#and i was sniffling a lot afterwards | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

s4lv4tions · 7 months

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numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands.

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope.

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business!

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with.

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone?

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking.

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest.

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying.

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard.

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it.

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning.

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.)

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke.

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt.

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly.

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off.

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need?

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun.

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate.

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead.

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up.

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them.

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you.

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick.

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living.

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice.

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all.

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later.

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it.

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased.

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness.

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths?

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns.

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay.

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will.

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body.

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised.

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him.

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw.

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries—

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of.

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish.

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die.

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact?

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves.

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin.

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata.

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight.

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry.

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities.

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless.

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce.

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier.

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release.

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes.

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever.

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness.

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more.

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful.

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far.

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again.

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you.

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others.

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips—

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk.

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

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luvfy0dor · 5 months

Note

RRRRAAAAAH i’m so insane abt dad fyodor i’m!!!!! imagine him helping the kid with schoolwork and attending parent meetings i’m so? feel free to decline! <3

“Multiplication Sucks ♡” - Dad!Fyodor Dostoevsky x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings; None!

Description; Fyodor helping his daughter with her homework assignment, I'm so sorry it's so short : [ I tried writing a scenario for a parent teacher meeting but I kept scrapping my ideas, ill do a part two at some point i promise!

A/n; I LOVE THAT WE ALL LOVE DAD FYODOR SM DJSJEJS THANK YOU DAD!FYODOR ANON FOR BLESSING US WITH THIS WE LOVE YOU 💜 ALSO IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO GET OUT ANON AHHH 💔

Headcannons !! ༊*·˚

• Fyodor is the type of dad to let his kid waste no time when it comes to homework. He wants them to get it done the very night it's assigned so they can relax afterwards and not gain the habit of procrastinating.

• You will catch him walking your kid step by step through their homework. He's not the type of parent to yell out of frustration, especially not over his kids homework.

• He can help the child with most subjects, but he's especially good at math and therefore some sciences. He's good with history, too.

• At one-on-one parent teacher meetings, he already knows what to expect. He knows his kid is well behaved, he raised them well mannered and respectful. He also knows that his kid is smart and does well on their assignments, they get it from their papa.

ೃ⁀➷

(As always, d/n is daughters name, p/t is parental title)

You sat on the couch with Fyodor, leaning on his shoulder while you watched a movie. He seemed relatively intrigued while he chewed on his fingernails. His hair was messily pulled back, his bangs falling through the grip of the ponytail holder and back into his face. His free arm was around your waist, holding you close. Your daughter was being relatively quiet, you couldn't really hear her footsteps going back and forth around her bedroom like you usually could. All of a sudden though, you could hear some frustrated groans. Fyodor definitely heard it too, turning his head to look at you. After a second he got up from the couch and walked towards d/n's room.

He knocked on your daughter's door lightly, opening it upon hearing a soft "come in". He walked into her bedroom, his eyes immediately falling onto the young girl slouched over at her desk with a pencil in hand. He tilts his head and notices the sheet of paper in front of her, half finished with lots of scribbled out things.

"What's wrong, Malyshka?" He asks, reaching out and rubbing her back in consolation. The young girl sits up with a pout, her lip quivering a bit. "Multiplying is stupid!" She says sadly, placing her pencil down gently and crossing her arms. Fyodor picks up and examines the paper, humming as he reads over the simple and basic multiplication problems. "Well, I can help you. There's no need to cry over it." He says, petting her head gently and putting the paper back down. "Is it this one that's troubling you?" He asks, pointing to one of the problems with the pencil. She nods, sniffling.

"16 x 2..." He hums for a moment, thinking of a way to explain this to her. "If you can do 6 x 2 and 10 x 2, all you have to do is add them together." He says, handing the pencil to her. "You're a smart girl, I know you can do it." He says, remaining at her side while she uses the strategy he provided her. Her tongue slightly pokes from the corner of her lips as she comes to her conclusion of 32 after a couple of seconds.

"Is that right, papa?" D/n asks, looking up at Fyodor for approval. "Yes, you did a good job." He praises her with a proud smile, patting her head. She nods and moves onto the next question, and before she knows it, she's done! Fyodor was happy that she didn't give up and powered through, finally starting to grasp the concept. All she needed was a little more help, the help that her father was right there to give her.

A/n; AHHHH I love dad Fyodor sm like imagine him going to father-daughter dances omg I die

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chai-berries · 7 months

Note

i’m a little crybaby bitch & i just sobbed over a movie but all i could think about is being abby’s little crybaby gf & having her comfort me </3

sooo unfortunately/fortunately i am not a big crier when it comes to anything but one of my best friends is a happy/sad/bored crier and i’ve helped her calm down post cry a few times. she’s a true cancer <3 i’ll channel her into my thoughts.

im thinking of two scenarios, watching something sad without abby & watching it with her ⤵️

watching without abby:

she’d probably be working on something in another room when you decide to start a sad fucking movie. abby’s ears perk at the first sniffle, but she brushes it off cause it’s always allergy season. but when she hears you shakily breathe out “oh,,, my gOD” with your voice all broken and wet, she’s immediately sliding to a stop right outside the living room. you’re curled up with a huge blanket swallowing you, surrounded by snacks and your emotional support water bottle. she notes your wide, glossy eyes and coos “baby what’s wrong?” and you gesture at the tv, “she - she just loves her family so so much! and she couldn’t tell them before they died!” your voice is cracking around your words.

abby has absolutely no idea who “she” is but that doesn’t keep her from sitting down and pulling you into her side, rubbing her hand up and down your arm. “they’re just a - a great family” you stutter though tears. abby looks up at the tv and sighs. “baby, why did you chose the saddest movie on netflix?” you hesitate. “uh, i was up to the challenge?” “yeah? how’s it going?” she quirks a brow at you. you laugh wetly and abby mentally fist pumps. she presses a kiss to your temple. “okay, how about we watch something happy. ill refill your water.” abby gets up to go into the kitchen when she’s stopped by a tug on her back belt loop. you’re looking up at her, eyes less glossy but still not dry enough. “what?” she asks. “thanks for putting up with a crybaby for a girlfriend.” she picks up your hand from its place at her waist and brings it up to her lips. “anything for you sweet cheeks”

watching with abby:

“no, no, no, nah, not happening! abby, please tell me they’re not gonna do what i think they’re gonna do!” you pause the movie and shake abby’s shoulder, your face so serious in the light of the television. abby giggles and shrugs like a fucking twerp and nudges you to keep watching the movie. she tells you that “you’ll find out soon - keep watching” like she’s never, in all the time you’ve been together, been witness to the millions of times you deep dived imdb and wikipedia five minutes into a movie whenever it starts out with a sad scene.

you don’t do sad movies. and it’s for a good reason! you get all dehydrated and you look sick for hours afterwards!! it’s embarrassing and gross!! abby has witnessed it once and, like her father’s daughter, handed you a glass of water and pulled you gently into her arms, holding you until you got your breathing under control. and that was a week before you asked her out!! on your first date she told you that the crying thing made her want to “take care of you forever”… is it too obvious to point out that she soooooo got lucky that night?

however, in present time she might be sleeping on the couch for trying to get a depressing movie past you. she apologizes to you, tucking you under her arm. “i promise it’s gonna be worth your tears, okay?” she kisses your head. “and i always take care of my crybaby girlfriend, don’t i?” she kisses the same spot again. you relax into her side.

… sooo it’s safe to say you sobbed a whole lot at the end and completely soaked the front of abby’s shirt. you guys had shifted horizontal mid-movie, you laying on top of her. “i hate you” sounds a lot more honest when you’re not desperately clutching at the waist of the person you’re talking to. “but it was a good story, right?? aww i’m sooo sorry, baby,” abby rubs your back. she hands you your water bottle and chocolate before you even think to ask, like she always does. then, you begin the embarrassingly to you cute to abby process that involves sips of water, bites of chocolate, and your head following the rhythm of abby’s chest up and down as you match her breaths.

<\3

no but really we all know abby will always comfort you even if she has no context to what you’re crying about! ride or die babyyyy

#hi anon <3 #WHEW!#this took so much brain power #but i did it!!!!!!#abby anderson x reader #abby brainrot era #abby anderson x you #mads’ headcanons #q&a

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revehae · 25 days

Text

tw // noncon. yes its rape dont ask me no stupid fucking questions

yesterday (over a month ago technically) i couldn’t stop thinking about apologetic rapist haechan like ugghhhhhhhhhh

walk with me. this is a man you trust to have in your home, spending time watching movies and playing video games together in between your stressful lives… you’ve confided in each other about all of your problems, big or small, and chat about everything under the sun. you give him advice that he doesn’t listen to, then has the audacity to complain afterwards. he’s got a spare key to your place and you’ve got one to his, and all your boyfriends over the years feel like they have to compete with him, but the thought is ridiculous to you. compete with haechan romantically? it’s laughable. sure the guy has seen you half naked, but it’s not like that, you’re comfortable, you’ve never seen him ogle you or heard him make some unsolicited comment about your body that even strangers have made… why would anyone have to compete with haechan? he’s your best friend, nothing more, nothing less.

you’re not sure how you could’ve been so wrong. the way you see it, the haechan you thought you knew wouldn’t take advantage of how comfortable you feel around him, the fact that you let him share a bed with you every now and then. it’s not necessarily strange for his hands to wander around you, he’s clingy and unconsciously does it in his sleep, but it is strange for them to be so firm at your hips, nails digging into your skin, sounds that aren’t soft snores falling from his whiny lips.

confusion dwindles. betrayal stings your eyes. haechan sees it, too. he lifts his head up, tosses the hair out his face, and meets your eyes. there’s no arrogant shimmer to his eyes or smug smile to his face; the opposite. there’s shame and guilt and sadness, you want to think, and he beats you to a word, uttering, “i’m sorry…”

but he’s not sorry enough to stop. not even when you struggle against him, trying to wrestle your way out of his arms. you and haechan would play fight all the time, but you never realized just how strong he really was until you try to wrestle out of his arms and he pins your arms in place, whispering, “please. i don’t want to hurt you.”

but he would if he felt he had to. you’re in disbelief, the ugliest feeling festering inside your chest as it tightens so hard you can hardly breathe. when you beg him to stop, he says, “i can’t.” because you feel so much better than he’s ever imagined, and he’s imagined it a lot, and he just “can’t resist” himself. his eyes are misty, out of pleasure or out of shame, but either way, he needs to do this. he has to.

