#you know like in high school when they would tell you that won’t slide in college | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

totheankles · 2 months ago

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never quite free | shouei barou

⋆˙⟡♡ wc: 3.9k

⋆˙⟡♡ tags: gn reader, childhood friends, so much pining, barou is a softie for his person, barou-centric, reader is drunk, one (1) instance of vomit

⋆˙⟡♡ a/n: i love when mean, loud characters are softies for their person. so i wrote 3.9k words about it with the mean, loud man that has been haunting my every thought. enjoy!

at the wise age of seven, after just witnessing you punch a boy in the face for insulting your sidewalk chalk art, shouei barou made you a promise: he will always be there for you. he swore that day, crossed his heart and hoped he’d die if he ever failed you (far too serious for a seven year old, but he has always taken his promises very seriously), he will drop everything to help you.

“but why?” you had asked, and grabbed your chalk to resume your drawing.

he crouched down next to you to get a better look at what you had done so far, red eyes tracing over the rainbow you were trying to perfect. “you’re too pretty to be punching anyone.”

and, to seven year old shouei’s credit, he’s consistently kept his promise over the years. even after your parent’s split and you were allowed to be neighbors every other weekend. even after high school finally separated you two and he could only walk you halfway to campus before your routes diverged (he would always carry your bags for you until that point). even during the blue lock program when talking to you was a privilege he had to earn rather than something he did every single day. and now, as a professional athlete with an obnoxiously busy schedule, shouei is always there for you, sponge and wet wipe in hand, ready to clean whatever mess you’ve inevitably made.

which is why, at two o’clock in the morning, after too many drinks at a bar you’ve never been inside of before, it feels like second nature to call him.

alongside with keeping his promises, shouei also keeps a very strict routine. so when his cell phone starts trilling at an ungodly hour, his first instinct is to curse out whoever thinks it’s a bright idea to disrupt his sleep during his off-season. but once the cobwebs of sleep clear from his brain, he realizes there’s only one person who can bypass the do not disturb mode on his phone: you. he’s swiping his thumb across the screen in a heartbeat.

there’s a thump of some sort of bass music in the background of the call, several different conversations muddled together to create a white noise effect, and then your voice breaks through it all, a bit slurred but still carrying a familiar soft quality to it.

“shou-kun,” you breathe into the line, and shouei is up and putting pants on.

“where are you?” his voice isn’t unkind, but the gruffness of sleep is still thick and causes him to sound more irritated than he actually is.

you give him the name of the bar you’ve found yourself in, and shouei is punching in the address on his phone’s gps as he’s sliding a shirt over his torso.

“stay on the phone with me?” you ask, and he can hear the pout on your lips.

he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. “yeah, sure, but go somewhere quieter. loud as shit and i’m still waking up.”

you sound a bit more sober as you reply, “‘m sorry, shou-kun. i can ask someone—”

“don’t be. i’m getting my shoes on. keep talking to me.”

it takes every ounce of self control to obey the traffic laws on his drive to the bar. logically, he knows you’re okay. you’re babbling on about the intricacies of a sourdough starter (“is it even worth all of that effort?” “i’ll make you a loaf and then you can tell me if it is.”), and sipping on some water (bottled of course, and he made you watch the bartender hand it to you). you seem to be your usual, bubbly self, even if you’re refusing to tell him why you’re out so late to begin with. but still… his overprotective streak has been going strong for nearly two decades, and he won’t feel satisfied until you’re in the passenger seat of his car, buckled in and safe.

the bar is as sleazy as it sounded over the phone—drunk people hanging around outside smoking, the thump of the base-heavy music rattling outside, flashes of lights streaming through the frosted windows. definitely not your typical scene. but then again, this entire night isn’t very typical for you. you have never been one to drink excessively, let alone at bar you’ve never been to before, so to have to navigate through an intoxicated crowd to find you is something shouei doesn’t have much experience in. a few faces flicker with blurry recognition, and shouei ducks out of their line of sight before a conversation he really doesn’t feel like having begins.

shouei’s irritation level does significantly decrease when he finally spots you sitting at a table all by yourself, water bottle halfway emptied, your brow furrowed in a way that lets him know your thoughts are heavy. the outfit you’re wearing suggests you had intentions of someone seeing you in it, rather than sulking at a bar surrounded by strangers too drunk to recognize their own reflection. acidic jealously churns shouei’s stomach, ugly green and caustic and deadly to nearby organs. he tries his best to ignore it. now isn’t the time for his ego. his top priority is getting you out of this sorry excuse of a bar and to safety.

the way your eyes light up upon seeing him make his guts churn even more for an entirely different reason.

“shou-kun.” you breathe out his name like a sigh of relief, like even just saying it brings you comfort. this time, his heart flutters, and it irritates him even more.

your name rolls off his tongue gruffly, and he’s reaching over to pull you near him. “what are you doing here?” he asks over the loud music as he acts as a shield through the crowd of intoxicated partygoers. “do you know what time it is?”

your hand reflexively wraps around his, and it’s almost like you’re kids again—shouei acting as your personal bodyguard as you allow him to pull you along through anything. he’s always been so good at protecting you. two decades later, and his promise is still in tact. shouei might be the most stable thing in your life, and that thought alone has tears springing up to your eyes. you continue on, gaze glued to your intertwined hands and how shouei holds yours as if it’s something precious to him, as if it’s worth the patience he’s always showing you.

the night air is crisp and fresh compared to the damp, alcohol-soaked air of the club, and it helps sober you up enough to realize you’re more than likely going to vomit tonight. wonderful.

shouei gets you buckled into the passenger seat of his car, ruby gaze scanning your body to make sure you’re fastened up to par with his impossible standards, fingers fiddling with the seatbelt.

you put your hand over his, and when his eyes flicker up to meet yours, the heaviness of them nearly knock the wind out of you. “shou-kun, i’m all buckled in. can we go home now?” your voice is barely above a whisper, and that only makes his brow furrow. he shuts the passenger door and makes his way over to the driver’s side nonetheless, and begins the drive back to his apartment.

home for him is different from home for you. home for him is a humble two-bedroom apartment located downtown, one room dedicated to workout equipment to keep him in shape during his off season without the hassle of a public gym, the other room is master bedroom that no one but him have really laid eyes on. and for you, home is shouei, and not the four-bedroom house you found on craig’s list filled with strangers.

which is why he knows to drive to his apartment with no questions asked. like hell he’s going to trust your housemates to take care of you.

“what were you doing there?” he asks after the silence between you two stretches on for too long.

you’re resting your forehead against the cool window glass to help ease the throbbing behind your eyes. “date blew me off, so i went to the nearest bar.”

he knew it. taut skin stretches over his knuckles as his grip on the steering wheel tightens. “yeah, well, they’re a fucking idiot for ditching you. and you’re an idiot for getting so drunk without anyone there with you.”

“‘m sorry.”

“you’re gonna be more sorry tomorrow when you wake up with a killer hangover.”

the rest of the car ride is quiet, save for the music you decide to flip on to drown out your self-loathing thoughts. shouei isn’t much of a music person, but he is thankful for gorillaz for keeping his mind too busy to think about what sort of person you were dressed up for. it must still be on your playlist. you’re the only person who really gets in his car, after all, save for his sisters whenever they need a ride from him. but even they don’t get radio privileges. that’s saved solely for you.

while 2d goes on singing about rhinestone eyes, you watch the way the street lights flicker over shouei’s face. his hair is down, a rare sight but a welcomed one, and the bags under his eyes are more prominent than usual, indicating he really did fly out of bed to come swooping you away like some knight in jeans and a turtleneck sweater. his jaw ticks, and you wish you could kiss it.

“you okay?” he asks you, pulls you out of your drunken-trance.

you hum a response, and press your forehead against the glass once again, eyes closed but the image of kissing shouei’s jaw still plays behind them.

the car comes to a gentle stop before you can doze off, and shouei is climbing out of the driver seat to open your door and help you out. he’s careful to tap on the glass to rouse you, and when you slowly blink your eyes open to look up at him, his lungs seizes in his chest and his feet are glued to the cement. though you’re very obviously drunk, unbridled trust and love is written openly all over your face in a way that makes the world feels a little wobbly. your eyes are still on him as you unbuckle yourself, and shouei thinks his heart might just explode in between his ribs, the ribbons of it hanging off of the latter on bones and fluttering down to his intestines. he moves out of your way to allow you to open the car door, but he’s quick to grab your elbow to stabilize you as you sway a bit.

“i’ve got you,” he murmurs, and your smile is nothing short of a sun. he fears he may go blind if he isn’t careful. he isn’t sure if he cares, since he’s always wanted your smile to be the last thing he sees anyway.

when walking proves to be a difficult task for you, shouei scoops you up bridal style, and it’s unfair how natural it all feels to him. taking care of you, muttering words of encouragement, feeling you tucked under his chin and curled into his chest, all while you’re dressed to meet someone else. someone that was probably easier to digest than shouei, less egotistical, home often enough to establish a day-to-day routine with you. someone that you don’t have to warn your other friends about preemptively.

shouei has never worried about what other people think of him, can’t find it in himself to feel insecure. a king doesn’t bother himself with a peasant’s thoughts. he does, however, worry about where he fits in your life now that he’s a pro athlete and you’re still trying to find your footing. no one can ever replace him, he knows this. there will always be a spot for shouei in your life. how big that spot is, is what sometimes keeps him up at night, especially now that’s he’s recently come to terms with the fact that he’s in love with you. has been for the last two decades.

light snores leave your mouth as shouei places you down on his bed, trash can set up for when you inevitably vomit, and he’s just beginning to take off your shoes when you begin to stir again.

“go back to sleep,” he gently commands. “you’re going to feel awful in the morning.”

you pout at him. “room’s spinning.”

“i know. that’s why there’s a garbage can next to you.”

“oh thank god—”

and before he can get your other shoe off, you’re leaning over the side of the bed and emptying the contents of your stomach into the bin. shouei moves to rub your back soothingly, nose scrunched as you retch. once your head pops back up, shouei rearranges the pillows and blankets so you’re tucked in snugly, careful to not move you around too much and risk upsetting your stomach again. he stops when he feels your hand resting on his cheek.

“you’re a good man, shou-kun,” you state with a dopey smile on your face. “always taking care of me. even when i probably don’t deserve it.”

“don’t start that self-pity bullshit now,” he replies gruffly, but his eyes a soft pools of ruby. he’s always been soft for you. always will be. “i made you a promise, didn’t i?”

“yeah, when we were seven.”

“and that hasn’t changed. i’m still here.”

your thumb moves from the apple of his cheek to his bottom lip, languidly tracing it, tugging it down to see the teeth that he takes such good care of despite how much his career threatens to knock them out, rows of ivory encased by pretty pink gums. and shouei allows you to, ruby gaze boring into you, trying to gauge where the boundary line is and how solid it is. he would never, ever take advantage of anyone in this state, especially not you, but he does wonder if alcohol has made you uncover some dormant feelings. if you’re thinking about kissing him the very same way he’s been thinking about kissing you ever since your second year of middle school when he watched you punch a boy for calling him a jerk. only shouei would find such an act of violence romantic. everything between you two started with a punch, after all.

“‘s not fair,” you pout, thumb resting on the corner of his mouth.

“what isn’t?”

you purse your lips, as if trying to find the right words. “you’re so pretty. when did you get so pretty?”

he rolls his eyes. “i look the same as i always have. just taller.”

“mm, no.” your other hand comes up to brush his hair back, and his lungs swell until they’re pressing against his ribs. “you’re pretty, shou-kun. and kind. and sweet. and stubborn. and ambitious. and hardworking. so why?”

“why what?”

“why aren’t you with anyone?” when your eyes fall back down to his, shouei feels his chest crack, his heart flayed open and put on display, a pathetic art piece dedicated to you. the world tilts on its axis, and shouei barou has never felt more exposed than he does now under your drunken gaze and steady hands.

he finds his voice long enough to reply, “i don’t care about dating. too much drama and no one knows what they want.”

“do you know what you want?”

you. the answer is on the tip of his tongue, burning a hole through the muscle and burying itself in his enamel, where it will get swallowed down along with the lump in his throat. this isn’t the time to go around confessing, not when you’re drunk and still wearing clothes you put on for someone else. gently, he takes your hands off of him and lowers your body down against the mattress again, and he thinks he feels his heart crumble a little.

“i want you to get some sleep. it’s late as hell, and you have a hangover to prep for.”

and before you can protest, he makes a break for the kitchen to get a glass of water and some tylenol for you. it’s easier to breathe out here where he doesn’t have to choke on long overdue confessions and your perfume. where you aren’t looking at him as if you know just how stupidly in love he is with you. god, he really is pathetic for you. his skin is still warm from where your hands were and all he can think about is how much he wishes you were sober so he wouldn’t feel so guilty for wanting to kiss you.

“the glass is overflowing.”

he nearly jumps out of his own skin at your voice, and whips around to see you standing barefoot in his kitchen, one of his shirts draped over your frame, a pair of his boxers low on your hips. it’s unfair how much better you look in his clothes than your own. hell, you look better than he does in his own clothes. un-fucking-fair.

“what the hell are you doing out of bed?” he barks as he turns the sink off, flustered and unsure of himself. a deadly combination for a man of his caliber. “and when did you change?”

“you were taking forever,” you whine, and tug at the hem of his shirt to pull it further down your thighs. “got bored waiting for you.”

with the water and tylenol in hand, he ushers you back to his room and gets you tucked back in. “you should be asleep. c’mon, it’s late. take these when you wake up and puke in the bin if you need to. i’ll take care of it in the morning.”

but before he can leave his room to sleep on the couch, you’re fisting the back of his shirt and rooting him in place. he waits, as he always does. as he always will. for you.

“sleep with me?” you ask, and chuckle when you feel his breath hitch. “not like that, pervert. like we used to. when we were kids.”

“i’m not a pervert,” he grumbles as he turns around to face you. you’re looking up at him, earnest and hopeful, and he feels his resolve crumble. “let me change into pajamas first.” the smile you flash at him is enough to reaffirm his belief that everything ounce of his yearning and pining is worth it if you just keep smiling at him like that.

once he emerges from the bathroom in his pajamas, you open your arms up to him, bottom lip jutting out in a way that makes him want to bite it. he crawls in bed next to you instead, teeth tucked firmly behind his lips, and you wrap yourself around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

cuddling with you now is different than when you were kids. for one, he wasn’t pathetically in love with you back then. and two, there’s an undertone to it, a slow lulling of temptation, an unspoken promise that things could always be like this if maybe you returned his feelings. the payoff might be worth the risk. but could he really put the friendship he’s cherished for two decades on the line for his own selfish desires of having you as a partner? it’s the same haunting thought-loop he’s been in for the better part of nine years, and though he isn’t one to dwell or drown in self-pity, you’re the one thing he doesn’t want to risk. and so he lays in bed next to you, your body curled around his, wondering if spending the rest of his life pining for you is a privilege or a curse.

“why didn’t you kiss me?”

your question breaks the silence between you two into a million tiny slivers, each one stabbing at his heart and lungs, lacerating them to bloody ribbons. he doesn’t dare turn to face you, doesn’t want to see what sort of expression is on your face. he’s never been a coward before, but he’s also never been in love before, and they don’t seem to be mutually exclusive things.

finally, he finds his voice buried somewhere under the gore of sliced up potential. “you’re drunk.” it’s barely above a whisper. it’s all he’ll allow himself for now.

“so? i saw that look in your eyes, shouei barou.” he feels you shift behind him, feels your breath fan across the shell of his ear as you tuck your chin next to his shoulder. “you wanted to kiss me.”

it’s a hefty accusation, one heavy with the painful truth that he’s been wanting to kiss you for far longer than just tonight. he turns his head so he can look at you out of the corner of his eye, and is shocked to see you pouting as if you’re disappointed. disappointed that he didn’t kiss you. disappointed he took the chivalrous route rather than the selfish one. two decades later, and you still surprise him.

“so what if i did?” he asks, turning his face back so his gaze is to his plain wall and not the pout on your face. there’s no use in denying it. you’re going to find out one way or another. “i’m not kissing you while you’re drunk. ‘s not right. you deserve better than that.”

“will you kiss me when i’m sober tomorrow?” the hope in your voice is thick, causes him to feel giddy in a way that’s borderline irritating.

“if you want me to, then sure.”

you hum and bury your face in between his shoulder blades, and he melts a little in your arms. “i’ll want you to.”

“how are you so confident?” he huffs and adjusts his body so it’s easier for you to wrap yourself around him. you respond by throwing a leg over his waist, and everything is alright in the world for a moment. “you’re drunk out of your mind.”

you scoot closer to him. “because i’ve been wanting you to kiss me for a long time.”

the confession has his heart seizing in his chest. and though a part of him is screaming at him to not take your intoxicated words seriously, a caged sort of optimism roots itself in his bones, blooms between his joints. he turns his body so your head is tucked under this chest, leg still wrapped around his waist, and his nose is buried in your hair, the smell of your shampoo infiltrating his lungs until it’s all he can think about. he’s okay with this, he thinks. he wants this, in a very selfish way. it might be worth the risk.

“we’ll see how you feel when you’re hungover as all hell,” is what he says instead.

“i think it’ll make me want you to kiss me more,” you giggle against his chest. “my knight in shining armor. always making everything better.”

his fingers find your hair as they often do when you’re snuggled into each other like this, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. your knight in shining armor. it’s cheesy in a way that’s almost endearing, most certainly because it’s you and almost everything about you is endearing to him. it’s a role he’s proudly filled for the last two decades, and will continue to fill as long as you need him to.

“goodnight, shou-kun,” you murmur. “thank you for taking care of me tonight.”

he hums his reply and pulls you a little closer to him.

because he’ll always keep his promise. always.

#mine #shouei barou x reader #shoei baro x reader #shoei barou x reader #shouei barou #shoei barou #shoei baro #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #shouei barou drabble #shoei barou drabble #shoei baro drabble

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seeingivy · 7 months ago

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so high school

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my gojo as taylor songs series

an: so sorry to the dream girl fans, had to expedite this one. taylor as gojo anon its your lucky day.

you were always under the impression that people like satoru gojo were perfect.

flawless even.

at times, you were even inclined to think that it was unfair; that some people were born with perfect looks, charming personalities, with intellect and intelligence to match. that they didn’t have to struggle.

though it seems at the current moment, you stood corrected. because the so-called rumors that you had heard about satoru – that he always participated in class, that the teachers loved him – they might have still stood true, but the underlying implication that was always insinuated, that he was naturally intelligent, wasn't.

it slightly cracked a sheen into the persona. you wondered if the girls in your english literature class would still giggle about him the way they did under their breaths if they knew. though knowing them, they probably would find some way to make his ineptness endearing.

“this is the quadratic formula. did you understand this one when we went over it in class?” you ask.

“yes.” satoru responds, seething.

“okay, so if that’s the case, can you solve this problem for me?” you ask.

you slide the paper over to satoru, eyes hopeful, as you watch a blank expression spread over his face. it’s something that he does often, or at least in this setting from what you can tell of the total of two hours that have passed.

the entire session seems to be a lot of talking into the air – with him opting to listen to you explain the question rather than try it on his own or admit where exactly it is that he needs help.

you’re not surprised that he has an ego about getting forced to do remedial tutoring.

“you know, listening to explain it over and over again won’t really help. you have to be able to struggle your way through the question on your own.” you respond.

satoru gives you a shrug, before taking the paper into his own hands.

“this is bullshit. and i get that i have to like know this shit because like…societies and shit before me knew it all but i don’t really understand the point. coach is just making me do this bullshit to keep me from playing more.

you pinch your lips into a line. the algebra teacher and basketball coach, masamichi yagi, had, in confidence, told you the exact opposite. that satoru was bright and talented – on the road to where he wanted to go – but his grades were going to hold him back if he didn’t try harder.

you can still hear his words in your head.

he can be tough to work with when he’s frustrated, but just try to get through to him. he’s smart enough to do this.

“i mean, the past societies and stuff learned it and emphasize passing it on because it’s actually really relevant to what you’re doing right now.” you respond.

“yeah, maybe for nerd shit that you do, but it’s not really relevant to where i want to go.” satoru responds.

you roll your eyes. he didn’t have to be irritating about it.

“and where’s that?” you ask.

and in a split second, you see satoru smile for the first time, this close. you weren’t a stranger to him at all – almost no one was with the way the basketball team's pictures were plastered all over the school in the yearbook – but you had never sat so close to him before, at least not in years.

he a dimple on the right side and three freckles on the left.

“i’m going to be a starting point guard on an nba basketball team.” satoru whispers.

“you want to go pro?” you ask.

“hell yeah. it’s all i’ve ever wanted since i was a kid.”

you smile. you had heard it before – that he was electric on the court – but you didn’t realize that it was serious enough to pursue a basketball career.

“i hate to break it to you, but the quadratic formula will be really useful to you in the future.” you respond.

satoru scoffs. you take the board from him, drawing out the trajectory of the line, as he explains.

“the reason that you use the quadratic formula is to find the solution of the equation. it can actually tell you more than you think – about where something needs to be in space, how fast it needs to move. if you’re standing all the way at the end of the basketball court, as far away from the net as possible, you’re not going to shoot right?” you ask.

“obviously not.” satoru responds, sarcastically.

“and you’re not going to try from right underneath the net?”

“not if i want to get my ass beat by coach.”

“so you know that you have to find the right spot to try from because it’ll give you your best possible shot at getting it into the basket. that’s how the equation works – figuring out the best possible spot to where your solution works.”

satoru rolls his eyes at you.

“so?”

“so. you should think about it like that. don’t make it so abstract because it’s honestly way too boring to try to do it that way. finding applications will help you get through how difficult it is. if you want to get scouted for division one basketball, you have to have good grades.”

satoru clicks his tongue in his cheek.

“do you want me to do the quadratic formula in my head every time i make a shot?”

you roll your eyes.

“obviously not. but you have to admit that something like that would be helpful. and it is helpful, for people who do engineering, fly planes, all of that type of stuff. the application will just make it more interesting or relevant for you.” you respond.

“how do you get through it?” he asks.

you pause.

“what?”

“your application or whatever. to make you do it without getting bored.”

you can feel your cheeks burn.

“i actually don’t have one. i was just making that up.”

satoru’s eyes widen.

“you gave me a whole inspirational lecture with shit you pulled out of your ass?” satoru asks, eyes incredulous.

you note that there’s a whisper of a smile on his face.

“part of the job is motivating students! and i don’t have one because what i want to do actually does have no application to this..” you respond.

satoru nods, before leaning forward on the desk, his cheek in the palm of his hand as he smiles.

“so what do you want to do?” he asks.

“what?”

“in the future. i’d love to hear whatever it is that doesn’t have a real life application to math, so i can use it as a backup plan if this whole basketball thing doesn’t work out.”

you glare at him.

“this is a tutoring session, not social hour.”

“oh come on. you’re no fun. i promise i’ll actually try if you tell me.” satoru responds.

you debate lying.

you debate lying because you know this is how he is, because you’ve seen him do this since the second he had his growth spurt in the sixth grade. tell different girls that they’re pretty, flatter them by asking them personal questions, and flirt like it was the air he breathed.

and it makes you mad – only because you were that girl in seventh grade. giggling to yourself about how he said your braids were pretty, asking about if you were going to the dance, and everything in between.

the only reason that the girls who whispered about him in your english literature class annoy you is because they remind you of yourself. though that stopped dead in his tracks when you realized that it was something that he did with everyone.

satoru’s eyes are expectant, waiting for an answer, and you convince yourself later that night that it’s why you gave in and told him what you’ve never told anyone before. not because he really was attractive and charming – but only because he told you his first.

“scout’s honor you won’t tell?” you ask.

satoru signals with the little cross over his heart, before giving you a nod.

“i want to be a singer.” you respond.

satoru’s eyes widen.

“you’d be great for that!”

“what?”

“oh, come on. you’ve been the lead of every musical since like freshman year. and i remember that song you wrote about cheerleaders or whatever in sixth grade, it was really good.”

you widen your eyes.

“you remember that?” you ask.

“what was it called? i just remember it was like cheer captain and bleachers or something like that. mei mei got really mad at the time because she thought you were talking about her.”

you laugh.

“it was called you belong with me. there was a lyric in it, she’s cheer captain and i’m on the bleachers. and she was right to be mad, because it was about her. i can’t even believe you remember that.” you respond.

satoru smirks.

“do you just think i’m some asshole? we’ve gone to the same school since preschool. i like to think we’re friends – that’s why i picked you to be my tutor.” satoru responds.

you didn’t know that part. you had figured that yaga had just reached out to you because you were one of the top students in the class.

“i don’t know. i didn’t realize you remembered all that! i kind of thought you didn’t even know my name.” you respond.

satoru smiles.

“your name is y/n. you used to wear pigtail braids in first grade with ribbons in them. you’re really smart and you always have been. you went to the dance in seventh grade with that robotics nerd nanami kento. and one time you picked me for heads up seven up in fourth grade.” satoru responds.

you feel your cheeks warm up.

at the heat of your infatuation with satoru, you had made your move in the only way that you knew how – by picking him in heads up seven up.

once in a while, you would get to play the game in class – when it was someone's birthday or you were waiting for an assembly to start. the teacher would pick seven students and the rest would put their heads down at their desks, with their thumbs up. the people who were selected got to pick anyone they wanted in the room and tap on their head. if the people who were tapped were able to guess who picked them correctly, they got to switch in.

you picked satoru. and he guessed correctly.

“kind of had a big fat crush on you after that, if i’m not going to lie.” satoru jokes.

“what? over the heads up seven up?”

satoru nods.

“you picked me out of a room of forty people. i was ready to propose marriage.” satoru jokes.

you snort.

“don’t say that. i totally would have said yes. i obviously picked you for a reason.”

satoru looks up at you, eyes wide in something you can’t really place, before he grins at you brightly.

“you bitch! we could have been childhood sweethearts at this point if you weren’t such a chicken.”

“me? you should have made a move. the ball was in your court after i tapped on you in heads up seven up.”

satoru sighs.

