#so its getting to be its own separate chapter

[kurishiri]

Excerpt (and some summary) of Jude’s main story chapter 1

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ any pretty translation you may see in here may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. this is a sort of summary as well. if you enjoy, though, please consider reblogging, but please don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

ok so like the chapter starts off with jude and ellis beatin some dudes ahh bc breach of contract. ig thats sorta like the prologue so to speak.

since jude is an act 2 route, vogel is featured in here. darius is like “hmm jude jazza huh. p interesting. nica” and nica comes in like “yeah you want me to look into him? sure, im interested in him too (/p likely)”

its revealed that since her time as fairytale keeper, kate had accompanied basically everyone on a mission? except jude and ellis. ellis wants to accompany her tbf but judes like tf hell no.

needless to say, kate has…less than positive first impressions of jude.

but she finally sees some light when harry gives her a memo telling her to go to the pub at 22:00 bc there’s gonna be a mission with jude and ellis. but turns out by the time she gets there, the missions already done and rogers there at the pub lmao

kate goes to jude whos smokin in the back like “you lied to me :(“ and jude kinda doesnt get all that fazed abt it like “never told ya the mission would start at 22:00.” he reveals that basically he hates it when its all like the “lets all get along” sorta gist yk.

then they have like this back and forth thats smth like “no point in being liked bc i got no gain from that.” “does that mean youre ok with being hated?” “what, do ya wanna be liked by everyone?” you get the point. they just do not. see eye to eye. like at all.

and so, we come to this point where kate makes a promise with him like “i’ll find smth i like abt you by the time my tenure as fairytale keeper ends!” (this is around where the first cg is, which btw is called the first promise we made was wrapped in white smoke)

Jude: Hah, alright then. if ya goin’ that far then do what ya want.

After our back and forth, like walking on eggshells, i finally succeeded in getting him to say those words.

Kate: Okay! Then I’ll do just that.

I used my hand to wave off the smoke that seemed to separate us two and took a step toward him, when…

Jude, while veiled in the white smoke, laughed with scorn.

Jude: But there’s one thing ya should keep in mind, princess. …My promises don’t come cheap.

J: If ya break ‘em, I’ll make ya go through so much o’ hell you’ll be wishin’ for death.

Amid the refined scent of sandalwood, far removed from his image, and the sweet scent of tobacco that burned my chest,

Jude and I made our first promise.

other impt events? is that jude literally comes out with a contract after victors like “i heard youre gonna be judes exclusive fairytale keeper!” and kates like what. but kate signs the contract in the end.

another thing; kate thinks “theres no way i could ever like him” 📸

ko-fi☕️ ┊ comms🤍

[olivialau]

Shadow's Embrace Ch.32

Sukuna x Reader

Notes:

This story unfolds in the Jujutsu Kaisen world, set in a slightly altered universe where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel distinct from Itadori Yuji's body, making him a separate entity. CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT AND SLIGHT DUBCON.

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to bind her abilities through a contract. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

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CHAPTER 32 - Two Sides of the Same Door

Through the haze of sleep, you felt the cold sting of the room’s chill against your cheeks. The silken sheets draped over the rest of you held your warmth like a soft cocoon, and you clutched them tighter, dragging them up to cover the tip of your nose—but instantly regretting it as they slipped off your feet, leaving your toes at the mercy of the biting air.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath, shifting as you tried to burrow back into your cozy nest, clinging to the last wisps of thoughtless sleep. But there was always some part of you left exposed, just enough for goosebumps to creep across your skin, each one nudging you closer to the horrible but inevitable process of waking up.

You sighed, pulling the silk all the way over your head as if that could somehow make you disappear—or at least protect you from the waking world and its shameful reminders of yesterday.

But there was no escaping.

The raw sting on your inner thighs, the angry scratches on your hips where his claws had dug in like he was holding down a prey, the tender ache of your swollen lips from his countless, hungry kisses—they were all too painfully present to ignore.

Yeah... it was pretty clear that no amount of covers could hide you from the truth:

That, yesterday, Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, had reduced you to a drooling, moaning mess for him...

Him and his stupid, supersized cock.

You grimaced, reaching down to where your skin still tingled and burned, tracing your finger over your thigh, surprised by how tacky and stiff the surface felt.

But you quickly jerked your hand back as your brain processed why—

“Ah, for fuck’s sake,” you whine out. Of course, he hadn’t even bothered to clean up his mess. Dried streaks of cum were still smeared across your skin, a sticky testament to his apparent philosophy of:

'You dare pass out on me? Then suffer the consequences.'

Sleep was definitely off the table now. A shower was all you could think about. So, you pushed the silk sheets off your face, forcing your eyes open.

The four crimson walls of Sukuna’s room stared back at you, only lit up by the flickering glow of a few candles. Their light glinted off the many deadly weapons on display, casting little spots of yellow that danced across the surface.

It was surprisingly beautiful, and you followed the little lights all the way down to the floor, where your torn clothes lay scattered in pieces.

And that’s when you realized, you were among those scraps, sprawled out on the cold oak boards instead of the mattress.

You could add that to the lecture he was definitely going to get later on his complete lack of proper aftercare...

Though you could already hear his cocky retort in your head: 'Hah! A mere human should be honored to sleep in my presence at all.'

Thinking of Sukuna’s presence… you blinked, suddenly uneasy. It wasn’t there—the thick, oppressive energy that always hung around him like a stormcloud.

The air felt wrong without it.

A nervous feeling crept over you as you pushed yourself upright, your gaze immediately darting to the bed—empty.

The mattress still bore the dents, creases, and stains from last night, but Sukuna was nowhere to be seen.

For a second, you couldn’t stop your thoughts from spiraling. Was history about to repeat itself? Did he regret yesterday?

Had it been a bit... too much?

No. You couldn’t let your mind go there. You gave yourself a light slap to the cheek, to snap out of it. Sukuna wouldn’t abandon you—not anymore. He’d admitted it himself: ignoring you only made it worse.

You took a steadying breath.

Actually, this wasn’t unusual at all. The lack of windows in his dark abode made it impossible to tell if dawn had just broken or if the morning was already well underway. And you knew that Sukuna often left early, slipping out to handle whatever bloody business occupied him out there.

Now that you thought about it, there was a big fat chance he hadn’t even left at all. Maybe he was just a floor below, seated on his throne like some goddamn king.

Clutching the sheets tight around your chest, you glanced down at your torn clothes. Completely ruined—unwearable in their current state. You sighed and scanned the room until your eyes landed on one of Sukuna’s robes draped over an antique chair.

It felt like a crime to even look at it, but your options were—you reached down, hand clutching at the shredded remains of your panties on the floor—limited.

What else were you supposed to do when he’d torn every other piece of clothing in the room?

You quickly slipped into the large robe and quietly shuffled over to the door.

When you pushed it open, a sudden flood of light hit you, and you squinted, your eyes fighting to adjust. The huge hole in the doorframe let in all the harsh rays of sunlight, and you could barely see.

“Argh, too bright.”

You held one hand out in front of you like a makeshift obstacle detector while the other shielded your eyes as you tried to peer through the tiny gaps between your fingers.

But even then, you nearly tripped over the damn robe when a loud crash suddenly boomed through the air, followed by screams so piercing that you wished you had a second pair of hands to cover your ears as well as your eyes.

To the best of your ability, you hurried to the entrance and peeked out into the corridor, trying to locate the source of the panic.

But there was no one there...

Then another scream rang out, this one clearly coming from the apartment two doors down. Without thinking, you rushed in that direction. But right as your feet moved, you froze.

There was a sharp swish followed by a guttural growl that could only belong to one person.

Sukuna.

Your breath caught as he stepped into view, casually hauling a massive wooden door under his arm. Blood streaked his bare chest, fresh and glistening, but it was the grin curling at the corner of his mouth that stopped you cold.

He didn’t look the slightest bit bothered by the chaos he’d caused. No—that sorry mess didn’t matter to him.

What mattered to him was you—and how utterly baffled you looked—and how endlessly amusing he found it every time he succeeded in unnerving you like that...

When he was a foot away from you and nearly knocked you in the head with the door that jutted out from under his shoulder, he raised a teasing brow.

“Hm? Not moving, brat?”

Instinctively, you stepped aside and followed him into the apartment, still glaring with wide eyes—kind of—able to deduce what had just happened but unable to let it fully sink in...

Sukuna noticed your big-eyed stare and set the door down against the wall.

He was clearly irritated by your inability to comprehend the obvious, and so he proceeded to explain it to you as if you were some dumb, snotty child.

“It's a new door, woman. Since that blue-eyed pest destroyed the last one... You have eyes, don't you?” He scoffed.

“So why must I spell it out?”

The brand-new door, identical to the old one... his bloodstained chest and the hellish screams from two doors down.

“You...” You put a palm to your face.

“Oh my god, Sukuna, did you hurt the neighbors and steal their door?”

Sukuna looked at you again, that same look as before—the one that made you feel like you’d just said the most dim-witted thing imaginable.

“Huh? Hurt? No... I killed them. Once again, you have functioning eyes, don't you?”

He dragged a finger through the large stain of blood on his chest, as if to drive the point home.

Oh god.

Every time your stupid crush clouded your judgement, Sukuna made sure to remind you of who he really was—in the most twisted, wicked way possible.

And the worst thing... you were pretty sure it wasn’t even intentional; it was just who he was.

“Sukuna! You what?!” You yelled out peeking outside to make sure he wasn't kidding. But to your horror, you saw a big pool of blood forming in front of the entrance, two houses away.

You glared at him in fury,

“You can't just kill people to get a damn door? Are you crazy?”

Sukuna barely paid you any mind as he hoisted the door back into place, lining it up over the hinges with a snarl.

“Woman, you know exactly who I am. I'd say you're the delusional one for thinking I would do anything less than slaughter them...” He let out a cruel chuckle.

“Have you fallen so hard after getting a taste of me that your judgment’s all clouded?”

With a sharp snap, he slammed the door into its hinges.

“Don't think yesterday changes anything. I may tolerate your presence, but that's all. I don't tolerate weak, groveling insects.”

He tolerates you, huh? Somehow, that felt like a compliment. An odd, backhanded one, sure... but;

It scared you how you lit up at his words—forgetting the whole door situation so easily. It was more than unsettling. Sukuna was carving gashes into your morals, into your sense of self, cut by cut—and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

“So… I’m not, a weak, groveling insect? Is that what you’re saying?” you asked, blinking up at him through your lashes.

“If that’s the case… how about you let me return to Jujutsu High? I’m sure I can defend myself now. Seeing as I'm 'not weak' and all,”

Sukuna finally turned to face you, slowly... deliberately.

He cocked his head, crimson eyes narrowing as his hand disappeared into the pocket of his pants.

Time seemed to freeze as he rummaged around, your focus entirely on him. And then, with one quick jerk, he pulled something free—a glint of silver catching the light.

Before you could react, he tossed it at you—your dagger—now hurling in your direction with lightning speed.

“Hey—!” you yelped, scrambling to catch it.

Your fingers slipped over the hilt, the blade nicking your palm before you finally secured it in your grip.

“What the hell?! That’s dangerous!”

Sukuna shrugged, his grin spreading until a flash of white peeked through his lips.

“If a little nick like that has you whining, then you've answered your own question,”

The 'fuck you' forming on your tongue quickly fizzled out as you glanced down at the dagger. The blade was smeared with something dark—fresh blood.

Your stomach churned. Did he…? No. He couldn’t have. Could he?

“What were you even doing with this?” you demanded, your voice dropping lower, reluctant to hear the answer.

Sukuna didn’t bother to reply. Instead, he stepped toward you, like a lion stalking its prey. He stopped just a few paces away, spreading his arms wide to bare his tattooed chest. His gaze flickered briefly to the dagger in your hand, then locked with yours, a challenge in his eyes.

“C’mon, brat,” he rumbled.

“Try and cut me. If you can leave another mark—” He glanced at the faint gash on his palm, the one you’d left there yesterday with this very blade.

“—then I’ll allow you to return to Jujutsu High,” His grin widened until it was all sharp teeth and menace.

The fact that the cut was still there was a bit of a surprise. Why hadn't he healed it? Was it some sort of funny little souvenir to him?

Well... you'd gladly give him another if that meant you could get out of this brick jail.

You gripped the hilt of the blade tighter, steadying your cursed energy as it seeped slowly into the steel. The dagger pulsed under your touch—alive, and growing stronger with every drop you fed it.

Sukuna stood across from you, legs casually planted and arms now relaxed at his sides—deceptively open, practically inviting you to try and touch the invincible King of Curses.

A maddeningly smug grin was plastered across his face, promising one thing: he wasn’t going to go easy on you. And there was no way in hell you’d walk away from this unscathed.

And, to be fair, even you couldn't deny—this was going to be an uphill battle.

The cut you landed yesterday? A mere stroke of luck. He hadn’t seen it coming—hadn't anticipated that you could use your technique on cursed tools too—but now?

His full focus was locked on you.

Surr, he looked unbothered, but you weren’t naive enough to ignore the way his eyes tracked every single twitch of your muscles, every little flicker in your energy.

You took a deep breath.

At least you knew Sukuna’s fighting style; hours of grueling training had burned it into your bones.

His attacks were precise, unforgiving, and overwhelmingly quick.

So... how on earth would you do this?

Outmuscling him? Outrageous idea—his godly abs were staring you right in the face, telling you no way in hell.

Outmaneuvering him? Not a chance—his speed was unrivaled, save maybe for Gojo.

Outsmarting him? Difficult—Sukuna wasn’t just a fighter; he was cunning and calculated, the kind of opponent who could predict your moves before you'd even thought of them.

Which left... what exactly? Dumb luck? Sheer stubbornness? Maybe a few dirty tricks? Yeah, those were pretty much your only options...

You wasted no more time as you lunged forward, feinting left and then slicing low. But he didn’t even bother to dodge; he simply swatted your blade away with the flat of his hand.

At the same time, his other hand shot out, targeting your shoulder with a power-packed punch that you barely managed to dodge, twisting away just in time.

He followed up with a lightning-quick kick aimed at your side—a kick you could barely even perceive—and this time, it hit.

The impact was no joke, knocking the breath clean out of you, pain exploding across your ribcage as you stumbled backward into a coughing fit.

“You bore me, woman,” Sukuna drawled, faking a yawn, as his hands slipped down his pockets.

Gritting your teeth, you found your footing and pushed more cursed energy into the blade, feeling its weight grow heavier in your hands. If Sukuna could swat it away with his bare hands so effortlessly, it was clear you needed to channel every ounce of your power…

You charged again, unleashing a flurry of strikes aimed at his torso, fighting against the pain in your own torso. But Sukuna dodged each strike with infuriating ease—like you were nothing more than an irritating fly buzzing around his head.

“Cute,” he smirked as his hands left his pocket, and he threw his fist at you, this time targeting your stomach.

You squatted down, ducking under his attack and pivoting back to deliver a kick to his shin. And to your surprise, it landed—a small victory... but Sukuna barely flinched.

He grabbed you by the collar of your robe—or rather, his robe—you were still trapped in. And with a sharp yank, he pulled you forward.

You stumbled, your foot catching on the excess fabric at your ankles, cursing under your breath as you lost balance. And Sukuna wasted no time, seizing the opening.

His hand shot out, grasping your wrist and twisting it with a sharp crack, forcing the dagger from your grip...

It clattered to the ground, your lifeline and only chance at freedom lost.

To make things worse—before you could recover—he spun you around and shoved you down, bending you over the back of the couch.

“That's what you get for touching my things without permission, brat,” he taunted, his chest pinning you in place.

“And here I thought you might actually put in some effort to see your pathetic friends at Jujutsu High...”

You struggled against his hold, writhing as your heart thundered in your ears. The position was very uncomfortable, but worse still—it was very distracting. The warmth of his bare chest snug against your back, his breath teasing the side of your neck... it sent waves of vivid flashbacks from the previous day crashing over you.

And as you recalled all the nasty little things the two of you had done... suddenly, an idea hit you;

If there was ever a moment to play dirty, this was it.