he can’t look you in your eyes. he can’t look at your face at all, really. he knows what he’ll see, the tears pouring from your eyes that gleam with a fierce blend of betrayal and despair and ire and disbelief. haechan doesn’t want to see you that way. having to hear your sniffles, knowing it’s all his fault, is bad enough. but in spite of the pangs of guilt that really do tear at his chest, he’s still in the middle of you, holding you in place, using your body for his own relief. so he just keeps his clasp on your hips, squeezing his eyes closed, and mutters, “i’m sorry…,” over and over and over again, hoping it’s enough. hoping that you’ll bring yourself to forgive him.

it’s not like it’s long before it’s over. haechan’s not proud of it but you’re all he’s been able to think about and it’s not like he’s ever hit a pussy raw before, if ever. you feel so filthy when he pulls out of you - his cum gushing out of your hole - and so broken. haechan says he’ll help you clean, but you’re rushing over to the bathroom and locking yourself inside before he has a chance to do anything. he hurriedly pulls on his pants and spends a long ten minutes knocking on the door, trying to get you to open it even after you scream at him to leave you alone, but he can hear the shower running from the other side. and he decides to leave you alone for now.

haechan tries to make it up to you, he really does. he doesn’t want you to hate him. you have to understand. your body was calling to him, enticing him, and he tried so hard but he couldn’t control it anymore. he’s gone when you return from a really, really long shower that you took in hopes of feeling less dirty, but to no avail. every bit of relief you feel at his absence, which isn’t much considering that pieces of him linger everywhere - on your sheets and in your aching bones and everywhere in between - fades when you hear the front door click open and he returns with your favorite takeout in hand. it’s his way of showing you that he’s still your best friend, that he still knows and loves you, that he’s sorry.

you’re not hungry. you have no appetite after that. haechan tries to get you to eat, but the second he comes near you, you flinch away from him. you never thought the day would come, but you are scared of him. he’s not the haechan you thought he was, no matter how hard he tries to convince you that he still is. you beg him to go, to leave you alone, but he doesn’t listen. he never does.

#tw: noncon #lee haechan smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #haechan smut #nct smut #nct dream hard hours

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saintslewis · 6 months

Text

“𝐂𝐔𝐅𝐅 𝐈𝐓”

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 — 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

˖ ࣪⭑ pairing: sir lewis hamilton x fem!oc

˖ ࣪⭑ summary: didn’t lewis say he’s a professional dancer? let’s test it out!

˖ ࣪⭑ warnings: cussing, outfit descriptions (the norm), links to posts, typos

˖ ࣪⭑ wc: 4.7k

˖ ࣪⭑ saint’s team radio!: hi babies….SORRY Y’ALL LMAO. i clearly skipped the 10 day mark but that’s okay! that’s why i made it longer for y’all to enjoy! I hope you enjoy and once again, tags are down below and let me know if you want to be tagged! and pls do click on the links to see the visuals, it’s important! (you can do it after)

pls like, comment and reblog!

renaissance:the series masterlist • previous chapter

general masterlist

The FaceTime ring chimed as Nadia adjusted her phone on the dashboard of her car, her cradled body in the driver's seat as she sniffled and wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

"Yo. What's-" Lewis made sure to look at his phone correctly to see the sight before him. "Nads? Are you okay? Where are you?" Lewis asked, slowing the car down a bit.

"I'm in the school parking lot with some pastries next to me." She sniffed again before continuing. "Like I don't know if I can even go in there after our posts because those kids are ruthless and also these pastries are so good and this car is giving me so much stress and you're so pretty and i can't get raye tickets and this wig didn't wanna lay this morning and jeez, it's just so much and i'm just a girl." Nadia rambled as she hid her face in her hands, not even looking at her phone.

"Sorry to call you so early but I had no one else to call so I just decided to call my husband. Do you wanna see the pastries? This girl gave them to me for free in the bakery." She spoke, tucking her hair behind her ear and grabbing the pink box to show Lewis, not missing how big his smile was.

"What?"

"Nads, do you wanna talk about it? There's a lot to unpack." He asked, his face holding a smug expression as he watched her place the box down and give him a look.

"No thanks, we can keep everything in the bag. Anyways, I'm the only one in the parking lot and I've got a class in 25 minutes but I don't wanna see my colleagues." She said, looking out of her window to see if anyone was lurking around. "Where you headed?" She snapped her attention back to him.

"Brackley. Got a meeting with the team for upgrades." He said, eventually speeding up the car and she nodded. "Okay don't go quiet on me. Have you checked your socials yet?" Lewis asked the girl. "Nope, I muted the app after Rihanna called me sexy." She replied with a big smile on her face, making him jokingly roll his eyes. "I'm assuming you did the same?" She asked and it was his turn to nod.

"So just to make you aware, I'm free on Wednesday after 12 so if your friends are available maybe we can meet them then?" Nadia suggested, packing her stuff up as she sat properly in the car seat. "Uh I'm sure they'll be cool with that. We can have a thing at my place, like a game night or something. Also why are you leaving work early that day?" He asked, stopping at a red light and put all his attention on her.

"School's are closing for like two weeks." She answered.

"Well then, have you ever been to Miami?"

"No..." she gave him a side eye as he continued to drive, the engine roaring.

"Well, we're going there next week for the Grand Prix so do you want to go? Then afterwards we leave for Malibu."

"But what if I wanted to watch Love Island during that weekend?" She muttered, making the man giggle.

"You can watch Love Island in Miami." He smiled, seeing her jokingly roll her eyes. "Fine. But wait, who do I need to speak to for like flight tickets and race stuff?" She mentioned.

"Tia'll have everything ready." He assured her, kind of surprised at how willingly she agreed to his proposal, something he had been nervously thinking about the whole morning.

"Alright then, pookie bear. Talk later, I have to face those ruthless critics i call my kids." She picked up her phone and did a little pose, to which Lewis didn't hesitate to take a Facetime photo of. They both waved at each other cutely before hanging up.

"You're the flyest babe on the planet, you can do this." Nadia hyped herself as she gathered her things and got out of her car.

The hallways were empty, the silence gnawing at her as she glanced through some doors to see students either sleeping on their desks or actually focused on what the teacher was saying.

Continuously taking deep breaths as she got closer and closer to her designated classroom, she could hear her Year 12 students talking about whatever gossip was going around the school. Goosebumps slightly covered her skin as she held her arm out to touch the door handle, her conscience screaming at her to turn around and drive home just to stress about this very situation.

Eventually gaining the confidence, she opened the door and it was as if the world stood still. All her students turned around to look at their frightened yet fashionable teacher slowly walk to her desk as she tried her hardest to not make any eye contact with their smug faces.

Placing her things down onto her little shelf next to her organised desk, she flipped her hair a little and walked to the front of her desk, leaning her whole body weight against it.

"Now before you lot start with your questions, just know I wasn't ready to be out there yet and truly, I wanted to tell you guys a while ago but now was a good time for the..launch." She announced and watched as her students continued to smirk at her, her heartbeat rising as the silence grew more and more.

"Can we see the ring?" A student, Daniela, asked loudly as she walked closer to her teacher. The minute Nadia extended her shaky hand out, they all came flocking to get a closer look at the diamond ring.

Eventually settling the class down with the fear that the Headmaster could just pop in, everyone was seated as Nadia was racking her brain on how she could sell this marriage to teenagers who could definitely see right through her.

"So how did you two meet then? You mentioned that you were from Stevenage like a while back." Vicky, the class leader, asked sitting in the front row and maintained eye contact with Nadia the whole time.

"Well it was our parents actually. They're all really close but Lewis and I never built that bond for all these years. It took a dinner invite from his parents for us to really fancy each other. We properly met the year I started teaching here." Nadia was cheesing, proud of the story she came up with that was half-true.

She could tell that their gears were turning in their heads, making comments to each other as if they were judges on a panel. Nadia hadn't expected the silence that would follow after each of her answers but it was quite unsettling.

"Since you said you weren't seeing anybody and you weren't the least bit interested in Formula one, how'd you end up with thee Sir Lewis Hamilton?" One of her male students asked from the back, Nathan. "I'm still very clueless about that sport and that's why I wanted you guys to teach me today. Can I count on you guys to help?" Nadia asked, pulling her chair closer to her desk as she clasped her hands together to look around her classroom to capture all the excited faces.

"James, where's the slideshow?!" "Ha! Give me my money." "We used to pray for times like this!" "Wait till Miss hears about brocedes!"

Those were amongst the shouts from her students, reminding her that she couldn't leave them alone even if she wanted.

Interrupting her train of thought as her students scrambled around the classroom, her phone buzzed with two notifications following each other. Opening her phone and heading for iMessages, she audibly gasped when she saw what Lewis had just sent her.

"What are you blushing at, Miss?" A kid pointed out, Nadia not even realising she was smiling quite hard at her phone.

"Do you want to teach me about F1 or should we go back to the French Revolution?" She sassed, making the class groan as they all somewhat surrounded a desk and whiteboard for her F1 lesson.

WEDNESDAY.

Holding the tub of cookies close to her, she thought back to the previous days and what her students informed her about the sport. As much as she can admit that she had forgotten most things they told her, a few thoughts lingered in her mind throughout the days, her emotions were on all time high for the man she married. Not wanting to come to one sided conclusions, Nadia decided to address these issues with Lewis when the time was right.

It doesn't help that she, once again, went down a rabbit hole of Lewis to see what his fans were like and how they thought of him from their perspective.

A knock from her front door snapping her out of her head, standing to open it up. Lewis stood there dressed ever so casually with a graphic tee and shorts paired with high top Jordans. Nadia would never say it out loud but seeing him wearing a cap, be it in a picture or right in front of her, brought slight butterflies to her stomach.

"The person who handles security downstairs is really looking out for you. Also, hello Nads." He smiled as he brought his hands forward to show a pink box with croissants inside, Nadia's heart melting, he remembered that she said she likes this specific bakery when they first met.

"Lewis, you didn't have to. Thank you." She said patting him on his exposed arm, wanting to keep her hand there for a little longer. "Hello to you too. Why do you say that about the guards?" She asked, taking the box of pastries from his hand and cradling it close to her, walking into her small kitchen to place them next to the flowers from the weekend.

