#so endearing to me especially when he curses

[grogumaximus]

Max: Hello! What the fuck!

[juleswritesstuff]

Starving

Basically, just Theo being the munch that he is.

theodore nott x fem!reader

warnings: smut

Enjoy💗

You had always hated Herbology with a deep passion.

Not the plants per se, those were rather fascinating to observe, but did they really need to have such a vast variety of species ? Was it actually necessary ?

Apparently it was, or Mrs Sprout wouldn't have given you a whole 600 words essay to write on every type of mandrake known to man.

Those screaming little things got on your nerves, and you could barely understand what the professor was talking about while tending to them. Hence, you were finding it extremely difficult to complete that paper.

The door of your dorm room suddenly opened and you had to restrain a curse from slipping through gritted teeth.

You had really hoped to not get interrupted.

Apparently your prayers weren't heard.

“You busy, dolcezza ?” (sweetie)

A more than familiar voice reached your ears. You lifted your eyes from your paper and they landed on none other than Theodore Nott, who was standing right in front of your door, now closed again, with a faint smirk plastered on his face. 

You rolled your eyes. You knew that little grin all too well.

“Kind of, yeah” you replied, your attention going back to the paper in front of you as you started scribbling again with your quill “Aren't you ? Have you already finished your essay ?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Just turned it in, so I have some time to kill” he said with that cocky attitude of his.

Infuriating and charming at the same time, truly unfair.

“Good for you, then. I don't, so if you could leave me to it, it would be much appreciated” you said as a forced smile curved your lips.

“Oh, come on. You don't even have a little time ? Per me ?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side with the most innocent expression he could master. (For me ?)

Which didn't work because his eyes screamed trouble.

Theo looked like an angel with his brown hair curled in soft locks and eyes as blue as the ocean, although dead and emotionless looking.

Actually, he was the devil in disguise. Especially when he acted all coy like this.

“No Theo, I really don't have time for your little antics today” you said huffing.

‘His little antics’ being eating you out till tears rolled down your cheeks and your mascara was smudged and unsalvageable. 

You and Theo were ‘friends’. You got along just fine, you talked, and you bickered like there was no tomorrow. It was part of your friendship, the teasing, the little harmless jokes. It was routine for the two of you.

What was also routine was the flirting. 

Shameless and obvious flirting.

You never thought it would lead anywhere. You were so used to the little Italian endearments he gave you and the ever present smirk on his lips that you didn't really think anything of it.

Until one night, after one of the biggest parties that Slytherin had ever thrown, you ended up in his bed, with him between your legs eating you out like his life depended on it.

You didn't even know how you found yourself in that situation, you just knew that you hadn't minded one bit.

You ended up with shaky legs and a dizzy brain just by his tongue alone.

Saying that you didn't mind it would've been an understatement.

The day after was awkward as hell, but you both were too direct and honest to not deal with the weird atmosphere immediately.

So you decided to add some…privileges to your relationship. 

You discovered Theo had quite an oral fixation. 

He needed to keep his mouth occupied with something.

Cigarettes were a great way to keep his mouth busy, but they were extremely damaging for his health.

You didn't mean to make him stop smoking, you knew it would've been basically impossible, and, if you had to be completely honest with yourself, he looked so damn hot with those death traps between his lips, but you wanted to at least try to reduce the amount of nicotine that went into his body.

And what better way than to bribe him with the second thing he loved the most in the world ?

Eating you out seemed to be his favorite hobby.

Anytime he felt the need to light one cigarette more than necessary he came to you, with that sinful smirk on his lips and the hottest ‘fuck me’ eyes he could master.

And who were you to say no ? 

You had proposed the deal in the first place.

Plus, he was amazing at it too. The way his tongue worked on your cunt definitely felt like ascending to heaven.

But now you really didn't have the time.

“I'm not here because I feel like smoking, Y/n” he said walking up to you and stopping in front of the desk, leaning forward a little as he supported his weight with his hands on the table. 

You made the mistake of lifting your eyes from the parchment and locking them with his. His gaze was magnetic. Once those pools of stormy sea caught you, you couldn't escape.

“Then why are you here ?” you asked, raising your eyebrows.

“Cause I'm starving, bambolina” he uttered with the calmest and most unaffected tone in his voice. (babydoll)

You narrowed your eyes.

“Then you should be in the kitchen to solve that little problem, don't you think ?” you asked rhetorically, eyes going back to focus on the parchment in front of you.

You heard him scoff, and suddenly he was leaning so much closer.

Your head was still hung low, trying to write that damn essay, but his presence was distracting as hell and you couldn't help but shiver when he leaned to whisper in your ear.

“You're right, that would be the perfect solution if I was hungry for food” he stopped and you could feel the teasing smile plastered on his face.

“But all I'm craving is you and that pretty little cunt of yours, so I don't think the kitchen elves could really help me with that”

You wished you could say his words didn't affect you, you really wished.

But the sudden warmth on your cheeks and the unconscious clench of your legs told another story.

You really didn't have time for this, but your body was craving him and his touch like crazy, and you weren't sure you would've been able to focus if you didn't feel his tongue working its wonders on you.

So you sighed and pushed the chair you were sitting on a bit farther away from the desk, enough to take your knickers off and throw them somewhere behind you, then you sat back, your skirt still covering you up until your mid thighs.

His eyes darkened with lust.

“Make it quick, I have an essay to finish” you said, faking indifference.

On the inside you were burning alive.

“Quick ? It's like you don't know me at all, dolcezza” he said with a scoff as he sank to his knees, crawling until he was right in front of you.

His gaze locked in yours as his hands made contact with the bare skin of your legs, caressing them gently, tenderly.

“I'll take my sweet time with you. Ora fai la brava and open those gorgeous legs for me” you hated how fast you complied, but with the way he was looking at you you really couldn’t help yourself. (Now be good) 

He lifted your skirt and he leaned forward.

As soon as his tongue made contact with your folds you melted.

You choked out a whimper, and you could feel him smirk right against your groin.

"Wipe that grin off your face, Nott, I'm only -ah fuck, I'm only doing it because you begged me” you said as he kept lapping at your core with his tongue, wrapping his lips around your clit to give it a gentle suck.

The moan that rippled out of you was almost pornographic.

“Piccola bugiarda, you know that's not true. You're doing it because you want it too” he moved his mouth from your cunt to your thighs, giving feather light kisses on the sensitive skin. (Little liar)

“You're so wet, you didn't think I would notice ?” he asked with that fucking cocky attitude that made you go crazy.

“Shut up and put that mouth to a better use” you said, but the bite in your voice was definitely toned down by the urgency and neediness of having his mouth back where you needed him the most.

His head tilted to the side as he leaned back just the tiniest bit.

“What's with the attitude, uh ?”

“No, no, no, -shit Theo. Come back here” you said, almost whining.

He was too far, and you needed him.

You needed him closer, way fucking closer.

“E come si dice ?” he teased, his eyes were dark and fogged up by lust and hunger. (And what do you say ?)

“Fuck, why do you always want me to beg ?” you asked, defeated. He leaned forward again, his breath hovering right above the tender skin as you clenched around nothing, feeling the loss of his tongue.

“Because it's fun, I love it when you beg me with that sweet mouth of yours. Plus I like seeing you flustered” he said as he started to kiss every inch and nook of your most sensitive area, avoiding where you really wanted him to.

You wanted to curse so bad, but you knew that was not what he wanted, what he needed.

“Theo -fuck. Please Theo, just touch me. Please” you surrendered, your voice whiny and broken, until a melody of moans and whimpers started to ripple out of your lips as soon as his mouth met your folds again.

And this time he didn’t stop.

He lapped at your juices like a starved man enjoying his meal for the first time in days.

He licked, and sucked, and kissed every centimeter, every inch of tender skin like he was born to do that.

Your hands buried in his soft brown locks and you tugged at them unconsciously after a particularly good roll of his tongue made you see stars.

“Cazzo, se continui così verrò nei pantaloni porca puttana” he said, hissing. His mouth kept working wonders on your cunt, his groans creating delicious vibrations on your clit. (Fuck, if you keep this up I'll come in my pants, holy shit)

“Ancora” he said between ravenous licks and delicate, teasing sucks, guttural moans leaving his lips. (Again)

“What ?” you asked, lost in pleasure. Your little knowledge of the Italian language became nonexistent when he was busy making you cry on his tongue.

“Again, baby. You know i fucking love it” he says, mouthing the words right against your core.

And so you obeyed, tugging at his hair again, a little rougher, a little harder.

A low groan left his lips.

You were close, you were so fucking close.

“Shit, Theo, baby” you moaned out loud, the term of endearment completely slipping out.

Theo seemed to notice, because he started to go faster, tongue flicking desperately at your folds.

Your breath got caught in your lungs, your ears rang and your sight turned black as you got hit by pleasure.

The hand on his hair kept Theo close as you rode your orgasm on his tongue.

He lapped at your juices carefully, to not overstimulate you, leaving sweet butterfly kisses on your thighs, worshiping the skin with his lips.

Once your breathing started to go back to normal and your sight was not blurry from the pleasure anymore you looked at him.

He was still kneeling in front of you, a teasing smile tugging at his lips as his eyes focused on your face.

“You look quite disheveled, principessa” he said with a chuckle, pride oozing from his features for reducing you in that state. All fucked out and breathless. (princess)

“Oh, yeah ? And whose fault is that ?” you asked in mocking shock, but you couldn't help a chuckle from escaping your lips.

“And you're one to talk” you added as you took in his appearance. His eyes were still quite foggy and unfocused, his hair a mess from all the tugging, and his lips.

Oh, his lips. Red and shiny with your essence and the tiniest bit swollen.

He looked too fucking good to be true.

You knew you folded too easily when Theo was involved, but you couldn’t help it.

“I told you I was starving, you underestimated my eagerness to fucking devour you” he said with a shrug, wetting his lips to savor your taste once again, like his words didn’t make you feel like you were catching fire.

That mouth of his was a menace, physically and metaphorically.

“I’m never gonna be able to finish this stupid essay now” you said almost desperately.

He laughed at your pathetic whining, but it was a warm laugh, not one made to mock you but one that was closer to endearment.

“Was it so good that it melted your brain off ?” he asked with that cocky grin of his.

You looked at him with a deadpan expression.

“Your overly confident attitude never fails to amaze me, Theodore Nott '' you said with a chuckle. You straightened your posture on the chair, smoothing out all the wrinkles that he had left from fisting your skirt and holding on for dear life to keep your hips still.

“Now I don’t want to kick you out, but I really need to finish this”

“No need for that, tesoro, I’ll leave you to it. Wouldn’t want to distract you too much” he said, getting back up on his feet and tucking a rebellious strand of your hair behind your ear.

“See you at dinner ?” he asked. 

You simply nodded your head yes.

His hand was still gently caressing your cheek, the pads of his fingers were as light as a feather as they danced on your skin.

His eyes were locked in yours, and you had no idea of what was happening.

Until his fingers reached your chin, tilting your head up the slightest bit. 

Then he leaned in.

For the first time since you had started this ‘arrangement’ his lips met yours.

And they were sweeter than you thought, gentle, but there was an undertone of hunger, of neediness that you couldn’t ignore.

He tasted of nicotine and butter beer, bittersweet and addicting.

His lips were slightly chapped but you couldn’t care less about it as his tongue swiped on your bottom lip, his teeth grazing at it gently right after as he carefully bit the plump skin.

He pulled back slowly and you were left speechless.

He just chuckled at your wide eyes and agape mouth.

“Good luck on your essay, ok ? I’ll see you tonight” he left a quick kiss on your cheek before storming out of the door with a smile on his face.

Your thoughts were all over the place, because what the hell had just happened ?

Did Theodore Nott just kiss you ?

Something a little different from my usual marauders content, but he's been stuck in my brain for weeks now, and I couldn't help myself 😔

And honestly, as an Italian girl, I really think Lorenzo Zurzolo should be classified as a national treasure, thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[goxjo]

! 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐟𝐭. 𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

+ synopsis. you should’ve known better when you reached out to your ex 1 year after your break up to get your stuff back, especially when the both of you have so many unresolved feelings. of course discussions are bound to get heated very quickly, and getting pressed up against the wall was definitely not according to plan

+ cw. no curse au, kabedon, light angst, lots of reminiscing, ex! sukuna, he’s incredibly lovesick and jealous, you and your ‘new guy’ are broken up but he doesn’t know that (yet), lots of pent up frustrations, hatefucking, wall sex, cunnilingus, standing prone bone (?), biting, pet names (babe), making up, creampie, soft ending, 2,100+ words, MDNI

+ aki's note. this is part of @ficsforgaza's kinktober event (again, tysm for letting me join uwu). this is my first time writing sukuna this way and I’m ngl I kinda dig it!! thank you so much for the request @unheavenlypacked and for being so patient <3 ++ I know I went over the word count too but I couldn’t help it :’) hope you like it!!!

+ masterlists. general ┆ jjk ┆ kinktober ┆ ffg kinktober

In hindsight, maybe you should’ve just accepted his offer to drop off your things. After all, it has been a year. You’re almost certain he’s already moved on by now. But you were very particular about not wanting him to go through the trouble, even if he says it’s no big deal.

You should have thought this through.

He opens the door to the apartment you once shared, and you realize a mental note would have to suffice for now. Because of course he just has to be shirtless like he usually is whenever he stays home, body decorated with black intricate lines stretching and scattered everywhere. And you mean everywhere, including places only you and very few others are acquainted with.

He’s as pretty as ever.

To top it all off, he wears that all-too-familiar scowl that frequented his face whatever the emotion — whether he’s happy, sad, angry, or even horny. Something you’ve always found endearing.

You huff a heavy sigh when you realize the last time you saw each other, you were at each other’s throats. A quick mental pinch reminds you what you’re here to do and what you’re not here to do.

You know they lay of the land, you know where everything should be. There’s absolutely no need to delay things. You take one step to the open space to his side.

“If you’ll excu—”

An arm blocks your way and cuts your words off.

“Do you have to?” He lowers his head, face inching closer to yours.

You refuse to meet his gaze, eyes dead fixed on his taut muscles instead. This doesn’t help your case at all. You’re reminded of how much you used to run your fingers across every dip and mound, you’ve practically mapped his body like he’s done with yours.

“It’s about time.” You shift your gaze to the concrete wall before you start to get deeper into your thoughts. “Don’t you think?”

Sukuna clicks his tongue, clenching his fist before dropping his arm, finally letting you pass. He runs his fingers through his hair in defeat, something he usually does out of frustration.

“Suit yourself.”

…

You rummage through what used to be your side of the closet, shocked to find he’d kept all your things tidy. Like you never left.

“Find everything?” He comes up behind you close enough, you’re certain you’ll bump into him and areas you shouldn’t be. He runs his knuckles along the small of your back, a sense of hesitation in his touch sending shivers down your spine. Even now, this man has very little regard for personal space.

“Almost.” You lightly twist your body, enough to make him withdraw his hand.

Sukuna leans on the edge of the closet as he watches you empty out your belongings.

“So this new guy…” He gestures to the air. “Jo… Joso— what’s his face—”

“Choso,” you correct him. Your brows furrow upon realizing one of your shirts is nowhere to be found.

“Yeah, whatever,” Sukuna snickers. “How’s— uh… how’s that coming along?”

“You really care to know?”

“Fuck no.” Sukuna answers hard and fast, almost spitting to the air.

“Then don’t ask.”

Suddenly, you think to reach behind one of the neatly folded stack of clothes, and you hear him cuss under his breath. And lo and behold, you find your old, worn out, fitted shirt - one that used to make him absolutely go crazy when you wear it.

“Wonder how this ended up there?” Hooked on your finger, you wave the garment around while a guilty Sukuna looks away.

“Fuck.” He clicks his tongue, mumbling. “Can’t even imagine you wearing that in front of him.”

“Wha—” You jolt back, taken aback by his words. “Why do you even care?”

“You seriously going to ask?!”

You blink in disbelief, unable to wrap your head around what you’re hearing.

“You seemed to have no problem when I left, where was this attitude back then?!”

Sukuna jaws clench, taking a deep breath as he throws his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s clearly holding himself back. Slowly, he draws near you, looking into your eyes straight on.

“You told me you fucking needed space.” His voice is low but he emphasizes his words. “But…” His eyes dart to your lips and you don’t miss the way he licks his. “I didn’t ask you to go fuck someone else after 2 whole fucking months!”

“So it’s my fault now?” Your heartbeat thumps against your ribcage as he inches closer and closer to you. “You think I’m gonna sit back after 2 whole fucking months of radio silence?!”

“No!”

“So, then what did you expect me to do?!”

You subconsciously take a step back for every step he takes forward until your back hits the wall.

“I didn’t mean for any of that to happen! I—”

“You what?!”

“Fuck!” he cusses, and the last thing you see is the fist he throws back before you close your eyes and flinch. After that, you hear a thump over your head.

Your eyes flutter open to the sight of him looming over you, arm propped above your head, face just inches away from yours.

His chest heaves.

His eyes are fuming.

And the space is suddenly non existent.

He kisses you so fervently, as if a whole year without you has been torture and your lips are the remedy.

You want to scream at him, pull away and make him pay for what he’s done. The skin on your knuckles thin from how hard you’ve balled them into fists.

You press your knuckles flat against his abdomen, trying pushing him away. But the second your skin meets his, your hands flutter open, roaming his body as you instantly melt into his kiss. It’s ridiculous. This is ridiculous. It’s like you hadn’t just been on a rampage telling him what a big ass he is for how he treated you.

Your hands instinctively try to cup his face but are quickly caught by his, pinning them above your head.

Sukuna pulls away, making you whine at the abrupt separation. Your eyes are drawn to his lips like a moth to a flame. They look shiny from the kiss, and you try to lean forward but he’s got you nailed to the wall.

“Are you being serious right now?” You utter, putting a dirty smirk on his face. “Let me go!” You try to wriggle free off his hold. “Need to wipe that fucking smile off your face.”

Sukuna scoffs. He uses one hand to hold both of yours in place while he cups your chin, thumb glossing over your lower lip.

He takes a deep breath, smug dropping as he scans your face. “I’ve missed you.”

Those words hit the final nail in your coffin. At this point, you know there’s no turning back.

Before you get to answer back, he turns you around, cheek and chest flat up against the wall, entwining his fingers as he presses both your hands on either side of you.

Sukuna grunts, burying his face into your hair as he grinds his erection on your ass.

“Gonna make you forget all about him.”

“Actually, we’re not—” Sukuna doesn’t let you finish, capturing your lips once more.

He lifts your shirt above your tits, smiling in the kiss upon finding you bare underneath. Then he works your pants, pulling them down to your knees, locking your movements.

You hear him shuffling on his knees. You try to turn around but he stops you dead in your tracks. “Keep those fucking hands on the wall.”

Sukuna spreads your ass cheeks open before letting out a hot huff on your pussy. He draws a stripe on your slippery slit, and a moan escapes from your lips.

A soft, wet muscle flicks wonders on your clit, a sensation you’ve missed over the course of a year. You try your hardest not to break but he’s got you so weak in the knees with how good he licks your pussy.

“Sh-it!” You whine. Sukuna sucks your clit and buries his nose in your entrance, making you hold onto the wall for dear life.

A thumb enters your pussy, curling and hooking inside you as his tongue fiddles with your sensitive bud, and at this point you’re a crying mess. He pumps your pussy with two digits as his tongue flicks your clit so fast, you start shaking in your high, doing your best not to fall over.

“Fffuck, Sukuna!”

“God, I’ve missed that sound.”

You catch your breath. The familiar sound of his belt shuffling plays in the background. His pants drop to the floor and you feel his cock spring on your ass.

His wet tip leaves a trace of slick on your ass. His knuckles run up and down your ass as he pumps his cock behind you.

“Oh!” You flinch, mouth forming an ‘o’ and Sukuna chuckles, catching you off guard when he gathers slick from your pussy to lube his cock.

Head ducked, you press your forehead on the wall in your anticipation, feeling your hot breath fan your face as it hits the wall. You’d forgotten how big he is — jaw dropping when just the head of his cock stretches your pussy wide open.

“Sukuna, please— fuck!” Right on cue, his cock slides into you with ease, making you mewl like a kitty.

“Missed your tight pussy, babe.” Sukuna groans as he bottoms out, hand cupping and kneading your tit while he peppers kisses on your shoulder. “Fuck, babe, I’ve missed you.”

“S’kuna~” You tilt your head back and rest on his shoulder, humming his name in a tune that just scratches the itch in his heart and on his cock. “F-fuck me!”

He picks up the pace, practically ramming your body into the wall. His cock feels so good, stretching you out in ways no one’s ever been able to since you broke up. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this — Sukuna whispering the nastiest nothings in your ear, mouth always preoccupied with yours, your tits, your skin, every part of you, fucking you like it’s always the first time.

“Say my name, babe. Fuck! I’ve missed you so fucking bad.” A hand finds your clit and rubs hard and fast and sloppy circles till you’re creaming on his cock.

“Sukuna! Don’t stop— ffuuck!” Your heart beats out of your chest as he fucks your high. Tears prickle your eyes and you’re reminded of a familiar euphoria — one you’d so painfully missed all year long without his company.

You feel a mix of pain and pleasure when teeth sink into your shoulder. You run your fingers through his hair, grabbing hold of his locks when he fucks you so deep his balls start to stick to your pussy. He releases a low grunt, shoving his cock into you a couple pumps more till he starts to fill your insides.

When his cock slides out of you, and his cum begins to drip from your pussy down to your legs, the realization hits the both of you of whatever the fuck just happened.

“I—” Sukuna breaks the silence, “I want you back. Please? Come back to me.”

You turn around seeing his pleading eyes. You weren’t even sure that was ever possible.

Sukuna waits for an answer, but you kiss him instead of giving him one.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” You wrap your arms around his waist, his softening cock pressing against you.

He lets out a low chuckle, corners of his lips upturned as he pulls you closer to him.

“Also, he and I… we’ve broken up months ago.”

The look on his face is priceless. He definitely feels cheated but that slowly turns into relief.

“You idiot. You could’ve told me that sooner.”

“Sorry.”

“Do me a favor,” he mutters. “Wear that shirt for me, please?”

In hindsight, it was a good idea to do this after all. You’ve got your stuff back, and your boyfriend. Plus it’s back to fucking like bunnies for an entire week straight.

pspsps. reblogs and comments are appreciated ♥︎

[gojoest]

ENTANGLED ━━━ chapter one

pairing: gojo satoru x zenin f! reader

series masterlist┊next chapter

synopsis: you — the daughter of zenin naobito (the head of the zenin clan), born with no cursed energy and therefore deemed to be the disgrace of the clan — have only one dream. to escape from your own blood that’s rejected you ever since birth, even if it means you have to dirty your hands in the process. when simply running away is not an option, for they would indubitably find you and drag you back for worse, you find your getaway in the arms of an enemy clan  

warnings: MDNI, canon divergent, non-linear narrative (a lot of jumping back and forth between past & present, it’s indicated accordingly), female reader, she/her pronouns, reader is a zenin born without cursed energy, discrimination, abuse and bullying during childhood (she gets the toji treatment :/), brief mention of direct maternal death (regarding reader’s mother), childhood friends that fall out but come together, marriage of convenience (but with a twist), eloping, pining, kind of slow burn ngl, ijichi, shoko, geto, naoya + naobito cameo, mentions of food and alcohol, terms of endearment (calls you miss zenin, bride-o-mine, then mrs gojo later on + sweetheart <- so do you but with a lot of sarcasm behind it), sexual tension, male masturbation, although it’s left vague there’s some elements of incestuous behaviors on naoya’s end, wc: 9.3k

chapter one guideline & timeline:

I. The News — takes place in the present time.

II. The Proposal — two weeks prior to The News.

III. Sealing The Deal — two days after The News.

IV. The Past — flashback to the past, mainly from reader’s pov. this part is to be continued in chapter two, from satoru’s pov.

V. The First Night — after Sealing The Deal.

VI. Bad Faith — the day after The First Night.

The News 

Nobody could ever predict what Gojo Satoru was up to, except for one specific behavioral aspect of his — those who’ve spent a fair amount of time around him could easily figure that whatever it was on that man’s mind, it was, without any doubt, unorthodox and crazy. 

Yet every now and then, Gojo Satoru managed to outdo himself and exceed even their wildest expectations. This time — by dropping a bomb nobody saw coming, especially not from him.  

“Gojo-san, there’s an upcoming mission assigned to your students, and you are to supervise them throughout it”, Ijichi hands a document regarding the occasion, but his arms hang in the air as the blindfolded man is absorbed in a rather peculiar activity, patently unwilling to receive the papers. 

“Eeeh”, Satoru drags out a displeased whine, without even bothering to look at Ijichi. Currently seated and mindlessly spinning around in a swivel chair that he rummaged out earlier that day from one of the storage units in Jujutsu High and dragged into the classroom for god knows why. His entire attention focused on keeping his long legs up in the air as he spins as fast as he can without possibly breaking the chair, but still, he shows some semblance of interest. “When? Where? What’s it about?”, the words spoken in slow monotone. 

If you look at the papers, you might know the answer to all these, Gojo-san. Ijichi thinks to himself but, of course, doesn’t dare say it out loud. “It’s in two days from now, the location is—” 

“Stop right there”, Satoru cuts him off, ceasing his childish ministrations with his feet landing a heavy stomp on the floor. He slowly gets up. “In two days?”, he rubs his chin, thinking, “I am afraid, I can’t. I am getting married then” 

Of course, you are. Ijichi thinks in an internal monologue. 

“With all due respect, Gojo-san”, he clears his throat to push back the laughter that’s about to climb up and out his throat. “You could’ve come up with a better excuse than this to, umm—”, after fixing his glasses, he continues, “—ditch your duties” 

“That was not an excuse, Ijichi, nor was it a joke. I can’t believe you think so lowly of me as a teacher”  

For a second there, the evident seriousness in his voice sends a shiver down Ijichi’s spine, which, to be honest, is not entirely caused by the way Gojo spoke to him, but also what he spoke of just now.  “I really am getting married”, he repeats. 

“Oh?”, Ijichi’s eyes widen, unable to utter another word other than an exclamation while processing the credibility of his words. This man is not joking? This man, of all men, is getting married? For real? 

“To be more precise — in two days from now, I will be busy kidnapping this bride-o-mine” 

“Oh?!”, still speechless, another gasp leaves Ijishi’s mouth. “You’re eloping?”  

“That is correct, ten points for you Ijichi!”, Satoru claps his hands. “Keep this a secret for the time being. I know it's a matter of time for everyone to know, but I'd rather they found out after it’s official since prying eyes might get in our way and spoil our plans. Got it?” 

Ijichi only nods in return. 

“Good. As for the mission — let Nanami handle it in my stead, the students will be fine as long as he’s with them” 

After Satoru left, excusing himself with a “oh, so many things to do before the big day, you know?” spoken with his trademark silly chuckle, Ijichi stood there in the empty classroom for a while, frozen. Shocked to his core still, but now also curious. Who was that woman to make Gojo Satoru want to marry her? 

The Proposal 

(two weeks ago) 

“To say I was surprised to get a call from you would be an understatement, Miss Zenin”, Satoru grinned at you, taking off his sunglasses immediately upon your arrival and placing them on the table. 

It’s not that you were late — he was simply early, something quite bizarre for him honestly. Already ordered drinks for the both of you and waiting for you to show up with his legs crossed and fingers nervously tapping on the table — again, being nervous was something quite unusual for him as well. 

“And to ask me to meet you here of all places—”, he sprawled out on the chair, leaning his back against the wooden splat, his long legs reaching the other side of the table from beneath and pushing the chair there with his feet to invite you to sit. He was being a gentleman in his own way, to which you rolled your eyes but made no remark. “Are you going to ask me to kill someone for you?”, a mocking chuckle escaped his lips after he finished his sentence. 

“Not necessarily”, you replied, unamused.  

The day before, you called him. Asking to meet you here, in this secluded spot disguised as a cafe which regular people avoided, since it was a place swarmed by dangerous individuals and illegal activities. Drugs, kidnapping, assassination — whatever shady dealing you could think of. It had to be this place, after all there was no way for a Zenin to meet a Gojo out in the open, considering the bad blood between the two clans since generations ago. Especially not the daughter of Zenin Naobito, the clan head, and Gojo Satoru, the pride and leader of the Gojo clan. It would’ve caused consequences, for you at least. 

