vanilla Cookie. You wouldn’t falter though, you let go of him in favor of standing up and leaving without another word.

When you did return, you returned with a handful of blankets and something wrapped in a cloth. Pure Vanilla perked up at your arrival, standing up to see you—only to look confused at the stuff you brought with you; there was no bed in his study, just a couch… oh! “Love, don’t you think that it would be better if you’d just relaxed our bed?“ he tried his best to redirect your focus elsewhere, it made him feel a little guilty that you were so keen to pamper him when he should be pampering you; you, however, were not so easily swayed by his sweet words. “Actually, I think this is a good place for you to relax.”

Pure Vanilla sighed as you were relentless, continuing on your journey to drop off the blankets on the couch; you laid everything out half-hazardously, an action that confused your poor lover enough that he felt the need to intervene… exactly what you wanted. “Let me at least h—“ The second he got close enough, you pulled him into a tight hug before flopping the both of you onto the couch. Your boyfriend let out a soft oof as you made contact with the couch. “Nope~” you finally retort, unapologetic of your sneaky tactic. “What you can do is open that cloth.” Pure Vanilla glanced over to the side of you to see the cloth in question.

Opening it up, he was met with two simple wraps; he looked back to see you shyly smile. “I thought we could share them while you’re here.” As much as Pure Vanilla wanted to insist otherwise, he could see just how much care went into the gesture and furthermore, he was hungry.

Maybe he could indulge himself for you, just for a little while.

[bluepandaears]

As much as I love a good Barista AU, I am not a coffee drinker. I drink a crap ton of tea though so... ta da! DBDA as tea! Enjoy.

Charles:

Cinnamon Vanilla Chai served in a handleless tall stoneware mug because who bothers with handles anyway? All they do is slow you down and if you burn your fingers picking it up it's your fault for not wearing gloves.

Bold but sweet. Can be quite bitter if over-brewed. Pleasant aroma and caramel colouring for a warm and comforting blend of black tea, spices, and natural vanilla flavoring. Perfect for warming during colder months.

Edwin:

Java Masala Chai served in a sensible ceramic mug with a slightly chipped saucer. The inside bottom of the mug has a sassy comment that changes depending on the day of the year.

A blend of black tea, cardamom, cloves, cinnamon, black pepper, and ginger, with a twist of added coffee because just like coffee Edwin is an acquired taste and yet millions around the world are addicted.

Prepare a cup of your favorite milk, add a generous teaspoon and let it simmer for 10 minutes - careful contents will be hot and if you burn yourself it may mock you for your low pain tolerance.

Crystal:

Immortal Emperor Puer tea cake

Fantastic tea but you have to break into it first. Brew in a ceramic pot then transfer to a dreaming tree travel mug for a quick get away.

A Ripe Shou Puer that is a dark, opulent infusion mirroring the richness of ancient traditions. Made of tightly compressed leaves, aged to perfection, it exudes an earthy allure of walnut, vanilla, and aged oak that transcends time.

Niko:

Magnolia Green Tea served in a lovers double spout ceramic teapot. Be vigilant and don't let the water get above 85˚C otherwise you'll scorch the leaves.

The Magnolia flower or Hanakotoba represents a love for nature, nobility, perseverance, dignity, and everlasting connections. Made with green tea for the inherent health properties, Magnolia Green Tea involves layering fresh magnolia flowers with the tea leaves, allowing the natural fragrance of the flowers to infuse into the tea. This gives the tea a delicate floral aroma and flavor, with a smooth light citrus, floral, and honeysuckle taste. Pair with dandelion salad.

[tokiwarcube]

Baby, It's Cold Outside

It's getting cold out, and as luck would have it, you seem to have forgotten your jacket at home. Thankfully, your lover is here to help!

[Just some quick headcanons about the boys lending you their jacket... or their own equivalent. All boys + Charles!]

Charles Foster Offdensen

Bold of you to assume he’d let you forget your jacket at home. It’s cold outside and you’ll be walking at the end of the night; therefore, you should bring a jacket. Yes, he understands that it doesn’t go with your outfit. He’ll hold it for you, if you want.

