#he plays with people's hearts yet doesn't really hurt them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peachypinkygloss · 10 months

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call me soon — jjk

Jungkook finds himself obsessing over you a bit too much than he'd like to admit, but you two get a chance to see more of each other during a hot summer night where you both are lonely, desperate and horny.

☾ pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

☾ genre: strangers to fwb to lovers, summer break au, university au, smut

☾ word count: 5.9k

☾ warnings: alcohol consumption, mention of driving under the influence of alcohol (jk had one beer okay 🙄 no car crash lol), hello tae and oh — jimin?, hurt and comfort 🧐, mentions of masturbation (m), dry humping, clit stimulation, tits play, praising, unprotected sex & oral sex, blowjob, cum eating, cum play, multiple orgasms, brief overstimulation.

a.n.: i tried something and i think i like it 😼 put y'all seatbelts on because this is the best smut i've ever written 🫡 *no taglist!!

Jungkook knits his eyebrows together, deeply lost in his thoughts. At this point, the music blasting through the house doesn't make his body shake anymore, it doesn't make his heart beat faster nor does it make adrenaline rush through his veins.

He feels the vibrations under his feet, though. It's intense, but not enough to distract him. The pad of his index finger mindlessly circles the neck of the beer bottle he's holding, his other hand shoved in the pocket of his baggy jeans.

His friend's elbow sometimes nudges him in the ribs because of how animated he is when talking, but he doesn't make Jungkook turn his head nonetheless. He hears him laugh and curse while he looks away, gaze lost in the crowd of people, eyes shifting between all the faces without a thought about them.

He's too busy thinking about yesterday, that cursed night where he just wanted to fill up his gas tank and unluckily fell upon you at the gas station.

He thinks he never looked at his phone so many times in a day before, never thought a stupid call would turn him crazy, obsessively scrolling through his contact list to find your name.

Every time the day ended, he worried that maybe you had deleted his number, but your name has always been there. A part of him hoped you would have deleted him from your phone. It would have explained why you never called and then perhaps he would have felt less crazy.

But no. You just didn't bother pressing on his name and sticking your cellphone to your ear, waiting for him to pick up as you listened to his ringtone.

And that's quite a bit worse than being erased from your contact list because that means you just didn't think about him. Not once were your thoughts about Jungkook.

He could be wrong, but he prefers to torture himself.

Anyway, it's not like you were much bothered by the fact that you totally ghosted him back at the convenience store. 'I forgot', how horrible that sounds?

But then, all he wanted to do at this moment was to forgive you, tell you that it doesn't matter, that he doesn't really care, that it's no biggie. He can't blame you and that's so fucking stupid because all he did was eat you out.

Yet he finds himself thinking about you more than he'd like to. He even jerked himself off to you, playing back in his head the moment you were whimpering his name and pulling on his hair, clenching your thighs around him. He's not super proud of that — kind of cringes him a little bit when he thinks about it — but he got really hard imagining your pussy leaking down his knuckles.

You were a good hook-up and yes, he thought it could happen again. He hoped you two would do it a second time, maybe a third — how many you'd like to.

He likes sex and his obsession for you started because of that, but he would lie if he said hanging out with you like friends doesn't sound good to him. It sounds so fucking... nice.

In the end, he knows you two as friends wouldn't work. He works for your dad to pay his scholarship that is incredibly expensive even for a public university.

You, you don't need that. You don't need to work, don't have to lift a finger. You're treated like a princess — have the life of a princess — and you might even think of yourself as a princess too. Fuck him for liking it. Fuck him for fantasizing about possibly being your knight.

"This party fucking sucks."

Jungkook's eyes finally focus on something else than the void, laying on his best friend Taehyung. He doesn't know where he comes from, he only remembers him leaving the kitchen area when everyone was in the depth of a conversation.

"Why's that?" He asks instead of agreeing, knowing he can't really complain when he hasn't been in the mood to party at all.

Taehyung leans his back against the counter beside Jungkook, taking a sip of his soon empty beer bottle. "It just fucking sucks," he shrugs, a scowl on his face as if it's a justifiable reason. It might be because Taehyung's not so difficult to entertain.

It might be because of something else, Jungkook believes, though he doesn't have the heart to ask. He'll do it another time when he won't smell like rejection and when his head won't be filled with a woman's giggles who's out of his league.

So he only hums in agreement, silence installing between him and Taehyung.

A couple of minutes pass, Taehyung has opened another bottle and Jungkook is still quiet. Usually, he doesn't mind slipping in conversations, sharing his own perspective of things. He rarely says no to games, bringing his competitive ass over and crushing everyone's chances of winning.

Today isn't usual, that's why it fucking sucks.

"I'm gonna go get some fresh air," Jungkook says to Taehyung and this one nods.

"I'll probably head home soon anyway."

"Be sure to take an Uber."

"Of course, you know me," he chuckles, waving Jungkook goodbye.

His friend does the same, a slight smile painted on his face as he walks to the front door, opening it and stepping out of the house.

His eyes get used to the darkness as he closes the door behind him. He notices someone sitting on the stairs, typing quickly on the keyboard of their cellphone. He approaches the figure, hearing them sniffing as if they've been crying.

They suddenly drop their phone, muttering a 'fuck' as the device lays on the ground. Jungkook decides to go reach for it so he walks down the stairs and bends to catch it, turning around to hand it to the owner.

"Here." He looks at the person's face and his heart jumps in his chest when he recognizes you. He doesn't know where to look for a second, his eyes shifting down to the screen of your phone.

He catches a glimpse of a conversation with a certain 'Jimin' and immediately looks away, feeling guilty for not minding his business.

You thank him in a tired voice, taking back your iPhone. He stands there uselessly as you seemingly give up on your previous message, turning off your phone's screen with a defeated sigh.

"Is everything okay?" He asks, taking a seat beside you on the stairs.

As you wipe your tears away with the tips of your fingers, he wonders who could have hurt a princess like you. Princesses shouldn't cry. They should be covered in diamonds, not have pearls falling down from their eyes.

He wouldn't have let something like this happen as your knight. He knows for a fact that he would have protected you, and he thinks that whomever is pretending to be your knight right now is doing a really bad job.

"Yeah, I just... shouldn't be here," you respond with a shaky voice, eyes strained down on your feet.

"Where else should you be?"

You turn your head toward him, looking at him like a poor hurt puppy. He doesn't want to compare you to something so defenceless as a puppy, but that's what your eyes tell him. It's not like you're weak, it's more like you've given up on being strong.

"I don't know," you scoff, shaking your head. "Somewhere I belong."

Jungkook thinks he understands what you mean by that. He thinks, but he doesn't know if he really does. It's complicated to relate to someone who's so different from you.

But he wants to try. Relating to someone is not mandatory to be friends, anyway. Nor is it to be in love.

He hums, leaning his forearms on his knees and looking in front of him, watching the night butterflies flying under the dim lights of the street lamps. "Wanna get home?" He proposes, thinking that's maybe where you want to be right now. "I can give you a ride."

Your reddened eyes look up at him and he looks back at you. "No, not home..." You mutter, shaking your head from side to side. "Tomorrow will come too fast," you sigh and break eye-contact, tapping on the screen of your phone to check what hour it is. One a.m..

Is it a coincidence that every time you two are alone the clock indicates one? Should he believe in coincidences or only in the ones that concern you?

"We're already tomorrow," you groan.

Jungkook smiles — he can't help it. "You can't stop the time, baby" he laughs lightly, still staring at you, at your side profile. A blessing to the eyes, a downfall to his heart. "It won't wait for your call to finally start."

You scoff again, this time because you know what he's referring to. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm just bad at relationships... or whatever this is," you apologize, certainly coming out a bit blunter than intended. Blame it on the alcohol in your system.

"It's already forgotten." It isn't, but it may be forgiven. He'll surely have this one on his heart for quite a while, though it won't make him stay away from you. It possibly can't.

You send him a sad smile, having pity for him — or maybe for you — he doesn't know.

"Wanna come to mine, then?" He offers, sporting an innocent smile on his face even though he has no intentions of sharing a cup of tea with you there. Unless that's what you want.

"Where do you live?" You ask, a bit tempted by the proposition. And anyway, you need a place to sleep.

"Downtown," Jungkook replies. "We'll be there in five minutes if we go now," he smirks, trying his hardest to convince you.

It never takes too much to convince you.

"'Kay, let's go," you smile back, biting down on your lip.

·˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ♡

When you entered his apartment, you didn't really pay attention to the decoration, you were rather more bothered by his lips on yours. The moment you stepped foot into his place, his lips were already searching for yours and you didn't refuse him.

So now he's hurriedly leading you to his bedroom, messily kissing you and roaming his hands over the curves of your body. His fingers sometimes get caught under the hem of your dress, making the flimsy material roll up over your plushy thighs.

There's no time to think, no time to ask questions. There's only a need to discover and devour your skin, only a huge desire to finally touch what he hopes will be his one day.

"Oh, be careful," he mumbles against your lips, stopping you from entering his room, his arms wrapped around your waist. "There's a step."

He swiftly lifts you up, his hands placed on the back of your thighs. He can't help but knead them, sinking his fingers into the meaty flesh.

He walks in, making you avoid all the annoying steps to his bed, the covers carelessly thrown everywhere from this morning when he got up. You continue to kiss him, your nails gracing the side of his face as you cradle him in your hands.

Soon enough he lets your back hit the soft surface of his mattress, a soft gasp escaping your lips while he crawls to you, his lips never far away from your hungry ones. He nudges your nose, attempting to connect your mouths together. He does it again and you let him have you, exchanging your saliva like it’s a sweet nectar, him a bee and you a sunflower.

Your hands on his cheeks lower to his neck where you pull on his nair, nails scratching his skin. He groans into the kiss, palming your ass very roughly, fingers sneaking under the hem of your dress.

He has the slight impression that not only your tongues are tangled, but also your souls. Bodies colliding, clashing against each other at the pace of your heartbeat.

His knees dip into the bed on each side of your body, his arms supporting his weight beside your head. He bucks his hips against yours as you quietly moan into his mouth, feeling his growing bulge pressing down on you.

Blood rushes to his cock so fast, it's like his own brain is begging for him to just fuck you. No protection, fucking raw. Make it messy, make it unforgettable, make it so every time you're with a guy other than Jungkook you regret him.

But he takes his time. That's how he learned it; time is what a woman needs, not a prick who wants his dick wet and to get it from behind. As if doggy is a position that can make her cum.

"Fuck, I'm so..." Jungkook breathes out, his forehead laying against yours. His eyelids flutter shut as he swallows to ease his dried throat, opening his eyes again when he begins to speak. "I'm so fucking hard."

"I know," you whisper, glancing down where he grinds his bulge against your clothed pussy. "I feel it."

He groans at that and moves his hips against yours with more insistence, the material of his jeans rubbing against the soft cotton of your panties. You moan at how good it feels to have his hard cock pressing down on your clit, your hands coming down to push on his butt.

"Shit, baby," he hisses, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. He frowns cutely and looks down too, deciding to raise one of your legs up, making more room for himself. "Do you like that?" He asks, continuing to hump you as if you were both deprived horny teenagers — and he won't lie, he may still act like one sometimes.

He notices a wet patch on your panties just over your core, the area has darkened where your pussy gushes arousal out. "Oh, god- yes, Kook," you moan out, the new position creating more friction.

He almost whines at the nickname, his dick literally twitching happily in his boxers. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, feeling the pace of his heart accelerating, his breath becoming irregular.

He holds your thigh up and he loves how plushy it is, how your skin looks so tender. He'd bite into it, just chew onto it to have a little taste of you.

"You smell so sweet," he states, his hot breath hitting your skin, making goosebumps run all over your skin. He kisses your neck, soft and warm, leaving a wet trail behind.

He rolls his hips against you, his erection now aching, wanting to be inside of you, but he can't seem to think about anything else than your quiet moans gracing his ears and your odour invading his nostrils.

"Jungkook," you whine, scrunching his t-shirt between your fingers, pulling on it desperately as he keeps smooching the skin of your neck.

He understands your silent request and he swiftly gets rid of his t-shirt, throwing it somewhere on his bedroom's floor. Your hands immediately travel his abs and you feel his muscles flexing under your palms.

You then pass your arms around his shoulders, bringing his lips to yours. He moans into the kiss as he keeps rubbing his hard cock against your pussy, but your little pleas make it difficult for him to focus.

He sneaks a hand between your two bodies and you grip on his hair when he reaches your puffy clit, pulsating so hard for him. "Do you want me to touch you there?" He asks in a raspy voice, his big fingers teasing your sensitive bud, his touch familiar at this point. "Hm, princess? Want me to make you feel good?"

He always finds a way to tease you even when his jeans are really tight, his cock so swollen from your dry humping session from seconds ago.

"Yes, please," you breathe out shakily, a moan escaping your mouth when he starts to draw slow, sensual circles on your clit. "Fuck, Kook." You have your mouth agape, letting out sweet moans as his digit presses down on your bud, making the knot in your stomach tighten.

He lowers his fingers to your core, feeling how soaked your panties are. "All wet for me, baby?" He purrs and you nod your head, breathless. "Good girl," he praises, a little smirk crowning his pink lips.

You pull on the hair at the nape of his neck, closing your eyes as you enjoy the pleasure he's giving you. "Faster, please, Jungkook," you beg, his finger stroking your clit sending so many tingles through your body.

So he fastens the pace of his digit, rubbing quick circles on your bud of nerves and he absolutely loves the sight of you bucking your hips against his hand, growing impatient. Your nails sink into his skin, leaving little crescent forms all over his neck. He grits his teeth at the pain, but he'll suffer through it as long as it means you're feeling pleasure.

"Yes, yes," you moan, so close to your high, your mind getting fuzzy. He doesn't stop stimulating your clit, the pad of his finger skillfully circling it over your damp underwear. "I'm gonna cum," you hurriedly say, the muscles of your thighs tensing as soon as the words leave your mouth.

Your orgasm shoots through you and you grab Jungkook's wrist, but he keeps moving his finger to drive you off your high. You tense down, hearing your heart beating in your rib cage, chest heaving rapidly.

You flutter your eyes open and they meet Jungkook's gaze. You look into each other's eyes as you slowly calm down. His hand shifts to hold your waist and you bring him in for another kiss.

You don't wait longer before sliding your panties down your legs, raising your hips up from the mattress and letting the material fall on the ground. He breaks your kiss to see your pussy totally nude, glistening in your juices. He swears it's the sexiest he's ever seen before, so cute and always so fucking wet.

He has the urge to lower down and have a taste. He could never forget your flavour, but he'd pretend to so you let him eat you out for a second time.

Exactly when he's about to devour you, you push on his chest and switch positions with him. He lets you take the top, watching you remove your dress and reveal the most intimate parts of your body to him, naked.

"You're beautiful," he compliments, the most honest he's ever been. His eyes roam over your body, scanning your breasts and your perky nipples pointing at him.

You're a pretty woman, but he wonders if his heart beating faster is really the result of your beauty or perhaps the feelings he might have for you.

"So are you," you smile, giggling when Jungkook's still staring at you with hearts in his eyes.

He's brought back to reality when you place yourself on your stomach between his legs. "What... What are you doing?" He swallows, his big brown eyes settled on you.

"Returning the favour," you respond, passing your finger on his stomach just over the band of his Calvin Klein's that peeks out of his pants. "Would you like that, Kook?"

"Yeah," he mutters under his breath, watching closely the movements of your hands, slowly unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down the zipper. You undress him from his pair of jeans and socks, coming back up to his crotch after.

He parts his legs wider for you and you lay a hand over his bulge, feeling how hard he is just for you. "You're so big, Jungkook..." You say in astonishment, visibly really pleased with his girth.

You palm him over his boxers, closing your hand around him, imagining how it'd be without his underwear on.

"Hm-mh." Jungkook passes his fingers through your hair, making you look up at him. "Think you can handle it, baby?"

You squeeze your grip on him, which results in him hissing. He's really sensitive, especially when he's been sporting a boner for quite a while now.

Though nothing will compare to the time you left him just after he made you cum on his tongue. He sucked it up, but fuck, nobody told him before how complicated it was to drive with an erection. It's really distracting. Luckily, his work was done, so he could go straight home, but still.

He had to jack off in the shower, thinking about you and how your pussy would close around him so tightly.

"I'll try," you smile.

You pull down his boxers, leaving them just below his ass, and his cock springs up, the head slapping down on his stomach. He lets out a sigh of relief, finally free from his briefs.

You wrap your fingers around him, looking so small compared to his penis, and bring him up to your lips. His tip is glistening in his pre-cum and it twitches in your hand, just so happy to see you.

Jungkook hasn't shaved, he didn't expect any of this to happen after all. He hopes you don't mind, but you don't seem to, quite the contrary even.

You start to gently and slowly pump him, passing the pad of your thumb over the little slit, spreading his arousal over his length. You leave a kiss on the head and he wonders if you're not getting revenge for all the times he teased you.

You tilt your head to the side and kiss his length all the way up to finally open your mouth and insert the tip in. Jungkook curses under his breath, taking a handful of your hair in his fist, making your scalp itch.

You keep eye-contact with him as you lower down, gradually taking all of him in the warmth of your mouth. "Fuck, your mouth feels so good around me," he moans, looking at you with lustful eyes. He can't take his eyes off of you, he's literally hypnotized by the way your lips slide so smoothly over his hard cock.

You hum, the sound a bit muffled by his dick in your mouth. Tears start to form in your eyes, throat burning as you get used to his size and the stretch of your mouth.

When you've reached his base, nose touching his pelvis, you gag around him, but manage to make the feeling go away. Jungkook believes he's in heaven right now, having his cock nestled deep in your mouth, some strands of hair falling down in front of your eyes.

You blink several times, trying to see clearer, but the water makes your vision fuzzy. "It's okay, princess," he sighs pleasantly, seeing that you struggle, your throat starting to burn badly. You gag another time and he has to concentrate if he doesn't want to cum right now. "Shit... Don't- don't force yourself," he hisses, pulling your head up.

His cock falls back down on his tummy, hearing a wet slap since he's entirely covered in your saliva. You catch your breath and wipe your lips with the back of your hand, immediately taking him back in your hand.

You stroke him, running your palm up and down his girthy length. You swallow to ease your throat and glance up at him with teary eyes. He pouts, cupping your cheeks and swiping his thumbs under your eyes to get the little pearls away.

"You don't have to take everything... I'm already happy to have you with me," he admits and he hopes his words don't scare you away. You don't know each other for that long, but sometimes he just has to be honest about his feelings.

You smile, nodding your head in response. He moans when you take him back into your mouth, flattening your tongue underneath him. He knits his eyebrows together as you bob your head over him, a hand wrapped around his base.

His short nails dig into your scalp, making you wince, but it doesn't make you stop. Jungkook lets out heavy breaths and moans, his hand gripping your hair and guiding you over his wet cock.

His other hand, his tattooed one, scrunches the bedsheets in his fist, the pleasure too good it becomes overwhelming. His eyes are strained down on you and every time your gazes meet, his heart skips a beat.

It feels too good to be true, yet here you are, pleasuring him like nobody else's ever did. You both like to give and he hopes it won't make sex difficult between you two. Well, if it ever happens again, which he really wishes it will.

"Yeah, just like that," he approves when you hollow your cheeks, continuing to bounce your head over his stiff erection. "Such a good girl," he adds on and loosens his grip on your hair, delicately patting you instead.

You almost purr under all the sweet praises he tells you, loving how he makes you feel confident and proud of yourself. Your free hand is laying on his thighs, sensing his muscles tensing and calming down each time he controls himself to last longer.

But even though he tries his best to not shoot his cum into you right now, your mouth does wonders and his orgasm is approaching really fast.

"I'm not gonna last long, baby," he warns you in a breathy voice. "Shit," he curses, sucking air through his teeth and feeling his balls tightening. Your tongue is so warm and wet, he can't resist you any longer.

You pull out and stroke his length, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. It breaks as you lick them, fucking Jungkook with your fist. He groans, gritting his teeth, and his grip on the covers tightens, signs that his high is really close now.

He curls his toes, the burning sensation at the pit of his stomach growing. "Holy fuck," he spits out profanities and his cock twitches, hot cum spilling out from his red, swollen tip.

You moan with him, turned on by the sight of him releasing himself on your hand. He throws his head back and closes his eyes, all of his muscles flexing as you milk him dry.

"Oh, god, Kook," you coo, lazily stroking his cock and caressing his thigh to make him relax. "There's so much," you comment, literally amazed.

Jungkook opens his eyes and looks down at his crotch, seeing your hand still wrapped around him completely covered in his cum. He bites down on his lip at the view, even more aroused when you bring your fingers up to your mouth and lick the remains.

"Shit, you fucking minx," he says, but there's no intention to insult you, he's just so down bad for you.

It makes you giggle, encouraging you to do something even nastier. You sit on your knees and spread his cum on your tits, circling your nipples with your fingers.