“You’ve got some balls to come here alone though, I must admit. As intriguing as always”, Satoru scoffed. “I don’t remember the last time I sat this close to you. Not since we were kids”, his lips slightly curved into a nostalgic smile as he reminisced about old times. “Now you avoid me anywhere you see me, like I’m some sort of disease”, and the smile shifted back to a regular one, although you could tell it was forced, just to keep his usual nonchalant appearance. “Not that we meet outside of clans’ gatherings, but still—” 

“Can we skip the yapping and cut to the chase? I don’t have much time”, you interrupted. “Sure, Miss Zenin”, he shot back. 

Miss Zenin. The way he called you that annoyed you abysmally, and that probably was his intention all along. But you had to ignore it for now, you really didn’t have much time on your hands — you had to go back home before anyone would notice you weren’t around. 

“I have a favor to ask, actually — it’s more of a proposal” 

 “Listening”, his head tilting to the side, eyes locked on your lips, awaiting the words. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Silence. 

It took him a few seconds before he could speak, pondering in his head whether he heard you right. Eventually the only word he could utter was “What?”, to which you said nothing. You figured it was best to give him some time to process the information.  

“What’s the catch?”, he spoke again, eyes now squinting. 

“Glad you asked”, you gave him a knowing smile. 

“Of course. I would say it’s a joke but no way you’d call me out of the blue just to pull my leg” 

“True, it isn’t a joke” 

“I believe it’s not out of love either? Unless... I am wrong? Have you been harboring such strong feelings towards me all these years?”, his tone slowly transitioning back into mocking after the initial shock had faded. 

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “You wish. See, that would only happen in your dreams” 

Laughing, he slowly shifted in his seat. Leaning his body forward to rest an elbow on the table and press a cheek against his palm, his other hand playing with the straw of his drink. “So, you want out of the clan, huh? And finally have the courage to do it” 

“You figured?” 

“Well, I grasp things quickly. Considering how the Zenins treat women and especially those born without cursed energy, like yourself, this wasn’t hard to predict. But I am surprised by the choice of your method” 

“And I am surprised you didn’t cut me out by now since this was a shot in the dark”, you eyed him, baffled but pleasantly. 

“Let’s say I am intrigued by your proposal, which turned out to be quite unromantic, but I'll look past it”, a mystifying grin splattered on his lips. "Also, as you already know, there’s a Zenin or two I am willing to help”, he laughed. “So, tell me — what’s in that beautiful head of yours?” 

"Well, as you already guessed — I want to leave the clan. Being a Zenin is not for me, never has been. I’ve been treated like an abomination all my life, looked down upon like I barely fit the criteria to be human in their eyes just because I was not gifted with abilities, and I am done with it”, you paused, trying to hold back the cracking of your voice. All the years of mistreatment washing over you as you spoke. You took a deep breath, “Simply running away is not an option, they will find me and drag me back for worse. You know it. But if you help me—” 

“—their hands will be tied”, he finished your sentence.  

You nodded. “They can’t go against you. Well, there might be a slight commotion, namely coming from my brother, Naoya. But he won’t do anything brash without father’s approval” 

“That lousy brat? I didn’t know the two of you were so close”, Satoru lifted an eyebrow, a bit bothered by this. 

“We’re not, but it’s complicated” 

He got the message — you did not wish to talk about it. And he’d let it slide. For now. “And you think you’ll be free once you become a Gojo?” 

“Not immediately, but eventually — yes. I don’t plan on staying by your side until death do us part, you know” 

“What an eventful meeting this turned out to be — first I get a marriage proposal, and now a divorce, all at once”, he laughed, covering his eyes with a hand. Perhaps to hide something in them that didn’t quite align with his laughter. “What if I get attached and refuse to let you go?”, he spoke, with a tone more serious that it took you aback a bit. “Have you considered this?” 

“Are you a comedian now?”, you brushed it off. “We both know such thing won’t happen” 

“How come you’re so sure?” 

“It’s happened before, you know it” 

“We were kids back then”, he smiled softly, with a sprinkle of regret on his lips. “We used to sneak out to spend time together, but things are different now” 

“But you stopped coming” 

“My training got more intense, didn’t have time for games anymore” 

“You bet. I know you did it to keep me out of trouble. You were aware I was getting scolded and punished for meeting you” 

“Oh?”, he gasped. “You knew?”, a powerless laughter followed the realization that all these years you didn’t just avoid him out of spite. Part of him felt at ease about it, that you always understood him, even without words. Just like back then. Maybe because you were both a mutation of a different breed — a special boy put on a pedestal by many, a monster if you will; and a nonspecial girl looked down upon by her own blood as a disappointment, barely a human — yet the loneliness you carried weighed the same on your hearts. 

“Yea”, you sighed. “Back then you did it to keep me out of trouble, now you’ll do it to get me out of one. When the time comes, we’ll separate but keep it a secret. If my clan finds out, they won’t let it slide. I’ll show up for gatherings every now and then, to dodge any possible suspicions, but that’s all. Treat this like a deal” 

“That’s all good, but deals require an equivalent exchange so both parties benefit from it. You get your freedom. But what about me — what do I get in return?” 

Your lips curved into a scarce smile, delighted that he was willing to negotiate. This could actually work, you thought. “Well, it’s not like your family will be very pleased to have me but still. The most important thing is, you won’t ever have to deal with the blind dates your clan sets you up on, with an arranged marriage in mind. I bet they’re nagging you about it constantly since you’re pretty much of age now” 

“What my clan is concerned about is an heir, marriage is just a stepping stone. How will this temporary thing between us do that? Temporary and fake on top of that?”, he questioned through a scorn. 

“I’ll give you a child”, you shot at him in a heartbeat, voice unwavering. This was part of the plan after all. 

“What?”, he laughed, tilting his head in pure astonishment at your offer. 

“We will lead a normal married life, like a proper wife and husband. I’ll have your child, this secures me even better. That way I’ll be tied to the Gojo clan forever, not the Zenin” 

“You’re aware what we need to do in order for you to have my child, right?” 

You were, but when he put it like that your face got hot against your will, heat burning your cheeks and sizzling on your ears. “I am”, you mumbled, unable to look him in the face. Petrified to meet his gaze. 

“You really are insane”, he covered his face with both hands. Perhaps he was petrified, too. 

“Coming from you that’s rather concerning. Now back to the point — you up for it?” 

“Alright. Let’s do it” 

Sealing The Deal 

(back to present) 

For the past two days Satoru pulled all the strings possible in order to speed up the marriage procedure. He diligently prepared all the needed documents to officially register your matrimony. All that was left was to go to the ward office and submit the marriage application after signing it along with two witnesses. 

With that, today would mark your last day as a Zenin. 

“Do you know who the girl is?”, Shoko asks, leaning against the wall in the ward office hallways, waiting for Satoru and the mystery bride to arrive. 

Geto shrugs from next to her, “Nope, no clue. Still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this is happening — he is actually getting married” 

“You of all people didn’t know he was involved with someone?”, she scoffs, turning her head in his direction. “Strange, maybe he was hiding the love of his life from you so you wouldn’t snatch her away” 

“He wasn’t involved with anyone, if he was — we both would’ve known. Besides, what do you mean by that? I would never break the bro code, come on” 

A semblance of a lazy laugh slips through Shoko’s lips. One can tell she didn’t get much sleep (again) by how lethargic and unenthusiastic her reactions were. “Girls end up falling for you always, so maybe he chickened out to introduce her” 

“That’s because he sucks with girls”, Geto snorts.  

Satoru wasn’t exactly the sweep-you-off-your-feet type of guy. His looks were bewitching, that was a given, and women would latch on him, only to give up shortly after. And all the reviews were unanimous — I want someone that will put me first, but with him — I don’t see it ever happening, his mind is elsewhere.  

“Maybe he finally caved in after years of his family pestering him to get married”, Shoko throws another guess. 

“Satoru caving in to an arranged marriage? Seriously, Shoko... Does he look like the type to listen to what elders tell him to do?” 

“He never looked like the marrying type either, yet here we are” 

“I don’t know”, Geto sighs heavily. “This is way too odd” 

“Hey, hey~”, Satoru’s voice echoes through the hallways. “Sorry to keep you waiting, my bride was barely able to sneak out from the Zenins. You know how the old farts there are” 

Hearing the name Zenin, Shoko and Geto glance at each other with the same perplexed look in their eyes. A Zenin? Sneaking out? 

Forcing a somewhat adequate smile, you shake their hands. You could tell they were taken aback after hearing your name, it was written all over their faces that they didn’t quite endorse this insane whim of Satoru’s. 

“Satoru, can I have a quick word with you”, Geto pulls him to the side after giving you a polite smile as a form of apology. 

“Are you eloping?”, he whispers, although quite audibly, “With a Zenin? Have you actually lost your mind, Satoru?” 

“Suguru”, Satoru lazily drapes an arm over Geto’s shoulder, “Yes to your first question, as for the second — have you ever seen me be normal about anything?”, he laughs. 

“Not the right time to humor your misery, Satoru”, Geto says through gritted teeth all while forcing a smile looking your way, to avoid any awkward impression on your end that the two of them were talking about you (even though that’s exactly what was going on). “There’s existent animosity between your clans already, are you trying to start an actual war all over again?”, he snaps, giving a sharp nudge to his side. 

“Ouch~”, Satoru yelps. “Come on, Suguru. What can they do to me?”, his words brimming with confidence compel Geto to rub the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Do you remember, that one time on the rooftop back when we were still students in Jujutsu High, I told you about a girl from my childhood?”, Satoru continues. 

Geto nods. He does remember it vividly, after all it was the first and last time Satoru has ever talked about a girl of his own accord and with so much passion behind his voice. 

“That’s her.” 

“It’s our turn”, Shoko interrupts. “Let’s go get you married” 

As you all entered the hall, Suguru gave Satoru a soft pat on the back and glanced over his shoulder at Shoko with a validating nod. 

Satoru got a pass from his moral compass. 

-- 

Signatures were inked, rings were exchanged, and vows were made to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part. 

It is said that vows are crucial in a marriage, they set the tone for your relationship going forward and serve as a ground to build your values on. Whatever values could be built on a soil soaked with lies, you thought to yourself as you all walked out. As soon as the ceremony was over Shoko rushed out to get the dose of nicotine her body was yearning for the entire time inside the ward office, leaving you three behind. 

There was nothing holy about your union, it was a lie to begin with. And, naturally, so were your vows. It shouldn’t bother you this much that you were to break the fake promises you just made to the man that handed you a one-way ticket to your freedom. 

“What’s with the face, Mrs. Gojo?”, Satoru softly pokes you in the arm, the unease in your expression doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “We just tied the knot, yet you look like you just walked out of a funeral” 

A funeral. Right. That’s how it felt to you. 

You buried yourself, your past, in there. You got what you wanted, but part of you was terrified of the new person you were to become. Mrs. Gojo, huh? You were not in the right headspace to be snarky about it now. 

“I’m fine. All these formalities are draining, that’s all” 

“Then we’ve got to recharge”, he grins, then turns around and shouts at Geto who’s walking a few steps behind and scrolling on his phone, “Suguruuu, let’s celebrate, shall we?” 

“Geez, you’re loud, Satoruuu”, he cracks an irked grimace, sticking a pinky finger into his ear. 

“There’s no need for that”, you whisper, tugging at the hem of his shirt.  

Satoru’s fingers trace over your knuckles, hesitant to get a proper hold of your hand, but he gives in anyway, “We have to pretend there is”, he speaks in a low voice, and wraps his hand around yours. “Besides, it’s lunchtime. We need to eat” 

You don’t resist, neither his touch nor his words.  

On your way to the restaurant that your (now) husband made a quick call to reserve a table for four, Satoru sat on the driver’s seat — a rare occasion, usually Ijichi drives him everywhere — glancing at you beside him on the passenger seat at every opportunity, studying your features and how much they’ve changed compared to his childhood memories of you. It’s not like he never saw you after that. But you’d never let him take a good long look at you, always running away the moment you noticed him around. Before he could know it, he was smiling, mouth agape — a soundless “ha” passing through the crack of his lips, the sunlight hitting his eyes, yet he couldn’t blink — he had to take you in. He was back to being a child at that moment, wearing his genuine feelings on his face without knowing how to mask them. And you... you were even prettier now. 

The two sitting on the backseat exchanged an astounded look after observing the scene unfolding before their eyes. Who would’ve guessed that their friend had such a hidden, soft spot for someone and could make such genuine faces? 

The Past 

You were born with bad luck. 

That’s what you told yourself. And that’s what others, who felt sorry for you, thought so too. Mostly those unfortunate enough to be servants in the Zenin clan that have witnessed way too many things happen to you. 

First, you were born into the Zenin Clan as the daughter of Zenin Naobito, the leader — that alone was the biggest mishap the heavens bestowed you with. A problematic clan with questionable values, where owning powerful cursed techniques was held in highest regard and considered the measure of your worth as an individual and whether you were fit to be a Zenin. Rejecting, without an ounce of remorse, their own flesh and blood and looking down at them like inferior beings did they deem their ability weak and unworthy. 

With that being said, here comes the second — you were born into that clan, with no cursed energy. You didn’t make the cut ever since the beginning. The clan didn’t even mourn the fact you were lacking, they simply treated you indifferently, and sometimes with disgust, like you were one of the servants — easily replaceable. “It’s not enough that you were born a girl, but you are also lacking the gift. You were never meant to be part of this family to begin with, the name of Zenin will abandon you once you get married”, your grandmother would often tell you, right before throwing you into the disciplinary pit with curses. Till then, maybe through some miracle you could manifest some cursed energy if she locked you up there for long enough, so you could be at least a little bit useful. 

Wait. There’s a third, too — your mother lost her life giving birth to you. It’s not like you felt any guilt for that, you never knew what parental love was anyway, therefore didn't see it as a burden that weighed on your conscience. In fact, you were partly relieved that there was one person less to mistreat you there. 

Your older brother, Zenin Naoya, would often use this to harass you. Telling you “Maybe you’re not that hopeless after all, since you killed mother. Or maybe that’s even worse — she’s going to be your only kill” with that revolting laugh of his.  

Other kids looked down on you too, avoiding you like you carried some disease. There were rumors even, how childish, now what you think back — that if you came closer to them, you’d rid them of their powers and of their mothers too. Oddly enough, those rumors were started by none other than your brother. Perhaps he wanted to be the only one to pick on you. While he made every woman walk three paces behind him, he’d keep you close, telling you in a condescending manner “How am I to look down on you if you keep walking behind me, little lamb?” 

And you truly were a little lamb. Living and growing only to get the life in you eaten away by the Zenins. A sacrifice for no good. 

But the summer of your sixth year was different. 

You met a boy. 

He looked like winter in the middle of summer. Snow-white hair falling over his face and likewise lashes, sitting like tender snowflakes on his eyelids. The bluest blue in his eyes you had ever seen in your life, and if you stared long enough it’d throw you into a trance. 

There was a sense of loneliness to him akin to winter too. 

How when the cold months came around, people would spend less time outside and instead run to their homes to warm up in front of the fireplace. He was the winter people were hiding from. 

And you figured, you had heard of him. He was the special boy of the Gojo Clan, the first in centuries to inherit both The Limitless and The Six Eyes, whose birth alone shifted the power balance in the world, who had a bounty over his head at such a young age for being a force too great to be kept alive. 

He was the complete opposite of you, yet somehow the same as you. One rejected for being too much, and the other — for not being enough. Both were similarly exhausting, arduous, and lonely. 

You first met during a clans’ gathering. The big three brought together under one roof to discuss some matters you can’t quite recall now, just like you don’t remember the reason you were brought along. Perhaps to carry stuff around, like you always did. 

An exchange of shy glances as you waited outside, sitting on the wooden engawa (veranda) led you both slowly scooching over closer to one another, until the gap between you was small enough that you could see how his heartbeat made the collar of his kimono flutter ever so slightly. 

“Is it sweet?”, the boy pointed at the popsicle in your hand. “It is”, you answered along with a nod. Bringing it up to his mouth — “Want some?” — you invited him to take a bite as he looked at you with uncertain eyes. A blush painting a beautiful cherry hue on the pale complexion of his cheeks. He nibbled on the side of it — “It is!” — his eyes grew wide, a glow in them. 

“You’ve never had one? — surprise in you voice. “Of course, I have”, he lied, scratching the back of his head, a bit embarrassed of possibly seeming uncool in your eyes. 

He had a strict regime when it came to the food he consumed. Whatever he put into his mouth had to be of great value and nutrition, diligently prepared by the best chefs, so his body, or as others saw it — the shell where a god resided in — would grow healthy and strong to be on par with his powers. 

It was the first time you shared food with someone else. You usually ate alone, disgusted by the Zenins surrounding you around the table that your throat felt too tight to swallow anything that you put in your mouth, be it water even. 

And it was the first friend you ever made. While everyone up until now turned a blind eye and avoided you, he didn’t run. He even stayed. 

Introducing himself as “Satoru" only, he deliberately refrained from saying his full name at first. When you never pushed him to reveal it, he turned a bit fidgety. 

“You never asked about my last name” — lips slightly pursed, the muscles on his face fighting off a pout but failing eventually. “Maybe I’m not that interested in you” — tilting your head, you teased, yet — “Just kidding, I know who you are” — you quickly added upon seeing his brows knitting in dejection. “But you can be just Satoru with me” 

From that day onward you’d meet in secret every now and then, whenever both of you could manage to sneak out. For just a little bit. To eat popsicles and other sweet things together. 

That was, until your brother found out. 

Naoya always kept tabs on you after all. You were a prey to him, and chasing you was like a game. It was only a matter of time before he knew. Or perhaps he did already but let you sneak out on purpose so he could use it to his avail and torment you further. 

Naturally, the time you spent with Satoru fell shorter compared to that spent in the disciplinary pit. “That’s to teach you a lesson, little lamb”, Naoya would say with a twisted look in his eyes as he locked you up in there. 

At times like this, you’d remember your grandmother’s words — “the name of Zenin will abandon you once you get married”. 

...and an idea brewed in your mind. 

If you could run away right now, you would. But where would you go? What would you do? You were only six. If your own flesh and blood was this cruel to you, how could you expect the outside world to treat you any better? 

You were not that naive. You knew you had to wait. 

You endured the endless hours that felt like days and weeks in that pit, surviving by pure miracle every time. Or was it hope that kept you fighting? Because you knew, by the end of it, as long as you were alive, you’d find a way to meet your friend, the only one you had. And maybe he could save you one day. Maybe, tomorrow you could make a promise to each other — that when the time came and you were both of age, you would take his last name and be freed of the curse you were born with. 

...but Satoru never showed up. 

(to be continued) 

The First Night 

(back to present) 

It was getting late. You spent more time than originally planned at lunch with Shoko and Geto as everyone had already cleared out their schedules for the day to join you on your escapade. 

You thought at first, that the entire time you would have to dodge questions such as How did this happen? When did you start seeing each other? When did you decide it was time? Who proposed? How? Doesn’t the animosity between your clans worry you? Have you considered the consequences even? Are you perhaps pregnant? Is this why all the rush is for?, etc...  

But that never happened. Neither of them pried, nor made you uncomfortable invading your personal space. In fact, they made you loosen up a bit by being warm and friendly, already treating you like one of them, mocking Gojo’s constant mischiefs in front of you. The setting resembled that of a parent-teacher meeting where you were in the role of the parent, and they were the teachers complaining to you about Gojo. It was a rather humbling experience for the whitehaired man who sat there pouting and subtly gesturing for them to cut it.  

But when he heard you laughing at their stories, he ceased. Sucking it up, he let them continue playfully bashing him. He had really missed your laugh. 

“So~ we’re here — welcome to your new home”, Satoru points at the huge mansion after helping you hop out of the car. One of the bodyguards in the yard immediately took the keys from his hand and drove the car away to park it in the garage area. 

To say this thing before your eyes was huge would be an understatement actually. After you quickly scanned the place you noticed there were a few more houses built around the mansion, and perhaps even behind it.  

The Gojo household was located in a huge, fenced area with a single front entrance, for security purposes (so it would always be known who walked in and out under meticulous surveillance), leading to a big yard with a well-kept garden befitting the Gojo Clan. The first house in front, and the biggest, was the main mansion — inhabited by Satoru’s parents and grandparents (from his father’s side), while extended family (like aunts, uncles, cousins — basically the most important members of the clan) resided in the ones around it. 

Satoru, despite being the clan head, did not live in the main mansion. His place was relatively isolated from the rest (ironically resembling the life he led and the powers he had), situated far behind all the houses, right before a path that led to a forest-like area as part of the Gojo property. 

“No way”, you gasp — “Don’t tell me you live with your entire clan?” — as you quickly pad forward, leaving him a few steps behind, to further inspect the place. 

“Not technically but yea, we stick together — clan traditions deem it this way”, he sighs. 

“Never took you as the tradition following guy, to be honest” 

He chuckles, “What can I say — I am full of surprises~ But truthfully, as the clan head I can’t just up and leave, you know? Besides...” — a pause, observing you as your eyes roam around studying the place, head turning from one side to the other in astonishment. Then his gaze shifts to his left hand. Lifting it slightly and spreading his fingers to look at his ring, and then back at you. “...sometimes deeply rooted habits are hard to break. Especially if one holds onto them for too long. It’s hard to let go no matter what kind of person you are” 

“There’s something even beyond you, Gojo Satoru?”, your voice almost mocking but somehow lacking the right tone to it, too distracted by your surroundings. 

He laughs, “Maybe. Just one little thing only” — words mumbled under his breath, too soundless for your ears to catch on. 

-- 

After you made it in, he gave you a full tour around the house. Walking you through each and every room, thoroughly explaining where things were and how you could touch up anything you desired and change it to your liking — this was now your home, too.   

The last stop was the bedroom.  

“Should I carry you in bridal style? That’s how newlyweds do it~”, Satoru smirks at you, arms crossed around his waist, his side leaning against the doorframe. 

You were about to make a face there for a second and give him an eyeroll, maybe even pick on him for watching way too many romcoms, but you held back. 

“Sure, why not”, you mumble instead, looking down. 

After all, before you was the room where certain things were to happen in, according to your deal, and you thought it’s best to let him indulge in this play pretend and carry you in as your feet were frozen in their tracks anyway. Nervous of what was ahead, you couldn’t bring yourself to move. 

“Oh?” — caught off guard, not expecting you to actually go along with it, he gasps, but then — “Right?” — quickly plays it cool. “Alright, bride-o-mine, here we go” 

Charging towards you with a slow step, he leans down so your eyes are on equal level, face an inch away from yours. So close that, as he cracks his lips open to swipe a tongue across them his hot breath feels like steam against your skin. Licking his lips, a habit you were painfully familiar with, it was something he did when he got nervous that seemingly didn’t change from when he was little. 

He scoops you up effortlessly, holding you tight but tenderly at the same time. His fingers clutching firmly around you yet at the same time careful enough to not bruise you.  “Almost there”, he pushes the creaked door open with his foot and carries you in through the doorway. 

Flustered, you turn your head the other way in an attempt to hide the heat eliciting from your face. You were way too close. His scent invading your nostrils, you could almost distinguish his natural body odor from his perfume. 

“Oh, my... If you shy away this easily”, he carefully sits you on the bed — “how are we to make that baby~ Hm?” — and smugly smirks as he plops down next to you right after, his knee scarcely brushing against your leg.  

“Tch...”, you click your tongue, heat still spreading like fire on your cheeks, and even far up to your ears. “Didn’t know you wanted to bed me right away?” — is he really going to jump on you now? Why bring up the baby talk otherwise... 

He gasps in an overexaggerated manner, gluing fingertips to his mouth, “Thought I could give you some time to adjust, but if you insist...” 

“Ugh, Gojo”, you aim a reflex eyeroll his way. 

“What now, are you talking to yourself?” 

“Excuse me?”, you lift a brow. 

“You’re a Gojo too now, you know?”, a grin on his lips, the kind he makes when he’s about to win something. “When you refer to me, you have to say my first name — Sa-to-ru — to avoid any confusion~” 

See, that was his goal all along — to make you call him by name, just like in the past. 

...but two can play this game. You had no intention of losing this battle to him. 

“Sweetheart”, your tone overly delicate on purpose, as you tilt your head, cheek pressing against your shoulder. “Isn’t this better?”, you flutter your lashes at him. 

His reaction comes slow. The full grin from a second ago is now a half, the other half — a surprise, with a sprinkle of a new, unknown to you glint in his eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game there, sweetheart”, he breathes, scooching closer to you. An arm finding its way around your waist, wrapping itself from the small of your back all the way front, hand stopping at your navel. 

A flinch shudders through your body, but he’s got you still, you can’t pull away. “What happened to giving me time to adjust?”, you mutter, not as feisty anymore. This was a side you haven’t seen to him, which you figured was natural. You knew him as a kid, now — he was a man. And like all men do, he was acting on his urges. 

“You push my buttons”, he’s leaning closer, and closer, and closer, until your noses are brushing and breaths are exchanging. His free hand rolling up and tucking the few strands of hair falling on your face behind your ear, then slowly sliding to the back of your neck. “Trying to get me excited?” 

“If a mere endearment excites you this much, what will become of you when I say your name?” 

He laughs, his breath infesting your mouth. Lips accidentally grazing yours from the action itself, which draws a low, helpless hum out of him. “Care to find out?” 

You jolt — something about the way he was looking at you told you this wasn’t just some simple teasing — and finally bring your hands to use and push him away and get up. “I need a shower” 

“Ah, got all hot and bothered? It’s okay, I am used to it — I have this type of effect on women all the time~”, he chuckles, earning yet another eyeroll from you. Reaching behind to grab a pillow and sit it on his lap, subtly hiding the fact that he got all hot and bothered, too. “You know where the bathroom is, sweetheart” 

He won this round. 

-- 

Satoru is still sitting in the bed, back relaxed against the headboard with one foot thrown over the other on the mattress, as you make your way out of the bathroom. You smell like him now, he thinks — only natural after having to use his shower gel and shampoo — as your freshly showered self approaches the side of the bed your pajamas were carefully folded and placed at. He took it upon himself to buy them for you, along with some clothes, and shoes, and bags, since you couldn’t pack and take anything with you. 

“Can you, umm”, you fidget, “turn around or something? I want to get dressed” 

“There you go again, shying away from your own husband”, he smugly teases. 

“Oh, you want to watch so bad? How perverse of you, sweetheart”, you mock, loosening the belt of your bathrobe so the fabric covering your shoulders slides down a bit, revealing more of your flesh. 

There’s a good chance for this reverse psychology to backfire now, you think, but you just couldn’t make peace with him picking on you like that. 

He shifts in his place, now sitting up on the opposite side, legs touching the ground and his back turned against you. The transition was so quick and instinctive as if he, by sheer luck, dodged a bullet aimed to take his life. “I’d love to stay for the show but, you see...”, he rubs the back of his neck, “I need to check the report regarding my students’ mission from today” 

“I see”, a victorious smirk on your lips as you watch him walk away. 

This round was yours. Now you were even. 

-- 

You were going to be trouble. 

The report was, of course, an excuse. He had to make it out of the room, or he would’ve done something terrible to you. 

His face burning hot as he quickly stripped himself of his clothes in one of the guest rooms downstairs and went straight into the bathroom to cool off. An aching pulse on his groin dragging inaudible curses from his mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

A stream of ice-cold water hitting his face, hugging his shoulders, cascading down the rest of his well-built body before washing down into the drain. He stands there still and completely unaffected by the temperature. He was burning inside. 

Eyes shut, he thinks about you — about the way that bathrobe loosely enveloped your frame, about the gap temptingly revealing bits of your cleavage, leaving little to the imagination... about sliding his hands down into that very gap and pushing it open, taking the fabric covering your shoulders in his hands and pulling it down your arms to expose your breasts... about clasping both of your wrists behind the small of your back while his other hand moves to the side of your face and holds your chin before kissing you hungrily... then moving to your jawbone, and then lower, and lower... and lower, kissing and nibbling until he reaches your nipples, and then further below... 

His hand relentlessly stroking his cock to the visual of you in his imagination. Part of him absolutely disgusted by what he was doing right now, thinking how he was tainting the innocent girl from his memories. But then another, the one he couldn’t suppress — shamelessly trying to picture even beyond, making up in his mind what he thought your sweet expressions and obscene sounds would be like under his touch.  