“oh ten year old satoru. dropping the ball as always.”

you roll your eyes, before sliding the worksheet back over to him. satoru groans, before sneaking the paper closer to him, and scratching his head as he looks at the paper. you lean over the tiniest bit of the desk, trying to make a mess of his scribbling, and making sure he’s on the right path.

“why’d you pick that one as c?” you ask.

“was i not supposed to?”

“i mean, no. i just wanted to figure out why so you don’t do it next time.”

it goes like that for the rest of the hour. he tends to make silly mistakes or get hopelessly lost in the middle, but answers one question correctly by the end of the session – which he takes as a win.

he says one thing that sticks in your mind before he leaves, with the same expectant eyes waiting for an answer as he hangs off of the door frame.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“when you become a big famous singer, will you invite me to your first show?” satoru asks.

you smile, before looking down at your hands and twisting the silver rings on your fingers.

“if that happens, sure. only if you invite me to the first game where you get to start.” you respond.

satoru grins brightly, his eyes crinkling in the smile.

“i'm betting on it. you and me.”

three months into tutoring – and a few ice cream cones and movies here and there – satoru invites you to go to a party with him.

“you know, i’m not really into the party scene, satoru.” you respond.

“but you’re into me, because i’m the love of your life, so you should come anyways.”

satoru does that often. flirt, make jokes about how the two of you are meant to be, and everything in between. troy and gabriella because you’re a brainiac and he’s an athlete. the best love story, since you’ve liked each other from the start.

but you know that he’s joking, because he does that with everyone. it doesn’t mean that it isn’t nice to pretend that it’s true sometimes.

“look, mei mei has a bunch of drinks that her dad bought for the party, so you should just come and let loose.”

you widen your eyes.

“you know mei mei hates me right?”

“it’s okay, being around her will give you more material to write for your songs. then you can sing it on your sold out world tour.” satoru jokes.

he also does that often. talk about your dream like it’s most certainly going to come true. talk about how he’s going to be front row, how you’re going to be the half-time show for his championship games, and how fans will adore your love story and humble backgrounds in tutoring.

“come on. i’ll pick you up at six, okay?”

at six pm, satoru honks the horn of his shitty honda civic for six minutes before you oblige and give in. and the party goes well – with satoru sticking by your side, introducing you to his best friend suguru, and making you do shots with cheap tequila.

it goes well until they start playing a mixed version of truth or dare and spin the bottle. you have two options when the bottle lands on you – kissing the person who span it or getting a truth or dare from them.

it’s not your idea of fun. because while you would have easily opted for just being asked truthful questions all night, you realize that the stuff that they ask and insinuate is no joke.

and after an hour, satoru kisses suguru – much to suguru’s dismay – and shoko gets dared to prank call her ex-girlfriend, utahime, which goes insanely horrible. it felt like intruding to listen to the two of them argue so openly on the phone.

when mei mei spins the bottle, it lands on you.

“please don’t try to kiss me.”

you pinch your lips in a line.

“i wasn’t planning on it. i’ll do truth.”

she breaths a dramatic sigh of relief. you shoot satoru a smile, who shakes it off as plain joking, before you swallow hard.

“fuck, marry, kill. satoru, suguru, and choso.”

you feel your eyes widen.

“was the game not kiss, marry, kill?” you respond.

“if we’re in the sixth grade.” mei mei responds.

you fidget with your fingers in your lap, all three of them expectantly looking at you, as you feel your voice shake.

“um. marry satoru. and then i guess…i’ll kill choso? and you know the last one.” you respond.

“and i thought we were friends.” choso responds, voice dripping with sarcasm as the group of them snicker.

“we can go do that right now, that’s not a problem. should we switch the game to seven minutes in heaven?” suguru responds, snickering over his shoulder with shoko who doesn’t entertain one second of his nonsense.

satoru is the only one who doesn’t say anything. and they move on just as fast, spinning the bottle over and over again, while you overthink what just happened – how awkward you were being, how satoru slightly shifted away from you on the hard carpet, and how you very desperately want to go home.

when you spin the bottle, you hope to god it doesn’t land on him. but it’s just your luck, because it points directly at suguru, who is now very smugly seated next to satoru.

“are you going to kiss me?” suguru asks.

you know that he’s joking. you know deep down that this is just something that makes them laugh, that deep down, you wouldn’t really have to if you didn’t want to, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing to be cornered like this.

“no.” you respond.

suguru feigns hurt.

“why not?”

you look down at your hands.

“i’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“i can fix that.” suguru responds.

you shake your head. and in the split second that passes, you can feel satoru’s hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you down the stairs and out the door, and leading you down the street to where he parked his car.

he’s quiet as he rummages in his pockets for his key, angrily yanking on the door, as you stand on the pavement.

“come on. we’re going home.” he responds, leaning his hands on the open door as he gestures for you to move to the passengers side.

you shake your head, feeling hot burning tears in your eyes, as you look at him.

“are you mad at me or something?” you ask.

“what?”

“i don’t know! i didn’t know what to say when mei mei asked me that. i don’t ever want to offend you or hurt your feelings or anything. and i wasn’t going to kiss your friend, you didn’t have to drag me out of there like that because i wasn’t even going to consider it.”

satoru sighs, leaning his cheek against the window, as he gives you a halfhearted smile.

“i’m not mad at you. or what you said.”

“okay, because i thought that was the best option! marry is objectively the option you save for the best person in the options because that’s the person you have to kiss too. like when you marry someone you obviously have to kiss them and you’re not going to kill them, so you save it for the best.” you respond, rambling.

satoru grins.

“you think i’m the best option?”

you groan.

“shut up. i don’t even know choso. and suguru is…suguru. no.”

satoru smiles, walking away from the open door, before reaching for your wrists and squeezing hard.

“i’m not mad at you. i just got…annoyed back there for a second.” satoru murmurs.

“at?”

satoru tries to stifle his sigh.

“i didn’t want suguru to kiss you.” satoru responds.

“that makes two of us, genius.” you respond, earning you a laugh from him.

“i wanted it to land on me. i know it’s just a game, but really. i wanted it to be me.” satoru murmurs.

you laugh.

“okay, satoru. truth or dare. i can give you one right now.” you respond, giving him a peachy smile as you wait for him to respond.

but he doesn’t. because all you see in the dim lamplight of the street is satoru, frowning at you. his eyes are expectant, but not waiting for an answer this time – but for you to understand what he was trying to say.

that he wanted you to kiss him.

it takes you five seconds. five seconds of bright blue eyes to get it.

“oh.” you respond.

you pause.

“really?” you whisper.

satoru shrugs. almost like he’s embarrassed.

you lift your hands, gesturing for him to wait right there, as you duck into the car from the door that he opened, and reach over the seats for the water bottle that you left in there a few days ago.

“fuck, ow.” you whisper.

“are you okay?” satoru asks, leaning closer to peek his head through the door.

“yeah. yeah. just looking for something.”

you find it underneath the seat – a wrinkled mess of plastic from the heat and three sips of lukewarm water left. you push out of the car, holding up the little bottle in between the two of you, to which satoru gives you a confused look.

“i wouldn’t drink that.” satoru responds.

you shake your head, before crouching to the ground, and placing the bottle on the ground. you gesture for satoru to join you, the two of you hunching over with your heads pressed together. and you reach forward and spin the bottle, only for it to point towards the car.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” you murmur.

you readjust the bottle, manually pointing it towards satoru, as you look back up at him and give him a smile.

“i don’t get it.” satoru responds.

“it landed on you.” you respond.

you watch satoru’s throat bob.

“what?” he whispers.

“i spun. it landed on you.” you respond.

you swear he’s blushing in the moonlight.

“y/n.”

“are you going to kiss me, satoru?” you whisper.

it’s a split second before satoru reaches forward, pulling you up by the wrists, and yanking you into the backseat of his car to do just that. you can taste the remnants of the cheap tequila on his lips, the feeling warm in your chest as he smiles – no, laughs – into the kiss.

in the seconds that pass, you lean your forehead against satoru’s, the two of you lightly panting as you catch your breaths – his hands warm on your waist and yours underneath his biceps.

“did you really pick me out of everyone to be your math tutor?” you whisper.

satoru laughs.

“i knew what i wanted. and i got her.” satoru whispers.

you get signed on to a record label a year later, two months before you graduate high school. it breaks your heart to leave him behind when the fall comes around.

four years later

“did the tour bus get stalled?” you ask.

yuki looks up from her clipboard, switching off the little knob on her earpiece, as she takes the open seat next to you.

“yeah. they’ve got it stuck inside the fencing outside the stadium, they’re just trying to push it through now.” yuki responds.

“can’t we just walk out to the car?” you ask.

yuki shakes her head again.

“fans go out the same way. if you want to avoid getting mobbed on the way out here, it’s best to wait.” yuki responds.

“if we have to wait, i’m just going to go lie down in the dressing room. come get me when it’s here?” you ask.

yuki gives you a nod as you walk off to the other side of the stadium, the heels of your feet aching from the high stiletto boots you were wearing breaking halfway through the performance, as you shake through the messy tresses of your hair.

“it was so nice to meet you, man. you said she was over this way?”

you feel your eyes widen as you turn your head to the left – to the voice that you can recognize anywhere – and feel a dry patch in your throat. at the sight of satoru, an obscenely tall version of satoru, standing three feet away from you, talking to one of the members of your crew.

you watch as satoru gives a polite smile and walks down the way towards your dressing room, already six whole paces in front of you from how long his legs are now, as you follow behind him, wiping away the darkness of smudged makeup under your eyes and brushing down the beads of your dress.

it can’t be him, can it? you desperately wished there was something else to wear besides the bedazzled bodysuit you were wearing currently.

you watch as satoru knocks on your door, expectantly waiting for a response at the door, as he wipes his hands against the sides of his pants. and you walk up right behind him, nervously clearing your throat, as he turns around and gives you a wide smile.

“ah. right, hi! i was just looking for you. my name is…”

“satoru.” you finish.

there was no way he thought you actually forgot him, did he?

satoru unclenches his shoulders, an immediate pang of relief spreading through his face, as he gives you a smile – a dimple on the right and three freckles on the left – as you feel a pang of hurt in your chest.

he looks good. he looks even better than you left him, his striking white hair longer than it was before and the smallest amount of wrinkles around his eyes.

“you remember.” satoru responds.

you bite on the inside of your cheek, to stop yourself from smiling at him fully.

“do you just think i’m some asshole? we’ve gone to the same school since preschool.” you respond.

satoru rolls his eyes at the words – the same ones he said years prior – as he crosses his hands over his chest. and you can’t help but contain your excitement and lean forward, a gesture he returns as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and squeeze hard.

“satoru, oh my fucking god. you should have told me you were coming.” you respond, leaning back as he reaches up to cup the side of your cheek and smile down at you.

“how could i?” he asks.

“you could text me. i have a phone.” you joke.

satoru gives you a smile.

“you know, when you change your number, that means i can’t text you.”

you groan, smacking your palm against your forehead.

“shit. i totally forgot. i was just so stressed out at the time because…”

“because someone leaked your phone number and people were calling you at every hour of the day. i know.”

you feel your chest pang, mainly at the fact that satoru was here – that he thought you forgot him and, in earnest, you really had forgotten him. that he was keeping tabs, that he knew everything that you were up to in the years since you separated – from your phone number getting leaked to the fact that you were performing tonight – and you couldn’t say the same.

you frown.

“right. i’m sorry, i meant to give it to you, i just…”

“were going through a lot at the time. first world tour, six grammy nominations, and some friends who weren’t the greatest, i gathered.”

you sigh.

“you don’t know the half of it.” you respond.

satoru shakes his head.

“i mean, i do. but i’d love to hear it from you, if…if you ever wanted to tell me?” satoru asks.

he has that same look in his eyes. timid, expectant eyes, shy and waiting for an answer.

“of course i would want to tell you.” you whisper.

satoru smiles.

“good. i’d love to hear it.” satoru responds.

it doesn’t feel real. it doesn’t feel real that four year ago satoru kissed you in the moonlight on a horribly paved street, that you had to leave him behind on that same cobblestone four years ago, and now he’s standing in front of you – the two of you the same as before, satoru the same, maybe even better, than the way you left him.

“what are you doing here, satoru?” you ask.

he smiles, before reaching into his pocket, and pulling out two little pieces of paper. he hands them over to you, as you read the fine print.

July 19th

San Francisco Golden State Warriors versus Los Angeles Lakers

“i’m the starting point guard for an nba basketball team. i promised you an invite to my first game.” he murmurs.

you press the tickets close to your chest, as you give him a nod.

“y/n. the tour bus is here!” yuki screams at the end of the hall, frantic hands waving you over, as you turn back to satoru with a pinched look.

he smiles in response.

“don’t worry. i’ll see you in a week.” he responds.

the week that follows is agonizing.

you scavenge every corner of the internet to find out everything about him known to the public. where he lives, what he’s been up to, what team he plays for.

he’s the starting point guard for the lakers, his hometown team for where he’s lived for the past four years. it seems that he had made his escape from the suburbs around the same time that you had, by playing division one basketball at the university of southern california, before getting a straight bid into the nba.

he’s the youngest starting point guard in history. he’s broken his own all time record multiple times and was one of the youngest people to get signed on with the league.

he likes to cook. suguru made his way onto the team with him. the two of them are a dynamic duo – famous for their hilarious interviews. he’s a father. he adopted two kids that lived in his neighborhood after their dad tragically passed away – megumi and tsumiki.

and most of all, he’s the same as you left him. because in every interview you watch, you hear the same thing.

“satoru, which artist is on your pregame playlist?”

“if you could go to any concert, which would it be?”

“who do you dream to collaborate with in the future?”

it’s the same answer every time.

y/n l/n, of course.

you can hear his voice in your head already.

i knew what i wanted. and i got her.

the stadium is an overstimulating amount of loud – something exacerbated by how nervous you are – as you walk down the steps to the court, stomach erupting into a nervous mess of butterflies.

satoru gifted you courtside seats to the opening game. and if he was going to follow suit like he always did, his kids would be sitting right next to you, dead center to watch him play.

you catch sight of his white tufts of hair at the center of the court, fans in the stands excitedly pointing at him practicing free throws with his teammates, and snapping pictures. you see a group of girls in his jersey giggling at the side, zooming in to take photos and loudly talking about how hot he looked when he pushed his hair back with a headband during the game.

girls on twitter loved the headband. it seemed that among most things, one thing never changed – how much people adored satoru.

as you get closer to the lights, you can tell that people notice your attendance, hushed whispers and pointed fingers at you as you make your way down to the waxed court, your shoes clicking on the wood, as you walk over to your seat.

you hope satoru doesn’t think it’s too forward that you decided to wear his jersey – with his last name spelled out on the back – as you take a seat.

you wipe your sweaty hands on the pleats of your white tennis skirt, fiddling with the beaded bracelet on your hands, as one of satoru’s teammates eyes widen at the sight of you, before they all but run over to smack him across the shoulder.

satoru looks over at you, giving you a soft smile, as he drops the ball and starts making strides over to where you’re sitting. you can feel your cheeks burning as you stand up, waiting for him to fully approach and he does the same thing he used to – wrapping his hands around your wrists as he leans forward, the smallest sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“i’d hug you, but i’m a little gross right now, brainiac.” he murmurs.

you shake your head.

“no problem. these are nice seats.”

he smiles.

“i’d let you bring a friend, but i had to save –”

“the other two tickets for your kids. megumi and tsumiki. they’re your neighbor's kids, who you adopted after their dad passed away.” you finish.

satoru widens his eyes, before poking his tongue in the side of his cheek, and giving you a grin.

“did your research, did you?”

you shrug.

“i did. but i’d love to hear about it, if you’ll tell me...” you respond.

satoru laughs.

“tsumiki is a really big fan. megumi doesn’t believe me when i said that you and i used to date, but he doesn’t believe anything i say anyways. they’re my favorite people in the world. and i love to make dad jokes.” satoru responds.

you smile. of course he does.

“i’m excited to meet them. i’ll give tsumiki a whole personal concert. signed cds or vinyls, whatever you want.” you state.

“i’d withhold that for now. i think she’s going to have a heart attack from excitement all at once when she realizes daddy is dating her idol.”

you feel like you’re in high school. you feel like it’s thursday after lunch and satoru’s walking you to class, making jokes about how the two of you are going to end up together. saying you’re troy and gabriella, about how no one will understand each other like you, about how you’re going to be at the halftime show performance at his championship game.

“one last thing.” satoru states.

“what’s that?”

he reaches into the pocket of his shorts, procuring a set of blue earplugs and placing them in the palm of your hand.

“i remember you hate how loud it can get. and this is going to be ten times worse than our shitty school gym, so wear these.” satoru states.

you can’t help but frown at the thoughtfulness, looking back up at the bright smile he’s giving you, before squeezing his hand. satoru leans forward and pinches the softness of your cheek, before running back to the center of the court and practicing with the team.

you can tell that some of them are jeering at him – giggling behind him as he shoots from different parts of the court, and you memorize the permanent smile that seems to be etched on to his face. suguru gives you a wave, before blowing you a kiss, which earns him a hard shove from satoru on the court.

two months later, the two of you follow the same routine. satoru travels around the country for his games. you do the same for your tours – and whenever the cities overlap, which coincidentally every week they almost do – the two of you get dinner, eat breakfast. he insists on sleeping on his couch so you can take his bed, but you convince him to stay and just share.

satoru says the overlap is fate. you tell him that he’s ridiculous. he says that it has to be fate – that you have to be meant to be, because you get back into it just as quickly as the two of you fell into it.

satoru tells you that he’s proud of you. your fans post videos of him at your shows – bright smiles on his face as he sings along to all of the words of your songs. you decide to surprise him at the third show he comes to, by singing his favorite song – you belong with me. you both joke about how mei mei is pissed wherever she is.

you tell satoru that you’re proud of him too. you watch every game courtside and really, are just in awe of him as you are when you were seventeen, blue paint splattered on your cheeks as you cheer him on – the muffled sounds of the crowd in your ears. you always carry three pairs of ear plugs, the extra two for megumi and tsumiki.

you think you love him. you think you always will. you realize that no one was ever going to have your heart like he did.

satoru has a home game in los angeles in late august. and his manager invites you to the afterparty two minutes away from the stadium, your transportation arranged with megumi and tsumiki.

you think they’re adorable. you think satoru is the best dad.

at a whopping seven years old, tsumiki reminds you of satoru. full of energy and light, she talks a hundred words per minute. the second you walk into the afterparty, you watch as she beelines to the big group of people, suguru quickly picking her up as she starts chattering loudly.

megumi’s the opposite. a little shy for his age, you swear that he squeezes your hand harder as you stand at the doorway of the crowded room. and true to satoru’s words – he really didn’t believe that you and satoru used to be friends, let alone date, but states that it must be because satoru did some black magic on you.

he makes jokes like that all the time.

“you okay?” you ask.

“yeah. have you seen my dad?” he asks.

you frown.

“no.”

megumi gives you a halfhearted sigh.

“okay.”

megumi gets nervous. the only people he feels comfortable around are satoru and tsumiki.

“you know, your dad never changes. he used to do this to me all the time too.” you state.

“do what?”

“drag me to parties. it’s not really my scene.”

megumi smiles.

“really?”

you nod.

“i wouldn’t even know most of the people there. one time he took me to the birthday party of a girl who literally hated me.”

megumi laughs.

“of course he did. some romantic he makes himself out to be. but really, i don’t care. i just hate waiting for tsumiki to come back.” megumi states.

you smile in response.

“well, how about we wait in the kitchen? there’ll be less people there.”

you tug megumi along to the kitchen, quickly lifting him to sit on the counter, as you rummage through the fridge – trying to catch your breath from whatever alternate universe you’re living in.

you’re in satoru’s house, with all of his friends. his kids seem to like you. he scored the most points out of the game, including the winning shot with six seconds left on the scoreboard. you have no idea where he is or what you’re doing right now or –

“hi.”

you slam the door shut, only to find suguru getou towering over you, with a smile on his face.

“hi.” you respond, reaching up to tuck the hair behind your ears as you take a step back.

“it’s been a long time, girl scout.”

you try to stifle your sigh.

“sure has been.” you respond.

“satoru’s really keen on hiding you away.”

you awkwardly nod, twisting the silver rings on your hands, as you give him a smile.

“we’re just getting to know each other, that's all.” you respond.

suguru widens his eyes.

“what is there to find out? you’ve known each other since you were toddlers.” suguru responds.

you shrug.

“i don’t know. a lot of time has passed.” you murmur.

suguru pinches his eyes shut, in frustration.

“you’d think that would make the two of you more eager.” he responds.

“what do you mean?”

“if it were me, if i felt the way the two of you obviously do, then i’d get a move on. i’d be unable to contain it.”

you glare.

“you don’t know how we feel. and there’s a lot on the line here.”

suguru crosses his arms over his chest.

“do you like him?” suguru asks.

“what?”

“because he loves you. basketball has always been his dream, but even more so when he realized that it would be a reason to talk to you again. he’s listened to all of your albums the second they came out, seen you perform every time you came around these parts, and cursed the hell out of every movie star asshole who has talked shit about you publicly or hurt your feelings.” suguru responds.

you sigh.

“i’ll ask you again. do you like him? because he. loves. you. you make him so nervous that he won’t make the first move, just like he wouldn’t when you were sixteen.”

“of course i do. i –”

“do i need to threaten to kiss you again?” suguru asks.

it’s right at that second that satoru parades into the kitchen and you can tell from the way that he yanks suguru back by the year that he only heard the very end of the conversation.

“that joke doesn’t get any funnier the fifth time you say it.” satoru seethes.

“get a move on before i do, dumbass.” suguru responds, giving satoru one last shove before walking off.

you don’t have time to think about his words, but one thought crosses your mind – that suguru might have been so insistent at that party all of those years ago, because he knew it would push something forward between the two of you.

he sure had a strange way of being a wingman.

at the sight of satoru, megumi’s holding his little hands out – something satoru obliges to as he picks him up – before turning over to face you.

“do you want me to kill him?” he asks.

you smile.

“i know he’s just kidding.” you respond.

satoru rolls his eyes.

“i was kind of hoping you would say yes.”

“did you used to date suguru too?” megumi asks.

you widen your eyes.

“absolutely not. just your dad, no one else.” you respond.

“god megumi, that’s not just something that you can ask someone.” tsumiki murmurs, padding into the kitchen with pink cheeks, as she wraps her arm around your leg.

you return the affection, reaching down to push her bangs away from her forehead, as you look back at satoru. he stares a little too long, before looking over at megumi and whispering.

“can you and tsumiki take a walk real quick?”

megumi gives him a nod as satoru sets him down, the two of them walking away hand in hand to the other side of the room, as satoru turns back to you, reaching forward to wrap his hands around your wrists.

“hey.” he whispers.

“hi.” you whisper back.

he leans forward, resting his forehead against yours.

“did you enjoy the game?”

“sure did. tsumiki and i shared rainbow airheads. and megumi gave me a really big hug after you won, which almost made me cry.” you respond.

“i’ll say. i almost cried when i saw all three of you hugging on the jumbotron.”

you lean forward, pressing yourself against his chest, as you link your arms together behind his back. you can hear suguru’s words racing through your mind – if it were me i wouldn’t be able to contain it, do you like him? because he loves you – and it makes your skin burn.

“hey. you okay?” satoru asks.

you say the only thing that you can think of.

“yeah. i’m just…really happy..” you whisper.

satoru pinches your cheek.

“me too.” he responds.

“ever since i left, my life has changed, so drastically, so quickly. i went from being a girl from a small suburb in new york to being someone that…that a lot of people knew about. wanted to know about. sometimes this stuff makes me feel like i’m not really that person anymore.”

you pause.

“but every time you look at me i can…i do feel like that again. like someone who was in high school, who hated school dances, and did the morning announcements. someone who loved you. who was with you.”

you sigh.

“no one’s ever had me like you. i don’t know if you’re joking when you say it, but it really is fate. you really are….are my soulmate or my invisible string or whatever. you…you’re it for me.”

satoru lets go of your wrists, before reaching for the closest cupboard and reaching for a bottle, and placing it flat on the floor. he’s crouching on his knees, your chest so full of love you can barely stomach it, as he gestures for you to crouch on the floor close to him, his cheeks pink in the light.

you watch as he spins the bottle, only for it to miss and land on the fridge.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me...” satoru responds.

he reaches forward, twisting the bottle so it faces you, before looking at you expectantly. the same way he looked every other time – waiting for you to tell him what your dream job was, waiting for you to kiss him, and now waiting for you to confess for a second time.

“are you going to kiss me, y/n?”

you whisper it against his lips.

“guess what?”

“what?”

“i knew what i wanted. and i got him.”

an: our very first ttpd gojo as taylor <3 this post was sponsored by @yuutito, @neptuneblue, and @um-no-ok through my participation in fics for gaza! thank you so much for donating - I hope you liked the piece!!! i went a little bit over the promised wordcount as I started writing, but left it as is to be posted since we met the goal. a reminder that i'm still taking submissions for my wips (i'll be putting a new one up) and for requests!

the gojo as taylor masterlist

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog @k0z3me @sugu-love @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @torureadz @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga

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strangelysamantha · 4 months ago

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heart to heart ❀

steve harrington x fem!reader.

warnings: mention of being drugged, but otherwise pure fluff.

words: 987.

summary: at the starcourt mall bathroom, you and steve have a heart to heart.

request? no

a/n: it won’t let me insert links anymore and i’m very upset about it. but i’m happy to be writing again so i guess i have that going for me! can’t wait to produce a bunch of stranger things content.

my masterlist

—————————————-

you lay on the floor of the bathroom, your back slouched against the wall. your head wasn’t spinning as bad so that was good, but now the spiral to sobriety made your mind rush with thoughts. the starcourt mall had harsh lights, and you struggled to stick with any thoughts, overwhelmed by the torture you had barely escaped from. steve harrington was quiet in the stall next to you. a groan emitting from your lips. “are you okay steve?” you find the courage to question. you were nervous to break the silence, but if you had to endure it any longer you would explode. he hesitates, “yeah, i think uh,” he waits, “i think im alright.” you nod, although he’s unable to acknowledge it. “how about you? are you okay over there?” you stay quiet, unsure how to answer. “hello?” there’s worry in his voice, and he doesn’t wait to slide under the stall door to comfort you.

you grimace at him, “do you realize how gross the bathroom floor is?” you crack a smile, amused. he shrugs, “after all that fighting today, i already needed to wash the uniform, what difference will it make?” the two of you break out into laughter, “maybe it’s not fully out of our system yet.” this makes you laugh even harder. you take a moment to catch your breath. “steve?” he hums in response, “i’m glad i was with you in the battle against the russians.” he makes eye contact with you, “true, i’m pretty badass aren’t i?” you bite your lip nervously, “yes but you did deal with alot though.” he looks away, “i just want you to know im here for you. i mean what else can we go through that’s going to top breaking into a hidden russian lair?”