Jungkook smiles, his affection for you growing, and takes a hold of your jaw, pulling you in for a long, sloppy kiss. You moan into his mouth, his cock brushing against your pussy, still hard and ready to wreck you.

"You have no idea what I want to do to you," he groans, looking into your eyes like they are the whole galaxy, endless so he can lose himself in them.

"Do what you need to do to me," you allow, offering yourself to him and more if he desires to.

When those words leave your mouth, he picks you up and gets up from his bed, your legs locked behind his back. You gasp when he pins you against the nearest wall, placing your arms around his large shoulders, holding onto him tightly.

"You sure? Because we're only done when I say so," he breathes onto your face, his forehead against yours, bangs slightly damp from his sweat.

"One-hundred percent sure," you grin, but lose your smile as soon as he pushes his cock into your pussy, ripping a loud moan out of you.

Your nails dig into the skin of his back to give him some of the pain he's inflicting to you by penetrating you with his big cock. He holds you up against him, his hands on your ass, touching you so sensually and lovingly, appreciating every part of your body.

He sinks his dick into your pussy, sliding in so easily without any restraint, cunt absolutely soaking wet. "God, pussy's so fucking tight," he rasps out, finally bottoming out into you. His balls touch your ass, his pelvis flushed against yours, meaning he's completely in.

You whine, feeling absolutely full, pussy clenching helplessly around him. Jungkook doesn't wait — he can't anymore — and starts pounding into you, his balls slapping against your skin. The room smells like sex, it's strong and quite obvious, but he easily ignores it, he practically can't even smell it.

He slides his cock in and out of your pussy, making you moan sweetly, a beautiful melody to his ears. He doesn't hold himself back and fucks you hard against the wall, but you're nowhere near against it, you're loving it.

Your boobs jiggle on your chest because of Jungkook's harsh thrusts, both of your skins glistening under the light of his bedroom, covered in a thin layer of sweat.

"I'm so full, Kook," you moan softly and he can't look away from you, finding you so pretty and sexy.

"Yeah? Full of my big cock, baby?" He asks, darting out his tongue to wet his dried lips, passing over his piercings.

"Yes," you cry, breaking eye-contact as you close your eyes, head rolling back and hitting the wall behind you.

His hips are powerful, never missing a beat and brushing over your sweet spot repeatedly. Your pussy has adjusted to the size of his girth, some of your wetness dripping down to your butt and coating his balls that slap against you.

He pushes some of his cum into you as well, the rest you haven't licked off your fingers or spread on your tits. He still can't believe you did that, but god, did he find it hot. He never thought you playing with his cum would turn him on so much. He sure will think about this moment when he's going to be alone with himself.

His eyes shift down to your bouncing breasts and he has to put one in his mouth, even if it means tasting a bit of himself too.

He catches one nipple with lips, wrapping them around your hardened bud. You moan his name and pull on the hair at the nape of his neck, pushing his head down toward your chest.

It sends more tingles to your belly, your walls closing around him tightly. He lets out a grunt, knowing his orgasm will come close if you continue clenching around him as if you want to suck him up.

"Jungkook!" You exclaim when he turns you both around, walking back to his bed. He lays your back down on the mattress, still in you, and continues his assault, snapping his hips against yours.

He pushes up your thighs over your stomach, getting a better view and access to your pussy. "Take my cock, baby. Be a good girl for me," he says, completely obsessed with you and your cunt. If you weren't made for you, he doesn't know how he'll trust life again.

Putting you on his way just to get rid of you... No, if you're not his, you're nobody else's and if he's not yours, then he doesn't know what life is fucking worth.

"Yes, yes, Jungkook," you confirm in a moan, or maybe your brain is too mushy to find something else to answer.

You place two fingers on each side of your hole where Jungkook keeps pounding in, watching his cock entering and exiting your sloppy cunt. You pull on your pussy lips, feeling the knot at the pitch of your stomach tightening again, a more intense orgasm waiting for you.

You bring a finger to your clit and begin to draw fast circles on it, impatient to feel the burning and euphoric sensation of your upcoming orgasm. Jungkook moans at the sight, making him more desperate to reach his high as well.

"Shit, close, princess?" He questions and you nod repeatedly, humming in agreement. "Me too..." He states, breathless and chest heaving rapidly.

He's tired, but somehow he still has the energy to fuck you. Honestly, fucking you might be the only thing he'll never get tired of, that's for sure. It's so addicting, so good, he simply can't get enough.

"Please, please, Kook. Faster," you beg, even though he's already going at a quick pace that will probably leave the skin of your thighs sore and bruised.

You stroke your clit from side to side and he pounds you so hard it makes you dizzy and kind of drunk off the hormones you're both releasing.

He hits your magic spot multiple times, eliciting loud moans of pleasure out of you, your eyes rolling back. "Yes, like that," you cry, the last thing you say before your thighs start shaking.

Your back lifts up from the mattress when your orgasm hits you, passing through you like a tsunami, leaving you out of breath. Your pussy clenches around Jungkook and he's so close, too.

He drives his cock into you, making you whine in overstimulation, and he feels the familiar burning sensation in his stomach. "Oh, fuck, baby," he moans and slips out of you rapidly, jerking himself off just over your quivering pussy. "Gonna cum."

With a last thrust of his hand, he cums on your cunt, making a dirty mess on you. You moan when ropes of white cum land on your pussy, dribbling down to your hole and ass.

Finally, little beads spurt out of his cock, falling on your sex. You collect some on your fingers, pushing them in you and Jungkook watches with lazy eyes, slowly pumping his cock to drive off his high.

He picks you up and places you both side by side on the bed, recovering from the heated session of sex you just experienced. He lies on his back while you're cuddled up to his side, one hand on his chest.

He turns his head in your direction and you're already smiling at him, drawing little forms on his stomach, following the lines of his abs. "Was good," you whisper.

"Yeah," Jungkook agrees, frowning slightly, wondering if maybe, potentially you share the same feelings as him.

The next morning, you dress yourself back up, having taken a fresh shower while Jungkook was still sleeping. He watches you putting back on your dress, his arms crossed behind his head.

When you're done, you spin around and face him. "What about..." You begin, a playful smile gracing your lips. "You call me soon?"

He looks at you, taking a moment to answer, just admiring the happiness you radiate. He compares your mood of when he's found you sitting on the stairs at the party to the one of this morning and he tells himself that you're feeling better because of him.

If you can both make each other happy, he doesn't see why you two can't work — as friends or more, it doesn't matter as long as he's the reason why you have a smile on your face.

"Sure."

·˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ♡

part 1: call me later ☼ part 2: call me soon ☾ part 3: call me tomorrow ☼

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfiction

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riririnnnn · 6 days

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More random things in Blue Lock I find endearing:

-> Brothers

LOOK AT THE HAND PLACEMENT OF SAE. JUST LOOK AT IT. LOOK. AT. IT. OHMYGOD I'M GONNA CRY.

Oh god.

It's tough to explain, but to see him supporting Rin's arm instead of the trophy makes me want to punch a wall. It feels like, "Yes, we won this together, Rin." OHMYGOD! AAAAAAAA!!!

-> Hushed wisher

I really don't think we have ever seen Noa coaching any player other than Isagi, so him silently rooting for Kaiser caught me off guard real hard. Of course, it doesn't seem like much of a big deal, but to see that Noa hadn't completely taken his eyes off of Kaiser and that he hadn't completely pulled away his trust from Kaiser hits a certain type of emotion in my heart.

Considering that Kaiser wants to win over Noa too—a fact Noa, probably, knows—makes everything feel a bit.. bittersweet.

-> CHEERS!!

The above panel happened after Shidou scored a goal against Barcha and honestly—

CUTE!!!

I mean, BM was next in line to face PxG—it's probably the reason why they were watching the match live—and they were going to face Shidou which makes them rivals, and yet, when he does something cool, they all go, "WOOHOO! THAT'S COOL!!" instead of worrying or being jealous.

It's called sportsmanship, I guess?

It's sweet.

-> BM's Dad

There's another translation, but I find the above one way better because it's so... soft.

I mean, Noa has always been shown as this cold, emotionless person who inhales and exhales logic, so it was sweet when he tried to reassure Kiyora—when he showed some kind of compassion. It was like, "Hey, Kiddo! It's okay, don't worry, you'll play the next time! Cheer up!"

It also makes it sound like even if Kiyora were not to have the required stats for the next match, then Noa was prepared to against his own ideals and let Kiyora play regardless.

Sweet!

-> Protective

When Nagi got pissed off because Barou's violent behaviour nearly hurt Reo. Like, just look at that stance, he was ready to beat the crap out of Barou if Reo wouldn't have stopped him.

No matter what label you give Nagi and Reo—lovers or friends—you can't deny that they are probably the best thing that happened to eachother.

I really want what they have.

-> "It's their love language"

They barely knew eachother and yet when these two started to brawl, they all intervened immediately—Nanase and Isagi are literally hanging onto them with their dear life. It's tough to explain, but I found the gesture really sweet, like, they didn't know them! They could bash open their skulls—it wouldn't affect them at all and yet, they are trying to stop them!

Adorbs!!

Also, Chigiri was on the other side of the field, I guess. He came running!!! So sweet!

-> First friend

The way Bachira blindly believed in Isagi. Like, he had full trust that Isagi will come and play with him. He never doubted him at all! The healthiest duo of Blue Lock!

Also, look at his duck lips. Cutie.

-> "Welcome to the academy!"

Anybody who has shifted to a completely new place full of completely new people knows how good and relieving it feels when others make an effort to help you feel welcomed.

No idea if those three extra characters got selected in the tryouts or not, but they were nice. If Kaiser would've met them earlier, then they all would've surely been good buddies.

-> Beloved Ace

The way everyone instantly got mad at Shidou when he hurt Sendou—sweet! Also, the fact that they all refused to play if Sendou didn't play makes me giggle.

I adore bonds like these so much.

Pt: 1, 2, 3.

Probably the last of this series.

#blue lock #bllk #itoshi sae #itoshi rin #noel noa #bastard munchen #kiyora jin #nagi seishiro #mikage reo #bachira meguru #michael kaiser #sendou shuto #雪 ranting

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mvltisstuff · 11 months

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Could i request for a Conrad fisher X reader where reader has a younger sibling who gives her a hard time and her parents favour her younger sibling more. It's the reader's bday on the same day as belly's and her family doesn't get her anything and they don't bother with an excuse either and say they don't really care abt her so it doesn't matter. So Conrad comforts her later and if u don't mind u could include some smut at the end?

(this is my situation rn lololol but without Conrad to comfort me😭)

matilda - c.f

summary: request

conrad fisher x reader

a/n: i’m so sorry love, sorry this is a few days late but you are so loved and appreciated no matter what, hope this makes you happy today <3

it’s been a recurring theme for most of y/n’s life. the overheard quotes about the older sibling had eventually become a reality. they didn’t even wait for y/n to try and live up to them. instead, they just accepted that their daughter wasn’t as good as the rest of their children.

as upsetting as it is, kids experience it too much. y/n experiences it every day, so when she realized it wasn’t normal, that’s when it started to hurt more every year.

this day was supposed to be different. she was so excited, turning 18 and finally being an adult. free of her parents if she wanted to be. she thought that maybe, just maybe, her parents would think of her for a day, and make it about it. alas, the second she woke up and walked into the kitchen, y/n’s hopes were shut down.

“y/n, can you take y/b/n to practice? i’m going out with sharon today,” her mom said, barely even looking at her.

“uh, i’m leaving in a bit, remember?” she speaks, trying to sound as polite as possible. “the fishers invited me over for today.”

“hon, we get it,” her dad talks next, peering up over his glasses and newspaper of the town. “but, to some point, it’s just another day. just do what your mother asked.”

y/n looks at her little siblings at the table, messing around and receiving no repercussions. she still remembers when that was her. playing with her parents, happier than she ever was again. she loves her siblings to death, but she loves herself, too. y/n deserves more than she’s been given, so she confides. she drives her brother to whatever practice, wishing him luck as he whispers a happy birthday, then jumping out of the car to see his friends.

she’s already dressed up for the party for belly. the fishers had welcomed her with open arms, even having decorations and sweets for her on the table. everyone figured she’d have something going on at home, but oh, they were so wrong. she didn’t receive a single birthday message from the people who gave her life, so did it matter? even if she didn’t believe it, at least the fishers knew she was worth it. she was dressed in one of her best outfits, a simple dress with small flowers printed over. she had small wedges and her hair was done neatly. she felt pretty, she is pretty.

she walked into the house, belly hearing the door open first. she skips toward, engulfing y/n in a huge hug. “y/n!” she squeals. “happy birthday!”

“oh, belly! happy birthday to you, you look so cute!”

“are you kidding? your man’s gonna go wild when he sees you!” she whispers, making y/n blush toward the end.

“belly, stop!” she nudges. “he’s not my man… yet.”

they giggle together before moving back into the kitchen where y/n greets susannah and laurel, along with the rest of the boys. conrad stands up first, in a heartbeat. he walks over, almost lifting y/n off the ground in a hug.

“hey! happy birthday!” he tells her, excitedly as he pulls away. jeremiah comes piling in next, saying his words to the person he considers a sister.

“didn’t y/m/n have anything planned?” susannah asked from the pure kindness in her heart.

“oh,” y/n mutters. “we, uh, we did something yesterday.”

conrad can tell when y/n lies. he can read her like a book at this point. he’s spent so long fanboying over her that he knows what she’s feeling. when she’s sad, excited, pissed, he knows. it pulls at his heart when he can sense the disappointment in her voice. he starts to get more alarmed with every drink she takes throughout the day. she’s not even a big drinker, never really taking an offer. now he’s positive somethings wrong.

if y/n’s parents didn’t care about her, they don’t care if she drinks, right? she’s with her friends, she’s allowed to. plus. it’ll take the edge off of the internal wounds her parents have left her with. her feelings on the whole matter start to disintegrate for a while, until belly’s cake comes out and is handed to her. it’s so nicely done, perfect detail and so much love. they put time into her cake and party, and y/n can’t help the jealousy rising up. she vividly remembers every one of her younger siblings birthdays. all of them having their friends and a party, while y/n was just locked in her room on her birthday. the presents and the cheesy grins from everyone were overwhelming every year. she couldn’t help but think about what it could be like with her real family. maybe they could love her as much as she deserves, but in reality, they won’t. they can, but they chose not to, which hurts even more.

y/n stumbles around on the balcony, around people while carefully savoring every last drop of whatever is in her can. she’s probably had too many, but she doesn’t care. it’s almost like it’s reversed itself now. she watches belly open all of her presents and receive hugs and kisses, and the lump in her throat becomes thicker. she thinks of the alcohol as her enemy now, just bringing back the thoughts in her sober mind.

it’s not until everyone hears the clicking of y/n’s heels on the pavement that they notice her walking away. her hand is swiping away the loose tears and everyone looks at conrad. if there’s anyone y/n wants to see, it’s him. they’ve been in love for so long, it’s almost painful to watch. as she walks away, blurry vision from the alcohol and the tears, she tries to grab another can from the box before a hand stops her.

“i don’t think that’s a good idea,” conrad says, gently taking it out of her hand and landing it back in the box.

“oh, great. more fuckin’ judgment,” she retorts, making conrad’s face contort.

“hey, what’s going on? you’ve been off all day.”

“i am, perfectly fine,” y/n slurs. conrad places a hand on her shoulder, and takes them to sit on the steps. his arm is wrapped around her, the other one gripping her hand.

“i know you’re not. it’s ok to not be ok,” he looks at her nose scrunch and her cheeks turn red again. “hey, hey, don’t cry, you’re alright.”

“no,” she weeps out, putting her head in her hands. “i’m a mess! i don’t know what to do, i cant make it any better and i’ve been trying for 14 fucking years!”

“hold on,” he keeps his voice low. “what do you mean?”

“my parents don’t give a shit. they haven’t since y/b/n was born and they didn’t even bother about me anymore,” conrad pulls her into his arms, leaning back as her teardrops soak into his shirt. “i didn’t do anything for this, and belly’s being loved unconditionally without having to fight for it. and i feel like a bitch getting upset over it but-“

“absolutely not. don’t say that ever again. you don’t deserve anything they’re giving you. anything they’ve said to you is a fucking lie. i know who you are. you’re the most perfect, beautiful person i’ve ever met, inside and out. you don’t have to prove anything to them, because they don’t deserve your amazingness,” he speaks to her. it’s nothing but the truth, and nothing he would ever hesitate to say. “and i will spend forever trying to prove to you that you’re nothing but beautiful a beautiful person.”

y/n looks up at him, only bursting into more tears as he laughs a bit. “oh, my god, conrad. i love you, so much. i know i’m drunk but i mean it more than anything.” she’s felt nothing like she does now. she’s never had someone accept her so quickly and with so much appreciation. she feels like she can do nothing but cry and just love on him.

“i’m glad,” he begins again. “because i love you, too. no matter what your parents say or do. they don’t define you.”

and in this moment, for the first time in a long time, y/n knows someone loves her. and he’s not just saying it for comfort. she doesn’t need her parents to be loved. if they can’t do that, there will forever be someone out there who loves her just as much. she knows she’s enough, and that’s enough.

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1864reruns · 20 days

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤgratefulness (i'm sorry, can this be over now?)ㅤ౨ৎㅤ12.9k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

oneㅤ/ㅤtwo synopsis. luffy loves you— you know this with how abundantly clear love is in every ministration of his outstretched hand and a grin— yet your traitorous heart demands more, even though you're in no place to give him your loyalty. you know this so you do not demand his love nor to be saved, even when met with a relentlessly stretched hand.

warning(s). gn! reader, hanahaki disease, but some creatively liberated variation of it, angst, hurt/some comfort, slow burn, but does it really count if nothing happens?, unrequited love, pining and the works, background character death, blood, violent imagery, vague allusion to an unspecified mental disorder that involves eating habits (pls be careful!!!), luffy tries his best to be kind but it's cruel, reader spirals 🙏; minimal editing and proofreading (these are basically my thoughts raw and unadulterated)

from vyon. the card game they play is a vietnamese one also known as smth like thirteen in english and has too many rules to explain but it doesn't really matter :3 i was a beast at that game though i fear; this fanfic has been in my drafts for so long, it also grew into too big of a project than it was meant to be. i also had to split this up into two parts, it was getting too long, i'm sorry ＞︿＜

do not repost / copy / translate.

Once you know Monkey D. Luffy, you'll know his heart not a few minutes after. He's welded the unmoving, burning ingot to his bicep, always on display due to his amassing collection of armless vests; rubber skin melted around the golden gem, oozing past the lines of his beating heart to staple it there, an anomaly on the expanse of skin not otherwise susceptible to bullets or cannons. Your captain is a man that lives with his heart on his tongue, always ready to dictate the lay of your next move with an irregular beat that drums against the skinned men of war and an impulsivity that makes his crew scramble after him exasperatedly; oxygen taken from his cerebral arteries to his brain are stained in the grease and oil that stick to the meat he handles so carelessly. In the same endearing way, he's careless with his heart, allows for the small stuff to momentarily prick his heart, for judgement to cloud into anger before it picks up on the bitter taste of agony.

It's always easy to get a frown onto Luffy's face. Feign disinterest in his stories; make yourself too busy to help him look for strange insects; force him to shower, scold him after he does something he wasn't meant to; keep him away from something he seems interested in; starve him for more than five minutes— he makes it all exceptionally too easy. You're not audacious enough to claim to know Luffy any more than the Strawhats, especially not those that he had met in East Blue; you try not to let it bother you that they managed to meet a younger Luffy who had so many holes in his defence, whose smile threatened through skin more, who had yet to find scars in his palm from how hard he had to clench his fists.

To you, it seems unfair that Luffy had managed to uncover so many of your firsts. His unwavering presence by your side as you learnt how hard it was to live on sea, the intonations of your screaming when a marine canon was pointed at you, to live so freely away from the confines of restrictive justice, how it felt to have a hand in yours to promise forever and then some. Luffy has no preferential treatment when it comes to people he loves; he treats them all the same, no hierarchy could dream to disrupt that.

With the same sandals he uses to stomp on the faces of Marine's, he could demand food from Sanji, money from Nami, Zoro to play with him— instead, you watch him whine Sanji, food and dissolve into a puddle when his cook orders him to wait, he allows Nami's fists to fall onto his head when he makes any financially impulsive decision (or even thinks them), and he idles himself with drawing on Zoro's face with Usopp and Chopper, with the previous two of them taking the psychical brunt of their consequences. (Chopper is let off with a mere promise that he won't join in with their shenanigans again when it involves making Zoro into a fool and a growing bump underneath his hat.)

Luffy, from second to fourth gear, is tender aggression when it is love.

His form is bizarrely respectful when the door opens and light dawns upon your face; you see him through the gaps of Nami and Sanji's legs and towering forms over him, his hands on his thighs and feet tucked underneath his bottom. He slurs out an I'm sorry that lets you know that his face is definitely messed up and then follows up with an I was hungry though!

Then Nami messes him up some more for his shitty justification.