His balls tighten up to him as he pumps himself from base to head with firm strokes, low growls rising from his throat echo through the walls the faster his hand works up and down his shaft. 

The tension soon leaves his body, his cum oozing out from between his fingers and spraying all over the bathroom tiles.  

Oh, you were going to be trouble for sure... 

-- 

“What puzzles me though, is that nobody has called you all day”, he walks into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his hips. “In all honesty, it’s been bugging me for a while now”, a hand brushes back his damp hair. 

“They think I’m staying over at a friend’s place”, trying to ignore the view before you, you avert your gaze from him and his ridiculously lean body and well sculpted six pack that looked way too perfect to be real. He probably came here half naked, on purpose, to get back at you for earlier... Say nothing, say nothing, say nothing — you kept internally repeating to yourself. Play it cool. 

“And they let you?”, he casually saunters over to you, his hand reaching behind you to grab a hold of his nightwear sitting on his pillow. Seriously? He had to walk all the way to your side only to reach for the pajamas placed on his? What a sore loser... 

“Mhm”, you hum, lips tight and eyes looking down at your lap, “I managed to convince father. The odds were in our favor, I guess? — But I have to pay them a visit tomorrow, to deliver the news” 

“We will pay them a visit”, he corrects you. “I’m coming with you” 

“You don’t have to” 

“But I want to”, he insists, his resolve is solid. 

“Okay”, you don’t resist any further. “What about your family? When are we telling them?” 

He makes his way to the bathroom inside the room, while still speaking to you from over there. At least he’s not as shameless to get dressed in front of you.  

“They’re easy, I’ll talk to them some time tomorrow. Might organize a little thing to introduce my wife properly, heheh” 

“How do you think they’ll take the news? I mean, I know they won’t endorse it but — on a scale from one to ten, how bad do you think it will be?” 

“What does it matter when it’s fait accompli? Besides, they can’t go against my decisions, so”, he shrugs after making it back, fully dressed now. Thanks god. But wait... 

“Did you seriously get us matching pajamas?”, you look him up. He was wearing the exact same pair in blue, while yours was a light shade of pink. 

“Yea?”, he emits a dorky snicker. “Don’t you think it’s cute?” 

“Ew, cringe”, you fight back a snort. 

What a truly bothersome man... 

Bad Faith 

— (n.) dishonest behavior with the intention of deceiving someone. “bad faith” refers to dishonesty or fraud in a transaction. depending on the exact setting, bad faith may mean a dishonest belief or purpose, untrustworthy performance of duties, neglect of fair dealing standards, or a fraudulent intent 

You slept well for once in your life, despite being in a new place, a new bed — you knew you owed it to the fact you were away from the Zenins.  

The same can’t be said about Gojo though. 

He stayed wide awake all night, restless, turning and tossing, making occasional visits to the shower even, to calm it down. Annoyed to some extent by how he was the only one in turmoil while you innocently slept next to him, unaware of his condition. He felt like an insatiable teenager all over again. How embarrassing, he thought... 

During the whole car ride to the Zenins, he kept yawning and rubbing his eyes from beneath his pitch-black sunglasses that were adeptly hiding his dark sleepless circles caused by none other than you. 

“You can wait in the car”, you try your chance one last time after arriving. 

“I said I’m coming with you, so don’t waste your breath” 

“Fine” 

After you both make it past the gates of the Zenin household, the few of the servants standing in the veranda quickly pad inside — most likely to bring it to your father’s attention, you think. 

All the rest you got the night before instantly leaves your body now that you’re in Zenin territory, your chest filled with unease as you cross the threshold of the place that, despite being so big, could never quite fit you in and be a home to you. 

Your mouth feels too dry, you try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it keeps sitting there like an immovable object, growing bigger even the further you step in. 

Unknowingly, you’re grabbing Satoru’s hand, squeezing it tight. “Relax. I am right here”, he leans in to soothingly whisper in your ear, which makes you realize your actions. You pull your hand away, picking up your pace. 

...only to slow down and take a step back the moment your eyes fixate on none other than your brother, Naoya, leaning against the wall in the hallway. Waiting for you. His hair falling on his face, covering the look in his eyes but by the way his teeth bite into his lower lip, you can tell — he’s not thrilled by the view of you together.  

“Well, well”, a loud, hysterical laughter erupts from Naoya’s mouth as he strolls over to you, thumbing the bridge of his nose. “If this doesn’t remind me of good old times when my little sister would sneak out to play with you — are you perhaps falling back into that bad habit of yours, little lamb?” 

You flinch as Naoya’s claw-like hand reaches for your shoulder, ready to hook his grip on you, but with a swift move Gojo stands in front of you and stops your brother, leaving him unable to go any further due to his infinity. “Hello to you too” 

Naoya clicks his tongue, not pleased with the impenetrable intrusion. “Tch... Move, don’t butt in in family matters” 

Satoru chuckles condescendingly, “I am family too now, you know? — Dear brother-in-law" 

A jarring burst of inconsistent, unsettling laughter follows this declaration, each sound leaving Naoya’s lips grows more hectic and twisted, the tone wavering between low and high, and it sends a chill down your spine. 

“Huh... sis... that true?”, the deranged madness in his voice dying down now, but he speaks with a timbre of sinisterness. His eyes wide, unblinking and staring right at you with piercing lunacy in them. 

He had the same exact maniacal aura to him right now, just like years ago when he first confronted you about the secret escapades with Satoru. 

Terrified, you hug your shoulders. Head turned the other way, trying to hide from the sharp daggers in his gaze. 

You only manage a nod, and the sick sound from seconds ago echoes through the hallway once again. 

“You—”, Naoya grits his teeth, trying to draw near you but the whitehaired man before him won’t budge. “How long have you been plotting this for, huh?” 

Irritated at Gojo’s technique that leaves him unable to come any closer and wipe that mighty grin off his face, Naoya takes his frustration out on the wall by punching a hole right through it. “You fucking as—” 

“Naoya”, your father’s voice approaching from behind him interrupts the commotion. “Go cool your head off” 

“Tch...”, it’s not that he feels like complying, no. His arrogant self would never bow down to anyone, not even his own father, the clan head. 

But walking away right now gave him a chance to pass by you — and he’d gladly take it, as there was something he wanted to confirm.  

“Did you let him touch you, little lamb? Answer me — did you?”, he stops right behind you and whispers from over your shoulder. 

You wince, his breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine. Noticing that Satoru’s hand is moving slightly up and getting ready to possibly attack your brother, you gesture at him to stop. Mouthing a silent it’s fine. 

“Don't but in in husband-wife matters, our sex life is off-limits for you, brother”, you mutter over your shoulder. 

“Pfft”, his eyes squint knowingly at you. “Good — I don’t smell foreign residuals on you. Good, little lamb. Good.” 

-- 

“So, you two, huh?”, Naobito, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the tatami room, takes a sip of his sake and wipes the droplets drizzling from the corners of his mouth. 

It was barely noon, yet your father, as per usual, had already started his drinking for the day, most likely during the early hours of the morning at that. 

You hum, but the man beside you, your husband, had something more to say. 

“What can I do, old man — your daughter’s a beauty, I had to go and take her. Pardon my rudeness, I forgot to ask for your approval first” — to which you basically facepalm yourself. 

“If you had done that first, you wouldn’t be sitting here now, you arrogant brat”, Naobito drags out, the alcohol must be getting to him. “But the damage is done already, what can I say”, he adds through a hiccup. 

“—or do, against me — Right, old man?”, Satoru shoots a proud grin, then on a more serious tone, he continues — “She’s mine now. And I don’t quite fancy it when people pry on what belongs to me. So, I ask of you to act accordingly from now on, or there will be consequences” 

“You ask? Yet this sounds more like a threat to me” 

“It could be, depends on you” 

Silence. 

The air in the room is intense and heavy after these exchanges. There’s a calm smile on both of your father’s and husband’s faces, yet the glare in their eyes is as cold as absolute zero. 

“With that being said, glad we’re on the same page and thank you for the half-assed belated blessing~ I will take care of her from now on, don’t you worry”, your husband nonchalantly breaks the silence, then looks at you with a quick shake of his head towards the door. Meaning, our job here is done. Let’s go. 

“You might go, I wish to speak to my daughter, alone” 

Satoru glances at you, looking for consent in your eyes. You nod affirmatively, “Wait for me in the car” 

Before walking out, Satoru gives one last warning. “Old man, if you try anything funny, I’ll make this place one with the ground beneath you”  

-- 

“Make this place one with the ground?”, Naobito laughs uproariously. “You’ve gotten under his skin. Good.” 

He gulps down another cup before proceeding, “He’s always got a soft spot for you. I’ve seen his eyes wander in search of you during clans’ gatherings, but this — this is beyond my expectations even”, he wheezes. “Good job. You’re finally doing something right and being useful to the clan” 

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for my own sake”, you grit your teeth. 

“I don’t care for your purpose so long we sow the benefits of what you reap, just like I don’t care how you do it so long you take him down — poison him or slit his throat in his sleep, I couldn’t care less. Just make sure he’s dead by the end of it — it’s the only way to get that lousy freedom you’ve been babbling about all these years” 

The terms were clear from the beginning, yet your stomach fills to the brim with guilt, threatening to spill out from your mouth the more your father speaks of it. 

And he continues, “If you give him a child too in the meantime — even better. That way the Zenins can take over the Gojo Clan”, a greedy curve on his mouth wet with sake. “But in all honesty, what surprises me the most is you, actually — you’re more of a Zenin now than ever”, an unhinged laughter cracks his lips. 

Your father’s words stab through your heart like a sharp knife. Snapping a few necks for the greater good for yourself, your freedom, shouldn’t be a problem after all you’ve been through. 

But then, why does it feel like he is right? You are more of a Zenin now than ever. Why does it feel like the more you try to run away from the Zenins, the more you become one? 

And why does your heart ache so much for the man you are to kill soon?

[hrdenha]

— things they'll never know | s.jy

SYNOPSIS: a visitor at night doesn't sound so bad, isn't it? Not when it's your step brother who you spend your time fantasizing to.

PAIRINGS: stepbrother!sim jaeyun x virgin!reader

WARNINGS: MDNI! CONTROL WHAT YOU CONSUME. age gap, jake would be five years older than y/n who's now in college. loss of virginity. soft yandere jake although you really dont know what goes inside his head. strong fantasies by jake. yn being innocent but not so innocent. after shower escapades. silent touches here and there. endearment. IDK ANYMORE JUST READ. not edited, but hope y'all enjoy!

His home was silent when he got home from work. What can he expected when he's living alone? But sometimes he can imagine that you're here with him instead of your parents house. You're basically the reason why he bought a house much larger for a person living alone. He can imagine you reading a few books in the garden's patio, or play with layla in the living room, or maybe— fucking you in the kitchen as you tried your best to wash the dishes. Having your favorite skirt pushed up on your body as he fuck you with one leg up, your breast bouncing in every thrust he made.

And the best thing he wanted to do, fucking you in a room full on your pictures. Doing everything he can think of to have your pleasure out of you while being surrounded by the pictures he silently took whenever he had the time. Some pictures being your family's, you and jake together with your father and his mother... all smiles. As if the both of you didn't touch each other inappropriately. What would your father thinks if he knew every little thing that jake did and will do to his daughter?

Jake wasn't a saint. He knew he needed you, in more ways than he admitted to you. But, it's fine. You'll come around eventually. Maybe one day, you're the one who's trying to desperately cling on him begging for something jake will gladly give. He just have to wait.

After refreshing himself with a glass of cold water, he finally ascend the stairs towards his room. His senses immediately welcomed by the sweet scent of vanilla lingering in the air. The soft sound of water rushing was heard at the second door on the hallway, just beside his room. He stopped, the scent envelop his mind like a siren's curse hypnotizing it's prey to walk further into their trap. He didn't even heard the sound of water came into halt.

The impression of being alone was now thrown in the trash as jake walked in front of the door to knock. His hands doesn't even had the chance to make contact with the wooden door when it swung open revealing your small frame in front of him. The sweet redolence of vanilla scent became prominent each second passed that the door was opened.

Jake's breath was taken away from his lungs. You were standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a small white towel hugging your curves preventing everyone... most especially him to see everything. Your skin glisten from the water droplets that were kissing your soft skin; your wet hair was elegantly slicked back down on your back. He can perfectly picture your fingers slowly combing your hair as you take your bath.

"Jakey!" Jake internally flinched when he heard your cheerful voice. He look straight into your eyes as though he wanted to read your mind. 'fuck it!' He cursed before taking you by surprise, kissing you as if there was no tomorrow and to his surprise, you respond. He thought you'll scream at him, even slap him but no you fucking open your lips for him.

You groaned on his lips, hands snaking into jake's neck while he push your weight agasint the now closed bathroom door. He pushes his knee closer to you, practically letting you grind your core onto it by yourself.

"Look at that, flower. Do you want jakey touching you?" You nodded but jake decided it wasn't enough. "Use your words" He growled taking in your flushed face. "Mmm- I do want you touching me, jakey" You replied breathlessly on his neck. Jake's hand tug at the flimsy white towel causing it to drop and completely flash your bare body in his eyes. Jake cursed taking in the sight in front of him. He felt a surge of hot blood flowing through his veins and then to the very tip of his dick. Not now. Have patience, jake. Fuck.

He let himself touch you. His hands travelling down your soft skin, even flicking your nipples with his tongue.

"Can you ride my face, flower? I promise jakey will make you feel good."

It's been a week since that stunt the two of you pulled. After making you cum with his mouth, nothing more than that happened again in your disappointment, but that didn't stopped Jake in making advances. Giving subtle and not so subtle touches here and there. Grabbing your boobs just fine and saying it was all an accident. Or, that he wants to give you a massage and that came with a super close massage on your inner thighs giving accidental touched on your clothed pussy.

But then, you were still all smiles to him, as if nothing happened. So good in just receiving what he gives. Even closing your eyes whenever a certain touch got more desperate than the earlier ones but then again, you were receiving it innocently. As if being touched like this by your step brother is just a normal thing. As if your pussy didn't shake from the pleasure he just gave you the first day you moved in.

It was the start of summer vacation and instead of going with your parents, you decided to not go and stay in the country with him. With an excuse of wanting to have a brother-sister bonding and giving them their own 'time' together. That's a nice thing to say, right? No suspicions.

As the day progress, so is Jake's touches. Today is no different. Both of you in the theater room, watching a movie that both of you knew was long unnoticed for. The room was large enough for 20 people but despite the wide selection of comfy sofa, you decided that sitting on Jake's lap was the comfiest.

Nothing happened after you did, except from the 'accidental' grinding of your hips as you try to find a 'comfy position', both of you keep on watching together after that with occasional munch and drink from the food you ready.

Things escalated when you decided to step up your game, grabbing Jake's timid hands and putting it on your tummy making sure he was touching you directly on your skin. That's the reason why you wear a loose crop top shirt and a matching skirt with a cotton shorts that's thin enough to be called undies.

It seems like the man understand your purpose. He silently though shamelessly touched where you needed him to. He didn't react when he realized you're not wearing anythhng underneath, trying to keep his cool. Trying not to push you down and fuck you like an animal with no regards if you'll get hurt or not. That's what you should get for trying to push your luck but instead, the thing he pushed is your top. Pushing the material just enough on top of your breast for an easy access. The only thing he didn't do is touch you down there. Just a few inner thigh strokes wouldn't make the cut and you knew that he knew that, you're not the one whose feeling inadequately and deprived, the tent in his pants screams the same. And it feels like he was doing this on purpose whether he's teasing you or himself.

"I'm sleepy now, jakey..." You mumbled turning around to him before kissing the corner of his lips— you don't have a problem kissing him directly on the lips? — then pulling down your top which stopped his hands. "Goodnight" That's the last thing you said before walking to your room, the wetness in between your legs reminds you evidently of your step brother.

It was late at night, dreams are starting to work their way onto you albeit slowly, "Hey, flower..." The bed dipped and you heard a sound of shuffling from behind. "You asleep?"

You hummed, hoping it will be enough to answer his question. No, you're not. How can you, when you spend the last hours fantasizing about your stepbrother. Your finger weren't even enough to make you calm down. You still wanted more.

"Can't fall asleep"

"Can I help you fall asleep? Hmm, flower?" Jake whispered nuzzling by your neck as you lay on your back.

"Yes please", When the confirmation came out, jake couldn't help but groan. How can you be such a good, good, good girl just for him?

"Okay, just relax... let— jakey do his thing" That's the last thing you heard before a pair of hands travelled across your body, touching and kneading with lust and need. So tender and gentle with matching butterfly kisses over your clothes.

Jake pushed your top upwards, revealing your breast that never fails to make him hard. It's not small and not so big, just enough... just perfect fit whenever he let his hands cupped it. Now his mind is wandering to how it would bounce as you ride him. He can't keep himself from touching it after the fact that you silently give him a go signal to have his way on them earlier. And, just like earlier, it immediately respond by how fast it hardened.

His hands then continues that stopped at your waist, massaging it before making you open your legs, having it settle on either side of his body. Jake pushed closely, kissing your inner thighs with affection. Feeling his hot breath near your core made goosebumps rise on your skin. It took him some time before finally deciding to pull the material to the side that covers your nakedness.

"Shit—" He lowly cussed. Your eyes opened at that, peaking over him wordlessly asking what happened. "No panties, flower?"

"It's comfy..."

He snickers, eyes sparkling as he look down on you, "No, we both know that's not true flower." Not when you're this wet. "I bet you're waiting me to do this... hm?" You felt a finger tracing your slit, gently... softly, painfully as if a wind just traced your wetness just to tease you. "Just like earlier at the theater room?

"No teasing... jakey, please"

"Sorry, flower. Can't help myself. Is this all for me? Because of me?" And again, the tip of his finger ghosted over your line. You desperately chased it, unconsciously raising your hips just to let his warmth touch you.

Jake hummed, finally letting your wetness coat his fingers. Firmly rubbing your slit with the pad of his middle finger, making sure that every thrust would send pleasure on your clit. Wetness never stopped, the same time whimpers came out of your mouth.

And so, he let the same finger thrust inside. Slowly, having his finger feel the hotness from your walls before adding another digit. You moaned in response when he stared pumping it, can't keep himself from smiling just from the feeling of your walls. "...just my fingers, baby, and your pussy won't let it leave."

Jake let himself watch as you give yourself away for the pleasure. Look at you, writhing in pure bliss. What can your parents say when they know that the only time they can hear your voice raise was the time you where moaning in pleasure as your brother fingers you? Bet you can even be louder when it's his dick that do the work.

Your arms snake around his neck pulling him closer to enclose him with a kiss that jake gladly took, fighting for dominance that he's clearly winning. The same thing he wanted to do, dominate you.

Moans become louder as well as your breaths became heavier. Jake picked up his pace, finger you as he played your breast with his mouth. Can't have them go unnoticed, he love the way your boobs move as he fingers you. Your walls started tightening, and so is jake's cock twitch inside his boxers. With his fingers still thrusting, jake finally felt your orgasm.

He immediately dived down your pussy, licking your juices wholeheartedly as you whimper from how good he was making you feel.

"I want more, jakey...please"

Jake lick your pussy one last time before looking at you. Trying to fight the smirk that keeps making its way on his lips when he heard despiration in your voice, then faking the sadness in his face is just an easy thing to do.

"But I can't flower. I can't possibly do that to you. We know the rules right?" Jake keeps pushing your buttons, he should be. It's about time you choose, right? But, maybe he can have his way just this night. "I don't even know if you really wanted this. You're the one who told me that rule."

"But— I do. I want to. Let's forget that rule. I... I don't know what I'm saying that time" You replied breathlessly. And, jake felt he just win the lottery. He really had you where he needed. Letting you realize on your own that you want him as much as he wants you. Making you want the same thing you think should be forbidden from the start of this god forsaken relationship

"You really want me to help you, flower? Is that the reason why you eagerly wanted to spend your vacation in my house? You even rejected the idea of switzerland with our parents just so you can be here."

You tried to nod but stopped, he wouldn't like that. "Yes, I do. please." Trying to make your voice clear, but failed miserably just from the orgasm you had a few minutes ago.

"but how can I do that to you? you haven't even seen my cock yet. What if it scares you?" Jake continues to ask. His voice can make people believe that he's really concerned but the small patch of precum staining his boxer says otherwise.

"Let me see it. I promise I can take it." He hummed kissing your forehead before pulling you to sit up as he let himself do the same on the bed. "Then, take it out flower. Come on, here..." Jake guide your hand on top of his clothed tent, before using his to support his body weight as he watched you intently.

You give it an experimental squeeze, and jake can't help but groaned. "It's— hard..." You then pulled the material down, you didn't even need to pull his cock out when it willingly revealed itself to you. "...and big"

The man giggled from your reaction. "That's all you, baby. That's because of you." He whispered tracing your cheeks as you keep your eyes on his dick in awe.

"I did this?" Jake nodded, "That's why you should take responsibility. Now, how about giving it attention? Let's say a few licks? A kiss? Maybe, a thing or two from what you always do to that lollipop I gave you last time. Your call, flower. Just don't bite it okay? You don't want jakey to bleed to death, don't you?"

You laughed lowly, you certainly don't want to hurt jake. That's the last thing you want to do, the first thing being the want to pleasure him like the way he does to you.

You gave it a few pump. Jake was thick, with an average length. The tip is pink, balls are in same color, and gosh, he has the most beautiful and clean looking cock. Not that you seen others, jake wouldn't let you do that, of course. But then again, you decided that you don't want to do that. Not when you knew that Jake's is enough. It was standing proud in front of you, waiting just like it's owner who's watching you intently.

Your tongue then make in contact with his tip, giving it a few lick, earning confidence before you finally take the first few parts inside your mouth. "ah shit, flower... fuck! that mouth..." And from the looks of it, you're doing a good job. Your tongue swirled with his length as you tried to get accustomed on bobbing your head.

"Hmm... just like that. Tighten your throat for me flower. Yes— yes! fuck. You suck like a fucking whore."

You finally got your own pace, sucking him just the way he like as his tip clashed on your throat learning to take advantage of it as you tighten the cavern, earning more praises from jake. His words together with his hand on top of your head pushing you gently but firmly on his dick feels like he's testing your limits and it's working, it even sends waves of pleasure down your pussy. You can feel it embarrassingly clenching to nothing which didn't go unnoticed to the man.

"Gonna cum, flower... gonna fill up that filthy mouth with my cum. Then I'll kiss you, letting myself taste my own cum from your lips before spitting it again on your mouth so you can swallow it. You like that hm?" He is so dirty but you like it just from the way you moaned while his cock is practically seeking pleasure on your mouth. His dick twitch on your throat the same time jake's hand pushed your head further down causing you to gagged from his tip. Thought he'll get angry but guess that just added to his pleasure.

You let him keep you in that positon for a few seconds, only pulling out when you felt his hands finally stopped pushing you down. Jake cums a lot, majority of it swim straight away down your throat knowing your last circumstance while some of it still manage to fill your mouth with some escaping down your neck and into his lap.

"Sorry, flower. Keep myself waiting for you for two weeks now" Jake whispered taking your hand before pulling you closer to him as you tried to swallow his cum, which you gagged embarrassingly but still manage to do so. The man laughed settling the two of you in a more comfy position, with his back now on the headboard and you straddling his lap.

"Don't have to force yourself to swallow it..." He said pinching your chin in affection before tracing the line of cum on your neck up to the side of your mouth before enveloping you in a messy kiss that you gladly respond with. Jake groaned when he tasted himself on your mouth, his hands started travelling on your body not leaving a spot untouched. He then break the kiss before swiftly pulling your top off of you, attacking your chest as his next target.

You whined in response, arching your back to make your nipples closer to his attention. "Ja-jakey...?" His cock made its presence known when it hardened again, poking on your pussy when you're directly sitting on it. "Feel that flower? Told you it's all because of you" Jake said in a matter of fact tone, licking your neck before sucking a spot on it intended to leave something. "Bet it can slide right inside just from how wet you are, flower." And it's true, the only thing stopping his dick from sliding inside is the presence of your cotton shorts.

"But we can't do that, knowing that your a virgin. You can get hurt if we do that..." Jake's words started to get drowned when you started grinding your hips, creating the friction in between, desperately holding... chasing something.

"No need to do that, up" You immediately stand up on the bed, gripping his shoulder for support as he started pulling the last piece of clothing you had with ease then making you straddle him once more.

You gasped when you did so. It was much more different when feeling him skin to skin, feeling the warmth, coating his dick with your wetness. "You're making me crazy, flower." His hand came on your waist guiding your hips to keep grinding on his cock. Your juices and his precum mixing heavenly tainting your folds. Jake then felt you kneeled, taking his cock on your hand before lining it on your hole.

He knew it wouldn't work but he let you, he can tend to the problem later. For now, let him feel you despite your stubbornness. You slowly sink on him, but it won't work. Is it because his thick? Maybe you're just that scared? Or, because of the itching pain that keeps scratching on your core as you forced yourself down his tip. But, you still want more.

"Jakey, I can't... I don't think this will work"

"Then let me? Would you let me do the work, flower?"

"Yes" With that, Jake pushed you down. Laying you on the bed before hovering on top of you. He took his cock, slapping it on top of your tummy, measuring how far it can go if he'll make you take him full. And it goes down your navel, fuck. That's so hot. You even felt it twitch again, his precum leaving a stain on your belly button. Even gigling as you touch his tip to get some precum and licking it with your tongue, which jake groaned.

He then let the tip scratched up and down on your folds, making sure he'll hit your clit everytime that makes you flinch in pleasure. When he had enough, jake then push your legs revealing your pussy to him in more ways one can imagine.

"Keep this open, okay?" He reminded as he tapped on your legs, "This will hurt for awhile but I know that you can take it." He kissed you again now in comfort, "You ready?"

You nodded your head, as you felt his tip slowly sliding in. When the whole tip was in, jake stopped looking at you reminding you to take a deep breath. And you did, you felt yourself relaxed ready to take another inch but the next thing you knew, jake immediately shoved his cock inside in one swift move.

"Fuck!" He cursed at the same time you screamed. "Ahh! It hurts, jake... shit, Why did you do that?" Tears now staining your eyes, the pain on your core still evident. "I'm sorry, flower. It would still hurt otherwise, why not have it in one go."

"Fuck..." You whispered, trying your best not to move or even breath.

Jake kissed your lips, then giving kisses all over your face "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." He's apologizing but you both knew he never really meant it. Not when,

"Hmm, you don't have any idea how long I waited for this, y/n..." The pain started to subside from the way jake's thumb circled your clit that the matched with his small thursts. The diversion of your attention from the pain to the pleasure that jake is doing is deemed effective. It didn't took long before your voice started to build up to a whimper. You even grinding your body on your own now, "Move, jakey..."

He gladly do so. Jake started pulling out before thrusting right back in. He looked on the way his cock disappear from your pussy, clearly seeing the lines of blood on the edge of his gun and it turns him on even further.

"You're making me crazy, i swear. So, fucking crazy!" Jake's thrusts picked up its pace and so does your moan. The night was calm and silent but there's another story going on inside your room. The four corners of walls echoes the harsh slapping of skins, curses, groans, and moans.

"Jakey... ugh, jake! Yeeah..." Lewd noise continues to dominate and no one will care. No one will disturb the two of you. You can scream and cursed all you want and you'll never worry about a thing.

"Does it feel good, huh? Yeah, flower? Does my cock makes you feel good? Now, I can fuck you like a slut you truly are." The pleasure is intense. He keeps hitting your sweet spots without fail. His weight on top of you, his voice, his smell, his looks all mixed together in every thrust he make to push this pure bliss on you. You wanted him You needed him.

You can't even think straight now, the only thing your brain can think of is his cock rutting inside you and how you want it to keep going.

"Flower's now dumb with my cock? Bet you can't even function now without me fucking your pussy everyday. You like that? You like it if I'll fill you up with my cum? Have you walk outside with my cum running down your legs?" Jake laughed when you moaned in response, the unfocused look on your eyes as well as the way you clutching the sheets and your pillow is enough answer for him.