You shifted subtly, tilting your hips and pressing your ass up against him. The movement was so slight that it could have been unintentional—not overt enough to betray your intentions, yet deliberate enough to catch Sukuna’s attention.

Just as you hoped.

He froze for a moment, the muscles in his arm letting loose as his cock twitched a single time—it was all the sign you needed to know his focus had slipped.

With the tip of your foot, you nudged the knife up from the ground, wringing free one of your hands and catching the weapon as it flung upward.

At your full speed, you twisted your arm to an impossibly uncomfortable angle and slashed upward, pouring every last drop of cursed energy into the blade as you blindly aimed for his ribs.

Sukuna’s eyes widened as he felt the blade bite into his side—not deep, but enough for a thick stream of blood to spill out.

He let out a low, pissed-off growl, his grip on you tightening for a fleeting moment before he stepped back and pulled away.

You picked yourself up from the back of the couch, panting fiercely as you leveled the dagger at him, the hilt still warm in your sweaty grip.

Meanwhile, Sukuna’s eyes trailed down to the cut, then back to you, a wicked grin returning to his face as he smeared the blood away with his hand.

For a moment, you couldn't help but admire how incredibly sexy he looked while doing so, but you quickly refocused when he let out a low, dark cackle.

“Clever, little minx,” he purred.

You stared at the wound spilling blood, feeling a twinge of guilt, wildly overshadowed by an overbearing satisfaction, as a teasing smile tugged at your lips.

“So, does that mean I can go back to Jujutsu High then?” you asked with a wink.

Sukuna wiped the remnants of blood off on his pants and stepped in your direction.

“Sure, little sorcerer, do whatever you want—” he replied, surprisingly—no, suspiciously easy in his concession.

And lo and behold, before you could fully relish your hard-won triumph, Sukuna's hand slipped around your waist, yanking you toward him and slamming you against the door.

With your back pressed against the cool wood, his calloused hand clamped around your wrists, pinning them above your head as the dagger clattered helplessly to the floor.

“And I’ll do as I please too,” he murmured against your ear, his breath filled with a hunger that you knew meant trouble.

With no mercy, he ripped the belt from your robe, the fabric falling open to expose your bare skin beneath. His toothy grin made way for a lustful smirk—one that was unexpectedly soft and playful for a man they called the King of Curses.

“Ah...! Don't do that,” you breathed, a shiver rippling through you as he traced his nails down your breast, visibly delighting in the display of scratches and marks he’d left on you the day before.

“Don’t do that? Have you forgotten… this is my robe. I can do whatever I desire with it,” his voice dropped to a sultry growl, deep and throaty—the cold touch of his fingertips drifting lower, teasing at the juncture of your legs.

“I can tear it right off your body if it pleases me.”

His hand slipped between the soft fat of your thighs, fingers burrowing down your folds as he found your clit with surprising ease. He began tracing circles, slowly drawing out each little motion as your legs instinctively clenched around his hand.

You’d never expected Sukuna to be so skilled at something so delicate; and it had to be a natural talent because you were certain he didn’t have any real experience in pleasing women.

Sure, he’d undoubtedly fucked an entire carousel back in the Heian Era, but this wasn't mere fucking—this was playing, teasing—edging.

And just as heat began to coil tightly in your belly, he withdrew his hand, trailing lower to collect the juices leaking from your cunt.

“And by the looks of you—”

He smeared the slick over the tender skin between your thighs, blending it with remnants of yesterday’s escapades that you still hadn’t managed to wash off.

“All marked and coated by me… I’d say I’ve left quite the claim on this insatiable body too.” His lips curled into a devilish grin, and your cheeks flushed crimson as you looked away.

“Argh—shut up! I'm not your property... I'm—Ah!”

Sukuna’s grip shifted from your thighs to your ass, squeezing a handful of flesh as he pressed his blood-stained torso against your breasts. His mouth inched toward your neck, teeth grazing your skin before he dragged his tongue slowly up to your ear, where a breathy whisper reverberated against your eardrums.

“Hmm~ is that so? Lucky for you, I have no qualms about taking what does not belong to me either.”

He pressed his growing cock against your pelvis, and you gulped, your heartbeat quickening as your hands twitched helplessly against his firm grasp.

Then, with a harsh slap to your ass—that stung like hell, by the way—his hand slid back down to your cunt, teasingly halting at your entrance...

He tapped lightly, his finger probing and rubbing, but never entering, the slick sound of your arousal filling the air as strings of juices clung to his fingertip.

You had to fight the urge to beg for more—so fucking bad.

And just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge of breaking, on the verge of surrendering your pride, a loud bang echoed against the door, reverberating through your entire body.

The doorframe shuddered, again and again as the first bang was followed by a chorus of firm knocks on the other side of the door.

Sukuna's expression darkened, a burning red igniting in his narrowed eyes as they locked onto the rattling doorknob. His patience thinned with each persistent knock, and his fingers twitched, ready to cut down whoever was behind that door.

But just as he prepared to strike, a voice sliced through the charged tension.

“Will you open the door? I can sense your cursed energy from miles away, Sukuna. We have matters to discuss.”

You recognized that voice—smooth and seemingly amicable, yet undeniably cold; it belonged to his monk-clad accomplice with the long shiny hair and the weird stitch down his forehead.

If you remembered right, he introduced himself as Geto back then...

Sukuna let out a mix between a sigh and a growl, his brows furrowing as his pupils shifted from the doorknob to you, warning you with his piercing stare.

“Don’t move and don’t make a sound.”

With that, he released your wrists, using the hand to grasp the doorknob and crack the door open just enough to peer through, effectively trapping you against the door with his body.

The fingers of his other hand continued to hold your dripping pussy hostage, teasing at your entrance even when you tried to push his hand away.

Fuck, this was embarrassing—so embarrassing that you felt like you might spontaneously combust when Sukuna started casually conversing with Geto through the gap.

“What is it? I’m busy. I don’t take lightly to being interrupted, Kenjaku.”

Kenjaku? That was strange... you were so certain he’d introduced himself as Geto before—or were you mistaken?

You tried to focus on their conversation, making every effort to ignore the little jolts of pleasure that threatened to escape as moans. Sukuna dipped down with just the slightest bit more force each time, nearly slipping inside and keeping you on edge.

The calm yet cold voice on the other side of the door answered:

“Hah. Yes, I’m terribly sorry about that, but there’s been a change of plans, and I had to inform you. We wouldn’t want to do anything without your say-so, now would we?”

“Hmph.”

Sukuna’s brows unfurrowed ever so slightly at the explanation, and you even caught the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. But it quickly became clear that had nothing to do with the conversation.

Suddenly, you felt his thick finger breach past your entrance, the sharp edge of his nail skimming against your gummy walls. An unexpected gasp slipped from your lips, and you quickly clamped your hand over your mouth, desperate to stifle the sound.

You shot Sukuna a pleading look, shaking your head, silently begging him to stop. But the smug bastard didn't even acknowledge you.

If anything, your silent protests only seemed to spur him on.

His pace quickened, finger pumping in and out of you, each thrust grazing all your tender spots inside with torturous precision. Waves of tingly pleasure rippled through your nerves, only amplified by how on high alert you were at the possibility of getting caught at any moment.

And damn, your body betrayed you so easily, clenching around his finger despite your mind’s protests.

Sukuna, on the other hand, kept his poker face effortlessly intact, continuing his conversation with not a care in the world...

Though that wasn't to say he didn't secretly relish every tight squeeze around his digit—every pretty little moan you so desperately tried to suppress.

“Well, I don't have time, leave and tell me later.” he hissed through the crack of the door, already moving to slam it shut.

But just before it closed, you caught Geto—or was it Kenjaku?—shoving his sandal between the door's edge.

Your heart lurched in panic. There was no way you were going to get caught in this position. You’d never recover your pride—if you even had any left.

Desperate to escape, you tried to slip from Sukuna’s grip, but he tightened his hold, refusing to let you go.

His muscled torso pressed you tighter against the door as he pushed in a second finger, both curling up to press right against your most sensitive spot before he fell back into his rhythm.

And with two thick fingers fucking into you, the moist, mushy sounds of your arousal became shamefully obvious, your cunt growing wetter and wetter.

“I see... is that so?” The composed purr from the other side was now tinged with a knowing hint of mischief.

“—I’ll give you a second then. Though, I really must insist you wrap it up,” he added, finally pulling his foot back from the door, allowing your pounding heart a brief respite as you exhaled through your fingers.

Sukuna grunted, clearly not thrilled, but reluctantly agreed.

“Fine,” he spat, before slamming the door shut and turning his gaze back to you.

He tore your hand from your mouth and slid his fingers down your cunt, all the way to the base, wanting to hear you moan over him properly, at least once.

Then, with a slow pull, he retracted his fingers, leaving you terribly empty, clenching down on nothing but air.

His hand glistened with your juices, and he admired his efforts for a moment before casually wiping them dry against his chest.

“We'll have to finish this some other time, little sorcerer,” he murmured, finally stepping back and giving you some space to breathe.

Though, in all honesty, you were more than a little disappointed he cut it off like that.

And apparently, your face betrayed your frustration because Sukuna's scowl softened into a half grin, his eyes catching your sad, shiny ones.

“Hah. So desperate? In that case, I’ll make sure you beg for it properly next time,” he teased, pulling you away from the door and ushering you on with a rough push to your back.

“Shower, clean that filth off, and go to your precious friends at Jujutsu High,” he called out from behind you as he walked back to the door and grabbed hold of the knob.

You froze at his words. He'd seriously allow you to go back to Jujutsu High? And today, no less? A rush of excitement jolted through you, quickly replacing any lingering disappointment with a silly sense of joy.

“Hurry, brat, unless you want to give my visitor a show,” Sukuna warned, tapping his foot in impatience.

Oh snap. You pulled the robe close and hurried to the bathroom, a small smile tugging at your lips. Once inside, you locked the door behind you and let out a long sigh of relief.

Finally, this confinement would end. You’d be able to see your friends again, escape this cramped apartment, and taste a sliver of freedom—even if the vow, ultimately, still shackled you.

Though right now... that wasn’t even the strongest chain holding you in place.

No, that honor belonged to your ever-growing feelings for Sukuna, binding you in ways far more terrifying than any vow ever could.

You turned to the mirror, studying your reflection as the robe slipped off your shoulders, pooling at your feet. Now, seeing all the scratches and marks Sukuna had left on you for the first time...

And there were plenty of them.

It was as if you could still feel his touch, and god, it felt so good... but you couldn’t help but wonder: was this really okay?

Were you just a fleeting object of enjoyment to Sukuna, or something more?

That thought—that gnawing uncertainty—made you doubt everything.

Stepping into the shower, you let the warm water wash away the lingering traces of his touch, the sticky sweat, and all the other... bodily fluids, disappearing down the drain.

You even allowed yourself to let go of some of the worry, rinsing it away alongside the rest.

For now, you'd shift your focus to the happy things in life: the prospect of seeing your friends again, fresh air, a different environment, talking to your mom, your dad, apologizing, and making everything right...

After drying off, you reached for the uniform tucked in your bag, silently thanking the gods for its long sleeves and high collar—perfect for hiding any residual marks.

You threw on some makeup, fixed your hair, and then stepped out of the bathroom with an excited rush, your backpack slung over your shoulder, ready to go.

Sukuna and his accomplice—now unmistakably recognizable as the man who introduced himself to you as Geto—stood in front of the door, wrapping up whatever short but important conversation they were having.

With your ears perked, you caught the distant sound of Sukuna’s voice.

“Tomorrow afternoon, then. Report back after—or send that fool Jogo, I don’t care. Just take one of them with you. I want to see for myself how strong they are.”

His voice had an unsettling edge to it—a kind of forcibly contained excitement that made your skin crawl. You could feel it in the air too, no doubt a bad omen for what was to come...

When you hesitantly pushed past the doorframe, both men’s eyes snapped to you.

The monk’s serious expression immediately morphed into a fake, polite smile. He regarded you with a little bow of his head and a casual wave.

“Leaving too, are you? Shall I escort you out, miss?”

Sukuna shot him a sharp warning glare at the daring suggestion but still turned away, dismissing his black-haired accomplice with a flick of his hand as he made his way toward the basement.

“Do as you wish, Kenjaku. You know better than to mess with what’s mine, right?” Sukuna glanced over his shoulder one last time, a dangerous grin curling on his lips, before brushing past you.

As he did, he left a breathy whisper at your ear. “Don’t concern yourself. That man knows exactly what I’m capable of.”

You watched him disappear into the basement, and with a deep breath, your gaze reluctantly shifted back to the man—whose name now eluded you—still waiting by the door.

Yanking your coat from the couch, you slipped your arms through, eager to escape—but not before one last thing.

“So, your name’s Kenjaku, then? Not Geto?” you asked, trying to mask the unease in your voice.

Kenjaku chuckled, his brows tugging at the scar on his forehead. “I have many names. Don’t worry about it.”

He gracefully opened the door, gesturing for you to step outside.

You offered him a forced laugh as thanks and quickly turned right, quickening your pace to put as much distance between you and him as possible.

But, as luck would have it, he called after you, sending a chill down your spine.

“Wait.”

You turned, and Kenjaku stood right behind you, his usual slitted eyes now sharp with a dangerous gleam, his polite smile twisted into a sly, devilish smirk.

“We need to discuss something, girl.”

---------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading, lovely people 💕 I promise Yuji and the others will be back in the next chapter. ALSO sorry for the slow updates; I'll try to pick up the pace, much like Sukuna this chapter lol 🤭

Taglist: @sukunasthightattoos , @tomiokasecretlover , @6demonize6me6 , @blindbabycadder , @domainofmarie , @marcoschuitmaker , @geniejunn , @chanaaaannel , @nessca153, @technicallysublimedemon,

If you want to be added to the taglist, so you don't miss any updates, please let me know in the comments or with a private message. Thankyou!

[allylikethecat]

The cliffhanger you're crazy 😭😭😭😭

Hehe thank you so much for reading! I promise it won't take me as long to finish the next chapter as this one did! I no longer have the A&E fic to consume my entire being, and I *think* we might have some direction again in terms of Ducklings. The good news is that Fictional!Matty knows that Fictional!Ross knows now... right?

Thank you for sending in this ask and I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

❤️Ally

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

"i have to go to sleep" i say

"i really have to go to sleep" i say again, four hours later

[dallonwrites]

THINK i am halfway through this chapter it just Feels Right, though based on what i know needs to happen i feel like the second half will be longer and the first half is 4.5k so like, laugh out loud !

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[bejeweledmp3]

ok so. good news and bad news regarding totp: bad news is i'm 90% sure i'm going to have to up the chapter count from five to six. good news is that if i do that chapter four is like. almost done

[divinekangaroo]

i thought i saw your mother in the dark - pettiot - Peaky Blinders (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

Ch 01 / Ch 02 / Ch 03 | Mature | Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark, Charles Shelby, Ruby Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Alfie Solomons, Oswald Mosley, Winston Churchill, the Lawyer who must be Let Go | Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Retrospective Justification a Deadly Sin, Humiliation, Family Issues, Complicated Family Relationships, Post-Suicide Attempt, Road Trip/s, Strained Father Son Relationships, Once upon a time in Margate |

[lecliss]

Ya know, when I heard Vincent was getting his FR finally, I certainly wasn't expecting his partner to be Prompto, and yet. It makes sense.

[sytoran]

home is where the heart is ★ n.r

— 𝐓𝐖𝐎 ;; 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 & 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇

in which your married life with natasha romanoff is depicted through this comedy-drama series. with your dream job, three kids, and a plethora of friends, each day is blissful but all the more chaotic and unpredictable. (and ultimately, very horny.)

pairing ★ sub!wife!natasha x beefy!butch!reader

chapter summary ★ twitter's sole purpose is for you to thirst over your wife, the beach is a good place to spend time with your kids, and ogle at your wife in a bathing suit, but not a great a place to have sex. (lesson learnt).

warnings ★ (MINORS DNI) - explicit content, hard stuff: beach sex, doggy style, cunnilingus, daddy kink, SO MUCH thirsting

word count ★ 4.0k (get fed gremlins)

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

*****

In tandem with Tony Stark’s spontaneity, Steve Rogers’ unending enthusiasm, and the fact that you privately owned close to twenty beach resorts in New York alone, the lot of you and your other friends had a beach outing planned for that Sunday.