“i hope nothing… but this town is crawling with bad people. you can’t ever be safe.” his demeanor hurts, the pitiful comment causes your heart to sting. “yeah that’s what scares me.” you admit. “we’ll get through it together okay? we’re a good team.” you nod at his reassuring words, “let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.” you collect your thoughts, “it’s funny to think that just last week we scooped ice cream for a living, and then we almost died.” steve smirks, “it’s quite the story to tell though.”

“don’t you miss high school? the only worry we had was about homework due dates, and trying not to fall asleep during lectures?” he reminisces, “it was easier, but time moves forward, and you get hardships thrown your way. i don’t know where i’ll be in a few years.” he continues, “it’s hard to think about the future, when the present is not enjoyable.” “i know, we should be out having fun, not worried about our hometown being invaded.” saying the words made the situation real, and the idea of your future was unimaginable. “do you still love nancy?” you question. he sighs, “yes, and no.” he thinks about it, you can tell by his face. “i miss what we had, the love was real, but time passed. we both grew into ourselves; there’s no point in ruining that growth.” his stance caught you by surprise, but you appreciated his honesty. “i had a first love too. it was different; it was a love that consumed me, but i lost who i was in the process. it’s hard to go back to someone when you know it didn’t work out for a reason.” he silently agrees, “have you moved on?” he asks. “yes, and no.” you giggle, “i’ve moved on, but sometimes i long for it. it was safe, predictable, but i know in my heart that things will work out for me.” steve’s eyes lock with yours.

you can’t read what he’s feeling, you’re filled with nerves. “i like you steve.” his lips curved, “you do?” you laugh slightly, “of course i do steve. you saved my life today. you make working at scoops ahoy fun. you’re playful, and witty. you treat me with so much kindness. and maybe i’m misreading this thing between us.” you back peddled slightly, worried you might have overstepped. “i like you too, today you brought out a side of me, one i hadn’t seen in awhile. you gave me hope, a reason.” you stomach fills with butterflies as his gaze lingers over you. you scooch forward, placing your hand over his. “steve, i really-.” unfortunately dustin and erica barge into the bathroom, before he rolls his eyes. “okay… what the hell?” steve and you glance at each other before returning your eyes to dustin. together you both emit into hysterical laughter at dustin’s comment. “get up we have to go.” he urges you up and rushes you to the door, erica’s face is stern and her hand is on her hip as she impatiently waited for you two to stand up. the four of you leave the bathroom, determined to escape the mall. you stay back, letting erica and dustin lead the way. you glance over at steve, your hand instinctively reaching for his as the nerves wash over you. he happily holds it, he looks over to you, his teeth bright. “you make me really happy.” he squeezes your hand. “you make me really happy too steve.” he chuckles slightly. “maybe after we escape, i can take you on a date?” a rose tint lifted to your cheeks as shyness crept up. “yes please.” the two of you continue to hold hands as you hurriedly tried to blend in with the crowd of people leaving the theater; however you see men in all black, guarding the exit. dustin tells you guys to abort and to turn around, and you frantically run to the lower level. fear was instilled inside you, however; with steve by your side you felt confident that you would make it to your guys first date.

🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

#steve fluff #steve x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington story #steve harrington x reader fluff #fluff #fanfic #steve fanfic #stranger things steve #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fluff #stranger things

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spicerackofblorbos · 6 months ago

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-> link to event info and masterlist

Stargazing - The Neighbourhood Death Island Leon S. Kennedy x afab!Reader

Push until it pops, tryna clear my thoughts Better keep the ac on for me, not enough. Windows start to fog, clothin' coming off Making it too hot, you got me thinking Pull it out of park, put it in drive I can feel your heart beatin’ with mine. Underneath the stars, lookin' for a sign Glowin' in the dark til the sun shines.

☾ content/warnings ➼ Death Island Leon, smut (MDNI), car sex, semi-public sex, afab!reader, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it bbys), use of baby as pet name, slightly dominant Leon ☾ wc ➼ ~1.9k (it's not favoritism I swear! (lies))

The night had started off as pure as it could be given the circumstances of where y’all were. Leon had swung by around 8PM, picking you up in his old mustang that he put back together over a whole summer last year. For tonight’s date, he was taking you to the drive-in movies where they were showing the newest action movie of the season. He was adorable when he suggested it, how could you say no?

Leon wanted to get a spot in the back. He said it was because the screen was so large that it was better from that distance, and that happens to be a good thing. Because, fifteen minutes into the movie, you feel his large, calloused palm sliding up and down the inner side of your thigh.

“Leon, what are you doing?” You ask, resting your elbow on the open window with your head propped up. Your head turns in his direction to see him feigning focus on the film ahead. The faint sounds of shooting guns and screams weave through the air from the speakers and radios in people’s cars.

“Just making sure you’re still with me.” He leans his head back on the headrest, lolling to the side to face you with a lopsided grin.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re being a little too frisky in a very public place.” You raise an eyebrow at him. Despite your words, you can’t squash the arousal of the idea of being taken right here.

“And if I was?” His hand reaches up to gently grab your chin, forcing you to face him.

“Leon!” You hiss, your eyes searching for any semblance of a joke.

While there are hints of humor in his baby blues, there’s not a single trace of jest.

“You can back out, you know. But something tells me you won’t.” He taunts, leaning forward to slowly capture your lips in his, warm and gentle. His stubble pokes into your face as you can’t help but to melt into his touch. You can feel him smiling against your lips at yet another triumph.

“Shaddup.” You say before placing both hands on Leon’s face, holding him closer. The sounds of shifting can be heard as you and Leon face each other in your respective seats, lip-locked with each other.

After what seems like an hour, you both pull apart, a trail of saliva connecting you both before splitting in the middle.

“Mr. Kennedy, you are trouble.” You whisper.

Leon can’t focus on anything other than the throbbing in his pants and the look of your swollen lips and starry eyes.

“That’s what I’m told.” He smirks before turning on the AC and rolling up his tinted windows. Like a child, he smiles mischievously before locking the doors and turning around to wiggle into the backseat over the center console. It’s not graceful by any means, and you can’t help but laugh at the silly visual of his ass in the air as he tries not to hurt himself.

“Careful, old man.” You say lovingly.

Eventually, he makes it to the backseat, sitting in the middle and facing you. With a smirk, he pats his spread legs, asking an unspoken question.

Are you going to join me?

With a big eye roll and a sigh, you comply. You’re a little more graceful as you make your way back just like he did, giggling as you do. It’s almost as if you were both back in high school, 30’s be damned.

When you make it back there, before you move anywhere else, Leon grabs you by the hips and sits you down on his lap, now you’re facing him with your plush chest straight into his face. From this position, you can feel just how aroused he is for you.

“You didn’t bring me out here just to fuck me, did you?” You tease, pulling back to look down at your boyfriend.

“No, but it’s a bonus. We’ll just rent the movie later.” He smiles up at you before pinching your chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting your face down to his to capture your lips in his again, this one heated.

While he nips at your bottom lip, he slides his hands under your shirt to feel the curves of your waist and up to your chest. One hand slides to the small of your back, the other tugs down one of your bra cups before enveloping your soft breast in his large hand, his fingers squeezing it as if it were made of memory foam. Slowly, he trails kisses down your jaw and to your neck, licking at your sensitive skin before sucking on it gently. The multiple areas of attack rewards Leon with a few of your soft moans.

Unconsciously, you start rolling your hips, your now soaked heat rubbing against Leon’s very obvious reaction to you. A hiss escapes between his teeth at that. Your hands tug up his shirt, him getting the hint right away. Awkwardly, he grabs the hem of the thin clothing, pulling it over his head before throwing it into the driver’s seat.

“Your turn.” Leon growls, grabbing the hem of your shirt and practically ripping it off you. He doesn’t stop there, reaching behind to unclasp your bra and letting the material slide off your arms and onto the carpeted floor of the car.

“You’re so fucking pretty.” He leans forward to capture your hardened nipple in his teeth gently, flicking his tongue out at it before enveloping your breast into his hot mouth. After a few seconds, Leon let’s go with a ‘pop’ before looking up at you. “So fucking perfect, you know that?” He sticks his tongue out and trails it over to your other breast, doing the same as he did with the other one. His hands slide down your sides and hips before resting on your ass, fingers squeezing hard as he leaves gentle bite marks on your soft skin.

“Want you…” You pant out, looking down at him with half-lidded eyes. “Want more of you.” You breathe out. Your hands at this point had slid up into Leon’s brunette hair, tangling your fingers in his soft locks as you lean down, pressing your chest up against his while you meet his lips again, pouring every ounce of love and obsession you have for this man.

While he parts your mouth with his tongue, allowing it to explore, he lifts your ass up until you’re on your knees. Quickly he finds the buttons to your shorts, undoing them as well as the zipper with deft fingers. You break away to help him, awkwardly wiggling out of them and your underwear and discarding them on the floor to keep your bra company.

Leon can’t help it, he cups your heat with his large palm before sliding it up, letting his fingers gather a bit of your arousal that you’ve been leaking this whole time. He brings those fingers to his mouth and sucks on them while staring at you. “And so fucking delicious.” He continues from his previous statements.

While you were on your knees, he took no time to unbuckle and unbutton his jeans, lifting his hips up to tug them down with his boxers until his large cock springs free, his tip angry red and glistening with pre-cum.

“Ride me, baby. Show me how much I mean to you.” Leon demands, his hands sitting on your hips and squeezing.

Gently, he guides you to where you’re hovering over his length, his tip teasing your entrance. With a bite of your bottom lip, you lower down, taking him slowly until you’re at his hilt as you moan softly. You don’t move, taking the time to adjust to his size. Leon leans forward again, giving you a bruising kiss, sliding one of his hands up your stomach, through the valley of your breasts, and up and around your neck as he holds you there.

Together, you both start moving. His hand on your hip helps guide you up and down while you use your knees as leverage, rocking into him. Soon enough, the car is filled with harmonious moans and the quiet slapping of skin. Even with the AC on, the car feels hot. The windows start to fog with every heavy breath from the two of you.

Leon’s lips make their way back to your neck, nipping and sucking, no doubt leaving a mark for you to see in the morning.

Good, he thinks. You’re his, everyone needs to know that.

Both large hands find purchase on your ass again, his fingers squeezing tight as he helps you slam down on him more.

“Fuck, you feel so good, baby. Taking me so well.” Leon groans, his toes curling from the tightness of your heat, so warm and so familiar to him.

“L-Leon..” You whimper, leaning forward as you wrap your arms around Leon’s neck, holding him close and tangling your fingers in his hair again. From this position, his body provides much needed friction against your sensitive clit that you can feel your impending climax coming sooner than later. “I’m gonna-” Your moan cuts off from Leon grabbing your hair and pulling you down into a heated kiss.

“Cum for me.” He demands against your lips, capturing your bottom lip in his and sucking. He reaches down with a hand and uses his thumb to circle your sensitive bud, helping you along.

Leon can tell by the clenching of your walls that you’re just a moment from coming undone, so he presses his lips against yours, swallowing your moans as you convulse on top of him. Your nails dig into Leon’s scalp as you ride your orgasm, the bliss so strong that you can see stars behind your eyelids.

“Fu-uck” Leon groans as he continues to rut into you, chasing his high from the feeling of your clenching walls and the sounds of your moans. With one more thrust up into you, he stills as he shoots thick white ropes into you, his head thrown back on the seat rest as he whines out your name.

There’s a moment of silence between you two, the only noises heard are the heavy pants shared between you both as well as the muffled words and sound effects from the movie still playing on the big screen.

You slump over, resting your head on Leon’s shoulder as you feel his now softening cock twitch inside you. He wraps his arms around your waist and holds you close, placing a soft kiss on your sweaty temple.

“Do you even know what movie we went to go see?” You ask finally, breathing now back to normal, but you still don’t move off him.

“Absolutely not.” Leon chuckles, kissing your forehead this time. “We can just go to my place and watch a movie there.”

You sit up and stare at him incredulously. He only stares back with a raised eyebrow.

“Are we actually watching it or are you going to run your hands up my thighs again?”

“Only one way to find out.” He gives you another lopsided grin.

#sky.events.summerofsongs #i just wrote the fuck outta this at 2am #not beta read we die like men #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #x reader #resident evil #resident evil death island #leon kennedy death island #Spotify

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elsecrytt · 4 months ago

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Kinktober - Day 1

Nipple Clamps | Cum Play | Virginity

Pairing: Satoru Gojo/Reader

“You can’t possibly be – ” You pause for a moment to actually think about it. “No… no, I see it.”

Gojo is unbelievably annoying even to his own friends. It wouldn’t be surprising that if he really, truly, couldn’t get anyone to hang around long enough for him to stick his dick in them and get off.

To be fair, that second part would probably only take a moment.

“I said don’t make fun of me for it,” Gojo whines, like a whiner, “I thought this was a safe space for me to open up about something personal, and you’re throwing it in my face.”

He’s great at using words to craft a compelling argument that he doesn’t remotely believe in. “Really? It’s just sex, it’s not a big deal that you haven’t done it yet.”

“If it’s not that important, why were you so surprised?” His lips twist into an unfortunately cute pout. “It’s uncool, isn’t it? You don’t think I’m cool anymore.”

“I didn’t think you were cool to begin with.”

“Wrong!” He lets those stupid ugly sunglasses slide down his awful, handsome visage, “You think I’m way cool! I’m literally the strongest sorcerer of this generation. Maybe all generations.”

It’s worthy of an eye roll. You’d thought he’d grown out of his dumb power trip phase, like how Geto went through the cult thing for a bit back in high school. Then again, Geto got therapy.

“And you still couldn’t get anyone to sleep with you.” You meet his eyes as he stares at you over his glasses. “Or… are you saving it for someone special?”

That has his cheeks flushing. “Hmph. Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve had some willing parties before. Or is your personality that repulsive?” You would never tell him, but with a face like his, there had to be someone who’d put up with his shitty attitude.

“Heh,” His deflated ego seems to puff up a bit, “I have had offers, come to think of it. Loads of them, actually.”

“Well, I’m glad they all got out all right.” You stretch, holding your arms high above your head, in a way that definitely doesn’t make your boobs more prominent, “So what, none of them were hot enough for you? Or was Mei Mei too expensive?”

Gojo snorts, “Mei Mei would’ve milked me for a baby. Way worse than just paying.”

“Oh, you’re right.” She totally would have. But it doesn’t escape you that he didn’t answer your other question. Still hasn’t, actually. “You still haven’t told me why you’re still a virgin.”

You give him a shit-eating grin. “Are you afraid you won’t be able to perform?”

His lips press together in a tight line, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would, actually.” He’s too cute like this, deflecting left and right like he doesn’t have infinity on already. Like he’s afraid he’s gonna get hit. “If you’re not answering, I’ll have to assume that’s the reason. You’re just shy… how cute.”

It’s very cute, actually. Satoru Gojo, pure as undriven snow. A proud and haughty beauty just waiting to be plundered.

“If I was shy, I wouldn’t have told you I was a virgin,” Gojo huffs.

He still doesn’t want to answer… “So how virgin are you, then? Ever gotten a blow job?” You step closer to him, “Maybe a handy?” Closer, still, “A kiss?”

Look at him and his pretty pink cheeks. His face is so youthful underneath the glasses. If he weren’t so tall you really would think he was a teenager.

Gojo licks his lips, seemingly nervously. Shifts, like he’s unsteady on his feet. But he’s a sorcerer, one of the most powerful ones ever. He can literally teleport. He can put infinity between him and anything that he doesn’t want to touch him.

So when you lean in to steal his lips, it’s because he lets you –

Wants you to.

(You smile into the kiss. His lips are soft and sweet like strawberry lip gloss.)

You’re pretty sure now that he really is a virgin, even if he’s been trying to seduce you.

At least, that’s what he looks like. A proper virgin just about to be ravished – spread out on your bed, naked and blushing, pretty cock bobbing against his sculpted abs. Crystal blue eyes staring up at you from pure white lashes. His unfalteringly beautiful face full of pleading and pouting in equal measure.

From the way he moans – a quaking sound, like his lungs don’t know how to release this breath – when you wrap your hands around the length of him. It’s all pink and dusky purples, even more flushed than his lovely cheeks, hard and twitching in your hand.

You’d never seen a dick that you’d call good-looking before. God really did have favorites, huh?

“Come onnnn,” He whines, even as he throws his head back and bucks into your grip, “Stop fooling around already.”

Heh. “How like a virgin. You really want to skip all the good stuff and go straight to the climax? Honestly, I’m not sure you’ll last once it’s in.”

Gojo sniffs, and the gesture is unreasonably cute for an adult man with muscles on his abdomen that ripple when you squeeze him, “So what if I don’t? You think I’d have problems getting it back up with you on top of me?”

Oh. Oh, hell. What a line from a virgin… You feel your face heating up.

Even worse, you can feel him noticing. That awful, terrible, dimpled smile lifted high at one end as his eyes glitter at you. “Come ooooon, just – hngh, just a little more~ I promise you can play with it again right away~”

God, he must be watching the good porn, to be saying shit like this.

“You’re so easy,” You bite back, swallowing as you pump your hand along his length. Running your thumb over his weeping tip. Gojo groans as you trace it, quivering underneath you.

It’s so bright and rounded, smooth to the touch. It looks… juicy.

“Nah,” Gojo pants out, lashes fluttering, “I’m hard. Super hard. All your fault, actually.”

He’s shuddering, you know he must be close, but he’s talking this big a game. You don’t know why you’re surprised. He’s a natural at being a nuisance.

“You sound like you’re right at home,” You accuse, leaning in closer to his face as you pump him faster, closer, a little more, just like he asked, “Jerk off much?”

A strangled, wounded noise makes its way out of his throat. “Just to you, babe, please, please, fuck, I’m close – ”

It doesn’t take more than a longer, harsher pump with you squeezing at the end for him to spurt out into your hand. You get the pleasure of watching him come undone – eyes flickering, rolling upwards, pretty mouth dropping wide open, Gojo would be a proper whore if he weren’t a complete virgin.

You can’t stop yourself from diving in, littering kisses over his frustratingly beautiful face, down his throat, his heaving chest. Carefully pulling away as he starts to whimper in overstimulation.

“So… you jerk off to me, huh?”

A half-indignant, half-whining groan is your well-earned victory.

“Come on now, Gojo, you can’t be embarrassed now. We’ve got so much left to do…” Your eyelids lower as you smirk at him, licking your lips. Staring at his reddened face with unabashed delight.

The way he shivers at your grin – cock twitching, rising already. God really had favorites.

“You did promise I could play with it again right away~”

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #satoru gojo smut #gojo x reader #kinktober #lemon

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tyunkus · 1 year ago

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hshdbsbfb m thinking about hooking up w taehyun at some hs reunion or something 🥲🥲🥲 so much pent up horniness and desire that he takes out on u 🥲🥲 AGH

“You make me feel insane just by existing,” Taehyun mumbles, leaning in closer. He smells exactly like he used to back in high school—fresh linen and honeysuckle-scented fabric softener. He breathes out sharply, his gaze shifting from your torso to your face. “Can I touch you, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and you can’t help the way your voice cracks mid-syllable, your hands latching onto his shoulders. “Yes, please.”

“Yeah? Do you want me to?” He smiles as he says it, the corners of his lips raising just a tiny bit, and then you meet eyes. You have never seen him like this, dark and sultry gaze on yours.

“Fuck off,” you whine, and Taehyun giggles, finally placing both palms over your waist. You try to steady your breathing, but it trails off into a whimper as you move your hands down to his biceps and graze your fingernails lightly over the tan skin. Fuck. Fuck. “You’re so—fucking—I—”

“Can’t think already?” Taehyun teases, his hands lowering to your hips, then sliding over right above your ass. He presses a kiss to your neck, breathing you in, and you are entirely obsessed with the warmth, the gentleness of it. He kisses you several more times on your neck, your throat, your collarbones, your jaw—irregular, but you cant your hips forward, wanting more. “It’s okay, baby. Feel so good you’re having a hard time, huh? I can see it. But you don’t need to think, angel, not when you have me. I’ll take care of you, dumb you down a bit, does that sound good?”

“Taehyun—”

He bites down below your collarbone, places a kiss right after. “How do you want it, princess?”

You can’t breathe. Literally, you feel out of breath with every touch, and he just keeps giving. You’re so wet your panties are practically sticking to you, but you can’t let him know now, not when you haven’t even had your fun yet. “However you want it,” you tell him, reaching a hand up to run through his hair, then tugging gently. “I’ll take whatever you give to me.”

“You sure?”

“Mmhm.”

“What if I give it to you slow? Kiss you and touch your waist and tits and neck but never touch your pretty pussy? You’ll take that? Be a good girl and let it happen? You won’t start crying for my cock, right?” His hands have moved up to cup your cheeks and you feel your body relaxing with each filthy thought he feeds into your brain. Taehyun smiles, apparently still not done yet, and lands a soft smack against the side of your face, effectively grabbing your attention. “And what if I gave it to you rough, huh? Would you take it then, too? If I spank you until you’re pretty pink and edge you until you’re a crying little mess from my fingers you’ll still want more? Still gonna be all sweet and wet for me? Even if I treat you like a toy?”

You keen, embarrassingly, nodding with fervor. His fingers graze your tummy before they slip underneath your underwear, and his gaze lights up at yout wetness.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he says, absolutely delighted, dipping a finger in. Your knees buckle, but he keeps a firm grip on you. “So fucking wet and I’ve barely even done anything. What a dirty girl.”

#txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #taehyun hard hours #taehyun smut #taehyun hard thoughts

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seravphs · 2 years ago

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beating hearts promised to bared teeth — part one: “The God Finds A Familiar”

KITSUNE! GOJO x GOD! FEM READER; KAMISAMA HAJIMEMASHITA AU

When a kind stranger offers you his home because your gambling addict of a father can’t pay rent, you’re left in charge of a shrine - with a catch. Once you arrive at your new home, you learn a crucial fact that he conveniently left out. You’re the new god in charge, and his familiar, who now belongs to you, does not like you. What’s a new god to do, especially when she finds herself slowly falling for the fox spirit?

wc — 10k

tags — enemies to lovers, shoujo manga heroine type reader, Japanese mythology/yokai, age gap (1000 year old fox and high school girl), slowburn, cameo from Sukuna, Toji, and Nanami, cameo from original Kamisama Hajimemashita cast

part two — “The God Finds A Husband” (coming soon)

shoujo series masterlist

If your stomach growls any louder, you’ll scare off the squirrels fighting over the end of a baguette loaf by the park bench you’re sitting on.

You’re currently in the middle of what others might describe as very hard times. To be honest, your very hard times have been going on for a while now - they just culminated at this specific moment. Regardless, these days are only temporary. You’ve promised yourself that one day, you’ll be able to smile from the bottom of your heart.

It’s just that it was easier said than done when you weren’t homeless. Your father has never been the most reliable of men. You had to take over the household finances by the time you were eight, so you’ve always been accustomed to his lack of responsibility, but today really solidified his status in your mind as an absolutely useless, no good man. It’s unfathomable cruelty to have left his only daughter with no money, no relatives, and no home.

You don’t want to call it cruel. For all of his faults, you still love your father. And it’s because you love him that you know this wasn’t a cruel act. Cruelty is intentional. It’s malicious. It comes from a desire to hurt. Your father has never wanted to hurt you. It’s just a byproduct of his gambling addiction. You’re collateral damage in his quest for the jackpot that would solve all his problems.

You double over in agony at the renewed complaints from your stomach. At least you’ve gone from scaring mere squirrels to scaring passersby. That’s an upgrade, right?

One woman clutches her purse closer as she walks past you as briskly as possible. You get it, you look bad.

But there’s no use being resentful. Your father has been barely one step above a deadbeat all your life. At the very least, you’re used to fending for yourself. Your stomach growls again, but you’re determined to ignore it. You need a plan of action. One step after another, you’ll make it out of these troublesome times.

Before you can start to plot, a loud cry for help catches your attention. It sounds like someone else is in even more dire straits than you are, which is saying a lot.

The squirrels have long since scattered, run off not by the scary noises coming from your famished stomach, but a pack of dogs. Somehow, a man has climbed several feet into the tree next to the trash can, and now perched precariously in its branches. Below him, curious dogs tilt their heads and give cautious barks.

“Aw, hello there, cuties,” you coo, rubbing behind their ears. They yip at you enthusiastically. One sets to chasing his own tail around the tree. They seem friendly enough, but you suppose one can’t help their phobias. A little regretfully, you chase them off.

“Go on now,” you tell the last one, leading him away. He whines, but does as you say. What a good boy.

“Thank you,” says the stranger stranded in the tree. He slides down the trunk, face slowly regaining color. “I owe you my life.”

“It was nothing!” You smile, but he won’t let you brush off your good deed.

“You’re a good kid,” he nods approvingly. “Gotta reward that. Is there anything you want?”

A home.

Not just the house you shared with your father, but somewhere warm to return to. A person who waits to see you safely inside the threshold.

But you know a stranger can’t give you that, so you shake your head and smile. “Really, it was nothing. You don’t owe me anything.”

As if he had heard your inner monologue, the stranger raises an eyebrow. “A home, hm? I might be able to help with that.”