"Or, should I just make you pregnant? Right, make you carry my babies all night long. I'll fuck you every chance I get. I'll never leave you alone, not even for a second... ugh— will fuck you in the kitchen, fuck you while you wash the dishes or just doing the laundry. I'll even fuck you while we dine, will eat you out instead the dinner you cook before fucking you and cumming inside you again. And when you're pregnant, I'll still keep fucking you. I'll wait as your breast—" He harsly cupped your right boob before squeezing it, "becomes full with milk then I'll gladly drink it as I fuck you again and again until the baby is born. Our parents wouldn't even know that I'm the one who'll impregnated you, flower."

"Jakey... please,"

"You really think I'll let you go after this? I'll make sure you'll keep on coming back. Your my own personal slut, and sluts keep their pussy open for use whenever I like."

"Yes, yes. I'm yours, j-just yours jakey!" Jake pushed your legs further down to open, his calloused hands firmly pinning it on place as he desperately chase your high as well as his. "Fuck, flower... your tight—" It'll leave a bruise, and both of you knew it but doesn't care. Jake loves to leave his mark on you in anyway possible, and this is just one way after a few more ways he can think of, not that you mind.

"Uh, sh— I think I'm..."

Jake's thrust didn't stop even after you cummed, he keeps on rutting his cock inside even making you work for your third climax of the night as he chase that fine inkling of orgasm that keeps hiding away from him. Pleasure was on but he still finding something... more. And, it didn't took long before he finally got it. Groaning with his eyes closed as his thrust goes frantic before feeling his cum mixing with yours in painting your walls. He moaned in contentment as he reached his peak, laughing breathlessly after the stunt.

Jake gives you a kiss, more passionate and sweet. The harsh and desperate movement nowhere to be found as he keep his cock inside you with small thrust, as if he's keeping his cum from escaping your womb.

"You really want me pregnant?" You whispered after chuckling. Can't deny that you don't want anything other than his dick inside you. "I believe, I clearly expressed my opinion about that earlier flower"

You felt him pulled out, the same time you felt a hot line dripping down your hole. Jake on the other hand traced the line of cum before pushing it back on your whole that made you laughed.

"Jakey! You know that we can't..." The man pulled the covers on both of your body. Jake made himself comfy beside you his fingers tracing circles on your upperbody. "Why not? We're not the same blood and our parents can stay whenever they are if you want. Then, no one will stop us."

"You can do that?" You asked, hands busy playing with his hair. Jake simply answered yes. You don't know the things he can do much more the things his money can do. He can do that if you wanted him to. Maybe, you two will just get a call one day about an allegedly 'accident' that your parents are involved into.

Jake can do things. Hell this is much more easier compared to the things he did just to make you completely his. And, the parents will just be a small 'disturbance' for him. For now, he'll just let them have their fun on another country away from you or him. They wouldn't get hurt with the things they wouldn't know, do they?

comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! ❣️

© hrdenha | 2024

[slytherinshua]

WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME ?

genre. fluff. warnings. gunwook's a lil tease and lots of kissing. mention of superman gunwook cosplay (very much needs a warning). pairing. gunwook x fem!reader. wc. 739. request. no. a/n. we did it guys we're finally writing for zb1???? i never thought this day would come 😔

“Ugh, get off me.” You groaned, attempting to shove your boyfriend off of you, but failing miserably. Gunwook seemed deaf to your plea, and only tightened his grip on you, nuzzling his face in your neck.

“No, I’m tired and you’re comfortable.”

You let out a loud over dramatic sigh, glancing down at your boyfriend who easily covered your entire body. He was significantly taller than you.

“Do you have to lie right on top of me?” You asked quietly, sneaking a hand into his hair since you had such easy access.

“Yes.” He mumbled into your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. Minutes passed by in silence as you continued to scroll through your phone, making peace with the situation. Gunwook seemed a little too quiet, though, and you looked back down at him. He was all curled up comfortably on top of you, legs tangled with yours, arms tightly holding onto your waist. He looked so peaceful.

“Are you asleep?” You whispered, poking his cheek. He groaned quietly, tightening his grip on you and shaking his head.

“Not yet.” He lifted his head slightly, making eye contact with you before winking smoothly, which made you scoff and look back to your phone. 

He frowned, “Why are you ignoring me? You’re probably just going to go watch edits even though your boyfriend is right here.” He complained. His former tiredness seemed to have slipped away.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He insisted, “You were watching them earlier. You even searched them up.”

“I did not! They just show up on my feed.” You knew that you would ultimately lose in this battle, but you were determined to defend yourself for as long as possible. The truth was you had been watching edits of Gunwook on purpose, but who was to blame you? He was the one who had dressed up as Superman after all.

“It showed up because you’ve searched for them before.” He giggled against your neck. Your lips tugged upwards just slightly, endeared by his every mannerism. But you wouldn’t give up this easily. Gunwook had you wrapped around his finger, but your pride was still at stake.

“I only watch them because you would sulk if I scrolled past them. They’re not even that good.” You rolled your eyes to further sell your disinterest in the topic.

“I saw your saved folder.” He whispered, mouth right next to your ear, practically kissing it. Your eyes widened as your fingers slipped and your phone dropped. It landed on Gunwook’s back, and he let out a small “ow”. You had no time to apologise verbally, only rubbing your hand quickly over the spot your phone had hit. 

“You did not see the folder!” You panicked, trying harder again to push him off of you. You cursed him in your mind for being so dedicated to building muscle at the gym with Matthew. He was too heavy for you to even budge.

“Just admit you like watching the edits, and I’ll get off.” His lips lifted in a mischievous smile. 

You sighed, screwing your eyes shut as you mulled over your two options. Continue to deny and keep your pride, or admit to it and endure his teasing. 

“Fine. I guess I do occasionally watch them.” You confessed, rolling your eyes as he let out a satisfied giggle.

“There. Was that so hard?” He beamed at you, finally crawling off your body to lie down on the other side of the bed.

“You’re impossible.” You muttered, rolling to your side, facing away from him. You had about 30 seconds of peace before you heard the sheets rustling as Gunwook scooted over to you again, lying his head down on the pillow as close to you as possible.

“Go away.” You urged, keeping your attention off of him for as long as possible— which was extremely hard, especially when you could still smell the shampoo on his hair from his shower earlier.

“Never.” He vowed, an annoyingly cute giggle escaping his lips and breaking every ounce of your willpower to continue to ignore him. You turned around, not wasting a second before peppering kisses all over his face. His laughter was uncontrollable and extremely contagious, and soon, you ended up on top of him, collapsed from your attack of kisses. You hugged his waist and buried your head in his chest, mirroring the exact same position he had been in minutes before.

↳ zerobaseone taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @okshu,, @chewryy,,

[subskz]

multitasking - s.cb

content: sub changbin, dom reader, pegging, lots of teasing, slight dumbification, binnie cries a little, male squirting, praise, handjob, female reader

word count: 4.5k

“One, two, three. One, two, three. Just like that, okay?”

Changbin’s breath came out in shudders, so noisy that you wondered if he could even hear you over them. Judging by his scrunched up nose and furrowed eyebrows coming together to form an adorable look of concentration, you doubted it. He was focused on one thing and one thing only.

“Binnie,” you sang. “Are you listening to me?”

Just to make sure you had his full attention, you brought the steady roll of your hips to a halt, keeping your strap buried inside him, but denying him the friction that had wiped all coherent thoughts from his brain. His body rocked for a few seconds more even after you’d stopped, operating purely off muscle memory. Then, it turned into squirming, hips twisting helplessly in the sheets to try and regain the buildup of pleasure he’d suddenly lost. You watched him wiggle around, half-amused, half-endeared as he finally blinked his hazy eyes open to process what was going on. 

“Mm?” he mumbled; drowsy, like he’d been stirred from a dream. “S-sorry? I didn’t…”

His gaze fully refocused to find you smiling down at him. On your end, you could’ve sworn his pupils dilated just a little bit more, painting his irises black and glazing them over. They looked so innocent, you’d never guess what he was really pleading for.

“I said,” you began playfully, running your palms up his twitching thighs just to tease him. They felt especially thick under your touch with all the tension they were holding, you couldn’t resist digging your nails into his flesh, hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents behind. The tight clench of his muscles was almost as satisfying as the sweet little gasp he let out. “Are you listening to me?”

Changbin swallowed down the saliva that had begun pooling in his mouth, sucking in a deep breath to find his voice again. “O-oh, yeah.” He shifted on the mattress to inch himself closer to you, as if your strap didn’t already have him filled to the near brim. “Yeah, listening. Sorry.”

“What number are we on, baby?”

He paused, doll-like lips curving deep into a pout. It was almost cute enough for you to let him off easy—almost.

“I…I don’t—” he chuckled nervously, eyes flickering to the side. “F-four?” You shook your head. “Five?”

You could tell he was growing restless, even when he was doing his best to behave himself. His dick twitched against his stomach, crying out for you to just forget about the count and start thrusting into him again. All the blood in his system must’ve pooled hot in his abdomen by now, you couldn’t even blame him for not being able to think straight. 

“S-sorry, I really can’t remember,” he stuttered, embarrassed. “Again?”

It was the second or third time Changbin had lost track by now, and he once again found himself cursing the second he’d ever let his pride rope him into this tortuous little game you’d proposed. He’d never been one to back down from a challenge, even if it was a challenge that you both knew full well he’d fail miserably at. That, combined with his insatiable need to impress you clouding his better judgment, had him playing right into your hands.

“I can multitask!” he’d protested. “Do you know how much work it takes to be this cute and sexy at the same time?”

“So much work,” you’d agreed solemnly, trying not to crack a smile over the defensive squeak in his voice. “Then this should be no problem for you, right?” 

From the moment you’d first bottomed out inside him, Changbin had gotten the sense that he’d already lost.

“I’m trying to help you, baby,” you pouted down at him. His eyes fluttered shut as you dragged your index finger along his plump, wet lips, mesmerized with the cute popping sound they made every time you prodded at them. “If you’re too dumb to count by yourself, just repeat after me.”

“N-no, Binnie’s smart,” he insisted, muffled by your finger. His legs squeezed around your waist like they had a mind of their own, trying to rub against each other and generate some friction. “Not dumb. I can do it, lemme do it.”

“Yeah? Let’s try and make it past three this time.” You gave his cheek an affectionate pat. A shiver ran through his body as your hands glided down to his hips, gripping his soft flesh to stabilize yourself before inching out of him bit by bit. 

Immediately, Changbin’s attempt at counting was cut off by his own whine, stretching out for every second the silicone dragged along his walls. Then, you heard it, shaky and breathless as you pushed back inside him.

“O-one.”

His stomach rose sharply under your palms as you pulled out a second time. Before you’d even snapped your hips forward again, he gasped out a “two”, all too eagerly. You giggled, waiting a few extra seconds just to test his patience 

“Two,” he repeated with a tinge of desperation. He looked lost, like he was genuinely wondering if he’d already managed to mess up the order somehow.

You felt a tinge of pity; he really was trying his hardest for you. So, you followed through, deciding to take it slow this time so he actually stood a chance in counting your thrusts. His foggy brain was grateful for it, but his body, not so much. 

“Th-three—ah. Three. Faster, please?” he barely got the words out in time before he felt that delicious stretch again, coaxing an especially high moan. “F-four.”

You could practically taste the hunger rolling off his skin in warm waves. Every needy noise that grew louder his throat, every jerk of his hips begged you for more, even if he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with it. His teeth sank into his bottom lip when you pushed back inside of him without missing a beat—faster, just like he’d asked for, and as deep as your position would allow. You dragged your hands up and down his stomach in unison with the slide of your strap; such a simple touch, but enough to disrupt his concentration all over again. 

“Fi—” he began. His voice failed him, cracking pitifully as you grabbed his bouncing chest at the very same instant you brushed against his sweet spot, digging your fingers hard into the plush skin. “F…f-fi…fuck.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, throwing his head back against the pillows as his resolve fully crumbled. The sensation of your palms pressing against his nipples was already dizzying enough, but once you took the hardened buds between your fingers and pinched, he was a complete goner. He made no effort to keep counting even when you didn’t stop rocking your hips, instead letting his mouth hang open uselessly, spilling out another long, shameless moan that made goosebumps rise on your skin. Just a few strokes in, and he was already so far gone.

You let him get away with it for a bit longer, taking the time to admire his dark, messy curls sprawled out against the white pillowcase, even fluffier than usual from all his tossing and turning. Everything about him was so soft. His pecs spilled out between your fingers as you pawed at them, his full cheeks were flushed red and his lips were swollen into a cute, puffy ring after how much he’d nibbled on them. It took all your willpower to not give in to the irresistible sight and keep pounding into him until his head really was too empty to think anymore. 

“So pretty, Binnie. Wanna keep you like this forever,” you murmured. You could feel his heartbeat pick up over the praise, pulsing faster under your palms. Then, all at once, you forced your hips to stop and snapped him out of his daze yet again. “But a pretty boy like you still needs to listen.”

“M-mmph,” he mewled. His body chased after your touch, protesting the loss before he even fully realized what was going on. “N-no. Sorry, I’m sorry. Don’t stop, please?”

“I only stop when you stop.” Your hum was deceptively sympathetic as you watched him fist the sheets in frustration, biceps bulging and chest heaving. His throat bobbed as you closed his slack jaw and tilted his chin up, brushing your thumb delicately over his tiny scar to urge him to look at you. “What’s got you so distracted, hm? What’s on my baby’s mind?”

He forced his eyes open again, so dark that you could see yourself reflected in them clear as day. They gave you your answer before he even said it. 

“You,” he breathed. It was a reply he’d normally be proud of, but with the way you were staring him down from above, he couldn’t stop a sheepish giggle from rising in his throat, lips twitching at their corners and cheeks bunching up.

“Me?” you echoed. “Or this?”

You slid your strap back inside him in one sharp thrust, angling it so that the tip rolled against the roof of his walls and hit his prostate perfectly. He cried out as if on command, high-pitched and sweet. “Ah! Yes, r-right there.”

Even your own rules were becoming less convincing of a reason to deny him when you knew those were the kinds of sounds you’d be missing out on. But you were on a mission, today; teaching Changbin how to multitask, or, toying with his body until he couldn’t take it anymore—whichever came first.

“There’s my answer.” You feigned disappointment, flattening your palm against his stomach and pressing down right around where you guessed the head of your strap had reached inside him. “All you care about is being filled up, huh, baby?”

“N-no, no.” His hand pawed around blindly in the sheets for a moment before he found you, grabbing on to your wrist and pushing your hand harder against the soft pudge of his tummy. You weren’t sure if he’d done it just to gain some kind of stimulation, or because he was just aching to be as close to you as physically possible, but to his credit, he forced himself not to lose his train of thought even as the sensation had his eyes rolling back.

“Binnie’s a good boy. ‘M only like this ‘cause of you. I need you, please.”

He was right; he was such a good boy. He could forget how to count, forget how to close his mouth, forget how to listen, but he’d never ever forget how to say please. That was something you didn’t have to teach him. Still, you didn’t give him what he wanted just yet, instead tracing gentle patterns on his skin, just above where his cock was leaking out tiny drops of precum. It took a few moments for him to connect the dots, but finally, he rasped out the word you were looking for.

“Four…n-no, wait, it was five,” he stammered. “Please, don’t stop, please?”

“Good boy,” you cooed. Grabbing hold of his thighs, you used all your strength to pull your bodies closer together, lifting his legs and settling them around your waist for easier access. A cute, flustered giggle escaped him as he scooted down the mattress, melting into a sigh of pleasure when you were able to nestle your strap even deeper inside him than before.

His fingers sank into the sheets, gripping them so tight that you could see the muscles in his forearms flexing. “S-six,” he gritted out. “M-mm, feels so good. More, please, more.”

The sound of skin on skin began to fill the room as you finally picked up your pace like Changbin had been begging for. You made every stroke count; deep and heavy, pulling out until just the head of your strap was left teasing his entrance, then sliding all the way back inside until your hips smacked against the back of his thighs. The new position immediately took a toll on him, you could tell by the growing lapse in his counting. Every time you left his walls fluttering around nothing, it took a few seconds before he remembered to call out the next number, just so he could feel the relief of you burying the toy inside him again.

“Nine,” he gasped. The building pressure in his core drained his concentration little by little, making for an adorable show of reactions for you the more his self-control slipped. Every pretty sound he made rang out in the thick, hot air around you, unrestrained and heavenly. Your gaze fell from his blissed out face to where his dick laid half-hard against his stomach, bouncing from the impact of your movements. It gave you an idea. 

Changbin choked on his next number as you brought your hand to his head, scooping up the tiny beads of precum and curling your fingers around it. You felt him swell in your grip almost instantly, and when you began to pump his cock along with your thrusts, he fully throbbed in your hands with a fresh wave of heat.

“El-elev—ngh,” he slurred out, barely intelligible. “Three…four. No, t-ten.”

“Four? Ten?” you mimicked. “That’s not right, baby. Try again.”

You swirled your thumb around his leaking tip, effectively fizzling out the last of his thoughts. It was hopeless; the strokes of your hand were mixing up with the pump of your strap, muddling his everything together until he couldn’t distinguish between the pleasure. “Six…n-no, ah. Good, so good. I c-can’t—”

“You usually listen so well, Binnie,” you frowned. “What happened to my good boy?”

Changbin bit down on his bottom lip, so hard that you worried his cute little fang might dig deep enough to split the plush skin. You timed your thrusts seamlessly with the rhythm of your hand, sinking down on his cock as you pulled out of him, and gliding back up his length as you bottomed out again.

“Y-your hand,” he whimpered. “It’s confusing me, I can’t…feels too good.”

“Should I stop touching you, then?”

You released him from your grip, letting his dick fall against his stomach to twitch over the loss. His hips surged up in protest, a soft whine spilling out of him and growing even louder when you pulled your strap out of him in one fluid motion, leaving his walls clenching wildly for you.

“No, no,” he groaned, locking his ankles around your waist to try and bring you closer. “Please, ‘m so close. Please.”

Taking the silicone into your hand, you lined it up with his entrance, pressing the tip just hard enough against him to add an exhilarating pressure. His reaction didn’t disappoint; a full-body shudder, rippling through his muscular thighs, making his chest jump and his biceps tighten.

“You want it, baby?” you asked sweetly, circling the head of the toy around his rim. 

“Yes, yes, please.” The way he rolled his body was nothing short of sinful, you almost gave in right there. His tiny grunts of frustration only grew the more your strap prodded at his hole, teasing the sensitive nerve-endings without giving him the satisfaction of slipping back inside. “Please, b-been so good. Give it to me, please.”

“I know, baby.” You inched the toy away before he could get any real stimulation out of it, brushing its slick tip against his inner thighs in a playful taunt. “Just tell me where we left off, and I’ll fuck you like a good boy.”

Changbin shot you a look of pure helplessness, eyebrows scrunching in dismay as it dawned on him what you wanted.

“I-I…I don’t remember,” he mumbled, not even trying to muster up a guess before he surrendered. “I got it all mixed up, I can’t—”

“I thought Binnie was smart?” 

He squeaked in protest as you pulled your strap completely away with a click of your tongue. “I am! I a-am. Again, please? I’ll try again.”

It wouldn’t make a difference, he knew that as well as you did. But he said it anyway, as a last resort—anything to feel you stretching him out again, anything to hear you whisper honeyed praises into his ear as he fell apart for you.

“You’re hopeless, baby,” you murmured, brushing back his fluffy bangs to reveal his eyes. They were wide as moons, full of desperation and welling up with tears at their corners.

“Please.” The droplets spilled over before he could blink them away. You softened as they trickled down his flushed cheeks, darkening his eyelashes and glazing over his pupils. 

“You’re crying?” Gently, you cupped his face to soothe him. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin as you wiped away his stray tears, only for new ones to take their place again. “You want it that bad, angel?”

The wet gleam in his eyes spoke for itself, but still, he managed a tiny nod. 

“You look so pretty like this,” you marveled, rubbing the pad of your thumb under his eye to scoop up another bead trailing down his face.

Despite himself, Changbin perked up over your words. “Pretty?” he sniffled.

“Mm.” A mix of lube and tears smeared his skin as you tilted his chin up, looking him straight in his eyes to admire the fresh droplets gathering at their edges. They caught the light like rhinestones, a visual captivating enough for you to give him anything his heart desired in that moment. “Beautiful boy. My pretty little crybaby.”

Changbin’s nose scrunched up, a shy, downturned smile tugging at his lips. He knew there was a condescending hint to your words, but when they were spoken so sweetly, when you called him pretty in that voice—when you called him yours in that voice—he could do nothing but melt.

“Seriously. Don’t you like me too much?” He pawed your hand away in embarrassment, but you didn’t miss how his face lit up, visibly yearning for more compliments, for your approval. 

You let out a fond hum. Just like that, you’d found the key to keeping him motivated. He sucked in a sharp breath of surprise as you took hold of your strap, realigning it with his entrance.

“Let’s try again.” You tapped the head of the toy against his rim, just to bask in the way it made him wriggle in the sheets. “Show me how good you are, baby.”

He nodded again, still timid, but revitalized by your encouragement. His lips puckered into a cute little rosebud for you, and with a soft giggle, you took the hint, leaning down to press them against yours. The wet trails on his cheeks cooled your skin as you kissed him, slowly, dragging your lips past the corner of his mouth to kiss away away his tears, too. His shaky sigh fanned out around you, warm and feather-light as you sank back into him, all the way to the hilt of your strap. 

“One.”

You rested one hand on the mattress, bringing the other back to his dripping cock. It was still fully hard even after being neglected so long, jerking gratefully in your palm as you began to stroke it again.

“Two. Th—mm—three.”

“That’s my boy,” you praised. “I know you can do it for me.”

You matched the rock of your hips with the glide of your hand, just as you’d been doing before. It immediately took effect on Changbin, slurring his speech and making his face scrunch up. But he kept trying for you.

“Four…ah, please.”

“Good boy. Keep it up, okay?” You rolled your strap against his sweet spot, teasing it repeatedly with the curved silicone tip before pulling out again. 

“Five. F-five, again, please.”

You indulged him. “Doing so well for me, Binnie,” you crooned, swiping your thumb over his swollen head and making his hips buck. “My smart boy. My good boy.” 

“Mm, mm. Binnie’s smart. Your s-smart boy,” he agreed. He was so simple; spurred on by your doting, even as that familiar, hot coil in his abdomen started nipping at the edges of his mind again. “Your g’boy…ngh. So good.”

More tears trickled from the corners of his eyes as he squeezed them shut, trying to get ahold of his thoughts long enough to get out the next number. You were being so patient with him, so kind to him, he had to do his best for you. 

“Six,” he whimpered. A new wave of droplets spilled over, this time, because the pleasure was growing too strong to bear. You picked up your pace as you drank in the addictive sight; his clenching stomach, tear-stained face, his bulging muscles grasping at the sheets. He deserved it when he took it all so well and looked so good doing it. 

“Seven, eight—close! I c-can’t—!”

“Almost there, baby. Just a little more,” you encouraged him. “You’re so perfect like this. Don’t you wanna show me how pretty you look when you cum for me?”

His dick stiffened in your hand, both over your words and the way you wrapped your palm around its sticky tip. The squelching noise that each roll of your hand created started to mess with his head again, distracting him from his count.

“Eight…e-eight—ah, please. Please, please, please. ‘M gonna—”

“C’mon Binnie, you’re so close. Don’t give up now.”

“Ten, n-no, nine? Nine—?”

He clenched his jaw, hips surging up and walls tightening around your strap like he was afraid you might pull out at any moment. It was useless. No matter how desperately he tried to concentrate, the pressure in his stomach consumed everything else, emptying his mind a little more each time you filled him up. “S-sorry, ‘m sorry. It’s so good, t-too good.”

“I know, baby,” you purred, sensing that he’d reached his limit. “It’s okay, let it all out for me.”

Changbin’s words melted into moans again as you thrust into him with more force, giving him no chance to brace himself for each dizzying stroke, let alone keep track of them anymore. He wasn’t sure if it was because of how tortuously long the buildup to his climax had been, but the sensation creeping up on him felt more intense than usual, like a dam of water waiting to break. Everything felt amplified—the drag of the silicone along his ridges, the sensitivity of his nerve-endings at every point of contact, the dancing of your fingers around his cock—it was all dialed up to a hundred.

You thumbed at his leaking slit, unprepared for just how powerful of a reaction it’d elicit from him. He stiffened beneath you as a jolt of pleasure shot straight to his core, breaking the dam loose all at once.

Changbin’s broken sob sent a shiver down your spine. He arched his back off the mattress as his orgasm racked his body, spurting his release against the pad of your thumb. You stopped rocking your hips to admire him, completely taken by the sight unfolding before you. His cock pulsed in your hand with every wave of pleasure that passed through him, spraying out more cum than you’d ever seen before. It was noticeably different from the sticky white ropes you were used to—watery and messy. The streams splattered against his contracting stomach, glazing his skin with a translucent layer of fluid and coating your hand in the process.

He was panting by the time the last few drops of his release spilled from his aching head. Even as it dribbled down his hips and sank into the sheets underneath him, he didn’t quite understand what had happened, far too preoccupied with the tiny aftershocks rippling through his body. 

Your fingers uncurled from his dick, letting it fall limply against his ruined stomach. He flinched as you ran your hand over his soft, soaked flesh, still hypersensitive after the climax that had shaken him more intensely than either of you bargained for. 

“Look at that, baby,” you marveled, holding up your dripping fingers for him to see. “Your dick’s crying, too.”

Changbin’s eyes fluttered open, shiny with residual teardrops. They widened when he registered why his skin felt so wet, why the bed beneath him felt so sticky and warm, and why his muscles felt deliciously sore, like when he stretched them after a good workout. His cheeks flushed beet red, legs squeezing around your waist in a pointless attempt to cover himself.

“Oh my God. I c-can’t believe—” His face was hot with shame as he buried it into his palms, muffling a noise that sounded something between a giggle and a miserable wail. “I didn’t mean to. W-wait, don’t look, please.”

His babbling trailed off when you stroked his stomach, a gentle touch that masked how fast your heart was still racing over the effect you’d had on his body. You wanted to make it happen again.

“That was intense,” you murmured. “Are you okay, Binnie?”

He couldn’t find the courage in him to reply, too mortified to face you after making such a wreck of himself, too dazed to string a proper sentence together. All he could manage was peeking out shyly between his fingers.

You rested your hands over his to tug them away from his eyes and get a look at him. A soft objection rumbled in his throat, but he let you, anyway, mustering all his self-control to not shove his face in the pillows and hide away from your stare.

“M okay,” he reassured you quietly. 

“Felt good?”

“Good,” he mumbled. “Too good. Wh-what did you do?”

“Ask yourself that, baby,” you drawled. Changbin shivered as you gave his hips a squeeze, an embarrassing mewl slipping past his lips when he clenched around your strap reflexively and realized it was still nestled deep inside him. “Look at the pretty little mess you made for me.”

Changbin let out another low whine. He gave up on maintaining eye contact, turning his head to squish his heated cheeks against the pillow. “Binnie’s shy.”

“You’re so cute.” You ran your fingers through his messy curls to ease his mind, relieved when you felt some of his tension relieve under your touch. “Do you have any idea how hot that was?” 

Your words seemed to snap him back to his senses, clearing the fog in his head and reminding him of how he’d even reached this point in the first place. He made a tiny grunt of effort as he scrambled to prop himself up on his unsteady elbows, eyes widening with guilt. When he spoke, his voice was shot, edged with a delicious rasp after how much he’d strained it.

“I…” he giggled nervously. “I-I lost count again.”

You puffed out a light laugh of your own. Even you had completely forgotten about keeping track of your thrusts after watching Changbin fall apart so beautifully for you. Your little experiment may not have worked out, but you were far more interested in the outcome, anyway.

“Guess we’ll just have to keep practicing, yeah? Until we find out how many it takes for you to cum for me like that again.” 

[bisexualiteaa]

fem reader x ghoul where he’s talking about how small she is?

Fun Size

Cooper Howard x Smaller Fem Reader (SMUT!!)

CW: NSFW MDNI!! Size kink, p in v, unprotected sex, p0rn w/o plot, mentions of breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, cursing, body worship, establish relationship.

AN: Hey anon! I couldn’t figure out any other way to write this than as a smut so I hope that’s alright! I hope I could do your ask justice and that you and all my other lovely readers will enjoy!