She leaves him— some caricature of her anger— on the floor with her hands on her hips and Sanji trailing after her with hearts in his eyes at her dominant display of power. As she passes Brook, he asks for the colour of her underwear and earns himself the same treatment. It's then that you laugh. Luffy snapped his head up, following after the trembling air of your laughter and then calls out your name, the syllables are all messy around his swollen cheeks and a missing tooth that will come back after a few minutes but you cannot rid yourself of the thought that it's sticky with love that you only remember hearing when you were just a babe, screaming and crying in the arms of a tired and ill mother in a hospital. You were introduced to a group of midwives with same love you hear now, their idle finger catching into both your small hands; Luffy's hand dances across the air, breaking apart your laugh with urgency and catching onto your wrist.

You're not sure if it's you who had been pulled to him or if he'd managed to catapult himself into you but you both end up a mess on the floor regardless. Limbs tangled around each other in a wave as you both fall to the deck, Luffy does not correct the length of his arm and takes to wrapping the limb around you like a vine snaked around the trunk of a tree. You don't know a start nor an end as Luffy nuzzles his beat–up face on your shoulder. "Hey captain," you raise your head to look down on him, trying to wrench a hand through the tight spirals he's coiled around you.

"I'm hungry," he whines in lieu of a response, "and I'm bored, Usopp kicked me out after I ate one of his ketchup stars." He doesn't relent with his hold on you, simply loosening the coil that you're trying to work your hand through before tightening again once your arm makes it past to trap it against your side. You don't question the fact that Usopp's ketchup stars may be laced with gunpowder or what the small dose of gunpowder may have done to Luffy's internal organs.

You guess even Usopp has his limits when it comes to his childish captain. "I can't do a lot about either of those things if you're keeping me hostage here." He looks up at you, his exaggeratedly large lips in a pout that matches the swelling of his cheeks and then says your name again, like you’ve done him wrong. It's a disordered collection of the letters again but you find you can't really do anything to fight against it. Instead, green tendrils sprout from your trapped arm, each vine wrapped in a light of leaves and strain against his extended limb before he gives in and, instead, laughs as he wraps his rubber arm around the spindly, twisted branches splitting open layers of skin on your bicep. His skin coloured against the green runner keeps the bine from wilting down to meet gravity.

You let Luffy do whatever he wants, with an expression that you're not sure you're too familiar with etched out on the lines of your face. Thinking back on it, you could've simply done as Nami had or Usopp, ignore or scold him enough into submission but his fingers catch one of the fronds and it curls between the meat of his fingertips, reaching out to tickle his palm and something soft blooms inside you. You know it must be you, not the work of your devil fruit, because as much as you've tried in your lacklustre pursuit of beauty, you've never been able to sprout any kind of flowers.

When Luffy finally lets you go, you find your way into the kitchen and give Sanji a smile. You apologise for interrupting him and tell him that you know that lunch had been served only an hour ago but, if he wasn't too busy, you were still a little peckish. Sanji shoots up immediately and asks you what you've got a taste for— you assure him any leftovers from lunch will do and he tells you, though this doesn't come as any surprise, that Luffy had worked his way through any grain of leftovers with a laugh. You laugh along with him and well, you seemed to be craving meat right now.

The plate he prepares seem to be more about quality rather than quantity, with sauce underneath the red meat drizzled across the white ceramic, a slab of meat already cut into bite sized pieces for you and a decorative herb stuck between the fatty slices but when the light oozes down into the stretch of meat, you don't think Luffy will complain too much.

You, of course, were right about that.

The shattering grin he greets you (the plate of meat, however small it seemed) with gives you the faint smell of sticky rain drenched in the light of the sun, and you almost give him your hand when he reaches out for the plate. Brook's guitar strums in the background and your heart shakes in time with his strings and Luffy's incessant chewing.

You've really no problems with Usopp asking you to help him with target practice, it's fairly common for you to help the crew with their unique fighting style— save Nami and Franky for fear of losing your life with their less than particular aimed area of damage— it's easy enough really. You don't even have to be mentally present for it; shaking through layers of flesh, vines grow across the deck of the Sunny and rise up straight to tower over Usopp as he fixes his goggles over his eyes. You keep a quarter of your mind instilled in every chloroplast that shivers across the skies so you can keep them moving but the other three quarters are focused on the card game you play with Robin, Chopper, and Franky.

You hear the snapping of elastic and your finger twitches against the back of playing cards as the particular vine shot to the left, glancing curiously at Chopper's hand across from you when he turned to Franky and accuses him of looking at his cards.

"It's not my fault!" Franky frowned, fixing his comedically small glasses to perch on his metal nose. "Your cards just happen to be in my view when I'm looking at the pile 'cause you're tiny!"

Chopper takes to this horribly (you reshape a vine that has fallen to one of Usopp's stones and keep it relentless across the wave of air) and he grows into the much less cute and broader, more human version of himself to hold his hand out of Franky's view. (Two vines snap together and they take the path to slice through air to where Usopp stands, you hear the cracking of wood as Usopp shouts at you, saying he only wanted to focus on offence. An apology is drawn out with the green arm in the air.)

"Ivy," your eyes flicker to Robin and she gestures to the pile of discarded where the two of spades had been placed on top. "It's your turn." You glance down at your hand, eyes flickering over the collection of 7's in your hand.

"Bomb." (You feel a vine break apart into pieces, think about the fact that it's lucky you've no nerves attached to the tendrils, and keep the one down to give Usopp a little win.) Franky curses your name as Robin chuckles.

Chopper glances at the four 7's with a sense of wonderment that you're sure is too dramatic for the moment. "No wonder I had no sevens!" You give him a sly grin and watch Robin pass her turn, ignoring Franky's levelled glare behind his glasses.

In the end, Robin wins anyways, ridding herself of her hand with her final card being the two of hearts. The loss is taken bitterly by both you and Franky though you think Franky definitely takes it worse than you do as when he stands to sulk away, cards fall out of his speedos, and they leave a trail after him. Robin, in all her morbidity, laughs behind a hand as you and Chopper drop your jaws in disgust.

Chopper collects the cards, hesitating with the ones that had been on Franky until Robin points out that you've all played many rounds and there's a chance that all of them had shared the same fate. (Another vine shutters down to the floor, broken apart and particles flown across the deck.) The cards slowly fall to the floor as Chopper cries out in disgust. Shaking your head with some colourful amusement, you use the two vines fallen to pick up the cards and start shuffling them.

Responding to Chopper's call, Luffy shoots his way from Sunny's figurehead. "What're you guys doin'?" He falls graciously to where Franky had previously been sitting; his eyes are ever so impatient to glance over the cards being shuffled. "Oh," he says with great interest, "are you guys playing 'go fish'?" He leaned towards you— the cards in your possession, actually— and blinks at the shuffling. "Lemme in!"

"We weren't playing 'go fish', Luffy." The little doctor has since calmed down, taking a seat between Luffy and Robin and shaking his head. "We were playing—" he turns his head up to Robin, to which she supplies 'bài tiến lên' with the intricate accents and all, "that!"

A flash of thinking places itself on Luffy's face, crossing his arm and tapping the side of his sandals on the deck, then it's gone. "Let's just play 'go fish' then."

Chopper whines, saying that 'go fish' is boring and that Luffy always snatches more than one card from other people's hands, which is cheating, and that he doesn't want to play.

Luffy turns to you with a pout, eyebrows furrowed at the dip where his nose bridge starts and then straightened out towards the end. The two vines that had been expertly dodging all of Usopp's shots and taunting him by doing silly dances and twisting into words in the air both crumple down to the floor at the same time, they follow the curve of your spine as you double over, a breath stuttering in your throat. You hear Usopp call your name and the deck of cards slip out from the vines that had been shuffling this entire time, your hand wraps around your throat and you hack out a cough you've managed to choke on.

"Are you dying?" Chopper shoots up, frantic as you keep coughing and choking— both violent in temperament, and scampers around, shouting for a doctor.

Footsteps tap closer as a shadow forms over you, Usopp's hand patting your back ferociously comes after the sound of shoes stop.

The blur that came with tears invading your eyes gives you the confidence to look at Luffy again before you're calling Chopper to a stop. "I'm fine, just choked on air."

You don't mention how it felt like you were breathing through a cheesecloth, how your lungs feel so restricted with every inhale as you all compromise on 'chase the ace' and how easier it feels when Usopp pushes his way between you and Luffy, too intimidated to pick from Robin's hand; when you all finish up for dinner, Robin is looking at you in a way that makes you think she's caught onto how you've been struggling.

Dinner is a strange ordeal. It's characterised with its usual events: Luffy sneaking his hands into people's plates though his stands full, Usopp trying to hold his plate out of his way, Zoro tending to his glass bottle of beer, Sanji making some quip about Zoro's show of alcoholism, Nami getting increasingly annoyed by the noise around her, Brook's laughter, Zoro escalating the situation with Sanji, Chopper screaming when Luffy clears Usopp's plate and then goes for the doctor's, Robin watching the scene with the patience of a saint, Franky pretending he was better than the rest, Usopp exacting revenge on Luffy by swapping their plates. It all ends with Nami telling them all to shut up and Luffy taking one final chicken leg from Zoro's plate. You stare down at your plate and count the missing bits, Luffy hasn't really touched any of the potatoes or asparagus, so you finish them up.

Two chicken thighs sit in stark contrast to the plate, thinking about having them anywhere near your mouth makes you a little sick for some reason, the weight of them in your stomach, the taste of caramelised skins, crisped with wells of juice sat next to a tinge of burnt flesh; you push the plate over to Luffy and detest the way he can take the colour of well–done oranges between his teeth and not care about the juice dribbling down his chin.

Luffy says thanks with his mouth full of chicken; Nami glares at him and turns a more concerned face to you (that also makes you sick) and inquires about you not eating. You mumble out some excuse about not being hungry, not feeling well, having a little bit of a headache, feeling tired— something along those faux lines, you don't remember but you remember that you don't tell them the truth exactly. "Sorry Sanji," you fix into your shitty excuse after, running a hand through your hair, to make yourself feel better about the entire ordeal.

He offers to make you a more palatable porridge or soup instead.

You take a cigarette and a red apple, going to bed hungry and angry at some unknown thing that brews on the tip of your tongue.

The next island is of great interest to Luffy.

The entire crew knows that its history nor culture was not either reason behind his excitement, only the mere prospect of digging his sandals into new, uncharted land is why he's running around the deck, filling up the empty spaces with bubbling laughter. Sanji finishes up bentos for those that are leaving, taking unnecessary extra care with Nami’s, and wishing he had it in him to starve Zoro whilst Nami is giving everyone an allowance. You take two bentos, yours and Chopper's, and head out onto the deck. Luffy only seemed momentarily sad that you were going with the doctor but bounced back immediately after when the trees come closer enough to intimidate so you push down the offer to join him instead. Franky joins up with Usopp, Luffy'll run off alone regardless of who he ends up going with, Nami ends up going with Zoro (to Sanji's displeasure), and you and Chopper make plans to find a pharmacy and a library for Robin.

Being around Chopper is easy enough with this unsettling prick of poison that's forced minimal responses, curt words, a flurry of tiredness, a sickening chill through your days recently. The little doctor is a lot more mindful of changes in mood, it's not any imminent injury either so he doesn't press to know why. Out of guilt (for being a brooding asshole lately), you ask him about his rumble balls and all his different forms. He answers cheerily and you can only pick out every other word with a persistent headache as the smell in the air changes from salty skies and bloody fish to sweetened foods and something unfamiliarly clean.

It's a bright island. You hear a faint bell in the distance that is traced over with the sound of children and stall owners; Chopper's hooves rhythmically sound beside you on the pavement and you find yourself counting them in groups of four. "Ah, there." You pick up your head and turn to follow the direction of Chopper's eyes. A sign is hung on the side of the building, the library. "Robin wanted a book of North Blue diseases for some reason," Chopper mumbles to himself as you two push open the door.

It's a small bookstore, walls lined with books and the paths carved with more standalone bookcases. "North Blue diseases?" You repeat, confused, "do they have North Blue exclusive illnesses?"

Your question goes unanswered, though it looks like it opens a vault of new questions for Chopper. Books aren't of great interests to you, so you follow behind Chopper as he walks through each section and grab whichever book he tells you to bring down for him. On the way back, you tell Chopper to keep going and change your course in search of something you're not too sure of.

You stray away from the town centre and head deeper through the small alleys of the town, there's no destination in mind; without the urgency of a fights and with the domesticity of a small knit community, you wander adrift. There's a dampness in the air to the walk around a shadowed hide of the place that loosens up the tension below your ribs, many different eyes follow after your form as the heel of your shoes click against a null path; shadows ooze around the soles of your shoe and lacquer up between the carved maze of black rubber of your soles until you find your way into a dead end.

It's a little bit of a cliché to be met with a ragtag group of delinquents when you turn to go back. Your eyes trace over them. In the hand of the one closest to you sits your wanted poster.

Something blooms inside you again— it's a much more pleasant feeling than the unmoving sap of ire that's been invading lately. Each man before you is physically bigger, towering over you ominously and shadows eating you but they all have swords and guns in their hands and that's why they lose. You, to the detriment of all life around you, are a weapon in and of itself; you choke out the vitality from others and steal their nutrients. They strained against their confines as their skin blossoms through shades of blooms, you are not the merciful rubber of a human, so your constraints don't relent, they squeeze and squeeze until the bark splits apart, until blood is cut off at the source, until they wither, until you are full.

On the way back, you buy a gift for everyone with the money you hadn't used and when they take to it, all in their varying degrees of joy, you feel less bad about the dead end alley full of brothers and sons. You tell yourself, handing Zoro a gift of alcohol, if not them, then it'd have been you.

You end up staying anchored to the island for a week to your displeasure. The longer you're stuck there, the closer you are to exploding; you always keep an eye out on the log pose strapped to Nami's wrist like you could quicken the process if you stare enough. Usopp starts avoiding you out of fear you'll blow like a poorly constructed cannon, Zoro makes you train with him to see if it'll help blow off some steam, Sanji brings you iced drinks at a rate that keeps you dizzy but you always feed it to Luffy or redirect it to Chopper's or Usopp's office with a little note.

On the third day, you follow in Zoro's example and sprawl out on the deck to rest your tireless mind. You've always wondered how sleep was ever a possible option for him when the feet thundering across the deck came with obstructive vibrations, no doubt slapping any chance of sleep away from his mind, but you find that it's almost pleasant. Beats all from familiar loves translates through the groves of wooden planks and etch through the back of your spine, you feel a bone fall back into place after Nami's heels against the floor and the thunderous kick that lands where Zoro was standing manages to work its way up your head to ease a headache.

The sun burns cries into your eyes and the skies move fluidly, they don't ripple as clouds shrivel against a light blue you're unfamiliar with; even as you close your eyes, you continue to feel the burn of the sun. The slapping of weaved straw against a sticky, sweaty sole then the deck comes as you slip into sleep.

Dreams have never been so amicable enough to become a recurrent in your life; more often than not, you're shown memories all blended together into a mess that leaves you sick, the abhorrent now and the nostalgic then bleeding past their confines until you see your mother stood next to that deceitful Marine admiral, both with that same look in their face. You wake up with a start when a loud bang scours its way through a flurry images you're unfamiliar with and then your body escapes you. Your head weighs with the heaviness of the bodies dropped to the floor, arms cold as if dipped into the river Styx, bones locked in place with a restrictive pain, muscles burning, aware of every breath that shivers through your suddenly odd body.

"Owww," three Luffys blur around each other as you pushed a hand to the floor to straighten up, you try blinking away the other two, but they're glued to the captain reflecting in your eyes; he looks down at what he's tripped on and follows it back to you. Your hand is met with something curved in shape when you go to push yourself up and when you look down, you see vines underneath you. You realise then that a burst of them had grown beneath you, splitting through the lawn deck and uplifting some of the planks underneath the greenery and inching upwards towards the guard rails of the ship. They take the form of something you think you met in your most recent sleep.

Luffy has managed to crawl his way towards you in the time you spend wondering why your devil fruit had been acting up— in your sleep no less and he wraps a hand around your ankle to get your attention. "Hey, you're really cold." He pointed out, eyes flickering down to the flesh between his fingers and then trailing his fingers up your thigh as he shifts closer to you on his knees.

The touch makes you violent and tender. "Really?" You managed to puff out, giving too much air back to the world with how much you're panting, "I feel a little warm though."

Luffy hums, clapping his hand over your cheeks with gentleness he only shows to those he loves, and it feels wrong. You get an itch underneath your skin that urges you to move, move, move but you can only push Luffy away with a ferocity he'd never shown you as you tremble under the bursting of violent air hacking up your throat, your shoulders strain as you wrapped your arms around your stomach, trying to heave out something that wasn't there.

Luffy scrambles back immediately, not caring for you shoving him away, and soothes away the rattling of your core with his clammy hands on your arm. "Are you sick?"

No, you think as a retch comes up your mouth; maybe, you correct as the path is marked by drool slipping down your chin and tears streaking across your cheeks. You shake away Luffy again. He's less submissive this time, his legs open over yours to plant his knees by your thighs. You hear him call for Chopper and it's obvious he has something of a frown marked on his face; you keep burning beneath your skin, but Luffy keeps rubbing his palms over your arms like you're cold.

You realise what your vines had drawn underneath you when Chopper comes out, fretting over you as he takes Luffy's place close to you. A grave. The image makes you laugh as the reindeer instructs his captain to haul you up after you'd ignored his inquires on if you could walk; your arm bends around the shape of Luffy's shoulder and your laughter erratically convulses into a collection of coughs from the skin on skin high.

You forced into bed rest after Chopper does a preliminary round of tests on you and declares you've simply gone down with a cold. You take to the diagnosis apprehensively, though in Chopper's defence, how was he meant to accurately diagnose you if you don't tell him all your symptoms? Instead, you sit in his office and spend the minutes, all alone, trying to retch out the feeling of having a piece of hair down your throat; you claw at the blanket and keep hacking until you've got a blanket full of tears and spit. The feeling does not pass.

At lunch, you get a visit from Franky who comes by to complain that you've made unnecessary work for him. "—seriously, how did you manage that in your sleep? Were you having a nightmare?" He ranted, legs crossed and leaned back in the visitor chair in a way that pushes his skinny, hairy legs close to your face.

Scrunching up your face, you sit up. "It was the future." You rebut, in between all his fantastical stories of his nightmares and talking about how he'd never attack Sunny even if Chopper grew a mechanical, giant arm and overthrew Luffy to become their captain. "A future," you correct yourself before turning to Franky with eyes judgemental, "are you scared of Chopper?"

"You weren't there at Enies Lobby," he tells you, which serves as a cruel reminder of sorts. You think about all the scars you've seen littered on the crew's skin and wonder which ones they've collected while they were with Luffy and who knows of which. The faint, protruding marks underneath Nami's tattoo, the stitches around Zoro's ankles, the ones pulled across his chest; you wonder if Sanji's got one hidden underneath his bangs. "The future?" Franky repeats after a moment, "are you a prophet?"

"It's a working theory," you brush off instead. "Though I can see in my mind's eye that Luffy is currently eating all the food and you’ll be left to starve if you don't go back."

Franky scrambled up from the seat not a second after your words.

With him gone, you settle back onto the bed and wonder about too many things to recall.

Between the hours after lunch and before dinner, Luffy comes by. He settles himself on the bed and forces you up as well, the shifting causes another cough to burgeon in your throat and you turn your head the other way to spit it out in an uncontrolled group of four. "You're not feeling better?" He frowns.

You see now that he's holding two pieces of barbequed meat in his hand, he's got the bone in his palm as he holds it upright like a sword, juices from the flesh dripping down to his hand and the smell gives you a headache. "Do you want this?" You move your eyes to Luffy, he's got his eyebrows furrowed together and his lips straightened out in a line when you don't answer. "Both?" He looks over at you, then the meat, and then you. "You," he swallows, "you can have them," his knuckles turn red around the bone, "since you need energy and you're sick." You think he's trying to convince himself to give them up.

You reached out and watch Luffy's face turn sour as his expression squeezes altogether around a midpoint trapped in his nose; you retract your hand and watch his face relax and his body unwind, you think he's moved his hand back a little. You repeat it again a few more times until laughter comes up and dislodges the uncomfortable feel of hair set deep in your throat. "It's fine, Luffy, you can have 'em."

"Really?"

"Mhm, go for it."

He moans around a bite of meat, crying your name as he chews and says thank you. The feeling is back as soon as it left.

No one comes to visit after that. Chopper comes by before he heads off to bed to make sure you're all set for the night and tells you that he expects to be woken up if you feel any symptoms get worse. You agree to his conditions, though can barely make yourself seem like you were taking him seriously with his cute face scolding you, but it seemed to work well enough as he's gone after he leaves a cup of water by your side. Sleep lingers around the corner, shirking away from your twitching fingertips and restless eyes; you give up after a few minutes, thinking about Robin who'd been thrown on watch tonight.