Before you can react, he leans in and kisses your forehead. Where his lips touched your skin feels faintly warm and tingly, almost like the sensation of your leg going numb, before you recoil from him in shock.

He presses a map into your hand and tells you, “Go to this address. Tell them Yaga sent you, and you’ll be welcomed with open arms.”

With that, he runs off.

What a strange man.

Well, you’ve had a strange life, taking care of your hopeless father and all. Perhaps these things really did happen. It wasn’t so impossible for strangers to appear out of nowhere and reward you for good deeds. Maybe all the fairytales your father had read to you back when he hadn’t been so terrible were true.

Or maybe that was the wishful thinking of an optimistically delusional girl who needed somewhere to stay desperately.

The address is located on the outskirts of town. Pushing deeper into foliage and closer to forest than civilization, you find the location you had been sent to.

It’s a shrine.

A run-down shrine, of all places.

Are you on a comedy show? Should you start checking for cameras?

Against your will, you feel your eyes grow hot. That was a cruel trick to play. He had gotten your hopes up for nothing.

It’s not just your eyes. Your entire body starts to feel warm. The world around you erupts into blue flame. Heat licks at your shins as you scramble towards safety, closer to the center of the circle that has formed around you.

When the flames suddenly leap, as if they’ll consume the entire sky, you scream and drop to your knees, covering your head like it’s a bomb threat. Two childish voices ring in your head, as clear and crisp as bells.

Welcome home, Yaga-sama.

It’s a shrine. There’s only one logical conclusion.

This is a haunting.

There’s only one safe path out of the ring of fire, and it’s towards the building you’ve now concluded is the site of paranormal activity. Between being actively burned alive or facing spirits though, you know which one you’ll choose.

Your frantic fingers fumble over the latch on the shrine’s red doors as the fire inches closer and closer until you can feel its heat on your back. Finally, you throw open the doors and all but launch yourself inside. The heat recedes, but the voices do not.

“Back already, Yaga?” A male voice drawls. “I thought your pilgrimage would’ve taken longer. After leaving me to maintain the shrine by myself for sixty years -“

You shriek as an enormous, clawed hand comes down towards your face. Your eyes squeeze shut, waiting for the end.

“I’m not Yaga,” you wail, hoping it will save you.

“You have a lot of nerve?” The voice finishes, more uncertainly than before. When you deem it safe to open your eyes once more, what stands before is a young man dressed in all white. White hair and blue eyes make for a staring constraint, but his coloring isn’t what’s strange about him.

It’s his clawed hands and the equally white fox tail behind him.

“Megumi, Tsumiki,” he says authoritatively. “This isn’t Yaga.”

A shining ball of fire comes forward, speaking in the little girl’s voice you heard earlier. “That can’t be right! Look, she has the mark of the god on her forehead.”

You touch your forehead, remembering the warm tingly sensation you had felt when that man kissed you. Feeling slightly delirious, you start to laugh, only to grow alarmed when you find you can’t stop. You’re growing out of breath from your near hysterical laughing, tears streaming out of the corners of your eyes.

“Oh, great,” says the fox spirit. “She’s crazy.”

“She’s the one with the mark,” the other ball of fire, Megumi, says. “That means she’s the god whether you like it or not, Gojo.”

Tsumiki darts over to you, but halfway through her journey, she goes from fire to a little child just under 2 feet tall. She’s wearing a mask and plain blue yukata.

“We have to celebrate!” She claps her hands together in excitement. “Our god has finally returned!”

Gojo looks dismissively down on you. Your laughing fit is finally starting to die down, but he doesn’t seem impressed regardless. “What god? I won’t accept a little human girl as my master. She couldn’t handle the strength of a familiar like me.”

His condescension only makes you giggle harder. You can’t help it. Something about the fluffy fox ears protruding out of his head makes it hard to take him seriously.

“What strength?” You laugh in his face. “This shrine is so dilapidated, I doubt you’re anything special.”

Gojo looks away. “If she stays, I’m leaving. I won’t serve this kind of pathetic god.”

He disappears in a cloud of white smoke before Tsumiki can finish saying, “Don’t be like that!”

The will-o-wisp children introduce themselves to you as shrine spirits who look after the building. It takes a while, but by the time they kindly show you to the room where you’ll be staying, you can distinguish Tsumiki from Megumi by the differences in the masks they never take off.

Your room is simple and threadbare. The walls are paneled bamboo and the only furnishing is an old futon. Still, you’re grateful. It’s leagues better than sleeping in the woods, which is what you started this day fearing you would have to resort to. You’ve never been the type to complain, and you won’t start now, no matter how strange your life has gotten.

Fox spirits and will-o-wisp children don’t exist. They’re the stuff of myths. Maybe you’re just seeing things because you’re tired, you muse as you drift off to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning after a nice, long rest. The events of today will feel so far away, and you’ll be able to start over.

Or maybe you’re dead already, and you’re wandering in the Netherworld. Perhaps the reason you can see spirits is because you’re currently residing in their land. Your entire body seizes up as you jolt yourself back to wakefulness.

“Kamisama,” Tsumiki has crept back into your room. “Are you alright?”

You tell her to call you by her name. Calling you god just doesn’t feel right.

Gently, she nestles down by your pillow and puts her cold little hands on your forehead. Rather than shocking to your senses, it feels pleasant. When you were a little girl and got sick, your father used to let you stay home from school. He’d pack a towel with ice cubes and place it on your overheated forehead, staying up with you all night just to chat. It’s a good memory.

“It’ll be alright,” Tsumiki tells you in her gentle voice. “You’ll see.”

For spirits that supposedly take care of the shrine, you have a suspicion that Tsumiki and Megumi are pushing their work onto you when they brief you on your chores the next morning. It turns out godhood is a lot less summoning storms and a lot more doing yard work.

Tsumiki insists that keeping the shrine pure is important for keeping evil spirits away. For some reason, that means cleaning. When you ask about calling lightning or summoning lions, Megumi laughs at you.

“That’s Getou-sama’s job,” he says. “Your specialty is marriage. Yaga was very good at tying peoples’ fates together. You will be, too.”

He has more faith than you do in that regard. When it comes to chores, however, you’re more certain of your abilities. Busy work keeps the absurdity of your situation from sinking in, and you’re good at running the household from years of dealing with your father. You’re grateful for something to do. If you think about the past day too hard, you might break down into shocked laughter and never get back up.

Besides, even if you don’t feel particularly ready to be a god, Tsumiki and Megumi are letting you stay in the shrine. You have to earn your keep. Soon, you settle into the process of cleaning, letting the methodical, rhythmic nature of your movements erase any doubts in your mind. You think of nothing but the cooling sensation of the water when you dip your rag into the bucket and the clean, woody scent of the shrine as you scrub the wood.

“Ooh,” Tsumiki says approvingly when she appears. “It looks better already! Can you do the lawn next?”

Plucking weeds is notably less soothing than cleaning. With no gloves, you’re careful to avoid hurting yourself as you tug on spiky vines and knotted twigs, but it’s no use. Eventually, you lose focus and a sharp sting graces your finger. Blood drips down your hand. You hiss in pain.

A hand with white claws instead of nails grabs your wrist. You yelp in shock as Gojo brings your finger to his mouth and laps at the blood. It stains his lips slightly red. He worries at the cut with his tongue, making your wound ache. You try to pull back, but he holds on.

To your amazement, the cut closes before your eyes. You’re just about to thank him when he ruins the moment.

“You really are useless,” he says. “You can’t even pluck grass?”

You yank your hand out of his grip as hard as you can, sending yourself tumbling back against the grass. You hate how it must make yourself seem even more human in his eyes, a weak, fragile thing.

“Give up,” he says, and it’s almost gentle, the way his claws graze your chin as he holds your face in one hand. “You’re not suited to be a god.”

You turn away, unwilling to let him see any more of your vulnerability. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Suit yourself,” he says with a noise of annoyance. “Brats who run away from home aren’t my problem.”

“I didn’t run away!” You snap, whirling on him. “My dad was the one who ran! I don’t have anywhere else to go!”

But he’s gone.

At least Megumi and Tsumiki are nice to you. Megumi takes the bucket of weeds you deposit at the front door and whisks it somewhere out of your sight, while Tsumiki prepares a nice, hot bath for you. Exhausted, you collapse onto the bamboo floor spread eagle.

God, a voice murmurs in your head.

Not again. You don’t want any more spirits to deal with. When you raise your head, instead of another yokai, there’s an old woman standing in front of the shrine. Her head is bowed and her hands are clasped in prayer.

Please bless my daughter’s marriage so that she will enjoy a long and fruitful life with her partner.

Her voice is coming from some place inside your head. It resonates like a bell, ringing crisp and clear. You stretch out your hands wonderingly. You don’t look any different.

“You see?” Tsumiki says approvingly. “You’re a god.”’

But you don’t feel like one. You feel just like a normal person.

“A god needs a familiar.” You can’t see Megumi’s face behind his mask as he speaks, but you can imagine the solemn little boy he must be. “You need to bind Gojo to you.”

“How do I do that?”

“You have to kiss him.”

You wait for them to tell you they’re joking.

“What? I can’t kiss him! Is there-”

Megumi cuts in. “It’s just the traditional way to seal the contract. Don’t think too much of it.”

The fact that neither of them are bothered makes you feel like the ridiculous one for being off put by this, but you’re sure you’re not. Still, if you’re a god now, you have to put all of your mortal sensibilities aside. It’s like another culture, you tell yourself. Like how Europeans kiss each other on the cheek to say hello. Even if you can’t convince yourself, Megumi and Tsumiki are insistent.

You were so fired up just a second ago, but now your head is filled with doubts. If such a simple matter can sway you, are you really meant to be a god after all? Maybe Gojo is right. Maybe you should just leave.

“Please,” Tsumiki says. She looks distraught. “Don’t abandon us. Please don’t leave.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything, but his silence is enough.

“Okay,” you say, feeling defeated. “I’ll give it a shot.”

You’ve always been good at chores. If taming Gojo is just another part of your new job, it sounds like it's time to get serious.

“Take me to him.”

Megumi and Tsumiki balk.

“Right now?”

“Why not? The sooner I get it over with, the better, right?”

“He’s...indisposed at the moment,” Tsumiki says carefully.

“Indisposed? Is he sick?”

“Not quite,” Megumi says. He’s very expressive for a spirit. You can practically imagine him grimacing.

“Then it’s fine!”

You would soon come to regret your words.

Megumi and Tsumiki lead you out of the shrine. They show you where to find the path that can lead you to the land of spirits and demons. Your entire body rebels at the feeling of being in this other world, but at the same time, you feel at home here. The god and the girl that coexist inside of you are mutually repelled by and attracted to this place.

Even though you know Megumi and Tsumiki aren’t really children, or at least children in the way mortals think of them, you’re still concerned about letting them traipse around this dangerous place. However, they seem more used to this world than you are. That energy is better devoted to fending for yourself.

They lead you under bridges where the running water smells like flowers and women’s voices hiss in the babble of the current. Tree leaves rustle with hands that disappear into darkness. You follow them through dark alleyways lined with red paper blessings, and doorsteps encircled with salt. Eyes follow you, leaving your skin crawling.

You’re so focused on keeping your head down and staying out of danger that you almost don’t notice when they stop. You nearly run Megumi over.

“He’s inside here,” Tsumiki says.

Is it just you, or does she seem nervous?

The lanterns inside this establishment are turned down to a dimness that barely illuminates the corridors. Sweet smelling smoke writhes around your feet from some unknown source as you head deeper and deeper into the maze of hallways, following the pair of shrine spirits. You pass women wearing fox masks, dressed in luxurious kimonos. Their hair towers over their head in elaborate updos, held in place with beautiful pins inlaid with chartreuse and gold.

Megumi stops before a folding screen door. Like all things within this building, it’s beautiful. The silk screen is painted with images of flowers and more gruesome scenes as well, but somehow, it’s still breath-taking. A little like Gojo, in that regard.

You hear the voices of women behind the screen, flattering Gojo. The light of a single candle illuminates the dim room, imprinting his silhouette against it, as well as that of the two women with him. They’re draped over him, hands roaming his body as they purr their compliments. Your face burns with embarrassment.

“What are you doing?” Megumi demands of Gojo. “How can you parade around the red-light district like this? You’re the familiar of a god, not some common demon! If Yaga knew, it’d break his poor heart.”

Behind the screen, Gojo merely brushes him off. “Yaga’s been replaced by some little human worm. Why should I care what he thinks now?”

“What about the shrine? Don’t you care about that, at least?” Tsumiki's voice is thick with reproach.

“Now that you mention it, I don’t think I do,” he says. “Ha! You know what? Maybe I should thank that girl. Now that I’m free, I can do whatever I want.”

“Gojo-“

“I’ll can indulge in every little vice Yaga never allowed me to touch before. Who would want to be a familiar when I can have all of this?”

“Gojo, our god is here.”

“What?”

He leaps up and pushes the screen aside, coming face to face with you. He looks startled to see you, though you don’t see why he should care, since he so desires to lead a life of sin.

You look upon him with disgust. You might want a familiar, but you’re not so desperate you’d stoop as low as this. Gojo cares so little for anyone but himself. If you’re going to be a god, you’re going to do it right. You’ll pick a good familiar, one who will genuinely love the shrine as much as it deserves.

You turn and leave as he, half-clothed, frantically starts pulling on the outer layers of his kimono.

“Wait,” he calls after you. “Tsumiki! Megumi! Why would you bring her here?”

“She wanted to see you,” Megumi retorts.

“This isn’t the place for a human,” he says. “She’s going to get eaten!”

The faster Gojo follows you, the faster you run from him. By the time you’re out of what you’ve come to realize is a brothel, you’re sprinting. Your legs carry you right into someone else as your face slams against a broad, muscled chest.

“Oh,” says a voice above your head. “How pretty.”

A hand caresses your face. This spirit has tattoo marks across his face and body. More interestingly, he has multiple arms.

You’re frozen in place by fear as he brings his mouth closer and closer to your face. He’s close enough to kiss, but this is a spirit, which means he’s more likely to eat you.

“Be good for me now,” he purrs in your ear. “Fear makes flesh all the sweeter.”

Three of his six arms are consumed by fire. He pushes you away from him in favor of batting out the flame.

Gojo pulls you towards him, hiding you in the folds of his billowing kimono. You press your face against his shoulder, swallowing back the tears of fear from nearly being eaten. Somehow, he feels safe, even though he’s been nothing but antagonistic towards you. He feels almost protective as he shields your body with his, securing you under one arm.

“Scram,” he tells the other demon. “She’s mine, Sukuna.”

Sukuna rolls his pairs of eyes. “You weren’t with her when I caught her. She’s fair game.”

Fox fire flickers in Gojo’s hand. His white talons seem to elongate before your eyes.

“If you want to fight over her, then by all means,” he says with a dangerous smile. “But we both know I’d win.”

“Maybe later then,” Sukuna says, lazily as if Gojo isn’t threatening him. “Once I’ve eaten my fill.”

He stalks off into the night in search of more prey.

“This is why I told you to wait,” Gojo says, running his hand over his face. “You’re practically bait in this world. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

You nod, not trusting your voice, but he catches on anyways.

“Don’t cry,” he says, his face twisted in a grimace. “I won’t know what to do if you cry. Look, this is just your life now, okay? You’ll have to get used to it.”

On impulse, you press your face into his shoulder again, still sniffling. You want to be comforted, even though you know he won’t give it to you.

“Ugh,” he says, true to form. “Quit that.”

By the time you’ve calmed down, Gojo has already escorted you back to the shrine.

“Don’t come back,” he tells you.

Of course, you can’t listen to him. On your second night in the land of the dead and monsters, not only do you have to hide from beasts who would devour you the moment they found out what you were, you also have to hide from Gojo. You’re wearing a disguise, courtesy of Tsumiki and Megumi.

In your defense, it’s not like you want to be here. You need a familiar, and it’s clearly not going to be Gojo.

According to Tsumiki, Gojo’s the strongest, but there are other familiars who would be willing to serve you. They’re all in the Netherworld, however, and you have to find them before you can contract them.

You pull the curtain of the hat shielding your face a little closer around you as you peer at the faces surrounding you, trying to gauge who looks friendly. None of them do. You’ve been wandering around for hours, but not a single spirit has stood out to you.

In the end, you don’t find him. He finds you.

“A human god?” A hand grasps your wrist loosely. “That’s rare. Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be here?”

The man in front of you looks normal by any standards - but you know better than to trust your gut in the netherworld. Still, he’s the closest thing to a human you’ve seen in a while. Surrounded by a maelstrom of monsters, he feels like the eye of the storm. There’s a quiet and a calm surrounding him, even as you walk among noderabo with withered, leathery skin and scaly yajo.

It’s not like he’s in his own little pocket of the world, you realize. He is. Everyone is purposefully giving him a wide berth.

“Who are you?”

“I asked first,” he says.

“You know who I am! You just said so - I’m the human god.”

His eyes rake over you. “So you are. But what are you doing here, girl?”

You throw his words back in his face obstinately. “You first.”

“I’m Toji.” That doesn’t tell you anything, but he’s clearly unwilling to divulge more. “Your turn.”

“I’m looking for a familiar.”

“What about your familiar? I heard that Gojo-sama isn’t keen on sharing.”

Somehow, the way he says Gojo-sama sounds derisive, even with the respectful honorific.

“He doesn’t want to be my familiar.”

The rejection stings coming out of your own mouth.

“Sounds like him. Haughty bastard, he couldn’t stand to serve a human girl, could he?”

“Yeah! He’s an asshole,” you say, feeling validated.

When Toji laughs, the scar over his lip tugs one side of his mouth down. You kind of like it. And he must be strong, just looking at him. He’s well muscled and covered in scars. Of course, there’s the little matter of the reverence everyone around you is offering him. Tsumiki and Megumi had told you to just go out and find one. Could it be that easy?

“Are you interested?”

He gives you a look of barely concealed amusement. “You’re funny, girl. I don’t think Gojo would like that very much, though.”

“I don’t care what Gojo thinks.”

“Oh, here he comes now. Don’t go running too far - you’ll worry him,” he says, slow and easy. His confidence is absurd - it reminds you of Gojo, actually. He must be strong. “If you’re really serious about wanting me as a familiar, why don’t you meet me here again in three days?”

“What are you doing?” Gojo snarls at you. His teeth match the rest of his fox physique. With wonder, you realize that his pearly canines are pointed beyond what’s normal. “I told you not to come back!”

“But- He-” You turn around to point Toji out, but he’s gone.

“Who?” Gojo says.

“He was right there!”

“You’re so annoying,” Gojo bites out. “I don’t care what happens to you, but if you die, Megumi and Tsumiki will cry, so stop wandering off on your own. You’re lucky you didn’t get devoured on the spot.”

He’s starting to get really irritating. You shove his hands off.

“You know it’s actually your fault I’m here, right? If you didn’t reject me, I wouldn’t have to scour the Netherworld for a familiar.”

Gojo scoffs. “My fault? Maybe you should take a look at yourself. If you were less weak, I wouldn’t have a problem serving you!”

“That’s- You’re impossible!” You splutter. “I can’t help being weak! I was born this way! Not everyone is so lucky to be born a kitsune, oh-so-great-Gojo-sama.”

“Enough,” he sighs. Taking you by your wrist, he forcibly drags you through the streets back in the direction you came.

“Ow! You’re hurting me!”

“Gojo!” Megumi’s reproving voice breaks the argument up before it can begin again.

He lets go of you almost guiltily, if you thought he could feel guilt.

“I’ll take her home,” Megumi says.

Gojo’s tail lashes behind him angrily, but Megumi doesn’t spare him a second glance as he ushers you away.

“Thank you,” you tell him in relief. “What are you doing here?”

“You were taking a long time,” he says. “Tsumiki and I were getting worried. Did you find anyone?”

You think of Toji. “No,” you say. “No one.”

The next day, while Megumi and Tsumiki dress you for your trip through the Netherworld again, Megumi presses three slips of white paper into your hands.

“We should’ve taught you this sooner,” he says. “One of the powers of a god is to transform objects. Whatever you write on this charm will become true - within the scope of your power. Be safe.”

Armed with your paper slips, you feel like a real god. Tsumiki pushes you out the door with a prayer for good luck, though you’re not sure you can grant prayers to yourself for yourself.

Outside the door, something whines by your feet.

“Gojo?”

Or is that a regular white fox?

It snaps its teeth at you.

Definitely Gojo.

“I don’t need an escort,” you tell him, making shooing motions at him with your hands. “Go away!”

He rolls over and yips at you, his tail wagging.

“I can’t understand you like this!”

“I said,” a cloud of smoke reveals him, mostly humanoid once again, except for his ears and tail. “I don’t want to do this either. It’s for Megumi and Tsumiki.”

Toji doesn’t seem to like him, so you don’t want to risk bringing him with you. Despite your best attempts to shake him, Gojo follows you as you retrace your steps back into the spirit world. You’re just starting to despair when you spot a bigger reason to be upset.

“Hello, delicious,” Sukuna says. “Ready for round two?”

Why does he look even more terrifying? Did he get bigger?

“Leave her alone,” Gojo says, almost bored. “It’s pathetic. You can only bully things weaker than you, huh?”

“I’m not afraid to fight you,” Sukuna tells him.

You’re panicking. They both look serious. You don’t want to be caught between these two forces of nature.

“You should be,” Gojo says, and steps in front of you. Over his shoulder, he tells you, “Run. You’re in my way.”

This is the chance you were waiting for.

Toji’s dressed differently when you find him again. Last night, he was wearing a casual black kimono. Tonight, he’s dressed in a tight fitting black shirt and loose white pants.

“You look nice,” you tell him, feeling anxious. Your mind keeps going back to Gojo. You’re sure he can hold his own, but you’re still worried for him. As you are, however, you’re of no help to him. The only way you’d be able to rescue him if he actually was in danger is by making a contract with a powerful familiar.

“It’s for work,” he says. “Follow me.”

“We can’t do it here?”

“Do you want to kiss me in front of everyone?” He shrugs and reaches for you. “I mean, I’m down if you are, but I figured-”

“No,” you squeak and dart away. “Privacy is good!”

He laughs. “You’re as funny as ever, huh? C’mere.”

Toji leads you off the beaten path and further into the woods. The only thing that keeps you from feeling more nervous is the moon shining overhead, illuminating your path. It feels almost like a friend is with you.

“Here is good,” Toji says, stopping at a clearing.

“It’s so pretty,” you breathe out, dazzled. This deep into the woods, fireflies are lighting your way. Beneath your feet, a springy bed of flowers and moss covers the floor.

“What can I say? I’m a romantic.”

“Yeah, right,” you laugh at him, but you draw closer. You think you could trust him. You think you could be partners with him.

Then Toji grabs you by the shoulders and dangles you off the edge of the clearing, over a steep drop you hadn’t noticed. The sharp cut off had been hidden by flowers, danger painted over with beauty.

“Sorry, kid,” Toji says. “No hard feelings, right?”

“Why?” You whisper. Gojo had been right.

“There’s a bounty on your head,” he says. “Getou has offered to grant the wish of anyone who kills you.”

His eyes turn wistful. “I have a kid. Haven’t seen him in years. You understand, right? It’s not personal.”

The fall is brutal. The wind whips tears into your eyes, if you weren’t already crying from the fear of falling to your death. You have to do something, anything. Above your head, something white flutters.

A dove?

Then another.

It’s one of the paper ofuda Megumi had given you before you left, caught in the updraft of you rushing down to earth. You snatch it out of the air. You can’t reach the pen in your pocket. With increasing desperation, you bite down on your finger hard enough to draw blood and trace the characters for a tree branch onto it. Holding it aloft, you pray.

Between your hands, wood solidifies. You’re clinging to a scrap of a twig sprouting from the rocky cliffside. Megumi’s words echo in your head - only within the scope of your power.

So this is it, huh?

That’s all there is of your godly strength.

“Looks like you’re in trouble,” Gojo says. He has no problem balancing on the sheer cliff. His appearance is impeccable, completely unscathed from his fight with Sukuna. He perches like a bird, as comfortable as if he were standing on solid ground. “Do you need help?”

Thank god. He’s here to save you! You nod, turning teary eyes on him. You were wrong about him. Gojo really is a good guy, deep down.

“If you say, ‘Please save me, Gojo-sama, I was stupid.’ I’ll help you. Throw in some crying and begging, too.”

Your eyes dry up instantly. He’s a total bastard. You clutch onto the branch tighter. There’s no way you’ll give him the satisfaction of groveling for help.

Your resolve weakens when you hear the first snap.

“Time’s ticking,” Gojo calls in a sing-song voice. “What will it be?”

The harder you hold on, the more your flimsy branch breaks.

“Come on,” Gojo says. “It’s not that hard. It’s just seven little words. Isn’t that worth your life?”

“Go fuck yourself,” you tell him, and the branch finally snaps.

Falling for the second time is just as bad as the first time. The icy wind snatches at you like claws, tearing at your clothes.

To your surprise, Gojo leaps after you. He makes free-fall look elegant - surely a far cry from whatever you’re doing.

“Just say it,” he yells, within arm’s reach. He’s so close he could snag you by the shirt and haul you to safety, but you know he won’t. Not without getting what he wants. “Would you rather die than just apologize?”

You have an answer prepared.

His eyes widen in shock when you press your palms to his cheek, pull him closer, and kiss him.

You barely have time to register the taste of him, sake and something sweet, before the reality of falling to your death rushes in again.

“Gojo, save me!”

As if his body is piloted by someone else, Gojo catches you. For him, it’s a short leap back up to the top of the clearing, where Toji has disappeared.

You climb down from his hold once you’re certain you’re safe. You never thought you’d miss the feeling of solid ground beneath your feet this much, but at the moment, you’re willing to kiss the earth.

Gojo seems much worse off. He’s frozen in shock, muttering the same refrain to himself under his breath. “Me? Bound to her? Impossible.”

“Let’s go home,” you tell him. He doesn’t seem to get it until you tug him towards the path, and then he leads the way wordlessly. .

You wake to Megumi and Tsumiki weeping over you.

“I’m alright!”

They freeze, then burst into fresh tears.