"Well, when I drove in, he warned me about all the people who came to the entrance overnight. Apparently, they would go from building to building looking...for you." He said, slowly closing the front door as he walked into her home.

The goosebumps were very evident, her tattoos eerily coming to life with fear. "O-oh. Tia did warn me about this, just never expected this so early on." Nadia nervously smiled, the multiple locks on her door not enough to make her feel safe. "Hey hey, it's okay. I know this is overwhelming. Would you be more comfortable with a few of my security guys to be around until you make your moving decisions?" He asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. Seeing how scared she was and how she seemed to be overthinking it, he desperately wanted to change the subject.

Choosing to not answer verbally, she nodded and gave the man a small smile as she lifted herself off her kitchen counter. "Let's get the negatives out," Nadia sighed out. "Let me get my shoes and phone then we can get to your place in time. You can wait on the couch for now." She turned around, looking straight ahead as she headed for her bedroom.

Taking the invitation, Lewis made his way to the comfortable looking grey couch. Beneath his feet sat a custom carpet in the shape of the infamous Murakami flower logo, a small smile etched on his face. The living room filled with all types of scented candles and incense sticks, two plants on either side of the tv stand. A full length mirror hung on the wall right in between the kitchen and living room, the arch of it filled with star stickers. A few vinyls were plastered onto the wall behind him with something written underneath each one and a custom piece of art sat in between the black discs, a painted picture of two people hugging with matching NY caps on. The little signature at the bottom spelling out 'Rea' and tiny initials signing 'R + N'.

Oh, the guilt sunk in quite quickly in those few moments as he observed a small part of her home. That's exactly what it was to Nadia, her home. Purely hers. Everything in his sight clearly held a special significance to the woman and because of his situations, he was taking that away from her. Her 'best teacher' pillows sat neatly on the couch, definitely gifted to her by her students that she loved. The picture frames and polaroids sat nicely on the side table, Nadia's smile wide and bright as she had stood with family and posed wildly with her friends.

His scandalous decisions had roped in a woman who looked like she had finally found her own way in life and he was taking that away from her. Everything she had worked for would be reduced to just being known as his wife. The thought making him cringe as he could picture the headlines.

Nadia fixed her shoelaces quickly as she found Lewis sitting on her couch staring at nothing, his arm sat high on the edge of the couch. "Lew? Are you okay?" The woman's soft voice went into his ear, his head turning to see her ready to go. The Barcelona jersey untucked, her jean shorts displaying the very few tattoos she had on her legs and the gold anklet contrasting with the stark white appearance of her Air forces.

"I know we're about to leave but do you mind if we talk a bit?" He asked, sitting on the edge of the couch and clasping his hands together. "What? You about to divorce me already?" Nadia joked but seeing him give the smallest smile only for it to fade away slightly scared her. Going to sit next to him, she sat one of her pillows over her lap and leaned on her elbows to hear what he had to say.

"Are you truly sure about this marriage? I feel like everything's just hitting you all at once and I feel bad. It feels as if I'm taking away your independence all because of stupid things people have said about me. I looked around and you already made a life for yourself and I don't want to do anything to hurt you." Lewis confessed, hands constantly fidgeting with the rings he had on. He was so sure that he would see her agree with him but seeing her downward smile surprised him.

"We already signed the papers, Lew, and it's going to sting you like a bee if we even think of letting this go. From my perspective, we're two people who are building a friendship who just happen to be married. I still am anxious about leaving my life behind but one thing I won't allow for myself is to be deduced to be someone's wife, no offence." She stated, seeing him nod.

Breathing in a little before continuing, she sat a bit comfortably on the couch facing him. "This is a very weird situation, one that not a lot of people go through but we're learning and that's the cool part. You and I have lived incredibly different lives and there's a reason why our lives are intertwining so much. I just ask for some time to figure out how to live in the limelight, right now I'm grateful for the journey. Except for the ysl heels, those bitches are uncomfortable." Nadia laughed a little, ending her sentence with a joke. He giggled along, his eyes crinkling with the left eye closing a bit more than the other. It was such an adorable sight to see.

"I appericiate the honesty, Nads. It's something that's been on my mind for quite some time and to hear you voice it out lifts some weight off my shoulders." Lewis chuckled, the sight of her smile was one he wanted to keep in his mind forever.

"Glad I could help, pookie bear. Tell me, do your friends like cookies? I made a bunch yesterday because I was stress baking." She asked, standing up and walking towards the kitchen. The nickname clearly sticking to him but he didn't mind, it was special.

"It would be weird if they did not like cookies. They smell good too." He complimented, unconsciously jingling the car keys in his hands. "Thank you, also made them vegan friendly." Nadia smiled, picking up the plastic tub and headed for the front door. Lewis couldn't control his eyes as they fell to her retreating figure, little peaks of more tattoos showed under the hems of her shorts. Taking a breath in, he walked towards her as she fiddled with her keys with the front door open.

"Oh my god, Tia sent a list of people she picked out for my team." Nadia gasped, tugging on the red seatbelt of the Range Rover a bit while going through her texts with Tia to see random faces with all their details laid on text.

"Really? That was fast." He said, one hand on the steering wheel with the other resting on his leg. He turned into an avenue, the car's engine roaring through the quiet street as they passed by homes that were hidden behind large gates and trees.

The pair spent the whole 35 minute journey just jamming out to their scarily similar music taste and getting a few snacks for the game night that'll be held, Nadia not realising that she's actually becoming famous because multiple people recognised her and asked for pictures. Once she got back into the SUV, she laughed about the situation until tears came out.

"They all look around my age or a bit younger, oh this is some scary shit." She joked as she looked through everyone's photos, to which Tia then said that Nadia will meet everyone in Miami before Lewis' media duties.

"And when are you meeting them?" Lewis asked, slowing the car down and turning into a driveway before stopping in front of the large gate. "Miami" She muttered. Pressing a button somewhere, the gates opened to quite the driveway with the motor court right in front of the large modern home. The beat of the song completely changed as the house came into view, Nadia taken aback at the visuals in front of her and she completely understood why the trees were hiding such a masterpiece behind them.

In the motor court, there stood a black Mercedes Benz amg gle coupe and an arctic grey Porsche 992 Turbo S outside of the garage looking fresh out the dealership. "My God..." Nadia muttered as she covered her mouth at everything she was seeing. Lewis definitely loved seeing Nadia astonished and excited at everything he's shown her so far.

Parking the Range Rover next to the Porsche, the two got out of the car and grabbed their belongings along with the snacks they bought earlier. "Is anyone else here yet?" She asked, only carrying her tub of cookies whilst Lewis carried everything else.

"Nope, just us. Was thinking of showing you around the house, just to get used to it." He smiled and slightly giggled at the side eye she gave him. "Now now, pookie bear. I still have to decide. But let's put the stuff inside." She smiled at him and watched as he opened the door with his fingerprint.

The moment she entered the massive house, her breath was taken away by the beauty of the foyer alone.

"So which floor do you wanna start with?" He asked, leading her into the living area, the kitchen space looking like it came out straight from the magazine. Looking to her left, she looked at the abnormally large garden with so many chill spots and what looked to be a tennis court.

"And this is all yours?" Nadia was stunned to say the least. The amount of luxury surrounding her was staggering and she wanted to hide within herself, scared to even comment until Lewis answered her question.

"Well, it's ours now that we signed on the dotted line."

And it's safe to say that the cookies surprisingly weren't dropped onto the floor.

Walking outside the home to marvel at the creation before her, Lewis followed right behind and watched her take it all in. "Are you able to take one more surprise? I think the closet did it for you." He grinned. His hands were behind his back as always and she looked back at him with a smile.

"You've done so much for me already, Lew. What could possibly top the Harrods trip." She asked, hands on hips while slightly joking. His smile grew even more as the butterflies in his stomach reacted to the nickname.

"How about a car? Would that be better than Harrods?" He asked, mischievously putting his finger on his chin as if he's thinking. Nadia's eyes widened for the upteenth time, her hands flying to cover her mouth.

"Are you fucking with me right now? Lewis, I swear if you're joking, I'm going to kick you in the ass." She exclaimed as the man held out different keys in his hand, the smile never leaving his face.

"Lewis whatever your middle name is Hamilton, are you serious? I'm going to fucking cry, oh my god." Nadia's voice was already quivering but she refused for her tears to fall.

"Wait no don't, you said that they would ruin your lashes." Lewis genuinely wanted to laugh at her reaction but he felt so happy that he could do this for her and hopefully get her used to it.

"First it was the Raye tickets then the croissants then an entire car? Not to mention the new shit I got. Oh this is gonna be so fun." Finally uncovering her mouth, they both smiled at each other then laughed. "Let's go look at it, Nads, before everyone gets here." He suggested and like lightning, the girl was already standing next to the car and was eagerly waiting for it to open.

"My God, Lewis! You didn't tell me she was so beautiful. Like crazy beautiful." Currently, Nadia was being cradled in the arms of one of Lewis' closest friends, Amara.

Standing in the entryway of the house, everyone exchanged greetings and hugs as the friend group hadn't seen each other in a long time. Moments before, the pair watched as cars rolled in the motor way as each of his friends climbed out of their cars hyped as ever, carrying different things in their hands.

" 'Mara, if i could kindly have Nads back, I can finally introduce you guys." Lewis jokingly rolled his eyes at his friend who didn't want to let go but eventually did.

"Guys, this is Nadia. Nads, this is my crew. We've got Miles," He pointed at the tall man with the brightest smile she's ever seen. "Amara, who's cradled you just now," The woman waved to Nads who definitely returned the energy.

"Charlotte, who threatened to sue if she didn't meet you," Lewis then pointed to the woman standing next to Amara, she was as stunning as ever. "Daniel or 'Spinz' if you will." Another man smiled at her, tilting his cap like a cowboy. "Andrew, and right next to him is Natalia." He ended off by pointing at the two right next to Daniel.

"Nice to meet you all, I'm Nadia as you know." She shyly greeted back, never the one to introduce herself as much. Everyone spoke at the time, patching the words together to say that they're delighted to meet her.

"Uh, we've got snacks in the kitchen and the games are set up in the living room already." Nadia suggested as she pointed behind her, not even realising that Lewis' arm was around her shoulders the whole time.

"Oh please lead the way." Natalia piped up as walked over to hold Nadia's hand and walk to the kitchen, the rest of the woman following suit and immediately started complimenting the woman.