After the astronomically long time it took to get your kids dressed, beach toys packed, picnic dinner prepared, and everything loaded into the car, five happy L/N-Romanoffs finally kickstart their journey to the Westview Surfers’ Beach.

“SAND!” Emilia roars maniacally, once the five of you step foot onto the sandy shore. She’s gone like the ocean breeze, sprinting into the distance, grains of sand flying everywhere.

“Sea! Sea! Sea!” Emilio is equally as excited, already by the tide of the brilliantly blue ocean, following its ebb and flow with scampering feet and delighted cries. 

“Careful, Emilio!” Marina says, holding his hand, preventing her over excited brother from falling over. You can see the way she laughs along, kicking up water with her slippers.

Behind your eager children, you swing you and Natasha’s interlocked hands as you casually stroll along the beach, giving her a sweet smile. 

The sand that crunched beneath your feet was earthen and dry, such a gentle hue of gold, almost as grounding as the bright smile your wife returned.

“You look heavenly,” you murmur, bringing up the underside of your wife’s palm to press a gentle kiss to it. She flushes prettily, the sundress she’s adorning doing wonders to her skin tone and curves.

Natasha returns the softness, pressing into your side as you wrap a firm arm around her waist, hand cupping the curve of her motherly hips.

“Oy, lovebirds!”

At the sound of a distinctly familiar voice, you and Natasha spin around with bemused looks. From a distance, you can see Tony with a flamingo floatie around his hips, waving comically.

Next to him, the regular gang is sprawled across three separate picnic mats, conveniently hidden from the sun under several large beach umbrellas. 

Pepper is fixing up Tony’s floatie, to which Carol and Valkyrie snicker at from afar. Thor is asleep on the mats, taking up more than half the area. Laura is busy reading, with Clint probably gone to find seashells for the sandcastle Bucky and Steve are constructing. The kids make a long human chain from the shore to the sandcastle, scooping up buckets of water to make a trench.

“Aunty Y/N! Aunty Nat!” Nathaniel squeals, dropping his bucket, running over and leaping into your arms.

“What’s up, you little rascal?” you ask, laughing as the youngest Barton giggles. Natasha ruffles his head, waving at Lila. 

Morgan, being the same age as Emilia and Emilio, is already chatting excitedly with them and kicking up a loud racket. Marina joins Cooper in attaining bucketfuls of seawater.

“What’s up, my favourite lesbians?” Tony calls out to you and Natasha with outstretched arms, comically ignorant to the death-glare Valkyrie shoots him. 

Natasha rolls her eyes in faux annoyance, strolling past him and brightening up animatedly to chat with the ladies. You pat Tony’s back sympathetically. 

Your attention flits to an impressively large sandcastle with a sculpture of a mermaid on top, hand-crafted by Steve and Bucky. Leaning closer to Tony, you whisper, “Why does the mermaid kinda look like you?”

Leaving him to splutter at his intentionally uncanny resemblance to the mermaid, with a seashell bra and an elegant tail, you look up to see Clint coming back with his arms full of seashells. 

“Hi, Y/N!” He greets distractedly. In the midst of his frantic haste, Clint’s foot gets caught on a stray rock —

And the rest is a scene out of a comedy movie. 

The seashells go flying out of his arms, scattering onto the picnic mat and spraying sand everywhere, Clint loses his balance and flies forward, outstretched arms knock into the sandcastle, and everyone watches in horror as Steve and Bucky’s great unfinished symphony comes crumbling down, leaving only the head of Tony’s mermaid untouched.

A quiet hush falls. 

Bucky and Steve’s faces are morphed into disbelief and heartbreak, and Clint trembles in fear with sand in his mouth. Tony shudders at his beheaded mermaid, the ladies have their hands over their mouths, and Natasha fights battles in order not to burst out laughing. Thor sleeps unperturbed, and even the kids' racket has died down.

“Well,” you announce, breaking the stunned silence. “Who wants to go surfing?”

*****

As Natasha lazes in a beach chair, away from the gory scene of Steve and Bucky dunking Clint in the seawater, she watches you with a budding fire in her belly. 

Standing on the sand so casually, you have your hefty surfboard tucked under one arm, and Emilio in your other. You’re speaking to him with a roguish grin, unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt flapping in the wind, tinted sunglasses pushed up to muss up your perfectly tousled hair. 

“You ready to ride the waves, bub?” 

“Yeah! I’m ready!”

Your wife swallows, thinking she was ready to ride something else.

Natasha crosses her legs unsubtly. It was honestly unfair, how indifferently attractive you were, like it was a state of being instead of a practised art. 

Perhaps it was her love for you and the longevity of your marriage that warped her perception of sexiness, but when you were casually strolling on the beach with that chiselled abdomen on display, who was she to be blamed?

“Y/N!” Natasha calls, sitting up slightly. There’s a devious little idea blooming in the back of her mind, and she feels like taking the bait, just for today.

You look up at your wife’s beckoning, and smile widely at her. Setting Emilio down gingerly and calling him a “little rascal”, you jog over to Natasha easily. 

When you flick your hair back, it glints in the sunlight, and so does the sheen of sweat under your sports bra, defining the cutting edges of your abdomen. Natasha has the criminal urge to rip off your swimming trunks there and then.

Despite your obliviousness, Natasha is more than well-aware of the stares you’re getting from young women and married women alike, momentarily disregarding their boyfriends and husbands to gawk at you.

“Damn, look at that fine specimen!”

“Ryan, why don’t you work out more?”

“There goes my heterosexuality.”

You get feasted upon hungry eyes like a slab of beef, likened to your beefiness, but it only makes Natasha’s possessiveness skyrocket.

“Hey, honey,” you say, settling on a low and inviting tone that has your wife blushing. You crouch down next to her beach chair, holding her hand in a sweet gesture. “What’s up?” 

You’re close to her, so close, and she can feel the heat radiating off you, and your distinct scent, and the overwhelming senses of want and need are washing over Natasha like those tidal waves in the ocean.

But well, Natasha knew more than a few ways to rile you up too.

“I think I want to go surfing too,” she lies through her teeth, having no inclination to partake in the sport. Natasha fakes a pout all too well, knowing it’s one of your many weaknesses. “But the sun’s really hot out there, so I need some help with the sunscreen.” 

It wasn’t like she’d have needed it, anyway. Just like that and you’re sold, ever the gentleman and the golden retriever, digging for the sunscreen in the duffel bag.

“Of course, honey,” you reply readily. “Is it the Banana Boat sunscreen, or is that the kids’ one? Oh wait, we have the SPF 50 one, I think that’s—”

Words trail off comically when you look back up at Natasha, gradually dying down completely.

Your wife has conveniently slid off her outer layer of a sheer white blouse, leaving her in just a matching two-piece set of an azure bathing suit. The top piece is held together with thin pieces of string, accentuating her chest in a tight cradle. The lack of coverage shows off the dip of her hips and her soft curves.

Coherent thoughts in your mindwires get severed as Natasha plays with the string on her bottom piece, nearly flashing you as the material slides down ever so slightly. Your throat dries up as her fingers trail a path over her tummy and cleavage. She plays with another bundle of string that keeps her chest barely covered, and the irresistible urge rises within you to undo it.

“My eyes are up here, y’know,” Natasha murmurs, laying on her side and looking at you through lowered lashes.

“I know where they are,” you answer hoarsely, gaze still fixated on your wife’s enticing cleavage.

The sheer amount of bare skin that Natasha is showing off has your remaining fragments of sanity falling to pieces. There’s no point even trying to hide the tent in your pants, poking uncomfortably against the fabric.

“Gonna help me lather sunscreen?” Natasha asks with a silky lilt to her voice, turning over on the beach chair. 

You groan out loud when you see the curve of your wife’s ass on display, her rounded bottom barely covered by a few measly pieces of material, all held together by flimsy strings and nothing else.

“Mhm,” you respond brainlessly, uncapping the bottle and rubbing your hands with a bountiful amount of the moisture, clearly in excess.

You begin applying your wife’s sunscreen with overzealous eagerness and desire. Large hands spread unnecessarily widely as you gain coverage over the soft skin of her back, trailing up and down and smearing the white moisture over her soft skin.

“Oh, that feels nice,” Natasha says airily, a dainty little sound that causes your cock to twitch in your shorts. 

The line down the middle of Natasha’s back is emphasised as she tenses and relaxes it. Like clockwork, you begin massaging your wife’s back to release the tension in her muscles.

“Y/N…” The breathy moan she lets out is pure heaven, dragged out from the depths of her throat, then lifting to a higher tone that washes over you in a sea of goosebumps.

Of course, your faux masseuse skillset is just a simple ploy to grope and knead at Natasha. Fat spills through your fingers as you spread your hands across her torso, as Natasha whines softly.

It wouldn’t take a genius to realise that the heat building between the two of you was not just due to the heatwaves under the beating, unforgiving sun.

Your frighteningly quickly-growing arousal only heightens when Natasha feels that her back is done and flips over. Face-to-face with her hefty mounds, a round belly, and the blown pupils of viridescent eyes — you lose the plot completely. 

Deft hands fly to your wife’s ample assets, squeezing her hips in sinful amounts and staking your claim. “You’re so pretty, baby,” you mumble, face buried into the crook of her neck, subtly mouthing at her neck.

“Mhm,” Natasha whines in agreement, but it turns into a gasp as your fingers slip underneath the material of her bra, plucking at hardened nipples in merciless haste.

You press down onto her, flat tongue and sharp teeth, licking a broad stripe up your wife’s exposed collarbone to the tender column of her neck.

Before you can taint clear skin with raging-purple bruises, you’re pulled away with a firm grip on the back of your neck. You look back up to see Natasha gazing at you sternly. 

“Let’s try not to perpetuate public sex while you are the owner of this place, with all our friends present, and the kids building sandcastles no less than ten feet away.”

Much to your disgruntlement, these factors weigh in heavily and overpower your body’s built-in “pretty-wife-need-to-worship” mechanic. Now, your shorts fill up a lot more space than need be, your shaft pressing hot and tight against your left leg, clearly visible.

You grumble, hands still clammy with sunblock, the ghost of Natasha’s warmth still interlaced between each of your fingers. “You’re a meanie,” you sulk, lust-driven adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Natasha looks at you with a wicked smile. “And you’re too susceptible, darling. Now, where’s my flask? I plan on staying plenty hydrated before watching you rough it out against the waves.”

Clearly put-off by not being able to fuck your wife in your public beach resort, you flip off a little kid who openly ogles at Natasha’s ass, much to your wife’s horror.

*****

“I’M NOT BUILT FOR THIS!” Tony screams, arms flailing, as he rides a shallow wave. His firmly implanted foot adds too much weight on the front of his neon yellow surfboard, and the over-eager man overturns comically as the current rushes.

You laugh out loud, Hawaiian shirt flapping in the wind, surfing past Tony in a smooth motion. “Stick to the flamingo floatie, little guy!”

Valkyrie barely dodges the splash Tony creates, nearly falling off her own board. “Fuck off, you cunt!” she yells, full-chested and deadly focused on the tide. From a distance in the shallower part of the ocean, a reprimanding “Language!” can be heard.

Natasha’s wading in the shallower waters with Laura, while Thor had opted to sun tan on the beach while watching the kids.

As a large wave approaches, Natasha watches with intent. Upon your wife’s new found attention, you mentally prepare yourself, determined to impress her, and perhaps get revenge for her prior ploy.

You manoeuvre deftly, putting weight on your back foot to stabilise as you approach the wave head-on. Three… two… one. You add even more weight on your back foot as you go around the back turn while gaining speed, garnering energy like a coiled spring.

As the wave reaches its full height, broad and steep, your calves release with impact, propelling up the barrel of the wave like a spring. The surfboard moves in effortless motion, anchored by your back foot, navigated by your right.  

The second you reach the lip of the wave, you find the sweet spot to execute the backside tail slide. You rotate your wide-set shoulders, swiftly switching the pressure to your front foot. 

Your surfboard glides off the surface for a split-second, turning mid-air — there’s a camera-worthy frame of damp hair, stray droplets, and focused eyes.

You slide back down at an oblique angle with purpose and precision, like a scene out of a movie, locking eyes with Natasha as the wave crashes behind you.

“Damn, Y/N!” Carol hoots, looking amazed as you surf back to the rest of the gang.

“That was crazy,” Steve adds, resting belly-down onto the surfboard, strikingly adorable for a hulking man.

“Gotta admit, that was pretty cool,” Tony comments, his head bobbing above the surface of the water and his surfboard nowhere to be found.

You laugh along with them, attempting to explain the technical jargon of how you did it. But as much as you appreciated your friends’ enthusiasm, there was ultimately only one person you sought validation from. 

“Hi,” you say to Natasha with a stupid smile, sitting on your surfboard, having escaped the rest. 

“That was very sexy of you,” your wife wastes no time in stating, as if she wasn’t five millimetres away from flashing you and killing you with her sexiness. 

Natasha is stuck on the image of your damp hair flying into place like a scene out of a superhero movie, unbuttoned shirt flailing up to expose your defined back and abdomen, concentration flashing in your eyes.

“Mhm,” you hum lowly. Fire burns low in your belly as you ogle your wife in her bathing suit, pulling her closer by the underside of her thighs.

In a moment of indiscretion, your left hand slips upwards and undoes the knot on Natasha’s bathing suit, letting the material slip from your fingers.

“Y/N!” Though blocked from view of the others as it was underwater, Natasha lets out a breathy gasp and presses into you. Her cunt, already soaked before, gets even wetter at the intrusion of seawater.

“Can I claim my prize?” you ask heavily, hot pants against your wife’s ear, driving her wild with the way your fingers slip through her folds to encroach on her entrance.

In no time at all, two of your fingers are at Natasha’s cunt, feeling slick even underwater, and you push in—

“Group picture!” Steve yells from a distance, as you and your wife effectively leap apart in the water, the heated moment dissipated into thin air. 

But it lingers, the arousal, swimming in the back of your consciousness as you smile for a group selfie. Bucky’s arm is around you but you thank the heavens for hiding your erection under the water.

You can tell Natasha feels the same, eyes locking on you even after Steve successfully takes the group picture. (After many attempts.)

“I’m gonna go check on the kids,” Natasha finally says, gesturing back as if she was going to walk back to shore. She’s expectant, waiting.

“And I think I’m gonna go check with her!” you add, chuckling awkwardly, beckoning backwards with your thumbs.

“Okay,” Steve says disbelievingly, eyes glimmering with knowing and just a little amusement. Tony is much less subtle in his sniggering, and Clint looks horrified at the prospect of doing it at the beach.

Tony claps you on the back as you walk past. “Use protection,” he whispers, and you fumble out a haphazard response. 

*****

Turns out, you and Natasha don’t even make it to a completely secluded area before you’re half-undressed and panting. 

And maybe that’s half the thrill, hidden in a secluded beach cave, with regular people roaming around just outside. You’re pressed skin-to-skin with each other and tuning out everything else.

You groan as you snap the strings of Natasha’s bathing suit off, finally, finally. Teardrop tits bounce in place, shaking with the impact of how hard you jerk against your wife, unbearably uncomfortable in the constraints of your boxers.

Natasha takes mercy on you, helping you to tug down your Calvin Clein briefs, watching with heady arousal as your shaft slaps against your six-pack, red and raw and leaking.

“Hurry up,” Natasha whines, bending over and clutching at a stray rock, ass in the air as she exposes her leaking cunt to you. 

“Fuck, baby,” you groan, grabbing onto her ass and slapping it just because you can. You sink deep into your wife, warmth and relief enveloping you as you bury yourself inside her.

The first thrust is like heaven, feeling the pulse and push of Natasha’s walls as she accommodates to take your size, stretching to a familiar extent because you’d made a nest in there for yourself. 

The second thrust takes you there, an insurgent amount of slick coating your cock, flooding the path you proceed to pummel into. “Natty,” you whine, groping at her ass and pulling it closer to you, hilt-deep with no signs of stopping.