“We thought you would never wake up! Your first time using ofuda must have been too much for you,” Megumi gets out through his sobs.

You feel sore all over. You can barely recall the events of the previous night, only that you kissed-

“Finally up?”

Gojo’s tapping his foot as he waits for you to get up. He looks furious. There’s an unmistakeable tick in his jaw that spells trouble for you.

It’s too early to deal with him. You duck back under the covers.

“Oh no you don’t,” he growls out as he seizes your wrist and bodily hauls you out of your warm cocoon of blankets. “You wanted to be a god, you’re going to be a god. It’s time for some training.”

You shiver pathetically in the cold morning air. If you had known helping a stranger would lead to be harassed by a fox spirit, you would’ve never done it in the first place.

“Try harder,” Gojo says at your sixth failed attempt to turn water into wine.

“It smells alcoholic,” Megumi offers loyally.

“I am trying!” You insist.

“Harder,” Gojo snarls.

The seventh attempt doesn’t change. Gojo throws up his arms and stalks out of the shrine, declaring the need to cool his head. Tsumiki frantically trails him, not trusting him to not attempt to run away again.

Megumi tries to assure you that you’re doing well, but honestly, you need to leave too. The shrine feels too stuffy. A change of scenery will do you good. Sitting alone in the woods just behind the shrine, you try to focus. Slowly, stacks of ofuda disappear from your hands as you paste them to trees, willing them to blossom. Wilt. Do anything, anything at all.

You’re out cold when Gojo finds you.

“Divine power takes time,” he says as he prepares dinner. “Use too many talismans at once and you’ll pass out.”

You drink a spoonful of soup morosely. “How do I get stronger?”

“You’ll get stronger if you grant prayers.”

Tsumiki perks up. “One just came in!”

“I already looked at it,” Gojo says dismissively. “Not that one.”

“Everyone’s wishes deserve to be looked at,” you argue.

Gojo scoffs, “Not this one.”

“Don’t be rude! A god can’t pick and choose.”

He tosses the prayer at you.

Morimoto Rika’s request touches your heart. She’s the spirit of a nearby lake - not just any spirit, as Megumi helpfully clarifies, but another owner of a shrine. A human boy visits her waters nightly. By the light of the moonlight, she fell in love with him, but she can’t meet him because they live in two separate worlds.

And to think that you would’ve never known to help her if Gojo had continued keeping this from you.

“This sounds like the perfect job for me,” you argue.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Yokai can’t fall in love with humans.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Aren’t you bound to do as I say? Take me to her.”

Against his will, Gojo summons what’s called a ‘night fog coach’. Only operable at night, as the name suggests, it’s a tall black carriage truly made for a god. You’re just wondering how Gojo expects you to climb aboard when he effortlessly lifts you by the waist.

“You’re the one who wanted to go meet her,” he sneers. “Chop-chop.”

Your supplicant looks like a fish if it were a girl. She has pale green skin and large, black eyes, with overly large teeth for her mouth. Black hair frames a heart shaped face. She’s cute, in her own monstrous way. And she’s desperately in love with a human boy.

Gojo helps you transform her into a human body and make her over into a normal teenage girl. For a prayer granted, it feels like nothing more than dressing your friend up for a date.

You’re even as nosy as you would be in that situation. It’s the first prayer you’ve ever granted. You know you shouldn’t, but you and Gojo watch the burgeoning romance from a distance. Of course, he’s completely disapproving, but you have high hopes for them - until Rika pulls out a ring.

Aren’t they moving a little too fast?

It only gets worse when Rika confesses that she’s been stalking him - sort of. Keeping tabs on him for his safety by following him around town is a little too close to the other, for your liking. Your head drops into your hands.

But Yuta takes it surprisingly well. A little too well, in fact. It only seems to infatuate him even more. You knew there were certain types of men out there who loved crazy, but you had never seen it in real life - until now.

Could this even be counted as a success?

You’re happy for Rika and Yuta, as happy as you can be for their twisted little union, but you’re just waiting for Gojo to bite your head off for bringing a (real) monster and a human together as soon as you get back home. At least they’re happy, you think ruefully. Worse things could happen. Your first union as a marriage god didn’t fail. In fact, of all people, Yuta seemed the most likely in the world to accept Rika as she was, human or not.

To your surprise, returning to the shrine, Gojo begrudgingly says, “You did well.”

Any warm feelings you have for him the next day are replaced when he barges into your room and demands you strip.

“You have guests,” he says. “Messengers from Toji-sama, the god of the wind.”

Your eyes grow wide. You hadn’t known Toji was a god. Come to think of it, did Gojo even know the reason why you had been falling from that cliff? You weren’t sure if he had come in time to see who had pushed you.

“What are you worried about? I’ll be at your side the whole time.”

You’ll tell him later. Right now, you have a serious matter to prepare for.

You tried not to discriminate on the basis of his master, but it’s not that at all. Toji’s familiar, Naoya, is simply annoying on his own terms.

“So you’re the new god of this ramshackle little shrine,” he sniffs. “God, it’s disgusting. How poor are you?”

“You must be the thirteenth familiar Toji’s owned. He goes through you like toys, doesn’t he? Of course you wouldn’t know that he used to live in worse conditions before. Deplorable.” Gojo laughs in his face.

Naoya grits his teeth. “I’m surprised your little human dared to show her face. I thought she’d be terrified after what Toji did to her. They’re such weak little things.”

Gojo looks at the other demon with a calm that worries you. As human as he is, there are moments when you can catch the monster lurking within. He’s like the sea, deceptively calm until you remember the threat of an unseen riptide.

“If you insult my master again,” he says carefully, enunciating every word like he’s stabbing at them with a knife, “I will take your head and deliver it to your master as a present.”

“Don’t tell me you’re happy to be serving a mortal girl,” Naoya laughs. “Not someone like you, Satoru. How the mighty have fallen.”

Gojo looks at him for a long moment, then he ignores him completely and walks to your side. The most painful part of Naoya’s digs at you is knowing he’s right. Gojo doesn’t like this. How could he? He went from being the strongest to being commanded by some powerless girl. Still, Gojo gazes at you with his inscrutable eyes. You can’t read him at all.

Slowly, he sinks to his knees next to you.

With a gentleness you can hardly bear, he lays his head in your lap, as gentle and docile as a puppy. His neck is bared as if for an executioner’s axe, the delicate pulse of his heart open to you. He closes his eyes. His breath is shallow. He stays there, and says no more.

“Oh, Satoru,” Naoya says in delight. “You really have become a tamed thing.”

With an uncertainty you’re trying to hide, you lift your hands to Gojo’s head. His hair is sinfully soft. You’re almost scared he’ll try to take your hands off for it, but when you start to gently pet his hair, he almost purrs. His eyes close, half-lidded in pleasure.

“I serve who I want to serve,” Gojo says. His tail lashes behind him. “Who are you to tell me my master is unworthy?”

Naoya shrugs, clearly disbelieving. “Sure, Satoru. Keep telling yourself that. I’m just here to deliver a gift.”

He tosses you a package wrapped carefully in beautiful, ornate wrapping paper. You’re sure it’s not Toji’s doing. He’s not the type.

As soon as he leaves, Gojo pushes himself away from you. It leaves you a little sorrowful, the speed with which he tries to get away. He only did it for your sake, you know. He wanted to protect your honor in front of Naoya because you’re his master. But it must have disgusted him, to get on his knees for a human, if he recoiled so fast.

“What did he mean, what Toji did to you?” Gojo asks over dinner.

You know instantly that you’ll only draw his ire if you try to play dumb.

“Toji pushed me off that cliff the day you found me.”

Gojo’s eyes darken. The next time Naoya returns, he promises you, he’d set his tail on fire. No one besmirches his master’s honor like that.

It’s about honor, of course. You’d be a fool to think otherwise.

Alone in your chambers, you unwrap the package Naoya gave you. It’s an incense burner, beautiful and silver. As apology presents go, it’s a decent one. You set it aside for use at a later time.

Naoya’s visit only makes Gojo’s training worse, but these days, you’ve grown used to him and his harsh words. The more that he yells at you for being weak, the more you can brush it off as Gojo just being Gojo. That only irritates him more, of course.

But nothing pisses him off as much as you claiming that you’re returning to school. Gojo thinks that you have no need for school as a god. There’s nothing the humans can teach you that he can’t.

In your eyes, Gojo is a kitsune. That means he’ll never understand a teenage girl’s heart. School isn’t about learning, it’s about the experience! You’ll never be in high school again - there are so many things you still haven’t experienced, like school trips. You only have one youth - you have to seize it in the moment!

Gojo isn’t convinced.

Like an overbearing parent, he nags you all day and night until finally, you strike a deal. He’ll let you go to school, but only as long as you cover up the god-mark on your head. Gojo is never one to make things easy for you. The hat he bestows you with is an ugly grandma print with faux fox ears. You’ll be the laughingstock of the school!

“It’s dangerous,” he says. “Who knows what wild beasts will be lurking about?”

“You’re the wild beast,” you say. “I can’t wear that!”

“I guess you can’t go to school then,” he sighs. “What a pity.”

It’s all for show, of course. You know what he’s really like. There’s no use in arguing - either you agree to his compromise or you stay here, stuck in the temple for the rest of your life. You’ll miss out on all the joys of youth, never growing old in your cloistered shrine. The thought is unbearable.

You snatch the hat from him in indignation. Putting it on before you leave the next day makes you cringe, but as long as you avoid mirrors, you can almost forget that it’s there - if not for your classmates staring at you. You can feel their judging eyes everywhere you go, and the whispers.

You can’t even say you don’t care - you do care. You only have one high school life, and Gojo is ruining it. During lunch, you escape into the bathroom to mope and avoid all of your classmates.

“Are you getting bullied?” Gojo’s voice is too bright and cheery for your dark mood right now. You can’t promise to remain calm if he stays here.

“This is the girl’s bathroom, Gojo.”

“Don’t be like that. I’m just worried about my master,” he says. “Well? How is it? Do you want to go home now?”

He’s lying. You know he’s not worried about you at all, but you should be used to it. You don’t know why it stings as much as it does.

You’re hurt even though you know this is just how Gojo is. Of course he’d be happy to see you miserable - he hadn’t even wanted you for a god in the first place. He’s bound to you by obligation, and nothing more. You had known from the start that he didn’t care about you, so why does it hurt that he won’t comfort you? It’s just like those nights in the demon world that seem so long ago now. He hasn’t changed at all.

Gojo isn’t as shocked by your outburst as he is by the tears slowly welling up in your eyes. He stands stunned as you rush out of him and back into the hallway.

Tsumiki appears next to him out of thin air, completely unimpressed.

“You did a terrible job on that one, Gojo.”

As if in a daze, he lifts his hand, where the crystal of one teardrop shines. He’d tried to reach for you at the last moment, but you were already gone. “I made her cry...”

Megumi appears next to Tsumiki, his face red. “What’s taking so long? Hurry up and leave! We’re in the girl’s bathroom!”

“Gojo was bullying our master,” Tsumiki announces.

“I wasn’t bullying her!”

“He made her cry.”

Gojo winces. “Okay, yeah. I did do that.”

Megumi kicks him in the leg, which amounts to almost nothing. “Take responsibility, then!”

When you return home, Gojo is waiting by the shrine door with an almost offensively polite smile on his face. “Let me take your coat, master.”

Him being kind gives you the creeps. You can’t help but feel like he’s planning something, especially when he shows you the lavish dinner he prepared for you with all of your favorites.

“What’s with the look?” He says, annoyed at your accusing eyes peering at him over your bowl. “I do something nice for you and this is how you treat me?”

“This is really just for me? No ulterior motives?”

“None,” he promises.

The smile that breaks over your face is like the sun through rain clouds - sudden, dramatic, and almost painfully bright after a period of gray skies.

“Thanks, Gojo!”

The look in his eyes is unreadable as he reaches to spoon more food onto your plate.

You don’t have anyone else in this world. Besides the shrine spirits, Gojo might be the only person in the world who will take care of you. For some reason, the thought doesn’t sting as much as it did this morning.

The second day of school starts with pouring rain, as if it’s a direct reaction to your foul mood earlier. Gojo pulls you back when you try to leave.

“It’s a bad omen,” he says. “Stay home with me today. I’ll worry about you if you go.”

Normally, such sweet words might bring a blush to your face, but you can read between the lines.

Stay home with me today so I can keep you out of trouble, you brat.

I’ll worry about you if you go because you’re weaker than a worm.

“Stop trying to keep me from going to school! I thought we got over this yesterday,” you huff. “I’m going to be late for the bus!”

You leave Gojo with a handful of air as you dart under his outstretched arm and out the door.

In school, all your classmates are listless.

You’ve never been so unhappy to not be the subject of attention. What is wrong with everyone? Even the teacher doesn’t reprimand anyone for sleeping in class, half-asleep herself. You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to be caught in this spell of drowsiness, which insinuates paranormal origins.

As you’re sweeping the classroom after class, one of your classmates lets out a disgruntled noise.

“It’s a snake,” she says, not at all with the intonation of someone who’s just discovered a snake. Ami’s the type to go apoplectic at the sight of a fly, much less an actual snake, so you don’t pay much mind until you hear Kurama go, “Huh, she wasn’t kidding.”

There’s a little yellow snake in the classroom. In their stupor, none of your classmates seem to care all that much about it. They just continue going about their chores. You feel bad for it. It’s such a small, fragile little creature. In their state, they might accidentally end up crushing it.

With gentle murmurs of encouragement, you coax it into your hand. It’s surprisingly docile and twines itself readily around your wrist before you set it outside the window to be set free.

Gojo doesn’t praise you for your act of heroism on the behalf of his fellow yokai, as you remind him. You saved his compatriots! Where’s the gratitude?

He calls you a stupid little girl. “I don’t care about them, I care about you!”

Your face warms with embarrassment against your will even though you know he doesn’t mean it like that. Time and time again, Gojo has stressed that he will never see yokai and humans as even remotely on the same playing field, much less capable of being romantic partners.

“You’re my master,” he says. There’s your call back to reality. “Look at this mark on your wrist.”

It appears like a normal bruise to you, though you’re not sure how it could’ve happened. Your new snake friend was very gentle when he was coiled around your wrist. He must have been someone’s escaped pet. You hope he found his way back home.

Gojo’s mad. He’s enunciating every word.

“This is exactly why I have to keep such a close eye on you. That’s no ordinary bruise. That is an engagement mark. Care to explain to me how I left you alone for one second and you got yourself engaged to a divine beast?”

Your face pales. “Excuse me?”

“That snake is going to come and claim you as his bride.”

“As a bride?” Your head spins and you have to sit down. You’re too young to get married. You look up at Gojo, teary-eyed. You don’t want this.

“Stop making that face,” he snaps, pushing a hand over your face to hide it. “As if I would let that happen. The master of the Yaga shrine, my master, could never be wed to a mere snake.”

If Gojo says he won’t let it happen, you can put your faith in him. You breathe a little easier. As mean as he can be, Megumi and Tsumiki weren’t lying when they called him the best familiar. He’s the strongest and most capable person or rather, yokai, that you know. There’s not a single task you set for him that he hasn’t been able to complete.

It’s still raining when you go outside to practice your talisman making.

You find the weather quite pleasant, even though it’s a little damp. The chill in the air cuts through the muggy feeling of summer, and the raindrops cool your cheeks. When you turn your face up to the sky, you can taste ozone in the little drops that pelt your face.

“You’re very beautiful, kamisama,” says a voice.

There's a man waiting just outside the red gates. A supplicant? In this weather? You better get him inside in a hurry. You dash over to him.

“What are you doing? Come inside, you’ll get wet!”

Just as you reach him, he lifts his face. He looks like a statue, with high cheekbones, and solemn eyes. His hair is the same pale yellow as the snake you saw earlier that day-

“Gojo!”

But it’s too late.

The snake has a hold on your wrist, right above the engagement mark. He takes you away.

One moment, you’re standing in your own backyard, the next, you’re surrounded by almost-familiar bamboo walls. It looks like your shrine but for little distinguishing touches. That makes you uncomfortable.

“This is Haibara shrine,” the snake says. “I’m Nanami, the familiar of Haibara-sama. I’ve taken you away to marry you.”

There’s a curtain over the center of the room. Haibara presumably rests behind it, but something strikes you as off about the whole scenario. That’s not what’s foremost on your mind, however.

“I don’t want to marry you! You kidnapped me!”

He tilts his head at you. “I couldn’t have kidnapped you. We’re engaged, you see?” He traces the mark on your wrist with one slim finger. “We’re going to be very happy together.”

“You’re being creepy,” you push him away.

At your rejection, something dark crosses over his features - not danger, but pain. He has some nerve feeling upset when you’re the one who should be upset here!

“That’s alright,” he says, trying to stroke your hair. You won’t let him touch you. “I know it can take some getting used to. Here, let me show you to your room.”

Nanami has clearly put a lot of thought into decorating for you. It’s beautifully furnished, with rich silk sheets and the fragrant smell of plum blossoms permeating the air. Here, there’s not a single thing you could want but-

Gojo.

You miss Gojo and you miss your shrine.

When Nanami leaves you in your room, it feels like a tomb in the silence. You bury your face in your expensive, hateful sheets and try to resist the urge to sob. You want Gojo to come get you. You want to go home.

Hours pass, but Gojo doesn’t come.

Nothing but the sound of your breathing changes, passing from frantic to deeper, slower, steadier. As your head clears, you notice the window. It’s a beautifully ornate design, a red knot of luck. The center is just big enough for a girl to squeeze through, if you try hard.

Resolve grips you.

You’re not going to wait for Gojo to rescue you. You’re going to get out of here yourself, find him, and scold him for not coming to get you earlier. Aren’t you his most beloved master, as he so professes? You’re going to make him kneel for at least three hours practicing his apologies!

Filled with renewed conviction, you hoist yourself onto the window sill and begin the tedious task of shimmying yourself out. Just when you’re nearly there, the sharp edge of the metal scrapes your shin, leaving a long, thin cut.

The smell of salt replaces the plums immediately.

“God?” Comes Nanami’s voice. “I smell blood. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” You panic. If he discovers your escape attempt now, he might try to put you in a more secure room, and then you’ll really never see Gojo again.

The adjacent wall caves in.

Gojo stands in the rubble, seething, each hand wreathed in blue flame. He doesn’t even notice you, his attention wholly focused on Nanami. “You drew her blood? Are you prepared to face the consequences of hurting my master, snake?”

You grab his arm just before he attacks. “He didn’t! I hurt myself on the window- oof!”

Gojo’s so much bigger than you are. When he folds you into his arms, his entire body surrounds you. His chin tucks itself over your head, his large arms wrap around your body. You’ve never felt more secure than you are here, now. “I thought you’d be crying.”

His voice is hoarse.

You’ve never heard that before.

“You came,” you whimper, burying your face into his shoulder.

Nanami’s face is crestfallen. “Are you going to leave me?”

You grab Gojo’s arm and duck into the other room, where Haibara’s curtain is.

“Don’t!” Nanami cries.

When you pull it back, there’s nothing but an old, dusty kimono.

You were right.

This place is godless.

“You’re no familiar,” Gojo snarls, turning on Nanami. “Don’t even think to call yourself that. The difference between you and me is as clear as day, you vile beast. You’ll pay for your insolence with the loss of your shrine.”

Nanami’s misery is written all over his face. You’ve realized what’s wrong with this shrine. It’s too quiet, as if no one has prayed here for generations. Haibara has been dead for a long, long time.

Nanami must have been lonely.

“Don’t,” you tell Gojo.

He stares at you, incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?”

You tug yourself out of Gojo’s arms. Nanami’s crouched on the ground, trying to shield Haibara’s old kimono from Gojo’s foxfire. You kneel to his level.

“I’m sorry you’ve been lonely for all this time, Nanami. I can’t stay with you, but if you come to my shrine, we can play again.”

Nanami weeps and reaches for your hand. The mark of the snake dissolves.

Gojo doesn’t talk to you on the way back to the shrine.

“Don’t be mad,” you say, tugging on the sleeves of his kimono. He gives you a deadpan stare. “Come on! I only did it because-”

You can’t finish your sentence.

Of course, that piques Gojo’s interest. He can never resist bullying you.

“Because? Go on,” he goads you.

You say it so quietly he can’t hear you, even with his fox ears. He spins around, grabs you by the waist, and hoists you up so you’re face to face. You yelp and scramble to grab onto his shoulders for balance.

“Louder,” he demands. “I can’t hear you.”

“I was thinking about what would happen if I died and you were all alone again. I couldn’t leave him alone because I was thinking of you,” you tell him. Thinking of Gojo watching after an empty shrine all alone like Mizuki makes your heart ache for reasons you can’t explain.

He stiffens. “What a strange thing to worry about. I wouldn’t care.”

“Ugh,” you smack him in the shoulder. You shouldn't have tried to be kind to him.

He doesn’t put you down, shifting you into an easier hold. “You’re hurt,” he admonishes when you try to squirm.

Just before you enter the shrine gates, he has a confession of his own to make. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You got hurt because I wasn’t protecting you.”

You rub his ears, an indulgence you’re not sure he would’ve allowed if he wasn’t in such a mood. “It’s not your fault!”

“I’ve never had a human master,” he says. “I have to be careful not to break you. You’re so easily hurt.”

“You don’t have to say it like that,” you say, and then the shrine spirits are there to welcome you home.

You hadn’t realized you thought of the shrine as home until today.

Even though Nanami’s mood isn’t affecting the weather anymore, it’s still raining. Gojo tells you not to mind the weather, even though you’re certain that it’s not from natural causes, which means it is your job. Ever since you came back from Haibara’s shrine, Gojo has been extra protective of you.

You hadn’t thought Gojo had needed to be protected too, not until the thunder god came.

The god of storms and lightning is called Getou Suguru. He carries a mallet in one hand that can transform whoever it touches into their younger forms, and he used to be Gojo’s best and only friend. He’s also the one who called a bounty on your head.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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galaxymagitech · 25 days ago

Text

Promises to Keep

For @jasontoddweek2025 Day 5:

Family | No Capes AU | Jason is a Literature Nerd

Summary: From the very beginning, it has been exceedingly clear that Jason was at Wayne Manor to be Robin. College was simply not in the cards. So, when Jason finds himself sneaking off to go to English Literature lectures at GothamU, it’s only a matter of time until it comes crashing down.

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson

Warnings: Violations of privacy, paranoia, referenced drug overdose and underage drug use, vomiting

You can read it here or on AO3!

Jason steps into the lecture hall, wiping his palms against his jeans as he surveys the room. There are blackboards set up at the front, covered in the chalk residue of the day’s earlier classes. And then, in the seats, there’s a sea of students chatting and laughing as they take out their notebooks for their class. Can they tell that Jason doesn’t belong here? He’s fourteen, and it shows. But no one comes up to Jason to tell him to go away, so he slides into an empty seat near the back and takes out a new notebook from his bright red backpack.

Jason is not supposed to be here. In fact, he told Bruce that he would be at the library, reading some legal texts in a “less stuffy environment” than the Manor. But the last time he was sick, he saw a movie where the characters were in college, listening to a professor talk for hours about classic literature. And Jason just had to see if that’s what college lectures are like.

He knows he’s not going to college. From the very beginning, it has been exceedingly clear that Jason was at Wayne Manor to be Robin. In fact, Bruce had told Jason that he didn’t need to worry about CPP putting him in an abusive home in the same breath that he’d informed Jason of his new job. And Bruce had told Jason that he was going to adopt him shortly after his first big sting operation. So yeah. It’s always been obvious.

And that’s fine! It really is. In fact, it’s better than fine. When Batman had first told Jason to get in his car, he had—not expected the worst, but considered it, certainly. In comparison to that, room, board, protection from social services, and a high school diploma in exchange for a job that lets Jason help people is a sweet deal.

But Bruce has never once mentioned college. Bruce has told Jason he needs to pass his classes so that the state won’t get involved and look too deeply at Bruce Wayne. Beyond that, though, it’s obvious that there’s nothing for the Mission to gain from Jason’s continued education. In fact, college is probably counter-productive to vigilantism—there’s gotta be a reason why Dick Grayson didn’t go.

So, yeah. Jason knows that college isn’t going to happen. But he couldn’t help himself, and now he’s here in the lecture hall, panicking because he lied to Batman just to hear some old guy talk about books.

Professor Williams calls the room to attention and begins writing on the blackboard. “So,” he says. “Shakespeare.” He turns to the room. “Thoughts?”

Everyone laughs. Jason is too nervous to do anything but stare.

“Don’t be shy,” Prof. Williams says. Jason wonders how he’s managing to project his voice throughout this huge lecture hall. “Everyone has thoughts about Shakespeare. Yes!” He points enthusiastically out at the crowd. Heads turn. “Elle Woods!” Nothing. “That’s you over there, with the pink.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jason’s gaze falls on a young woman with a pink jacket, pink skirt, pink shirt, pink notebook, pink feathery pen, and pink backpack. Pink overload. “Uh, he’s old? And he’s pretty important. The Lion King was based on one of his plays, yeah?”

“Excellent.” Prof. Williams writes that down on the blackboard. ‘Old’ and ‘Lion King.’ The girl doesn’t even look embarrassed. “Anyone else? You!”

“He was probably bi, right?”

Prof. Williams writes that down on the board too. He takes a few more opinions, before drawing a line across the blackboard. “So, that’s a lot of thoughts. And I’ll bet a lot of you who didn’t raise their hands had thoughts on Shakespeare too. Even if it’s that he’s an old fuddy-duddy and you didn’t want to offend me by saying so. Now. Thoughts on Thomas Ingelend?”

Silence. Jason looks down at his notebook, feeling his cheeks go red. He’s heard of Shakespeare, of course, even read Shakespeare while sheltering from the cold or heat at the Gotham Public Library, but he has no idea who Thomas Ingelend is.