Deciding that they would tell their friend groups the truth about their marriage, Nadia and Lewis happily agreed to their plan and it most definitely seemed to work.

"God damn, your parents chose good, man. The Barcelona jersey and she's just a teacher? Can your parents hook me up because damn." Daniel spoke up, shocked at Nadia's appearance knowing that his friend barely explained how she looks.

"And don't even get me started on the tattoos, Spinz. I'll call my dad for you though!" Lewis laughed as he walked away, the rest of his mates laughing, walking towards the living area.

An hour into the game night, Nadia and Lewis had won both boards games, celebrating as if their favourite team won the league. The atmosphere was light, conversations flowing as music played in the background, well that was until 'Love Is Wicked' by Brick and Lace started playing and that's when the nostalgia hit.

It was as if everyone lost their minds, immediately clearing the space to dance. Somehow, Lewis and Nadia found sunglasses and started dancing together. Amara being the friend who films everything, filmed the two having the time of their lives. Lewis trying to copy her dance moves whilst they both sung incoherent lyrics to the song, laughter spreading while the songs played out loud.

The song switched to 'Work' by Rihanna and the girls went crazy. Moving the party to the outside porch for fresh air and more space, the well light outside lights lit quite well. The girls were moving the hips to the beat, shaking ass nah chance they get. Nadia being the dancer here, just wowed the girls even more, hyping her up so much that the boys included themselves in the dance and they eventually created an unforgettable night hanging out and laughing until the moon rose.

"So, how was it?" Lewis asked, laying next to Nadia on a blanket on the grass. The rest of the crew were laying on the other blankets across the large backyard, resting after an intense game of hide n seek. "I haven't had this much fun in quite a while. It felt nice to feel like kids, just having a good time. Once again, thank you. For this, the Porsche that i still can't believe is mine, even the ring that I stare at all day." Nadia expressed, lifting her hand to look at the ring once more.

"If you need or want anything, don't hesitate to let me know and I'm very serious, Nadia." Lewis said, turning his head to see her staring up at the night sky.

"You're bluffing." She scoffed until she turned to see his face, a raised eyebrow as he stared at her. "Anything?" She asked.

"Anything." He scrunched his nose a little, the diamond studs glistening under the moonlight.

"New wig? With a new bracelet?" She turned her entire body to face him, leaning her head in her hand.

"Done." He smiled. "Although that was severely underwhelming, bruv." He said, turning on his back once.

The two shared a loud laugh afterwards, their laughs travelling to the moon that watch over them.

taglist: @non-stop-imagines @folkloresthings @tispys-blog @userlando @lorarri @thisismeracing @thatsdemko @myescapefromthislife @slytherinjimin3nthusiast @jamie2305 @like-fire-love-blog @sugardontbesweet @simpfortoomanymen @mauvecherie-writes @queenshikongo3 @eugene-emt-roe @deepgothfiremuffin @18754389 @cherry2stems @anubisnoir @littlelizzies-world @httpsserene @apenasumlug4r @youre-sooooo-funny @eddiesbitch83 @arshiyuh @alika-4466 @peyiswriting @sunfairyy @roseseraj @vsfavs @goldenleclerc @mistruscity

(if your blog is blank, that means tumblr couldn’t find you! :( I’m sorry!)

dividers by: @cafekitsune

pics: pinterest and ig

Nadia’s fc: @/unclewaffles on ig!

#☆ ‧₊˚ saint’s media pen #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton #formula one x black reader #x black fem reader #formula one x reader #x black reader #f1 x you #f1 x black!reader #f1 x oc #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lewis hamilton fanfics #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton x oc #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton fanfic

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adventuringblind · 2 months

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A Little Sick

Carlos Sainz Jr. x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Sick fic

Summary: Carlos' struggle to take care of his girlfriend who's both sick and regressed. Lucky for him, he knows how to get her to nap.

Warnings: Agere/age-regression, non-sexual ageplay, non-sexual use of daddy, sinus infection, fear of doctors, mentions of past trauma

Notes: Haven't written for Carlos in so long T_T

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Carlos knew the second he heard sniffling that something wasn't right. The way fatigue seems to drip from his lover didn't go unnoticed.

The problem is that was two weeks ago. She'd claimed allergies or a minor cold. Her disgust at anything having to do with sickness and doctors showing through her lack of acceptance.

Carlos has half a mind to just lay on top of her and force her to rest. Alternatively, if he could get her to regress, this would be immesley easier.

He can see her forcing herself not to. The delicate line between headspace getting blurrier with each day.

It's when she wakes up in tears, the Carlos knows something has to be done.

"Princessa?" He rolls her over and bundles her up into his arms. Her entire body is on fire and when he touches her face, she wails in pain. "We should go see a doctor, amor."

She's non-verbal all morning, trying desperately not to slip in headspace. Until Carlos finally take the initiative. He hates doing this, but he's been doing this long enough to see when she needs to slip and let Carlos take care of her.

Carlos starts small by picking out her clothes. Comfortable, obviously, since they are just going to the doctor. Then he puts her shoes on for her and ties the laces. By the time he's done, he can see the look in her eyes. The one that aches with the need for comfort. Desperate to not face the object of her nightmares.

Carlos grabs her comfort item and places it gently into her hands. He kneels down in front of her. "I won't leave you alone, okay? I'll be with you the entire time. Can you be brave for me?" She gives him a shy nod in response.

Carlos gets her into the car and buckles her seatbelt for her. He turns on soft music and she bobs her head along to the words. He coos at her with how adorable she looks at the moment.

She freezes up the second he pulls into the parking lot. The fear in her eyes says everything. She's on the verge of a breakdown, but Carlos is there to calm her. He holds her hand and helps her breathe before helping her out of the car.

He manages getting her checked in since she's still non-verbal and on the verge of tears. Eyes glassy with terror over being in the place she despises.

Carlos runs his fingers along her spine. "You're doing so good, carina."

She freezes when her name is called. Her body trembling in fear and squeezing the life out of Carlos' hand with her own. He swiftly wraps an arm around her and whispers into her ear some reassurance.

She doesn't say a word to the doctor, only watches him with suspicion. He ends up prescribing antibiotics and sending them on their way.

She wails the second they are in the safety of the car. All the nerves she'd been biting back finally able to burst free of their confines. Carlos has to get her to breathe. The hyperventilation nearly making her sick. He doesn't let go of her hand the entire way home.

He carries her inside, still sniffling from the overwhelming emotions from earlier. Carlos feels awful for having to put her through such a thing. The fact he knows full well why she hates it making it even harder to do.

He settles her on the couch. One he can see her from despite being in the kitchen and hastily throwing together soup. The television is playing her movie of choice. The background noise has become soothing to both of them.

He ends up having to feed her the soup himself. Not that he minds, it just means having to change her clothes afterwards. Which is no easy task considering she's deadweight in his arms. On purpose, mind you, but she's giggling about it, so Carlos makes no complaint.

Carlos puts the movie back on afterwards. Her head resting on his lap as she curls up on the couch. The mountain of blankets obscuring her body and stuffed animals she dutifully brough with her.

"I did good, papá?" Her squeaky voice carries from where the blankets muffle it.

Carlos keeps a steady rhythm, fingers running against her scalp in a comforting manor. The repetition has always put her to sleep within minutes. "The best, amor. Sleep now, the more you rest the sooner you'll get better." Ke kisses her forehead. Her eye's drifting off into a peaceful slumber.

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livyjh · 7 months

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Hi lovely! Hope your day is going great, I read your most recent requested fic and it was GOOD!!!!🥵

Then I thought of an idea that I know you would execute so well. So Joel and reader are friendly but secretly they are down baaaaad for each other like A LOT, tho both think it's unrequited. So one day at a safe house at patrol or something like that, they have some nasty sex in the heat of the moment😅 but afterwards reader gets weird because she's worried that Joel only wants some casual sex, and Joel starts to panic because the poor guy wants to have a relationship with her but thinks she regreted being with him because of the age gap they have and his not so good reputation as a dangerous person around town. Yay miscommunication trope!!But with a happy ending, pleaaaase💗 hope you like this ask!

I loved this request!!! I apologize it took me a bit to get to it, I haven’t been feeling super great lately but things are starting to look up. Thank you so much for sending this, I hope you like what I’ve written up! 💝💝💝

Anything You Want

Joel Miller x Afab!Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, oral sex (f receiving), nipple play, mention of being cold, fire in fireplace, cute crush awkwardness, mention of losing family member, mention of eating, admitting feelings, post sex awkwardness, miscommunication!!!!, pet names, reader is fem coded and can be any size and shape :)

Joel Miller Masterlist

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You and Joel.

Joel and you.

Things were easy going. Friendly. Fun. Actually flirty sometimes.

You were on a two day patrol with him today and tomorrow. As of right now, you were walking along a creek to find your way to a safe house about 5 miles from Jackson.

You’d been chatting about different things along the walk since this morning.

It started with small talk. “How you been?” and “what have you been doing lately?”

It turned into you telling Joel a childhood story about your sister running away from home a few days before the outbreak. She had thankfully made it home before everything started, but she didn’t make it past day three.

This made Joel’s heart hurt for you. He’d always had a soft spot for you, ever since you met. You were kind and sweet, caring and compassionate.

You had a bubbly personality that never failed to make him smile. Truth be told, he had a bit of a crush on you. But you didn’t know that yet.

You had a crush on him too, and he didn’t know about that either. You were both oblivious to how the other felt.

That would soon change.

***

“You been on patrol here before?” Joel asked as you walked into the small one-story house.

“Once. Came up here with Tommy and Maria a few months ago.” You answered.

Joel hums in response, closing and locking the door behind the two of you.

The sky was starting to darken outside, the winter making the days short.

The house was cold, but not unbearable. You’d almost definitely have to sleep in your jacket though.

Joel started a fire in the living room fireplace as you got settled on the couch and opened up a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli. One of your favorites. And Joel’s too.

Once the fire was able to keep going on its own, Joel joined you on the couch and started digging in his pack for food.

“Wanna share?” You offer the can with a fork to him.

“Love to.” Joel smiles, fingers brushing against yours as he takes the can from you.

“Jesus, you’re cold.” He laughs a little.

You sniffle, nose starting to run. “I know. I’m not great at producing very much body heat.” You shrug.

“C’mere.” Joel sets the can down on the coffee table and puts his arm up on the back of the couch to welcome you into his side.