“Mhm, daddy,” Natasha moans, walls fluttering around you as you pull out, trying to stop your escape. But then you thrust forward, again, warm and full and deep, and your wife wails beneath you.

Natasha lets this velvet sound from her throat, silky and coated in honey as she breathes reinvigorated life into your arousal.

“Fuck,” you growl, rutting your hips with more rigour. Natasha whines, wrists suspended behind her back with one of your hands as you have your way with her.

“Baby I’m gonna come,” you gasp, virility cloaking the way your abdomen presses up against Natasha, left hand encircling her neck to bring your hot mouth up to hers.

You’re hardly embarrassed for how fast you’re barrelling towards climax, as Natasha is in much more of the same position. She’s panting your name, clutching at the rocks with hard sand digging into her feet. Your cock nudges and prods into her sweet spots effortlessly, the result of countless sex experiences.

“M-me too,” she responds breathily, breaking off into a whine as you press heated, open-mouthed kisses along the line of her back, tasting the salt and sweat on your tongue.

Pleasure blossoms in your lower torso, creeping up the base of your shaft and working its way upwards. Hot arousal overflows from its constraints, and your teeth sinks into your bottom lip as you come, quick and hot and messy.

“Oh!” Natasha moans, high-pitched and sensitive, as you pluck at her ruby-hard nipples. It only takes a few more thrusts for her to reach release, dripping down your cock and her thighs.

“Mhm, nhn—” As your wife raises in pitch and volume, you stuff three fingers into her open mouth, giving her something to suck on and remain quiet. You continue with gentle thrusts, feeling thick white liquid flow out the side of Natasha’s ruined cunt.

“Needa taste you,” you suddenly grunt, hips bumping into Natasha’s ass. She babbles her agreement, despite being half-conscious in a state of post-orgasmic pleasure. 

Easily, you lift Natasha and set her down onto the sandy shore of the beach cave, where the tide is low and washes over your feet gently.

It’s a change of pace, a gradual end to your savage ravaging, slow and sensual, where the water meets the sand. You lower yourself between Natasha’s spread thighs, lips slightly parted and dripping with need.

Natasha swallows audibly, right hand twisting into your tousled hair, looking at you through hooded eyes and lowered lashes. 

Words are left unspoken between the two of you, the tension speaking for itself, as you retain eye contact while lowering your mouth onto Natasha’s pulsing cunt.

You take your last breath of the fresh sea salt air and summer breeze before drowning in unbridled desire. As if making out passionately, you eat your wife out, switching between licking and sucking.

Poetry is written between the lines — the lilt of Natasha’s hitched breath, the crease of her thighs where your fingertips drag across, the shallow water that wades over your feet in a cool decrescendo.

Your head dips down once more, warm and wet, and the sun melts into the horizon, glazing golden and liquid orange. 

With your tongue lodged fully inside your wife’s pussy, marking your inability to breathe, and wide hands spread firmly over Natasha’s thighs, the two of you converge in saintly devotion, hushed worship falling from her lips.

“Please, just like that, please, daddy, please.”

Just like that, and the ocean swallows you whole, taking you under Natasha’s hold inescapably. Your name is said in a breathless cry, lilting and pronounced, and you shudder between her clenched thighs.

“Nat?”

“Yeah?”

“I think there’s ocean water up my asshole.”

“Yeah, I got some sand up my vagina too.”

*****

and that's chapter two of 'hiwthi'! how did yall feel about the introduction of the rest of the cast? i personally enjoyed writing the build-up scenes the most. (sunscreen and surfing!) and for those keen on expanding the family dynamic, i'll be building on that in the next chapter!

reblog or i will take 292857192 years to post the next part

SERIES MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

[kurishiri]

Jude chapter 2 silly but kinda detailed summary

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ any pretty translation you may see in here may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. this is a sort of summary as well. if you enjoy, though, please consider reblogging, but please don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

for some ungodly reason jude and ellis r in kates room the moment she woke up and judes not lookin very appy hes like how long r ya gon sleep for ya bloody pleb and ellis is like haaii gm kate 🌸✨✨ and then jude like “get ready in 3 seconds” while holdin her chin. again, for some reason lmao

ok turns out we goin to their other jobs at a company called raven co

and ellis tells kate they got shops overseas too (wow jude got a boomin business) and they sell stuff in a lotta places and allat jazz. anw some dude greets kate and the others and thinks that kate is ellis gf. kates like umm no and hes like so ur the boss’ gf?

then he gets judes boot before kate can reply and judes like

Jude: It’s all yappin’ with ya so early in the mornin’, I see.

J: If ya gonna yap useless things, how ‘bout ya use that mouth o’ yours to do a bit more o’ your job?

J: If ya want a pay cut though, that’s a separate matter.

turns out the dudes name is theodore walker. 21 y/o. employee. first impression: bright dude

so kate asks ellis what his role is and hes like “hmm lets see, being a guard, preparing for guests, confirming clients, brewing up a storm…” and kate here thinkin wait a damn minute i have a feeling i heard smth real violent just now and then is like do you do anything else and well ellis responds with more violent words with a 😊 face. kate is like i thought i got myself into an evil org then jude comes in like

Jude: Well this evil company’s boss got some work cut out for ya.

she gotta sort out these letters (a loott of letters…) and judes like “if ya worked as a letter carrier ya mustve had to sort out letters before gettin breakfast”

ok so apparently judes kate just blurts out things w/o thinkin 💀 bc this time shes like well if hes gonna make fun of me (jude calls her princess but /neg) then challenge accepted! and then is like “ok bet i will get this done ez pz 🍋 squeezy” and judes got that shit eatin grin on his face like “that ya will do by the time i get back”

they r indeed still in their enemies era. her only saving grace now is ellis’ kind smile. ellis to the rescue! ⛓️🫶✨

omg ellis is actually an angel here he helps kate when he can sorting out letters and hes like gj today kate. you managed to do sm on ur own, u should be proud of urself and kate is like hes so kind… (yes he is!)

ah yes we cant escape the ellis is sweet as jam™️ allegations here

kate asks ellis why he joined crown and tldr its bc vic reached out to jude and jude said ok

Kate: But did you have to get caught up in all this too…?

Ellis: But——he made a promise with me.

As he said this, Ellis’ eyes narrowed softly.

Kate: …A promise?

Ellis: I’m waiting for Jude to reach the happiest moment of his life.

E: And I need to be by his side to see that moment.

[ insert some lines im too lazy to tl here ]

Ellis: But, it seems that moment just doesn’t want to come. …It’s like Jude is always unhappy.

jude comes in the door like yall so damn annoyin and is like stop yappin bout she don’t need to know. but ellis is like but its her job as fairytale keeper. and kate is like “i have a question for u too jude! why do u have ellis by ur side?” jude responds like “none ya damn business” but one tinie push from ellis and jude lets out a resigned sigh and speaks on it and is like hes got physical strength and a good ability. cant let that sorta value slip by. that said his heads got some screws loose so

and kate is like omg! he answered me!!

(So Jude has Ellis by his side so he can use his abilities at his convenience,)

(and Ellis wants Jude to fulfill his wish, I guess?)

They kept one another by each other’s side to help realize what the other wants.

——If I were to put into words what their relationship would be, it would be ‘a contractual relationship.’

That was the day I had gotten my hands on valuable information on Jude for the first time.

ko-fi☕️ ┊ comms🤍

NOTE: i forgot to mention that i can take comms to tl judes main story chapters, avatar mission stories, and his side stories in full, as ciele, the one whos gonna tl his story, said that i could tl chapters from his story too. the turnaround time per chapter is usually around 1–2 days from the time i start it. (for jude it might be closer to 2 days.)

[buttercupblu]

Satoru's Psyche|Surfacing

"Power dynamics, they're fluid."

Session 1 of 10|Next Session

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Routine patient visit and care performed. Patient is stable, mostly corporative, and only mildly rowdy today. Vitals are clear, appetite is normal, nothing of interest to report other than slightly abnormal behavior resulting in the [REDACTED] incident, pending Nurse deliberation on how to proceed with patient disciplinary action. 📋 Length of Session (w.c): 5.2k out of "we will cross that bridge when we get to it 🤠" 💊Intake Chart (tags): this is a full-blown AU with a slowww build-up, yandere-ish behavior, pet names, angst, compulsive flirter Gojo (he literally cannot help it), mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️doctor's angel’s note: there’s something very, very special about how this story was born. extended author’s note at the end of this chapter if you’re curious|kk I'm done talking - enjoy Satoru’s Psyche. 🎼 Waiting room music: Child's Play|SZA

They all worshipped the strongest. 

But no one saw the man; no one noticed the cracks until it was too late.

The first appeared after the Star Plasma Vessel mission—Gojo's near-death experience and first awakening. 

Then, it was his best friend, Suguru Geto. His betrayal, death. Murder. 

The blood on Gojo's hands left such a deep mark.

Devastation. Irreparable damage.

No matter what Gojo did after that, death followed him like a loyal dog. 

And when the final crack happened in the Prison Realm, with no distraction from his own thoughts and burdens and painstakingly harsh reality, Satoru Gojo bent..then snapped.

He can't remember what happened after being unsealed. 

All he knew was the blood that came afterward.

Apparently, he went on a rampage, but in his psyche, it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

And he didn't feel guilt—not in the slightest. 

They must have gotten what they deserved, right? 

The thoughts were deafening.

But Gojo’s natural tendency to play the hero was even louder and got the best of him. The realization of what he’d done was haunting—plaguing and persuading him like a Devil in his ear until he turned himself in to shut the voices the fuck up. 

Once again, good ruled over evil and the world was safe.

In Gojo's own sick and twisted way, he had once more saved the day.

And as a thank you? He's here, in a fucking straitjacket, seals all around to make his cursed energy dormant. At least, that's what those old fools believe…

Gojo can't help but scoff, recalling all their nonsense. 

“You're unstable. The mind needs to be healed.”

Blah fucking blah. What a load of bullshit. 

However, society never took too kindly to a little mass murder, so fine.

Gojo will play nice... for now.

And for the most unexpected reason why.

His grin only deepens, a borderline predatory look as he hears those familiar footsteps. 

Ah...how wonderful.

“There you are.”

The man waits by the door, shoulder framing your entrance and leaning on the wall. Welcoming, warm and expectantly, before the locks can disengage. 

Like many times before, your eyes meet through the window pane. A dull blue under snowy white lashes, heavy and following yours, but barely piercing the plastic—small and artificial—only a thin layer of careful separation, but you both see right through it. Neutrality on your face but wavering sharpness in your eyes. And a glint in his as the familiar buzz! ushers you into his world.

“How’s my favorite nurse?” he asks like a broken record. All casual-like, as if his arms aren’t meticulously tucked into tight restraints that work hard against his muscled frame. “Missed your favorite psychopath?”

He couldn’t sound more arrogant, but still has to smirk watching you brush past him—expecting nothing less—but feels a different air.

There’s a pep in your step, carrying you into the stark white room and making it impossible to miss the subtle sway of your hips and dangling supply bag on your arm. Naturally fluid as if you’re oblivious to its sensual nature.

Gojo rarely saw you wear any emotion on your sleeve, let alone what he thought was hints of joy, but something was slipping through the cracks.  

And what’s that? A slight grin on your face? 

What exactly do we have here?

This attitude is foreign. Better than the blank slate or frequent exhaustion you usually walk in with, but this was a side of you that was unfamiliar. 

What’s got you in such a mood, he wonders? And what else could it be, if not him? 

It’s all because today is an “okay day”. And in places like your ward, “okay” is as good as gold.

Rounds have been fairly simple in the usually chaotic hospital—a small win if you put things in perspective, but it’s enough for you to feel good about it. 

Hell, with the way things usually go around here, it feels like Christmas came early and you got just what you wanted. 

A big, whopping present called “all of your co-workers showing up to work”. The standard for most workplaces but here, such miracles only exist in your daydreams to get through your usually fucked schedule.

But not today. Today, the angels personally visited your ward to carry your burdens and lighten your load. For the first time in months, you didn’t groan the second you saw your patient roster for the day and instead had to do a doubletake because the list was surprisingly short. Only your regulars sat on it and that could only happen if the ward was fully-staffed.

You thought it was a mistake when you checked the schedule this morning, but no, everyone’s name sat prettily on the sign-in sheet at the front desk—a sight you hadn’t seen since orientation and was confirmed with every familiar and slightly foreign face you passed in the halls. 

There were no call-outs, no extra work, and the best part, no unexpected shift changes. 

Overtime would not get its hands on you today and the thought alone made you feel lighter because enough time is spent in these melancholy walls as is. 

With thoughts on the week’s end, you found yourself drifting through the day on autopilot. Wondering if you should make plans—doubtful you’ll see them through—and time seemed to be flying by with your thoughts. Following the rarely-seen routine you know like the back of your hand helped you blaze through the morning and grow closer to sweet rest for your already aching feet. 

Miracles were coming in left and right, proof that today just might be your day. It’s still early, but no one had broken out of their room or flung any property around yet. Guards sit comfy and reclined at their posts, lounging around more than they’re being called, and you haven’t even had to run off to the lockers to change your scrubs that are usually ruined by now. Luck is keeping you high and dry—free from accidents or patient tantrums, both of which are all too common. And always seem to have your name on them.

But the cherry on top, second to none, pièce de résistance.

Is a possibility.

Just the teeniest, tiniest, sliver of a chance…to walk out of these doors early. 

Be still your beating heart.

Early release?? Unheard of. You almost skipped through the halls thinking about it. Dreaming of the reclaimed time—the deliciously healthy heap of rest. 

With no signs of trouble, aside from forcing yourself to chug a wildly unhealthy energy drink to fight off tendrils of sleep, you just may be in the clear.

Things seem steady in the sleepy ward today. So sure, you’re in a relatively good mood. 

But is it good enough to deal with Gojo? 

It puzzles you, how he always knows you’re coming before he sees you. How he sort of announces your presence before you get the chance. Like the honor belongs to him.

The psychopath. 

Your head tilts at the diagnosis, hearing it come from his lips for the first time. Even if unseriously. 

He’s self-aware, at least. Not that the confession makes your visits any easier. 

Over time, after working so closely with a personality like Gojo’s, you’ve learned to take everything he says with a grain of salt. Especially when it comes from such shameless lips.

Answering his question with an eye-roll, you set your supplies down to pull out your clipboard and check his vitals. Something that once upon a time made your palms sweat and throat dry, but never showed on your face. You knew what the role required, what it would need for you to survive—intimidation and cowardice were not a part of it—and eventually, after you banged that into your head enough, even if you had to fake it til you made it, you became used to the routine.

As has Gojo, complying with each step on the checklist like it was second nature. Walking over to his favorite spot to be taken care of, the bed. Lifting his tongue to take his temperature. Offering his arm to check his blood pressure. Noting that his eyes aren’t bad today—not needing to wear his blindfold due to the security system. Doing it all without needing you to say a word. All within his control.

But the one thing he can’t get a grip on is how his heart begins to beat. Every time like clockwork the moment you lay a hand on his back to listen to it. Racing in his chest—thumping through your stethoscope—while he wears the calmest face. 

Curiosity called you after noticing it a few times once you determined it wasn’t a condition. Guaranteed to start up with the gentlest touch that he was surely used to. 

So, what exactly goes on in his mind in these moments? Despite hiding it so well? 

What could possibly be making Tokyo’s most unhinged, mass-murderer, so flustered? 

You never have much time to think about it because it won’t matter in the next few seconds anyway. Sitting still enough to get through vitals was as serious as Gojo gets, making the quickest part of your visits with him the easiest. 

Everything that follows the second you put your kit away is pure…surprise. 

“So…are you gonna undo the straps this time, sweet nurse? My arms are sore.”

He pouts. Sweetly. So devilishly charming. As he did so often with a flash of those cerulean, blue eyes that could make and break hearts.

You sigh. One could almost forget that by society’s standards, he’s a “dangerously unstable individual.” 

Something you’re acutely aware of. And trained for. Which is why you don’t mind the coquettish jabs he throws your way—and why he keeps on throwing them.

You aren’t aware but these hourly visits, along with his agreement to stay put, are the only reasons why he’s still here despite being Satoru fucking Gojo and simply walking out. It’s not like anyone could stop him if they really wanted to, and he knew that. 