After going back and forth on the details, you bundle up yourself in the blanket (not wanting to have to mimic any semblance of serious guilt to get through Chopper's less than intimidating scolding if you get any sicker in the morning) and wander to the deck. The darkness of the sea would be safe for you, twisting around every limb extended to grope your way through your chosen path and oozing out from strands of hair to empty at your feet if not for the lamp of the moon ahead of you. Its light a forecast of tragedy, reflecting off a blade that would drive through the blood of a man who faced an unlikely love with only disgust and betrayal. "Robin?" The light hangs onto your word with a vehemence to uncover your unjustifiable deeds.

"Ivy," a shudder of surprise rattles your head to duck to your shoulders as you turn around. "Sorry, did I scare you?"

You give Robin a frown, tugging your lips down. "Yeah, my weakened bones nearly fell to the floor." She huffs a laugh. "Please announce yourself before you appear." Robin traces over your palish face and your features soften into a smile when your eyes meet.

"Can't sleep?" She asks once you two settle at the side of the Sunny where you'd napped earlier today, some of your vines still wedged between planks and parts of the floor haphazardly missing. You lean your back against the side of the ship and lower your eyes to the floor.

It's a total void, welcoming you back home. "No," you answer, a little breathless. The moon doesn't shuttle into the hole of the deck and something reaches a hand out for you between the atoms of a black hole. Roots twist out, easing close to your feet and sinking beneath the soles of your shoes. "I napped a little earlier." It's safe.

Robin hummed— I know rattles through her hum— and her elbow falls onto the guard rail of the ship. For the next few moments, you regret coming out. Robin's always been more receptive to the details and fine lines; it's not surprising that she can nitpick through a flurry of fronts and covers to the feelings you want to hide. They beckon out to her, wanting to fill that hole that's grown smaller with every day she wakes up to the open seas and the lively sound of her crew. "Chopper said you were sick?"

"A cold," you sniffle, bringing the blanket closer to you. Finding some semblance of confidence inside you, your eyes flicker over to Robin but she isn't looking at you— only turns when she feels your gaze levelled on her. You hesitate, searching for something to say and land on extending an arm and opening the blanket to invite her into your bundle. "You cold?"

She laughs, "it's fine, you should go back in if you've got a cold though." Her head tilted with a smile, "it'll be bad if the night air makes you worse."

Not wanting to find yourself softened in moonlight nor her eyes, you nod and bid her a goodnight before shivering your way back into your room. The door opens and light from Sunny's hallway is swallowed into the darkness of your room before it's banished out with the slam of your door, you shuffle around odd things thrown on the floor and slip into bed.

Your sleep is broken through with intervals with coughing, curling into yourself, shivering still though you burn in the night like a sibling of a star. When you wake up, sometime in the afternoon, you're heaving and reaching out your arms all around your duvet to haul together the skin that feels like it's melted down. Your palms prick against the leaves of vines that have overtaken your room, they fluoresce around your body and branch outwards to all corners of your room. The mess all blur together as your brain thrashes in your head with every splutter, you shake and twitch, trying to make sense of anything. Skin burned raw as you attempt to kick away the shrubbery that's keeping the blanket contorted around your body.

Your throat skinned and crude with its imminent thoughts of water.

A hand reached back blindly to grope at your bedside table for the cup that Chopper left for you last night. What you find instead is the burning touch of the sun, it seeps through the micro wounds stabbed through lines of your fortune and inflames every nerve straight to your heart. Your hand snaps back towards your body, the bones shivering from the imminent heat. Your entire body twitches at different paces, an invasive and hungry need drowns your senses. You need water, you need not for this to happen, water, you need for your sleep to be calm, you need to stop burning, you want to stop losing control, water first. You want water. Water— you turn your head to find the water, you need— Luffy?

Luffy is sat on a chair that you don't remember being there and when you look a little closer, you see that your vines had granted him a throne to comfortably lay on, other than that, they avoid him like the near plague. His body is leaned forward, his chest laid against the side of your mattress and arms crossed on your bed to sleep on like a pillow. You retch up some acid and, like the bowed head of a priest, a gentle petal disrupts the stream, flowing against the tide. It's a beautiful purple colour that's light against the transition to white towards the middle and an eye-catching yellow streaking against the white; lines of a deeper hue stretch through the petal and it's oddly reminiscent of veins.

The petal sits on the puddle of stomach acid that warms your thighs, your head bowed down to stare at it; you feel your soul unfurl at the sight of it, branches stretched outwards over a riverside, the heavy head of buds pulling weighted branches down to drink from the stream. Everything else blurs with a ripple, the petal is withstanding no matter no much you try blinking away an oncoming headache. The river near dries up in your attempt to wash down this unnerving disgust; you hunger for more.

Little changes when you find out what this 'cold' truly was. The lighting in Sunny's library is several shades warmer than the light of the sun, it draws upon the hunched shoulders down to your back as you tilt your head to hear the bones crack under your ear. Four syllables, that's all your death is. A lot of words are four syllables. Anonymous; unfortunate; hilarious; adventurous; hanahaki. It doesn't mean a lot by itself, so you try giving it some context. You pretend to tell Chopper that you're dying, you have hanahaki and that it's something he can't cure in a way you'll accept and you still feel nothing. You think about Chopper's face. He adamantly tells you that he'll cure you, he'll do it. The you in your imagination tells him no. Faced with your refusal, Chopper cannot do anything. In the end, it is a grave that cures you.

Death, as it stands, was something you had accepted when you stepped onto a pirate ship. Even someone with as stubborn a character as Zoro could be welcomed in by death, even Luffy. For a while, you wonder about death. The air in the room pauses as if to grace you with the silence to ponder on it, all you hear is the sound of your own breathing.

The closest thing to death comes searching for you a few minutes later.

You've always been interested in Brook. A skeleton with nothing but a sword; he has no lungs yet still sings, no heart and still smiles, dead but human in all his actions and behaviours. "There you are." He sneaks up behind you, bones falling onto your shoulder as you think, he smiles down at you. "Luffy asked if I’d seen you earlier.” He looms over you for a moment before he's straightening back up and calling out loudly, "but I'm a skeleton so it's not like I have eyes to see anyone anyways!"

It's the two syllables 'Lu–ffy' that shakes you the most. You stifle a cough in your chest and feel it tear through your ribs instead, searching for a path out. "For what?" The breaths rattle in your chest and shudder through your words.

"He wanted to show you a beetle." He takes the seat next to you, peering down at the picture book that you have open. You wait for him to make a comment about seeing what you were reading before disregarding it all with a lack of eyeballs so he wasn't seeing it really but he doesn't say anything, so you're forced to talk instead.

"Brook."

"Yes?"

It takes a single breath to prepare you to say this, it's warm and evident that you've not yet truly succumbed to your illness. "Do you see yourself as dead?"

Death is the art of those who do not live. It's something that keeps people tethered to the moment; it's the one thing that keeps humans humane. It's evidence you've lived, no matter how full nor how long. She's beautiful in her own right.

"I cannot see myself as anything because I am a skeleton with no eyes!"

Brook does not get to elaborate because Luffy shuttles in moments later, whispering loudly. (He'd learned somewhere that you're meant to be quiet in a library when he was younger but his whispers still manage to shake the room somehow.) "You're here! I found a beetle to show you!" He tip–toes to your side, "what're you reading— oh, hi Brook! The flowers here are pretty!" He points a finger down to a sunflower; his index covers an entire petal and he strokes it upwards to the middle. "Do you think they're edible?"

He turns to you with a smile.

You meet him with the same, "their seeds are." He gasps and picks up the book to scour through the letters in search of a name of these seeds. You take in a shuddering breath and when you feel another urge to cough, you cannot stop it.

When vines splatter around the room, they uproot the place; they've always been disruptive in this way. A wave of them washes various bouts of furniture to the floor, through the pounding of your ears, you hear the sound of books thudding as green appendages snake through bookcases and rattle them at the base; Brook's chair collapses as a vine chokes out one of its legs into splinters, the world blurs into a hue of greens and purples. A hand reaches from down in your throat, you heave around gaps of allowance for air and gag, cough, retch up more acid and some tea that Sanji brewed earlier this morning in lieu of breakfast. It's unpleasant. It's ugly in a way death should not be, though you guess the dead don't get to choose how to live in the same way the living cannot choose their death.

You're hauled off to Chopper again.

Chopper's voice comes as the hollow sounds of keys on an old piano. He does another round of tests on you— this set lasts a little longer than the previous and he takes extra caution with some. He finds that your heart is a little faster than it should be, he nitpicks at the bluish tint around your fingers and notes the concerning amount of weight you've lost in the past few weeks. When he asks you, what's wrong, you tell him that that's what he should be telling you.

Hypoxia; another four syllables for your cause of death. "Some of the symptoms are there," Chopper frowns, mumbling to himself. "It's when your tissues aren't getting enough oxygen, do you have difficulty breathing?"

You placed your cheek into your palm, elbow on Chopper's desk. "You're a pretty good doctor, Chopper."

The effect is immediate, he starts blushing and kicking his legs in his seat, a hoof goes to rub at the back of his head and nervous laughter comes from him. "That isn't distracting me at all, you bastard." You smiled and watched the compliment break any semblance of professionalism in him.

He gets back on track a little while later, placing a stethoscope on your chest and asking you to cough. You're not sure exactly what he's looking for but you give a soft cough into your elbow and you can say for certain— just based off the way he jumps back and looks at you a little quietly for a second, it's nothing good. Chopper spends a few minutes looking at your fingertips, then your lips, then some other parts of skin already exposed and humming to himself, troubled.

For now, he says, he wants you to try not to exert yourself— maybe leave fighting to everyone else and focus on resting until he can figure out a better way to confidently diagnose you. His lips are pulled into a frown, hands in his lap and trying his best to be professional and keep his emotions at bay. Before you know it, your hand is on top of his pink hat and fondly rubbing over the material softly. "Thanks Chopper, I'll keep that in mind."

He nods. You hesitate for a second before you're getting up to leave so that everyone else can see that you're not dying— or maybe you should tell them you are, you're not sure you could take another session of Franky accusing you of destroying the Sunny to create more work for him.

Your hand wraps around the doorknob and twists, stopping when Chopper speaks again. "You're not hiding something from me," he accuses gently, "are you?"

Your hand tightens around the doorknob. A flash of that imaginary Chopper comes back to you— heartbroken and confused at your refusal to be cured— you steal an unnecessarily large breath from the world. "I get sudden cravings for sweet things if that means anything."

Chopper, unbeknownst to you, takes those words and carves them true and raw into himself. His eyes are unwilling to leave you for more than necessary during the times you eat together, he watches you push aside the food on your plate, tearing small bits of meat off the bone to chew on it for a couple minutes too long before swallowing. He makes note of the way you have no problems finishing up everything but any sort of meat, sliding them over to Luffy, or one of his victims.

You're met with another blossom soon after lunch. You've made a bad habit of leaving the table early to escape the smell and resign yourself to the open deck, sprawling out on the grass like Zoro usually does. You're certain you're about to fall asleep shivering but the slap, slap, slapping of your captain's sandals are nearing closer so your brain kicks awake with a start; your eyes twitch, eyelashes shuddering in the wind. The darkness over your eyes morphs into a shadow of Luffy hovering over you, head tilting with a hand on his hat— your mind supplies you with the frown— and then you hear him taking a step back and sitting down next to you.

A troubled melody hums through his lips and when you open an eye to peek at him, you see his hands wrapped around his ankles, legs loosely crossed; he turned back to you and you quickly close your eyes. Here is where you finally learn that when Luffy touches, he's never placated with a simple tap, a light knocking between skin— no, he must stroke, he drags his fingers up the side of your thigh, he shivers from the coldness of your flesh and, even then, crawls closer. Then he's silent for a worrying amount of time and for a moment, curiosity takes you over. You find yourself wanting to draw light upon the disgusted features when he's met with someone he thinks close to him is growing closer and closer to a grave amongst the roots.

He leans his forehead against yours whilst you shuffle through the despicable crawl of your heart through your bones, something shifts in you and when you reach to itch at your side, it dislodges. It takes no more than a simple flip for your entire world to shift; you think you saw Luffy hovering over you momentarily before you had snapped to the side.

A fragment of the world greets its end.

Something strangles you, a hand of a giant pressing two fingers against the sides of your neck until everything in you bursts and splatters against parts that have gone unknown until now. There's nothing new to the tremor of vine that erupts through your skin, bubbling through the surface of flesh like a geyser; the tentacles claw their way your throat until you're choking around them, searching for an allowance for air. Your knees shuffle up to find some balance, head ducked to meet the lawn across the deck and elbows digging deep into the dirt. Your spluttering comes in time with the sound of Luffy calling your name, shouting for Chopper; there's a knot tied inside your mouth, you shake away tremors and tears all the same. You erupt yet there's nothing to be burnt, it's only ash that leaves your mouth— only the colourful petals of the wisteria plant that wash over the green of the open deck, burnt in hues with blood.

The next island is a spring island, known for their sweet peaches and sweeter music.

You watched Luffy devour two peaches in his hands, the ripe skin melting underneath his teeth— pale with a dusted blush until it snapped into a bloody red, melted at the pit. Then he's gone with a rustle of mikan trees as you held out a basket for Nami to delicately place her mikans in; apparently, she'd managed to catch the attention of some peach vendor with her sweet tangerines and swindled the poor man out of his money for a basket.

The streets are lined with lively hums and a strumming of odd instruments, music escapes through every crevice of a worn-down building as Luffy jumps from stall to stall, drooling over the goods before you're beckoning him back with his lunchbox and a promise of meat after you finish this errand for Nami. On your way to the stall, you hear faint chattering that doesn't interest you but Luffy straightened up beside you and turns to stare at the people as they argue on who had managed to grow the biggest peach this year.

You sigh, grabbing hold of Luffy's collar when he stops to stare at them and drag him off to the stall vendor who had fallen victim to Nami's schemes. The exchange is easy enough— give him the basket (ignore the fact that Nami had managed to make it look like it was overflowing by artfully bunching up a cloth on the bottom and filled gaps between the fruits with flowers) and make sure you've got the correct amount of money. It's when Luffy asks the stall vendor who has the biggest peach this year that things begin to go downhill.

Rather than answering Luffy's question, the man goes on a tangent about some kind of festival for a God and how the biggest peach will be the offering to said God this year— apparently, Shumi (the woman who owns the fabrics shops) had managed to get her hands on this, that, or the other to help her husband grow a peach large enough to bring doubt to the fact that Gyupuri had managed to grow the largest peach (again) this year.

Luffy insists on tracking them both down to help the people come to a decision as he wiped away the drool on his chin. Resigned, you managed to find Shumi first with her shop being the only one in town that sold fabrics and she denies you both permission to see the peach; Gyupuri, on the other hand, is more than happy to show you to the peach he grows. He takes you straight out of town, into the forest, and then up the mountain to where there's a clearing full of nothing but flesh coloured peaches.

As you listen to Gyupuri's story on how he was merely taking after his father to grow these strangely sized peaches, you have to keep Luffy in your hold so he doesn't go running to the giant peach and take a bite out of what could be for a God. Somehow though, he manages to get a handful of flat peaches when you weren't looking and when you attempt to apologise to Gyupuri, he doesn't seem to be fazed, shoving a few more peaches into your hand and telling you it's fine.

"So, who is this God anyway?" Luffy asks, his legs wrapped around your waist and chin hooked on your shoulder as he leaned back, satisfied with cheeks full of the peach you were holding in your hand. You turn to give him a look, but he merely stares at you back.

The people here must have made a unanimous decision to answer questions from the left side of the field because Gyupuri only tells you the name of this God when he drags you and Luffy up a hill to stare at a statue of this God carved out of generic stone.

To be polite, you call the statue pretty; Luffy feels no need to be polite, so he says it's not really. When you look at him to furrow your eyebrows at him, he's already looking at you.

When you're back on the ship, money handed to Nami, you think about that moment so much that it grows moss in your mind and vines burst through the crevices of the worn–down artifact you've made out his gaze to be. You throw up everything you manage to eat and feel hollow and worthy when you meet Luffy's eyes in Chopper's office again.

There's a chill that follows your days after that.

It's persistent and stubborn in a way that cruelly reminds you of Luffy. On a brighter side, you've got an excuse to be lazy in bed though it irks your bones not to have the weight of you walking thrumming up your body. You get visits from the Strawhats, get your food delivered to you, some of the crew shuffling into your room to keep you entertained with some card games and the likes— you get Luffy consistently making his way into your room and treating it as any other room on his Sunny. He comes in, always makes himself home on the bed, and talks about what he did today. At some point, it becomes less endearing and more annoying to be treated as though you were actually dying. (You hadn't told them for a reason.)

Four days after Chopper had resolutely punished you with bed rest, Luffy decides that he was going to start sleeping in your room. Apparently, your face had translated over what your head was thinking too quickly because he starts whining, saying that he wouldn't get to see you enough if he doesn't do this and, well, since you've always had a tender, raw, skinned soft spot for the boy, you end up saying yes.

He spends his first night telling you what he was going to spend tomorrow doing and you come to the realisation that every other sentence contains you. (Going to find more beetles to show you... Chopper told Sanji it'd be good to get more meat into your diet... Zoro accidentally cut snakes and ladders in half so Nami is giving me money to see if we can find one for you so we can play... Robin said there's a really pretty flower on this next island… For you… For you...) It’s all there laid bare and you cannot face it. You hide your face into the crook of your elbow and wretch out a cough. Luffy frowns but doesn't mention it. He talks himself into sleep and you lay awake to him, trying to keep yourself from blooming throughout the night so he doesn't wake up, cold and still.

When you're startled awake with misty embrace in a dream, you see that Luffy has gone.

What he has left is his straw hat and a mouthpiece of his greatness. The straw is rough against your fingers, resembling the thorns that grows along roses and you stare at it in your lap until you can feel the roughness in your throat— just when you think you need to get water, Sanji shows up with breakfast. You eye the cigarette in his lips and ignore the settling of the tray on your bedside table, watch the smoke fight the smell of scrambled eggs and bits of bacon to take over your room.

"We're at an island?"

Sanji walks around your bed, finding himself comfortable on the couch across the foot of your bed. "We docked early this morning," you watched his smoke rise, ash falling to the wooden floor of your room, waving and grasping hands up to God. Sanji keeps himself entertained by looking around your room, his foot pushing around odd leaves and petals on the floor before he nods over to the plate. "Eat." Then he's gone.

You stare at the tray, settling Luffy's straw hat aside, you shuffle to the end of your bed and take the fork in your hands— you look at the plate until you swear you can taste the eggs in your mouth and the slight bursts of saltiness that'll come from the bacon and you have to wash it down with the glass of water he's given you. You push it aside and opt to go back to sleep.

You dream of a still life on top of a hill, overlooking a dock as the Sunny pulls back out into the sea; you thrash but find every part of you rooted down to one spot, the wind picks up and you feel tangles of what could be hair or leaves hitting against a part of your body. You're still rooted despairingly in a garden of silks and duvets when you wake, Luffy had found himself unable to keep away from your breakfast but when you sit up and look a little closer, you see a pile of the diced bacon bits shoved off to the side as he shovelled eggs into his mouth.

Shattering free from the earth with a faltering cough broken into four, you shuffled yourself up and spit out a cluster of wisteria. At this point, you do not need to look at Luffy to know what his face looks like; he turned to face you, cheeks full and quickly finishing the eggs to shuffle closer to you on the bed with a book in his hands. "You left your book under the plate."

It's a hardback children's book, pulled out of Sunny's library and coloured a light blue that resembled the sky and broken apart by a sunflower in the middle and petals around it, the title curled around the sunflower. You know that the book was left in the library when you were having your episode. The cover is smooth to the touch as Luffy gives it to you and ends up knocking his shoulders against yours in his attempt to get closer; your eyes moved over to the tray of food and you think of Sanji, who'd grown up in the North Blue where this children's story was more popular amongst the romantic commonwealth.

He knows, you think, and it fills you with a dread that the wisteria blossoms feast upon delightfully; he knows, and he could tell everyone, the vines throb over your heart as Luffy opens the book over your lap and looks up, expectantly at you.

Myrsa was a pretty girl, enough so that praises sang for her ended up calling upon the scorn of love's Goddess. The depiction of her getting cursed is almost comical, stricken by lightning as she returns from a forest with a basket full of flowers and mushrooms. "What happens next? What happens next?" Luffy pushes his face closer to the book, tangling a rubbery leg with yours as he moves impossibly closer. "How does Myrsa beat up the God?"

It's the certainty he holds that Myrsa will beat up God that makes you laugh, it's the fact that she does not beat anything that makes you tremble, shaking coughs and petals out your throat. Luffy seems to think that the book is too excitable, trying to pry it away from you and saying that he can ask Robin to read it to him later so you should just rest. "Don't you want to know if Myrsa will beat up the God now?" You ask instead, knowing the answer will be yes.