You gulp, blushing at the offer. But you nod anyways and scoot in closer, leaning into him.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders and rubs one hand up and down your back to try and warm you.

You shoved your hands in your pockets and leaned your head on his chest, breathing in his scent.

“You’re so warm.” You smile.

He hums affirmatively, slowly setting his chin on the top of your head.

You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach at the action. You were so close to him. Getting warmer by the second. But it was a slow process, heat gradually transferring through your clothes.

“There are some blankets in the bedroom, right?” You ask, almost shivering.

“Yeah. Gimme a minute, honey.”

Honey. He certainly hasn’t called you that before.

He gets up and goes to the bedroom for a moment. You feel yourself starting to freeze again so you open up your jacket and get down on the floor in front of the fire to get warmer.

Joel returns after a minute with a couple blankets in hand, smiling when he sees you sat by the fire. He sits down next to you, knee bumping yours as he wraps a large blanket around you both. Another blanket going over your laps.

In less than ten minutes you were quite warm, moving to take off your jacket.

His eyes looked you over, something that didn’t go unnoticed by you. You look over at him and he looks like he’s blushing. Maybe he was just too warm, too?

“What?” You laugh a little, a tinge of nervousness there.

“Just, um,” he paused. “Wanted to tell you you’re beautiful. In case no one’s reminded you lately.” He swallows thickly.

You giggle, definitely nervous now. “Oh-“ you smile. “Thank you.”

Joel nods and grins softly.

“You know,” you start to speak before you can stop yourself. “You’re very- uh, very handsome.” Your stomach starts to twist in knots.

“Is that so?” Joel smirks, almost teasing.

“Yeah.” You laugh softly, eyes gazing into his.

Before you really know what’s happening, you’re both leaning in, lips gently pressing against each other’s.

You let out a soft moan, something you couldn’t stand to hold back. God, you’ve wanted this man for awhile.

Joel’s warm hands move up to cup your face, keeping you close as he breaks the kiss to give you another.

You can’t stop yourself, pushing the blanket off of your laps and moving to straddle his thighs, kissing him harder now. His hands find your waist, gently squeezing the plush skin through your shirt.

“I need you.” You whisper against his lips.

Joel just nods in agreement, moving to get his jacket off with your help.

The making out continues as you both get naked in front of the hot fire, blankets and clothing strewn about the floor.

You’re laid on your back and Joel’s between your legs, one of your nipples in his warm wet mouth.

You fist both hands in his hair as he praises your body with his tongue and lips. You hope to god he goes down on you. It’s been… years.

And like he read your mind, Joel starts to trail kisses from your chest, down over your tummy, and to your now soaked pussy.

“Please, fuck.” You whine, fingers still in his hair as his tongue moves through your folds.

Your hips buck up against his face, his nose nudging your clit and making you cry out in pleasure.

“Taste so fuckin’ good. Goddamn.” Joel moans against your cunt and thrusts his tongue into you.

His facial hair against your sensitive lips and thighs make you tingly all over. You feel like you’re floating when his mouth moves up and covers your clit before starting to suck on it.

You almost feel bad for doing it, but you pull hard on his gray curls and start to grind up against his face, whimpering with each roll of your hips.

His teeth graze your sensitive bud and it elicits a squeak from you.

“Joel, I’m- ohh…” you gasp and suddenly your thighs are shaking, squeezing around his head as you cum hard.

He groans against you, lapping at your cunt like it was his last meal.

“Fuck, darlin’. Sound so good when you get off.” He looks up at you, chin covered in your slick.

You moan at the sight, clenching around nothing. “W- wanna hear it again?” You laugh softly, teasing.

He nods and moves up between your thighs, kissing you hard as he guides himself to your entrance. You whine at the taste of yourself on his lips, wrapping your legs around his hips.

He starts to push into you, stretching you quickly. You’d gotten a look at his cock while you were both getting undressed and he was… well, he was hung like a fucking horse.

“Fuckin’ tight, princess.” He grunts.

You whimper at the nickname, pushing your heels against his ass to get him to press into you further, faster.

Once he’s completely inside you, you’re both panting while you make out, hands roaming each other’s bodies.

He pulls out part way before moving back into you slowly.

“Joel, y- you’re not gonna break me. Please, fuck me.” You breathe.

“Anything you want.” He hums in approval, setting a fast pace as he slams into your pussy. He’s moving in a way, rolling his hips, that his happy trail is rubbing against your clit with each thrust and it has you going mad.

“Feels so good.” You gasp when he thrusts into you especially hard.

“I know, baby. Fuck.” He moans into your mouth as he reaches down to play with your clit again.

“I’m so close.” You sob, senses on overload.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can do it. Cum for me.” Joel rubs fast circles into the apex of your slit, cock hitting that special spot inside you over and over.

Your back arches and then you’re squirting on his cock, crying his name repeatedly.

“That’s it. Good girl.” He coos, thumb on your clit slowing down. “Fuck, where’d ya want me to finish?”

You’d kind of hoped he would cum inside you, but considering all of the risks behind that, you didn’t blame him for asking.

“Dealer’s choice.” You whine, slowly coming down from your orgasm.

He moans at the offer, wanting desperately to finish inside, but he knew what could happen, he didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on you.

He pulls out and strokes himself quickly, warm seed covering your vulva and dripping down your slit as his deep groans fill the room.

He kisses your chest and lays down next to you for a few minutes as you both start to get sleepy.

The sticky mess between your legs is starting to bother you slightly, getting cold now. You get up and go to the bathroom to clean up.

This leaves Joel alone, feeling a little off. He doesn’t know if you just weren’t the cuddling type person or if this was only a one time deal. He sighs, running a hand over his face in frustration with himself. He should’ve admitted his feelings for you before sleeping with you. But he just couldn’t resist your moans and whines. You felt so good.

While in the bathroom cleaning yourself up, you become acutely aware of how intimate you just were with a man you had strong feelings for. Now that you’ve put out before even telling him how you felt, you’re afraid that it’s all it’s gonna be. Just sex.

Not that you’d hate that, but… you want more with Joel.

You return to the living room, cold from being naked and away from the fire. Joel is dressed again and sat on the couch eating some of the ravioli you’d gotten out. He barely even looks at you as you put your clothes back on and it makes your stomach churn.

Once you’re dressed, you sit down on the couch but not too close to Joel. He hands you the can and fork. “Here. Rest is yours.” He smiles softly.

You take it from him and stare into the can, frowning. You look up and try to make your expression neutral now. “I’m actually not that hungry.” You hand him the can back. “You can finish it off.”

“You sure?” He asks.

You nod in response and lay down on the floor by the fire, pulling a blanket over yourself and putting your backpack under your head as a pillow.

You end up falling asleep without another word between you two.

***

It had been four days since you slept with Joel. Three days since you saw him last.

The return trip to Jackson was quiet and awkward, both of you feeling bad for not revealing your true feelings and intentions to the other person. But neither of you knew what the other was thinking.

You were sat alone in your small house on the edge of town, reading a book, when the doorbell rang.

You got up and answered the door, surprised to see Joel standing there.

“Hey.” You give a half smile.

“Hey, Y/n. I need to talk to you.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Okay. Come in.” You step back and let him inside before closing the door.

He shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack, folding his hands in front of him awkwardly. “Uh, can we sit for a minute?” He blushes.

“Of course.” You nod and lead him to the living room, both of you sitting down on the couch together.

“So, about the other night at the safe house-“

“I already know what you’re gonna say.” You sigh, stomach upset once again.

“You- you do?” Joel raises his brows.

“It was a mistake and it shouldn’t happen again, right?” Your face drops a little as you speak.

He looks at you, confused. “What? No…” he shakes his head. “I was gonna apologize because I didn’t… I haven’t told you that I actually want more than just sex with you. I, um,” he clears his throat. “Well, I like you. A lot.”

Your head cocks back in surprise, heart skipping a beat. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He laughs nervously.

“Joel, I’ve had feelings for you pretty much since we met.” You smile a little.

“Yeah?” He grins, scooting closer.

You nod. “I want more than sex, too.”

“Good.” He smiles wide and leans in, cradling your face with both hands before kissing you.

You kiss back, feeling warmth spread through your body with the sudden happiness.

“Be my girlfriend?” He whispers against your lips.

You nod and giggle. “Anything you want.”

____________________________________________

Tag list: @evyiione @chyannealaniz @cesspitoflove @supersingle @dizzyforyou @jrosie25 @blackfemalenerd @bongsrconfusing @milly-louise

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sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast · 6 months

Text

Watching a Scary movie with Getou

He gets off on hearing you scream and cry from how scary the movie is.

Warnings: dacryphillia, rough sex, fear kink, yall have sex on the couch

A/N: Nsfw, not proofread. It's a mess, but you will be too♡

"Please? I promise I won't get scared this time!" You asked, pleading with your big eyes, hands folded in front of your face. How could Suguru possibly deny you? He wouldn't. Even if he knew what would happen. With a sigh, he ran a hand down his face before nodding. Your squeals entered his ears as you jumped up and down, quickly attaching yourself to his body. Your breasts pushed up, and flush against his arm. You were killing him.

He patted you on the head before peeling you off him, moving to lounge lazily on the couch. Your cute-self bounding over, so happy your boyfriend agreed to watch this movie with you! You didn't know why he'd stopped all of a sudden, but that didn't matter now.

You put on the movie and got comfortable, snuggling close to his body. Eyes glued to the screen while he was glued to you. He could care less about the movie. Suguru knew you'd get scared. It was inevitable. Your little body curled in on itself, shivering from fear as you jumped. Clinging onto his arm as you screamed, sometimes sniffling if the scare was too bad and made you cry.

It never failed to make his dick strain against his pants.

This is why he had opted out of watching these movies with you. It always led to a masked boner he had to take care of in the bathroom afterward. But you had insisted, you'd have to deal with the consequences.

About ten minutes into the movie, the first scare happened. And you did exactly as he thought you would. Jumping an inch out of your skin, pressing your tits closer to his arm as you screamed. His cock twitched, hardening almost immediately at the sight. But you didn't notice. With one hand, he subtly rubbed at his member, hoping to ease the ache. And it helped, until it didn't. Another scare and another shaky movement from you, your breath wavering. Fuck.