Synopsis: Cooper loved that you were smaller than him, whether it was height, stature, weight it didn’t matter, he loved it about you. He wanted to make sure you knew just how much he loves his fun size. ❤️

This one is slightly shorter than my other works but I hope it is just as enjoyable! I’m actually a smaller framed person so writing this comes from a slightly personal place, I hope it can still be enjoyable to those of all body types. Our cowboy doesn’t discriminate and neither do I, know that you are all loved! ❤️

When he called you his lil’ lady, he called you it for a lot of different reasons. One; he was southern at heart, so a few terms of endearment were standard practice for him. Two; was because you were little compared to him, and he absolutely adored that. When he stood near you, he nearly towered over you, and his stature was quite broad compared to you. He could lift more than you, drink more than you, but what you lacked in size, you more than made up for in attitude. He had never seen someone have so much fight and so much poison in their sweet voice. He knew it’s what you had to do, in a dog eat dog world like this, you really had no other options. As much as you may have held a dislike for your smaller stature, he always wanted to assure you that he enjoyed it, and it was in these more intimate moments like this one that he really enjoyed that size difference.

His larger hand came over yours as he took you from behind, his fingers intertwined with yours as he leaned his head into the crook of your neck. He placed kisses against the sensitive spots along your skin, enjoying the moans leaving your lips as his hips slapped against your ass. “Cooper…” you moaned sweetly, your head raising a little as your mouth fell open, his cock brushing your g-spot with each drag outwards and nudged the apex of your cervix with each thrust inwards. “Love this cute lil’ waist of yours” he said, his free hand traveling along your frame, grabbing at anything he could get his hands on. “These hands, look damn good holdin’ a gun in ‘em” he added, worshipping your body as it trembled beneath him, your whimpers and moans sounding like music to his ruined ears. “Everythin’ about you is perfect, darlin’” he finished, and you’d never felt so loved. You never really put much thought into your size before, knowing you were small put you at a slight disadvantage out in the wastelands because most people would take one look and consider you weak, but Cooper knew that was far from the truth. You were one hell of a woman, with firepower and attitude to put someone even taller than him to shame. You were stronger than most ever gave you credit for, and that was almost like a secret power for you. “In another life, I’d have put a baby in this lil’ tummy of yours. Watch you walk around all swollen where you gotta waddle” he said, groaning at the thought of having a child with you, he so dearly missed his baby girl from his past marriage but that was a thought for another time. He felt your walls squeeze around him at the thought, making him chuckle. “Ya like that thought, dontchya, sugar? Felt that pretty pussy tighten around me, you like the thought of me breedin’ you, sweetheart?” He asked with a perverted grin, making you whimper as your face and body fell hot. You’d be a liar if you said the dream hadn’t crossed your mind before but it was one you knew was impossible to think about, especially with how the world was now. You felt his fingers run down to rub tight circles against your clit, making your back arch and your head roll back against his shoulder. “That’s it, arch that back. Cum for me sweetheart, I gotchya” he coaxed, and it wasn’t long before you fell over the edge, the cry of his name leaving your lips like a prayer.

You gasped for air as you panted beneath him, your smaller frame trembling beneath him once more as the feeling rushed over you in pleasurable waves. You whined, feeling him quickly pull out and finish over your back, needing to conserve your resources of RadAway for just a little bit longer before using it again. As you collapsed on the bed, waiting for him to return with a damp rag to clean you, you had a great idea on how to really play with his liking of the size difference. You smirked to yourself as you watched him dispose of the rag after cleaning you up then himself, sneaking his shirt from off the floor and putting it over your tiny frame. His shirt pooled over you like a night dress, all baggy around the middle, sleeves coming over your hands as they almost seemed to disappear beneath the pool of fabric. The bottom of the shirt came to rest just around your mid-thighs, it was perfect. He looked up, giving a mix between a chuckle and a groan at the sight, feeling his dick twitch in his briefs as you stood before him in nothing more than his beaten up, bloodstained shirt. “Careful sugar, don’t start somethin’ you ain’t able to finish” he warned, seeing the mischievous glint in your eyes and grin stretched to your lips. “Not sure I catch your meanin’ there, honey” you replied teasingly as he scooped you up with ease, soon plopping you back down on the bed with him as he all but pounced on you, making you yelp playfully before giggling as he buried his face into your neck. “Ya look damn good in my clothes” he said, making you smile. “It’s a sight you can have every day if ya’d like t’ keep me ‘round” you responded, knowing exactly what his answer would be to that. “Think I’d ever get rid a you? You’re all mine, fun size” he said, making you giggle at the bad pun-based nickname he called you. “Wouldn’t want it any other way” you replied, wrapping your arms around him and kissing his bald head before falling peacefully asleep.

[blissfullsvn]

between the lines pt. 2

pairing. academic rival!taesan x reader genre. fluff word count. 2.5k warnings. reader is allergic to coffee & shorter than taesan a/n. read pt. 1 before this! but once again, the academic rivals are not academic rivaling here bcs they’re busy being (ironically) stupid 👎 anw, long-awaited pt. 2 is out! feedbacks are vv appreciated <3 pt. 1 | masterlist

taesan is kind of regretting his decision.

when you had reluctantly stood up and rested your weight over him, he was nothing but nervous. it was the first time you had ever been this close to him, your body directly pressing against his, and it took everything in him to not break into a bundle of nerves. or at least, not enough for it to be visible—he would rather redo that hellish test he took last week than make you see him like this.

his determination had proven to be difficult—extremely difficult—when he felt your cheek land on the curve between his neck and shoulder, the warmth of your breaths tickling his skin. he hoped you couldn’t see the goosebumps on his skin, or the way the hair on his nape stood.

that had been the only movement from you since he hoisted you up, and he was already walking out of the building, which took a considerable amount of time from the student council office. judging from how quiet you had been all throughout, he expected silence to blanket him all the way to your dorm as he assumed that you had fallen asleep again.

that was when his words had bounced back to slap him across the face.

the weight on his shoulder lifted, and he felt your gaze from behind him. “han taesan,” you called, breaking the quietness of the street.

“hmm?” he responded gently, and lifted you up to adjust your position.

you had allowed another beat to pass before you opened your mouth, and that was when the dam shattered.

taesan immediately slows down his steps in surprise, and he merely blinks at what he’s hearing. every single word you utter out only makes him more baffled, because what you’re saying should never be said aloud, especially in public. even now, you’re still throwing out the most creative expletives he could’ve gone his entire life without knowing, not to mention the concern you’re starting to instill in him over his own life.

but despite all of this, he can’t take you seriously when your cold has made your voice so nasal that all he can think about is how adorable you sound, on top of the fact that you’ve dropped your head to his shoulder again in the midst of your life-threatening remarks. your cheek is squished against his jacket, making your words come out in a mumble, and he can’t help but be absolutely endeared. even when you’re cursing at him like your rent’s due.

so, yes, he’s aware that maybe what you’re saying isn’t something which warrants a reaction like his, but how can he help himself when you’re even cuter in this state?

hence, even though you’ve cursed him out a total of 81 times within the past five minutes, he’s not offended. if anything, he’s amused, though he is seriously considering the depth of your feelings towards him.

“did you eat the wrong medicine?” you mumble slowly, eyebrows furrowed in genuine concern. “possessed by another entity?” you sniffle. “or shoved a pipe down your throat?—wait,” you pause, sniffling again. “that’s what i want to do... to you… but i’d be concerned if you did it to yourself….” you trail off, as if thinking about the possibility. “i digress. are you insane?”

taesan can’t hide the amusement that escapes in a form of a poorly-hidden chuckle.

“are you laughing?” your tone is accusing. “there’s seriously something wrong with you,” you say, and he spends another few minutes getting told off for everything he’s done wrong to you in your book. he remains silent the entire time, as he has been since you began talking, until he hears something that makes him feel indicted for the first time.

“...and that one time,” you sniffle, “you gave me a cup of coffee back in our first semester… you were trying to murder me, weren’t you?” you huff, but ironically, you’re tightening your arms around his shoulders.

“i genuinely didn’t know you were allergic!” he lets out almost petulantly, feeling incriminated. “if i had known, i would’ve never done that….” he trails off, then adds quietly, “there’s no way i would.”

you raise your head, looking at the empty roads beside the sidewalk as you ponder for a bit before your cheek falls back on his shoulder. “i’ll admit that was a bit of a reach. i won’t apologise though,” you say, and he can only let out an incredulous snicker. 

“and i suppose,” you add, “if you had such sinister intentions behind your pretty face, i would’ve been dead by now.”

taesan widens his eyes, slows his steps. the tips of his ears are hot, but he plays it off when he asks teasingly, “you think i’m pretty?”

“of course. i’m not blind,” is your immediate response. you say it so candidly that it catches him off guard, and his plan to fluster you instantly backfires on him. he’s just glad you can’t see his face, because he’s sure he resembles the red light ahead the empty roads.

“oh my god, han taesan.” you suddenly raise your head, looking down at him in disbelief. he panics at your reaction, ready to spew out excuses about why he’s full-on blushing, when he hears what you say next.

“did you offer to carry me home to distract me? to make me think about this moment over and over again and lose sleep over this and mess up my speech during the election so you can end up becoming the president? is this your grand plan?”

taesan has noticed that you become, for lack of better words, a yapper when you’re sick, but he didn’t think that your imagination would go overboard in this state too. nonetheless, he easily pushes the observation away when he deciphers the meaning behind your words and he doesn’t miss the chance to spin the tables around.

“i’m flattered, y/n,” he says, biting back his grin with a blush that’s still visible, but a lot more subdued. “i didn’t know i had this much of an effect on you.”

it seems you’ve finally registered what you just said, as he feels you freeze up behind him, and all he can do is try to suppress the smile that threatens to stretch across his face. he’s slowed down his steps considerably because he knows he’ll arrive at your dorm soon, but you’re already jumping off his back before he can realise.

“have a terrible night,” you say with a painfully straight face and walk off briskly, but halt in your tracks almost immediately.

“you left your bag,” taesan says, hiding his amusement behind his hand as he holds up the backpack he’s been carrying together with you.

you turn and stalk to him, grabbing it wordlessly before taking long strides away from him to disappear from his view.

when you wake up in the morning, it feels just as humiliating as the time you called han taesan when you were drunk (you had ended up cursing at him for fifteen minutes straight, and he somehow hadn’t cut you off once), which had become one of your top miserable moments in life.

no, this is even more humiliating, because at the very least you could use the excuse of intoxication before, but you had been fully sober this time.

it takes a little more effort to get up today, but before long, you’re heading out of your dorm quietly to not wake your roommate. despite being ten minutes later than usual, the student council office is still empty by the time you arrive. you can only be grateful, because the dread that had clawed at your skin as you stood before the door was intense—you really didn’t want to face him.

you find yourself hating the joy you dumbly felt a few moments ago, because the moment you take a seat, the door opens and of course it’s the person you wanted to avoid the most today.

you don’t greet taesan or even spare him a glance as you pull out your laptop and place it on the desk, but you see him inching closer from your peripheral vision. with your eyes lasered on your laptop screen, you pretend to not notice until he’s directly next to you and you have no choice but to address him.

wordlessly, he places a bag next to your laptop and walks to his usual seat on the opposite side of the conference table. your gaze follows him momentarily before you turn back to the bag. you take a peek and immediately raise an eyebrow when you see three different cold medicines, your favorite candies, and a cup of hot green tea—the same one you bought last night.

you look up at taesan, who seems to be darting his gaze everywhere but at you, but the door is already opening again as more members enter the office for the meeting. you keep your eyes on him for a little longer, who’s still adamant on not looking over, until you finally break your gaze when the meeting starts.

after you’re dismissed, you immediately call out for taesan, who looks up like a meerkat at your voice. you ask him to stay in the room for a little longer and pointedly ignore the meaningful looks from your fellow council members, who quickly file out of the room sensibly.

the moment the door shuts behind them, you raise the bag he gave you, shaking it slightly. “are you trying to bribe me?” you interrogate, straight to the point.

taesan only blinks, as if he's trying to process what you just asked, before his lips part and one corner of his lips quirks up in what can only be a scoff of disbelief. “are you serious?” he shakes his head, but not unkindly. 

“i mean—” you falter, finally realising how you came off. “thank you,” you say, and the way he instantly brightens up reminds you of a cat at the sight of treats. “but,” you add, and he shrivels. “why?”

he swipes his bottom lip with his tongue and flattens the hair on his nape as he says, “you’re sick.”

“i’m… aware,” you reply, forcing down the recent memories that floated to the top of your head. “i just—” you pause, looking down at the bag in your hands to gather your thoughts before you face him again. “people don’t usually do this for those they hate.”

taesan blinks. once, twice, thrice. the immediate rigidness from him is so noticeable that the air almost turns icy around you. you’ve never had a comfortable one, but the silence that falls over you is suddenly too loaded, too overbearing. 

but then his eyes lock onto yours, as if he’s finally seeing you, and the edges of his demeanour instantly melt away. he’s looking at you so softly, reminiscent of his expression in your memories, that it strangely makes you fidgety.

“y/n,” he calls, which suddenly feels too loud in the room with no one else but the two of you. he rounds the table and walks towards where you stand on the opposite side, stopping a few feet away. 

you look up at him, and it’s the first time you’re noticing how tall he actually is. like this, him staring down at you with eyes that hold too much, you feel a little… nervous.

though his expression is still construed as bewildered, you can feel his gentleness radiating from every cell, as if he’s holding a flower in his hands he’s afraid to crush. “i don’t hate you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t think i ever could.”

oh. you think, and you can feel the puzzle pieces start to align in your head. “but… you’re always trying to rile me up.” you find yourself furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, the pieces repelling each other again. 

he caresses his nape, looking down sheepishly. “i thought… we were having friendly banter,” he says, then looks over at you through his eyelashes. “i’m sorry for upsetting you,” he says, and the sincerity in his tone is so evident that it takes you aback.

“oh.” you think aloud this time, surprised by the unfamiliarity of the man before you. “it’s… okay,” you reply. then, you suddenly realise how dramatic you’ve been, and you feel your cheeks heat up uncontrollably. “i’m… sorry too, for all the times i’ve been rude to you.” you lower your head and shut your eyes, too embarrassed to look at him.

taesan laughs, a hearty sound that surrounds you like a warm blanket. you open your eyes, realising it’s the first time you’ve heard him like this, and look up to capture the moment. he’s laughing toothily, eyes crinkled into half-moons as he hovers one hand over his mouth. as you take in the sight of him in awe, you suddenly realise that this may be what has been beneath your emo rival’s irritating remarks all this time.

when you look back at all the times taesan has interacted with you, you don’t know why you thought he hated you. besides his tendency to, in his words, banter with you in class and the student council, he’s always tolerated your ridiculousness—from that call where he had simply asked if you needed a ride home after listening to your insults, to carrying you on his back all throughout the relatively long walk to your dorm just because you said it in passing.

you furrow your eyebrows. the puzzle pieces are moving closer again.

“taesan,” you call out before you can stop yourself. as of this moment, your mouth has disconnected from your brain as you try to fit the puzzle correctly, so you find yourself spitting out the question without a warning. “do you like me?”

the way he stiffens instantly would be comedic if not for the fact that you had asked a question that could break the truce you just formed. the realisation finally dawns on you, and panic starts to set in as you see his reaction. “you don’t have to answer that, i didn’t mean to—”

“y/n,” taesan cuts you off effectively. for a moment, only silence can be heard between you, and you hope he doesn’t catch your erratic heartbeat from your nervousness.

then, he offers a small smile. “give me a chance to answer this properly next time,” he says extra softly, as if he’s afraid of scaring you away. “for now, just know that, even if you drunk-dial me to yell at me again or curse at me all throughout another piggyback ride,” he softens, “i will never be able to dislike you.”

© blissfullsvn 2024. All Rights Reserved.

[rachalixie]

a/n: a little anxiety comfort for @katieraven :))) (warnings: anxiety, reader picks at her skin)

“you’re doing it again,” chan points out, looking down at your hands and back up to your eyes. you shrink into yourself a bit, expecting to find some kind of judgment within his gaze but as always there is none. 

“sorry,” you mutter, tucking your hands under your legs to keep them out of reach. your nails were in terrible shape, the cuticles around them torn up, but you couldn’t help it. it was like an involuntary reflex at times, you didn’t even realize that you were doing it until after it was done. 

“don’t apologize,” he says, voice honey molten, soothing your ache just a bit. “i’m never going to be upset at you for that. i’m just worried, is all.”

“i’m trying,” you stutter out, cursing inwardly at how fragile your voice sounds. if you were with anyone else, you’re sure you would have started crying by now. 

“i know,” he smiles at you, tugging your hands out from under your legs so he could hold them in his. “do you want me to paint them? that’s helped before.”

“you don’t have to,” you try and tug your hands away, embarrassed at the state of your fingertips. you don’t want anyone looking at them, especially with the attentive care it would take to paint them. even if he’s done it before, it doesn’t get any easier. 

“i know i don’t have to. i want to,” he declares, keeping his grip on your hands. “i love you, i want you to be okay. i would never judge you for anything, you know that.”

he leaves no room for questioning him, because he’s right. in all the time that you’ve known him, he’s never once made you feel like less for your anxiety. 

you let out a sigh and nod, and he smiles so brightly that you have to look away in fear of being blinded by his light. he pulls out a small container out of the drawers next to him and he rifles through it, straightening up when he finds what he’s looking for. 

“which one?” he holds up two bottles of nail polish, both black. 

“chan, they’re the same color,” you giggle, endeared by him. 

“no!” he starts, looking at the bottles and then back at you before starting his explanation of how different the shades of black were. you let everything else fade out except for the sound of his voice until the urge to pull your hands away from him fizzles away. you eventually point at one, choosing at random, and he wastes no time uncapping the bottle, bouncing in excitement. 

each swipe of the polish against your nails calms you bit by bit as you focus on the way his tongue peeks out of his lips in concentration. he does it so carefully, making sure that none of it touches your skin and swiping away the bits that do with his thumbnail. 

“they look pretty, right?” he asks when he’s done, raising your hands up to your face so you could see his work. 

“yeah, channie,” you agree, surprised when you actually mean it. “they do.”

[sojumamii]

˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧always a brat ˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧

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summary: no matter how hard he tries,megumi is always gonna be a spoiled brat that hates to share, especially when it's you he's sharing.

tags: megumi x fem/afab! reader, childhood friends to lovers, slight slight angst mostly cute fluff, flustered pining megumi, jealousy (cute), dad gojo, nanami is so cool (derogatory) this is me wanting cute megumi content bc i miss him too much. Honestly I gave a huge backstory about you and megumi's childhood LMAO enjoy

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It wasn't so long ago that a neurotic white haired lanky man showed up at your doorstep, alongside a bored, odd-haired child to explain curses, and the art of jujutsu sorcery.Yadayada some bad people were looking for you because you have a powerful gift yadayada Gojo can help nurture your talents and keep you from being caught by those bad people because he's a big strong guy who supposedly ruined the world (idk the freak kept yapping for so long) yadayada you may or may not die but you'll be helping people, and not have to be around mean family members who think you're weird for seeing scary monsters they don't believe are real. (showed them)

The whole time this child-highjacker was talking you couldn't help but stare at the young boy about your age hiding behind him, not really out of fear but of disinterest, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.

Gojo catching on concluded his speech and gestured towards Megumi,"Ah! This little handsome punk right here is Megumi Fushiguro another cute stray i've taken under my wing! You're probably about the same age, first grader? Sooo! I'm sure you're gonna be best friends in no time!" he yelled animatedly, smile wide and mischievous.

Megumi scoffed in response, turning and walking away to a nearby car. You gasped at how so blatantly rude he was to your face, your face painted with obvious irritation. At your reaction Gojo chuckled and reached down to ruffle your (h/c) hair presenting you with a thumbs up.

"Don't mind him, I've come learn he's naturally moody, like is that kid really six years old,..but i'm sure he'll come around...I mean he really has no choice as you two will be a team from now on. Anyways! Let's get you two something to eat..y'like kikufuku?!" Shiny blue eyes peaked from round black sunglasses, you simply shrugged and walked with him to the car with your silly little backpack and your new future.

Growing up with Megumi was a slightly mixed bag, but instead of growing irritated of him, he fascinated you. Despite his more shadowy personality, you were rather fond of him right away,finding his hot temperament and need to be serious rather endearing and cute much to his open and endless dismay.

You wondered how this could be someone your age, as Megumi was much more composed than the supposed adult now taking care of you. He was indifferent to both you and Gojo, only ever interacting with his elder step-sister Tsumiki, who urged him to be kinder and more approachable especially since you two were in the same predicament. Megumi would scoff and tell her to leave him alone and that he didn't wanna make friends just because they're stuck together. You never took offense but it would annoy you that you had the decency to be kind but he wasn't discreet with his attitude.

"Right..like I know i'm the adult but it's kind shooting down my pride that this kid doesn't like me yet, i'm not above bribes..." Gojo had whispered to you after you secretly inquired about the other child, having a difficult time adjusting to your new living situation, the young boy's attitude towards you was not welcoming and though you did your best to leave him alone, you would still extend an arm out as gently as possible. Although, you were also not above checking Megumi's attitude which would result in some major clashes that would make Gojo fret over household repairs.

After walking you guys home from school Gojo would figure out what to feed you before training and homework, allowing you to snack as he stressfully lamented over what to feed the three of you. You're all seated at the table with your homework laid out, peckish from a long day of being an elementary aged child. Tsumiki sat primly in her chair sipping on a pink carton of strawberry milk, a staple in the gojo-fushiguro-(l/n) household. Excitedly you ask her if there were anymore boxes of the heavily worshipped beverages left.

She nodded sweetly, soft brown locks swaying,"Yeah (y/n) there's one more left with your name on it!"

You beam happily out of your seat, ready to grab your treat and announce to your guardian that more strawberry milk was to be added to the grocery list. Until...

.

.

You fall face first onto the firmness of the tatami mat and hear the rapid stomping of feet fleeing to the cabinet where your sacred treasure lay. Furious you look up at Megumi who was now indifferently drinking the last carton, that you had so openly claimed, a claim that was co-signed and notarized by Tsumiki. The absolute audacity of this bratty spoiled motherfu-

"Meg-" Tsumiki began to scold right before you exploded.

"You bitch!" you shrieked, you hear Tsumiki gasp at your profanity, but your anger was at boiling point with this broom haired kid. Megumi retained his look of indifference which furthered enraged you. Megumi expected you to get mad and yell at him but what he didn't expect was-

"OOF!" Megumi fell backwards roughly on the floor, as you tackled him, strawberry milk carton flying out of his hand, destination unknown. You're on him pulling as harshly as your tiny fists allow on his hair, he yells pushing you back but you're relentless!

"Calm down what's your deal you freak it's just strawberry milk!"

"You tripped me to get it you selfish brat! Even though you knew i wanted it!"

"You obviously didn't want it that bad! Should've been more alert!" he successfully gets you off of him, shoving you to the living room.

"Guys please!" You both ignore Tsumiki

"Ugh! You're such a whiny little bitch!" You lunge at him again with your fist ready,unbeknownst to you there's glowing flames of energy coursing through it,he narrowly evades it by moving his head. Making impact with the sofa, it splits in half, wooden floor below absolutely destroyed.

Megumi grunts in anger, his fist glowing as well ready to make impact with you, quickly you push him off and he blows a hole through the television and the wall behind it. Stubbornly you both make way to each other with powered filled fist ready to collide.

"ENOUGH! What's the matter you two!" Gojo catches both of your fists,pulling you two off the floor, holding the both of you in each hand, he angrily looks back and forth between you and the destroyed living room. "How did this happen! Why are you two trying rip each others' heads off and why is the living room a-oh?"

A lightbulb flickers over him," Well I'll be damned! You two finally managed to produce cursed energy,how exciting!" The older man hugs you both tightly, crushing your lungs.

"Too bad it took you guys trying to kill each other...which reminds me we need to have a little lesson on teamwork, and household construction you absolute demon children!" He gives a preview of your 3 hour long lecture by throwing you two into the hole you just punched in the floor.

.

.

.

After that incident you understood how someone so deceptively calm like Megumi was to be a sorcerer, he was crazy, a an absolute psycho you'd say. Gojo's words from a previous time replay in your mind:

"You have to be a little crazy to handle being jujutsu sorcerer."

Through a lot of exposure therapy, Megumi eventually got used to your presence, and actually began to enjoy it, seeking it even. Once you were both a little older and still around each other, he figured he may as well get along with you. It's not that he didn't like you (anymore) or found you annoying (anymore) he realized he was just used to Tsumiki, and didn't care for any more than that and was surprising to himself very combative to any sort of change. But he was making the effort to fix that immature side of him and be more receptive and open to you and gojo.

Despite that, the more missions you two shadowed, the longer you lived together and went to school, the closer you became and the tighter your bond felt. You became an inseparable pair, hanging out outside of sorcery and schooling, in your rooms, sharing hobbies and tastes in music, constant laughter and smiles were consistently heard and shared between you two. Witnessed fondly by Tsumiki and Gojo who had their own little gossip circle over mochi and tea. Strawberry milk was no longer allowed in the household.

This unshakable bond was like concrete, no matter the circumstances, no matter how terrifying going out on missions became and the atrocities you experienced, you guys relied on each other, minds and hearts in perfect synergy the older you became. Getting to your first year of jujutsu tech was something you both couldn't believe finally came around, now almost 10 years later, and your relationship was still thriving! Yuji and Nobara blending in perfectly to your small shared circle!

But now one person has began to shake that bond and making Megumi's possessive bratty habits rear their ugly head.

It's making Megumi regret coming to this stupid sorcerer school with the stupid handsome suit wearing ex-salarymen sorcerers who have stupid sorcery knowledge and wisdom. Who are stupidly caring and kind with cute quirks like loving bread, fuckin loser (yet megumi hates red bell pepper)

This thought process was pissing him off, and so was the existence of a specific grade 1 sorcerer.

"Nanami is so strong! His ratio technique is so cool!"

"Nanami is helping me with my precision and aim! He's so kind!"

"Nanami is such a gentleman, he tucked me to sleep in the car on the way home from a mission! A sweet handsome guy like him must have no problem getting da-"

"Alright! I get it Nanami is so great and awesome! You know it's a little inappropriate to have a crush on your superiors!" Megumi grumbles as he slams his hand on the table,eyebrows raised at you. What's so great about a guy who wears a suit to exorcise curses? fuckin weirdo

Your eyes widen as a flush takes over your cheeks, "Gumi don't be mean! I don't have a crush on Nanami, I'm just saying how kind he is and how much i've learned from him!" your lips form a pout.

"Really? Then why is your face red? Why are your eyes sparkling when you talk about him?What's the point in calling him handsome if you're not crushing on him! You sound like a love sick school girl!" He bites back.

You raise your brows and cross your arms,"You know your bratty attitude wasn't cute when we were kids and it's definitely not cute now! So what if I admire my mentor or compliment his looks! Yuji's complimented my looks and I don't see you calling him a love sick school girl!"

Internally he's kicking himself, he doesn't understand why hearing about Nanami from you is making him react this way. It feels like someone else is piloting his brain right now (or maybe his six year old self) especially when he utters his next words,"Maybe you should start hanging out with Nanami since he's so cool and special!"

"'You like me or something huh? Can't stand me looking at someone else!"You stand up, fists on the table, you lean your body over to Megumi's side of the table, face to face your (e/c) eyes give him a heated glare.

Now it's Megumi's turn to flush red, breaking his neck to look away from your intimidatingly beautiful eyes, his heart snaps.

"Are you jealous Gumi? Is that it? You want me to look at you only?" You inch closer, calling him out on his bluff.

'WHAT! Oh god.. no no no, awe shit...god damn it what am I thinking, beautiful eyes? I mean she does have beautiful eyes, and she's beauti- oh my god? She asked if I like her? I think that's what this is...heart pumping? Am I jealous of Nanami? Idiot. Why did I have to run my mouth like that? Since when do I lose my cool this bad nowadays?!" Megumi's thoughts race 100 miles per hour, body running hot from the interrogation.

"J-Jel-Jealous? What the hell would I have to be jealous of Nanami for!" His delicately pretty face twisted in confusion and irritation.

"I don't know gumi, how about you enlighten me" You smirk, cornering him like he's a feral possum, he's not getting out of this one unscathed.