Unfortunately, he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. And so, when the end of the night comes and you’re trying not to shiver (God forbid you admit he was right), he’ll still give you his jacket. The quiet, sassy part of him wants to say something, but he holds his tongue when he watches you pull your arms through the sleeves out of the corner of his eye. He’d prefer you stay warm, but he can’t lie — he does love the image of you in his jacket.

Nathan Explosion

This man is a spaceheater, but that doesn’t mean he likes the cold. He grew up in Florida, for Christ’s sake — a Winter day under 70 is a nightmare, to him.

Once he gets over his whole complex with wearing jackets, he refuses to part with his own once the weather gets chilly. But… well, you’re an exception. There’s a better solution to this, though! Press yourself against his side so you can share — believe me, he absolutely does not mind this compromise.

Pickles the Drummer

He left home early, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t remember the winter wasteland that was Wisconsin in December. He much prefers the sunny weather of LA, and while he much prefers the life he leads now… he won’t lie, he misses the Winter sunshine.

After he quit S&B and joined Dethklok, he became basically glued to his jacket in the colder months. Half of it isn’t even because he’s terribly cold, persay — it’s half out of habit. He’s always waiting for the weather to turn into a blizzard, like it would back in Wisconsin. This is all to say that while he can tolerate the cold, he’s always prepared. So when you’re out on the town, and things get chilly… he’s surprisingly willing to hand over his coat to keep you warm. He’s not giving it up without payment, though… He deserves a kiss for his forethought, right?

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

You’d think growing up in the Swedish taiga would have prepared him for American Winters… and to be fair, you’re not wrong! He has a pretty good tolerance to the cold… but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like staying warm. You can scarcely find him without a sweater and a jacket when Winter rolls around.

When you’re caught out without a jacket, he’s stuck between teasing you for your forgetfulness and playing the hero. He makes the best of both worlds by giving you exactly three teasing jabs — one when he catches you shivering, one when he pulls you to his side to share his coat, and another when you relax into his hold.

Toki Wartooth

You know, it’s funny — Toki is the most resistant to cold of the bunch (and, subsequently, is always the first to offer his jacket to you when you’re cold) and yet, he’s the one who needs it the most. He genuinely struggles to tell when he’s cold, which would ordinarily be fine, but unfortunately its a bit of a risk due to the whole diabetes thing.

One one hand though, this makes you fantastic at making sure you both keep warm in the Winter months. He’s prone to either forgetting it, (or let's be honest, leaving it entirely due to his massive ego around the subject) and thus, you’re in charge of making sure he brings a coat to your winter outings. And that means that you need to bring one too, because if you forget your coat, he’ll be offering his own, and he refuses to take “no” for an answer. And hey, you can still hold hands in his jacket pocket. Win-win!

William Murderface

He likes the cold, but this is just excessive. He tolerates it pretty well, up until it starts snowing, and that’s when he starts getting sick of the weather. He rarely brings a jacket with him out of sheer ego, but he does like a good sweater. He gets better about bringing a coat over time though, especially when he realizes your propensity to forgo your own.

That is to say, he loves giving you his jacket. He both does, and doesn’t, make a big deal out of it. He doesn’t hold it above your head, but he definitely makes a little noise of importance as he shrugs it off to hand to you. It’s just a good thing he runs so warm, huh? No big deal, all part of the job. (He’s very proud of himself.)

[jobean12-blog]

Play To Win

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader

Word Count: 2,714

Summary: When you walk into your favorite bar for a regular night of fun, you never expect to meet a man that changes everything.

Author's Note: Honestly, if I met this man in a bar I'd be a goner from the moment I laid on eyes on him...so yep. HAHA! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the sweet @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: lots of fun flirting, banter, tension, a curse or two, Javi is bold and doesn't hold back, reader is sassy herself, thigh riding (bc I love his legs so much)

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

It’s hard to hear over the loud chatter of the crowded bar and when Steve and Javi share a brief look of irritation the third agent sitting at the table, Dan, repeats his question, raising expectant eyebrows at the two other men.

“I asked gentlemen, what’s your type?” 

Steve snorts into his drink. “Type? I like them all.”  