Prof. Williams writes the name on the board. “Thomas Ingelend, anyone? Of course, not. Well, he only wrote one play. Shakespeare wrote thirty-eight. That’s not all there is to it, though. You only keep writing plays if you’re good at it. Otherwise, you get fired, and you get a job teaching English Lit at a university.” That gets a laugh. “I would know.” Another laugh. “Now, Shakespeare is one of my favorite parts of this course. Brontë? Some of you are familiar, no doubt, but many of you are blank slates. But Shakespeare? Everyone has an opinion on Shakespeare. Remember, this course is not about learning books, or poems, or plays. It’s about learning analysis. So, you’re going to dive deeper into Shakespeare than you’ve ever done before. Discover something new. And by the end of this unit, I expect you every one of you to change at least one of those opinions.”

Jason spends the next hour with energy buzzing beneath his skin as he takes notes on anything and everything the professor says. He wishes he could raise his hand and participate in the discussion, but he can’t risk drawing attention to himself. So, he just listens. And even that is amazing.

Two days later, Jason goes back.

And the following Monday, Jason returns again.

Jason finds himself “going to the library” twice a week. He borrows various Shakespeare works from the school library and secrets them away to his room, not daring to use the Manor’s library—Jason learned early in life that if something is important to you, people will find a way to use it against you. So he hides the books underneath his bed and fills them to the brim with sticky notes, then ignores the wrenching of his heart as he removes his annotations and tears them into tiny scraps that no one can read.

Professor Williams finishes the Shakespeare unit and move onto a survey of English poetry. Jason writes the verses of “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers” on the inside of his notebook, because that’s Robin, right there—Robin’s magic.

And he gets complacent. Because in late April, two months after Jason first entered that lecture hall, Bruce confronts him in the entryway to Wayne Manor, and Jason doesn’t have a plan.

“Where were you?” Bruce asks, face set in a stern grimace. Jason’s eyes flicker up to meet his, and he knows, instantly, that Bruce has caught him.

“The library,” Jason tries, just in case Bruce is bluffing.

Bruce steps forwards. Jason finds himself stumbling back until he’s leaning against the door. “Don’t lie to me, Jason.”

“I’m not!” Jason insists, even though he knows he’s digging himself deeper. What else can he do? Jason’s spent two months unofficially taking a college class, wasting hours a day reading, just…being completely irresponsible. He can’t admit that to Bruce. And yes, a lecture hall is one of the least bad things he could be doing when he snuck off, but if Bruce gets the sense that Jason is more trouble than he’s worth, that Jason won’t be a full-time vigilante when he graduates, that he won’t be a worthy investment…well, Jason is at Wayne Manor to be Robin. And if he’s not Robin, he has no place there.

Bruce kicked Dick out. Dick and Bruce think Jason doesn’t know that. They still say that Dick ‘left.’ But Jason has heard Dick screaming at Bruce for taking Jason on after firing him, and he’s not an idiot.

Dick was just like Jason. An orphan without a place to stay. A Robin who developed other priorities. (And spending too much time with the Teen Titans is still loads more dedicated to the Mission than a random English class. If Dick got fired, Jason doesn’t stand a chance.)

“You’ve been sneaking off for months, Jason. I think I deserve some answers.”

Jason bristles. You’re not my father, he thinks. You’re not in charge of me. But that’s wrong. Bruce has complete legal authority over Jason—he’s officially in charge of him, without even the CPP check-ins. And worse, Batman is in charge of Robin. Like a commanding officer. He forces his shoulders to relax. “I’m sorry,” he says, trying to put as much apology into his voice as possible. “It won’t happen again.”

He turns to leave, but Bruce’s hand catches Jason’s upper arm. Jason flinches.

Fuck. He hasn’t flinched from Bruce since that very first week, when Jason had known he was safe but his body hadn’t quite caught up yet.

A flinch looks weak, but more than that, it looks guilty. It looks like Jason’s body is saying Bruce will hurt mebecause Bruce should hurt him. Because Jason did something that deserves a smack in the face—or worse.

“What’s gotten into you, Jason?” Bruce asks. For a moment, Jason considers just telling Bruce. Sure, it’s bad, but he can promise never to visit GothamU again, promise not to go into the Manor library, spend extra time studying the law and doing casework to make up for skiving off. But before he can make up his mind, Bruce continues. “Sneaking around, hiding things, yelling—if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were doing drugs!”

Immediately, Jason’s eyes go wide with shock. Doing drugs. Doing drugs. How could Bruce even think that? Jason watched his mother waste away, administered naloxone as she overdosed, found her dead body on the bathroom floor. “Fuck you,” he whispers.

“Language,” Bruce says sternly.

“No,” Jason says, stumbling away towards the stairs as his heart pounds wildly in his chest. He knows he should be trying to convince Bruce, trying to defuse the situation, but—Fuck him. He can’t. “Fuck you! What the hell, B?” Shaking with rage, Jason takes one of the steps backwards, trying to gain some height, some control over the situation.

Bruce interprets it as an escape attempt. “Don’t you dare walk out on this conversation.”

Jason blinks the tears from his eyes. “It’s none of your fucking business where I went! I’ve been great on patrol and my grades are fine, so you don’t have to worry about your fucking cover!”

“That’s it!” Bruce storms forwards and Jason scrambles up the steps. “You’re grounded.”

Jason gasps for air. He can’t be grounded. Professor Williams is going to do Austen next. “You’re not in charge of me! I can go wherever I want and you’re just being controlling asshole!”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” Bruce roars.

Jason flinches again. And then, he runs.

“You’re benched too!” Bruce screams, but Jason isn’t listening. Instead, he races into his room and slams the door behind him, locking it with trembling hands. “Don’t slam the door!” Bruce shouts as Jason slides down into a seated position, pulling his knees to his chest and covering his ears as he struggles to breathe.

It’s safe, Jason reminds himself, but it doesn’t help much. Bruce promised. Bruce promised. In fact, that had been one of the first things he said when they got to Wayne Manor. He’d shown Jason his room and promisedJason that he would never go in there without his express permission.

“Safe,” Jason whispers. “Safe, safe, safe.”

He doesn’t quite believe it.

***

The next morning, Alfred drives Jason to school. After catching a glimpse of the butler’s disappointed expression, Jason spends the rest of the ride looking down and avoiding Alfred’s gaze. He drifts through the school day, unable to pay attention but dreading his return to the Manor. Bruce is still mad at him, and Alfred is mad too, and Jason is benched, so he can’t even be useful. If Jason doesn’t fix this, and soon, he’ll be back out on the streets.

Sure, Jason was offended by Bruce’s accusation, but his pride isn’t worth giving up the best thing that’s happened to Jason since his mother died.

I’ll apologize when I get home, Jason decides. And explain. And offer to fix it. Extra work, giving up reading…whatever Bruce wants, if it means that this can be forgiven.

But only a couple of hours later, Jason walks into his room only to feel something odd prickling on the back of his neck. Immediately, Jason goes still. Something’s wrong.

On first glance, the room looks perfectly normal. But Bruce trained Jason to be a detective, and now that’s his downfall.

This morning, Jason tried to slam his shirt drawer shut in frustration, but it didn’t close all the way. He had just abandoned it, though, and run out of the room so that Alfred wouldn’t be even more upset with him for being late. It’s closed, now.

Jason always puts his tissue box on his dresser the same way. And the angle is perfect, but the distance from the box to the edge is ever so slightly off in the way that only someone who saw it every day would notice.

One of the paintings on Jason’s wall is crooked. The mirror is missing a smudge. The pair of shorts that fell from his laundry basket is sitting there in the corner—right-side out.

And the small things add up. Someone has been in Jason’s room.

Nausea rolls in his stomach, and before he knows it, Jason is bent over the toilet, vomiting. His throat burns and his eyes tear up with what he tells himself is just the acidic stench.

It was Bruce. It had to have been Bruce. And the man is so good at details that for him to make this many mistakes—enough for Jason to notice—he had to have been mad. Jason shudders.

But Bruce promised.

Jason’s stomach contracts again and he shuts his eyes tight as he throws up. His hands clench the toilet seat, knuckles turning white.

Bruce promised he wouldn’t go into Jason’s room. But he did. He broke that promise.

What other promises will Bruce break?

Jason is being stupid. Bruce—Bruce probably thought Jason’s anger was guilt, that Jason was taking drugs. And so he searched Jason’s room. Batman does it frequently enough, so why can’t Bruce?

But this is Jason’s room. And Bruce promised.

A horrifying thought occurs to Jason. When Batman and Robin search a room and don’t find anything, they often install bugs to monitor for criminal activity. Are there cameras in Jason’s bedroom now?

And then he’s puking again, and he can’t hold back the tears anymore. It isn’t fair. Jason just wanted to go to a college class. Was that really too much to ask? He never expected Bruce to let him go to college for real, he just—he was enjoying it. He loved it. In fact, he was planning to show up for GothamU’s Spanish Literature class over the summer.

And now, because Jason let himself have this one thing, Bruce thinks he’s doing drugs, he’s benched (probably fired, just like Dick), and there could be cameras in his room.

When he’s done throwing up, Jason curls up under the sink, buries his face in his knees, and sobs until his body has run out of tears.

***

Bruce isn’t at dinner. That’s good. Jason doesn’t think he could look the man in the eyes without crying.

Alfred serves Jason with a vaguely apologetic expression, and Jason thinks, Do you know what Bruce did? Is that what you’re apologizing for? But it’s probably just that Bruce didn’t bother to show up, and Jason is alone.

Good. Alone is safe.

Jason spends the next hour carefully unscrewing and checking every single one of his light fixtures. He finds nothing, but Bruce knows that Jason knows how to find bugs. He wouldn’t put them in the most obvious place.

By dawn, Jason has checked every single inch of his walls with a magnifying glass, removed every single screw from his furniture, and dismantled every single one of his pens. It’s not enough. When he lies in bed, all he can think of is how flimsy the wooden door is, how that lock can’t keep out a common thief (let alone Batman himself), how Bruce’s promise not to enter means nothing.

The next day, Jason is exhausted. He doesn’t run into Bruce that day either. At night, he lies in bed, his heart thundering away in his chest. This is an indefensible position—Bruce could sneak up on him so easily, and Jason would be lying prone, unable to fight. He rushes to the bathroom and locks that door behind him, but the tight space only makes him feel more trapped. Returning to his room, Jason paces until it’s time to go back to school.

He's pretty sure he fails his geometry test. The math is easy…until he’s gone over 48 hours without sleep, and all the obtuse angles look acute and csc might as well be cos for all he can read it.

When Jason gets home, he tries to make himself take a nap. It should be easy. He’s absolutely exhausted—he was falling asleep in class, after all. And Bruce is at work anyway. Only Alfred is in the house, and Alfred would never hurt Jason.

But lying in bed, Jason feels his skin crawl. His survival instincts, honed by two years in Crime Alley and two years fighting the worst of Gotham’s criminals, are screaming at him to run.

And so, he runs.

***

Jason ends up at the train station with no idea where to go. He packed his backpack full of the essentials—clothes, protein bars, the money from Bruce’s exorbitant “allowance.” Maybe it’s stealing—those things really belong to Bruce, and Jason’s just borrowing them, but, well…stealing from Batman is nothing new for him.

He needs to get away from Gotham, and fast. Jason knows a lot, and that’s dangerous. Even though Jason is basically proving with this stunt that he’s more trouble than he’s worth, Bruce will probably still want to hunt him down to wipe his memory. And with that wiped memory will go many of the survival skills that Jason needs. So, he needs to get into territory that’s unfamiliar to Batman.

Jason should’ve planned for this better. He knew Dick got kicked out. He knew the same thing could happen to him too. That’s how it goes.

Dick.

Jason doesn’t want to bother the older boy, but Dick did say to call if Jason ever needed him. And now, more than ever, Jason needs him.

Dick will understand what Bruce is like, right? He might not have a lot of money, but maybe he can keep Jason safe for a little while. Jason can buy his own food, and it won’t cost Dick anything to let Jason crash on his couch. Dick…Dick said they were brothers. Dick said that Jason could call.

Jason wasn’t stupid enough to bring his phone with him, so he finds a family on the train and convinces the mother to let him borrow her cellphone to call his brother. The phone rings for a long time before Dick picks up.

“Hi, who is this?”

“It’s Jason.” Jason hears his voice shake. He tells himself that’s just for show, so that the woman he borrowed the phone from will trust him.

There’s a pause on the other end. Then—“Jason Todd?”

“Yeah,” Jason says.

“Oh, cool. Sorry, it didn’t show up as you for some reason. Anyway, what’s up? You sound off—is everything okay?”

Jason takes a deep breath. “Can I stay with you for a bit?” He asks.

Another pause. “Yeah, Jason, of course. Is this a ‘sleepover at Titans Tower for the weekend’ sort of thing or a ‘drive out to Gotham to pick me up’ sort of thing? Because I totally can pick you up.”

“I’m on the train to New York,” Jason admits. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Immediately, Jason hears movement on the other end of the call. “I’ll pick you up from the station,” Dick says. “Whatever’s going on, I’ll help, okay? I promise.”

“’kay,” Jason whispers. Bruce broke his promise. What’s to say that Dick won’t too?

They’re different people, Jason reminds himself. And Dick hates Bruce. He’d probably help me just to stick it to B.

“Thanks,” Jason says, and hands the phone back to the woman.

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” she says. “Stay safe.”

Jason nods and goes back to his seat, wiping off his sweaty palms. Fuck, he probably sweated all over the phone didn’t he? Made it all gross. And the woman had been so nice, too.

Calm down, Jason tells himself, trying to slow his rapid breathing. Dick’s going to pick you up, and it’ll be okay. He can sleep at Dick’s apartment, and then plan how to survive on his own long-term. Jason’s fourteen, yeah, but he’s a far better fighter than he was at twelve, and Robin’s crimefighting skills could easily be used for crime. He can make it, now. He can.

Jason spends the remainder of the train ride counting out breaths in his head. When the train arrives, Jason enters the train station half-expecting to see Bruce waiting, his face lined by fury. So when he instead sees Dick, just as promised, he collapses into the older boy’s arms. Burying his head in Dick’s chest, Jason finally lets himself close his eyes.

“Whatever this is,” Dick says, “we’ll work it out.” And Jason—Jason almost believes him.

***

Dick’s eyes get wider and wider and wider as Jason tells his story. When Jason finishes his outpouring of fear and anxiety, Dick collapses back into the couch and buries his face in one of his hands. Jason stands in front of him like a man awaiting judgement.

Eventually, Dick gestures to the couch. Jason sits at the very end, wedging himself in the corner and curling up against the armrest.

“You can stay here as long as you want,” Dick says, and Jason nearly melts. “But—” Jason’s body tenses again, and suddenly he feels like a live wire. “Not but to staying here. You can stay, okay?” Dick looks at Jason like he’s expecting an answer, so Jason gives a tiny nod. “But I just—Bruce would be happy to hear you were going to college lectures.”

Jason shakes his head. “But I can’t go to college.”

“Why not?”

“Because everything!” Jason shakes his head. “I’m Robin, and if I want him to keep me I can’t waste time on college when I could be a full-time vigilante! I can’t—I don’t know how you did it, but if he kicks me out too then I—I just can’t do it.”

“Jason…” Dick meets his eyes. “Bruce didn’t kick me out.”

Jason crosses his arms. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” Dick says firmly. “Bruce fired me. He had no right to do that, and he would’ve tried to stop me from being a vigilante, so I left. I was seventeen—I didn’t need an adult looking after me, anyway. I went to Titans Tower, became Nightwing, and never looked back. But Bruce never told me I had to leave the Manor.”

Jason shakes his head. Maybe Bruce didn’t say it, but it was implied in the firing. No Robin, no home. If Dick hadn’t fucked off of his own accord, Bruce would’ve eventually kicked him out. But if Dick wants to believe it was his own choice—Dick, who still visits the Manor for all the holidays even after the last visit resulted in a screaming match, who smiles in response to Bruce’s grunts, who gave Dick his phone number and his Robin suit—Jason doesn’t want to ruin that for him. So, he switches tactics. “You never went to college. And you were a mathlete, so you definitely had the smarts for it.”

“Jay, I didn’t want to go. I wanted to be a full-time hero. Bruce was against it. We fought a lot about it in that last year.”

“Bruce…wanted you to go to college?” That doesn’t make sense.

“Yeah, Little Wing.” Little Wing? Jason wrinkles his nose, and Dick smiles brightly in response before continuing. “So he’ll be thrilled one of his kids is cooperating. He probably just never said anything about college because he didn’t want to start an argument.”

Maybe Bruce just hadn’t realized he could get away with not sending a kid to college. Yeah, that’s it! Bruce was worried his public image would take a hit, but when Dick didn’t go and it was fine, Bruce was relieved.

“Look, I also wanted to talk about your room.”

Jason curls in on himself, his breaths suddenly ragged and panicked. And then, Dick’s crouched in front of him, reminding him to breathe. Jason breathes.

“You with me?” Dick asks. Jason nods. “Is it okay if we talk about this?”

Well. Dick probably knows Bruce pretty well. He might be able to reassure Jason or—or warn him. “I can’t sleep at all,” Jason says quietly. “It doesn’t—it doesn’t feel safe.”

“Bruce isn’t good at privacy,” Dick says.

“He just—he promised, Dick. He promised me he would never come in, and I believed him.”

“Did you know Bruce read my diary when I was little?”

Jason’s head snaps up. “N-no.”

Dick smiles. “Yeah, well, he did. I was eight. I would only eat chips, I was swinging from the chandeliers, sneaking out to hunt down Zucco—everything a kid could do wrong. He didn’t know how to help me. And he really wanted to help me. So then, he found the diary and…read it. That’s how he knew how to make the Robin costume. He saw my drawings of it. So, he made me the Robin costume, and I was upset with him, because that was my diary, but. He did it because he wanted to help. And I forgave him, because the costume was awesome. I guess, what I’m trying to say is—I get it. Bruce can be a nightmare sometimes, and he doesn’t really get boundaries. But he means well. Always. He would never go into your room to hurt you. Never, Jason. He—”

“I know,” Jason interrupts. “I know. I just—”

Dick puts a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Yeah. It’s hard to sleep somewhere that doesn’t feel safe.”

Jason looks down. “Batman and Robin put bugs in the rooms they search.”

Dick pauses a second too long. “Bruce wouldn’t put cameras in your room.”

“Please don’t lie to me,” Jason says, voice small.

“I—I don’t know, Jason. But when you do go back—if you do go back, we’ll use Bat tech and Titans tech to scan your room, okay?”

“Okay.” Jason closes his eyes and leans back against the couch.

“You should sleep,” Dick says. “You must be exhausted.” Jason nods. “Is there anything I can do to h—” Dick’s phone rings. He glances at it and then freezes when he sees the caller ID. “Shit.”

“It’s Bruce, isn’t it?” Dick nods. “You should pick it up.” Dick nods again, but still doesn’t move. “He’ll get suspicious if you don’t.”

Grudgingly, Dick stands up to take the phone call to another room. Jason’s heart jolts with fear. “Please stay.” He doesn’t want to be out of the loop. He doesn’t think Dick will tell Bruce that Jason’s with him, but one can never be too careful.

Dick accepts the call and raises the phone to his ear. “What?” He snaps. A pause. “Huh? Why would he be?...No, of course I haven’t—…You put trackers in his shoes. What the fuck is wrong with you, Bruce?”

Jason stands up, eyes darting around the room. If Bruce put trackers in Jason’s shoes, he could be here any second. And Nightwing is good, but there’s no way he’s Batman good.

Dick meets Jason’s eyes from across the room. “It’s going to be okay, Jason,” he promises. Jason doesn’t think he’s lying, but that doesn’t mean Dick is right. “Bruce, your son is having a panic attack in my apartment because of your control issues…You promised him, okay? And now he’s freaking out, because you went into his room when you said you wouldn’t. You see why that scares him, right? Or does that not get through your thick head?”

Dick lowers the phone, breathing heavily. “Is he here?” Jason whispers.

“I don’t think so,” Dick says. “I think—I think he’s at home still, and he called me the second he knew where you were.”

“I can go,” Jason says.

“No. My baby brother is not going to go wandering around New York City because B is being an asshole.”

Jason pulls his knees to his chest and listens.

“Well, maybe next time try asking him without accusing him! …No, I don’t give a fuck about that,” Dick rants. “And what the hell does Roy have to do with this? …Fuck you. Fuck you, Bruce. Jason is staying here and if you get within ten feet of him I’m calling the Titans.” With that, Dick hangs up and collapses onto the couch, breathing heavily.

“Dick?” Jason asks quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Starfire can shoot energy beams from her eyes, Cyborg can hack into any computer in the known universe, and Donna Troy is Wonder Girl,” Dick says. “Go to sleep. You can take my room, or the couch if you prefer. We’ll make sure you’re safe, okay?”

Jason wants to protest, but he’s too tired. So, he lets Dick tuck him in and listens to the lock click and drifts away.

***

For the first five days, it’s amazing. Dick brings Jason to Titans Tower to hang out with his cool superhero friends and lets him take out whatever books he wants on Dick’s library card. Jason spends his days reading and talking to the Titans and keeping up with his math and biology homework on Dick’s computer. It’s great.

And then, on the sixth day, Bruce calls. Dick screams at him. Bruce insists on talking to Jason. Dick says that Bruce will talk to Jason when Jason is ready to talk, and not a moment before. Bruce says that Jason has to go to school. Dick says Babs hacked the school’s computer system, and fuck you, Bruce, and then hangs up.

Jason is hit by the realization that yes, Dick would let Jason stay forever if Jason never left, but it’s just not sustainable.

“I need to go back,” he tells Dick as they eat microwave mac and cheese and microwave peas. Dick has been making an effort to cook actual food. Jason is honestly kind of concerned for Dick, given that this is an improvement on his usual fare. As in, there is a vegetable present.

“No, you don’t,” Dick says.

“I’m—I want to be Robin. And Bruce adopted me. I’m supposed to live with him.”

“Are you sure, Jason?”

Jason’s heartrate doesn’t pick up at the thought of sleeping in his room anymore, so that’s something, at least. And Dick has said that Bruce wanted him to convey his apologies for searching Jason’s room. “If I tell him I don’t actually expect to go to college, he won’t be too mad at me, right?”

Dick sighs. “He’ll be thrilled that you want to college. But—”

“No, he won’t—”

“But. If for whatever reason he decides he’s against it, you’re still going to go. You want to go to college? You’ll go to college. The Wayne Foundation gives kids who are in foster care or were adopted full rides to Gotham universities.”

“Bruce is in charge of those, though,” Jason mutters. Bruce won’t want Robin leaving to go waste his time, so he can just deny the scholarship.

“That’s—it’s an automatic process, Jason,” Dick argues. “But, even if the scholarship was denied, I’d pay for it, okay? Bruce gave me a trust fund, and it has enough to pay for that.”

Jason stands up, sliding his chair back with a screech. “No way! I’m not taking your money!”

“It’s not my money, it’s Bruce’s. Trust me—” Dick winks and, despite himself, Jason groans. “—I’m not gonna use it. I don’t need his money. But my little brother going to college? Yeah, he’s totally paying for that.”

Jason lets himself smile, just a little. College. Even when he was a stupid kid, he hadn’t thought he was going to go to college. But if he can go now, can spend his days in lectures like the one he’d been attending and actually get to raise his hand and go to recitation and write essays and get feedback…

“I promise,” Dick says.

***

Dick offers to explain Jason’s side of the story to Bruce, and Jason gratefully takes him up on that offer. The next day, Bruce comes over to Dick’s apartment.

“If you want him to leave at any time, he leaves,” Dick says. “Literally any time. If Bruce makes a bad pun and you decide you want him to go, he’ll go. Got it?” Jason nods. The door opens.

Jason listens numbly as Bruce apologizes and Dick extracts a series of promises from Bruce that should probably be reassuring.

“Jason.” That’s Bruce’s voice. Dick taps Jason lightly on the shoulder, making Jason’s world snap back into focus. “I’m truly sorry. I never meant to make you feel unsafe.” Jason nods, not really sure what to say. “How can I make it up to you?”

Jason doesn’t—Jason doesn’t know, is the thing. He can’t think of a single way to secure his room so that Batman can’t enter without turning it into a prison cell. Bruce will always be able to get in, and Jason just has to live with that. “Just…don’t do it again,” Jason mumbles.

“I won’t,” Bruce says. “I promise.”

Jason doesn’t point out that he has promised that before, but it hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken.

In the car ride back to Wayne Manor, Bruce flips the rearview mirror so that he can better see Jason. “I’m not trying to buy your forgiveness,” Bruce says. “But I was thinking that we could take a tour of Ivy University this weekend.”

That makes Jason’s widen comically. “What?”

“It’s the best university in the country for English Literature. Dick says you were going to a Literature class, so I thought you might want to see your options.”

“But—Ivy University’s not in Gotham, is it?”

“You might have to take a break from Robin,” Bruce says. “But that would be alright, Jason.”

“Really?” Jason whispers.

“Really,” Bruce says. “Dick didn’t like the idea of juggling vigilante life with college, but that was…that was his decision, even if I disagreed with his choices. You can make your own decision, and whatever you decide, I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen.”

Maybe, Jason thinks, Dick was right.

***

That Friday, Bruce tells Jason that actually, there’s a drug deal going down on Saturday evening, and maybe they can visit Ivy University another time. Jason knows that means it’s not happening, but that doesn’t matter. Not when Alfred drives Jason to English Literature every Monday and Wednesday, and Jason has his own copies of the books to annotate to his heart’s content.

***

The second Jason climbs in through the window, he knows that someone is in his safehouse. He draws his handgun and clicks off the safety, scanning around the room. “Come out, and this will be easier for both of us.”

The light flickers on, and Jason whirls around, only to see Nightwing leaning against the wall, a grin on his face. Jason does not lower his gun, nor does he put the safety back on. Although it’s unlikely that Nightwing would come alone to hunt Red Hood down, Jason is not on particularly good terms with the Bats at the moment. “Why are you here?” Jason asks, voice level. “The Big Bad Bat needed a spy?”

“Actually,” Dick says, still smiling, “I’m here because I made a promise.”

Jason keeps the gun pointed straight at Dick’s chest. “What promise?”

Dick blinks. “Jason Peters got his GED last week. Congratulations.”