He never really got into the specifics of his feelings for you, of course he liked you, or else he wouldn't stick around. You guys were so close it was honestly concerning to others and himself, you were his most treasured person (sacred one would say) He has been through major life experiences, and struggles with you, you grew up together. You had a domestic routine, a result of living together for years, even in the same house you guys slept in each other's rooms (and still do even though the dorms prohibit it) watched tv together, read together, cooked for each other, studied...went on outings... had matching rings ... matching sweaters.. and oh god is he already dating you?

That's not all, his shikigami adored you, you were there when he summoned his first ones, the divine dogs that he appropriately named shiro and kuro, and boy you were so excited to see them, the dogs took an instant liking to your adoration, and eventually you bonded with them they look out for you on missions. As a child that cemented for Megumi that you were someone he held dear and was 100% certain you had truly kind and pure heart if his shikigami were so trusting of you.

Same thing happened with his other shikigami; Nue would nuzzle into you despite his ever growing body whether it was after a successful mission or as soon as it was summoned for training, excited rust colored wings and a happy screech flocked your way. Gama and rabbit escape jumping on your shoulders in greeting or to rest.

When he lost Shiro and Orochi, you made him a pretty silver charm necklace with a snake and pretty white wolf, letting him mourn his fallen companions in the comfort of his bed as he sobbed heart wrenchingly in your arms and expressed his deep appreciation that you allowed him have something of them to carry with him

That memory is specifically one he holds so dearly, he remembers how much you reassured him that it was okay to mourn his shikigami and Yuji and that it wasn't his fault they died, and that this situation shouldn't make him jaded in making bonds with others; reality was that you guys were all still so young so to see one of you die was heartbreaking no matter how normal it was in your world.

looking back he feels that's when he began realizing his feelings ran deeper than initially imagined. It was instinct for him to protect you, comfort you and even just care for you in any way possible. Always making sure you were fed and hydrated, well rested, not overstrained, comforting you when missions you went on without him went awry, carrying you to bed when you fell asleep in the common room at the dormitory, or in the car on the way home.

If it was cold he made sure you had a sweater on before just in case or disregard his coldness by taking off his sweater and tenderly putting it on you (whilst grumbling and nagging for you to bring one, though Megumi would never admit so brazenly he loved seeing you in his clothes, that's his secret to keep.)

From across the way, Yuji and Nobara watch the spectacle going on at your table, it was very rare for you and Megumi to fight, you guys bickered for sure, you all did, but Megumi never lost his cool with you in those instances like he did with them. Usually if you fought it was over very serious things, like injuries on missions, mahoraga... the drawbacks of your technique on your body.. but never a serious argument on something so...stupid? Plus it wasn't in either of your introverted natures to display such a spectacle.

"What are those two screaming at each other about? I could've sworn I heard Fushiguro saying Nanamin's name a few times?" Yuji glances back at Nobara, his brown eyes curious as to what his favorite mentor had to do with your squabble, he takes a handful of fries while Nobara looks directly at her phone to take a photo, oblivious to her lack of fries.

"I'm thinking Fushiguro is jealous that his sweet little (y/n) has her eyes on someone else for once, but for him to throw a tantrum over a harmless crush on a mentor is a level of pathetic I never expected him to be on." Kugisaki stifles her laughter, brushing her auburn hair back, not so subtly eavesdropping on the argument.(not like she could help it, she's nosy plus you guys are hard to ignore right now)

"I could see why someone would for fall for Nanamin! He's a really a gentleman! Strong too! I'd feel threatened too if I was him. But doesn't he know (y/n) really likes him? They're super close like that" The pink haired boy states like it's a simple answer as any. Nobara rolls her eyes, annoyed at the men in her class.

"Fushiguro is emotionally constipated, he may not really understand that he has feelings for her because they've always been close, but because (y/n) is girl she's smarter and knows better! She's trying to get it out of him, twenty bucks says she gets him to confess by the end of today?" Nobara sticks her hand out to Yuji, he smiles a look for determination on his face as he shakes her hand.

"You're on! Twenty bucks says she gets him to confess here and now!" They both nod to seal their deal.

"What are you guys betting on?" A voice in their booth asks. The students squeak as Gojo makes his presence known, his face inquisitive and sly.

"That (y/n) is gonna get Fushiguro to confess his feelings! It's bound to happen!" Itadori explains.

Gojo sniffles at the response, sighing dramatically while putting a hand over his heart,collapsing wordlessly into the booth end face planting on the table, Yuji softly pats his teachers back for comfort,while Kugisaki rolls her eyes at the ridiculous scenes in front of her, she turns back to your table and gasps, phone falling out of her grip.

Gojo and Yuji immediately look up, jaws dropping in shock at the scene in front of them.

Megumi and you were standing away from your table,his hand on your waist, the other holding the side of your face as both your lips were gently pressed together, you on your tippy toes and arms around his neck. They witness the gentleness of the moment, both your eyes full of fondness,and affection as your lips separate. A pretty blush overtakes the atmosphere.

"Oh my babies! They're growing up too fast! One day they're destroying the house and trying to kill each other over strawberry milk then before you know it they're getting married!" Gojo babbles through escalating sobs, accepting the tissues Yuji's offered him and cries into said student's shoulders.

Nobara and Yuji share a questioning look on the qualifications of gojo being a parent and the nature of your childhood, Yuji comforts his sensei again,"Fushiguro and (y/n) are always gonna be your babies gojo! Honestly I'm j-just s-so I'm so proud of Fushiguro being so honest about his feeheeeliiiings" the pinked haired boy chokes through tears, wiping his runny nose on his uniform

Kugisaki looks at the two emotional men in disgust, opting to watch the romantic soap opera in front of her as a live studio audience member, smiling softly to herself, as though she wouldn't be as foolish as her sensei and friend to openly admit it, she was full of pride for you too! You'd been pining over Megumi for forever even though you weren't aware of it and you always described how you used to feel lonely until you met him and no matter what you guys go through you're always there-

"Those two are finally together I can't believe it!! I'm so happy!" the hazel eyed girl joins the huddle of Yuji and Gojo, tears flowing out her eyes. All of this goes ignored and unbeknownst to you and Megumi.

You smile brightly at the black haired boy, playing with the hairs behind his neck,"See Gumi, was that so hard to admit?" You tease him, he grunts, eyes squeezed shut in embarrassed annoyance.

He softly flicks your forehead, an old habit from middle school," Shut up... I didn't really know that's what that was...but now that you're mine, that means no more Nanami talk right? Or anyone that's not me for that matter.." pretty red flush stains his fair skin.

You giggle and kiss his cheek,"Hmmm I don't know Okkutsu is a reaaaaal cutie.." you pretend to ponder tilting your head in thought.

Megumi groans and kisses you again, more confident and stern,"You're an absolute pain."

"Don't worry Gumi you're my only and favorite one. I've always been yours silly." You wink, a pink blush dusting the both of you again. Megumi presses a chaste kiss, holding your hand and grabbing both your bags to get ready to leave for training after your longer than intended lunch, you're interrupted by a deep,polite voice.

"(y/l/n),Fushiguro, my apologies for bothering you both, I just wanted to quickly speak to Miss (y/l/n), here this is research I found on techniques similar to your own and information about its users.. I hope the information is helpful to you in your journey as a sorcerer." Nanami hands you a few books with various note tabs sticking out of them. You stare at it wide eyed, stunned and excited to learn more about your technique... and how much time and effort it took a busy man like Nanami to do...Seriously, what a gentleman...

You bow in appreciation,blush reappearing, "Thank you Nanami, I'm sure this will be very insightful!" the man smiles back and nods,"Of course, be sure to let me know what else you may want to know.That being said I've taken enough of your guys' time, goodbye for now."

Megumi scoffs, irritation palpable at his senior,"Tch. Whatever womanizer."He tugs at your hand and drags you away quickly to the exit and as far away from the dashing gentleman of a sorcerer. Damn...he's good.

As you're walking you smack his shoulder in reprimand,"gumi that was rude! you're always gonna be brat who does whatever he wants!" you're scolding him but it's in between giggles and the most loving soft gaze he's used to seeing in your eyes, now that he knows what it is, it makes him shy. He kisses your face as a distraction to your lecture (fat chance.)

And what could Megumi say, you make him crazy, he's always gonna put his foot down for what's his. He silently kisses the back of your hand like a guilty puppy.

he'll apologize to nanami soon

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.

.

Taken aback Nanami blinks in confusion,"Womanizer?" he repeats. Megumi's vengeful words replay in his mind, unable to figure out an explanation.

He looks back at Itadori's table when the sound of rambunctious laughter invades the dining hall, confused hazel eyes hidden behind his opaque lenses.

"Why are you laughing?"

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I hope you guys liked my first work on here!! This was written on a whim with no specific outline (explains the inconsequential lore dump as this is one shot or who knows!!) hope you guys love jealous and bratty Megumi. As calm and collected as he is I imagine when hes in love so many emotions come up he doesn't know how to define them or properly communicate them so he says the first thing his brain tells him even when he himself knows rationally its crazy to say or think.

[euthymiya]

we’ll have a ball ft. wriothesley

in which you and your boyfriend are due to arrive at fontaine’s most prestigious event, but not before you give him a hand with a slight wardrobe malfunction

contains: female reader ; reader wears a gown ; established relationship ; quite a bit of suggestiveness but overall just fluff ; wriothesley hates fancy events he told me himself, and reader just wants to live her ballgown dreams—he indulges her because he’s a real man ; flirting with wriothelsey using his tie lol ; wriothesley has a brief jealousy induced existential crisis

despite wearing one every day, wriothelsey doesn’t know how to tie a tie.

it’s why it’s so loose around his neck—a stylistic choice, of course, but also a decision based around convenience. he doesn’t need to learn how to tie one if it’s already tied and loose enough to slip over his head. it’s easier that way, letting a complicated set of steps reduce down to just a quick garment to throw on around his neck, allowing him the ability to forgo the trouble of tying it altogether.

you think it’s a rather endearing shortcoming of his, especially when he stands in the mirror confused as he grumbles, fiddling with the material as he tries to properly tie it for once.

“you’re doing that wrong, you know,” you sing, walking up behind him in your gown as he pauses and meets your eyes through the mirror. “you’re hopeless.”

he ignores your quip, gulping slightly as he mumbles, “you look gorgeous.”

“and you look like a fool,” you snort, glancing at the messy knot at his chest.

“maybe they don’t need us,” he licks his lips, spinning around to properly look you up and down without the mirror. a reflection doesn’t do you justice, he thinks, he needs the real thing. “we should just stay here. and do other things.”

“and have lady furina behead us for canceling last minute? i don’t think so,” you wave him off, but your arms slip around his neck as soon his hands grab your hips, letting him pull you flush against his chest as his nose runs along your collarbone, inhaling sharply at the scent of your perfume.

the duke of meropide is, in its own right, a prestigious title. prestigious enough to extend wriothesley an invitation to the annual ball the hydro archon holds for the sake of extravagance. wriothesley manages to weasel his way out of it on most years—but this time, you’ve been newly added to the guest list as well, courtesy of your blossomed relationship with the warden.

you seem far too excited to attend for him to decline in good conscience. love is sacrifice, as they say—and wriothesley can happily suffer through an evening of small talk and formality while sporting an uncomfortably tight fitting suit.

the only problem he can’t manage to overlook so far is this cursed, wretched tie.

“you’re no fun,” he pouts slightly, trailing the tip of his nose to brush along your collarbone until it finds your neck, lips pressing a soft, lingering peck as you hum and play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “i’ll show you a good time. better than a silly ball.”

“that’s a big promise.”

“well, i can think of a way or two to make it worth your while,” he grins against your neck, and you’re certain you’ve memorized that curve of his lips by heart. you can recognize it instantly when it sears against your skin.

“nice try,” you laugh, pulling away as he begrudgingly does the same. he sighs at your dismissal while you reach over to the tie around his neck. “but we’re going. and you need this tie looking…not how it’s looking right now.”

“m’trying my best,” he grumbles, looking away to the side, cheeks dusted a precious shade of crimson that you lean over to kiss gently.

your fingers undo the messy knot at his neck, expertly weaving the tie into a new and neat, flawless knot as you tighten it to fit around his neck perfectly. it’s unlike the loose, rugged knot he usually wears—much more proper, much more professional, much more formal.

wriothesley doesn’t look particularly thrilled at the adjustment, sighing as he watches you inspect his appearance and straighten his collar. your hand smooths over his chest as you give your nod of approval, and he wonders if you can hear his thundering heartbeat under your palm.

if you do, you’re gracious enough to cut him some slack from being teased.

“there,” you hum, “you look quite handsome.”

“does it have to be so tight?” he complains—and then his brows twitch, furrowing deeper as he pauses to look at you briefly with a puzzled look. “hang on. where’d you learn how to tie a tie?”

you raise a playful eyebrow, letting out an amused huffed out breath as you say, “well, you’re not the only man i’ve gotten to know.”

“so you’ve done this before? for another man?” he asks incredulously, miserably looking down at the thin piece of fabric wrapped around his collar as if it’s choked him before he adds, “i think i’ll be taking that dip in the primordial sea like i mentioned.”

“oh, quit being a drama queen,” you swat at his arm, chuckling as he gives you a theatrically pained look before burying his head back into your neck again, hand fitting in the small of your back as he rubs slowly circles into your gown.

“is this punishment for my crimes? because i’ve already served a sentence and according to fontaine laws, you can’t try a man twice for the same crime.”

“if it makes you feel better, i think you of all men pull ties off the best.”

“i suppose it minimally raises my spirits that you think i look good,” he concedes.

he does look good—whether it’s his usual loose, improperly fit tie or the fancy, silk material of tonight, you think wriothesley is most handsome when there’s a thin piece of fabric decorating his neck and chest, perfectly hanging and waiting for you to tug and pull him in.

you decide to demonstrate the wonderful opportunity his attire grants you, too, when you murmur, “in fact, i quite appreciate your habit of wearing ties.”

“oh? is that so?”

“yes,” you say slyly, pushing him back gently as you question, “want to see why?”

“do enlighten me,” he grins, eyes mischievously narrowing, a knowing glint sparkling in them as he waits for you to finish what you started.

so you do—reaching over and grabbing the silk, giving it a firm yank so he leans down, forehead pressing against yours and lips just a few millimeters away as you breathe, “i can do this whenever i want when you wear one. it’s very convenient for when i need a kiss or two.”

“i see,” he nods, his breath fanning over your lips. it’s hot and searing—you shiver at the feeling of him even when his lips haven’t even touched you yet. “well, if it keeps you satisfied, then i’ll have to make sure i’m always dressed appropriately for your needs.”

“well,” you bat your lashes, biting your lip as you give him a cheeky giggle and say, “there’s a good chance i might need something that requires very little attire, too, your grace.”

he closes his eyes, and you stifle a victorious laugh.

“you’ll be the death of me,” he says through a strained groan, leaning in to finally close the gap and kiss you deeply. his lips are hungry, pressing into you for another taste every time you manage to pull away for even a brief moment. you hum against his mouth, cupping his cheeks and holding his face as his fingers grip at your waist and feel the curve of you against him.

you always wonder if you and wriothesley were once the same person in a previous life. perhaps split in two, destined to find each other in the next. it feels like he completes you when you meet like this, pressing against you like one half meeting the other to make a whole.

it’s dizzying, maybe even downright risky the way you kiss so passionately just moments before you need to leave—you’re not sure either of you have the self control to break away if it comes down to it.

luckily, wriothesley travels his mouth to find your jaw after a few more moments, kissing through breathless pants as your eyes flutter open.

“we have to go soon,” you whisper.

“are you certain we can’t just stay here? i promise what i offer will be far more fun than listening to random wealthy folk running their mouths for a night.”

“but we get to dance,” you point out.

he pretends to think about it for a moment before offering, “i’ll dance with you here.”

“no,” you scold, swatting at his shoulder as you roll your eyes, “this dress is expensive. it needs to be appreciated.”

“oh i’ll appreciate it alright,” he drawls, grinning against your jaw as he whispers into your skin, “i’ll appreciate it all night.”

“no. we’re going, and that’s final, you sleaze.”

“hey,” he pouts, pulling away as you reach over one last time to straighten his hair and fix up his appearance, “i’m nothing if not a doting boyfriend.”

“wonderful. then i expect to have a drink in my hands all night,” you wink teasingly, patting his cheek, “you’ll be in charge of grabbing me them.”

he deflates in defeat, grumbling a quiet, “alright, fine.”

“you can appreciate my gown after,” you lean close, whispering against the shell of his ear and making him pause with a hitched breath as you press a kiss to the skin under his earlobe and murmur, “maybe you can appreciate some other clothing i’ve purchased too.”

“well,” he inhales sharply, grabbing your wrist and tugging you along as he nods seriously, “in that case, i look forward to it.”

ok so basically i went to the mall today and i walked past this store with mens suits and one of the posters on the window with the models was a woman pulling a man in by the tie and then i was like oh that’s so me and wrio and that’s how this drabble came to be 👍

[teamatsumu]

Hi! I was just wondering if you ever had any plans of making a part four nsfw for the alpha Sukuna series you have? It has me in suspense dkljsaldks

You activated the chip in my brain so i wrote this for you lol. I got so carried away 💀

warnings: swearing, suggestive content, mentions of sex, a/b/o typical vernacular

Imagine Alpha!Sukuna watching another Alpha try to court you.

He is the absolute first to know, because he smells the guy on you the second you step into the room. He is certain no one else can tell, since it’s so subtle, but his nose is sharper than today’s Alphas, and he can tell immediately. He feels himself bristle at the thought. How dare another Alpha, a human one at that, lay a hand on you?

He watches you even more closely than usual after that, especially when you are dolled up. He knows what that means. He’s not an idiot. You’re going on a date with some asshole who thinks he can give you what you need. Well, that dolt couldn’t be more wrong. You don’t need some mediocre Alpha to take care of you, you need him. You just don’t know it yet.

Deep down, Sukuna knows that the Alpha in him is growing restless day after day, watching you get closer to this unknown man you keep seeing. The man you keep allowing to court you. In his head, you already belong to him. You are his omega, even if you only look at him as a curse who takes over your friend’s body from time to time. None of that matters because at the end of the day, the only Alpha who is allowed to stake a claim on you is him.

The day you come back with another scent on your neck is the day Sukuna’s control snaps.

He eyes you from Yuuji’s cheek as you greet everyone and sit down in your seat, ready for class. He can almost see the scent as it lingers on your glands, masking your own sweet one with its heavy Alpha notes. Disgusting. Some other Alpha has tainted your pure omega smell. Someone who isn’t him.

That night, he takes over Yuuji’s body as the boy sleeps, trudging over to your room and pushing the door open. He doesn’t have the courtesy to knock (of course), and he only does so when he finds the door locked. Albeit he smacks an open palm against the door instead of rapping on it with his knuckles.

When you pull open the door just a crack and peek out, you see pink hair and black lines tattooed over your friend’s face, and realize your visitor is not Yuuji.

“Sukuna?” You pull the door further open, revealing more of your figure. Sleep shorts and a tank top. Sukuna almost hums in approval, but instead he feels his nose scrunch. His sensitive nose is still picking up on traces of an alpha scent. He feels his mouth twist in disgust.

“You let him fuck you?”

He sees your eyes widen and mouth drop open in shock. “What?”

“That Alpha you’ve been seeing.” He pushes himself into the room as he speaks, making you back away. He looks around your room. The sheets are ruffled, indicating you were already in bed. The rest of it is very clean.

“I-” You stutter over your words. Sukuna would’ve thought it was endearing if it weren’t for the context at hand. His blood is already boiling, and it is taking everything in him to not find this bastard and skin him alive.

“It’s none of your business.” You settle, avoiding eye contact with him. Sukuna raises an eyebrow.

“Oh?” He steps closer to you, watching you shuffle backward until your back hits a wall. “None of my business?”

He leans forward, hands still buried in his pockets, letting his nose come in contact with your bare scent gland. He feels you stiffen, takes in a deep whiff.

“You smell like Alpha.” He comments. “Been smelling like him all day. It still hasn’t gone away. He fucked you. Right, omega? Why else would you still smell like him?”

“We didn’t!” You sound panicked. “We just…. we did other stuff. He scented me.”

Sukuna lets out a breath against your skin. Feels the way you shiver. He presses closer until his body comes in contact with yours, reveling in the way you feel.

“He scented you?” His voice is low, rumbling, and he feels you fidget. He reaches a hand up, finding home on your hip before pushing up under your shirt to run over your bare waist. You shiver, but you don’t stop him. Your breath stutters. Sukuna grins.

“How did he do it? Like this?” And then he runs his tongue over your skin, licking a fat stripe right over your scent gland. He exhales on it, letting his overwhelming scent erase all traces of any other Alpha.

He hears your lips part as you sigh, arching into him hesitantly. He can almost hear the inner battle raging inside you. He knows the omega in you wants him, but your rational brain is holding you back.

“Or did he do it like this?” And then he bites, teeth sinking into delicate skin. Enough to sting, but not enough to break skin. He teeters dangerously close to mating you, trying to hold back the urge to do it. Not yet. Not like this. When he mates you, he wants his cock buried deep in your pussy. Wants to feel you cum and cry as he sinks his fangs into your enticing glands.

You moan then, the prettiest little sound, and Sukuna wants nothing more than to bend you over and take you right there and then. But a glimmer breaks his trance, pulling away just enough to eye the silver chain around your neck. It has a small pendant on it, heart shaped. Sukuna scoffs and reaches for it.

“This is what he gave you? Courting gift?” He thumbs at it. You nod hesitantly. Your breaths are still coming fast and shallow. Sukuna increases the pressure between his fingers. The chain snaps.

He pulls it off and dangles it in front of your eyes. Then, as you stare at it. He flings it away. He leans forward again, both hands gripping you tight, licking and nipping at your neck again, quicker this time, determined to scent you properly. You sigh at the feeling. The Alpha in him purrs.

“If I smell him on you again,” he grumbles. “I’m going to rip him to shreds. That’s a promise.” His hand runs up your back under your shirt, tracing your heated skin, coaxing you to arch into him more. “Got it?”

Your breath catches. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

Sukuna can smell your arousal. He holds himself back, enjoying this tightrope you two were walking on. He’s still lapping hungrily over your neck, leaving little nips that will darken into marks by morning.

“Yes Alpha.”

He hums in approval, still licking and breathing on your skin. Today, he had been the only one in the room who caught another Alpha’s scent on you. But he is going to make sure that when you show up tomorrow, even a beta can tell you smell like him and him only.

You’re his omega. No one else’s.

[mediumgayitalian]

“Hide me hide me hide me hide me hide me.”

Nico blinks, watching blankly as Will ducks under his arm, situating himself behind the door and peeking around it. When Nico doesn’t move, he cranes his neck to look at him, face urgent, and says, “Close it, dude, hurry up!

“Solace!”

“Fuck,” Will curses.

Nico blinks again. He squints across the common, trying to suss out what Will’s staring at. It doesn’t take long. She’s hard to miss, especially in full armour.

“Are you…hiding from Clarisse?”

“Am I hiding from —” He scoffs. “No, I’m just behind this door for fun. Fucking obviously I’m hiding from Clarisse, Nico, now get with the program and close the damn —”

“Solace!”

Both of them jump. When Nico looks, Clarisse is already way closer than she should be. Before he can process enough to slam the door, and heedless of Will’s increasingly-harried oh my gods oh my gods oh my gods fuck fuck fuck fuck, Clarisse is closer, and closer, and then suddenly she’s barging inside, pushing Nico aside like it’s not his damn cabin.

Will groans. “Aw, come on, Clarisse!”

She doesn’t bother to humour him with words, choosing instead to grab him by the collar and drag him bodily out. Will does not make it easy, going completely limp and getting his clothes grass-stained beyond belief, because Clarisse tugs him along like a sled behind her, bouncing over every stone. Nico follows, on the grounds that it’s not being nosy if Will dragged him into it technically.

“You have siblings! You have a boyfriend!”

“And yet I’m choosing you,” Clarisse says easily. “I’ve already told Chiron. It’s a done deal, weatherboy. You’re chariot racing with me.”

Will groans, trying in vain to squirm out of Clarisse’s grip. “There is no reason for me to be your partner in the stupid chariot race, I am a healer, I am at camp to heal —”

She shakes him a little to shut him up. “All the more reason. You focus too much on one thing, brat. All you do is heal and study like a big nerd. You need to get out of your comfort zone.”

“Um, no way. I’m very comfortable in it. That’s why it’s called a comfort zone.”

“You could use some training,” Nico pipes up, and the betrayed look Will gives him would be more effective at making him feel bad if it wasn’t so funny. “Last time I tried to teach you how to use a sword you almost sliced off your own face, so.”

Clarisse looks at him with appraisal. “Maybe you do have some sense in you, di Angelo.”

Nico chooses to take that as the compliment it is.

“Ugh,” Will says dramatically, and finally manages to wrench out of Clarisse’s grip in order to embed the appropriate level of drama in his face-down flop to the floor.

Clarisse kicks him. “You’re pathetic.”

“Ugh.”

Notably, he stops protesting. She kicks him again, affectionately this time, and stomps away.

———

“If I work myself into another coma, I don’t have to chariot race,” Will says gleefully, shoving the bottles of nectar Nico hands him onto a shelf. He’s been buzzing around the infirmary all day, healing things he is meant to be healing with a band-aid and a stop being a clumsy dumbass, dumbass with hymns and salves. “I’m gonna try to cure cancer again.”

Kayla, walking by, reaches out and smacks him. “Try it and I’m crack your country CDs in half.”

Will turns to her, opening his mouth —

“Every single one of them,” she stresses, green eyes narrowed.

— and closes it again, huffing.

“I’ll find a way,” he says glumly.

Nico pats him delicately on the back. “There, there.” A pause. “I mean, personally, I can’t wait to watch you fall out of a chariot.”

The look Will shoots him is nothing short of wounded. “You think I’m so uncoordinated I’m gonna fall out of the chariot?”

“Gracefully!” assures Austin from across the infirmary, smiling supportively. He grins brightly when they turn to look, nose scrunching with the force of his smile. “I’m sure!”

Will’s scowl twitches in the face of his brother’s blind enthusiasm. (It is impossible not to be endeared by Austin. He is genuinely the sweetest kid in the entire universe. Nico even gets, to his horror, the occasional urge to squish him. Gently.) He sighs.

“Thanks, Austin.”

“Of course! Love you Will!”

The twitching scowl melts into a full smile. “Love you too, kiddo.”

———

Watching chariot race practices, very quickly, becomes Nico’s favourite pastime.

He sees, now, why Achilles would bring them up, unprompted, wistful look in his eye, every time Nico visited. There’s a beauty in the rawness of it; the whipping winds, wild horses. Squealing wheels and bending axels, open-backed and inches from death at all time. Dangerous, exhilarating. Humanity, at it’s most thrilling and old — some of the first tools, the first domestic animals, the first machines, all at once. It’s pure, raw excitement.

Also, Will falls out of the chariot, like, eight whole times. And there’s nothing funnier than watching him lose his shit at a splintered pile of wood that was once a carriage, helmet thrown to the ground in a fit of rage, accent so thick he’s literally incomprehensible. Nico never gets to see him like this. His stomach actually hurts from laughter on several occasions.

Slowly, though, he starts to get the hang of it. He’s smart — incredibly so — and when he stops spending half his time complaining, and the other half pouting, he actually gets pretty decent. He’s fast, after all, and quick to observe, to respond; the other teams struggle to land hits on him, in practice runs, and sabotage is difficult when your opponent seems to have an almost prophetic gift to see things coming.

He can’t, however, steel himself to hit back.

And therein lies the trouble.

“For fuck’s sake, Will, I’m not asking you to kill anybody,” Clarrise snaps. “You need to get your head in the game!”

Will’s shoulders curl defensively. “I know! I’m trying! It’s just —” He kicks at their broken wheel, in two clean pieces on the ground. “Do no harm.”

“Do some harm. Or I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Will brightens. “And then ask somebody else to be your partner?”

“No, and then make you my partner forever.”

“Oh.”

Will’s sullen face is hard to look at. He’s got those big, puppy dog eyes, round and sad and pouty. Not even Clarisse is immune. (And certainly not Nico, who finds himself halfway off the spectator’s stands and jogging to the tracks before he wonders what exactly, the fresh fuck, he is doing, and sprints right back.)

“Shit, Solace, don’t look like I killed your goddamn mother.” She cuffs him on the shoulder, sending him sprawling with a muffled oof. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s go again.”