Javi nods in agreement, but still doesn’t answer Dan’s question. He keeps his focus on his drink, pressing his lips to the cool glass to down the rest of the amber liquid.

Dan is undeterred.

“Come on Peña? You must have a type…”

Javi sets his drink down, ready to deliver some cheeky answer to interrupt Dan’s repeated annoyance, when you walk in. His original thought dies on his lips, to be immediately replaced with, “Her. She’s my type.”

He watches as you gracefully weave your way through the crowd, politely excusing yourself to squeeze between the several men who stare. As if sensing Javi’s gaze following you around the bar, your eyes flash in his direction as you pass him by.

It hits him like a punch to the gut.

Steve leans back against the bar and a smirk plays on his lips.

“Guess we have your answer then,” Steve quips.

Dan lets out a low whistle and continues to stare in your direction.

Javi ignores them both and instead follows your progress toward the end of the bar. After warmly greeting the bar tender and offering him a hug you set your things down and weave back the way you came, sidling up on the stool next to Javi.

“So brown eyes. Why don’t you stop staring and buy me a drink? I might dehydrate before you work up the nerve.”

Javi can’t hide the way your boldness affects him and the corner of his mouth twitches with a lopsided smile.

He aimlessly twirls his empty glass between his long fingers and responds with, “Ask nicely, and maybe I’ll think about it.”

You still, your lips pressing together firmly.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” you ask when you turn to face him.

“I’m not really in the mood for fun,” he counters.

“That’s too bad,” you hum. I’m just full of good fun.”

Javi’s clever eyes scan the seedy bar, assessing every access point, escape route and person nearby.

“If you’re looking for fun, I’m not sure this is the right place gorgeous.”

Amusement flashes across your face, at his endearment or his warning he’s not sure.

“You think so?” you ask, crossing your arms and leaning against the bar. “I’ve had a lot of fun in this bar.”

“Is that because you’re all cozy with the bartender?” he asks.

Javi’s eyes drift toward the bartender who is watching your exchange and when Javi looks back to you, you’re smiling widely at him.

“Jealous already?” you purr. “You haven’t even gotten me my drink yet! Should I ask one of your friends instead?”

You glance over his shoulder to see Steve and Dan dip their heads in greeting. You give them a little wave.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you gorgeous.”

“Then maybe you should be a little more friendly.”

“Now where’ the fun in that?”

At having your words thrown back at you, your eyes sparkle and you throw your head back with a laugh. Javi’s eyes travel down the column of your neck, his fingers twitching against his thigh with his need to reach out and feel your soft skin.

“I’ll tell you what…”

“Javier Peña. But you can call me Javi.”

“Javi,” you repeat.

The sound of his name falling from your lips makes his pants tighten around his crotch and he quickly shifts on the stool.

You motion to the opposite wall where an old dart board hangs.

“Let’s play a game of darts. If I win, you buy me a drink. Fair?”

Leaning back and spreading his legs wider, he considers you.

“And if you lose?”

You don’t answer, merely sending him a wink and sliding off the stool to saunter toward the dart board. You collect the darts and wait for him with a crook of your finger.

Not wanting to let you out of his sight he quickly gets up and joins you, taking the darts you hold out and gesturing for you to throw first.

He stands close. Too close. You can feel the heat from his body, smell his spiciness and it’s starting to throw you off.

With a deep inhale you slowly let the breath out and focus on your shot, lining it up before letting the dart sail. It lands just outside the bullseye.

Javi raises an impressed brow and steps into the spot you just vacated, readying his throw.

He lets the dart go and you watch it land just a bit further out from where yours is.

He’s better than you thought.

You throw your next dart and hit the center, smiling sweetly as you step out of the way so he can go.

The next few rounds are all in your favor and just before you’re about to make your final throw and win the game, you say over your shoulder, “you can go ahead and order me a martini. This will be over in a minute.”

For the first time he smiles fully, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and you suck in a little gasp of air at how unbelievably sexy he is.

As he turns to signal for the bartender, you lean forward and take your last shot, sinking the dart into the outer rim of the bullseye circle.

“You’re not bad honey. Wanna play me?”