Perhaps they were the wrong words to convince Luffy because when you're on the last page, Myrsa buried in a forgotten land and her love used as fertiliser for a field of sunflowers, he's threatening to beat up a God made up to exact revenge for Myrsa. It's a lot more cheerful than you had expected— all the characters drawn with round faces, small bodies, and black dots as eyes. It makes death seem redeemable.

After Luffy hauls himself out of your room, in search of the God had turned Myrsa into sunflowers, you force the bacon down your mouth and bring the tray out to Sanji. You linger in the kitchen, eyes watching him as he scrubbed the dishes and danced around the kitchen, no doubt knowing why you were there. He doesn't seem to want to be the one to approach the topic just based on the way he refused to stop even for a moment for the past fifteen minutes you've been there.

You know nothing about Sanji past the fact that he's blond, he's a cook, and he used to be a prince from North Blue's Germa Kingdom.

"You know Myrsa didn't die because she had hanahaki." Your hip meets the edge of an island, arms crossed over your chest as you watched Sanji finally slow to a halt, throwing a glance over at you. He takes his cigarette between two fingers, breathing in for a moment and then takes it out, holding it out to you. "What she was cursed with, wasn't ever meant to be able to kill her."

"I know."

Sanji takes the cigarette back after you shake your head, shrugging a little as he continued. "Myrsa died."

You laugh a little, "I read the book."

There's a point he's trying to make that's as foreign to you as the notion of a love that doesn't hurt but he turns a glance to you that almost reads like he's disappointed in you and it settles nicely against the vines choking you through. You straighten up, uncrossing your arms and his visible eye wanders back over the pots he has boiling on the stove. "You liked the ending?" The ending of the North Blue story was a two–page spread of a sunflower field, a planet of bright yellows and a dull light blue, clouds breaking apart overwhelming tones of sunny golds and drowning diamonds.

A tree split awkwardly in half due to the spine of the book, curved in shape and pinched in the middle until you held the pages at the edges and pulled to straighten in down. "It was pretty," a gentle breeze running through the leaves shedding from the tree, a shiver to the wooden flesh that split apart if looked at the right way by the right man. Myrsa was beautiful, even in a death she didn't pick treated her well.

How could you hope to live when she did not?

You find a lot of things pretty now; you wonder if that's the dead crawling in you that is beginning to appreciate the life around. Robin sat on the deck with a cup of cooling coffee on a table in front of her and a book in her hand, Nami stood between her rows of mikan trees, Zoro straining under the weights of his responsibilities, Brook with a violin to his shoulder. The sky drowned over the ocean as Luffy leaned his head against you on Sunny's figurehead, his voice a soft beat over the water rushing against the hull of the ship. He's talking about Shanks and his dream and your heart aches selfishly; his skin gulps down the orange light of the dawning sun and you resigned yourself to a death loving him.

You wonder if Luffy still thinks of his dead brother, your tongue slips against the bark of your gums, and you open your mouth without thinking. "Luffy," you hear spoken into the wind, "will you tell me about your brother?"

"Sabo?" He's clapping his feet together excitedly, turning from the sky to you with a large grin on his face, "he's a part of the Revelation Army— no, wait revocation? Revenge Army? Renovation Army! Wait— that's not right."

"No, the other one." A whisper haunts the wind, 'the dead one' written in its movement.

There's a certain hesitation to his words that brings you to the realisation that being loved by Luffy is a wonderful thing. He's never been one to be articulate with words, picking the simple ones that come to mind first without a moment's hesitation but strangely the simple–minded way served him well when it came to love. Love is not articulate either— it's one of the simplest things in the world— so when it's met with someone like Luffy, it blossoms into an art form of all things beautiful.

You regret have not meeting Luffy when Ace was around. Dancing around his features is a tender skip of tightness; his shoulders pulled up to his ears, head ducked down, lips awkward and tongue thick as he told you the story of being accepted to be Ace's brother. Hues of embers fluoresce, dripping down on Sunny's figurehead as you reached an arm around him; his words are stained in blood and adoration, strained and slow but Luffy persists, his love persists.

"You should've met him!" He finishes, turning to you with a light chuckle. "You would've loved him."

Your hand falls onto his shoulder, pulling him closer despite the crawl of vomit up your throat and you leaned your head against his straw hat. "Maybe I will."

Death is another thing you think is simple. It's as easy as slipping into Chopper's office to find him hunched over his desk, his hooves holding onto a pestle as he circled the butt around in a mortar. "Ah, you're here?" He glanced over his shoulder as you walked around him and settled onto one of the beds he has in his room. "Give me a second! I nearly have your medicine ready."

"Chopper," you think you've played this out in your head before, "I have hanahaki."

His arms slow down to a halt, his face dropping by several degrees; the previous petals that made up his hopeful and cheerful expression flutter to the floor, guided by the winds you'd altered with those four words.

"Hanahaki?" Chopper's words are slow as he settled the pestle down, "I thought— but it doesn't exist?"

"Funnily enough, it died off." You tell him with a little laugh. "As more people took to the seas and chased after the one piece, less people fell victim to hanahaki." The Chopper you've told this to before in your mind was definitely less devastated and surprised to be greeted by the fact that you have hanahaki.

He's stumbling over his words, trying to pick something to focus on first as his face was scrunched up, eyebrows furrowed, and lips open into disbelief. "How long have you known? Why didn't you tell me? You'll have the surgery, right? You can trust me; I'll definitely save you. When did it first start?" Your head is pounding with the incessant questions he spits at you, unable to answer any of them as any allowance for a response was filled in by another inquiry. Suddenly, he's pulling his mind to a stop as he turned back to you, solemn and sad and asks, "who is it?"

It's easy to tell how Luffy has touched people, Chopper makes note of the way your head tilts and you smile and it's obvious that there was no one else capable of calling upon your love.

"And the surgery?"

The look on your face, although foreign to you, tells him all he needs to know.

That doesn't stop him though, he keeps himself by your side and urges (pleads) you to have the surgery; his constant presence becomes a problem when he makes a point of forcing Luffy away from you. It's small at first, trying to distract Luffy with other things, claiming to want to be the one to watch over Luffy when you all dock so you're not given the chance, clinging onto your arms and demanding your attention when Luffy threatens to take it away from him. Then, when Luffy notices that he's been holding onto this flower for hours, fingers pinched around a sunflower stem to ask you how you get seeds from the flower to eat, and every time he's seen a speck of your colour from corners, Chopper shows up to drag you away or points a finger somewhere to shout about a meat mountain, he has a problem.

You notice it's about the meat mountain at first though.

He's slamming the door to Chopper's office after the fourth time, shouting, "Chopper! Where's the meat mountain you keep talking about?" He doesn't seem to care about the fact that Chopper is checking up on you as he stomps into the room, plopping himself down right next to you. Chopper pushes him away when your shoulders brush against each other and you're coughing out bloodied petals. His attention diverts when he hears the shaking of your cough, how you knock into him uncontrollably as your torso leans to meet your thighs, hands deep into the foam edge of the mattress. Petals splatter onto your shoes, clinging to the leather with saliva and re–painting the laces in a sickly red. Luffy’s touch is intrusive, a hand tightened on your thigh that burns your skin to ash and forces vines to splutter out your skin. They attack him, you reel yourself away from Luffy in hopes that they don’t reach him but in some disgusting way, they force themselves to new lengths to coil around his limbs. Spindling up and up and up and you can’t see his face anymore as a thick rope of vines in the shape of his hand reaches out for you, they keep moving up until you only see his hat— your back knocks against the wall. You sternly tell yourself this death is acceptable; the vines grow limp.

When you’ve calmed down enough, the first thing Luffy asks you is, “why aren’t you better yet?” And you feel as though you’re being scolded for some reason; your eyes flicker over to Chopper, fingers tangled together in front of your thighs from the corner of the room you’ve forced yourself into. When Luffy catches the wandering glances— as if you’re trying to keep him out of something— he treats you exactly how you’re acting. Like a criminal.

“Chopper?” It’s unnerving how his eyes are still on you, no trace of expression on his face, “out.”

“But—”

“Out.” Chopper throws you an unhelpful glance as he passes you to get to the door.

You’ve always had the wrong impression of Luffy— everyone that doesn’t know him has the same image; he’s a pirate that has taken down warlord after warlord, who has brought horrifying change and shifts the balance of authority wherever his feet take him. Hearing hushed whispers of him and his close affiliates in the lightened haze of booze, to distract from a tooth getting knocked out of place never does much for his image either. Though it wouldn’t be right to say that Luffy is wholly good either— he’s selfish. Selfish and impossibly kind and downright disgusting with the handling of his own needs; the sound of your name fizzing between his teeth has you startled, nodding your head back to him on the bed you’d left him at.

“You’re hiding something.” It’s not a question nor is it an accusation of any kind. It’s an observation. Luffy slides himself off the bed, his sandals comically slap against the floor of Chopper’s office, “tell me.” His hands fall onto your shoulders, one stays there and the other slides down. He treats your skin like an amusement park for his pleasure; his nails drag across the goosebumps of your bicep, pressing down on raised scars and then splashes into the palm of your hand, dragging ripples in the centre.

You hesitate, twisting your fingers together and pulling as if to attempt to dislodge the odd feeling that follows his fingertips. “Are you asking as a captain?” Despite how general expectations of Luffy remain pretty low to those who do know him, it’s also known that Luffy has a nerve in him that’s impossibly receptive to hurt. There’s a certain way to activate it and when it’s on, it doesn't quieten down until its idiot owner is pleased. Luffy scrunches his face up in an odd way, displeasured at your question as if he couldn’t believe you’d ask him something that hurtful, and his head tilts.

“Tell me.” You’re met with an unwavering stare, the hand on your shoulder tightens and there’s a hardness to it that you’ve never associated with your rubber captain— you can feel the bone in his fingers, stern and undeniable. Your eyes trace over the exposed, tanned skin of his bicep and you wish that you could force your vines through his skin to crawl into his chest and listen to the tremors that’ll run up your devil fruit from his beating heart for some kind of answer. There’s a sudden breath that’s available to you that isn’t tainted and clogged, trapped before it even meets your lungs, but it burns in a new way as you stare at Luffy, scared and terrified of a new life that’ll be forced upon you if you tell him what’s wrong with you.

You open your mouth with an excuse, but Luffy huffs and the words shrivel in your mouth, collapsing to a grain on your tongue and when you close your mouth, you taste dirt. “Luffy,” you beg, “I can’t— just, I’ll be fine.”

There’s a hint of some anger in his gaze before it turns into a haunting realisation, “Chopper knows, doesn’t he?” He pushes you aside, “I’ll just ask Chopper.”

There’s a ringing distant in your ears that chimes like the bell of the church from that place two islands ago, maybe three— you haven’t been too good with time recently. Sunny shakes like the earth as a body hits the pavement, you feel disgusting and heavy and an itch claws through your palms where Luffy’s hand has just been. You’re sure it’s Chopper he’s shaking an answer from but you hear Robin’s voice, calling for him to calm down and when that doesn’t work, Sanji cuts in. It all gets further and further away, you think about the planks of Sunny opening to welcome you back into that darkness from nights ago, you think about being choked by one of your vines, you think about the wisteria blooming whole in your lungs— you think and you think and think and suddenly, it’s all nothing. You’re dying, you think, that’s a fact, what else? Luffy is the reason. Or maybe you’re the reason.

“Luffy,” were you the one talking? “Luffy.” The voice comes again, stern and your eyebrows furrow with the same tension that the voice is carrying. “Thank you for being my captain.”

Not that it surprises you, Luffy punches you.

#౨ৎ luffy single!#౨ৎ op single!#one piece #monkey d. luffy #one piece angst #one piece x you #one piece x reader #luffy oneshot #luffy angst #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #op luffy #monkey d. luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x you #op x reader #op angst

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suguru-getos · 7 months

Text

୨・┈﹕✦﹕ Kinktober Day 24﹕✦﹕┈・୧

-> Event Masterlist

Geto Suguru x F!Reader -> Size Kink

Summary: After returning from your trip, you found out your boyfriend is not okay. Maybe a vacation (To Venice) ;) would help. (Mentions of Deppressed!Suguru, angst, breakdowns, toothrotting fluff and comfort, Satoru being a wonderful best friend, Suguru healing) ❤️‍🩹 Basically hurt-comfort with size!kink 😭

Warnings: Angst, breakdowns, Suguru’s deranged and suc!dal and has murderUrges, Reader (us) comfort him and pull him out from it. Mentions of reader’s breakdowns, cus I mean— 🤷🏻‍♀️ Look at him!!?? Nipple-play, breeding, softsex, sensual, FLUFFY AND NICE AND SUGURU’s so Spoiling towards us it’s just 🙈

A/N: Guys I had sm fun 🥹😵‍💫🩵 writing this I swear!! Hurt-comfort is like my favorite thing in the whole wide world <33 I love to characterize Suguru & to play around with his character. *Screeches and screams* 🍨🍦 I made him yummy thank me later xx Also can we look at the images of him above 🥵 size kink BRRRR

"If you really think, you can do everything, take everything in, save people, and somehow save yourself along with the deceitful thinking that you will protect me. Then you're wrong!" Tears welled up in your eyes, the pain clearly imminent in Suguru's eyes. He looked dead inside, and no mourning was soothing your ache for your older Suguru. You just, missed him beyond beliefs… even when he was right beside you. You hoped he would response to your cry of pain, your bleeding words, but he didn't have it in him anymore. Suguru had almost, given up on himself.

Your hands found themselves clasping onto his collar, pulling him closer to you. "Suguru, look at me, I am telling you something. Can't you fucking see how much it hurts!" You screamed, losing your calm, your temper. It felt ironical to complain to him about how much it's hurting you. You can see he's got it worse; the nights full of terrors and the days full of decaying cursed spirits. You were an empath for your lover, and it was clear staying near him was subjecting you to everything he felt. He doesn't want to see you this way, desperate and hurting…

"I'm sorry, Angel." Suguru sighed, wrecked with the way you burst into tears and hugged him. Voice choking onto sobs as you earnestly tried clutching onto him for dear life. "Sugu, come back to me please come back…" You cried, wailed and eventually dropped onto your knees. The incomprehensible feeling, the heaviness of the things Suguru was going through was making you breathless.

Suguru's heart was only breaking further apart, watching you slowly scrape away in front of him. "I want to kill myself." He finally spoke up, "No, truth is, I want to kill everyone."

This was the first time Suguru was opening up, and no matter how brutal it sounded, his eyes were still kind. Maybe because it was you, in front of him. "You are a sorcerer, too, I shouldn't say this to you, but I hate those monkeys." He radiates pessimism and negativity through him. Yet, you smile a little.

"Come with me, go away with me." You held his hands, squeezing them tightly as if you were grateful they're not cold. You truly were. They were warm, they were still your Suguru's hands.

"Please, Suguru, let's go away for some time." You urged, and he knelt with you, hugging you tightly, not caring about the whimper that escapes you because of his firm grip.

"Running away, won't solve anything." He echoed, and you felt your stomach sink. Soft sniffles echoing in the room as you shook your head like a tantrum-y child. "No, we will solve everything. You and I, we can solve everything. No matter what it is." You cupped his face, becoming stronger for him. "It's okay to feel like this Suguru, it's okay. I'm here." You nudge, watching his eyes showing signs of at least, some life in them. "Can you, not give up?" You meant on himself, you meant on everything.

To make sure, he understands… you hummed again, "makes me feel like, I'm being abandoned."

Suguru blinked at that, letting your words settle deep within. "Makes me feel like, I'm not even worth fighting for." You looked down, not having the guts to say this to him while making eye-contact. "Please, let's elope somewhere Sugu." You crooned, babying him almost. "I will follow you to the ends of the earth anyway, even if your path is changed." You hum, and with the way your pupils fixated on your hands intertwined, Suguru knows you mean it.

"Okay, maybe… I do need a little get away." Suguru smiled tenderly, partial charm returning to his eyes.

Oh it felt like rain in famine, "Good, thank you, I love you."

"I love you too, my Angel."

---

The next thing was you booking tickets to go to Europe. You urged Satoru and Yaga to not assign any more missions for Suguru. It was hard, you and Suguru were both powerful special grade sorcerers; but hey- you both had Satoru to rely on. "I told you the moment he lost weight, he wasn't doing okay." Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes, tapping at his feet impatiently in the café you decided to meet him in. "What the fuck is up with being the one to hide things?" Satoru was pissed, why would his best friend not communicate? "Makes him feel less of a man?" You chuckle at that, you knew Satoru loved him almost as much as you did. "I've persuaded him to go on a trip with me." "You did?" Satoru was… amazed. These days, Suguru wasn't even joining in for any normal outings. Wasn't going out of his house for weeks, wasn't even meeting you. Things worsened when you left to Korea for a mission longer than 3 weeks. You had to stay there for some Jujutsu School Collaboration initiative. That's when Suguru was off his leash, truly at his worst. Taking missions more than he should, succumbing to the darkness of his mind and the curses.

"Just, want you to handle things while we're gone." You sipped onto the iced frappe you've ordered. Meanwhile Satoru ate a mochi, seemingly absent-minded and bored. "You don't have to worry about that, you know I'd do that in a heartbeat for him." He bratted, raising a brow at you. "And you…"

You smiled at that, nodding gently. It felt good to have the 'Strongest' so whipped for your boyfriend, and platonically you, as well.

The higher-ups posed a threat, as always. 'Why is Suguru Geto not on missions?' ; 'Did he get off the job of a Sorcerer?' especially the cunt-faced Principal of Kyoto. You and Satoru personally paid him a disrespectful visit at his school. Nothing he can complain against, wouldn't sit well to anger two special grades, will it? Despite showing that the Sorcerer world is only filled with people who are willing to take on the role- example: Nanami switching from corporate jobs to a sorcerer job… it was still, at the end, a disgusting, foul powerplay hidden beneath shackles of rules. If you are a special grade sorcerer, they'd do anything to hold on to you. Even blackmails are not far off the list. Emotionally draining…

---

"I have booked us a flight to Venice, baby." You sat cross legged on the swing chair Suguru's house has, fondling with your iPad and searching for hotel venues. "Venice huh." Suguru was still numbed, but at least, not he couldn't avoid you because practically you lived with him now. "Yeah, we can go to Switzerland, and also wherever you want. I hear Germany this time of the year is beautiful." You croaked excitedly, swaying your legs as he walked towards you, sitting on the chair in front of you. "Satoru told me you and I are on a vacation for months." He came directly on the point. "The trip isn't that long, is it?" He manspreaded, raising a brow.

You gulped, smiling softly, the last thing you need is him feeling 'weak'. You had to approach this carefully. "Suguru, I think you and I have done enough missions for a while. I want us to spend some time together, to ourselves." You added some degree of truth, "Also, I don't want you to keep eating curses and letting them eat you from the inside and I don't want to lose the person I love the most in my fucking life." With the way you affirmatively snapped, there was no way, Suguru would battle against it. A soft nod was all you got as a response.

"Alright, I will handle the packing. Don't want you screeching like a wild animal when you discover you forgot your charger." He leaned in, giving you a chaste peck & you giggled. "Of course."

---

The packing, the preparations, the dressing up and going to the Airport, the flight where you slept leaned against his shoulder. All went by in a tender haze of beautiful memories. Inflicted and infected by his sadness, still. Though you wouldn't mind. You're ready to accept him rotten if needed.

When you two reached Venice, the Victorian style hotel with the boats and the beautiful lakes was in fact, refreshing for him; and you. You knew it because Suguru had stopped going to your shared balcony of the house, now here he was, standing there, observing the people. The couples giggling and kissing each other, the boat rowers singing in their native Italian language, the streets with so much hustle and bustle… yet calming. You hugged him from behind, breathing in his scent. "Like it?" "Love it, my beautiful baby." He crooned back, turning towards you and pulling you closer to him by your hips. "I love you." He chanted, almost in a way that he used to when he first asked you out. These past few months were hard and rough, but if you were able to have him back, even infinitely slowly… you'd dedicate it to eradicating all his sadness.

"If you want, I can dress very Lana Del Rey today and we could make steamy love." You giggled, leaning in and kissing him softly. Suguru and you… yeah, haven't made love in a while. You'd never push him when he isn't feeling it, and naturally, someone who's suffering so much would have it at the last thing on his mind.

"You're right, how disappointing of me… I don't remember the last time I treated you, I worshipped you." He thought out loud, and you pouted. "It's okay Suguru, don't think about it like that. Think about how you're gonna make it up to me." You stuck your tongue out, giggling.

It's the way he looks at you, like he's starving and you're delectable. It's the way his eyes are loud enough with their projection of love that it quiets the world down for you. It's the way Suguru Geto breathes, that makes you love him so much you'd break.

Right now, he's doing the same thing… being himself. Hands wandering to your sides and helping you wrap your legs around his waist as he walked towards the shared bedroom of the hotel. Leaning in and kissing you passionately, shoving his tongue just to show how much he's been deeply yearning. Admiration coated in every action. "So lucked out that I have you." He smiled to himself, kissing your forehead deeply once you were nestled into the succumbing softness of the mattress.