It takes Jason a moment to register Dick’s implication, but when it finally clicks, Jason turns the safety back on and lows his handgun with a sigh. “I’ll have you know that crime lording is a lucrative career.”

“Just thought I’d offer,” Dick says, pushing himself off the wall. It’s only then that Jason realizes Dick was making himself seem smaller and more casual on purpose. “The trust fund’s still sitting there, unused. It’d really stick it to B.”

For a moment, Jason is tempted. But then he remembers the whole mess that started this. “Yeah, no, Dickhead. You’re not the type to stalk my fake identity. So, who sent you? Bruce, or Tim?”

Dick sighs. “Bruce was going to come and offer to pay for your college himself. I talked him down from that. But I was going to offer from the moment he mentioned you got your GED.”

Jason wipes a hand across his face. “Last time I saw him, I shot at him.” Jason wasn’t kidding about being on bad terms with the Bats.

Dick shrugs. “It’s your love language. Just like Bruce’s is egregious violations of privacy.” He grins.

Jason remembers being fourteen and terrified of going to sleep in his own room. “It’s not funny.”

Dick sobers up quick. “Yeah. It’s not.”

Jason decides to throw him a bone. “I’m enrolling at GothamU this fall. Given the crime lord-ing, I need to be taking afternoon classes only. Wanna hack the scheduling system with me?”

***

Jason steps into the lecture hall, wiping his palms against his sweatpants as he surveys the room. There are screens set up in front, each with a dark blackboard-like background. And then, in the seats, there’s a sea of students, eighteen and nineteen and early twenties, and some younger and some older. Senior citizens and high schoolers on dual enrollment, all mixed into the rows of seats with tiny folding desks. Jason, at nineteen, can almost fool himself into thinking he belongs here.

Jason sits right up at the front and removes a new notebook from his bright red backpack.

#batman #dc #dc comics #dcu #batfamily #batfam #jason todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #batman fanfic #batman fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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hungharrington · 2 years ago

Note

this might sound a bit weird, but personally i find comforting someone and like. boosting their confidence really fucking hot. like i get off to fixing someone’s insecurities

like maybe an insecure steve about how he’s not the same person he was in high school, thinks he’s lost his charm and attractive looks or whatever due to his scars as well as change in body (he’s not 16 anymore, he’s gonna have a bit of pudge)

just like body worship and, in the best way i can describe it, fucking the belief into him that he’s still gorgeous. like lots of praise

hot or not?

HOT !! HOT HOT HOT HOT HOT!! i'm not sure if 'fix' is the right word for it but i am GOBBLING up what you are putting down my god <3 lots of praise is my fuckin JAM MDNI this entire blog is 18+

i actually don't think that steve is overly that insecure, especially to do with his appearance-- most of the insecurities that pop up with him are to do with his abandonment issues :( but that does not mean there aren’t little moments, yknow?

sometimes it’s a comment, sometimes it only takes an old photograph, especially something something from his earlier years when it was just sport after sport after sport— and look, he likes that he's not as lean as he used to be but then, well sometimes old jeans just don’t fit right and his tummy pushes over the waistband and steve doesn’t hate it, he swears he doesn’t, he just spends a couple extra minutes in the mirror.

he thinks you won’t notice— thinks there wouldn’t be any way you would be able to tell and honestly, he thinks he gets away with it- his usual charm gets all the laughs and you seem to be more giving with your kisses tonight, on his neck and cheeks whenever you can, but he doesn’t make the connection at all. but then back at his, when the kisses get more heated and you’re sprawled in his lap, both of you half undressed, steve starts to notice the extra attention. the lingering lovebites on the inner of his thighs, the nuzzling along his happy trail and tummy — these these motions that draw attention to these parts, these fickle little moments of insecurity, all while you douse him in pleasure.

steve doesn’t mean to let you lead, to let himself squirm on the sheets while your hot tongue licks up his cock but you have a determination in you tonight that he’s far too willing to submit to. every moment your lips aren’t stretched around him, not making him cry out and tremble with how good it feels, you’re whispering into his skin— “feeling good, baby?” you murmur sweetly, pulling your mouth off and pumping the length of him in your hand, teasing at the top. steve nods quickly, arching his back as you speed up your hand. you kiss the skin where his thigh meets his pelvis, your free hand soothing up to his tummy.

“mm, good,” you hum, lightly tonguing his vein, as your hand slides back down from his tummy, gripping into the flesh of his thigh. “s’want you to feel good, stevie— want you to feel good always, cos you are. so fucking good and so fucking beautiful, hmm? my beautiful boy.” and god, steve knows what you’re doing now, a loud whimper slipping out his throat at the realisation - that you’d somehow picked up on his own disappointed looks at his appearances and taken them in stride, showing him in a way he’d understand just how easy it was to love all of him.

steve moans loudly, the noise all high pitched and pitiful, his hands pawing at the sheets for one of your hands to hold, that familiar hunger in his gut boiling hotter and hotter— you release your hold on his thigh in an instant to reach out and lace your fingers together, squeezing tight, and when you take him back in your mouth, steve whines again loudly— feeling hot, feeling loved, and the sour thoughts about the extra pudge on his tummy far far from him now <3

#better late than never !#tehe #it’s taking me ages i may have to axe the rest of them </3 well some of them #i got so many asks i gotta get round to #anyways. i love steve. i love subby men. i would indeed luv to worship a subby lil steve #jay answers #anon #jay writes #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader smut #jays 1k sleepover

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lo-vearchive · 2 years ago

Text

Forgive Me (Pt. 2)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x female reader

Summary: After reconciling in your bedroom, Miguel disappears on you for a week. Giving up on any hopes of romance, your friends plan a night out for you to cheer up. Too bad your boss makes an appearance and catches you with an attractive stranger on a stormy night. Read Part One: here

Word Count: 4463 words

Content: Miguel being a rude bastard, Miguel asking for forgiveness (again), arguments, possessiveness, alcohol consumption, tobacco consumption, 18+ (minors DNI), no p in v but things get spicy at the end, female fingering, finger sucking, misogyny, insecurity, swearing, hurt and comfort, office sex (no p in v), questionable Spanish

Note: ANGST! Got carried away once again. Lowkey not proofread. I love angst and Miguel being vulnerable. If you are into angst, you will enjoy this. Feel free to correct my Spanish and ask for any other cw to be added. Thank you for the 1K+ notes on Pt. 1. Have fun, horndogs ;)

It has been seven days since you last saw Miguel O’Hara.

After spending a full 48 hours by your side, he had gone back to work. You decided to join him at Alchemax the next day but found his office empty. At first, you thought he was occupied with Spider-Man business, so you kept yourself busy with answering his overflowing email box. Slowly the sun set behind the skyline of Nueva York and the messages ran out, leaving behind a feeling of uneasiness in your stomach.

You [sent Friday, 6 pm]: Hey, are you coming to work today?

You [sent Friday, 10 pm]: I’m going home for the night. Call me when you are home. I miss you :)

You [sent Saturday, 5 am]: Are you okay?

You [sent Saturday, 1 pm]: I’m getting really worried. Where are you?

You [sent Saturday, 5 pm]: I emailed you in case you lost your phone. Call me asap.

You [sent Sunday, 7 pm]: I’ll see you at work tomorrow.

You [sent Monday, 9 am]: Lyla said you’re okay but won’t tell me what’s going on. Says I don’t have clearance. Please call me.

You [sent Monday 10 am]: Are you actually ignoring me?

You [sent Tuesday, 1 am]: My best friend you’re an asshole and I should never let you near my pussy ever again.

You [sent Tuesday 1:23 am] Are you ghosting me? You know we work together, right?

You [sent Tuesday, 3:30 am]: I hate you Miguel O’Hara.

Friday rolled around and your best friend had enough of your drunk late-night facetime calls. She gathered a group of your high school girlfriends and decided a night out in the town would be the perfect remedy. “Fuck him, babe,” Katy states, sliding a shot glass across the table. “You should report him to HR for being an ass.”

You laughed and tipped the glass into your mouth. The tequila burnt its way down your throat. “I’m just going to find a new job. I can’t be dealing with this shit right now.”

Your friend Soo let out a burp. “Did you let him hit it?”

You shake your head. “No,” you cough. “We came close to it, like above the pants stuff— do you think that’s why he’s ignoring me? Because I didn’t put out right away?”

“Bitch,” Katy chides, slapping the tabletop, “be fucking for real. You look like a busty, hot secretary from some comic book. He should be lucky you let him touch your tits!”

Your friends nodded along in agreement. Katy grabs the sides of your chair and spins it around, facing you to the restaurant bar. “You see that guy there?” she points at a man with messy blond hair in an open-collar white shirt. “He’s been eyeing you all night. Go talk to him right now.”

The tequila must have heightened your bravery as you found yourself walking across the dimly lit restaurant and to the wall. Stealing a glance at him from the corner of your eye, you ask the bartender for, “a rum and coke please.”

“You can add her drink to my tab,” the man says just like you hoped he would. “I hope you don’t mind. I saw your friends fussing over you earlier and you looked like you needed a drink.”

“Is it that obvious?” You ask, letting out a laugh. “You’re right, I do need a little pick-me-upper tonight.”

“My name is John,” he says.

You introduced yourself and slide in the empty seat next to him. “So, what’s going on with you?” he questions, sipping his beer.

You carefully lift your drink from the bar top and circled the rim with your index finger. “I’m not sure if I wanna’ trauma dump on a stranger.”

“Sometimes talking to strangers helps.”

You contemplate his words and sigh. Your friends would kick you if you said the name Miguel O’Hara again in their general vicinity. You chose to divulge a little to the mystery man. “Things got a bit complicated with someone I really cared about. Everything was going well and then he disappeared suddenly, and I don’t know why.”

John listens to you carefully, nodding to himself. “You know what I do when I’m confused?”

“What?”

“I take a smoke break to chill out,” he answers, standing up. “Care to join me?”

You downed the contents of your glass and follow him out a door that open to a back alley behind the restaurant. Rain pours down heavily, and you both huddle under a dingy metal shed. The cold air bites your arms sharply as John lights the end of his cigarette and brings it to his mouth. “It can be frustrating when you’re left without answers but a girl like you has nothing to worry about.”

You smile at his words. You take the cigarette off his hand and take a drag. The smoke fills your lungs, making your head spin a little. The light-headedness reminds you of how you felt last time when Miguel was in your arms. Airy, free, and light. No matter what you do, all your thoughts lead back to him. You shake away the memories and pass the cigarette back to John.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” a stern voice asks.

A man melts out of the shadows in the alley and into the light shining from a streetlamp above. You recognize him. “Miguel?”

He doesn’t look at you and keeps his eyes focused on John. “Who is he?” he asks with a deep frown.

“Listen, I’m off work right now,” you clear your throat, sticking your nose up in the air. “I don’t have to explain—”

“Look, man,” John interrupts, “no need to get all worked about this. We are just talking.”

Miguel lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, right,” he spits and gets in his face. “You could have done that at the bar. Why the fuck are you out here alone with her? What were you planning on doing?”

“Mr. O’Hara!” you exclaim, stepping in between them. “You are out of line!”

He raises his eyebrows at your formality but keeps his attention on John over your shoulder. “Buddy,” John says, wrapping an arm around your waist and moving you to the side. “She is allowed to talk to whoever she wants. I suggest you leave us alone now.”

The touch doesn’t go unnoticed by Miguel. His nostrils flare and his eyes turned red with anger. He steps closer to John until he is looming over the poor man. You often forget how big your boss is compared to everyone around him. The scene looks almost comical with how John tries to puff out his chest. “Te calmas o te calmo,” (Calm yourself, or I’ll calm you down) Miguel snarls.

Whatever John sees in his face is enough to make him reconsider. He holds his hands up in surrender and backs away slowly. Stopping in front of you he pushes the half-burnt cigarette into your hand and whispers, “If this is the guy you were talking about, then maybe it’s a good thing he disappears. I’ll be inside if you still want to talk.”

He walks away from the alley and into the restaurant, leaving you with Miguel alone in the alley. You watch in silence as his body trembles, and you can’t tell if it’s from anger or the rain hammering away at his back.

He breaks the silence. “So, you’re letting strangers into our private business?”

You snort loudly. “You don’t get to speak to me like that,” you tell him, taking another drag. “Especially after disappearing on me. You can’t just strut back into my life and tell me who I can confide in.”

“I was tending to some urgent matters,” he says, brushing his wet hair away from his forehead. “So I took the time to handle them. I can’t be around you every second of the day acting as your lap dog.”

The heat from the cigarette burns your skin. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you raise your voice, throwing your hands in the air. “You’re acting like I want you on a leash! I just wanted to know you were okay.”

“Clearly I’m okay,” he replies, rolling his eyes.

Your lips tug into a deep scowl at his tone. “Did you ever stop to consider how your actions affected me? How lost and confused I felt waiting by the phone every day?”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Miguel matches your tone. “You know I am a busy man, and that I have responsibilities. But you’d rather live in some fantasy land where I’m just some monster out to hurt you! You can’t begin to understand the weight I carry on my shoulders.”

Anger surges through your body. “How am I supposed to understand when you don’t tell me anything? Hell, your AI knows more about you than I do. It’s like you only care about missions or work and nothing else—”

“Sometimes in life, personal matters have to take a backseat,” he cuts you off, harshly. “Not everyone can put on a short skirt and high heels, waltz into work, type a few memos and then call it a night.”

“You misogynist fuck!” You scream back at him, resisting the urge to slap him silly. “I hate you!”

“I hate you too!” he yells back in your face with bloodshot eyes.

You spin on your heels and begin walking towards the main road. Rage begins to bubble inside you and reaches your throat. You turn around just as you reach the sidewalk and call out, “You know what? It doesn’t matter if you disappear again because I have hated you since the moment I met you. I hated you when everyone at work warned me about you. I hated you all those times you dismissed me like an afterthought. And I hated you when you came to my room that night begging for a second chance. So, I don’t care if you hate me, or think I’m useless or unimportant cause have hated you longer and harder and for better fucking reasons!”

You take another drag from the cigarette and then crush it underneath your pretty high heels. You make a right at the end of the alley and begin walking up the street. Warm tears spill down your face as you shiver in the rain. Katy was right, he was an asshole. An asshole that made you feel dumb for having a normal job or human emotions. But maybe you were just an idiot for falling in love with a man who didn’t respect you. Love wasn’t supposed to be this hard, but here you were feeling small and crying at the side of the road.

The sound of screeching tires brings you out of your self-pity. A sleek black car pulls up on the other side of the road and the passenger window rolls down. Miguel’s face emerges from behind the glass. “Ven aquí!” (come here) he calls out.

You ignore him and keep walking ahead. You have no idea where you are going, but you would rather eat rocks than speak to him.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Miguel make a sharp left, almost hitting oncoming traffic and pulling up beside you. “Get in the car!”

Your feet don’t stop moving so he slowly inches his car to match your speed. “Estoy harto. (I’m sick of this) Let’s talk!”

Honks and yells filled the night as people grew frustrated with his speed. “Stop,” you hiss, bending down to the window. “You are embarrassing me!”

“Get in the car then,” he says, with a clenched jaw. “You’re gonna’ catch a cold in the rain.”

“Stop pretending like you care,” you snarl, kicking the side of his car.

“A-YO LADY!” a man yells out of his yellow cab. “Get in the damn car! Your boyfriend is holding up traffic!”

A pleased smirk spread across Miguel’s face at the man’s remarks. You let out a frustrated grunt and yanked the door open, slipping into the passenger seat. “Put your seatbelt on,” he says, picking up speed.

You begrudgingly obey but wished that his car would get rear-ended so hard that his fat head would go through the windshield. “You look like you want me dead, babe,” he commented with a nervous laugh.

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, adjusting the belt over your soaking dress. “Where are we going?”

“Back to Alchemax,” he points at the GPS screen. “The freeway flooded, and it will be a while until it clears up. I have a spare set of clothes I keep in the office for overnighters. You can change while we wait for the storm to blow over.”

“I don’t want your charity,” you grumble, crossing my hand over my chest.

“I know,” he says. “I just want to take care of you.”

You disliked how your stomach felt at his words. “I left my bag behind at the restaurant.”

“I picked it up, it’s in the back seat.”

“I didn’t pay my tab.”

“It’s taken care of. Your friends know you’re fine, too. Just relax.”

Miguel leans over to turn your seat warmer on and warmth spreads across your chest and down your limbs. He drives in silence with only the soft white noise of radio static playing in the background. Occasionally you tear your gaze away from the furiously working windshield wipers and steal glances at his face. The headlights from other cars make the slopes of his cheek and the plumpness of his lips visible even on a stormy night. His warm complexion has turned pale, and you ponder if it was because of your interaction earlier.

You both pull up into the Alchemax parking lot and get out of the car. The security team must be watching through the cameras, wondering why one of their lead engineers was coming into work late at night with his drenched secretary. You quickly follow him into the elevator and up to the floor with his office. He opens the office door, and you slide inside into the dark space.

“Lyla,” he calls out and the room illuminates on command. “Lights.”

Miguel walks up to a storage cupboard and retrieves a towel in one hand and fresh clothes in the other. He passes them to you, and you quietly enter the adjacent washroom to change. You peel your damp dress off your skin and shiver as the chilly air hits you all over. Rubbing the towel quickly over your cold skin, you slip into an oversized t-shirt and shorts. It takes two knots of the drawstring, but you manage to keep the waistband tied around your naval.

You find Miguel waiting for you outside. He had changed into a shirt that hugged his slender waist and pants that hung dangerously low under his taut stomach. He pulls the towel out of your hand and drapes it over your head. His hands gently rub the threads against your wet hair in soft, circular motions. You lean into his touch involuntarily. “I can do it myself,” you complain but made no move to reach for the fabric.

“I know,” he replies. “I want to do it for you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re doing that thing again,” you said, “and it’s messing with my head.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you start acting kind after being mean,” you explain in a small voice. “I don’t like it. It’s confusing”

He tugs the towel back so you can look into each other’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he speaks, gently. “I just lost my shit when I saw you with him.”

“You cut off all contact when all I wanted was to know if you were okay,” your voice shakes as you stare at your feet. “You left me all alone, what was I supposed to do? Wait for you to change your mind?”

“I know I messed up, baby. I was wrong” he sighs, inching down his forehead to meet yours. “I should have communicated with you, but sometimes on missions, things get complicated. I don’t always like the things I have to do, and recently I’m having a difficult time making peace with it. It’s like the harder I try to do the right thing, the more damage I do. So sometimes, it’s just better to be alone rather than pretend I’m okay around other people.”

His words hurt your heart. You knew that his missions take a toll on him. In the past whenever you tried to inquire about its contents he wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t push, afraid that he’d pull away, but it seems that he was pulling away regardless.

“When you’re gone,” you clear your throat, trying to speak through your narrowing trachea, “I worry that you might be laying dead in some universe, and I’d be none the wiser. I know that being Spider-Man is a sacrifice, but I don’t care about the world. I only care about you. So, when you treat me this way, it’s like I can’t breathe.”

He cups your face and places a soft kiss right on your cheekbone “Forgive me.”

“You say that a lot,” you remind him with a frown.

“I know,” he nods, “and I still mean it. I’m just an idiot who doesn’t know how to find the balance in life. I love that you care about me, and I want you to continue caring about me.”

“I don’t know, Mr. O’Hara,” you said. “I can’t ignore the way you speak to me at times. It feels as if you think we’re not equals. I am not some idiot. I am not beneath you just because I work under you.”

He groaned at the sound of his last name. Every time you called him that, it made the space between feel bigger. “I have seen a million universes, nena, (babe) and you are not beneath me in any of them,” he curls a damp strand behind your ear, “Unless we are in bed, then you’re definitely under me.”

“Miguel!” you chide, punching him in the stomach. “No es broma! (It’s not a joke) I’m being serious!”

He lets out an oof and backs away. His fangs poke out from underneath his curled lips and in that moment, he looks as carefree. He wraps his large hands around your arms and holds your attention. “I know broken trust isn’t easily mendable, but I’m going to try my hardest. I won’t leave you out in the dark or make you feel small. I’ll think twice before I open my stupid mouth. I’ll even ask Lyla to give you full access to my missions. Wh-when you see what I have to do- what I must do, please don’t hate me.”

“Miggy,” you pout, reaching for his face. “I was really, really angry when I said those things to you. I can never hate you. My heart won’t let me.”

His toothy grin appears again, and Miguel draws you into him. His smooth lips find yours and he cranes your head back to find the angle that leaves you breathless. You run the pads of your thumb gently across the slopes of his cheeks. It never ceased to surprise you that his skin was so soft under his stubble. Without breaking your kiss, your shuffle back and walk him to his desk chair. You smile into his lips as he shakes his head when you move him back and down to sit. His hands wrap around your wrists. “D-don’t leave,” he cries out.

You shake your head and take a seat on his lap with your legs dangling off the side. Miguel’s hands find your jaw and he turns your mouth to his. You wrap your fingers in his hair and tug him closer. You let out a content hum as his fangs softly dig into your lips, breaking the skin. The taste of metal fills your mouth, and you pull away to look at him. He sits in your embrace, with red-stained lips and is just as breathless. “Sorry,” he sheepishly says. “I usually have them under control. It’s just you’re in my office and in my clothes. It’s making my head spin a little.”

You laugh at his words and gently pull his hair back. Pressing a wet kiss to his exposed throat you ask, “Miggy, how come we haven’t had sex yet?”

“Honestly?” he lets out a choked moan.

“Honestly,” you hum, licking his jaw.

His hands suddenly grab you by the elbows and spin you around on his lap, so his chest is facing your back. His warm breath hits the nape of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine. “I haven’t fucked you yet because once I’m inside you,” he whispers into your ear, “I’ll never want to be anywhere else. I wouldn’t want to eat, sleep, work, or be Spider-Man. I think I’ll just want to stay buried in you all the time.”

“Miguel,” you moan, clutching your thighs together.

“Tsk-tsk,” he clicks his tongue. “Don’t hide from me.”

His large hand slips between your thighs and pushes your legs apart. He turns the chair around until you’re both facing his work desk. “Up,” he commands, slapping the side of your thighs.

You gingerly obey and place your bare feet on the edge of his desk. His hands slip under your shirt, and he fumbles with the knot. Impatient with the knots, he uses a sharp claw to cut through the drawstring. Your breath hitches as he pushes the loose shorts down your legs and off your feet. He wraps his fingers behind your knees and draws your legs apart. He puts his chin over your shoulder and bunches your shirt up to get a good look at your pink underwear. “Baby,” he coos. “You gotta’ let me have this once we are done. A little souvenir for when I’m away.”

Your stomach tightens at his suggestion. You glance at him and then the office door,. “Someone will see us,” you nervously gulp.

“You let me worry about that,” he says and presses a kiss to the side of your forehead, “and just relax. I’m not gonna’ let anyone else see my girl spread out like this.”

He runs his knuckles down your bare stomach and across the clothed cunt. Electricity shoots up your body and you almost curl up in his arms. Miguel’s fingertips find a quickly dampening spot on the fabric. “Huh,” he huffs. “Is this me or rainwater?”

You cry, arching into his touch.

“I guess it’s just me,” he grins against your shoulder.

He slides your underwear off your legs and tosses it on the table. It lands on a pile of paperwork you had put aside from him earlier in the week. Miguel stops breathing at the sight of your glistening, swollen pussy. A loud moan escapes your throat as his fingers part your folds and glide back and forth. You were sure that the security guards patrolling this floor would have heard you down the hallway. You almost miss his question over the sensations of pleasure spreading through your body.

“Do you want my finger inside you?”

You nod against his cheek and reach behind to clutch a fistful of his hair to brace for impact. He lowers his down until his thick, middle digit is nudging your opening. You must have been soaking his thighs with how easily his digit sinks inside. You bit your lip harshly to contain the sounds threatening to escape your mouth. It’s your turn to hold your breath when Miguel’s other hand begins to stroke your clit. Once, twice, thrice.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You clench around my finger every time I flick your clit.”

Not that you needed proof, but Miguel does it again and you shake with pleasure. “See?” he gasps, and captures your lips in a sloppy kiss.

He he pulls back to hold your eyes and you breathe his shaky breaths in. You close your eyes and imagine how it would look to hold his hard cock in your hands while he played with your pussy. He tears you away from your fantasy by hooking his fingers inside on an angle. You almost arch completely off his lap. He moves his free hand away from your clit and presses you back into him. His hard bulge pressed into your ass.

“Here?” Miguel moans and licks your lips. “Tell me where? Right here? Ah, here.”

His fingers find that spot again and he massages his fingers against it. You nod furiously and my hands move to claw forearms. He softly bites your shoulder in retaliation and his free hand resumes working against your clit, picking up rhythm. “Can I put another finger inside?” he asks, breathing hard. “I promise it will feel good.”

“Oh-kay,” you gasp, rocking your hips on his hand.

His index finger slithers into your pussy, and you forget how to speak. You begin to twist and turn in his lap. He pulls away from your clit to press down hard against your stomach so he can keep you in place. You slide your ass over his crotch with every movement of his fingers.

“Mig-Mig-Mig,” you pant, moving your hips to his set rhythm.

“Good? I bet that feels so good.”

“Gah—”

He presses soft kisses onto your cheek as you sink into his arms. You begin to tighten further around him. You realize that this is exactly how you always want to be—full of Miguel’s fingers, touch, and love. His tongue slips into your mouth as his fingers begin curling into you faster. Your moans and groans echo through the office. His left hand leaves your stomach and reaches for your clit again. It takes seven swipes, one for each day he left you alone, for you to seize around his finger. His mouth never leaves yours as he drinks all of your pleasurable cries.

Slowly, the current leaves your body and you’re able to take in your surround. Your cheeks burn with realization. Miguel had just fingered you open on his desk at your workplace. The very same desk you set up for him every morning. Your fingers slide up to his hair and you hide your face in the crook of his neck. “Don’t be shy now,” he chuckles, “One day I’ll fuck you all over this office, nena.”

You shriek and lightly slap his arm. Miguel gently slides his fingers out of your cunt, eliciting a soft groan, and brings his to his mouth.