You spin around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice and take in the man standing in front of you, not hiding your unenthused expression.

Before you can answer, Javi reappears with your drink and slides up next to you.

“She’s busy,” Javi says, handing you the martini. “We were just about to enjoy our drinks.”

His words are smooth and good-natured but you can hear the underlying steel in his tone as he addresses the random guy.

The man looks like he wants to argue but when Javi silently edges around to stand in front of you, he thinks better of it, tossing Javi a disgruntled look before walking away.

“What if I wanted to play with that guy?” you ask as you sip your drink. “He might be a lot of fun.”

“You didn’t want to,” Javi replies. “And no he isn’t.”

You purse your lips. “Like you would know anything about fun.”

He smiles over his drink.

“So are you going to tell me about the bartender?” he asks.

“You’ve got a lot of concerns and questions for a first date.” 

“You call this a date?”

His tone is incredulous.

You meet his gaze head-on, appreciating once again how incredibly handsome he is.

“Since you bought me a drink and I’m planning to kiss you, then yes. I think this qualifies as a date.”

His eyes drop to your mouth and you can’t stop yourself from running your tongue along your lips. If the atmosphere weren’t so loud, you know you’d have heard his groan.

“Sorry, I can’t kiss you.”

As embarrassment starts to heat your skin you finish the rest of your drink, and say, “No kissing, no fun, had to win a drink out of you. I’m starting to forget why I was interested.”

Before you can blink, he slips behind you, crowding you against the edge of the bar and laying his hands on either side, blocking any escape.

When he speaks, you feel every word.

“You think I could stop at kissing?”

A shiver runs down your spine at his tone.

“What else did you have in mind?”

“Do you really want to know?” He asks. “Think very carefully before you give me an answer gorgeous.”

You audibly swallow, breathing out, “Tell me.”

He moves closer, his chest brushing your back, just a tease, but it makes you want to lean into him. His lips hover just above your ear when he murmurs, “I have a lot of things on my mind when it comes to you.”

One hand leaves the bar and he brushes it along your hip and you can’t stop yourself from backing up and pressing into him.

He hums as if satisfied by your need.

“I want to hike that skirt up over your hips and rock you over my thigh until you come apart for me.”

Heat covers your entre body and settles between your legs and you can hear your quick intakes of breath.

“I didn’t say you could touch me.”

You want him to touch you. Everywhere.

“Do you want me to stop?”

One calloused fingertip traces the hem of your skirt, slowly, invitingly.

“No,” you whisper.

“Good. Then come home with me. Let me take you for a ride.”

You try to regain some of your composure, remembering that you barely know this man and he’s talking to you in a way that should feel wrong. Except it doesn’t. You feel coveted. Safe. You know he would never do anything without your clear consent. But still…

You push off the bar and move away from him, already regretting the loss of contact.

“I’m not going home with you.”

You glance over his shoulder at the bartender.

“Are you going home with him?” he asks, growling out the words.

“No,” you say immediately. “We’re just friends. Always have been.

“But I know for fact there are several women here that would love for you to take them home.”

He shook his head once. “I’m not interested in any other women.”

Frowning, you study his expression and find nothing but honesty.

With a jolt of surprise you realize you want to go home with him…to see exactly what it would feel like for him to worship you.

“It’s getting late…I should start heading to the train station.”

He scoffed.

“You’re not taking the train this late. It’s after one in the morning.”

“I’ll be just fine, thank you. I’ve gotten myself home before!”

He studies you for a moment then shrugs. “Fine. I’ll take the train with you, make sure you get to your door safely. Then leave.”

“Why go to all the trouble Javi?”

In a single step he’s in your space, promptly muddling your coherent thoughts with his proximity.

“It’s either that or you let me drive you home gorgeous.”

There’s one part of you that wants to turn on your heel and march out the door but another part of you doesn’t want to say goodnight just yet.

Or ever.

You both stand still, eyeballing each other.

“Fine,” you concede.

He smiles and starts to pull his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. You catch a flash of shiny metal and grab his hand.

“You’re an agent?”

“DEA agent, yes.”

“I should have known,” you smirk.