"Same," you grin back, watching him undress you with his eyes first, and then his hands followed. You mimicked the same movements.

"I can't handle the fucking hotness!" You whined, once he was left in his pants, upper body naked for you to devour. Suguru chuckled, heat rushing through his cheeks and core as he cupped your face, kissing you once again.

The thing about you and him is, Suguru is big. He's built like a bulky man. Stretched to 6'3'', broad shoulders that'd hold two of you, hands big enough you miss almost an inch if you were to compare his with yours. Yeah, Suguru was big and you were tiny. Something that only aided to you being subbier and smaller to him. Letting him manhandle and take all the control that he wants to.

"Who do you belong to, darling?" He cooed, watching you instantly answer. "You, forever and always."

It warms his heart when he hears that, spreading your damp pussy lips with his fingers and thrusting a finger into you. It's been… long. He knows it with the way you're clamping for dear life, just on his digit. "Sh-i-t," You croak out, while Suguru hushed you with a soft kiss, slowly moving his finger in and out of your pussy. Once he felt you had accepted his finger's girth, he inserted another one. "AH god-" You whined, mewling at the delicious stretch of his thick and long fingers being coated with your essence. "You want to make sweet love and you're so worked up with the fingers alone." He chuckled to himself, stretching you out so good, curling them against the familiar sensitive spot.

Your back arched, the way your pussy clamped as if she was a slave to his hands and cock.

"Oh she's close." He cooed, "Go on, cum for me then I can ruin you with me." He kissed your pelvis, holding it down as your orgasm raked through you, approaching fiercely and shuddering your body against him as waves of pleasure took over you. "Good girl. Good little girl." Suguru praised, riding it out for you. Once the orgasm's high settled, Suguru took out his fingers and suckled onto them, eyes never leaving yours.

"Want you, so bad!" You gasped out, pulling him closer to you by wrapping your legs around him, feeling the imprint of his cock into you. "Alright alright, impatient little girl." He smirks, pushing the tip of his pre-leaking cock into you in one swift stroke. Mean, Suguru Geto is mean sometimes… especially when he wants you to be scream at the stretch only he can give you. No one else, he wants your pussy to know only how he feels. Damn he's big, and when he pushes himself balls deep, your pussy is strained beyond its limit. "Shit- s- so big Sugu." You whimper out, tearing up at the ache.

"Ssh, it's okay darling. I'm still. Adjust to me, go on." Suguru patiently waits, kissing your face all over, leaning in and kissing your breasts, suckling onto your nipples while you clamped and waited for the pain to settle in.

"Move, please…" You glance at him now, doe-eyed and insatiable.

"Of course, took you some time to adjust to me huh? Tiny little baby." He smiles, thrusting into you without relent. Your womb stops him from going in any further, your insides torn apart deliciously at the feeling of being ploughed by him. "Oh- G- oh God," words fail you, the air choked out of your lungs with how good it hurts, with how pleasureful it feels.

Suguru's hand laced around your pelvis, pressing on it gently. "Got you," He smirks cockily, holding your hand and keeping it on your pelvis, enveloped by his own as he pressed.

A shrill scream filled the room, "Oh you can sense it, can't you sweetheart? Sense how deep I reach?" You moan at the pressure, pushing you closer and closer to the edge as you hopelessly nodded. Gasping and choking on air. "God yes, Sugu- AH please- oh my- g'nna," You whimpered, while Suguru was at a rhythmic pace now. Sometimes pulling all the way out and pushing back all the way in. He loved seeing you walk the rope between pleasure and pain.

"Good girl, with the way you're holding onto me, I can sense you're close." Suguru hummed, grounding you with his kisses, his spoiled little praises.

"Go on, show me how much you missed me."

"Just like (thrust) I (thrust) missed (thrust) this (thrust) pussy-" Suguru toppled off the edge right with you, painting your insides white with his warmth. "Oh god- fuck-"

You shudder, spasming around his cock and milking him further.

"That's it, I got you. I got you." Suguru reminded, leaning in and kissing you softly, tenderly, as if you'd break if he were to touch you wrong.

"I missed you, I missed this." He mused to himself, blushing a little at the sight of you fucked out and half-lidded. You nodded, still taking ragged breaths. "I love you"

"I love you too, Angel."

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solitary-traveler · 10 days

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Ascent to Oblivion part 2 - echoes of regret

He wanted you to awaken, yet he’s not sure why. Maybe he wanted answers. A reasonable explanation for your absurd actions.

Notes: Ahhhhh, I'm finally free again! I'm so sorry for not posting for a while, I was busy. Anyways, thank you so much for being patient with me. Part 2 is finally outttt. Also, tried a new writing style? I decided to go for less editing on this one, I want to see if it's better in terms of writing emotions. Thank you for 100 followers btw. You guys are the best <33

Warning: reader is not traveler btw, scara's pov after the battle, slight angst?

Peace was a luxury that Scaramouche could never afford.

How could he, when the treachery was etched in the steps of his past ?

Yet the solitude that submerged the city of Sumeru leaves a bitter taste resting on his tongue. He settled beside a statue of the Greater Lord Rukkhadevata, overlooking the city she once presided over. The region he was supposed to subjugate and bend to his will.

For once, he’ll be the one exercising control, toying with the strings of his very own marionette play. He’ll devote himself to the role of the puppeteer, finding delight in engineering the people to act according to his words and his words alone. To constrain them to kneel and beg for mercy, manipulating their resolve for his own amusement.

But alas, it was not meant to be. For he had been defeated by a pesky Traveler and their idiotic companions.

Scaramouche’s face soured.

What a disgrace.

His sharp eyes remained its scornful glare at the city. He can not stand staring at the tranquility he yearned to have. The gentle winds that rushed his way seemed to mock him further . It left a lingering caress on his cheek, offering a taste of what he’d been missing for 500 years. He scowls, the hatred evident in his features. A flurry of fallen leaves soon crashed in his direction, dancing away as it avoided him to catch up with the gust of air. One such leaf had landed on your face though, as you lay asleep beside him. He had almost forgotten he brought you here on a whim, despite the Lesser Lord Kusanali’s warnings.

Their conversation was still fresh in his mind. Having visited you a few times everyday, the Dendro Archon’s attention was caught. She harbored a small smile on her tiny face, her voice warm as usual.

“You don’t have to come here everyday you know?”

He recalls sighing in reply, “I know.”

“But I have to”

Have to, huh?

His answer never really made sense, even to him. He doesn't know why he possessed such a strong obligation to see you. Maybe it had something to do with the turmoil of emotions he was experiencing, raging in his non-existent heart and influencing his thoughts. He wanted you to awaken, yet he’s not sure why.

Maybe he wanted answers. A reasonable explanation for your absurd actions.

Scara still remembers that day. Every single detail. He can’t forget how your body pressed against his, the metallic red a cool contrast to his overheating skin. The way your arms encompassed around him, squeezing him tightly like you were terrified he’d vanish without a trace. He recounts the smash of the debris falling on you, a consequence you suffered for attempting to shield him from danger.

A stupid move, really.

He was a puppet, a mere rubble like that was not a threat to his utility. Yet you , with all your mortal characteristics, decided to play hero and shelter him from it. Now look where that got you.

Asleep .

For two whole weeks.

Why even bother doing something like that? He wasn’t someone you’d want to save. He had hurt you prior to his fall, yet with no hesitation, you jumped to catch him.

…You dumbass.

What’s so special about him anyways?

He was nothing more than a discarded puppet, a vessel that was tossed away. A broken doll who's shattered pieces had crumbled to dust, leaving behind a shell of who he once was.

What part of him was worthy of your adoration? To the point where you disregard your safety just to come to his rescue?

He was insignificant. A failure . A worthless scrap of metal.

The despairing sobs he vocalized that day served as a reminder that his existence was a mistake. He plummeted to a time in the past when a shed tear sealed his fate to be discarded. He expected you to do the same.

Yet you didn't .

You didn't abdicate him. You didn't push him away. You simply emboldened your hold and refused to let go. Your touch brought such fervor ardor he had never felt before, a fleeting emotion that loiters within his senses despite the passage of time. Your touch provided him the solace he'd been searching for. But did he even deserve that comfort?

He eyes your complexion, and his chest burns. What a cruel play by fate, charming the wires of affection out of his grasp and awarding it to you like a trophy.

If only you didn't catch him, then he wouldn't be this troubled.

If only you let him fall.

If only you never cared.

The burn starts to grow, the searing sting tormenting the foundation of his being. His stomach lurches, oh how badly he wants to throw up. Maybe he'll end up vomiting all these useless feelings too.

He wills to change the past, for a preferable outcome in the future. If he never existed, this dilemma would cease to exist. He wouldn’t have to suffer, and you would go on your merry way. Like a parallel line, your paths would never be bound to meet. Maybe then, you wouldn’t be asleep in the first place. Maybe you’d be out there somewhere, roaming Teyvat with the Traveler without the hindrance of his presence.

His existence bordered between pain and fury anyway, and he knew more than anyone how it was certainly a life not worth prevailing.

With a sigh, Scara narrowed those eyes of his in your direction. How dare you look so peaceful when he's over here, drenched in a scorching passion of self-hatred? The audacity to just remain there, with your pretty eyes closed, and not bother doing anything about it. He huffs, ready to hurl more insults at you. Maybe you’ll wake up from it, returning his jabs as you shoot him a dirty look. And yet…

“Sorry…”

Something entirely different tumbled out of his mouth. He blinks, barely registering the phrases ripped from his throat. Did he just-

“...I’m sorry”

Why was he apologizing? What was there to apologize for? He wanted to slander you for your interference in his life, not to beg for forgiveness.

A drop of water descends onto your cheek. Huh?

Was it starting to rain?

“...You idiot”

He stops. Has he always sounded like that? Strained… and distressed?

And why was his vision blurring?

“Please…”

The pang of discomfort bites him without a warning, and it hurts. It hurts so bad. His trembling hands reach out to you. He wants to nuzzle against your arms again, to have you drown out his sorrows in an act of intimacy he’s been longing for.

“Please wake up already”

Taglist: @featuredtofu, @slaylatus, @feikyuu, @yourfavoritefreakyhan, @materialgrowll,

@lxkeeeee, @l4r1n3, @cicil-nema, @alaynac101-blog, @beomtorii2,

@strawbeewie,

@gravy-kfc, @kaeeelie, @pocketdroll, @ladyvelvette, @mmeatt,

@itzshizuyaxd, @swivi

Taglist for (possible) part 3??

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ryker-writes · 3 months

Note

to say that I'm obsessed with your broken siblings series is an understatement

i LOVE them it's just so comforting for some reason and i had an idea about one with epel, but then you posted the Leona one and i just need the no forgiveness ending

the pain my heart needs

but i'll still tell you my epel idea obviously

so imagine growing up with epel as your brother, always admiring him for his hard work and outgoing personality and that even tho he looks cute he can still beat ass

but then you get to nrc and he changes, and doesn't spend as much as with you as you guys used to, imagine vil separating you bcz you're not a good example for epel (+bonus points if reader is part of savannaclaw and epel gets bitter bcz they were always the fragile sibling and yet he was the one in pomefiore)

i don't imagine this relationship as angsty as the others, i can imagine epel getting over his jealousy pretty fast if it meant hanging out with them rather than listening to vil

it's actually really hard for me to imagine epel being a bad brother to his siblings, i think he just wouldn't realize they're hurting bcz he's too busy with his own problems

finally had some motivation so here we are! I completely agree with you that Epel's probably isn't as angsty because Epel actually would be a good sibling lol, but for the sake of angst, I deliver

Request Rules and Masterlists

Broken Sibling relationships

Epel as a sibling (Broken relationship)

You and Epel used to be very close!

When you were younger, the two of you used to play together a lot

Being some of the only kids around the same age in Harveston, you two spent a lot of time together

But you two were very different...

Epel had always been stronger than you were. He would show you how to do a lot of work on the farm, and he never let anybody just walk over him

You admired him!

In a way, you looked up to him and wanted to be like him. While he was stubborn and fierce, you were more calm, and weaker than him

But that never stopped you two from being close and spending all your time together!

That was...until you went to Night Raven College

You both had been very exited to go to NRC

In fact, you two were practically attached to each other before the entrance ceremony

The magic mirror called his name, and told him "Pomefiore"

it was unexpected, but you were happy for him! He certainly was cute enough get into Pomefiore, and he had the spirit of tenacity. There was a part of you that was optimistic about getting into Pomefiore with him

But then the mirror called your name, and said "Savannaclaw"

You felt your stomach drop at the word. Savanaclaw was known to be a very athletic dorm and filled with stubborn and tough people, so why were you put there?? It seemed like a dorm much better fit for Epel, not you

Had the magic mirror somehow gotten the two of you confused? Shouldn't it have put Epel in Savannaclaw? But the magic mirror doesn't make mistakes with this kind of thing

Savannaclaw was very overwhelming for you. Without your brother by your side, it was very tense. Everyone there was much different from you, and it was hard to feel like you belonged there with all of them

At least you could still spend time with your brother outside of dorms, right?

Wrong.

Anytime you went to Pomefiore, you were turned away by some Pomefiore student

"You're too much of a distraction."

"We don't need any Savannaclaw brutes here."

"You'll taint his beauty."

"Epel has more important things to worry about."

"Can't you just take a hint? We don't want you here."

Each and every time, you were told you weren't wanted there, and that you shouldn't be around Epel

While originally you kept trying, it got pretty disheartening after a bit to hear repeatedly that your brother didn't need you there or that you weren't welcome near him

When you kept trying, you were eventually met with the housewarden himself, Vil Schoenheit

"You clearly can't take a hint, can you? You are not welcome in Pomefiore. You would be nothing but a bad influence on Epel, and I will not stand for Pomefiore's reputation to be tarnished by you."

His tone left no room for arguments, and he left immediately after

It really started to feel like Epel himself didn't want you there at this point, and it hurt you

Eventually, you stopped trying. They made it clear you had no place in Pomefiore, and you would forever be part of Savannaclaw

It felt hopeless

You had once been so close to your brother, but now, you can't even talk to him

It's as if the two of you were in entirely different worlds now

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst epel #epel felmier #epel x reader #epel felmier x reader

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skyeslittlecorner · 3 months

Note

Omg loveeee your works and the smol kings 😍 Can I have some more plssssss 🥺 Like MC teasing them for being so little (poke and bite those cheeks... 👉👈), then carrying them in their hands for cuddles or some kissie and huggie 🥹🥹🥹 Or any other fluff stuff too!!!!!

Ahhh they're just too precious 🥺 Nobles move aside, it's time to take care of these rascals personally. Little, lovable rascals. The more I see them like this, the more I hope that PB will take the opportunity and turn them into kids one day. Even for a moment. Let me hold and cuddle baby Satan pleeeaseee 🙏🙏

PS. I swear it supposed to be fluff BUT Levi said noooo who need fluff when we can have ✨trauma✨. He doesn't cooperate even in fanfics.

Satan

Remember how Sitri was worried about whether it was good idea to show Satan to people of Gehenna? You found out how wrong he was as soon as the other kids appeared on the horizon. Satan's gaze was glued to them. Silenced by the Paimon’s bubble gum, tearing the teddy bears brought by Leraye, didn't even pay attention to the nobles, he just grabbed your hand and pointed towards the group of kids with sticks.

"Over there! Let’s go!"

You were alone with him for a while, but it wouldn't hurt if you two went out to play, right? He didn't need the nobles' presence. But you? You were supposed to sit with him and the kids. When Satan took a stick they were pretending is a gun, you expected to get one too. Instead, he stood in front of you and stated seriously:

“You're my queen, you don't fight! I'm fighting for you.”

He looked so cute that you burst out laughing and pinched his fluffy cheek. He groaned and pushed your hand away.

"No! You can't! You don't do that to warriors!”

“Then protect me bravely, my king.”

You moved away to a safe distance so as not to accidentally get hit by a piece of bark or a bullet of the mud. Two women who stood a little further away, apparently the mothers of some kids from group, invited you to join them.

“I didn't know you had children, he looks so sweet…”

“He's really strong! Just like his majesty Satan. Incredible”

You watched tenderly as the little ones rolled in the dust and puddles. Kids. You had to explain everything to the women, but maybe not yet. A family with him… The very idea melted you inside. More and more often you wondered if you really wanted to come back to Earth.

Mammon

You were gone for fifteen minutes at most. It took you a moment of wandering around the gallery to find the bathroom, and then an even longer moment not to get lost in the bathroom itself (why was a sauna there?). As you returned to the alley where you left the nobles with the little king, you heard howling. You had a bad feeling. They were confirmed when you turned between the shelves and a scene straight from Dante's Inferno appeared before your eyes.

Bimet was crouching and waving toy cars, Eligos was swinging a gold-plated candy bar, and Mammon was sitting on the floor and crying. Valefor was the only one who looked conscious, with the phone to his ear.

“There you are,” he smiled with relief as you came closer in your stupor. “I tried to call you. His Majesty… You see what happened as soon as you left us.”

Bimet narrowed his eyes and huffed.

“Come here and fix it.”

You didn't even feel like making fun of them because this sobbing was tearing your heart apart. Mammon was really tiny as a child. You knelt down and gathered him in your arms, his slim body clinging to you with all his frail strength. He calmed down, but only a little.

“Here, here. Everything's fine. What happened?"

“I found… something… for you.” His voice was interrupted by hiccups. "But you were not there…"

You kissed the top of his head, between the curled horns. His head sometimes tilted to the left, where the heavier horn was.

“Shhh, I won't leave you anymore.”

“You promise?”

You nodded, and the kid smiled through his tears. He sniffed and pressed a candy bracelet into your hand. When he grabbed your hand, you felt that he still had some of his adult strength in him. From now on, you were forbidden to leave his side.

Beelzebub

You spent the entire day running back and forth around Avisos after the little king who refused to sit still. You thought your legs were going to fall off. When you were sitting on the couch in the office and the little boy was falling asleep on your lap, you realized that you simply went about it wrong. It was a better idea to take him to the feast immediately. It's true that he ate three pubs, but this bill was nothing compared to his usual conquests. He lay curled up, his head in your lap, holding your hand.

“My tummy hurts.”

Bael, although he took pity enough not to rush him to work, still preferred to have you both with him, in the office.

“So you didn't have to eat that much?”

“I am the king of gluttony.”

“You're a little worm, Beel. This is how you end up mixing newt eyes with Eastern European moonshine. Next time you'll think about what you're cooking."

He was answered by a childish grumble, as Beel squeezed your hand tighter.

“Don't listen to Bael, he's stupid. It tasted so nice…”

"I heard it."

"He worries about you." You stroked the blond hair that you had already braided.

Beel wanted to talk to you again, take you somewhere, but you saw that his eyes were closing completely. You laid down on the couch and let him snuggle against your chest.

Bael just glanced at you, but soon you were both asleep. He sighed and covered you with the blanket, and now that Beelzebub was asleep, he could stroke his hair a little too. Stupid... but he's still his king. And a friend, after all.

Leviathan

Young Levi was even quieter than usual, and much, much more fearful. He didn't want to have anything to do with anyone. He hid in corners and nooks, and the fact that he was tiny didn't help. You knew that the invisible Foras was watching over him, but that didn't calm you down. A gift for this child came to your mind, when you saw that all the pens were missing from the desk.

You found Levi hidden behind his coffin, with a stack of notes scattered around. All the drawings were black, gloomy and hastily sketched.

“Leviathan?”

He started like a frightened deer ready to run away.

“Don't go, please… it's me. It's just me. I have something for you."

He didn't back down, but he didn't invite you in either. Still, you sat down across from him and placed a new pack of colored pencils next to drawings. He looked at them, his small lips quivering as if he were holding back tears.

“I don't want them.”

"Why?"

“It wasn't… it wasn't colorful there.”

His drawings made it all too clear to you what he was thinking. You saw the castle of Hades and the spindly Levi himself. You could tell by the horns. But other children, with broken horns, with bandages...

“They want you to be happy.” You reached out and wiped away the tears that ran down his pale cheeks. Little fists rubbed eyes in anger. Tears came to your own eyes as you looked at his silent pain.

Leviathan himself must have felt terrified, because he stood up and staggered closer. Trembling fingers grabbed your sleeve. A piercing sob hit you straight in the heart. All you could do was cradle him in your arms.

You took a new piece of paper, the brightest color you could find, and started to draw. You gently stroked the shaking shoulders and only picked up the paper when you finished.

"Look here."

Your artistic skills left much to be desired, especially that you didn’t draw with your leading hand, because thi one was holding a crying child. The picture of Levi with his nobles and, above all, you, was bursting with colors. Foras must have had a lot of fun seeing this, but you had to swallow your pride.

“It's nasty.” Levi commented through tears. “And Glasyal looks like he has a hump. That's not how it should look."

But you managed to distract him. Now, until he fell asleep in your arms, little Leviathan never left your side.