Truth is—it pissed Gojo off, being stuck here. Cooperative. It was fucking irritating, to say the least. 

He’d rather be tortured than bored and might’ve second-guessed his decision to surrender if he knew the punishment would be…this. 

But lo and behold, here you are. Relief in the flesh while he bides his time. One that he wasn’t expecting.

“You sure are possessive today.” You hide a smirk, draping the stethoscope around your neck, his heartbeat returning to normal after losing your touch. “Am I really your favorite?” The leather straps hug his pale skin a bit tightly, but his mobility is good enough to ignore his request to loosen them. That would be suicide. 

He tsks, eyes sparkling at your words—a warning glimmer hidden beneath the icy gaze. 

Chilling. But the least bit surprising. 

Gojo and cattiness go together like love and war—and he wears it with his whole chest. 

Even when unprovoked, he’s known for being….testy. Trying his hand again and again until he gets some kind of reaction. Waiting to see what makes someone bite. 

But there was something disingenuous about this petty quirk. The repetition and how it seemed to lack a goal. How he seemed almost…desperate for interaction—attention—any attention.

Eventually, once you sat in his face long enough to learn how to disassociate with a straight face, you figured out that he just loves to hear himself talk. Like that one kid in class who’s always inserted themselves into every conversation and made it about them. 

He rarely gives you a hard time though—less than most of your other patients in fact—and usually sends more kisses than cuts. Occasionally, when you find them…okay, or tolerable enough, you indulge him and this charade between you two—like the high school crush it resembled. Strict. But harmless. 

And you’re only entertaining him now because he’s one of your last patients for the day. A fact not lost on him, but disregarded nonetheless. Even if you were just playing along, he knew there had to be more depth. All the masks in the world couldn’t hide that smile on your face.

His laugh breaks the tension. “I'm a yapper, not a liar...Am I yours?” He raises a brow. “You didn’t answer me earlier.”

His low tone carries an unspoken weight. Cryptic. Eerie. Needy. Almost calling you like a possession more frequently than ever.

It isn’t lost on you that his affections have blossomed as you’ve spent more time together. Visits are supposed to be 10, 15 minutes tops—collect vitals, serve meals, give meds, and avoid accidents. But Gojo? He drinks up your time. Going on 30, sometimes 45 minutes of routine maintenance and “extra care”. This wasn’t standard practice, but they didn’t tell you that, among other things when you accepted the position.

Every time you cross Gojo’s threshold, you’re reminded that you’re not actually supposed to be here. You’re just a nurse after all, not a therapist, and lacked the credentials to even begin to handle a patient like Gojo. But in the end, qualifications don’t matter when his staff has a famous history of running away. 

A fate shared by his previous nurse and therapist. Both fell victim to Gojo’s whimsical and relentless personality and suffered a mental breakdown from hell before quitting the ward. Capacity for hospitality completely shot, they nailed the coffin shut by ditching the healthcare industry altogether. 

And that was after only a few hours. 

In the beginning, you had absolutely no faith in yourself. Swore it was a sick joke as you couldn’t begin to fathom why they would even consider you for the job. 

You??

Gojo the Psycho’s nurse? It would’ve been easier to turn in your resignation right then to avoid living in hell.

You wondered how your life would change as you got to know the world’s most hated man. 

How long you would last—if he would let you. 

Anxiety and nausea gnawed at the back of your throat as time grew closer to meeting him. But eventually, after running the scenario in your head a million times over and trying to come up with some sort of plan or plea for your life, the day came, and you stood before the unpredictable man who looked like he saw right through you. 

Just the idea of being in Gojo’s presence is enough to let you know it’ll be unnerving. 

But the moment was…odd. 

Naturally, you wanted rely on book smarts and previous patient experiences to get you through what you knew would be a short and traumatic failed attempt at connection. But then you took a second to really look at Gojo, not study, but a kind of look that catches something…a conflict in his eyes—and instantly knew he was no ordinary patient. 

He was something you’d never met before, and any attempts to use a cookie-cutter facade would quickly be chewed up and spat out. 

So, you went with your gut—hoping to escape with some remnants of your sanity at least. 

Who knew you’d end up surprising not only yourself but also the Director and all the other staff in the ward who watched with held breaths? 

Gojo practically welcomed you with open arms. Flashing his pearly whites and dimples in a closed-eyed smile. You could hear a pin drop.

He didn’t bark, he didn’t bite. Only teased, feeding you sultry words with cunning lips until your face visibly flushed with blush. They didn’t warn you about charm. Debatibly the “worst” part about working with the blue-eyed lady-killer. Or that his devilishly handsome face would make you second-guess his sanity and guilt.

But you knew what this was. Or at least what it wasn’t and quickly put on blinders to every distraction he threw. Holding your breath the whole way through and surprising yourself every time you walked out his room. After your trial period had run for a few days with no mishaps—the opposite, really— you were promoted. And given a big, fat new check (certainly not for collateral). 

You didn’t know whether to breathe a sigh of relief or concern.

Congratulations! You were now in charge of Gojo’s physical AND mental health. 

Which meant longer, more thorough visits.

The idea was nerve-racking for weeks, to say the least. And because he has the nerve to be a karate-chopping ‘sorcerer’ or whatever it is that makes the man so dangerous, he needs careful safeguarding. Which means having his very own wing and accommodations in the ward. The only barriers between Gojo and doing whatever the hell he wants is one guard stationed near the entrance and some type of security system they can’t disclose to you. It’s supposed to suppress his abilities or something, you don’t quite understand itself yourself, but most importantly, it keeps him tame.

Still, choosing to grace his space almost daily always feels like tempting a snake. 

But somebody has to do it. 

And in a way, by his own means, offering a satisfied grin and all, Gojo had chosen you. 

Even in the confines of a cell, with seemingly nothing left to live for and no room for emotions, you, this wonder, have managed to catch his eye. In a way that made him want to sink his teeth in and soak up your attention. For reasons you couldn’t be more unsure of. 

“It would break my heart if it weren’t true,” he continues, sitting in the only chair in the room, “You’re my entertainment, you know? My doll to play with.”

You scoff, arms folding. The word doll echos in your ear like a chamber. That was a new one. 

“You sure talk a lot of game for someone in your situation.” 

“I love games.” He leans, eyes drinking in his favorite powdery blue scrubs that hug your frame in an all too professional manner. “Play with me, Nurse.”

Time belonged to Gojo, and he chooses to bide it with a little fun until release—or escape. His ever-changing mind hasn’t decided yet but it was far from a concern. Because the truth of this truce was painfully obvious. He knew he wouldn’t be here forever. And is quick to mention that he’d love to take you with him.

“If you can handle me.” He licks his lip. “Unless I’m too much for you.”

And there it is. That cool smile that sends shivers down spines. Irresistibly stirring your core every time he parts his lips. 

You hated it—no one could deny his charm or his intimidating presence. Even in chains, shackled and restrained, he maintains some kind of control: crumbling walls with his charisma, waving around his amorous, overassertive reputation like a big red flag.

But you’ve already proven to not be like the rest, easily swayed or reduced to puddles. Your wall is firm. Solid. He baits you time and time again—a smile here, a sinful gaze there—only to be met with dismissive yawns. Rousing something inside of him that deemed you a challenge. Something worth exploring. You were…difficult.

You’re the one who laughed this time, shaking your head and tucking a hair behind your ear. He oozes confidence from every fiber of his being—and bores you.

“Are you going to tell me what you’d like to lunch today or just keep bothering me?” 

And goddammit he has the audacity to grin. To tuck his lip under his teeth slow enough to make you catch it. 

Your insolence is adorable, yet maddening; a cocktail he drinks with delight before realizing how much he loves the taste. 

You were becoming really good at it, beating up his ego and turning a blind eye to his silly little flirts, but interest never faded from his gaze no matter how careless you seemed. Or were trying to. 

He tsks. “C’mon, Nurse. If I can’t have fun here, where can I? Besides,” Sunlight streams in from his barred window as if on cue. “You’re the only thing here worth talking about.”

Butterflies? Knots? Maybe both fill your stomach.

Neither can be good for you in a situation like this.

The dreamy words whisper sweet nothings into your ear, and stroke your ego with a delicate thumb. Soft and gentle—and from a shell of a man. 

A good turned evil. 

And you don’t have to look too far to remember how he got here—to remember why the enchanting man before you is dressed in heavy white restraints and public enemy number one. 

Guilt tugs at you for even joking around with him sometimes. You picture his victims. The lives forever changed. And how he didn’t seem sorry for it. 

Besides, even if Gojo wasn’t a basket-case, it’s hard to look past how childish he is anyway—something you heard has always been a part of him. Something you couldn’t imagine dealing with for too long, even casually. It certainly wasn’t your taste, and under different circumstances, you’d no sooner fall for him outside of these walls than you would now.

But above all of the boundaries, restrictions, and pep-talks you give yourself, is the simple fact that you aren’t the day-one nurse he once knew. Now, you have a backbone and don’t hesitate to remind him.

“You’re such a flirt, Patient Gojo.” You make sure to catch his eye when you say it, “But compliments only get you so far.”

Patient. 

It hangs in the air. Brisk and stale. A bit sour on the tip of your tongue. And acid in his ears.

With that, Gojo sits back, resting his cheek on a propped-up arm, gaze long and longing. Breathing slow as he thinks and nerves buzz between you two. Then his request comes, simple and direct.

“How about sushi? Raw and fresh.” And a psych ward delicacy.

He’s the only patient in the entire facility with such privilege—envy-worthy and used to his heart’s content. With full-scale unlimited access to all the gourmet treats and fine dining he could ever want, his meals are often better than the ones you bring to work. Gojo is above common hospital dishes, of course, and his indulgent appetite would accept nothing less. 

But it wasn’t just about the food, no, negotiating that was too easy and barely worth mentioning.

This is a conveniently constant reminder that he is still capable of influencing things and making decisions with ease, from those he’s allowed to have access to him, down to his choice of meal.

It intrigues you. How he subdues himself to the masses but finds meaning in smaller wins. What he finds significant.

But none of that mattered right now, you’d finally been given an order and another win, even if it felt like pulling teeth. For now, it’s time to feed him and let him believe whatever he wants.

You pick up his tray from this morning, scanning the room to make sure no cutlery or dishes are missing. “Sushi it is,” you wink and call to be let out.

None of his staff are allowed the room key as a preventative measure to keep his chances of escaping to a minimum. As if a door would stop him but a key does exist and you’ve only seen it on the day the Director introduced you two, and it looked nothing like the keys used for other rooms. 

When you come back with lunch, Gojo grows curious. Noticing how your body has relaxed over time, getting used to his presence every time you come in. Little nuisances like how you breathe a little easier in his space and sometimes smile with your eyes when he tells a stupid joke. The air is…changing. He wonders just how comfortable have you gotten?

“Finally back? I started to miss you.” It’s light but he can’t possibly resist testing the waters. “Would you like to eat with me, pet?” And it takes everything in you to suppress a visceral reaction.

He’s on a roll with the names today and you wonder what his affections might have been like in his life before. Sure, he’s a talker and a flirt, that much is obvious, but you wonder what his actual love was like? How did he show it if he ever got to? And if so, if he ever left anybody behind?

“You know the procedure, Gojo.” You wait with the tray in hand, brushing the thoughts away. Though the temptation savor what you knew would be premium cuisine begs you to do it, you know better than to start breaking boundaries now.

He deflates, brows furrowing. “Is it…really so necessary?” He knows the answer, of course.

You gesture for him to turn around but he holds your gaze, having a little stare down like he enjoys the silent confrontation. You raise an annoyed brow. “The food’s getting cold,” and tap the tray.

“It’s sushi.”

 You huff.

He smirks before finally facing the wall, stilling his body in the tight jacket. When you’re sure he won't move, you set his food to the side and slowly approach to attach him to the latch on the wall. 

Skilled fingers reach across his waist and you have to crouch a little to glide the heavy chain towards the loop at his hip. His skin flushes at your warmth, your proximity, as he can’t help but enjoy the intimacy of the routine power shift. Even if it was a sham, it was still one he reluctantly agreed to. To play nice. To be weak. 

But this exchange, giving himself over to your authority, was oddly invigorating—like placing himself in his victim’s shoes to get a minuscule taste of his own medicine.

“Well, don’t look so happy about it,” he chuckles. Relief finds your face as you gently tug on the chain to make sure it’s secure, amusing the man towering over you.

The thoroughness is cute, all a part of a job well done and strict boundaries that drive a heavy wedge between you two. But it doesn’t bother Gojo. Because he’s certain, he knows, that your guarded walls will crumble sooner than later. All it takes is patience.

“Remember, Nurse,” he doesn’t turn around, “Power dynamics….they’re fluid.” 

And you can almost hear the wink—the implied warning living on his slick tongue that pokes and prods with every interaction and sends heat to your rosy cheeks. 

“You have a way with words, Gojo.” Again your eyes roll as you reach for the key to his restraints. The shackles fall to the ground, shrilling in the mostly empty room to allow him to feed himself.

A mix of groans and relief escapes his lips as he relishes the freedom from the stiff leather. He sighs, “Thank you, Nurse.” and rubs his tender wrists before abruptly filling your space. Nearly knocking you off your feet, but stopping just shy of your face. The monstrous chains strain against the wall, playing tug of war with the beast of a man and the florescent lights cast a spotlight on the sudden distance between you two. 

You had never been this close. 

“But don’t forget, I can turn these roles around. Anytime.”

Twinkles play in his eyes, dazzling you with a shine so bright you can see your reflection. But you also see the unhinged nature behind them just as easily as he sees the quiver of your lip feeling his breath graze the curve of your neck and raise goosebumps on your skin.

This isn’t just idle banter. It’s a stark reminder of Gojo’s capabilities that you had grown comfortable enough to forget. That you thought maybe you had become the exception to. 

As he steps back and leans against the wall he could’ve torn down, there’s an unmistakable silence filling with tension. Hot and sharp like pins and needles. But instead of pushing you to run for the hills, to quit while you’re ahead and savor what’s left of the life you know, for once, your unrelenting mind dares to wonder where this twisted ballet will go.  

It kills you to admit that their is something interesting about cat-and-mouse game he thinks you’re playing. Just as his affections have grown, your thoughts push you to imagine what could happen if you were actually…caught..

It’s idiotic, you know. You don’t need a sign telling you not to play with your life.

This is Satoru fucking Gojo, for Godsake. The murderer. The villain. A literal stain on the face of humanity. 

Forget about what he may have been before. You never saw that Gojo, and he’ll never be seen again. 

Your motto has always been that everyone is redeemable—but these types, Gojo’s type, are so beyond saving that it feels more like babysitting than redeeming a mentally unstable murderous toddler who could destroy a city in seconds.

Even for a man who speaks so carelessly, but teases a sugary-sweet tongue, it’s easy to see how and why he ended up here. Life had made him an example.

Proving that too much of a good thing will always spoil.

And as you watch him turn a wink and begin to casually snack on his meal, completely unconcerned with you or your reaction or response, it’s plain to see that his “affections” spare no one. Not even you. 

You clear your throat and steady a breath. With the lightest voice you can muster, you remind him, “Empty threats are the best you can do, patient.” And turn to leave.

“I’ll be back later for your bath. Or maybe send someone else. Since you’re so excitable today.”  

He pauses. “Oh?”

Is that a challenge?

His laugh echoes around the room like something out of a cartoon, fading away just as quickly as it came. He leans back, hair blending into the wall as he licks bits of rice off his thumbs—gaze sharp despite the jest. 

Because the stakes are clear and you’re both aware. 

But in case you don’t know the consequences he asks, “Do I seem threatened to you?” 

You shift your weight. If Gojo is anything, he’s always playful. The man does not have a serious bone in his body, which makes him damn near intolerable sometimes, but it’s something you’re used to it. But not this tone. This tone has rocks in it, hard and heavy as he calls your bluff. 

“Because my threats—,” he continues eating, “—are never empty.” He pops the last roll into his mouth. “You sure you wanna do this?” 

There’s no denying the chill running up your spine at those words—playing out like casual banter over lunch instead of the battle royale it was.