“Why’s that?” he asks as he drops cash onto the bar.

“You’re not afraid of a challenge and you go for what you want.”

“I know exactly what I want,” he adds as his eyes darken.

He holds out his hand and you take it, letting him tuck you into his side as he give his friends a curt nod and walks you toward the door.  

As he’s reaching for the handle, a young woman dancing nearby twirls herself into Javi and spills most of her fruity drink on his shirt.

The woman’s eyes go wide and she starts to sputter out an apology, quickly lifting her hands to press them to Javi’s chest. Without thinking you move to block her, smiling as sweetly as you can and letting her know you’ll take care of it.

Javi’s lips turn up into a smirk and when your eyes meet he says, “jealous gorgeous?”

“You should talk!” you hiss. “At least no one tried to grope me tonight.”

‘Everyone wanted to though,” he grunts as you grab some napkins and start to pat his shirt dry.

The more you try to dry his shirt the more it sticks to his tan skin, the damp material revealing the hard planes of his chest beneath.

With your bottom lip caught between your teeth you give him one last pat, reluctant to remove your hands.

“I don’t think it’s going to get any better than this. I can give you a shirt when you drop me off?”

The question hangs in the air for a moment before he agrees and takes your hand again.

He pulls up outside your building and cuts the engine, exiting the car to open your door. The ride to your floor is silent but the atmosphere feels charged.

Javi stares straight ahead at the double doors with his jaw flexing and you stare at him so when the elevator dings the sound startles you.

“Your shirt really is soaked,” you state as you walk toward the door.

“And sticky too,” he adds in a huff.

You unlock your apartment and walk through the door, dropping your bag to the floor and kicking off your shoes. You can feel his eyes on you, watching from just inside your door.

The silence between you seems to grow thicker with each passing minute. Anticipation thrums along your skin and when you reappear from your bedroom holding one of your favorite over sized tee shirts you find Javi working on the button of his shirt.

You stop walking and linger in the doorway of your room.

He looks up, distracted by your presence, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. With tentative steps you reach him and push his hands away, slowly unbuttoning finishing the task. Your eyes stay focused on the buttons but his eyes never leave your face.

Warmth spreads through you at the heat and intensity of his gaze.

“Should I get you a towel?” you ask, just as you get to the last few buttons and reveal the dark trail of hair that disappears into his pants.

Your fingers press against his skin, lightly tracing the outline of hair and when you meet his eyes his lips are parted and his hands are fisted at his sides.

“Javi?” you whisper.

“The things I want to do to you…”

You feel defenseless under his heated regard, his sensuality making your resolve and capacity to think clearly slip away.

He moves closer, backing you up until you bump into the wall. His eyelashes lower as his gaze drops to your thighs and his fingers trace the edge of your skirt. He starts to lift the fabric, so slowly you wonder if you’re imagining it but when he looks up, his eyes pleading with a silent request you breathe out his name.

His eyes stay on yours until he has the fabric up and over your hips then you have the satisfaction of watching his jaw loosen and his eyes glaze as they dip to the soft fabric between your legs, damp and sticking to your skin.

With a hiss of approval he lifts one large hand to frame your jaw, tracing his lips along yours before capturing them in a demanding kiss.

He pushes you into the wall, wedging his thick thigh between your legs. Digging desperate hands into his hair, you pull him closer, begging him to deepen the kiss…to move his thigh.

He obliges in both, pressing his muscular thigh higher and tighter against you. The insistent pressure makes you roll your hips, creating friction that’s just right.

“Would you like to come now, gorgeous?”

Your answer is a breathless whine as your head falls back along the wall, exposing your neck. His lips find your throat and he scrapes his teeth gently along your skin, sending a tremble through your body.

“Say please, baby.”

“Please Javi,” you moan.

“Fuck I love hearing my name on your lips.”

You come hard, shaking against him and dragging your fingers down his chest. His mouth covers yours, absorbing your chants of pleasure.

He groans your name, releasing you for air and cursing again when he takes in your blissfully recked expression.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can’t wait to see how gorgeous you look coming on my cock.”

@lizette50 @littleseasiren @hiddles-rose @lorilane33 @kmc1989