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb satan #whb beelzebub #whb mammon #whb leviathan #skye's little talk

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teatreeoilll · 4 months

Text

𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐑𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 (𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐗 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . •

w/c - 9k content - MDNI! 18 + , minors and ageless blogs do not interact! fem!reader, evil!reader, a lot of plot with porn, much hurt, much angst, cussing, mention of drinking and smoking, VERY shitty parenting, child abuse, character death but not one of the mains, manipulative themes, i invented suguru's parents names, did i say much hurt? everyone's in their early twenties, cellist!Geto, saxophonist!Gojo, violinist!reader, shitty!everyone, kinda dark really i guess so please read at your own discretion, I'm sorry, really

a/n - there will probs be a second part based on the ending, if my back will ever stop hurting from being hunched over my laptop for four days straight writing this insanity.

Dedicated to the dear @telvess who read every scene like five times while I wrote and re-wrote this.

• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° .•

Jealousy. As a result of your young age, you couldn't put it into words quite yet, but you felt it - choking up your dry throat as your father held your head steady with his fingers digging deep into your scalp to make sure your head wouldn't move an inch.

"Look, child," he said, "really look."

"M-My head, Dad," you sniffled, "It hurts."

You peered through the tiny crack in the large white doors into an empty rehearsal room. Bare walls, empty chairs - all but one, where a young boy sat in the middle, dragging his bow across the strings of a cello like it would be the last thing he does in his life. He did it fervently, desperately, repeatedly over the strings to rumble the sounds through the room. His brows furrowed. His raven black hair was a cluster of strands jolting up and falling on his face each time he moved. It made him look exactly like what you felt - electrified.

Your jaw slacked, and your heart raced within the confines of your chest.

"You see, child?" Your father's words lingered above your head, "Can you finally hear what beauty sounds like?"

You heard, and it haunted you.

When he's playing, anyone would agree that Geto Suguru is breathtaking. Below the cuffs of his white button-down are pale hands, guiding long, strained fingers to move feverishly across the fingerboard. Above them, his face, a marble carving with half-lidded eyes, pointed idly at his cello.

Weary music for weary people, he thinks, lifting his gaze just enough to meet the dull faces with greying hair filling the large hall. Their constipated expressions stare back at him. They're just waiting for the cue to clap, although he doesn't mind - not as long as each note of the concerto* he played was perfect.

And by god, do they clap. A standing ovation, long enough to escort him in his path to the stage exit, loud enough for the echoes to linger as he greets the tall, blue-eyed man waiting for him there and frenzied enough to make your knees buckle under the tight fabric of your tailored evening dress.

"It was a good one," the blue-eyed man says, "as far as alarm clock music goes, that is."

"Funny how you keep calling it that, Satoru," Geto chastises, his fingers undoing the clasps of his cello case, "but you're always on the verge of falling asleep when you hear it."

Oh, you think, fiddling with the violin in your hands, so that's Gojo Satoru. Everyone knew who he was; the Gojo family name was arrogantly plastered on the walls of every concert hall in the city, including the one you were about to play in now.

Your tremble. You can't help it - that standing ovation set the bar so high you fear the bow in your hands might snap from the intensity of your grip. But it doesn't, and someone briefly introduces your name on stage.

You glance at the two men, catching Geto's uninterested expression. Your stomach churns. The dignified way it graces his annoyingly good-looking features makes your muscles tense; it's as if he's exhausted from doing the crowd a favor by allowing them to worship his playing.

Arrogant fucker. You think, and he nods at you stiffly, acknowledging the misfortune of performing after him.

As you drag your feet across the polished floor, you can only hear the sound of your own erratic breathing. "Breathe in, breathe out," you mutter under your breath as your shaking knees give the last of their strength to get you to the center stage.

And then a twitch, a breath hitch, and a loud thud.

The room hums with gasps for an instant before going silent again, and every eye in the vicinity watches you lay splayed across the wooden floor.

The shame burns in your cheeks, rushing through your face down to warm your aching body. As a desperate escape you turn your head away from the crowd, only to catch in the corner of your eye the two men still standing at the stage exit.

Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look at me.

"Oof," Gojo huffs, wincing at the sight as he turns to his friend, "Come on, we'll be late if we don't head out now."

Like looking at a trainwreck, Geto's unable to turn away. His lips purse; what a pity.

The silence grew, and you knew you must do something - anything to let this moment pass. You push yourself up, throwing a quick glance at your violin, a string snapped, fuck. "I hope -," you grunt, your voice hoarse from disuse, "I hope Rachmaninoff* gets the same gasps." A wave of suppressed chuckles and claps gushes around you. Oh, thank god.

Your cheeks are still hot, and the first stroke of your bow is hesitant, just a soft flick of the wrist to see if the three remaining strings are still in tune. Is this a good idea? But the crowd's anticipating gaze burns through you, rendering you unable to move. You focus on replacing the missing notes and play the piece - with jagged strokes coming from your still shaking hands, some notes cut it, but just barely.

Gojo nudges his friend's shoulder, "Hey, I said we'll be late."

Geto's pursed lips open lightly, his dark eyes fix intently on your bow, "Hmm?" He hums at his friend's words, dragging him back from his thoughts.

a/n - * - Bach's Cello Suite in C Minor, Sarabande. * - Rachmaninoff's Prelude in G minor, originally for piano, transcribed for violin.

"A Jazz club?" you furrow your brows at the music and the tang of smoke already reaching you from the narrow entrance hall.

You'd only met Shoko a few short weeks ago when college started, and she quickly became your only friend - as often happens to two people in a room who prefer to be alone.

"Yes, my friend's playing - you'll hate him," she says. Shoko has that thing where she doesn't change her tone when she says something sarcastic, so you're stuck nodding at her words with an uncomfortable grin on your face.

She tugs you by the sleeve of your shirt, guiding you down the stairs and through the prematurely drunken crowd that eagerly awaits what would be the third song of the evening.

"This would never pass in our concerts," you mutter under your breath, although you kind of wish it did as you look at the people laughing, reaching for another drink, huffing smoke from their mouths while making idle chatter as the players take a short break between songs.

A bright, warm note pierces the room, and like an obedient platoon to an officer's 'attention,' all the eyes fall back on stage. The white-haired man under the mellow spotlight makes a swift move to wipe the mouthpiece of his saxophone before returning it to his lips and blowing into it again - this time, a cue for the drummer, who starts a ruthless pace on his cymbals.

"If jazz is a god," Gojo's voice rings through the room, "then the saxophone is its altar."

How could he say that with a straight face? You think, unable to take your eyes off his clearly pretentious demeanor that would be borderline comical if it wasn't redeemed by his outstandingly handsome face, from the rolled-up sleeves and undone button of his blue dress shirt to the round sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he looks like pure sin.

"The Voice of Chunk*," he announces the piece and the room booms with shouts of excitement as the saxophone howls its first long and angelic Mi.

By the time the set ends, Gojo's a mess. A dusty red color flushes his pale cheeks as he pants, a mad gleam in his eyes when he looks at the crowd, which only shouts for another encore. He wipes the sweat off his brow and leaves the stage without a word.

Shoko drags you down to an empty table near the stage, a cigarette propped between her lips as she utters, "Ah," to the sound of a squeaking chair, which Gojo Satoru plops on, splaying his limbs on the wood.

He turns to Shoko, pointing a thumb at you, "Your friend?"

"Mhmm," Shoko confirms, "(Name)." She takes a sip of her cheap beer.

Perpetually assuming everyone already knew him, Satoru Gojo doesn't introduce himself. "What'd you think?" He asks.

"It was very good," you say, and mean it. He wasn't humble, but as far as performances go, he didn't need to be.

"Good?" He turns back to Shoko, looking at her like a wounded puppy, "Shoko.."

"She did say very, Satoru." Shoko sighs, "He hates the word good."

Your breath hitches as Gojo lays a large hand on your thigh, "Calling jazz good is terrible." He says, "It means it did nothing to you. Even calling it horrifying is a much better choice."

Another chair squeaks in your proximity, and Gojo removes the hand from your thigh to place it on the table, "Suguru!" He exclaims. "How was it?"

God, what's he doing here?

"Horrifying," Geto smirks at his friend.

His dark eyes turn to you as he says, "Geto Suguru," and extends a large, calloused palm, which you hesitantly shake. The skin contact makes you shudder. His eyes narrow, "Have we met before?"

The truth is - Geto knows rather well that you have met before. He spent two days after the concert thinking about your figure lying on the wooden floor, and it wasn't for the curve of your ass that pointed towards him, although that didn't escape his thoughts either. His mind raced with thoughts of how quickly you bounced back from your fall, made a joke, and started playing. Could it really be so easy?

"Oh - maybe it's - uh," you babble, your mind already trying to devise an excuse to leave.

"Ah, I know!" Gojo chimes in, "It's our tumbling violinist," he chuckles, "I never forget a girl after I've seen her on all fours."

Geto raises an eyebrow. "We both know that's hardly true."

You stare at Shoko with desperate eyes pleading for a change in topic. She puts down her drink, "Where were you Suguru? I didn't see you the entire gig." Thank god.

"Just there," Geto motions to the side of the bar, where a beautiful light-haired girl sips on a drink, "I've seen him play plenty of times."

I should be polite. "Oh, so you like jazz?" You ask.

Gojo chuckles, removing his sunglasses to reveal clear sky-blue eyes, "Entertain our guest, Suguru."

Geto leans back, arms crossed over his chest, and even his words sound carefully rehearsed - as if he's being interviewed, "It's not that I don't like it. There's just no merit to it." Against your wishes, you meet his gaze, restraining yourself from rolling your eyes at him. "It's mostly improvisation. Not one jazz piece stays the same over time - it blatantly disregards why we value music. Can you imagine someone changing even one note in Rachmaninoff's preludes?"

Is he talking about the ones I played?

Geto leans back, "And that's without mentioning the mistakes."

You furrow your brows, and your chest tightens at his words, "The mistakes?"

"Suguru's just jealous," Gojo smirks, and his arm snakes around your shoulders, "because I've got an ability he doesn't. I like to call it blue." His other hand traces lines across the wooden table, making an invisible note staff, "You see, in jazz, there's no such thing as a mistake. It's considered beautiful even if you play a note a bit too harsh or out of key. They're called blue notes."

"Well, a mistake is just a mistake, isn't it?" You lie, too proud to admit you were ashamed of the embarrassing performance they witnessed, "You shouldn't be proud or overcritical of it - it just is."

"It's a good philosophy," Geto says softly, and a faint smile appears on his lips, it makes sense now, "It works well if you just play for fun."

A decade of rigorous violin practice flashes before your eyes, the callouses on your fingers you were teased for as a child, and he dares to say it's for fun?

Your cheeks heat up, "Well, what do you play for? Suffering?"

"Perfection," he answers. Prick.

"Perfection?" You sneer, clenching your jaw, "Then what about improvisation?"

"Leave that vice for the jazz musicians." He says, and his expression suddenly changes, "I'm sorry, I know you improvised in your Rachmaninoff; you did the best you could - considering." He means it earnestly.

The veins throb in your forehead, Is he pitying me?

Gojo laughs, "If you keep bickering, I won't remain the star of the show tonight," and you notice the not-so-discreet looks of the people at the other tables ogling you.

"It's getting kind of late anyway," Shoko says, smothering her cigarette butt against the ashtray's bottom, "Why don't we go before we miss the train?"

"I'll give you a lift," Geto says, and you stare at Shoko, hoping that your wide, begging eyes will lead her to decline, "Come on," He adds, standing up, "It's raining outside, and our violinist can slip up even on dry flooring."

a/n - * - Voice of Chunk, The Lounge Lizards, 1988

"I'll see you in school," You say to Shoko, who exits the back seat of the silver Toyota, leaving nothing but a bitter smell of smoke and a long, strained silence lingering in the car.

"Which way?" Geto points to a fork in the road.

"Left, then straight for a while." And could you be so kind as to crash us into the nearest wall? You chuckle inside your head.

He turns his head as if he heard you, "So, a mistake is just a mistake, is it?"

And your fists clench momentarily, their tension softened only by the quiet, sweet sound of Samuel Barber* playing through the radio, weaving its melody with the heavy pounding of rain on the car roof, "Well, if you dwell on them too much, you're not going to have any time left to fix them." You wish you meant it.

He ponders silently before asking, "How'd you start playing?"

Is he only asking to make a snide remark? You decide to keep your answer curt. "My father gave me his violin when I was young."

The windscreen wipers work full force to make the dark road ahead visible, "My mother never let me touch her cello," he says, his unbothered tone now laced with somber notes, "I hated the thing."

The ache in your chest is almost unbearable, your fingers dig into the fabric of your trousers. He hated it, and he still plays like that?

"Then why play?" You inquire, watching the streetlights' reflections glint in his dark eyes.

Because it matters, it has to matter.

He laughs, and you can't help but notice how his face softens when he does, "It pays for college," a speck of red tint dusts his cheeks, and a strange pull flares in your chest at his defenseless look, "Don't I look like a scholarship boy?"

"Maybe if I squint," you say as he turns to look at you. You narrow your eyes, "Nope, can't see it," and he laughs again, making the remnants of alcohol turn in your stomach.

When you arrive, you step out of the car and he watches you disappear into the building's front, his fingers tapping restlessly on the wheel. A weak, burning sensation plagued the muscles around his jaw; were they really so unaccustomed to laughing?

a/n - * - Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings, Op.11

15 years ago

The Geto residence was an ever-tastefully decorated one-story house in the rural areas outside Tokyo, always graced by the echoing sounds of an Italian-made cello. Geto Suguru himself was a wide-eyed child, six years old, and already praised for being prematurely intelligent by his parents' arrogant friends; "Your little Suguru is so clever," one of his mother's friends said, leaning over the dinner table to tug mercilessly on his cheek, "I bet he'd skip a grade as soon as he starts school, don't you think, Kieko?"

To which his mother only hummed in response, quickly diverting the subject, "The Bolshoi* is performing in the city next month. Will you come?"

Suguru didn't mind these things much. He wasn't the kind of child to look for praise; he didn't care for it from strangers' mouths and never knew the delight of hearing it come out of his mother's ever-pursed lips.

The next morning, Kieko Geto sat on a sturdy, padded stool and played with unwavering concentration until the midday sun sipped through the windows, blinding her eyes. Only then did she stop, turning back to notice her son's inquisitive gaze peering from the doorway.

"Come," she instructed, and Suguru took a few hesitant steps to the middle of the room. His mother positioned the cello upright, the wooden beast towering over him as she pressed a flat palm to the middle of the fingerboard, measuring his height against it. "One day," she said, "you'll be big enough to play it, Suguru."

A phone rang, and his mother stepped out. Suguru stood a long while staring at the instrument that leaned lazily against the wall. One day - he didn't want to wait for some vague, distant day, and his arm itched with impulse.

Suguru lifted the bow from the stool, ramming it violently across the strings. It made such a horrendous sound that he thought for a moment he hurt it, and now the thing was howling in pain.

"Suguru!" his mother shrieked as she shoved him out of the way, "What did you do?" Her pale fingers grazed the cello, searching for new marks on the wood.

The bow in her hand glinted like a Katana under the sunlight as she swung it at his head.

The next few minutes were a blur. Suguru guessed he screamed since his father stormed into the room, pushing him to stand behind his back. His eyes were fixed on the creases on the back of his father's shirt, changing their shape like sand dunes as the man's arms moved frantically through the air as if he were conducting his own shouts.

The boy placed a hand on his forehead. "Dad," he tugged hesitantly on the creases, leaving red stains on the pale blue shirt, "Dad."

a/n - * - The Bolshoi Ballet

A failed poet turned local journalist once described Geto Suguru's playing as having a gut-wrenching elegance, and as you stood at the large doors leading to the conservatory's hall, you couldn't help but hear what he meant. Angelic strokes on the rumbling strings, and each note is -

"Shit," he cusses, dragging the bow harshly along the strings as if it could saw the instrument in half if he tried hard enough. Even as he does so, he can't seem to make it sound bad. The bow drops on the floor with a hollow thud, and he runs a defeated hand through his hair, brushing back a long black strand to reveal a two-inch, pale scar on the side of his forehead.

He lifts his gaze up, noticing you standing by the door. How long has she stood there? "Violinst," he says. "Come to practice?"

Seeing him laugh a few days ago must have been a figment of your imagination. "Yes," you utter.

"It's occupied until six."

You make your way to the low stage through the aisle between the empty rows of seats, "It's ten past six," you remark, and Geto glances at the clock, frowning at it like it broke a long-standing promise.

You reach the stage, putting your violin case on the still-warm seat of the lone chair in the middle. You shudder at the warmth, watching Geto lift the massive cello case as his other hand reaches into his pocket, taking out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, "You want one?" he asks, holding it open.

You shake your head, "Thank you."

He puts one smoke between his lips, patting down his pockets, "Got a light?"

You shake your head again, "Sorry."

He shrugs, his eyes fixing on the violin in your hand, and you notice the slight puffiness under his eyes. "Not my day, I guess." And it's a long gaping silence while he puts the cigarette back in the pack, "Do you mind if I stay?"

"No," Yes. "But if you scrunch your nose at my mistakes, you leave."

"I don't scrunch my nose," he retorts.

"You do."

Geto runs a long finger along the bridge of his nose down to the tip, leaning forward slightly to meet your eyes, "Straight as an arrow," he says without a smile, and you turn red at the sudden proximity, fixing your gaze on the shiny white floor beneath your feet.

"Alright then," you mumble.

Geto sits in the front row, reclining on the backrest of the crimson-colored seat with his hands resting on his spread thighs while his cello case leans on the seat next to him like a second observer. You might as well put on a burlesque show from how naked you feel under his steady gaze.

You drag the bow across the strings, echoing a dissonant tone throughout the room.

"Are you testing me?" He says with a smug smile plastered on his lips, but you hoped for a heartfelt one instead.

"Mhmm," you hum, taking a few steps forward to the verge of the stage, where you take a seat with your legs dangling from the edge, "You passed." and he chuckles, soft and low.

As you begin to play, Geto gets up from his seat to pace back and forth along the aisle, his brows furrowed and his thumb pressed against his lips while he listens to the music.

Your muscles strain, bracing themselves for the suite's climax, now's the hard part, you think, letting out a frustrated huff as your eyes fix on Geto. You miss the first note.

He halts, and your bow leaves the strings as you await his reaction in the irksome silence of the hall.

For a moment, he's desperate. Desperate for you to do what he thought was an almost inhuman feat after such a mistake.

He takes a few steps closer, towering over you while his eyes stare intently into yours, "Keep playing," he demands.

Your breath hitches as you watch him slowly lower himself to his knees beneath you. He places large, calloused palms on your knees, eagerly spreading your legs while his eyes are still honed on your face, relishing in the red flush burning your cheeks. He runs a hand under your skirt, grazing your thigh with long, rough fingers, a hint of a smile on his lips when he hears your breathless gasps, "Keep playing," he repeats.

Smile, god, you hated that smile.

You play a few jagged notes before your arms give in, and you place the violin on the floor with a soft clunk. Your now free hands grasp his hair, freeing it from his neatly tied bun to fall down his shoulders.

"Eager girl," he mutters, tracing his finger along your wet panties, and you tug harder at his hair. I'm the eager one?

"Q-Quit teasing," you stammer as he yanks you closer to the edge of the stage, pulling off your panties with a swift move. You shudder as his warm breath fans over your exposed cunt, panting heavily as his fingers dig deep into your thighs.

"Hmm?" He murmurs, placing soft kisses against your inner thighs, letting his teeth graze the skin but stopping every time right before he reaches your soaked pussy. Just do it, for the love of god, just do it.

You're reduced to a quivering mess, fighting the urge to push his head into your wetness, "Please," you whimper breathlessly, frowning at the loss of your pride under his touch, "p-please stop teasing," and you finally feel his tongue lick a stripe up your clit as he grunts softly at your taste.

"Good girl," he groans out, letting his lips wrap around your bud, burying his face so deep in your cunt you feel his nose rub against your clit while he rasps out a soft "Fuck," that sends shivers up your spine.

He was messy, fervent, eager as his tongue worked on your clit, and you grew dizzy at the sight of the usually calm and collected man disheveled and red-faced between your legs, moaning out his name as you felt yourself clench against his lips, "S-Suguru, fuck -."

He'd never heard his name come out of your lips before, but this was a better first time than he could imagine. He grew unbearably hard in his jeans, rutting against thin air almost instinctively every time you rolled your hips into his face, "Say it again," he demands, and his deep voice sends a rush of heat to your face.

Can he do it? Can he make you even more of a mess on his fingers? Can he watch while you stutter his name, while your face is a beautiful flushed mixture of those blunders he loved seeing you make?

"Suguru," you look at him through glazed eyes, and he frees the hand that grabbed your thigh to slide two skilled fingers into your soaked cunt, "S-Suguru," you whimper out when they sink deeper, pumping into your sweet spot with a harsh pace.

A drunk smile grazes his lips when you clench against his fingers. It takes him all his strength to pull away from your cunt, "You want more, princess?" He teased, fingers pumping lazily into you.