"Here baby, sit in my lap. That should help." He spoke gently, betraying the horny thoughts currently clouding through his mind. You nodded, climbing onto his lap as you laid back against him. Did you feel his cock? He wondered, his arms snaking around your waist. If you did, you didn't comment on it. Too absorbed in your movie. That's okay.

....

"Sugu...ah, can't watch.." you moaned, your hands splayed on his thighs as he fucked up into you. His hair tickled your back as he rested his chin on your shoulder. "Watch for me, baby. I like hearing you scream. Turns me on so much-fuck." So you tried, your eyes bleary with tears as you focused on the TV. Another jumpscare made you flinch, pushing his cock deeper inside you. He groaned, continuing his movements. "Yeah baby, you scared? Mm-fuck, I can hear you crying. So fucking beautiful." He couldn't take it. Each shiver and sniffle brought him closer and closer to his release. His hands sought out your tits, grabbing them harshly as moaned against your ear.

"Please..please...can't, too much...s'too much. Sugu, oh fuck-ah!"

You screamed again, only this time it was from sharp teeth sinking into your neck. A low groan made by your ear as you felt him twitch, shooting ropes of his creamy cum inside you. Painting your walls white as he whimpered slightly. Fuck, he'd cum a lot. But then he started to move again, hissing from the sensitivity.

"You're still scared, right? Let me help you."

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #geto suguru #jjk geto #geto smut #jujutsu geto #geto x female reader

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yulin-pop · 10 months

Text

⤷ ✧ 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Order 81 | Gender Neutral | Headcanons | First years

❀ NOTE: I wrote this at like 4 am when I was having a sleepover but couldn’t sleep after I watched a scary movie.

Watching a scary movie with Ace, Deuce, Epel, Jack, Sebek, and Grim is completely madness.

There’s a lot of types of horror movies but they’re all generally the same. Opening, first scary part, everything else in between, then ending.

Ace will be the one trying to scare everyone else. It’ll be one of those silent parts and then he randomly puts his hand on your shoulder and screams. It’s probably more annoying than scary.

Deuce is definitely the one that covers his eyes and if it’s somehow sad, he tears up a bit. Don’t question if you hear him randomly sniffling. Jack is gonna be the only one to comfort him.

Speaking of Jack, he is either extremely focused on the movie or not paying attention. He misses the most important parts and he has to ask what happened just now.

Okay Epel is the one laughing at the jumpscares. Something flies at the screen, everyone screams but he’s just like “Nah why did it look like that though?” He doesn’t really take most of the movie seriously, but later will be lowkey scared when he’s alone in the dark trying to sleep.

Sebek yells at the screen if the characters are acting stupid like. “NO DON’T GO INTO THE DARK ROOM ALONE YOU’RE GONNA DIE!” He doesn’t like horror movies very much because the main characters are always so dumb he gets upset.

Grim is a jumper. He will fly out of his seat when he’s startled. His fight or flight senses kick in and he almost burns the TV. He is also clinging to the nearest person whether they like it or not because he is a scaredy cat sometimes.

That interesting group in the same room, watching the same movie is just delightful.

Before the movie even begins, there’s already something happening. Deuce and Ace are fighting over who can sit next to you. Deuce sat down next to you first but then Ace insisted he move so he can sit next to you. Why doesn’t Ace just go on your other side? Grim is there. They wrestle for a little bit before you tell both of them to just sit on the floor (couch privileges lost). Jack ends up sitting next to you.

Unless it was decided beforehand, it’s gonna take a long while to pick out which movie. Epel wants a movie with jumpscares, Deuce doesn’t want anything too graphic, Ace already saw a majority of the suggested movies, then everyone else doesn’t care much.

The movie starts fine but then Grim doesn’t want to share any popcorn. It’s just Ace that wants some but Grim refuses to pass the bowl. You’re able to snatch the bowl from him and everyone else has popcorn.

Deuce and Sebek get surprisingly into it. If everyone else is confused then they’re the ones to explain what’s going on or what happened. They have their own theories of what’s happening.

Ace also makes predictions on the ending and he has a 75% chance of being correct because he watched a lot of scary movies so he sees a pattern in all of them.

When Deuce and Ace are anywhere near you, they’re grabbing onto you out of fear. They try not to grab onto anyone else besides you or… each other.

Half of the time Ace doesn’t get startled from the movie itself, it’s everyone else’s screams that makes him scream.

If the protagonist (or any character) acts stupid the atmosphere is completely different. They’re all talking to each other like.

“Oh my seven, what is she doing?”

“This is why I don’t like horror movies, they’re so stupid!”

“That’s something Grim would do.”

Afterwards there’s gonna be at least one person that says they don’t get it.

Sebek won’t be scared afterwards unless it was based after a true story, then he’s super cautious in dark rooms and doesn’t mess around with ghosts.

Ace and Epel won’t admit it but they’re just a bit frightened depending on what type of horror it was. Ghosts don’t scare them so much but demonic possession will. They may be a bit afraid while they try to sleep at night.

Deuce and Grim are the most openly scared ones. Both will be hiding under their covers and shaking until they fall asleep. They will both have the worst nightmares over it for a week if the movie was that bad.

Jack is… fairly normal. Of course he’s left a bit spooked but he’s not at all bothered by it. He’s creeped out but doesn’t start worrying about his own safety but everyone else’s. He starts telling people not to go out when it’s dark out and offers to walk with them.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #deuce spade x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade #epel felmier x reader #ace trappola #epel felmier #jack howl #jack howl x reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader #twst first years #twst first years x reader

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tiredcreatur3 · 1 year

Note

i love the idea of dilf toji being a brat tamer

he’d definitely be the best at it my god. pause cuz that sounds wonderful

he’d definitely hold grudges and really make you regret ever not listening to him or making fun of him.

maybe he’d not react to it right away but oh, the next time the two of you are having sex, he makes sure you will not enjoy it.

and don’t get him wrong, he loves pleasuring you, making you feel good, hell he doesn’t even care about him coming as much as he cares about you coming and enjoying yourself.

but when you’re being a brat and not obeying him, he fucking hates that shit and will make sure you know.

so of course, the size difference and strength difference helps him out a lot on this, folding you and positioning you however he needs at the moment and you end up in a position he knows you don’t like because it hurts and oh, the pressure it makes you feel in your lower tummy is awful.

but he starts fucking you, completely ignoring your little whines and whimpers, grunting and panting softly as he feels how you dig your nails into his arms, shaking but not being able to do anything about it.

“t-toji..” you let out, knowing what he was doing and why he put you into this uncomfortable position, little whimpers leaving you anyway because it still felt good, staring at him with soft fucked out eyes.

“i-it hurts a l-lot..” you whispered, the tip of the male’s cock hitting your cervix multiple times which was so so fucking painful, it bringing tears to your eyes.

“doesn’t feel good, huh.” he hummed coldly, continuing, watching how you began to sob, poor little wet pussy getting pounded hard and deep, legs shaking as they were secured up in the air by the male’s strong shoulders, using you as his little fucktoy.

you shook your head, sniffling as your lower lip trembled, “p-please stop..”

“you think you deserve it?”

and you just let out a few shake breaths, crying under the male, letting out few little “please”’s one after another, hoping he’d have some mercy. (he didn’t)

“i-i’m sorry, da-daddy.. -‘m so-sorry, s-sorry, ‘m sorry.” you babbled out after a few more minutes of the male torturing you just like that, both the pain with a bit of pleasure mixed in making you all out of it, so fucked out, shaking and choking on your own tears as the male eventually gave in, knowing you’ve learned your lesson, stopping and removing you from the uncomfortable position, wrapping you up in his arms.

“what a good little girl.. did better than last time.” he whispered, resting on the bed and letting you rest on top of him, throwing a blanket over the two of you, knowing how much you loved skin to skin contact with him.

“i love you, sweetheart.. you did so good. you know it doesn’t make daddy happy seeing you like this, right?”

he’d reassure you because even though it was supposed to be your punishment, he always wanted to make sure you were okay and weren’t thinking any bad thoughts afterwards and you were so fucking grateful for that.

“i love you too, daddy.. promise i’ll be a good girl now.” you let out quietly, giving him a little tired out smile and oh, he couldn’t help but kissing your cheeks, pulling you closer and gently stroking your hair.

#toji fushiguro smut #toji smut #toji x y/n #jjk toji #toji x you #toji fushiguro #jujutsu toji

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babybluebex · 1 year

Note

Omg the way you write perv Eddie is so HOT PLS 🫣 can you maybe elaborate on how that phone call went afterwards..does Eddie from them on continue to act like readers boyfriend..maybe makes her do him little pervy favours with the excuse of him being her “boyfriend”

yes yes i can totally elaborate on the phone call... 😈 cw innocent!reader, dubcon, male masturbation, daddy kink, some degradation, corruption, names (princess, baby, slut, good girl)

You waited all night for Eddie to call. You eschewed hanging out with your friends so that you didn’t miss Eddie’s call (you didn’t really hate being left out, since your friends liked to make fun of you in a way that sometimes felt a little too mean to be something that friends did), and you sat in the living room and watched television while you waited for him to call.

Except Eddie never did call. You were up until 2am, figuring that maybe he got busy— you knew very little about him, but you figured he probably had things to do that would deter him from calling too soon after school, but, by the time the television channel decided to turn off for the night and turned to static, you knew that that certainly wasn’t what had happened.

Did Eddie ever even intend to call you? Was his promise empty? Did he even want to be your boyfriend? He seemed like he did, with how quickly he agreed to it, but your heart still hurt at the idea that maybe he didn’t like you the way you liked him. Eddie was your first boyfriend, not that that was something you could revel in with your parents; they wouldn’t like the fact that someone like Eddie, rough and uncouth, metal and Satanic, was your boyfriend. If your parents had their way, you would be dating some boy from their country club, with pressed khaki pants and polo shirts and boat shoes, but you had never found that type of boy attractive or even nice. But Eddie was handsome, and he was nice to you; he was already a better boyfriend than any boy your parents wanted you to date.

FInally, at almost 3 in the morning, as you sat in bed and sniffled as you cried, the phone on your bedside table began to ring. Your hand shot out to answer it, hoping that the phone in the kitchen hadn’t woken up your parents, and you were quick to press the plastic receiver to your face. “Hello?” you asked, your voice wobbling.

“Is that my princess?” Eddie’s voice came, light and easy, and you sniffled.