As if the question were rhetorical, he adds, “Okay but like,” and coughs up another laugh, as if finding the entire idea ridiculous. “Who’d be dumb enough to replace you?”

To feed or not to feed? Now was a chance to bail out.

“Don’t worry about that.” And you don’t as you call to the guard, hoping to catch your break on time. “Just behave yourself.” Gojo would keep you here playing 20 questions all day if he could.    

A bemused smile settles on his face and he shakes his head at your antics. 

You were becoming increasingly enjoyable to interact with. And steadily digging yourself into a hole. You’ve been sitting front-row to the darkness within him enough times to be sure it is, in fact, very real, but still it’s impossible to ignore that there’s something driving you to pick up the shovel. 

It isn’t just his pretty face and boyish charm. No.

It’s like he wants to get under your skin. In the best way.

Yeahhhh, this death wish is turning you every way but loose.

It’s silly, so stupid to even think about. Giving Gojo a smidge of an inch just because you feel there may be something more. Like there’s depth to his pretty words and clashing ways. Who's to say any of it is “real” anyway? He is insane after all. 

Your mind and the door shut behind you, and you turn to peer at him through the small window. A mischievous yet bored look rests on his face. 

You think you actually will send someone else. Just to show him what happens when he crosses the line. To reinforce business and boundaries. 

You could also use a break yourself—Gojo is starting to feel… claustrophobic these days and if you aren’t careful who knows what could happen. 

“Choose wisely,” came his voice from within the room,. “Every move you make counts. And cheating has consequences.” Footsteps approach the door. “You may think tagging out is all it takes to avoid our game, but let me tell you something…” He stops. “...you underestimate how quickly I can escape confinement before I’m noticed.”

And suddenly, this isn’t just a game anymore. And Gojo isn’t just some harmless tease.

Your throat is too tight to swallow and you fidget with your lanyard as if responding to his words. 

Of course, he’s capable of breaking free. That’s not what’s worrying. But if it was because of you poking the bear, you trying to get on even ground with him and have the upper hand, would you be responsible if he did?

“No matter where they send you or who they send instead—” And Gojo’s comment makes it crystal clear. 

“—I promise you, you’ll end up right back here.”

extended angel's note: first and foremost, just to give credit where credit is due, this is a chatbot i turned into a short story🧍🏾‍♀️. it was actually my first time dicking around with janitor a.i. back in like...april? and i came across this gojo bot with a suuuuper interesting prompt. [all of the prompt idea and calibration credit goes to the original creator.] i didn’t decide to actually get serious and start creating a story until around the end of part 2 - i realized i was having too much fun and was in too deep 🙇🏾‍♀️. SO after my decision to indulge madness, i didn't want to run up 10000 messages on janitor a.i. and decided to create the rest of the story on my own from there.  everything after the prompt are my own words and i've had to weave every last bit of part 1 and 2 into a coherent story but everything afterwards is all me.

you can find the chatbot and play around with it yourself here but i strongly recomment doing so after finishing this short - think of it as a choose your own adventure afterwards in case you want my head on a stick after the ending 🤠.

tags list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @blkkizzat @kiwismoother @rune1920 @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @startatdawn @heijihatsutori

@inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk @rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping

@sims-4lifers @bratidol @hyunsuks-beanie @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111

@supsiii @natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko

@strawberrymilkshakes-posts @nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow

[awearywritersworld]

do not leave me in this abyss, where i cannot find you

sukuna x reader summary: the higher ups succeed in kidnapping you and sukuna doesn't know if he'll get you back alive. w/c: 2.85k tags/warnings: fluff and angst. reader is kidnapped and gravely injured. depictions of blood. canon typical violence. "good girl". cursing. ft gojo. aged up!yuuji. fem!reader. not canon compliant. no use of y/n. *please mind the warnings for this chapter* a/n: and finally folks, we've reached the climax of the series. there will only be one more official chapter after this one, so i hope this lives up to expectations. this could maybe be read as a stand alone, but it's certainly better when serving as a culmination to the other chapters. i'm a little nervous posting this, so i'd love to hear your thoughts :) series masterlist // masterlist

brontë

sukuna isn't sure at first why the name is familiar, but he soon realizes that a great many of the books on your shelf are authored by women of that name, including jane eyre.

though he finds your copy of wuthering heights, written by an emily brontë, tucked away in the drawer of your nightstand, the headphones you'd asked him grab lying on top of it.

he pulls the book from its spot with care, as the cover is worn and frayed at the edges. flipping through the pages, there are quite a few quotes underlined and countless scribbles in the margins.

while you'd forced him to read jane eyre, he tucks wuthering heights under his arm of his own volition. he isn't sure if it's because you've kept this one separate from the others, or because it might give him an opportunity to know you better, or because he's positive it will make you happy, but he does it all the same.

when he steps back into the living room, he drops your headphones in your lap and takes the seat beside you, wasting no time in beginning the first chapter.

"what've you got there?" you eventually question, even though you know the answer.

he doesn't spare you a glance when he responds, "a book."

"oh, yeah? what kind of book?"

he elects to ignore you, which only serves to encourage your mischievous tone. "i thought romance novels were beneath you and your refined taste."

finally looking at you, he narrows his eyes at your childish taunt. "do you want me to read it or not?"

"of course—"

"then i suggest you be a good girl and behave yourself."

your mouth snaps shut so abruptly that your teeth click as they meet, something sukuna takes note of with a raised brow. you're thankful when he returns to reading rather than saying anything more.

so without any additional interruptions, he delves into the tragic story of heathcliff and catherine. or more precisely, the pain and destruction that follows it.

the further he reads, the better he discerns that while you seem to have a penchant for the brontë sisters, they seem to have a penchant for writing about men that are wicked and callous.

the very notion makes him chuckle.

maybe it explains why he's sitting here with your feet in his lap, while you try and fail (rather cutely) to stifle your giggles at some stupid youtube video.

"what?" you ask, taking out one of your headphones once you notice he's staring at you with a small smile.

"nothing. just enjoying the story."

the way you beam in response makes his mouth go dry.

"hah! i knew it! you're a romantic at heart."

you make a big show of pressing your hands to your chest and swooning.

"settle down there," he chides, his hand patting your thigh. "you're getting ahead of yourself."

two days later, sukuna feels that something isn't quite right. it's barely perceptible, nothing more than a minute shift in the atmosphere, but it grows more palpable as time stretches on.

yuuji's mission takes him farther from home than usual, to a little town about two hours outside of the city.

the curse he exorcises upon his arrival is much weaker than he's grown accustomed to, probably only a third or fourth grade.

yuuji doesn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, or at least, he pretends not to. sukuna thinks that's the problem with optimists— they don't take action quickly enough, too busy wasting their time hoping for the best.

when he returns home late that afternoon only to find your apartment door slightly ajar, his hand hesitates before pushing it open.

he discovers that the living room is littered with residuals, but it's eerie how nothing else is out of place... save for you, who is no where to be found.

in a disbelieving panic, he begins checking all the rooms, not hearing sukuna's frantic voice even though it's coming from inside his own head. "she's not here... idiot, she's not here. we have to go. we have to go now."

he eventually finds a note lying on the coffee table, but even this he hardly processes— something about surrendering himself and sukuna to the higher ups at headquarters in exchange for your life.

"listen to me, brat... you're wasting time... idiot!"

"what?" he barks abruptly.

"she isn't far, a couple blocks to the east at most—"

"it doesn't matter. headquarters is to the west. that's where we need to go."

"have you failed to comprehend a single thing i've said about the higher ups?" sukuna sneers. "they'll kill us, then kill her too. she knows too much about jujutsu society. they won't let her live, and that's if she's not... if she isn't already..."

he can't get the word out.

"no... no, they wouldn't..."

"now is not the time for your blind faith in the integrity of others." sukuna tries again and again to assume control of his vessel, and while the force behind it makes yuuji's head pound, it's no use. "for fuck's sake— please, yuuji!"

it's the first time he's heard the curse occupying his body say his actual name or use the word please, and in a strange way, it seems to ground him to some degree.

itadori yuuji has always been uncannily fast, but as soon as he makes his way out onto the street, it's like his feet aren't even touching the pavement. he appears as a blur to the people he passes by and it happens so briefly that they more than likely disregard it as a trick of the light.

the ruby decorating your neck leads them right to you, a low hum of frequency that only sukuna can hear.

yuuji comes to a stop in front of an old warehouse building. there are several wooden boards nailed across the main entrance, which splinter and fall to the earth under the impact of his impatient fist.

although the people down the hall quiet themselves upon hearing the crash, he can still sense their energy. he just can't seem to pick up on yours.

maybe sukuna is wrong? maybe you're not here after all.

"no," comes sukuna's voice, cold and hard. "she's here."

he makes his way down the stretch of hallway and to an open door where he stops, both of his feet planting firmly on the ground. everything appears to be frozen as he stares at ten sorcerers who quietly stare back.

it's clear they were not expecting yuuji, but he knows the higher ups assigned so many sorcerers just in case he did somehow figure out where they brought you.

he recognizes many of their faces and even knows some of their names, their familiarity no doubt intended to discourage him from engaging them.

after a few moments, yuuji's eyes land on your figure— motionless on the floor.

he has to admit, the higher up have put together a fairly sound plan. it's just that there's one small detail they failed to account for.

a curious and constraining sensation erupts from the center of his chest, and yuuji doesn't quite understand what's happening until he registers he's no longer the one in control of his body.

the king of curses remains completely still as he studies you from afar with a slight tilt of his head, his mind refusing to believe the scene right before his eyes.

when the gravity of the situation finally settles in, a gut churning agony blossoms in his stomach and bleeds into every part of his body. every bone. every pore. every vein.

the entirety of him burns, both inside and out.

the air in the room is heavy, overburdened with hostility and raw power. it makes the sorcerers' knees buckle and they nearly collapse beneath the immense pressure.

as sukuna takes a step toward the nearest person, the edges of his vision turn white.

he moves with deadly precision, at a speed which very few people on earth could even begin to comprehend.

it's a joke how quickly it's all over.

some of them are in pieces. others have exploded into nothingness. a few are burnt to ash.

in his haste, sukuna nearly misses the final sorcerer. he's probably the youngest of them all, cowering in the corner of the room. his eyes are wide with horror and his body shakes with fear.

"p-please, spare m-me. i didn't touch her," he sputters out.

the laugh that follows is utterly humorless. "do you actually believe that makes a difference to me?"

"i told t-them not to hurt her! i swear. that's how i got this." he points to his bottom lip, busted open and swollen. "she even told me she was sorry that i got hurt... that i didn't have to defend her."

this gives sukuna pause and his jaw clenches as he considers what you would tell him right now were you conscious.

so even as every fiber of his being screams at him to end the sorcerer's miserable, pathetic life... he restrains himself and pins him to the wall instead, pressing a forearm to his throat.

"go back to the higher ups. go and tell them that if anyone lays a hand on her ever again, i will ruin them," he spits, venom lacing each word. "i'll slaughter every last one of them. i'll level their homes. i'll take everything from them. tell them this is a promise they shouldn't take lightly."

when sukuna takes a step back, the young sorcerer crumbles to the ground. "i- i- i will."

"then get out of my sight," he growls.

returning his attention to you, his demeanor shifts in every respect.

you're going to be okay. you're going to wake up. he's going to take you home and it will be like none of this ever happened.

but when he falls to your side, his knees meeting the ground so brutally that it cracks beneath his weight, his conviction falters.

your blood is spilt onto the concrete. your skin is cold. he can't tell if you're breathing. he can't feel your heartbeat.

he determines that the gash across your side deserves his attention first and his hands tremble as they move to cover it.

he puts every ounce of power he has into his reverse cursed technique, but your eyes don't flutter and your chest doesn't rise nor fall.

his palms stain crimson, and while blood has never bothered him before, the fact that it's yours forces the bile to rise from his stomach and into his throat.

and his face is wet.

why is his face wet?

why are his lips trembling?

why is his vision blurred?

he wipes at his cheeks, leaving a trail of your blood across his face in the process.

"no," he chokes out. "please, don't do this. you're fine. please, you have to be fine. please."

the king of curses begs, but he has no idea who his desperation is directed toward. maybe it's you. maybe it's the gods. maybe it's some entity that's unknowable to him.

hell, maybe it's just whoever will listen to him. there has to be someone out there, right? something.

unbeknownst to him, and poetic in sorrowful sort of a way, his next pleas are reminiscent of heathcliff's after he learns of catherine's death.

"be with me always"

"stay with me, angel. please don't go."

"take any form"

"hate me for this if you want, for being the reason you're in this mess. you can't hate me anymore than i already hate myself."

"drive me mad"

"i'll read every single stupid romance novel on your bookshelf. i promise i'll play all of your ridiculous card games."

"only do not leave me in this abyss, where i cannot find you!"

"just don't leave me here without you. i don't want to be here without you.

"oh, god! it is unutterable!"

"please," he whimpers.

"i cannot live without my life!"

"you're everything. you are everything. you can't leave me with nothing."

"i cannot live without my soul!"

"i love you," sukuna laments. "i love you."

he doesn't even comprehend the words that have been tumbling past his lips, because they're coming from a part of himself that he long believed to be dead and buried.

it's the part of him that can feel suffering and regret and loss and love.

it's the part of him that you've been painstakingly unearthing whenever you send a smile his way. whenever you curl into his side. whenever you press your lips to his.

and he's so undeserving of it each and every time. he's known that. god, has he known that.

he thinks bitterly of the night you'd walked to the park together hand in hand— when you told him the universe had sent you to knock him down a peg.

turns out you were wrong.

the universe gave you to him, but only so it could take you away too.

and it won't just knock him down a peg. it will fucking destroy him. it will completely and irrevocably destroy him.

this is what he does deserve.

how is it that you can be both his salvation and his undoing?

"i love you," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

it's ironic that the three words he's never once said in his entire life are the only ones he can manage in this moment.

he hears a quiet sigh escape your lips, but he knows that it's just his imagination— nothing more than the universe playing its final sick joke.

the sun is out and its rays are peeking through the window of your bedroom. sukuna thinks it's despicable.

everything should be cold and dark today.

you're lying in bed half dead and the only thing keeping sukuna's sanity intact is the shallow rise and fall of your chest.

he should go to jujutsu headquarters and deliver a slow, painful death to every single person involved in yesterday's events. then he should turn their headquarters to ash and stand there watching until the wind blows every last bit away.

but more than that, he should be by your side, so that's where he's remained.

it's been nearly a day and you still haven't woken up, so he's taken to performing reverse cursed technique on you every few hours.

yuuji had shoko come by last night and she assured him your body just needs time, but sukuna doesn't intend on taking any chances. aside from the brat, there isn't a single sorcerer he trusts.

so naturally when gojo teleports directly in the middle of your living room unannounced, sukuna moves swiftly to his feet and blocks the doorway to your room.

gojo regards him nonchalantly, hiding his surprise that yuuji is not the one to greet him. "what are you doing... out and about?"

"that's none of your concern."

"right. well, i came to check in."

"that's not necessary."

the two men watch one another carefully, before gojo eventually chuckles. "god, you actually care about her. i guess the whole soul thing should have been proof enough, but i couldn't bring myself to really believe it until now."

sukuna doesn't respond, so the other man continues. "you should know that the threat to her has been... dealt with."

"that so?" sukuna asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

"mhmmm. word of this spread to the three clans and they agreed civilians have no place in jujutsu politics if it can be helped. not to mention your little... messenger. it all caused quite the ruckus for the higher ups."

"i don't think ruckus is enough to deter them." his tone makes it clear that he feels gojo is wasting his time.

"this isn't the heian era anymore, you know. the higher ups may still be the figureheads of jujutsu society, but they have little say when all three clans concur on a matter." receiving nothing more than a blank stare, he adds, "besides, i'm rather fond of her myself, so i may or may not have made certain threats of my own."

sukuna's eye twitches. "anything else you feel compelled to share before you leave?"

"can i at least see her before i go?" gojo questions, peering over sukuna's shoulder.

"if you do not value your life, i welcome you to try."

a sly grin breaks out on gojo's face.