He hums with eyes closed at the taste. “You taste so good,” he mumbles around his fingers.

“Ugh,” Lyla gags at a distance. “Be glad I activated noise cancellation.”

A/N: Thoughts?

800 notes · View notes

1004tyun-archive · 2 years ago

Text

❥ late bloomer

✿ pairing: non-idol!taehyun x noona!reader

✿ summary: your high school and college years were nothing short of uneventful. no first dates, no first kiss, no first boyfriend, nothing. but when you and taehyun hit it off at an art exhibit and start a relationship, you know you want him to be your first for everything. but does taehyun know he's your first?

✿ genres: established relationship, smut, slight angst

✿ warnings: slight age gap (reader is 25, taehyun is 21), virgin reader, soft dom taehyun, body worship, mirror sex, voyeurism

✿ word count: 5.8k words

✿ a/n: hi friends! i've been noticing an increase in the taehyun noona lover agenda, so i thought why not toss my hat in and give y'all a noona reader fic of my own? i hope you enjoy <3

very special thank you to @cherrypeaking for being my sounding board while writing this fic! screenshots were shared, tears were shed, memories were made 🥹

You zoom down the streets of Seoul with purpose, the wind blowing through your hair as you blast Carly Rae Jepsen’s entire discography in your car, not caring if anyone’s bothered by the way the bass shakes your car. Today’s a special day, after all.

You and Taehyun’s halfiversary, to be specific. It was like pulling teeth trying to get him to play along with the gimmick of celebrating the first six months of your relationship, but you were too excited not to celebrate it. You had a feeling there would be many more months to come, you knew it from the first date. You’ve never been more certain about anything.

You roll up to Taehyun’s apartment complex and turn your music down to a whisper’s volume. You text him indicating that you’re outside and he steps out moments later. He looks so dashing in a white dress shirt, black pants, his dark hair pushed back, and a Rolex adorning his wrist. As soon as he slides into your car, you’re hit with the scent of his woodsy, floral cologne.

Does he have any idea how irresistible he is?

“Happy halfiversary, baby,” you say and lean in, smiling into the kiss he gives you. You playfully smack him on the arm when he doesn’t return the greeting and he holds back a smile, his lips pressing into a line.

“Come on, you have to say it too!”

“Or what, the magic won’t work?” he asks dryly.

“Come on, say it!” you whine, then cross your arms. “I’m not driving us to our reservation until you say it.”

His smile gets harder to suppress as you give him puppy eyes, you can tell his resolve is beginning to crack.

“Happy… halfiversary, Y/N,” he finally says. You pump your fist and kiss him on the cheek. He can’t stop himself from smiling and neither can you.

If there’s one thing you’ve grown to admire about Taehyun, it’s his dry sense of humor. He takes so much pleasure in messing with you, but you love to return the energy, pushing the boundaries of just what you can get him to do in the name of love.

You switch to the playlist you and Taehyun made when you first started seeing each other and warmth spreads in your chest as you reminisce.

It hasn’t been too long you started dating, but every day has been so bright since Taehyun entered your life.

You’re relieved by everything he is. Protective, kind, warm in his own special, Taehyun way. His warmth radiates even as he sits across from you and holds your hand, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. The flame of the candle between you enhances the brown in his eyes.

Being an art museum security guard is a niche job that requires you to look tough and always be on your toes, but being around Taehyun allows you to let your guard down.

You’re the older of the two of you; you’re a couple of months into being 25 and Taehyun turned 21 just days before you met, but you turn into such a giddy child whenever he’s around.

You swing your arms as you hold hands and walk through the city streets together, and Taehyun watches you in amusement, a quiet fond smile on his face.

You make your way from the restaurant to the grocery store to stock up on snack foods for the night.

As you and Taehyun load your many bags of snacks into the trunk of your car, it finally hits you.

You’re going to be spending the night with him for the first time. You’ve never spent the night with a boyfriend before, much less even had a boyfriend before, period.

Your CRJ marathon continues as you drive back to Taehyun’s apartment. Want You In My Room starts to play and the heat rises in your cheeks. You try to keep your cool as the song plays. You’re having good conversation, but of course it settles to silence in the middle of the first chorus.

♪ I wanna do bad things to you / Slide on through my window / (I want you in my room) / Baby, don’t you want me, too? ♪

You get flustered and quickly switch to the next song.

“Subtle,” Taehyun remarks and you want to bury yourself in your steering wheel.

Despite your prior embarrassment, Taehyun has your back pressed against the wall the moment his front door shuts behind you. His hands slide up your waist and to the side of your neck as his lips press against yours.

He kneels in front of you and runs his hands up your legs and under your dress to play with the tops of your sheer tights.

“Can I take these off?” he asks, running his his hands down to rest on the backs of your thighs. He’s so breathtaking from this angle, looking up at you with those eager, glittering eyes.

His breath is fanning against your thigh, sending tingles up your spine and making you dizzy. Every cell in your body is urging you, screaming at you to say yes.

And yet…

“Wait,” you say, breathing a little heavily. “I… uh, I-I didn’t shave.”

“That doesn’t bother me.”

“Well, it bothers me,” you emphasize, sounding more offended than you intended. Taehyun pauses to look at you for a moment before the warmth of his hands slowly leave your body. You feel a pang of guilt and offer a meek apology as he rises to his feet.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

But that’s the problem. You do want to, you really really want to.

But there’s a massive roadblock that always stands in your way whenever situations like this arise.

A roadblock called inexperience.

You change into your pajamas and spend the rest of the night watching competitive cooking shows on Netflix while gossiping about your work lives and sharing snacks like you’re two kids having a sleepover.

You fall asleep on the couch snuggled into his side and you’re stirred awake by his movement.

“Let’s get to bed,” he says sleepily. He helps you up from the couch and you can’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you realize you’ll be sleeping in the same bed together for the first time.

Once it dawns on you that you’re sleeping together, you’re too giddy to possibly fall asleep. You say goodnight when Taehyun falls asleep, but you’re still up, taking in the atmosphere of his bedroom. He has blackout curtains but a small, round galaxy lamp casts shadows on the ceiling and grants the perfect amount of light to the room. Everything smells like him, floral and woodsy like his cologne, but also like the lavender scent of his hair shampoo.

You could imagine yourself here more often.

When you wake up hours later, all you can do is stare at Taehyun’s sleeping face. He looks so peaceful when he’s sleeping, even with his mouth slightly open and messy hair.

“Morning,” Taehyun says. His morning voice is so sexy, it warms up your entire body. He throws an arm over you and snuggles you closer. You’re close enough for the tips of your noses to touch, close enough to hear his breathing.

“G’morning,” you say then kiss the tip of your boyfriend’s nose.

“I made a brunch reservation for 10:00,” he says. “It’s a quarter to 9 now, so we have time.”

“Time for what?” you ask.

“Time for this,” Taehyun pounces on you and kisses you. You kiss him back and things get heated pretty quickly with his tongue making its way past your lips and into your mouth.

Your heart catches in your throat when you feel his morning wood poking at your inner thigh.

“Wanna make a mess before we get ready?” he asks, his tone suggestive as he slips his fingers past the fabric of your worn t-shirt. Your heart is hammering in your chest as the warmth of his hand against your waist makes you dizzy.

“I-I think we should start getting ready,” you say, shying away from Taehyun’s touch. He looks a bit disappointed but ultimately does what you say and removes his hands from your body.

You quickly get up to get your clothes for the day and go to take your shower.

The rest of the day is awkward, to say the least.

You and Taehyun walk back from brunch. You reach for his hand and hold it, but he doesn’t hold yours back. Taehyun, the chronic hand holder, not reaching for your hand as soon as you left the restaurant already raised a red flag, but him not holding your hand at all?

You get back to his place and take a seat on the couch. Taehyun sits on the couch too, but not immediately next to you. And at first, you chalk that up to him needing a bit of space. It’s not like he was icing you out, he wasn’t kicking you out, after all. He was still in the same room with you, just a little more quiet and distant than usual.

He’s pretty quiet for the rest of the day, giving you tacit responses when you ask questions and giving a half-hearted laugh when you try to tell a joke or make him laugh.

You finally notice things are wrong when he’s cooking dinner. You wrap your arms around his waist and he exhales through his nose.

“Now you want to touch me?” he asks. Your heart breaks a little as you let go of him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask.

“Nothing.”

Oh, so now it’s back to the short responses?

“No, it’s not nothing,” you say, it’s impossible to hide that you’re upset. “What did you mean?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” he asks. Where did this tone come from? He sounds like he’s joking, but not really. It’s really setting you off.

“Clearly there’s something I’m not getting,” you say.

“Then maybe you need some time to figure it out. Time away from me.”

You’re taken aback.

“Taehyun, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying you should probably go,” he finally turns to face you and his face is devoid of any warmth. When he looks at you with those cold eyes, it’s like the warmth leaves your body as well.

You search his face for any inkling of mirth or signs of him joking, but you don’t find any.

He really wants you to leave.

“Fine, I have work tomorrow anyway,” you stuff your clothes back into your bag, and storm out of Taehyun’s apartment without even a second glance. He doesn’t even look at you as you leave.

You walk to your car, not being able to hear much over your heart pounding in your ears. By the time you’re seated behind the wheel, your heart plummets.

It hits you that you’ve hurt your boyfriend’s feelings big-time. You didn’t need to see him on your way out to know that.

You can’t even bring yourself to start your car. You sit behind the wheel and hold back your tears until you can’t any longer, tears spilling down your cheeks while you mentally beat yourself up for having done this. Why were you so afraid? Why were you going out of you way to drive a wedge between the two of you?

It’s like you wanted him to hate you.

You check your phone at every red light, hoping and praying that he reaches out to you first, but to no avail. No message, no phone call, nothing from him.

A sinking feeling festers at the pit of your stomach. You’re not sure if you even want to go home, but you can’t think of anywhere else you could go.

Your housemates Jihyo and Nayeon are sitting in the living room laughing at something on TV and you know you’ve tanked the energy the moment you step through the door.

“You’re back,” Jihyo greets from the couch. “How’d it go?”

“It was… nice,” you say, voice strained.

“Y/N? What’s wrong?” Nayeon asks, clearly detecting that something’s wrong.

You can already feel the tears returning and you can’t stop them from falling. You break down into sobs and both Jihyo and Nayeon get up to console you. They lead you to the couch to sit down and you tearfully explained everything that has led up to this point.

“I hurt him,” you say between sobs and Nayeon rubs your shoulder. “He’s never gonna speak to me again.”

“Did he say that?” Jihyo asks.

“No, but he didn’t need to. Ever since this morning, he’s been tiptoeing around me and walking on eggshells trying not to upset me. He didn’t touch me, he didn’t even sit near me. He probably thinks I hate him.”

“Sounds like he thinks you’re mad at him,” Nayeon suggests.

“I’m not mad at him, I’m just.. scared of messing up.”

“Why are you so scared of going through with it?”

“I-I don’t think I’m ready. It’s something I want, but I don’t feel ready. There are only so many articles you can read and videos you can watch in preparation. Nothing compares to actual experience, and until meeting Taehyun, I’ve had none. What if I do something wrong? What if there’s something wrong with the way I smell or the way I taste or I can’t get into the right positions or—”

“—Y/N, no one’s first time is perfect,” Nayeon says. “The only way it can be close to perfect is by communicating with each other.”

“Right,” Jihyo adds. “Just like how you can’t read his mind, he can’t read yours either. You have to talk things through with him, even if it’s hard.”

You fall silent.

“Does he know he’s your first?” Jihyo asks.

You shake your head, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Y/N, you should tell him,” Nayeon says. “He should understand, he loves you.”

“After tonight, I’m not so sure he does. I don’t wanna lose him.”

“Please, you should see the way he looks at you,” Jihyo says. “He looks at you like you hung the moon and put every star in the sky. You’re not gonna lose him over this, just talk it out.”

You keep Jihyo and Nayeon’s words in mind as your fingers hover over your phone screen the following afternoon.

You have to do this, it’s now or never. A knot forms in your throat as you begin to type.

you: Hey are you busy tonight? I want to talk

taehyun: We’re talking now

you: No I wanna talk to you in person

you: If that’s okay

you: We can meet at that cafe you like

taehyun: That’s fine I have time after work

you: Okay see you then

He doesn’t respond and your entire body gets tense. Jihyo wasn’t wrong about this being hard.

You end up arriving first, standing outside the café with your hands in your pockets mentally hyping yourself up for this difficult conversation. You can do this. It’ll be hard but it’s important for your relationship.

You spot Taehyun from the corner of your eye and walk toward him, greeting him and giving him a hug. He doesn’t hug you back, that on its own worries you, but you try not to let it discourage you.

“How are things?” you ask from the across the table.

“Fine,” he says. His tone is so cold, not like the playful kind of cold tone he uses to tease you, but genuinely cold, distant even. A frigid silence settles between the two of you and your throat tightens.

“I wanna apologize for last weekend,” you start. “I didn’t mean to be so weird.”

“It’s fine,” Taehyun says, his voice is tense and it unsettles you.

“No, it’s not fine. I hurt you when I didn’t mean to, and I’m sorry.”

Taehyun is unusually quiet, part of you wants to ask him why but you also want to give him the proper space to think.

"Y/N, be honest. Are you trying to break up with me?"

That question hits you like a slap in the face.

"What?"

"Whenever I try to touch you, you always push my hands away, change the topic, or run away. This didn’t start with last weekend, it’s been going on for a while now and I don’t know if I can take it anymore. What am I doing wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No, no. Taehyun, you're not doing anything wrong."

"Then why are you pushing me away?"

"I’m not pushing you away, I just…" you hesitate, looking down at your hands then back up at Taehyun, who's looking at you expectantly. He’s a bit upset, but it's clear that he wants to hear what you have to say for yourself.

The thing is, you aren't completely prepared to say it. You swallow, fighting the dryness seizing your throat.

"I’ve spent all my life feeling invisible. My friends had their first kisses before I did, got married before I did, started having kids before I did while I couldn’t even get a date. I felt like time was running out for me, and then I met you. Taehyun, you make me feel seen. Being with you makes me feel like the lovesick teenager I never got to be. Before we got together, I'd never had a boyfriend, been on a date, held someone's hand, or had my first kiss. You've been my first for everything, but whenever sex comes into play, I-I get scared.”

“Scared?”

“Scared that I won’t measure up, scared of how you’d react. You’ve had years of experience with different partners while I just bought a vibrator for the first time this year. Can you believe it? 25 and I just bought my first sex toy,” you say with a wry laugh. “You make me so happy, Taehyun. There’s no one else I’d rather have my first time with, but the thought of disappointing you or making you slow down for me hurts too much. I don’t want to do that to you."

There’s a long silence between the two of you. Taehyun pulls you into a tight hug. You’re startled at first, but you soon close your eyes and wrap your arms around him in return.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he sighs. “I’m- I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Another thing you’ve learned to love about Taehyun is his firm belief of actions speaking louder than words. The way he holds you tight in this café speaks for him perfectly. Sometimes words aren’t needed and this is one of those times for him.

“Let’s make some plans,” Taehyun says, determined. “I’m gonna give you the best first time you’ll ever have.”

As the week progresses, Taehyun texts you asking about your sexual preferences, your kinks, anything you’d like to try, and you answer to the best of your abilities. You blush when he tells you the things he’d like to do to you.

Things like tying you up, spitting in your mouth, overstimulation, the works. He emphasized that he’d only do these things if you want him to, but little does he know that you’d let him run you over with a tractor as long as he called you his princess while doing it.

But maybe you’ll reserve those for after your first time. Baby steps.

You open your underwear drawer and the tip of your one and only vibrator is staring you right in the face.

You stare at it for a good minute, wondering if you should bring it along on your journey. You suppose it wouldn’t be a bad idea and tuck the toy into your purse.

You throw on your best dress and heels and make your way out the door. Your heart is beating at a thousand miles a minute but talking things through with Taehyun all week combined with your housemates’ good luck texts this morning give you all the confidence you need.

Your heart is pounding as you walk down the narrow hallway of his floor and get closer to his apartment. You knock on the door and you’re greeted with a surprisingly dressed down Taehyun. He’s got a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants on, a far cry from the glam look you decided to go with for today.

“Wow, you got all dressed up for me?” Taehyun wraps his arms around your waist and kisses you.

“I feel so overdressed,” you confess.

“Don’t worry, that won’t matter later,” he says with a smile and your cheeks burn. He leads you to his bedroom, but you can hardly wait to touch him, to kiss him, to feel him.

You don’t even make it to the bed before you pounce on him, pressing his back to his bedroom door and kissing him hard. He leans into it almost automatically as his hands find your waist to pull you impossibly closer.

“Have I ever told you how sexy your legs look in tights?” Taehyun asks, running his hands up your legs.

“No, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it a couple hundred more times.”

“As you wish,” Taehyun kisses your neck and his hands go to the tops of your tights. He peels them off of your legs and casts them to the side. He sucks on the skin of your neck and you sigh at the sensation as he leaves a few pretty hickies behind.

His hands trail up your ass and to the invisible zipper on the back of your dress. Your heart skips a beat as you feel your dress slowly fall off of your body and pool around your feet on the floor. Taehyun grabs your shoulders and turns you toward the full-length mirror. He snakes his arms around your waist to hug you from behind.

”God, look at you,” Taehyun whispers against your skin. “I can’t believe no one’s gotten their hands on you yet. How did I get so lucky?”

Taehyun sits at the end of the bed and pulls you down onto his lap so that you’re still facing the mirror.

“Lift your hips,” he says into your ear. You do as your told and lift your hips so he can take your panties off. Once he rolls them down your thigh, you wriggle out of them and kick them off to the side. Taehyun unhooks your bra and pulls it off of you, letting it fall to the floor next to your underwear.

It’s a little embarrassing, sitting in his lap completely naked while he’s fully clothed.

Taehyun explores your naked body with his hands, fingers dragging up your thighs to your stomach to squeeze your breasts. You close your eyes and relax into his touch, feeling every individual callus on the skin of his palm. He slides his thumb over your bottom lip and you sigh, granting him access to your mouth. He shoves two fingers into your mouth and your tongue lazily swirls around his fingers before you begin to suck on them.

“That’s it, princess. You’re a quick learner,” he says and you tingle from his praise. He thrusts his fingers in and out of your mouth and you suck on his digits with every movement.

After a minute or so, he pulls them out of your mouth with a wet pop. Your eyes shoot open when you feel his saliva coated fingers in your pussy. Your back arches from the sensation and you make a noise you’ve never heard yourself make before. Taehyun chuckles.

“You’re so cute,” he whispers and kisses the shell of your ear. “So wet already and we’ve just barely started. I can’t wait to make a mess of you.”

He grabs your jaw with his free hand and turns your head to face the mirror head-on.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror for me.”

You obey, but it’s so hard. Your vision goes blurry as you watch as his fingers thrust in and out of your wet, throbbing entrance. He curls them in just the right way to have you moan so loudly that you shock yourself. You throw your hand over your mouth, but Taehyun quickly removes it.

You've never seen or heard yourself like this before. He’s driving you absolutely wild.

His erection presses against your ass and when you grind against it, his breath hitches.

He rubs at your swollen clit with the heel of his palm. It’s enough to have you clamping your legs shut and squirming in his lap. Taehyun uses his free hand to hold your leg open as he continues to tease your clit at that same, excruciatingly slow rhythm.

You come undone, high pitched moans leaving your lips as you writhe in his lap and he holds you in his strong arms. He continues to finger you through your orgasm until you’re reduced to a panting and whimpering mess.

“Good girl,” he whispers. “You’re so good, princess.”

You go limp in his arms and he holds you, closing his eyes and burying his face in your bare shoulder.

“Are you okay? Do you have enough energy to get on the bed for me?” he asks. You nod and he helps you up anyway, taking your hand and getting you properly seated on the bed.

You sleepily watch as Taehyun slowly undresses, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it into the nearest laundry basket. He pulls a foil packet from the pocket of his sweatpants and places it on his nightstand.

And then, suddenly, you have a lightbulb moment.

“Can we try something?” you ask.

Taehyun raises an eyebrow. “In the mood to experiment already?” You nod shyly and he leans in, eager to listen.

“Can you get my vibrator from my purse? I want you to use it on me.”

It’s a simple little thing, a pink silicone rabbit vibrator about five inches tall.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, hand resting on your thigh.

You shrug, “I don’t know, be creative.”

“How about you show me how you use it?” he tosses the device to you and your mouth goes dry.

“You’ve used it on yourself before, right? I want to watch you use it.”

You’re frozen in place as the gears in your brain slowly turn in an effort to process what he just said.

“You’re already naked, love. Just get in the usual position you’re in when you use it. I won’t judge you, I promise.”

You’re hesitant but you eventually roll over onto your stomach and shift onto your knees so that your ass is in the air and your face is buried in the softness of one of the memory foam pillows. It smells just like his shampoo, you close your eyes and bury yourself in the scent until your eyes suddenly snap open and you remember what you’re in the middle of.

You can’t see Taehyun but can you feel his eyes on you and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I’m waiting,” he says in a teasing tone and your face heats up. You press the button at the bottom of the vibrator to turn it on and hold it against your pussy, not yet sliding it inside. You take a breath and rub it against your slit, your thighs twitching when it brushes by your sensitive clit.

“What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

You jolt at the question, already feeling flushed.

“Don’t be shy, you can tell me. It’ll be our little secret.”

He must think he’s so funny. It’s hard to concentrate, your mind is already foggy as you try to focus on your own pleasure while trying to put on a good first show for your boyfriend.

“Put it inside,” he says, softly but commanding. You do as he says, mewling as you push the silicone toy into your dripping core.

“Do you imagine me fucking you?”

Taehyun hovers over you, his toned chest pressing against your back. He kisses your shoulder and slides a hand down over your busy hand, helping you to thrust the vibrator in and out of you.

“It doesn’t compare to me, does it? Doesn’t stretch you out and fill you up like I can, either.”

The mere thought of having him inside you is enough to turn you on even more. Your pussy tightens around the toy, but he’s right. It isn’t enough. You want— no, you need more.

You need him.

“What’s wrong, princess? Can’t cum? Not even with me helping you?”

Your eyes are brimming with tears, you’re so close yet overstimulated at the same time and you’re not sure you can take this any longer. You wordlessly shake your head.

“Want my cock instead?” he asks and you nod fervently. He pulls the vibrating toy out of you and the vibrating sensation that initially numbed your pussy is replaced with the head of Taehyun’s cock. You whimper and he kisses your shoulder.

“Let me know if I need to slow down, okay?”

You give a nod and he plants another kiss on your shoulder before aligning his cock against your pussy and pushing into you. You hiss, hands tightly gripping the cotton sheets beneath you as you feel him slowly fill you. Your body feels like it’s on fire, stretching around him burns, but the pain slowly starts to settle in the boundary of pleasure as Taehyun slowly slides into you until he bottoms out.

You’re pretty sure you’ve elevated to higher plane. You can feel every curve and vein of his length inside you, he fits you so perfectly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice soft as a feather.

“Mhm,” you sigh. “Feels so good…”

“Mm, that’s my girl,” he rubs your thighs and up towards your stomach. “Relax, okay? I’ll take good care of you.”

You steady your breathing for a moment before he drags his length out of you and plunges it back in. He thrusts particularly deep and hits a spot that has you drooling and grabbing the sheets until your hands start shaking.

“Fuck, Taehyun…!” you cry.

“I’m here, princess. I’m here,” he says soothingly. “You’re doing so good.”

He continues to pound into you, hitting that same spot over and over, it feels so good you could cry. His girthy cock is filling you up, stretching you out so perfectly; you can’t imagine why you waited so long for this, but you’re so glad you’re experiencing it now.

Your entire body runs hot and your thighs quake as you feel a pressure building in your hips.

“T-Taehyun, I’m… ‘m- shit, I’m so close,” you squeak.

“Cum for me, princess. I want you to fucking drench me,” Taehyun says, thrusting faster. “Come on, give it to me.”

You cum so hard that your entire body shakes and your voice breaks. You call Taehyun’s name over and over like it’s a prayer and he holds you tight. Your reaction is enough to push him over the edge as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“You’re mine, Y/N. You’re mine, no one else can have you,” he breathes, thrusting in you faster and faster until he finally cums. You shudder at the way his cock swells inside of you. Your chest rises and falls as you try to catch your breath.

“C’mere, I wanna look at you…” Taehyun pulls out and turns you over on your back so that he’s hovering over you. The outline of his toned body has your heart racing. It’s only been seconds but you already miss the feeling of him inside you.

“You’re so pretty,” he leans in to kiss your forehead and you instantly get butterflies. He falls onto you and you wrap your arms around his waist. You lay there for a minute, still catching your breath until your breathing is in sync.

“Y/N, I want…” his words trail off, he looks flustered. You silently urge him to continue and he gives you a shy, hesitant look you’ve never seen before.

“You might not have been my first, but I want you to be my last,” he confesses. “I know it might be too soon to say it, but I—”

Before Taehyun can continue, you grab his face and kiss him. It’s clumsy, your faces mush together in an awkward kind of way but you can’t help the way you’re feeling. All the admiration and fondness you have for him overtook you like a tidal wave. You separate and he stares at you with wide eyes.

“Sorry, continue.” you apologize, breathless. Taehyun looks at you with amusement.

He chuckles, “No, I think that spoke for me just fine.”

“Come on, say it.”

“Are you gonna interrupt me again?”

“Only if you want me to,” you say with a suggestive raise of your eyebrows. Taehyun laughs, it sounds like the ringing of bells.

“I love you, Y/N. I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re mine.”

You smile, holding back your tears of happiness, “I hope you know there’s no getting rid of me now that you’ve said that.”

“Wouldn’t want that for the world,” Taehyun kisses you and lays his head on your bare chest. You run your hands through his hair.

“I love you, Taehyun. I love you so much.”

#taehyun fic #taehyun oneshot #taehyun x reader #txt smut #txt fic #crystal's fics #terry bear 🐻‍❄️❤️‍🔥#bye this was so much fun to write

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