“Hi, Eds,” you mumbled, and you sniffled again. You felt all clogged up from crying, and your sniffle felt empty as you wiped at your face. “H-How are you?”

“I’m fantastic,” Eddie said, and you could almost hear his smile. “My band had a gig tonight and we made a lot of tips, so I’m in a good mood.”

“Oh,” you said softly. “I’m glad you had a good, um, gig.”

Eddie was quiet for a moment, and you heard a metallic flick before he spoke again. “Are you crying?” he asked. “You sound upset.”

“Yeah,” you whimpered. “I-I thought you had forgotten to call.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie cooed. “I’d never forget my princess, I just got busy. I’m sorry. You really shouldn’t cry over me, though, I’m not worth it.”

“F’course you are,” you told him earnestly. “You’re my boyfriend, Eds, you are worth it.”

“Right,” Eddie said. “Boyfriend, all because you let me look at your tits… You’ve got good tits, princess, don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.”

“Thank you,” you said, and you couldn’t control the flush that heated up your skin. “I like your eyes.”

“You’re cute,” Eddie told you. “My sweet princess, I wish you were here with me right now.”

“Yeah?” you asked. “Why?”

“‘Cause I’m all alone,” Eddie started. “My blood’s running all hot from the show, and I wish I could fuck you silly.”

You cringed. “I don’t like that word,” you said softly.

“What?” Eddie asked. “Fuck?”

“It’s just a bad word,” you mumbled. “So is tits.”

“Oh, baby, but fuck is my favorite word,” Eddie said. “Do you not curse or anything?”

“No,” you said. “I don’t like the way it sounds.”

“Princess,” Eddie said softly, almost like he was fussing at you. “I’ll try to stop, but I like to curse, so you can’t get too mad at me when I slip up and do it around you. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, even if it made your tummy feel weird.

"Hey, baby?" Eddie started. "You wanna help me do something?”

“Yeah!” you said, sitting up in bed and tugging the phone a little closer to you. “What can I do?”

“Tell me what you’re wearing,” Eddie said, and you wrinkled your nose in confusion.

“Why?” you asked.

“I told you, it’s gonna help me,” Eddie said, and you heard some rustling from his side of the phone, almost like he was moving something around. “Don’t leave anything out. Describe it to me.”

“Umm…” you started, and you looked down at yourself. “A sweatshirt. It’s blue, like, um, a dark blue; it’s too big on me, because it’s my dad’s.”

“Mhm,” Eddie hummed, and he added, “What else, princess?”

“Sweatpants,” you said. “They’re pink.”

“Are you wearing a bra?” Eddie asked, and you shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you.

“No,” you said, and Eddie made a weird noise, almost like he was in pain. “Are you okay?”

“M’fine, baby,” Eddie said. “Just keep going. Are you wearing panties?”

“Duh, Eds,” you giggled, and Eddie made that weird noise again. “They’re white and they’ve got these little pink hearts on them.”

“Do they have a bow on them?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s really small, but it’s there.”

“Cute,” Eddie said, but he sounded strange, a little choked up, like he was trying not to cry. “Anything else?”

“No,” you told him. “Is this helping?”

“Oh, baby, you have no idea,” Eddie said. On his side of the phone, there were more weird noises, a sort of rhythmic sound that almost could have been a slapping if you thought about it hard enough. “Talk about your panties more.”

“I told you what they look like,” you said. “Umm, what else do you wanna know?”

“Are they tight?” Eddie asked. “Do they hug your pretty butt, or are they more loose?”

“I mean,” you shrugged. “They fit right, so they’re not tight or whatever, but they’re not loose either.”

“Wish I could see…” Eddie mumbled, and he hissed in a tight breath. “God, princess, m’gonna… Tell me about your pussy, please.”

You knew what that was, thanks to your friends, and you pressed your thighs together as your blush settled between your legs. At least, you thought it was your blush; it was hot, just like in your cheeks, but your pussy, as Eddie called it, throbbed a little with the heat. “It feels all tingly,” you mumbled. “Like, it feels funny.”

“Like a good funny?” Eddie asked. “Good tingles?”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Does that help you, Eds?”

“Call me Daddy,” Eddie told you in his short, clipped words. “Just for a second, baby, keep talking about the tingles but call me Daddy.”

“Umm, okay,” you said slowly. “It feels kinda warm? Like I’m blushing down there. Is that normal, Daddy?”

“Yes, princess, that’s normal,” Eddie told you. “Fuck, baby, keep going, tell me all about those tingles.”

“I like them,” you said softly.

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie asked. “I bet they feel good, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Feel really good, Daddy.”

“Fuck!” Eddie exclaimed. “My little slut, my good girl…”

“I’m not a slut, Eddie,” you told him firmly. Your feelings were bruised by the fact that he would even think to call you that, and the tingling of tears hit your nose and eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“M’sorry, princess,” Eddie said. “I couldn’t help it, please don’t be mad at me. And remember what I asked you to call me, just for a second longer, just a little more…” The strange slapping got louder and faster, and your tingles in your belly and thighs only grew at the sound of it.

“What’re you doing, Daddy?” you asked.

“Don’t worry about me,” Eddie told you. “How do you know what a slut is?”

“I heard my friends say it,” you mumbled. “They used to call me something like that…”

“What would they call you, baby?” Eddie asked. “Something bad?”

“They would call me a, umm…” you started, trying to remember. “I don’t know. It started with a P.”

“Prude?” Eddie said, and you nodded quickly.

“Yeah!” you said. “But I don’t know what it means.”

“It’s a mean name,” Eddie told you, and you frowned. “It’s one of those mean names that I said they’d call you if they knew that you showed me your tits. Well, maybe not that one, but they were making fun of you.”

“For what?” you asked. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong, was I?”

“A prude is someone who doesn’t have sex,” Eddie told you, and you felt your heart sink down into your tummy. “They were making fun of you ‘cause you’re so innocent.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“For what, princess?” Eddie asked. “I like that you’re so innocent, it’s cute.”

“You think I’m cute?” you asked, and Eddie grunted.

“So cute, baby,” he said softly. “Fuck, baby, I…” For a moment, there was a rustling on the phone again, and Eddie made that weird pained noise again before you heard him breathing heavily, like he had just run a mile. “Fuck, baby. Oh my God… I made such a mess, fuck me.”

“Oh no!” you pouted. “What happened?”

“Nothing, baby, don’t worry about it,” Eddie told you. “Thank you, though, I appreciate your help.”

“Of course,” you giggled. “Anything for you, Daddy.”

“Fuck, I like the way you say that,” Eddie said softly. “Keep calling me that. Like, how I call you ‘princess’, you can call me ‘Daddy’. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” you agreed. “That sounds good to me.”

“Good, good,” Eddie said. “Hey, baby, I’ve gotta go and clean up my mess, but thank you for helping me.”

“Anything for you, Daddy,” you said, and Eddie chuckled.

“I’ll see you at school,” he said, and the line went dead.

#bex answers #anon ask #bex's drabbles #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #perv!eddie #perv!eddie munson #perv!eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #tw innocent reader

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tsukiasaurus · 1 year

Text

haikyuu boys with a chubby!s/o

includes: tsukishima, bokuto, osamu (ft a sprinkle of atsumu) ushijima (tendo makes an appearance)

lots of fluff!! some angst in tsukki’s, but that cant really be helped mans a jerk sometimes. TW FOR NEGATIVE BODY IMAGE. this WILL have mentions of a bad relationship with food, so PLEASE read with caution if that effects you.

reader is gn, but is called gorgeous

kind of a self indulgent blurb tbh

seeing you insecure is one of his least favorite things. seeing you cry is the worst. putting them together? oh boy, he’s ready to fight

=============================

tsukishima spots you eating with hinata and kageyama, stuffing a meat bun into your mouth with a smile. the boys had brought home another nationals win, and you were all having a get together at daichi’s place. tsukishima sits down across from you, smirking.

“god, y/n, you’re such a fatass.”

the words leave his lips easily, and you want to spit out your food. you notice everyone’s eyes on you, and you try and get the meat bun down as fast as you can. you know tsukishima can be a jerk with his little comments, but there was no remorse after this. even after being together, his comments would still sting, even though he didnt mean for them to. but what did change was his apology afterwards if he noticed that he hurt you.

you dont speak for the remainder of the party. you just sit on the couch, scrolling through your phone. you were waiting for tsukishima’s apology, but it never came. surely he had seen your reaction.

“y/n, you ready to go?” tsukishima’s voice cuts through your thoughts. you nod silently, walking home with him.

it doesnt hit him until you’re in bed before him, facing the wall in one of your pajama shirts. not his. usually when the two of you come home from parties, you spend some time together. getting into bed, tsukishima moves to pull you close, hands on your tummy where they usually rest. you tense.

“hey, what gives?” tsukishima asks, propping himself up on his elbow. “you dont wanna cuddle?”

you shake your head, blinking back tears. tsukishima is about to flop back down when he hears a sniffle.

“y/n?” he asks, voice softer. “are you okay?”

“no.”

your voice sounds so broken, making tsukishima sigh softly. he gently wraps his arms around you.

“i’m sorry for what i said.” he says gently. “i didnt mean to hurt you. i was going to apologize sooner but dumb and dumber pulled me away.”

you sniffle again, wiping your eyes. “it’s fine.” you mumble.

“love, its not fine.” tsukishima sighs. “you know i love you more than anything in this world. i never mean to hurt you with my comments. i know your weight is a sensitive subject for you, and i’m sorry. if you want, i can sleep on the couch tonight.”

when you don’t respond, tsukishima goes to grab the spare blanket and pillow for when he makes a particularly snide comment and you dont want to speak to him. you sit up, looking at him. your cheeks are streaked with tears and your nose is slightly red.

“don’t go.” you say softly. “i love you.”

tsukishima gets into bed, pulling you close. he places a gentle kiss on your forehead, closing his eyes.

“again, i’m sorry for hurting you, y/n.” he says softly. “you’re absolutely amazing and perfect, and i cant believe that you’d love a jerk like me. i’m so thankful to have you in my life.”

you thank the alcohol for letting tsukishima be slightly more open with his emotions. he never spoke like that unless he was drunk, but he showed his love for you in different ways, like sharing his strawberry shortcake with you.

there are two constants in tsukishima’s life: his love for strawberry shortcake, and his love for you.