"eager to make good on your promise of killing me from all those years ago?" he pauses, his hand coming to rest on his chin as if he's pondering something of great importance. "as much as i'd love to see you try, we shouldn't wake our precious sleeping beauty before she's ready, so maybe another time."

with that, he disappears, leaving a very irritated sukuna in his wake.

"our," he repeats under his breath, shaking his head. "that unbearable imbecile."

when he turns on his heel, however, the malicious look is immediately wiped from his face because you're awake.

you're awake and peering at him from behind heavy lids.

"hey," you greet in a small voice.

his eyes grow impossibly soft and he sits on the bed beside you, his hand moving to caress your cheek. your skin is warm again.

"hey, angel."

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @risuola @lirasmoon @disaster-rose @archivist-ghoul606 @creative1writings @sloppyzengarden @omismicrowave @cecesharktales @tanyeonn @hiqhkey @ruixrei @yellowsubiesdance @thefallofruins @anything-and-everything-here69 @emzalot @elusivemoon @annoyingstrawberryballoon @miabiar @hyeon-yi @iluv-ace @wineyoungie @vduxx @inflatabledinosaurs19 @harrystylesfan2686 @silentmajesticfox @am-the-renegade @certainduckanchor @moons-reblog @scarletrosesposts @th3-audac1ty @darlink-xoxo @ayeputita @nanmiik @namjooningera @hermxssaa @annieleonhardtsbitch @nugget-eater123 @integers @thefunbanshee @thepup356 @browneyedgirl22 @lantsovheiress @luckypeacevoid @kiki17483 @ruttteerr @yourbelloved @heyohalie // users in bold could not be tagged. if i forgot to tag anyone, my apologies!! just give me a heads up.

[itstheghostofmypast]

Awake - (Hyung Line)

separate members Ateez x (F)Reader

Summary: You went to sleep after a HUGE (not really) fight, only, when you went to sleep you were alone, not in the comforting arms of your lover.

Genre: Hurt + Comfort

Rating: PG-17

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 4.2k

Est.Read Time: 21 min

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

Banner: @cafekitsune

Maknae Line: Here

A/N: A special thank you to my one and only @edenesth , for helping me out with this- I swear for the life in me Yeosang still confuses me and Hwa seems to sweet to argue with (yeah i know that aint true) .I'll be updating my requests soon and uploading the next chapter of meow soon, too!

Kim Hongjoong

Waking up next to Hongjoong was as rare as going to bed with him. Considering he'd come to bed at an ungodly hour, unlike you, and leave at an ungodly hour, waking up way before you did- in theory, however, the man barely slept four hours. Then there were times when he'd choose to stay at the studio or the dorm. So often, you'd receive a text about his location and that was it- and for so long it was okay- until it wasn't. 

There's no real reason or premise behind how it started, but all she remembers is that he had come home in the middle of the night, and ironically she had been watching a film at the time. Now, the reaction could've been sweet, could've been filled with love, but the words had left her sooner than she could stop them, 

"You know, you should really take care of yourself too."

That was all it took for him to stare at her blankly before turning around and slamming the door shut behind him, leaving her wincing in regret on the couch, the same very couch she had cried on, lying across its expanse, trying to get in touch with him through text or call, only for her tears to dry up and eyes to close, falling asleep on the couch.

What you did not expect was to wake up in your bed, on your back blinking up at the ceiling, shades of golden seeping through the cracks of the curtains, illuminating the dancing specs across the room. With a heavy sigh you turned your head to glance at the usual empty side  when you were greeted by an unusual sight. The same blonde man you had cried your heart out for last night was laying there, knocked out cold, lips slightly parted, hands folded on his belly as he lay on his back- Hongjoong was one weird dude. With a sigh you turn to lay on your side, staring at him, taking in his tired features, the dark circles under his eyes, his chapped lips, the way his brows were slightly furrowed. God, you definitely loved an idiot.

Taking a few more minutes, you thought to yourself, before letting out a sigh, at least he was home now, at least he was resting. With that in mind, you slowly pushed yourself up, sitting up and rubbing your face, trying to erase the remnant traces of sleep. You were about to slip out of bed when something tugged at your shirt, causing you to turn to lock eyes with your sleepy love, his gaze filled with some form of remorse and guilt.

“Don't…go.” his hoarse voice rasped across the silent room, her shoulder slumped at the fatigue in his tone, before shaking her head and moving closer to him, letting him pull her closer, enough for her to rest her head against his shoulder, a hand placed on his heart, appreciating the steady beat- his own rhythm for her. 

“I’m sorry…”

“You should be.” she mumbled, turning to bury her face in the crook of his neck, feeling him draw her closer, the arm around her waist tightening, as if he were afraid that she’d disappear. Not a word was exchanged after that, her lips would often gently graze against his warm skin, curling into a small smile when she’d hear him let out a sigh, her leg now hooked around his, basically tangled around him. He never pushed her away or told her to stop, even when her hand slipped into his shirt, fingers tracing his warm skin, trying to feel him against her, as if she were trying to become one with him. He may not prefer skinship or let anyone else touch him, but she was the exception, she held the key to his heart, to his soul, giving her the free access of a more compliant and vulnerable Hongjoong, who was no longer a captain, but a boy who loved music, and she was but his muse, his inspiration, the rhythm his heart would dance to.

Park Seonghwa

Did she mean to forget it? No. Did she forget it? Yes. Was she sorry about it? Yes. But was she going to accept his berating and taunting? Not at all. She knew he was tired and exhausted, she knew being an idol wasn’t easy, it was a job accompanied with constant stress and fatigue-  you knew what you were getting yourself into, but so did he. He knew you were a full eight to six job, a busy job, a hectic job, and that wasn’t accompanied with a driver or a manager or any other kind of comfort, no you had no one to lean on when it came to someone messing up and expecting you to clean up after them. 

So, is it your fault that you came home all tired and exhausted to the bone, only to flop down on the couch, next to your boyfriend- who by the way did not even bother greeting you- and expect him to show you some compassion? Apparently, it was. Your head lay on the backrest of the couch, the TV acting like a white noise as your turned your head, eyes drowsy and tired to look at the magnificent being fate had paired you up with, someone so loving and caring, so endearing and tender, so pretty and- 

“Did you vacuum today?”

“What?” sitting up properly she looked at the not so loving man, god, how could someone so pretty be so weird sometimes- oh shit. Shaking your head you cleared your throat, “Well umm…I know…I told you I’d do it today since I had to go later to work but I…kinda forgot? Plus you did clean yesterday so the house is pretty clean?” trailing off you averted your gaze, trying not to meet eyes with the man who looked borderline distraught and disappointed. 

“Tch…this is why your mom got mad at you last week.” he mumbled and stood up, walking away, perhaps to the kitchen to get the stupid vacuum cleaner- no, he did not just bring that up! You sat there, too stunned to react, what may have seemed like a minute was perhaps more, especially when you felt something nudge at your feet, causing you to look up wide eyed at the source of hurt, staring up at him with blurry eyes.

Crying?

His eyes widened at the realisation, she had not been sitting there all stubborn while he was vacuuming, no, she was sitting there, crying, too shocked to even notice she was crying- the hell did he just do? He felt his fingers twitch, tongue poking out to lick his lower lip, an apology and more at the tip of his tongue, but before he could say anything, you were gone, the bedroom door slamming shut causing him to jerk back into his senses, running after you, trying to open the door, only to find it locked.

“Angel? Open- I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!” he called out, all anger and dominance, instantly flushed out of his being, wanting nothing more than to cradle her in his embrace, trying to hold onto her crumbling pieces. He mentally cursed himself, knowing damn well how your mother’s visit last week ended poorly, an evening that was going great, until his future mother in law found out that he did most of the cleaning, which led you to receive an earful about the duties of a true, good wife.

You don’t remember much of what happened after, you had showered, cried during the shower, changed into something comfortable and snuggled into bed, ignoring the persistent knocking and apologies that flooded the room. Were you being childish? No. You could’ve talked it out with him, but you really didn’t want to and you really didn’t care enough right now to morph an understanding mood.

What you didn’t understand was why you weren’t able to move- oh. Trying to pry his arms off you, you huffed out frustrated and still upset, only for him to mumble something in your hair, pulling you closer as his grip tightened on you, pushing his leg between yours, tangling you in his long limbs. His hair fell of his face, the tips of his silky locks caressing your forehead, tickling your skin.

“Let go.” you mumbled only to hear him whine, about to ask him to ‘get lost’ until you heard a sniffle, followed by a broken, “I-I’m s-sorry.” Honestly, a part of you didn’t want to give in, but when you heard the way he whined, calling out your name like you were a million miles away, your heart clenched at the tone, hand gently squeezing one of the two that were tightly clamped around you. 

“Hwa…” you sighed, leaning back a bit, feeling his lips press against your neck, ghosting up to your ear, whispering unending apologies, before squeezing you closer.

“Its…not fine but…please don’t…say that again.” she sighed, closing her eyes at the feeling of his soothing touches, letting his plump lips press against the shell of her ear before he flipped them over, with him hovering above her, keeping himself steady with his forearms pressing into the pillow on either sides of her head, staring down at her with puffy eyes and a pink nose, “I won’t…I’m sorry.” 

You smiled up at him, placing a hand on his cheek, adoring the way he instantly nuzzled against it, before slowly bringing him down to meet your lips.

“Then make up for it.”

Jeong Yunho

Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT!

Your blood ran cold, staring at what you had just done, oh my god, it was all over now, you were doomed- you had the worst luck known to man! You were also probably the dumbest person to exist- oh my god. The sound of the controller being placed on the table had you freeze up, but it was the loud exhale that had you flinching like a small kitten, ever so slowly turning your head to the source, trailing your eyes off the floor to lock with an unreadable pair.

“Babe.”

“Yes…Yuyu?” meekly responding, your grip tightened on the mop, trying not to run away, knowing that would only upset him even more. Okay, granted, he had told her as soon as he had come home that he was not in a great mood, the new choreography was a bit tricky and everyone was taking a bit longer than usual to pick it up, and that had led the dancer to embrace this sour mood. Even when she was smothering his cheek with kisses, clinging onto him, he had only sighed, turning to meet her lovey-dovey eyes with his tired ones, giving her a small smile before bumping his forehead with hers, “I’m gonna blow off some steam, yeah?” That had meant he’d be gaming the stress away, and she was supposed to act like a good little kitten and not play around. Lord knows why she thought of cleaning in the first place, perhaps because she was bored and needed a distraction- oh god.

He blinked at you, trying to control his expressions, though his hard stare had you shaking in your boots, slowly standing up he walked closer, and you took a step back, enough for your back to press against the wall next to the TV. Yunho had never hurt you, and he probably never was going to, but what he was doing now was uncharacteristic, exactly how angry was he? How upset was he for him to do what he had done? How angry and frustrated was he for him to say those words? For him to pull away with a glint in his eyes, watching you slowly grip your shirts, trying to control the frantic beating of your heart that was pushing the tears that were fighting to stay within your waterline.

He didn't even stop her when she slid down the wall, pulling her knees closer to her chest, his cold, harsh, brazen words slicing deep and bloody. He stared down at you for a moment before slowly moving away, his absence only hit you once you heard the soft click of the main door. It was moments later that you stood up, wiping your eyes you walked back into your shared bedroom, the scene replaying in your mind on loop;

He pressed his forehead against hers, not the way he would do so romantically, no, this was different, he was being mean, he wanted her to feel the anger coursing through his veins. Though his words were what felt like a cold slap,

“Can you do anything right? Or are you built to disappoint?”

Your eyes snapped open at the gentle call of your name, trying to ignore the lingering pounding at the back of your head. Of course, the persistent headaches were about to roll in, especially after that stressful scene followed by an unimaginable amount of crying.

Yunho whispered to you once more, noticing how you had flinched the first time, he knew your migraine would kick in as soon as he had seen your sleeping tear struck face- shit. He really did lose his cool this time, and had blown up on the wrong person. If there's one thing that he had learnt during his time with you, was that his girl was as fiery as a tiger, but her heart was as fragile as a kitten's, and his gold retriever self had managed to mangle it with his bare teeth.

“Love…” he brushed the hair away from your eyes, trying to meet your blank, unfocused gazed, as he cleared his throat, “I umm….I brought…something to eat-”

“Go away.” You whispered, gently pushing his hand away from you and sitting up, holding your head, the pounding getting louder and more difficult to handle, now that you knew he was right next to you. It was bad enough that you even dreamt about him saying that to you, in fact, in your dream he had broken up with you, which is probably why you gave him the stink eye as soon as he woke you up.

“I…I didn't mean to say that to you- tsk- it wasn't even directed towards you.” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair, trying not to rip it out in frustration. He did not mean to take it out on you, at one point he wasn’t even looking at you, he could just see himself and how he was failing - but did that mean he could take it out on you? No, it didn't. 

You looked at him sitting there on his knees, he still looked like a giant, but his hurt puppy dog expressions just had you internally berate yourself, any moment longer and you would give in- “Wait…” you turn to look at the alarm clock on your side table and whine in protest, having his full attention on you. “You woke me up! I thought it was already morning- it's only 3 am.” huffing she flopped back down on her pillow, ignoring him by closing her eyes. This was the only way you could ensure you got your message across- granted you were at fault, that didn’t mean he could turn you into his personal punching bag.

Yunho sat there, staring at you, closing your eyes as his own cast down to his clasped hands, feeling even more guilty for waking you up, but the guilt had been eating him up, as soon as he had uttered those words the guilt had begun to bubble, watching you helplessly. That was why he had walked out, he needed to clear his head, he needed to calm down and think, and other than the monologue of an apology he had even gone out of the way to get you a cake- not sure you’d eat it now, considering you were still mad at him.

“Ah-Yunho” she giggled as her eyes snapped open. 

You looked down at him and snorted, his head was placed on your tummy, ear pressed against your shirt as he looked at you. “What are you doing?” you asked propping up on your elbows to stare at him, wondering what his mind was up to this time.

“Shhh…I’m listening.”

“To what?”

“Your belly.” he stated simply before sitting up and replacing his head with his palm, “She tells me she’s hungry, and that she’d like this idiot to feed her cake.”

“Did you just call me an idiot?”

Shaking his head he cleared his throat, “N-no, your tummy called me the idiot!” he clarified before turning around and crawling to his side of the bed, picking up a tray and turning around to face her, “So…am I forgiven?” he asked, casually opening the lid of the box, glancing up to see her admire the icing, man, he really struck gold with this one, she was as forgiving as she was cute- 

“Depends. If you promise not to have a single bite.”

His eyes widened at your request, trying to see if this was some kind of joke, apparently…it was not. Clearing his throat he placed the tray between them and saluted her with one hand, “Yes Ma’am!” he yelled before taking a spoonful of the cake and pressing it against your lips, “I live to serve and please my lady.” Leave it to Yunho to wake you up at the early hours of the day and feed you cake, a very Yunho way of apologising.

Kang Yeosang

He watched you barge through the front door, looking like a mad woman as you flung your bag somewhere across the apartment, not after kicking off your heels and stumbling into the kitchen, grumbling about how ‘shitty’ your day was and how you hate men, followed by a ‘minus you Sangie, you’re the best.’ His girl really was something else, it truly amazed him how he ever fell inlove with her, especially with her distaste towards most men, hell it took her some time to even warm up to the rest of the guys- except for Mingi, which was super weird because if you ask him, Mingi is the weirdest, but she just said he’s a giant baby who thinks hes cool, like boss baby!

Picking up the remote, he pressed play, leaning back against the couch to continue watching the film. Only a shrill call of his name has him jerking off the sofa and running into the kitchen. Stumbling through the door frame blinks at you, with you standing there with the fridge open, glaring daggers at him, holding onto a container - oh…no.

“Yeosang…” other than your horrifying expression, your overall tone was very calm, which honestly scared him, you were a very expressive person until pushed to a point where you begin to shut out others, and right now, he’d have you yell at him, than completely shut him out. He took a step in your direction, only for you to raise your hand and stop him, motioning towards the empty container, “Did you eat the last slice?” Even though it was a question, it really did sound like a statement, one that was holding back the predestined overflow of emotions, of stress.