Accepting the spare chariot someone wheels towards her, she pulls herself up, making space for Will to do the same. He doesn’t get on immediately, still looking miserable, but concedes eventually.

His forearms look kind of nice when he grips onto the rails for dear life, Nico notices. From a totally objective perspective.

The four practicing teams guide their horses to the starting line, running a few last minute checks. To avoid spilling any secrets or strategies, everyone uses the same practice-issue wooden chariot and wears the same armour, but it’s still obvious who’s who.

The Hephaestus team’s chariot, despite being standard issue, gleams like it’s brand-new. The wood is polished and looks to be altered, barely; a carved groove here, a sharper wing there. Nothing that could really be considered an upgrade, but definitely making the whole thing look smoother. The spears they hold promise a plethora of untold ability hidden within.

The Hermes chariot looks deceptively beat up. There’s a chunk missing from the top of the left side, and one of the wheels appears to be just slightly out of alignment. Upon careful inspection, though, Nico can see clear, hollow tubing attached along the rails and open to the back — definitely a quick rig of some sort. Base (not acid, Cecil had happily lectured him on the benefits of using a base rather than an acid when dissolving anything from steel to human flesh), if Nico has to guess, or maybe Greek fire.

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot doesn’t have to do much to look great. The whole thing seems to coast gracefully to the beginner line, and neither charioteer looks particularly bothered or preoccupied with the competition — if Nico recalls correctly, and he does, their goal is to win through “gay audacity”, which Nico does not understand but supports wholeheartedly.

Will and Clarisse’s chariot, by comparison, is pretty run-of-the-mill. They haven’t done much training with the Ares horses or the Apollo flying chariot, because Clarisse is primarily concerned with training Will — she knows the equipment is fine.

Lacy, standing at the edge of the track, puts a sparkly pink whistle to her lips and blows loudly. It’s not nearly as loud as one of Will’s sonic whistles, but it does the trick, and the teams are off in a blur of movement; Will and Clarisse in the lead, Hephaestus behind them, Aphrodite-Iris in third, and Hermes lagging slightly behind.

As they turn their first corner, positions largely unchanging, Nico hears footsteps from his left — Lou Ellen smiles at him as she climbs the stand, settling into the space he makes next to him.

“What’d I miss?” she asks, brushing dust off her hands.

He shrugs. “Not much. They were in the lead the last practice round, too, but on the last lap Hermes caught up.” He gestures to the heap that was once their practice chariot. “Julia had her sword at their wheels. They were on the inner ring, nowhere to move; the only way to get rid of them would have been to knock her arm, probably dislocate her shoulder. Will couldn’t do it.”

Lou Ellen winces. “Ah.”

There’s a ripping sound, followed by cackling — the Hermes chariot has finally made use of their hasty rigging, setting off an explosion behind them that rockets them forward. It has the added bonus of shaking the ground, slightly, unsettling the other drivers for just barely long enough for them to pull into third place. Far ahead, still in first, Nico can see Clarisse yelling instructions at Will, although he can’t hear what they are. His grip on the rail has tightened.

“Why,” starts Nico carefully, and based on Lou Ellen’s pinched face she knows exactly where he’s going, “does she make him — well, you know.”

Lou Ellen is silent for a good long while, watching the practice chariot race with eyes that aren’t paying attention. Hermes is gaining, but Hephaestus is gaining faster.

“Clarisse has always liked Will,” she says eventually. She meets Nico’s incredulous expression, snorting. “Well, as much as Clarisse can like people. I got here way after he did, so I don’t have any more details there than you do, but he’s never been afraid of her, and she likes that. He’s never been mean to her, either. I mean, I know she can be a bully, but people aren’t exactly light on her, to be fair.”

The Aphrodite-Iris chariot turns out to have some tricks up its sleeve — it starts to glow; barely at first, but quickly blinding. At its crux, everyone has to look away, allowing them to pull into first.

Well, except that Will doesn’t seem nearly as staggered as everyone else. In fact, he doesn’t look bothered at all — for the first time that Nico has seen, there’s something like competition pulling a crooked smile on his face. He stares straight at the still-too-bright chariot, reigns wrapped around his arms as he yanks them forward.

“Is that why she drags him away sometimes?” Nico asks. “To train?”

“Something like that. Most of his training was with —” she falters. “Well, you know who. Medicine and some archery.”

They’re both quiet for a while. Neither of them ever knew Lee or Michael well, if at all, but over time Nico has found himself almost clamming up at the mere thought of them, the way one might tiptoe around an authority figure when they have something to hide. Forbidden subjects, where before Nico simply didn’t think of them often.

“You can’t just not train, though,” Lou Ellen murmurs, eyes trained on the chariots. Hephaestus throws one of their spears, lodging it in the spokes of the Aphrodite-Iris chariot. They come to a very abrupt and very screechy halt, knocking them out of the race in any real capacity. “Not at Camp Half-Blood. She taught him hand-to-hand because she was the only one strong enough to physically drag him to the arena. Everyone else gave up after the first few tantrums — I think she was kind of amused by the challenge. Or something.”

“Or something,” Nico agrees. Privately, he thinks that there is something about Will Solace that makes you want to protect him. Not frailty — he is not by any means incapable — but something about his smile, his genuineness. The stubborn belief that people are good and kind and worthy of everything he has to give. A naivety, except someone who’s been through what he has (what they all have) cannot be naive — his hope in the world is hard-earned and well-won. It makes people want to protect his hold on it, by any means necessary.

Even, Nico reasons, ornery old fuckers like Clarisse LaRue.

The three remaining chariots start the last leg of the race — Apollo-Ares, barely squeezing out in front; then Hephaestus, quickly gaining; and finally Hermes, lagging slightly but not to be discarded. As they round the bend, Nico watches as Clarisse cuffs Will briefly on the arm, clearly proud. This is the farthest they’ve made in first so far, after two weeks of training. Will, reigns safely transferred back to Clarisse, beams at her — bright enough that Nico can see it from dozens of yards away.

With sudden, calculated speed, the Hephaestus chariot surges forward.

As if coordinated, Nico and Lou Ellen inhale sharply, leaning forward. He sees the scattered few other campers so the same in his peripherals, watching with single minded focus as the chariot levels exactly with Will and Clarisse. Nico eyes the spear nervously — of all weapons, they’re the easiest for Will to dodge, to fight off. More impersonal.

But the sons of the smartest god around would know that.

For at least a hundred feet, nothing happens. Ares-Apollo and Hephaestus stay neck in neck, every urge forward matched, every pesky road-blocking stone avoided. The finish line is dangerously close, but no one pulls ahead, nothing changes. Four shoulders remain tense, four helmets stare resolutely forward.

Then, in a quick movement, the taller Hephaestus charioteer hands the spear off to the shorter, swiftly taking the reigns, and the shorter lunges — aiming right for Will’s shoulder. Will’s quick, though, and has his own spear poised to parry in an instant. There’s a barely perceptible nudge from Clarisse, and then Will’s eyes harden, and he lifts his spear to jab right back, needle-thin tip gleaming in the late afternoon sun, right for the chink in the charioteer’s armour and then —

The charioteer rips their helmet off, dropping it at their feet.

It’s Harley.

Hephaestus’ darling; hell, the camp’s darling. One of their youngest and brightest, with big, mischievous brown eyes, contagious smiles, endless enthusiasm. Cute, clumsy Harley, the only one of Hephaestus’ children Will doesn’t have to nag to get treated, who walks dutifully over the infirmary every time he gets so much as a second-degree burn and treats each one of Will’s overcautious instructions with utmost seriousness. Who Will sends away each time with an affectionate kiss on the forehead and a prized purple sucker — who Will, frankly, favours. Who Will would never, in a million years, even consider hurting.

A dirty trick by the Hephaestus cabin.

But an effective one.

Immediately, Will flinches back, spear dropping from his hand and splintering under thundering hooves and spinning wheels. Without a second of hesitation, Harley launches his spear in the same move as before — sticking it in the wheel’s spokes, inertia sending the charioteer’s sprawling, knocking them out of the race.

Except, maybe it’s different when the chariots are so close. Or maybe the chariot was faulty to begin with. Because as soon as the spear gets wedged, the fragile floor of the chariot seems to implode — sending Will and Clarisse under the still-moving machine, instead of flying over. The horses, disoriented from the sudden change, rip free of their harness, adding more force to the already precarious tumble.

There’s a sharp, sickening crack, so loud Nico can hear it as if it’s next to him. In the brief nanosecond immediately afterwords, he closes his eyes, sending a prayer to his father: please be the axle. Please be the axle. Please be the axle.

As the Hephaestus and Hermes chariots rocket past the finish line, Clarisse lets out a shrill, blood-curdling scream.

———

Nico’s off the bench and halfway towards the crashed chariot before he can blink. He’s not the only one — he processes, barely, everyone else’s quick convergence, including the remaining charioteers — but he’s there first, diving into the wreckage seconds before anyone else is close enough.

There’s not a lot of actual debris, chariots being as small as they are, but the dust cloud from the track is so huge and the pieces of wood are so splintered that it feels like there is. As the dust settles, and he kicks some debris out of the way, he starts to see the shape of Will, kneeling, in front of a prone Clarisse and an ever-growing pool of blood.

There’s a bone sticking straight out of her thigh.

As the rest of the campers converge upon them, Will looks up and meets Nico’s eyes. His own blue eyes are dark, steely — determined, but afraid.

“I don’t have time,” is the only thing out of his mouth before he braces both hands on Clarisse’s leg, immediately starting to sing urgent hymns.

Nico understands.

“Lou, Julia, Chiara,” he barks, taking charge in absence of Will’s voice. The three girls snap forward to him immediately. “Sprint the the infirmary and tell them what happened. Austin’s on duty — make sure he doesn’t come with you, we need him to prep a surgical suite. Send everyone else and send them fast. Bring a stretcher.”

He turns to the Hephaestus kids. “Jake, Harley, start clearing the debris to make space. Damien, join them; move the big stuff first, small stuff is secondary. We need a space for Will to work and a space to lay the stretcher. Jen, Butch, Lacy —”

He barks off a list of orders, doing his best to channel the commands he’s watched Will give dozens and dozens of times. In minutes, he has the track cleared, Will’s medical bag dragged over from the stands, and everyone who is not helping stabilize out to the infirmary to help as needed.

As soon as there’s an opening, he rushes over to Will and Clarisse, kneeling by her head.

“Help is coming,” he promises, watching the glow dim and flicker in time with the rhythm of Will’s chanting. The bleeding has slowed, marginally, but he can tell from the volume of blood alone that this was an arterial hit. It’s going to take more than Will’s raw healing power, although there is a lot of it, to keep Clarisse alive and keep her leg functioning in recovery. He needs tools, he needs nectar and ambrosia; he needs the surgery suite. He needs time.

“Is it helpful for me to knock her out?”

Clarisse, of course, is still conscious. Barely — and in so much pain Nico will be surprised if she’s processing anything at all — but enough that every few seconds she lets out an agonised shout of pain, writhing and flinching so hard Will has to focus on steadying her as much as healing her.

Without breaking his song, eyes still trained on the injury, Will nods. Nico breathes, squaring his shoulders, then shuffled forward to rest Clarisse’s head gently in his lap, fingers pressed to her temples. He presses, hard enough to feel the beat of her heart — weak — through his fingertips, and squeezes his eyes shut.

He’s no son of Hypnos, but dreams are the Underworld’s domain. Are his domain, as heir and prince of the Underworld, in every way that matters, that can be counted.

He lets himself sink into careful limbo; body in physical space, mind and soul elsewhere. Not too much — he’s no use if he falls unconscious — but enough to slip into Clarisse’s mindscape, step into her subconscious.

The whole place bleeds white, hot anguish.

Nico stumbles when he first walks in, nauseous despite being nothing but his own mind. It’s been a while since he’s experienced this kind of pain, his own or not, and he has to consciously beat back memories of brimstone and rot; liquid fire, endless red, red, red.

“Clarisse?” he calls, softly as he dares.

She doesn’t respond. He’s not sure she knows how to respond, even if she could. Cautious of the memory and emotion swirling around him, he steps forward. If he focuses, her anguish is pointed — is central. She will be at the centre of it.

He has volunteered, but he’s not sure he wants to follow.

Steeling himself, he shoulders through swirling masses of pain, of hurt, of fear. It’s blisteringly hot, and feels not unlike the sandstorm he was once stranded within, in the middle of the New Mexico desert four years ago. His face prickles; he’s blinded.

He trudges forward.

“Clarisse? Clarisse! Can you hear me? It’s Nico!”

Desperately and uselessly, he wishes he had more practice. Will has offered, the few times he’s needed to anaesthetize someone, but for the most time Nico has foolishly declined. Why on Earth he would pass up a much easier mindscape to navigate through in preparation for something like this is a mystery to him. Fuck.

“Clarisse! Try to — focus on me, can you hear me?”

He forces himself forward, a few more — well, there’s no distance in a mindscape, nothing measurable, anyway. He forces himself to look up, braving the assault to his face, and try to scan his surroundings. The swirling mass is more centralized, now, almost hurricane-like and conal. He’s closer than he was before, but if he can only find…

He looks up, and almost cries in relief: weak against the roaring storm, but still present, is a flickering, golden light. A very familiar light. Nico squeezes his eyes shut, thrusting out his own energy in an uncoordinated mass — boy, is that going to be uncomfortable to extract later — and flails wildly until he finally feels the warmth of Will’s energy entangling with his own, grounding him. He opens his eyes, and suddenly everything is clearer.

Clarisse kneels in the centre of her mindscape, hands pressed tightly to her ears, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a silent scream.

“Hey,” Nico murmurs, kneeling in front of her. It takes a few seconds, and a few moments of gentle coaxing, before she looks up.

“It hurts,” she croaks.

She’s more vulnerable than he’s ever seen her — eyes brown and big and wet, pained, face twisted and chin trembling and achingly, unbelievably young. She is nineteen years old, but in that moment she appears almost childlike. The years of warrior’s hardness has abandoned her; she is armourless.

Nico swallows the lump in his throat. “I know.”

“Help me. Please.”

“Come here, Clarisse.” He reaches out and wraps a gentle hand around hers, tugging her close. The knee jerk discomfort at close contact is barely a flicker — he is so entwined in her right now that her fear has started to bleed into his; her rawness. He needs this comfort almost as much as she does. Right now she is a person, in agony, and so is he, and it is unbearable.

He holds her until the pain slowly stops.

———

Will is in the surgical suite for seven straight hours.

“Bed,” Nico says softly, rising up to meet him as he exits. It says something about how exhausted he is that he doesn’t even protest, letting Nico place a hand on the small of his back and guide him past the on-call room, past the patient cots, past the Big House living room couches, past Cabin 7. He leads him across the common and right into Cabin 13, with its double beds and blackout curtains, with its insulated, soundproof walls. With Nico.

He helps him out of his bloodstained scrubs, peeling them off his skin and tossing them directly into a trash can. He’d guide him to the shower, usually, but there’s a — glassiness, to his eyes, that there usually isn’t after surgery. Nico chooses instead to skip it, guiding him into the sweatpants he left behind the last time he was here and an oversized The Doors t-shirt of Nico’s, and then to the spare bed he always uses, across from Nico’s. He peels the covers back for him like he’s a child, tucking him in, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He’s asleep in minutes, curled tightly around a pillow, furrowed crease not leaving the space between his eyebrows, even in sleep. Nico smooths it away with his thumb.

“Goodnight, Will,” he murmurs, brushing the backs of his knuckles across his forehead.

He watches him sleep far past what is normal, and then slips back out of the cabin.

———

“On the bright side,” Will says, squeezing the hand that has left to leave Clarisse’s arm, “you’re free from your chariot race obligation! As am I!”

Predictably, she only glowers.

“Not a chance, Solace,” she rasps.

Will helpfully gets her a glass of water, fussing over her blankets while she drinks until she bats him away. Chris watches the whole thing with great amusement, shoulders brushing Nico’s.

“He’s a mother hen, isn’t he,” he comments, tilting his head in Will’s direction, who narrowly avoids having his fingers bitten off trying to feed her a square of ambrosia.

Nico snorts. “Yeah.” He watches the fussing for a few more seconds, making note of Will’s shaking hands, his shakier smile. “He’s guilty.”

“He didn’t do anything. She doesn’t blame him.”

Nico meets his dark look, mouth twisted in understanding. They both know this logic is futile.

“Yeah, well, someone tell him that.”

“Will — stop it.” In a startlingly quick move for someone on as much morphine as she is, Clarisse darts out and clutches Will’s fluttering hands. He hesitates, wondering if it’s worth it to pull out of her hold and possibly jostle her leg. “I’m fine. And you’re still charioting.”

“You’re not fine,” Will frowns, conveniently ignoring the part of the sentence he doesn’t want to deal with. “Your femur snapped in half and tore through your femoral artery on its way out of your leg. You’re going to be on bedrest for a week at least, and it’ll be tender for a good long while besides. That’s what we in the medical business call a Big Fucking Deal.”

She tightens her hold, staring at him until he finally meets her eyes.

“Will.” She narrows her eyes. “You are still participating in the chariot race. I’m not asking.”

“It’ll have to wait until you’re better,” he says lightly. “Besides, we’re focusing on you right now.”

Nico can see in her face when she decides to switch strategies.

“Okay,” she says, stubborn glean in her eye, “then I’m asking you, as a personal request, to stay in the race. Or else I’ll drag myself onto a goddamn horse myself, killing myself in the process, and that will be on your head.”

The tactic works.

Will scowls. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

Clarisse doesn’t bother repeating herself, letting go of his wrists and readjusting her blankets.

“I am done talking now. I believe it’s time for morphine-induced unconsciousness. Please remember that I took down a drakon with my own bare hands; it is well within my abilities to drag myself out of heroin-haze and onto a chariot with no legs, let alone one. Good talk.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she leans back on her pillows and passes out. Genuinely, actually passes out — not closes her eyes, not behind to fall asleep; she is unconscious. Snores ring through the air.

“Well,” Chris says carefully, unfolding his arms. “It might be time to let Clarisse rest for a while.”

Will, healer that he is, cannot exactly argue with that. Will, drama queen that he is, decides to make his fury known by stomping out of the room, a feat in flip-flips possible by him alone.

“She is so infuriating!” he shouts the second they’re in the main room, startling several people. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I put effort in! I failed! She can’t even — it’s not even about spending time together, obviously, since I still have to do it! What does she want from me?!”

Chris, like Nico, has wisely decided to let the hypothetical questions remain hypothetical and stay silent, lest his fury be turned onto them. Ten minutes into Will’s rant, Chris excuses himself to go sit by Clarisse. Nico waves him off.

“Will,” Nico suggests the next time he takes a breath, “let’s maybe go for a walk.” He glances at the group of wide-eyed patients. “I think you’re scaring people.”

Deflating, Will nods, following Nico out the door. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go for a walk.”

The fresh air probably doesn’t fix things, per se, but as they lap around the cabins, Will seems to droop further and further, curling in on himself. The anger recedes from his features.

“I feel really shitty,” he admits softly. “Just, like, generally.”

Nico softens like a goddamn slab of ice cream on hot pavement. For the second time in three days, he opens his arms in offering, although this time it’s significantly less difficult.

“Come here.”

Without even a beat of hesitation, Will collapses into him, arms around his waist, head tucked under his chin. Nico fights the urge to wince — Will, usually, takes quite a bit of pride in his height. He likes to be the one to wrap around people, not the other way around. Nico has been indoctrinated into Will-affection, in the time since the Giant War, and if Will is the one curling into him, seeking comfort, than he is struggling.

Nico hates it when Will struggles. He always feels out of his depth.

“There, there,” he hedges, feeling a good bit like an NPC. “It’ll be okay.”

Will makes a small, wounded noise. “You don’t know that.”

“Um, yes I do, I know everything forever. I’ve never been wrong even one time in my life.”

His awkward attempt at lightening the mood is rewarded by Will’s laugh. It’s slight, and nowhere near the brightness it usually is, but it’s there and it’s genuine and that’s all Nico wanted, really.

“You good?” Nico asks softly, squeezing his arms.

Will nods. “Yes.” He hesitates. “Can I stay here a little longer?”

Nico wraps his arms impossibly tighter, aching at the quiet vulnerability in his voice.

“As long as you need.”

———

The last practice before the chariot race is nowhere near as fun to watch as the others. In fact, it’s not fun at all.

Clarisse, casted and upright, appoints her brother Sherman to race in her place, much to both his and Will’s very vocal complaints. Will’s, because he still doesn’t want to race at all and especially not now that Clarisse is out of the running, and Sherman’s because, well, when isn’t Sherman complaining about having to breathe the same air as someone or whatever.

Clarisse silences both of them with a glare. “Do it,” she orders.

They comply, stomping over to their practice chariot.

The practice race is awful. Nico is surprised, frankly, that they managed to finish at all, as badly behind as they managed. He could practically hear their squabbling all the way from the stands. For as much as Will is generally easy to get along with, he’s impossible when he’s stubborn, and worse when he’s petulant. He takes every command from Sherman like it’s a personal offence, and Sherman, being who he is, does too. Every shout to veer right or deflect an attack somehow sounds like a jab at Will’s speed, or a remark about his general intelligence. When they stomp off the track, helmets thrown in a heap with the rickety chariot, Nico is almost relieved.

“We’re going to lose, tomorrow, and I can’t wait,” hisses Will darkly, fists curled at his sides.

Nico watches him warily. “You’re not even going to try?”

“What, so he can remind me that even when I’m trying I’m a useless idiot? Not a chance.”

Nico has to almost jog to keep up with him, striding as powerfully as he is. He’s not even sure where he’s going — he seems to be, mostly, going away from the track and from Sherman, wherever that may be.

“You’re not a useless idiot,” Nico offers, when some of the stormcloud has lessened its hold on Will’s usually sunny face. “Nobody thinks you’re a useless idiot.”

Will closes his eyes, sighing. “I know.”

“And Sherman is just a generally grouchy person.”

“I know.”

“It feels very, very weird to be the optimistic and comforting one, right now.”

Will snorts, finally meeting his eyes. “I know.” He flops onto the ground, cheek resting in his knees, and pats the space next to him. Nico sits much more delicately. “I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole lately.”

“You’ve been stressed,” Nico points out. “A little assholery is warranted.”

“I’m still sorry.”

Nico knocks their shoulders together. “I forgive you, then.”

Will smiles. “Thank you.”

For a while they sit in comfortable silence, watching the hustle and bustle of camp. Will’s presence is a comforting one, even though Nico can feel the turmoil leeching off of him. Strangely because of that, actually — sometimes Nico feels like he’s the only one who struggles out of the two of them. Will spends so much of his time smiling and joking and lecturing, hands on his hips, that Nico had almost forgotten that he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, either. He’s just good at faking it.

“I’ll be watching, tomorrow.” He bites his lip. “And I won’t, like, bring pom-poms, or anything, but I’ll be cheering you on.”

Will grins tiredly. “Silently and in your head?”

“Uh-huh.”

His smile softens considerably, melting into something almost shy, before he turns back to face forward.

“Well, then, damn. I guess I’ll have to try.”

———

On the morning of the chariot race, Will acts like Nico is escorting him to his goddamn execution.

“It is a race that will last a maximum of twenty minutes,” Nico says with no small amount of exasperation, “including prep time.”

Will looks no less grim. “A twenty minutes that will never be returned to me.”

Nico rolls his eyes and decides to stop humouring him.

He drops him off at his chariot with a quick pat on the shoulder, jogging back to the stands. They’re full, today, as expected, with every camper and countless others cramped into the minimal space. Nico looks at the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, and is about to consider breaking his promise and fleeing back to his cabin before he sees a doodled-on hand stick in the air, waving wildly. He exhales in relief and heads over to sit in the spot Kayla and Austin have cleared between them.

“How miserable is he?” Kayla asks brightly, tapping her purple shoes. “He left before we woke up this morning. Assumedly to sprint around camp a few times like a feral cat.”

“Pretty miserable,” Nico answers. He reaches over to pat Austin’s head when he rests on his shoulder, knowing he’s nervous even if he tries not to show it. “A lot of it is self-induced, though. Like, yeah, Sherman is going to be a dick and it’s going to be stressful, but I feel like, in the grand scheme of things, this is among the least stressful things he’s ever been forced to deal with.”

“There was that one time he had to remove a brain tumour in the middle of the forest,” Austin muses. “I think that was probably pretty stressful for him.”

Nico opens his mouth. He closes it again.

“Demigod life is a nightmare,” he settles on eventually.

“Hear, hear,” both siblings mutter.

They lapse into silence as they turn back to the racetrack, evaluating the turnout.

Competition will be hefty.

Sherman has finally arrived, Ares horses in tow. The garish things look almost wrong next to the brightness off the flying Apollo chariot, but that may just be the tension between the team’s charioteers that’s so potent it seems to warp the air around them. Nico is vaguely surprised that they’re managing to stand so civilly next to each other, even if they could not be more visibly uncomfortable. Will, at least, tries for a smile, which drops immediately when Sherman mutters something too quiet to be picked up this far.

Nico sighs. This is going to be hard to watch.

There are about twenty other chariots lines up. Hermes, Hephaestus, and Aphrodite-Iris, like at practice, but Athena is competing too, as well as Nike, as per usual, and Tyche. In fact Nico, and by extension Hades, is one of the few cabins not participating — everyone else seems primed and ready for a chance of laurels and extra dessert. And, of course, settling personal rivalries via bloodshed, et cetera, et cetera.

The biggest competition, if Nico had to quantify it, will be Hephaestus, tricky as they were during practice; Athena, for obvious reasons; and Will and Sherman themselves will be their own worst enemy. He can’t tell if it would be better for them to fail out early to avoid racketing tension up further, or last close to the end to keep things at a healthy simmer.

In the end, it doesn’t matter. The second warning whistle goes off, and the chariots rush to the starting line — Will and Sherman at third position, Demeter to their left, Dionysus-Hypnos to their right. The stands go silent, the charioteers get in position, and with a sharp, shrill whistle, they’re off.

The first few seconds, as always, are chaotic.

In the ground with the settling dust are three separate chariots, including, surprisingly, Hermes, whose rigging backfired and sent their entire chariot up in smoke. They are luckily unharmed due to their unusually well-prepared fireproof armour, but neither Julia nor Connor seem too pleased about being out so soon.

The rest of the race continues on without them. Athena has a decent stretch of first place, but Nike is following fast. Behind them, barely a hair’s breadth of distance, is Will and Sherman, rocketing forward smoothly. Unlike Clarisse, Sherman does not care for giving Will any learning opportunities — despite the horses being Ares’, Will is on the reigns. Sherman is armed with his sword and his spear, slashing and jabbing at anyone who gets too close. Neither Ares or Apollo is big on tricks, not like some of the craftier cabins, but together they’re fast and strong and make a formidable opponent.

Or, well, they would. If they were working together, rather than two people simply being in the same chariot.

They cross into the second lap, Will guiding them across the innermost ring to move them up past Nike. They’re gaining on Athena, now, but that won’t be an easy task — challenging the camp’s wisest never is.

Kayla hisses through her teeth. “Shit.” She purses her lip at the trailing Nike chariot — they’re gaining, and they’re seething. Damien — at least Nico thinks it’s Damien, it’s hard to tell with the helmets — has an arsenal of throwing knives poised in his left hand, and as his teammate steers them steady, he takes aim. Nico has to resist the urge to shout a warning.

As the short knife sails towards the reigns wrapped around Will’s hands, though, aim ringing true, Will’s spine goes ramrod straight. Almost as if he can feel it. With an eighth of a second to spare, he shifts and jerks his hands out of the way, avoiding the knife and managing, somehow, to stay on track.

With a skill and ferocity that has Nico’s jaw brushing his toes, Will dodges all eight of the knives lobbed in his direction. In one memorable manoeuvre, he rips his left hand from the reigns, holding them in his teeth, and uses it to shove Sherman down behind the wall of the chariot right before a knife would have lodged itself in his uncovered cheek. Out of weapons, he steers their chariot right next to Nike, allowing Sherman to sever their reigns and send them rolling to a sad, victory-less stop.

Without pausing to look behind them, they race on.