***

bokuto is a people person, through and through. he loves the attention, and he cant get enough of the fans swooning over him. until you came along, he was nearly overwhelmed by all the attention.

with you in his life now, he wasnt sure how he survived before. having someone in his life that was a constant, seeing him at his lowest points and helping lift him up, was honestly so crazy to him. he loves you more than he loves volleyball, and thats the love of his life.

after a particularly good game against shiratorizawa, bokuto is flocked by attractive looking fans. before he can even get to you to receive his post game you-did-amazing-kiss, he was pulled in several different directions for questions. you didnt really mind it if you were honest. dating bokuto came with him talking to fans before going to kiss you after a game, and you were fine with that.

a few attractive girls walked up to bokuto, giggling at him, asking for pictures, the usual.

“oh bo, are you single? i would love to date you!” one of the girls said, swooning in front of bokuto.

“i’m sorry ladies, but i’m taken! i’m dating y/n and i love them!” bokuto was proud. he was so proud that he can call you his.

“y/n??” another girl cackled. “but bo, you’re so strong and muscular and attractive! how can you be dating someone thats so fat??”

fat. the word echoed in your ears as the girls all turned and giggled at you. you were a bit chubby, sure, but it only bothered you sometimes. like now, when you looked at all of the thinner girls and figured that bokuto would be happier with them.

“i’ll see you at home kou!” you call, giving bokuto your best fake smile. “i’m gonna make us some dinner!”

bokuto knew that something was wrong, that he needed to stop you, but he got pulled back to do an interview.

when he finally gets home, he finds you looking in the mirror, tears streaming down your face as you look at yourself. to you, you look hideous. a chubby stomach, too thick thighs. you hate it.

bokuto walks up behind you and hugs you tightly. it takes him a moment to realize that you’re crying, so he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“whats the matter bub?” he asks sweetly.

“i’m too fat.” you whimper. “there’s so many other people that are more attractive than me. you can do so much better.”

bokuto is shocked. you’d never brought this up before. what happened that made you feel so negatively about yourself? you’re wonderful!

he finds himself laughing in spite of himself. him? find someone better than YOU? no chance.

“little owl, you’re one of the most gorgeous human beings i have ever met. loving you has been such a privilege and i’m honored to be your boyfriend.” he says, wrapping his arms around you. “you are the light in my life on dark days. you make me smile like nobody else can. your brain being mean is not a reflection of that. you have some chub, so what? you’re so beautiful and wonderful and i cannot believe you’re mine.”

by the time bokuto is done, you’re crying even more. he takes this as a sign to take it up a notch. he knows that you might not be crying from sadness anymore, but you aren’t smiling just yet.

“are you insecure about this?” bokuto asks, gently holding your tummy. “this adorable thing? what about this?”

he goes around, gripping your thighs, your arms, and even your butt. by the time he’s done, you’re laughing. you turn around and hug bokuto, who you have just realized has not taken a shower yet, and smile.

“thank you kou.” you say, softly kissing his cheek. “i love you so much.”

bokuto smiles, returning your kiss. he’s happy that you’re smiling again, and makes sure that you know that he’s not above making an ass of himself just to see you smile.

***

osamu’s love language is service and gifts. he loves making you food, letting you try new menu items before he puts them out, and is generally just a big foodie (duh). it’s natural that he’d have a slightly bigger partner because of his time working at onigiri miya. he’s gotta have someone comfortable with eating some of the concoctions that he makes.

you sit on the kitchen counter, swinging your legs happily as you watch osamu cook. he’s in his element, humming along to the soft music that he has playing. he’s making you a new dish to try, slightly nervous because he’s the most excited about it.

“okay love,” he says, placing a plate next to you. “go ahead.”

you pick up the rice ball, which is shaped like an actual ball and covered in a sweet dark sauce, and lift it to your lips. you sigh, content with how absolutely delicious it is.

“baby this is amazing!” you say, noticing osamu’s nervous expression.

osamu sighs with a smile, kissing your temple. “can i take a picture for the onigiri miya instagram page?” he asks against your skin.

you pose, smiling sweetly as you hold up the newest menu item. osamu snaps the picture, uploading it with a smile.

“you’re so adorable.” he says, hugging you. “still cant believe you’re mine.”

you smile, pecking his cheek. it’s weird, being doted on like this. you know that he and atsumu have been super competitive all their lives, and you knew that osamu almost never got the girls. it was always atsumu. you never knew why; he was such a sweetheart. he always took care of you, made sure that you never went hungry, gave you kisses and snuggles, and give you pleasure that you didnt even know you could experience.

osamu’s phone buzzed on the counter, dozens of notifications coming from people commenting and liking the post. you glance over, reading the first comment you see:

osamufan81615: wow, i cant believe how big y/n’s gotten! lay off the food my dude XD

you freeze, opening your phone to look at the comments. you notice that a few of the comments are harsher than usual, and all of the mean comments are directed towards you. more specifically, your weight. you find yourself getting lost in the comments, nearly getting physically sick at how rude some people could be.

osamu was observant. he watched your entire aura change as you scrolled on your phone. he took it out of your hands, wrapping his arms around you. he scooped you up from the counter, walking with your legs wrapped around his waist until he sat on the couch.

you cant help but sniffle, rereading some of the comments in your mind. you go to move off of osamu’s lap, but he holds you tighter.

“don’t listen to ‘em.” he says softly. “you are so amazing and so much more than whatever weight you are. you’re mine, and that’s all i could ever want. i love you as you are, and dont let some idiots get ya down.”

he strokes your hair, trailing his hand down your back just how you like. the two of you sit silently for a bit, your head on osamu’s shoulder.

“love you ‘samu.” you mumble quietly against his neck.

osamu’s phone buzzed with a text, undoubtedly from atsumu. osamu pushed his phone away until atsumu called him, making osamu groan. you giggled.

“what do ya want, ya pest?” osamu groaned.

“do ya see how they’re treating y/n in the comments on your most recent post??” atsumu all but yells. “i’ve been replying to comments for the past 15 minutes telling ‘em to lay off.”

“i have. i’m letting them get their 15 minutes of fame.” osamu replied. “i’m comforting y/n right now because the comments are getting to them.”

“i told one of them that they look like their family tree is a circle.” atsumu said, a smile clear in his voice. you couldnt help but laugh.

“thanks bro.” osamu said, a smile on his face as well. “i’ll let you keep harassing em, i got more important matters to attend to.”

hanging up the phone, osamu leans over and kisses you. he peppers kisses on your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. you shiver, gasping when he sucks on your neck.

“how about we go upstairs and i help you forget about all those idiots and show you how much you mean to me, hm?”

you cant help but nod. the new menu item is put up the following week, and osamu really drives home the fact that you are perfect just the way you are by letting you ride him for hours the night of the menu’s new debut.

***

ushijima wakatoshi. a strong, stoic man who barely speaks two words on the court unless he’s really riled up. dating the top ace in the country comes with long nights where he stays out after winning a big game, being stopped on the street, and countless interviews. it also came with him worshiping the ground you walked on.

“toshi, what do you think of this one?” you ask, opening the dressing room door.

your figure is hugged by a sparkly red outfit, accentuating your curves perfectly. ushijima sits up straight, eyes nearly bulging out of his face.

“thats the one.” he says.

you cant help but giggle. you were invited to attend a banquet dinner, black tie only, with the team. you had no outfits that were fancy enough for the occasion, so ushijima insisted he buy something for you.

walking to the register, you hold ushijima’s hand with a smile. the cashier made some small talk while she scanned and bagged the items of your outfit.

“i do have to say, im a very big fan of yours wakatoshi.” she said, giving a sweet smile to your boyfriend. “congratulations on your big win.”

usually, whenever you two went to the store together, the cashier would make a big deal out of talking to ushijima. this lady was a very pleasant change.

“thank you, miss.” ushijima replied with a smile.

later that night, you walked into the banquet, holding ushijima’s hand with a smile. there were photographers everywhere, and you were almost blinded by the flashes of all the cameras.

sitting down at a table with tendo and goshiki, you give them both a smile.

“hey boys.” you greet.

“hi y/n!” goshiki says, sitting up straight. “you look wonderful tonight!”

you smile. “thank you tsu.”

goshiki has had a thing for you for so long, that you’re sure if you werent dating anyone, he’d be trying to get with you. ushijima places a hand on your thigh, rubbing it with his thumb gently.

as the evening progressed, there were more and more interviews being done. ushijima was being interviewed by a taller, attractive woman, who was clearly flirting with him.

“so, wakatoshi, whats your workout routine look like?” she asks, smiling as she pushes some hair behind her ear. “i know a hunk such as yourself has to have a staple in his routine.”

“i enjoy running.” ushijima starts. “i also tend to focus on weight lifting when i dont do cardio.”

“do you have a workout partner?”

ushijima nods. “yes, my partner y/n.” he says, a smile growing on his lips.

“y/n?” the interviewer asks, a hint of disgust in her voice. “are they the chubby one following you around tonight? they don’t seem to be that good of a workout partner to me.”

tendo’s ear twitched while talking to you, his attention quickly turning to ushijima and the pest speaking with him.

“they are very encouraging.” ushijima continues. “i enjoy their company while lifting weights.”

“well, maybe you need someone,” the lady clears her throat. “…thinner to help you. y/n is practically spilling out of that outfit they’re in.”

“thats it.” tendo says, getting up.

you heard the entire thing. the woman was set on tearing you down, but ushijima was, as usual, telling her how amazing you were. you were slightly tearing up at the final comment.

tendo grabs your wrist gently, pulling you to ushijima. he knew that ushijima wasnt one for confrontation, but tendo was more than happy to go off on someone in his place. you wipe your misty eyes as you follow.

“actually,” tendo squints, looking at the name sticker on the lady’s jacket. “aiko, is it? i know my buddy toshi here wont say it, but i will. putting someone down because you wish you were in their place is very ugly. ushijima is with y/n because he loves them. all there is to it.”

“this interview is over.” ushijima says, turning to you. “i’m sorry babe, lets go get something to drink.”

you glance over at the lady, giving her a nice smile before you walk away.

“lets go get trashed!!!” tendo yells, allowing a chorus of cheers from the other teammates to fill the banquet hall.

as you can tell, this was a LONG one. lowercase is intended, and this was done while sitting at work, so i hope you enjoy.

and no matter what your weight, you are beautiful and deserve love ❤️

#haikyuu #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #osamu miya #osamu x y/n #osamu x reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader

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