With a light sigh, he nodded, clearing his throat as he continued, “I…um…I forgot that you told me to save it for you…I’m sorry, it completely slipped my mind.” His words held a gentle form of sincerity, the tender warmth of love, the calm essence of admiration - and she could not give a flying f*ck about it, especially not right now.

Making sure to maintain eye contact, you placed the empty container - the evidence - back in its place before closing the fridge. Taking a deep breath, you walked away, making sure not to spare him a glance as you walked out of the kitchen, ignoring his calls when you walked into the bedroom. You could hear him run after you, a gentle whine hanging off the tip of his tongue, but he froze when you turned around and looked at him, giving him no expression whatsoever, just, blankly staring at - no, through him. Honestly, it was then when he realised that this was not about the stupid cake, no, this was much more, he had forgotten something that was important to her, something she must have been looking forward to while she was on the bus home, something she must have been craving to eat- selfish, that’s what he was, and he knew deep down how mad she must have been- could he blame her?

He sat on the edge of the bed, ever so quietly, watching you go through your nightly routine. It hurt how easily you could pretend he wasn’t there, but then again, he wasn’t very attentive to your presence within this apartment either. He watched you go into the washroom, peaking through the door left ajar, watching you vigorously rub your face, holding back the urge of telling you to go gentle with the scrub on your skin, but he knew if he did, he’d probably get kicked out of the room- at least you didn’t ask him to leave you. You came back into the room, making sure to glare at him, something he caught onto pretty quickly, averting his gaze to his lap.

After a solid ten minutes of letting you change your clothes he glanced up at you once again, only to find you frowning at him through the mirror as you brushed your hair- at this point he realised you had not shut him out, but had decided to punish him like this. This went on for a while until you finally ripped The comforter from your side, making sure to land on the with an angry bounce, enough for him to jerk, turning to your direction for you to glare at him one more time and turn around as you flopped down on your side with an audible “HMPH”.

He didn't know if he should fine this cute, or be upset, a good part of him wanted to tease you, his inner menace begging to come up to the surface, but his more mature side or being kept reminding him that she was only doing this to avoid blowing up at him- which only added to his guilt, you really were a blessing.

You sat up to the sound of something shattering, heart racing a thousand miles as you turned to look at the place on the bed that was usually occupied by Yeosang, only to gasp when he wasn't there. Slipping out of bed, you slowly crept towards the door, grabbing your handy bat in the process as you tip toed out of the room, towards the kitchen. It was early morning, other than the noise from the kitchen, you could hear the early chirping of the bids- Yeosang had an early schedule today, so he was already out of the house- did that mean he forgot to lock the door? Shit, did someone come in because the door was unlocked, or did someone break in because they saw your boyfriend leaving.

With a bat in hand, you ran into the kitchen, ready to swing at the intruder, only you stopped mid swing when you met a familiar pair of eyes.

“YAH! KANG YEOSANG!”

His eyes widened at the sight of the bat, body frozen, crouched on the ground, waiting for the impact, only for him to jerk into action and fall back on his butt, staring up at her, whispering, “I almost…died.”

With a huff, you placed the back on the counter, pushing your hair back and walking over to your idiotic lover. Glancing at the pieces of shattered glass on the floor, oh, so that's what happened, huh? Giving him a hand, you looked at his face, raising a brow, watching him mumble something before giving your hand a squeeze.

“What?” you asked, leaning closer to hear him better, only he mistook it for you wanting affection, or perhaps he was the one who needed physical consolation. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush into his chest, making sure to squeeze you close. With a sigh you leaned your forehead against his shoulder, a good night's rest clearing your mind of any and all negative thoughts, in fact, now you were just exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to be pampered by your forgetful lover.

“What were you doing here?” You asked, looping you around from under his, placing your palms flat against his shoulder blades, feeling the slightest shift, pressing him closer to you - almost squeezing him like a plushie.

“Was…trynna bake you a cake.” He mumbled, burying his face in your hair, “But I messed up….I'm sorry…I ate your slice.”

With a sigh, you pulled your face back, giving him a small smile, “It's…alright Sangie…I'm sorry I got so upset last night…I just really really really don't like men.”

He pouted at your statement and nodded before leaning closer and pressing his forehead against yours, whispering, “Am I included in that statement?”

A giggled broke past your lips as you glanced up at him through your lashes, “Of course not…you're a fairy prince…not a stupid man…now come on,” with that you pulled away, gently lacing your fingers with his, “Let’s bake a cake together.” He could only smile at this, blushing at your compliment, any other day he'd argue about how he was a manly man, but today, he just wanted to shower her with all his love and tenderness, so he'd take it, and he'd be your fairy Prince for as long as you need him to be.

.

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @mlysalt @the-kpop-simp @spooo00oky @bunnyluvr25 @s-h-y-a @ateezswonderland

[kiwiikato]

mommy’s here // ken sato x reader

Chapter Eight

note! thank u for everyone's patience! i'm sorry for the late update and rushed chapter but i hope this makes up for the wait! u all are so silly and i've been enjoying all your comments <3 thank u so much for the love and support!

masterlist

kenji stood on the base plate, calling for the baby kaiju's attention as she chirped. you stood near by him with mina hovering beside you as well. the atmosphere of the warmly colored park held a sweetness to the air.

"okay, just like this." he fixed his stance by separating his legs shoulder length. lifting the wooden bat in his hands, he showed a slow back and forth swinging motion. the baby kaiju chirped more as she raised the cute, but comedically, giant blue bat.

you didn't know where ken pulled it out from but it sure was handy to have it stored. pulling yourself out of your thoughts you focused on the both of them. "elbows up." they both raised their elbows up.

the baby kaiju was absolutely adorable to look at, her arms a perfect chunkiness, making her look rounder as she help the bat upright. kenji put his bat down, making a sound of contempt at her.

"uhuh, get ready." he waved the baseball that he now had, showing it to her. "okay, here it comes." kenji crouched down slightly, with a swift but soft motion, he threw the ball from below, heading towards the baby kaiju.

the ball hit her face, making her let out a cry from the impact as her face jolted. her once happy expression turned sad as she looked at kenji and you in pain. her fins that laid on the side of her head, frilled down in sadness, as tears welled in her eyes.

giant droplets poured out from her as kenji and you looked at each other in worry. "no no no no it's okay." the both of you ran up to her, trying to sooth her tears. she began to cry out, slightly jumping back and forth on her feet.

"oh baby, come here." you said as you reached out to her. she looked down at you, slowly leaning her head to you. you grabbed her forehead, pulling her to you as you placed a small kiss on the spot she got hit on. "see, all better!" you said smiling, making her feel better at the comfort.

you stepped back as her tears dried up, letting ken step up to her next. she looked at ken as she sniffled. he gave her a small smile. "hey, it's okay, it's okay. it happens sometimes, you just got to work at it." his voice was gentle with care, trying to keep her calm and happy.

ken took some steps back to the base he was at originally, now that she seemed calmer. "now get ready, keep your eyes on the ball." he raised a peace sign to his eyes, moving it back and forth between his eyes and the ball. you stared at him as he gently talked towards the baby. he held a soft but handsome smile on his face. you never really took notice of his features.

his eyes were sharp, but full of warmth. his nose was perfect in its own way, it was hooked nose, the arch of it reminded you a greek god in a sense. there was a small black piercings on his ears as well. it almost felt like you were staring at him for the first time all over again.

a blush rose to your face as you continued watching them. "ichi, ni, san, ball!" he yelled out as he threw the ball. it happened so quickly as you watched the baby have her bat smack against the ball, sending it flying across the sky. "woooo! yes! whoo!!" kenji yelled out in joy as he jumped. you and mina shouted out in joy as mina span around cutely with her little robot arms out.

kenji ran up to the baby kaiju, grabbing her loving by here hands. "come on girl, we gotta run the bases!" it was clear as day of his excitement. baseball was his passion, it was his sanctuary. and for the baby he's raising under his care, enjoy the one things he grew up living, it made him feel joy.

he pulled her gently, as she began to follow him. he let go of her, waving you and mina to join him in running and the baby kaiju ran behind him, copying his trail. you all laughing in joy, a special memory being created.

the baby cooed as kenji jumped back on the base, making a home run, as she stopped and leaped to it. a cloud of dust and dirt came from her feet with the force as you all celebrated.

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

after the events of the day in the park, you and kenji sat in the living room as mina took care of the baby kaiju. he told you of his plans to go out in a couple of hours for a scheduled interview with ms. ami wakita. you smiled and told him to not worry as you and mina would take care of the baby in that time.

now you both sat comfortably on the sofa as he played random videos online for the both of you to watch. the your frog plushie from the night before sat on your lap, rubbing its head affectionately.

kenji eyed you from the side of his eye, admiring the way you innocently stared ahead of you. there was a soft smile on your lips, enjoying every second of what life had to bring you. it was almost funny how life had brought the two of you together because of the baby kaiju, and he was grateful.

and so were you. you were grateful to have been able to take care of the baby as you grew closer with kenji. he smiled to himself as he scooted closer to you, your body turned to look at him, to which he gave you a awkward smile. you smiled back, in a way saying he could get closer.

and so he did. he closed the gap that once existed as the two of you watched the tv. it was a comforting feeling, to feel his warmth pressed against you. it wasn't long before kenji reached for the remote, slightly lowering the audio. he turned to you, you copying his actions with curiousity.

"hey, i know i say it a lot but thank you again for all the help with the baby kaiju. the extra help has been so nice to have." his voice was soft, but loud enough for you to hear. you smiled back at him, "of course, she's like family at this point, i honestly enjoy being near the both of you."

kenji looked up happy. he reminded you of a dog wagging its tail, like those 'golden retriever boyfriends' you've heard about online. "yeah me too, i like being with you too." he said smiling wide.

"do you mean the 'both of you'?" you asked, referring to the baby and you. he shook his head. "no no, well yes, but no. i meant you. i've been really enjoying my time with you. it's been really nice to get closer to you throughout the process." his voice was almost hypnotizing, it was undeniably alluring.

"oh well- i've been enjoying getting closer with you as well." you said, slightly caught off guard by his sweet words. kenji turned more towards you, he gently reached for your hands that rested on your lap, pulling them a little more to him. your face turned red at the action, but let him continue.

kenji felt his heart swell seeing you smile softly at him. the two of you have been working together to take care of the baby kaiju, and he couldn't deny the fuzzy feeling he felt everytime he felt when he looked at you.

there was just something so alluring about you that he couldn't deny himself of. the life you both had right now felt domestic, it felt sweet. it was then that he realized that domesticity didn't sound that bad. the idea of sleeping and waking up to you, making food together, watching movies and shows.

even just the idea of cleaning together sounded sweet. he could imagine dancing and singing with you as you both cleaned with music in the background. he knew what he felt. he wasn't oblivious to what he felt, but he didn't know. he didn't know if you felt the same.

he's seen you blush but whose to say it's not a reaction from being nervous instead of being interested. the idea of you maybe feeling the same lingered, holding onto the fact that the two of you have begun to get closer, physically and emotionally.

his eyes moved towards your face, watching as you gently stared towards him. your eyes were full of love and maybe, just maybe, that love was for him and only him. taking a breath, he began to talk. "y/n, i've been enjoying our time together, like a lot. this might sound weird but i have been loving waking up to you and taking care of the baby with you. it's something new for me but i'm happy to be doing this with you all. my point is that i'm happy to have you so close to me and for us to keep getting closer and-"

a soft and gentle hand cupped kenji's cheeks, distracting him from his rambling. his eyes snapped up to yours, nervous of what you would say. "i've loved every moment with you as well, the feeling is reciprocated." you said as your thumb softly caressed his cheek.

that was all the confirmation he needed. the way you stared at him so lovingly as you gently held him, almost like you didn't want to hurt him, brought him over the edge. kenji's arms reached over to you, pulling you closer into an embrace. the distance between you lessened as he stared at your eyes.

you watched as he stared at you, his eyes flickering from yours to your lips. a pale red dusted his cheeks. your eyes trailed to his lips, not going unnoticed by him.

kenji leaned forward, the gap closing as he leaned slightly to your height. the feeling of his lips molding with your own sent you chills as he kissed you with love. you kissed him back, almost urgently as kenji leaned into you, making you fall back into the couch as his body now hovered over you.

one hand near your face help him stay up as his other hand rested at your waist, softy rubbing the skin under your shirt. his fingers were cold, making you shiver into the kiss. kenji was kissing you and you enjoyed it.

your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to deepen the kiss. kenji groaned softly into the kiss as his hands glided up and down at your waist.

you felt his tongue prod at your mouth, making you slightly open your mouth for him. you hummed in delight as he explored your mouth with his own. the kiss felt like it went on for a while till he pulled away, gasping for air.

you stayed laying down, flushed from what had happen as kenji stared at you, who was still under him. it was then that everything that happened set into you. you had just kissed kenji. you didn't know if it was too soon but a part of you was jumping with joy.

kenji smiled at you, leaning down an placing a small peck at your lip, to your nose, to your cheeks, and forehead. he smother your face with kisses and you felt yourself turn gooey.

he pulled away, sitting up as he helped you get up. pulling you into his arms as he rested your back against his chest. his body wrapped around yours as he rested his head onto your shoulder.

"that was nice." he said softly. you knew he meant more with that, it was a sweet feeling that you both unconsciously had growing inside of you both.

he held you close, enjoying the time he had with you before his interview later. "y/n, i like you. it may come off as straightforward but i would really like to get to know you better." he softy spoke, it was different than his usual bold and prideful attitude.

you could tell he was nervous, with the way his body slightly shook from his nerves. you reached for his hand that laid at your side and grabbed it. "i like you too kenji, and i would really like that." kenji hugged you from behind, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

it was quiet for a while till you heard kenji talk. you almost didn’t hear him, thankfully being able to make out what he was saying. and gosh, did his words make you feel like putty in his hands. " we can finally say we're a little family of our own now."

!!!TAGLIST IS WILL CLOSE WHEN I SWITCH OUT PINK TAGS FOR TAGGABLE USERS!! THANK YOU!’

TAGLIST!

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[wolfpants]

Yesterday afternoon, when I was in a bit of a frazzle getting ready to go out, the postie knocked on my door and delivered the most magical gift I've ever received 🥹

Not one, but FOUR gorgeous binds from @plor-bindery 😭

I am utterly blown away by Plor's generosity, skill, and attention to detail. These have become the most treasured items on my bookshelf... dare I say my home (don't tell my cat)?!

More incohrent gushing and pics under the cut...

Everybody Hates a Tourist

That colour combination! The texts-as-a-blurb! The magical burst of rainbows (and pineapples!)! And don't even get my started on the interiors...

The postcard picture - also found on the fic's banner and Spotify playlist - made me gasp. And each chapter has its own gorgeous illustration, and - god, can we talk about drop caps please?! And the texts?

-

Under Giant Mountains

The foiling here is just *chef's kiss*, and that colour green is so gorgeous. The dragon! The quote! I also love the size of this one, it's so smart to choose a smaller format, it feels like a proper vintage book, like something found on Draco's shelf in his little cabin. Absolute perfection.

-

In My Room

I cannot believe I am holding a bound Dron book in my hands 😭 And one with such thoughtful artwork, so true to the story! The record player! The chess board with the chess pieces, weed and vinyls! I want the endpaper for this one plastered on my walls please... it's so Ron.

-

Kinkuary '23

When I opened the package and unwrapped this one last, I thought Plor had sent me a vintage book, but then after flipping through it, I realised it was covered in a modesty jacket 😈 Which I love, because again, it feels so... naughty and Victorian 😌 Picking that quote from the gay orgy fic is the absolutely cherry here. Brilliant! Inspired!

There is so much detail here I don't even know where to start. I love how each story includes its description, how each scene is separated with handcuffs, and... the index! Reading through some of my (quite frankly insane) tags had me absolutely howling (shoutout to "Draco Malfoy... is HORNY").

Here they all are, taking pride of place on my shelf. Honestly, the most beautiful gift. I can't even begin to explain what it feels like to hold my own writing, in black and white and on paper, in my hands. So surreal. I am so, so grateful. Thank you so much Plor, you lovely, lovely human!