Athena’s chariot has a lead, but their chariot is built for stability, not speed. They’ve accounted for every possible sabotage and built accordingly. They have not accounted for, however, stubbornness and sheer force of Will. The Ares-Apollo chariot gains on them, helmets glinting, skeletal horses gaining faster, faster, faster. Both Sherman and Malcom, Nico believes, have their spears drawn, ready, as the space between them gets smaller and smaller, to fight barbarically for first — for honour.

Nico doubts even Rachel, powers of prophecy fully restored, could predict what happens next.

Either too furious to accept a loss or simply deciding to throw the game, one of the Nike charioteers crawls out from their carriage, darting onto the live track. They scan the ground, looking for something. When they stand in the dead centre of the track, body perfectly tense, gripping something glinting in their hand, Nico gets it.

Austin gasps, nails digging into Nico’s arm. “Oh, no.”

Before anyone can say anything, they take aim. They measure once, twice, and then let the knife loose with deadly precision, knife cutting through the air with ease and hurdling with impossible power towards to two finalists chariots.

If the knife hits the Athena chariot, it will slice clean through the axle. Architectural wonder it may be, the chariot cannot withstand Celestial bronze at terminal velocity, and it will give, and the chariot will crumple. In an effort to lesson the chariot’s load, the Athena charioteers have largely forgone armour. Their fall will be painful and disastrous; as deadly as Clarisse’s, if not moreso. A hit to the Ares-Apollo chariot will be similarly as race-ending, but both Will and Sherman are in full armour. It will be bruising, but not deadly. They will lose, but they will survive.

All they need to do to win is shift, just slightly, so that the knife hits the Athena chariot.

Will, like with all the others before it, seems to feel this knife coming. Unlike the others, he glances backwards, looking at the knife, looking back at the Athena chariot. Sherman follows his gaze, and seems to realize what Will has calculated a split second after he does. He shouts something — presumably an order to move, to shift, to sabotage.

Will hesitates.

The knife hits the Ares-Apollo chariot, slicing through the left wheel.

It careens around, unbalanced, dragged into a heap by untethered horses.

The Athena chariot pulls forward to victory, the remaining functioning chariots quickly following.

The Ares-Apollo canon is left broken and humiliated only a few feet from victory, the almost-first-place.

———

As soon as they come off the track, things get messy. Both Will and Sherman are covered in dirt and grime, striped with grease from the broken wheels, bleeding sluggishly from various scraps. Sherman has his non-flailing hand clamped to an oozing wound on the side of his neck, and Will is limping.

“—and I cannot fucking believe you, Solace! All I asked for was effort!”

“Oh, forgive me,” Will says sarcastically, finally close enough to hear. “In the hustle and bustle of being shot at, I made a couple errors.”

“That gonna be your attitude in battle? ‘Oh, sorry, there was a monster chasing me so I lost all focus —’”

“Battles are not usually fought on a chariot going a hundred fucking miles per hour!”

“That’s no excuse! You need to be —”

“What, Sherman, fucking what? What indisputable flaw do I have, oh great one, that needs to be so desperately remedied?”

It’s startling when Will’s composure cracks. When he goes from bitey and sarcastic, eye-rolling from his usual distance, to right in Sherman’s face. It’s eerie to see him at his full height, no slouching, reminding anyone watching that yeah, actually, their laidback medic is six-two, strong, capable, in more ways than what they’re used to.

Sherman, in usual Ares kid fashion, doesn’t even flinch.

“Your reflexes, for starters,” he says coolly. “No matter what you do, Solace, you’re always one second too fucking late.”

A collective gasp ricochets through the gathered campers. The tension rackets up so rapidly that Nico coughs, lungs suddenly constricted. Will rears back so violently Nico is half-convinced Sherman actual punched him.

Sherman, for his part, seems to realise he’s crossed some kind of line. The cold look on his face twists into a scowl, uncomfortable and apologetic at once. “Look, Will, I just mean —”

“You don’t get to say that to me.”

Will’s quiet voice seems to echo through the entirety of the valley, cutting through laboured breathing of charioteers, pegasus neighing, even the crashing of the waves in the distant shore — everything goes silent.

Nico likes to think he knows Will pretty well. He knows what he sounds like when he’s giggly, watching his siblings argue about nothing; when he’s excitable, rambling about his newest obsession; when he can’t choose between amused and stern at whatever dumb thing Nico has gotten himself into. He knows what he sounds like when he’s exhausted, too, overworked and done with everything; when he’s annoyed, when he’s hurt and sad.

But he’s never heard Will sound so dangerous.

“Of all people.” His words are articulated, deliberate. The usual warmth of his eyes is gone. He’s completely still in a way he never is outside of surgery — no shaking in his perpetually trembling hands, no bounce to his curls, none of the constant energy that seems to constantly exude off him. Still, cold. Icy. “You do not get to talk to me about being one second too late.”

Sherman looks stricken. Guilt is written across each of his features, and for a second he steps back — as if afraid.

“Will, I —”

The son of Apollo turns without another word, striding over to the distant tree line and disappearing into the woods. No one chases after him.

No one even moves.

———

Predictably, the silence does not last long.

“You fucking idiot!” Clarisse explodes, the second Will is out of eyesight. She bats Chris’s hand away from her, and he, surprisingly, lets her go easily — his usually understanding face has hardened. She hobbles towards her brother, remarkably quick with her clunky cast, and starts truly tearing into him. “I asked you to do one fucking thing! One!”

Sherman quickly gets defensive under the scrutiny. “Well, you didn’t make it fucking easy! Just because he’s your protege doesn’t mean he’s my fucking problem —”

Nico doesn’t stick around to listen to their argument. He searches around the gathered crowd until he meets Kayla’s eyes, flicking his head towards the woods. She nods frantically. Knowing he’ll make sure they have privacy, he takes off, aiming for the same place Will went, barely slowing down once he enters the forest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Will?” he calls, well aware he’s not going to get an answer. “Where are you?”

While there’s definitely no response from Will, he damn near jumps out of his skin when a dryad melts from her tree, shuffling towards him.

“Blond boy?” she asks, leaning close so he can hear her whisper. “Tall? Crying?”

Nico swallows. Fuck. “Yeah.”

“Headed down southeast, ways past Zeus’ fist.“

“Thank you,” he says, hoping she understands how much he means it.

She nods, then disappears back into her tree.

Following her directions, Nico jogs down beaten paths, heading in the direction that he is vaguely sure is southeast and mostly praying that he’ll find Will eventually. He shouldn’t have that much of a head start, since Nico left maybe five minutes after he did, but who knows. Will’s fast, and sometimes this forest seems bigger than it really is. It’s easy to get lost.

He searches for what feels like hours, and might actually be hours; sky darkening as the sun disappears into the lake. The temperature drops significantly. Nico is hoping that he won’t be spending the night sleeping in the dirt when he hears sniffling.

Heart pounding, he freezes, focusing on the sound. It’s muffled, sobs choked-off and sound hidden behind cupped hands. The echo sounds strange, too; it’s close, that much is obvious, but Nico almost can’t tell if it’s coming from the left or the right. Truthfully, it doesn’t sound like either.

On impulse, he looks up. Almost invisible in the branches of a large oak tree is Will, stained clothes blending in with the scratchy bark, leaves covering the rest of him.

Except, perhaps fittingly, his bright, golden hair.

Worried that calling out to him might startle him right off the tree, Nico begins to climb. He’s not great at climbing — he doesn’t have a natural sense of what is and isn’t a good foothold — but oak trees are easy. Every half-step has a branch, and this tree is old enough that the branches are thick, sturdy. He’s twenty feet up before he even realizes, barely breaking a sweat.

He pauses a few feet shy of his target, straightening until he’s standing on an almost flat branch, arm looped tightly around the trunk.

“Will.”

Will startles. He looks around frantically, struggling in the dark, until his bloodshot eyes finally land on Nico. He bursts into more tears, shoulders shaking as he sobs.

Alarmed, Nico crawls all the way up.

“Woah, Will, breathe, vita, breathe —”

He’s not sure what tree-sobbing etiquette is, but regular sobbing etiquette often involves some kind of comforting physical touch, so he goes with that. And Will, he knows, likes to be crowded, likes to be almost suffocated with the sights and touch and smells of other people, to remind him he’s not alone, even if he feels it. So Nico scoots as closely as he dares, legs wrapped around the branch, and slides one arm around Will’s back, one against his chest, and tugs him closely.

Will comes easily.

With a bit of manoeuvring, he’s tucked under Nico’s chin, shoulders hunched and shaking, enveloped entirely in Nico’s arms. He can feel a wet spot growing on his left sleeve, and honestly he should be at least a little bit disgusted, but he barely even notices. He’s too busy fighting the lump in his own throat, blinking back his own tears.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Will’s curls. “Let it out, Will. You’re allowed.”

Will wails, a deep, choking, broken sound, and Nico loses the battle with his own tears. He’s never heard Will like this. He’s never heard anyone like this, except himself, in the echo of this same forest, years ago. It hurts like biting ice.

“It hurts, they’re gone, they’re gone, and I hate them, I hate them so much —” he heaves, dragging in breath like it cost him to say it, like part of his soul was dragged out of his vocal chords — “and I hate myself for hating them, I hate, they’re gone, I’m never —”

He dissolves into sobs, again, words breaking into nothing understandable, crying around the same repetitions over and over again. Nico hides his crumpling face in Will’s hair, wincing at every broken cry, every hitched breath, every moaned word. His heart feels like it’s breaking into a million fractals. He’s never felt so out of depth in his life.

“Let it out,” he whispers again, for a lack of anything else to say. “Let it out, sweetheart, let it out.”

For a long time, Nico had no one to hold him.

When he lost Bianca, he was by himself. And when he thought he had someone to guide him, someone to fix him, he was wrong — he was vulnerable and easy to manipulate. He had no one to hold him until he was too bitter and too closed off to let himself fall apart, anyway, and losing Bianca stayed somewhere rotten inside him, a bruise that never, ever stopped aching.

Until Will.

Last December he had cracked like an egg. He hadn’t meant to — it wasn’t even in the back of his mind — but he’d opened the door to Will’s smiling face on the morning, cold and sad as it was, and just started bawling. Some part of him, some deep, buried part, stomped it’s way from the prison Nico had kept it in and took the hell over, yanking open the floodgates, forcing him to expel every last drop of shadowy, strangling pain that had stayed inside him so long. He thought he was going to die. His entire body shook and jerked like a rowboat in a deep ocean storm, and it had been Will’s lighthouse, his endless, light eyes, his warm hands, his firm hold that had held him steady until he’d dragged himself out to the other side. It was and is the most painful thing he’d ever done in his life. And the most important.

He doesn’t think Will has had anyone to hold him, before, either. Not ‘til right this moment. Not Chiron, not his mother, and certainly not an older sibling. Will has been running on empty for as long as Nico has known him. Longer.

“Let it out,” Nico whispers again, and holds him tighter.

———

By the time either of them move again, it’s pale, early morning, and they’re damp from the dew and Will’s tears. Nico is as stiff as the tree he’s sitting on, but doesn’t dare say a word about it.

“I don’t want to go back,” Will croaks, the first either of them have spoken in hours.

Nico tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, resting a gentle hand on his cheek. “Okay.”

“We can’t stay here forever.”

“We can stay a while.” Nico pulls away slightly, just enough so that he can cradle Will’s face in both hands, tilting his chin up to meet his gaze. “I mean it, Will. As long as you need.”

“What if I’ll never have enough time?”

“Then I’ll stay with you until time runs out.” He presses a tentative, careful kiss to the centre of his freckled forehead; staying when Will shudders, leaning into it. Against his skin, he murmurs, “But you’ll have enough time, vita. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“I don’t want to be strong.”

“So don’t, I gotcha.” He presses another kiss slightly above the first, and another, resting again at the crown of his head. “But you can be.”

They stay like that until Nico’s face starts to go numb, and even then he doesn’t go far, shifting so his cheek lays on the top of Will’s skull. He ignores the slight tickle of his curls against his nose, focusing instead on the brand of his hands on his waist, the shakey but constant inhales, holds, exhales, again, again, again.

“Clarisse is my friend,” Will starts. “She was as important to me as — as Cass, before the war.”

Nico hums. “But she betrayed you.”

“All of us.”

“And you resent her for it, a little.”

Will nods. “It’s disgusting.”

“It’s human, Will, Christ.” He moves them around so they’re both sitting facing each other, Nico’s eyes firmly meeting Will’s. “I will never fully forgive Percy for letting Bianca die. Never. It’s not fair to him, and I love him anyway, and I am choosing to move past it. But I will carry that burden. Am I disgusting for that?”

Will glances away. “No.”

“Will, you — look at me.”

He does.

“Clarisse actively chose her pride over her people. So did the rest of her cabin. She’s not fully responsible for that choice, and the blame, as always, lands on Kronos’ shoulders, but —” Nico laughs, a bitter, defeated sound. “Out of all of us, you lost the most. No one lost as many as Apollo. No one burned as many shrouds. You’re allowed to be hurt, allowed to be angry.”

“I forgave them,” Will admits. “I did it publicly and called off the stupid rivalry right after the war. It was the first thing I did as head counsellor.”

“Trying to do what Michael would have done?”

“Are you kidding me, he —” Will scoffs, swiping at the tears trickling down the corners of his eyes. “If Michael were alive, and he found out I forgave them after what happened to Lee, too Diana — he would have been furious. He would stop speaking to me. If I was trying to be like Michael, I might’ve refused them treatment.”

Nico tries to imagine that for a second — Will refusing anyone treatment. It makes something sour uncurl in his stomach, something unsettling.

“You would never refuse someone treatment. I didn’t even — I didn’t think you guys were allowed.”

Will shrugs. “There are no rules to our practice. I just never made refusal an option, and the kids are too young to know any different.”

‘The kids’ — as if Kayla and Austin aren’t as old or older than Will was when he was in charge, when he held the bashed pieces of his brother’s brain as it oozed out of his skull. As he sat, exhausted, hands shaking, next to Nico, and embroidered twelve shrouds. As if Yan and Gracie are his, rather than Apollo’s.

“You forgave them so your siblings wouldn’t grow up bitter,” Nico realises. “Oh, gods, Will.”

He shrugs again, picking at his nails. “For me too. Grudges aren’t healthy.” He tries for a teasing smile. “You’d know.”

“I would.” Nico tries to smile back. It’s easier than he thought it would be, although it fades back into something serious quickly. He reaches out, linking his hands with Will’s to stop him picking before he bleeds. “You can be selfish sometimes, you know.”

“Not in front of anyone.”

“You’re admitting it in front of me,” Nico points out.

Will hesitates. “That’s — different.”

“How?”

“You get it.” He looks down, voice quiet. “You get me. I can —” He meets Nico’s eyes again, a kind of helpless smile on his face. “I dunno. You’re safe. You’re okay with me, even when I’m ugly.”

“Even then,” Nico echoes quietly. He reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind Will’s ear again, even though none were loose. His fingertips linger, and the skin under his touch warms. “Especially then.”

“You can, too, you know, I lo —”

“I know.”

Will exhales in relief. “Good.”

He slumps forward until his forehead rests on the swell of Nico’s shoulder, breaths warming the air between them. Nico tries to match his rhythm — in, out, in, out. Hold. Out, in.

“Can we — hide here, for a little bit? Just a little longer.”

“Of course,” Nico murmurs, squeezing his wrists. “I’ll hide you as long as you need.”

[samfkiszka]

Sea Shanty

★・・・・・・★

Warnings: SMUT. This is all smut. 18+ only! Cursing, alcohol use, oral (female and male receiving), drunk sex, face fucking (barely), minuscule spit kink, awful pirate puns. As always, tell me if I missed anything at all :)

Word count: 2,337

★・・・・・・★

If you had told yourself a week ago that this is how Josh’s halloween party would’ve played out, you’d have laughed in your face. I mean, the situation itself was oddly comical. Trapped in a small bathroom, still clad in the cheaply made pirate costume you had put on, while your best friend’s twin brother pawed drunkenly at you. It was ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous.

Hot. Ridiculously hot.

“Jake, this is stupid, w-we should—“

“Oh come on. I’m checking you for scurvy,” he slurs in the stupid British accent he had refused to drop all night.

“God, you’re an idiot,” you groan, fumbling with his belt buckle.

“How the fuck do you get this shit off?” He grumbles, his shaky hands struggling to undo the lace on your corset.

You couldn’t really explain how it had happened. It started off innocently. Someone asking if the two of you were “finally together”. Whatever that had meant. Claiming they loved your couples costume.

It was totally unplanned. You were as shocked as he was when you spotted him pouring entirely too much rum into his red solo cup. How the two of you had both decided to be pirates was a mystery. How it led to the two of you drunkenly attempting to hook up in his bathroom was even more bizarre.

His dumbass pirate themed pickup lines were oddly endearing. Not that’d you’d ever admit it out loud. Future you was going to blame this on the several vodka cranberries you had chugged moments prior.

You push his hands away, struggling yourself to take off the cheap corset. It slides to the ground unceremoniously, followed by Jake’s eyepatch and your bandana.

He starts pressing sloppy kisses to your neck, his hands greedily grabbing at every part of your body that he can reach.

Music blared outside, courtesy of Josh’s carefully curated halloween playlist. It was kind of silly to be seconds away from hooking up with someone while Monster Mash played loudly in the background.

He hikes you up onto the counter, grinning lazily when you wince at the cold marble pressing against your bare thighs. You watch him slide down to his knees, staring up at you with lustful eyes.

“Tell me you don’t want this.”

But you can’t. You’re too drunk to put up a front. Already too fucked out to say no— how could you when he was looking up at you like that?

“I want this. I want you.”

He nods, pushing your dress up higher before hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties. Usually you’d be nervous, especially with him. For fucks sake, he was your best friend’s brother.

But you couldn’t find the energy to care.

He slides them down agonizingly slowly, throwing them onto the bathroom floor without much thought.

“So pretty,” he hums, his thumbs rubbing soft circles into the skin of your inner thigh.

“Jake, let’s speed this process up, huh?”

“Lord, since when are you so demanding?”

“Since forever, catch up.”

There was something comforting about the usual banter you shared not disappearing the second you were nearly naked in front of him.

“I just wanna make you feel good. Is that a crime?”

You roll your eyes, lacing your fingers in his messy hair.

“Fine, fine,” he sighs, inching so close you can feel his breath fanning against your aching cunt.

He wastes no time teasing you. From the way he was straining against his pants when you stumbled into the bathroom, you were sure he was as desperate as you were.

He licks a strip through your folds, a groan escaping his lips when you tug at his hair. Thank God Josh had the speakers on full blast. If anyone were listening, the two of you’d be screwed, and not in the way you wanted.

It wasn’t long before you were pulling him flush against you, removing one hand from his hair to bite down on in a feeble attempt to muffle the moans he was eliciting from you.

“Jesus, fuck—“ you throw your head back so hard it slams against the mirror and Jake nearly falls over with how hard he starts laughing, “Shut up, ass.”

But you’re laughing too. Rubbing the back of your head and grimacing, but laughing nonetheless.

“It’s not funny, I’m sorry,” He sighs, wiping his eyes and smudging the egregious amounts of black eyeliner he was wearing.

He stands up unsteadily, nearly falling against the counter in a fit of giggles as he attempts to get closer to you. He cups your cheeks, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips, still struggling to stifle his giggles.

You pull back, panting slightly as your hands grip his top. He continues to caress your cheek, sliding one hand down to shove his pants halfway down his thighs.

“C’mere.” He nods, pulling himself out of his boxers.

You can’t even bother attempting to hide the shock that graces your features. Sure, you’ve heard plenty of stories. Gossip from girls who had claimed to have hooked up with Jake. But you never placed much weight in them. Yeah, he was an attractive guy, but you didn’t spend most of your free time imagining how big he was.

“What? You okay?”

“No, yeah, I’m great,” You sigh, meeting his eyeline. His pupils are blown, and you're sure yours are just as big.

You slide closer, your mind already spinning. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was him, but the room seemed to grow a lot fuzzier the closer you got to having him.

“No, off the counter.”

God, the slight commanding lilt in his voice sent white hot heat right up your spine. You oblige, sliding fully off the counter, entranced by the way he had begun to stroke himself.

“Turn around.”

Again, it feels oddly satisfying to obey him. You turn around, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks are red, your lips are swollen, your dress was falling off your body. Yet, you didn’t seem to feel the least bit embarrassed. Jake came up closer behind you, shoving you down so that you were bent over the counter. The edge dug into your skin, but it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the ache between your thighs.

“You’re so fucking hot. Mind if I drop my anchor in your lagoon?”

“Seriously, how many of these do you have?” Your voice comes out strangled and breathless, not even slightly as biting as you wanted it to be.

“I studied up. Had to be prepared.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“And yet who’s bent over my bathroom counter?” He whispers into your ear, the smell of rum invading your senses.

“Touché, Kiszka.”

He laughs, pressing another open mouth kiss to your neck before sliding closer behind you. He runs the tip of his dick through you, tapping it against your clit.

“Yeah, touché huh?”

“Jake, I will find someone else to fuck me—“ but you cut yourself off with a soft moan as he slowly slides into you.

“What was that? Hm?”

Cocky shit. Arrogant, egotistical, cocky shit.

He snaps his hips against your ass, giving you no time to adjust to the deliciously painful way he was stretching you out. Usually you’d complain. He had really wasted no energy attempting to ready you for him. But after one too many disgustingly sweet jell-o shots, and a lot of mental preparation, you honestly had no issues. This was a one time thing anyway, better to get it over with quickly, right?

“So fucking tight. You feel so good, leaking all over my cock like that.” His voice was entirely too sweet for the filthy words that were coming from his mouth.

The whole thing was obscene. Watching him in the mirror, the way his face contorted as he fucked you from behind. You hadn’t expected him to be as vocal as he was, but the soft lilting whimpers that were gracing your ears were making your head spin.

“God, you’re so wet. This all for me?” He grunts, his voice nearly drowned out from the indecent noises being made by your bodies colliding.

You manage a weak nod, your hands struggling to grip at anything they can grasp. Your eyes land on him in the mirror. The way his chest heaved, the way the black eyeliner was smudged and running slightly down his cheeks, the way his eyebrows scrunched together. His fingertips dug into your hips as he pulled you impossibly closer, his thrusts growing a lot sloppier.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was because the whole thing was so disgustingly hot, but you already felt way too close.

“You gonna cum for me?” He mutters, so quietly it’s almost like he’s talking to himself.

“Y-yes, fuck, Jesus Christ,” you moan, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood.

He reaches his hand across your body, finding your clit to rub sloppy circles with his fingers.

“C’mon. Wanna feel you cum on my cock, please,” he practically begs “I n-need you to, shit—“

Fuck. Was he always this hot?

You fail to keep your body up, eyes squeezing shut as you feel yourself peaking.

“Fuck, Jake,” you scream, hoping whatever stupid halloween song Josh had queued up was loud enough to drown you out, “Right there.”

You don’t care how pathetic you sound. Jake looked just as fucked out. This wasn’t about control, or power. This was almost animalistic. Purely for pleasure. Purely to get the both of you off.

“I’m-” you gasp, unable to choke out the words as you clench around him, cumming so hard your ears start to ring. He fucks you through it, maintaining a steady pace until your breathing stabilizes. He pulls out, gripping your shoulder and lightly tugging you up.

“On your knees,” he rasps, and you are more than happy to oblige. You sink down, coming into contact with the cold tile floor. He continues stroking himself, lining up with your face.

“Open up.”

Again, it’s simple to follow. You feel no need to refuse. No need to act like you don’t want to listen to his every word.

You open wide, sticking your tongue out slightly. You stare up at him expectantly, excitedly even. It’s hard to hide the fact that your mouth had actually begun to water at the prospect of having him inside it.

He slaps his dick against your tongue, earning a lewd groan from the both of you. He pulls back, much to your dismay, grasping your chin with the hand that wasn’t currently wrapped around him. You weren’t sure what he wanted, but there was still a bubbling sense of excitement in your chest.

He spits directly into your mouth, eyes wide as he watches it slide across your tongue.

“Don’t swallow,” he commands.

You moan again, the feel of his spit mixing with yours enough to make you dizzy once more. He tilts your head up, dropping your chin as he lines up with your face again.

You hum around him as he quickly slides in, your hands skimming up his thighs to steady yourself. He pulls your hair up into a loose ponytail, grunting as he starts to fuck your face. Tears prick your eyes, and you’re sure you looked just as messy as he did. Probably even more so. Spit dripped down your chin, and the only sounds that filled the bathroom were your gags mixed with Jake’s beautiful whines.

“Gonna cum,” he grunts, sliding so far into your mouth that your nose was flush with his stomach. He finishes quickly, tightening his grip on your hair a painful amount. He pulls out just as face, allowing you to gulp down air.

“Lemme see,” he pants, leaning down to watch you stick your tongue out for him again. He smiles, seemingly pleased with the sight before he taps your cheek, “swallow.”

You’d continue to blame the alcohol, but you’d do this sober. If you had known how filthy he was, you’d have done this years ago.

He helps you up off the floor after pulling his pants up. Once you're steadied against the counter he fixes your dress and hands you your corset. You don’t miss how he shoves your discarded panties into his pocket, but you keep quiet. He could do whatever he wanted if he could make you feel like that.

“You good?”

“Hm? Me? I’m great. You?” your voice sounds hoarse and almost disembodied, but it’s hard to miss the satisfaction in it.

“I’m fantastic.”

A beat passes, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. The two of you take the time to catch your breaths, attempting to get your bearings.

“So, um—“

“We should do that again,” he cuts you off, “I mean, if you want.”

“I want. I mean, yeah that would be great,” you stammer.

“Yeah.”

Another beat of silence.

“We probably shouldn’t tell Josh,” you whisper.

“Yeah.” He nods again, “You should probably fix your makeup before we head back out.”

You glance in the mirror. Your mascara was indeed ruined.

“You’re one to talk,” you point out.

He chuckles as he studies his face, using his thumb to swipe at the eyeliner, “Fair point.”

Psycho Killer blared loudly, muffled by the locked bathroom door. The two of you make eye contact, breathing together for a moment.

“We could just go back to my room.”

Yeah. You definitely couldn't blame this on the alcohol anymore.

“Okay.”

“Oh! I got one more. That’s the finest pirate’s booty I’ve ever laid me eyes on.”

“Awful. I rescind my acceptance of your invitation.”

“Woah, too late now! Who else is gonna shiver me timbers?”

You groan, opening the bathroom door and heading to his bedroom anyway.

“What? You don’t want me to scrape the barnacles off your rudder?”

“Jake!”

“Seriously, that’s some treasure chest you got there,” he says in a fit of giggles, following you into his room.

God, you wish you could still blame the alcohol.

[itachiiwrites]

"I've rejected affection for years and years, now I finally have it, and damn it, it's kind of weird.."

Pairing: Gojo. S x Reader

Satoru would be purposely obnoxious to drive you away, why would you be so willing to be with someone who doesn't even have time for himself? Someone so arrogant, someone so monsterous. But he sees how determined you are to not leave him, clinging and leeching onto him for love when feeding him yours.

He knew unconditional love was not simply conceptual because he was with Suguru once, but again, he doesn't want to hold onto that delicate string of hope that makes the strongest doomed when in love. He would never let himself be that level of pathetic again, ever.

So he tries every antic possible to drive you away, showing up drenched in blood and grim from exorcising curses, giving you graphic depictions of how he killed each one of them, bones guts, sometimes even bring in distasteful souvenirs from his endless conquests of defeating each, crudely joking about it. Satoru would not mask the depth of darkness in his thoughts, just to drive you away.

But he'd be surprised each time when you'd watch him with such endearment in your eyes, scrubbing his back as you bathe him, listening to his exhaustive descriptions of heinous acts as if you were hearing a nightingale sing.

"I hate everyone" He'd say without conviction as his uncovered eyes would be fixed onto the ceiling, his arms rested on the either side of the bathtub, lazily sprawled out, a rare sight for you to see.

He hates everyone but was unexpectedly kind to everyone he knew. He hates everyone but he was the best mentor his students could have.

"Except me, right Toru?" You'd ask, knowing otherwise. But just in a short span of being with you, he learnt that you had a knack to annoy him too

"Especially you, my darling." The reply to your banter was followed with a soft flick on your forehead.

He hates you, but would present his heart on a gold platter if you asked him to.

Because that's just who he is.

©𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐢𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬

Plagiarism not authorised.

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