You manage to whine a quiet, "Y-Yes."

"Then ask," he coos, his smile turning into a devilish grin, and you squirm at the loss of his tongue, clutching his hair tighter.

"Please, Suguru," you breathe. How many times will he put me through this? And your muscles contract when he flicks his tongue over your cunt again, "p-please, Suguru - I'm - " you babble as he resumes his harsh pace, your thighs closing on his head, hips rutting desperately for some more sweet friction against his tongue.

"Please, fuck - " you moan, arching your back. His fingers still push into you as he groans at the taste of your wetness gushing on his tongue, licking it hungrily while you pant almost inaudible whispers of his name, and he thinks he might come from the sweet sound of your voice alone.

His lips finally let go of your clit. He pushes himself up from his knees to face you, his mouth wet with your essence as he brushes his lips against yours. Barely a kiss, but you grow dizzy anyhow, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, running your other hand along his T-shirt-clad stomach down to the bulge in his jeans.

"No," he utters. No?

"Huh?" Your brows furrow, "Do you want me to take you out for a cup of coffee first?" It was supposed to be a thought, shit.

He laughs, and you watch the lines form in the corners of his eyes, "Could be nice," he says, "besides, it's your rehearsal hours; don't you want to practice?"

"Not really," you grumble, "You can use them if you like." You reach down to pick up your panties from the floor where he discarded them, only to see him grab them first.

"I could," he muses aloud, "I'm playing the Grand Hall opening in a few weeks," and he catches your gaze for a second, "but I'd rather watch you play." And you blush as he tucks your panties into the front pocket of his jeans, "You'll get them later," he says, "If you're good."

"If I'm good?" You furrow your brows, "If I don't make any mistakes, you mean."

"No," he asserts, his words a bit loud, catching you off-guard as you fumble for your violin, "If you're good."

After you refuse his ride home, it's a long walk of shame back to your apartment. You feel as though your pride was left in his pocket together with your underwear, but maybe, just maybe, you'll make something good come out of it.

"Dad put it - " Suguru's arm held his father's in a tight grip across the coffee shop's table, urging it to release the silver spoon in his hand, "Put it back, please."

"They've got plenty," his father barks, his eyes darting around to observe the busy staff of the cafe while he hides the spoon carefully in his bag.

Suguru lets out a weary sigh, focusing on the swirling cream in his coffee mug, "So do you," he says, the taste of stale regret mixing in with his drink when he lifts it to his mouth.

"Eh?" His father's eyebrows knit together, wrinkles forming under his five o'clock shadow when his lips purse, "You here to judge me, boy?"

Suguru takes a sip from his coffee but finds it stuck bitterly in his throat under his father's hostile stare.

"Thought so," the man says, his dirty fingernails tapping on the wooden table as he adds, "Now, will you finally quit fooling around with that thing?"

"I don't know, Dad," Suguru chokes out.

"She croaked this morning, the bitch. She won't come to see you play now, would she?"

Suguru's eyes widen, his hands quivering, pads of his fingers digging into the scortching coffee mug, threatening to tumble the liquid over the rim, "What?"

"Croaked, gone, dead. She left you that cursed cello of hers," his father eyes the sugar dispenser on the table, brushing his fingertips on it, "So you'll sell it. And give the money to your father," his shoulders draw back, he's proud, "for all the things he did for you, yes?"

"I don't know, Dad," Suguru mutters.

The man's agitated expression deepens the wrinkles on his forehead, "'I don't know Dad," his father mocked, "I'll tell you what you need to know. I took you away from that vicious whore when she'd done your face in with her bow, and you've never thanked me once, just begged me to buy you a damn cello when you knew that all our money was left in that house." A brute splatter of spit lands on the table as he sneers, "And I did, didn't I? Bought you the damn thing, drove you around with it like some chauffeur. Where's my thanks? Eh, brat? Where's my money?"

The man raises his arm, and a young, blonde waitress appears momentarily by their table, all smiles when she says, "The check, sir?"

"Yes," Suguru's father says, the chair under him screeching as he gets up, "My son will pay."

For hours now he'd been contemplating where to go. Who he wanted to see. but when Geto finally gets to your door, his face still flushes with the soft pink of an irredeemable shame while his urgent, stiff knuckles pound on the door. He knew you were home. He wasn't a brute - he texted to check, but he still couldn't calm the restless ache burning in his chest.

When you open the door, there's no hello, just the unyielding feeling of his body flat against yours as he presses sloppy kisses along your jaw, groaning when his teeth graze the tender skin of your neck, "Fuck," his breath fans over you neck as he pants out the words, "you smell sweet."

His face lingers in the crook of your neck, relishing in the warmth like a cold-blooded animal who'd die without the heat. His fingers dig into your thighs so harshly you fear they might bruise them as he lifts you up, "Smell so fucking sweet - " he keeps muttering under his breath as your legs wrap around his waist, your hands clinging to the muscles on his back to keep your balance.

"Suguru," you pant when he drops you on the bed, noticing the unfamiliar ruthless look in his eyes, hardly the same one you saw between your legs a few days ago, "Did something - "

"D'you want to stop and talk?" He chuckles, large, warm hands running across your body to discard your clothes, "Hmm?" He purrs, already confining you under his body, planting soft, teasing kisses on the valley between your breasts.

"N-No," you whimper at the feeling of his teeth against your hardened nipple, and you run a hand through his dark hair to yank him away, while the other hand tugs at his shirt to signal him to fuck, take it off.

He almost doesn't want to break away from your body, not even for the sake of finally feeling your skin rub against his. But he manages to regain his composure long enough to use swift movements to discard his clothes as you watch him, strong and veiny, a body that could be carved in marble if it ever stopped moving with devious intent.

"Suguru," you knew he loved it, the sound of his name coming from your mouth. "Please," you writhe under him, desperate for any kind of touch as he looms over you, holding himself up while deep pants escape his parted lips. He's too far for you to crash your lips against his, no matter how you try. You lift your head from the pillow, and he chuckles at your efforts, pumping his already hard and leaking cock, groaning when he lets the tip brush against your folds.

"So wet already, hmm?" His hand abandons his cock to push a finger inside your cunt, the squelching noises making the blood rush to your head. He's mad with need but can't let your squirming be over so soon, "All for me?"

"Fuck, Sugu - " you cut yourself off to grip his hair, making your lips crash, feeling his tongue swallow your moans as he takes his finger out only to push his cock into you with a deep thrust, "Ah - fuck - " you moaned into his mouth, feeling his tip rub against your sweet spot when he finally bottomed out.

He starts a mean pace, and a hint of pain jolts through you while you adjust to his size, loud moans escaping your lips, "Oh my, ah - God."

"Suguru," he corrects, reaching a hand to adjust your hips, and you moan at the friction against his abdomen, "moan it for me, princess," he groans out against your neck when you pant his name, "louder - fuck - " he pleas, his breath hitches when you clench against him.

He knows he can't hold it much longer, threatening to spill his load at every pant and moan and brush of his lips against your skin, "S- Suguru - " you whine, feeling his fingers draw circles against your clit, digging your nails into his back to leave shallow red scratches along his shoulder blades.

"You close, princess?" He lets out a shaky breath when he feels you clench again, gritting his teeth at the tightness around his cock.

The coil in your stomach tightens, and your eyes shut at the feeling of his messy, erratic thrusts, "Suguru - ," you moan, "Suguru - I - " you pull his head back by the hair.

"Mhmm," he coos, "you what?" he growls, his thrusts feeling almost impossibly deep when the heat pools in your stomach.

"I - I'm - close - " And it's all he needs to hear, locks of black hair falling to brush against your face as he smashes his lips onto yours, savoring the taste of your mouth as your back arches and walls contract around him.

"Good girl," he rasps into your mouth, pounding a few harsh thrusts before his hips stutter. You watch through glazed eyes how muscles tighten as he spills his seed into you with a low groan.

He collapses atop you, pressing his sweat-dampened face against your chest to relish in the sound of the fast, thumping beat of your heart. A few more seconds, and he can measure the tempo.

"Listen," Suguru says, smoking a cigarette out of the open window of your room while he watches you get dressed in the corner, "there's a few things I have to do early tomorrow," his eyes trail out to the street lamps out the window, their blinking lights reflecting on his car outside.

"Suguru," you stand over him, brushing the pads of your fingers against the scratches you left on his back, "did something - "

"Just a few things I have to do," he says, looking around the room for his shirt, "so I'll call you, yeah?"

"Uhm, so, did you hear from Su-" You cut yourself off, watching Shoko take a long drag from her smoke with her eyes waiting for you to finish your sentence. "I mean - " you clear your throat, "You know how a guy does something, and then he -" Your face grows red at the memory of Suguru's naked body, "And you think it was nice because you had fun, and then he -"

Shoko watches you babble for a while before saying a confused, "Yes?"

"Suguru didn't call me back," you finally utter. Wasn't it enough for him that I called first?

"Oh," Shoko takes a long drag from her cigarette, "and he needs to call you because..?"

Your face flushes crimson as you bury your face in your hands, "B-Because we fucked and I haven't heard from him since," you mutter through your palms.

Gojo Satoru has a habit of entering places like his presence was eagerly anticipated, swinging the door open with a dramatic expression, "Shoko!" He cuts through the conversation, his height exaggerated by the confines of Shoko's small dorm room as he puts his saxophone on the table, "The key is stuck. I'm going to need you to fix it again -"

"Later," Shoko sounds like a reprimanding mother as she motions toward your sulking face.

Gojo's eyebrows knit together, "Did something happen?"

"Suguru didn't call her after - " Shoko reconsiders her words for a moment, "after they had a nice time together."

"Hmm?" Gojo plops down on the bed in the corner, "Well, he won't call for a while."

You raise your gaze from your palms, tilting your head at the man, "What do you mean?" And your mind races, Oh god. He can't - hate me?

"You didn't hear?" Gojo's smirk fades from his lips, "His mother died last Saturday."

Wait, the same day he came and - ?

You widen your eyes at Shoko, who only shakes her head in response.

"His parents were divorced for quite a while," Gojo continues, "he hasn't seen his mother in over a decade - "

"But she's still his mother," Shoko remarks, huffing a cloud of smoke into the room that lingers stagnant above the table.

Gojo sulks, "I was about to say that. He's been stuck in his room for a week now. My father's pissed."

"Your father?" You puzzle, watching Gojo wipe his sunglasses on the edge of his shirt.

"He was supposed to play the Grand Hall this weekend." And you squint your eyes, waiting for him to continue, "My father pays his tuition for these shows, y'know."

"Your father pays Suguru's tuition?" You repeat.

Gojo chuckles, "Well, I'm not sure for how long, now that Suguru won't even answer his phone. Dad's been planning this grand opening for a year now."

Oh?

"Can't you talk to him?" Shoko was still holding onto the smoking cigarette butt in her hand.

"It's like talking to a - " Gojo cut himself off to knock twice at the white plaster wall beside the bed.

Your muscles tense, and the sound of your own racing pulse deafens your ears.

I should say something. "He's your friend," you croak out.

Gojo's expression changes to a stern one, a terrifying sight on his soft features, "What would have me do? Make him play while he's mourning for his mother? Fight with my father only to have him cut Suguru off anyway?"

You go silent, mulling over his words, but find nothing to say.

Shoko picks up the saxophone from the table, "Which key is broken?" she asks, and there's a hint of defeat in her voice as she waits for Satoru's answer so, at the very least, she can fix something.

Suguru had stared at the cello case for days now, hesitant to take the instrument out of its shell. He started staring at it when he took it from his mother's house after the funeral and kept staring at it on the two-hour bus ride and the three-hour train journey, and then, when he leaned it against the wall of his apartment, he still couldn't take his eyes off of it.

It called him. Not in the way you called him - the kind that made his heart flutter when he saw your name pop on his phone screen, which he ignored, simply having no clue as to what to say.

He still ran the imaginary conversations in his head every time you did, letting out sad chuckles into the stale air of his room. How have you been? Oh yes, my mother died, and I'm sitting here with her instrument, which she always loved more than me. Is it nice? Oh, it's more like a successful older brother - you want to hug him just as much as you want to chuck him out the window. Would you like to grab a coffee?

"It's been almost two weeks since you sat there," Geto stands in the little kitchen of his apartment, making a cup of tea he knew would join the others piled up on his bedside table. I'm talking to it now, he thinks, I've finally gone insane. "How about you pay rent?" He chastises the instrument.

For a moment, he thinks it really might pay his rent - for about four years - if he decides to sell it, and keep the money to himself. His hands find themselves opening the case.

He inspects it for a long while, his hands brushing reluctantly over the wood until they find the small scratch in the varnish, the one he'd left there over a decade ago, and he focuses on it. It's small, pale looking, almost too tiny to notice, like the scar on his forehead.

"Maybe it's fair," he mutters at it, "I hurt you, and she hurt me. Balance."

A knock on the door makes his hand falter.

"Suguru," you bang on the door, feeling your leg squash something under it. "Mochi?" you mutter as you pick up a bag from the floor, and the lock clicks.

He looks terrible, you think, with tired eyes and strands sticking out from his usually perfect hair. You hand him the crumpled bag, trying no to smile, "It was just here," you point to the doorway.

"Hmm?" He takes it from your hands, "Satoru's been leaving those here every day. I've got plenty. You can have it if you like."

The air in the room reeks of smoke and coffee grounds, and he steps away, losing your eyes as he moves clothes from a chair to his bed for you to sit on.

"How are you?" you ask.

"Fine," he responds instinctively. Silence. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Sure." Silence again. A good time to pick up smoking, you think.

Your gaze lands on the cello peaking from its case in the corner. "A new one?" You puzzle as he puts a cup of coffee in front of you.

"My mother's," Geto says, sitting on the chair across from you.

"It's beautiful," you say, and you watch a sullen look settle in his eyes. "Wrong thing to say?" you give him a half-hearted smile, attempting to lift his mood, "Because in that case, it looks terrible."

"I like it when you say the wrong things," He suddenly says, "They don't feel so wrong when you say them."

You take the cup of coffee in your hands, warming your palms against the glass, "You can say them too sometimes, y'know."

He takes a sip from his coffee, only to find he can't stand the taste anymore, wrinkling his nose, "I hate that thing. I've been contemplating whether to sell it or just throw it out the window."

"And what's the verdict?"

"Play it," he says.

"Then play it."

He gets up, pushing the chair back to the middle of the room as he walks to take the instrument out of its case. You're almost startled by how stiff he looks leaning it between his legs, a hold so tight on the bow his knuckles turn white.

He puts the bow to the strings with a feather-light stroke, and halts.

He looks scared of it.

Is that what stage fright feels like? He thinks as he watches you lean forward against the table, eyes honed on his hands.

"You just need to play it, y'know? Like children do, just wiggle the bow a few times." You say.

Like children do. "It'll be dissonant," Geto utters sternly, releasing his grip on the bow.

"That's how they laugh," your lips curl into a soft smile, "That's what my father used to tell me when he heard the horrible screeches I made on his violin when he first gave it to me, 'Don't worry, that's how they laugh.'"

His chest tightened at the words, and he forced the bow onto the strings, making a loud, off-key tone penetrate the room.

It's the first time you've heard him make a mistake, and it made every nerve in your system tingle. Your head went euphorically dizzy. This is much better.

He almost stopped at your wide-eyed look, but you just laughed, "Oh, please, you call that dissonant?" And you watch him push the bow onto the strings again, brows furrowed at the terrible sounds, but his movements unwavering.

It's fine to play it like this, he thinks, as long as it's accompanied by your laughter.

"Suguru," you utter, and he lifts his gaze from the instrument, "Will you play the Grand Hall tonight?"

He ponders for a moment, "I think I will."

"Then you better answer your phone," you motion towards the buzzing cell phone on the counter, "and take a shower," you laugh.

He looks down on his disheveled clothes, "That bad, huh?" He chuckles.

"Just a little."

You hear the shower water running as you fiddle with your phone, still dazed at what just happened. You press the contact and dial.

"Hey, Dad?" You chirp into the cell phone, "Are you still coming to the Grand Hall opening tonight?"

The new Grand Hall is a sea of white marble floors and golden framed artworks, crowded by black-suited CEOs and their overly lavish trophy wives.

Geto sits on the lone stool in the middle of the stage, watching them all take their seats, still busy exchanging pleasantries with each other while they wait for the show to start. His eyes drift constantly to the stage exit, where you stand with Gojo, smiling softly, mouthing, "Don't worry," at his stiff figure.

His mother's cello is still unfamiliar to the touch, a beast different than the one he owns which he had already spent years taming.

People fill the seats like ants, and the lights dim above his head. The pianist behind him is a weak-looking man, and he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his thin nose before giving Geto the cue to start.

The first stroke of the bow is a hesitant one across the strings that once earned him a blow to the head, but the second one has more vigor, and his eyes, half-lidded still, find your smiling face again to soothe his nerves. His bow falters; he didn't have time to change the rusty strings; what would Elgar* say?

And you can't help but smile at each terrible pitch echoing around you; each horribly dissonant tone is more beautiful than the next to your ears.

The sounds are low and deep, growling against the marble hall. He almost has it - the feeling - the one that'd let him stop quivering in his seat. His bow jitters. He never knew he could make so many mistakes in a piece that he played hundreds of times, but with your smile at the corner of his eyes, he feels it creep up his fingertips, rushing through his chest - joy.

"My son!" The doors to the concert hall bust open with a bang; it overpowers the soothing sounds of his cello and the melody of the piano, "He's my fucking son. Let me see him!" Suguru's father stumbles drunkenly into the hall, two dark-suited men at his heels.

The hall washes over with whispers, women pressing their carefully manicured hands to their painted mouths in awe while their husbands are already halfway out of their seats with a proud "I'll take care of the bastard, honey" stuck on their lips.

"Fuck off, pig." Suguru's father spews at the guard trying to drag him away, "He owes it all to me, the brat. Play for our guests, Suguru! " He turns to the crowd, "Enjoying the show, money-rolling cunts?"

Suguru stiffens, his eyes two dull, widened orbs staring at the scene as he stops his playing, ignoring the piano player's whispers to just play, kid.

Gojo rushes to the man screaming in the hall, "Mr. Geto, long time no see," he says, one hand gripping him by the edge of his booze-soaked shirt, the other wrapping around the man's neck in an almost affable way, "How about you see your son after the show?" A smile is frozen on his soft lips, his blue eyes staring daggers at the man, "Now be nice, or they'll tase you," he breathes down the man's ear, motioning to the guards whose fingers are already clutching the tasers.

"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.

a/n - * - Edward Elgar, Cello Concerto in E minor, Op.85

12 years ago

"You hear that?" Your father stood over you in the rehearsal room of the conservatory, his arms crossed over his chest as he paced back and forth, "That's how they laugh. Every time you make a mistake, they laugh at you, girl."

Your eyes were red as you stopped your playing, "L-Laugh?"

"Instruments make that sound so they can mock you," your father explained, correcting your grip on the bow, "and you have to do everything so they don't do that."

Every day, he'd drive you up to the conservatory and stand over you in that room for hours on end, brows knitted together at each whine the violin screeched out. And when it was finally over, he'd walk you down the long white corridor to the room at the end, where a small, dark-haired boy would play his cello.

"See that, girl?" He'd point through the crack in the door, "Perfection."

Perhaps that was when you started to despise Geto Suguru. Over the years, the feeling only grew, but it hadn't peaked before his smug smile sat next to you in a jazz club, finally uttering the first words he ever directed at you, "Geto Suguru, have we met before?"

And it felt strange because you had - or at least you thought you had, over a decade ago. Not that he'd know that you watched him play almost every day through that time, with the scrutinizing words your father whispered above your head, "Look. Really look," your father held your head steady with his fingers digging into your scalp, "It doesn't laugh at him, see?"

And you did see. And you wished that it laughed at him, too. Why were you the only one supposed to be laughed at?

You didn't mean to at first, really. Something about him just ticked it off, the urge for revenge. How dare he hate his instrument and play it so well, when you loved the violin and it betrayed you with every stroke?

You didn't mind the sex; he was still a handsome man. It made him trust you - and as long as you made him make a mistake - every laugh, every encouraging smile, every word, was worth it.

"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.

Suguru looks for them - your eyes, and that smile that seems to perpetually grace your lips - but when his eyes finally land on you, he finds it gone. You mouth something he doesn't quite catch before disappearing from the stage exit. He can't do it; he can't play anymore. His hand freezes against the strings.

You finally made a fool of yourself, Suguru.

You wait outside the Grand Hall doors, body shivering with anticipation when the crowd finally starts to leave the hall.

"Dad!" You shout when you see him, making your way through the people, heels clacking against the marble until you grab your father's arm, "Dad! It was horrible, wasn't it?"

"Hmm? Who'd you come with dear?" Your father inquires.

"Leave it, Dad. He was horrible, right?"

He looks at you a long time before saying, "It's a shame for that boy, the beginning was perfect."

10 years later

When he's conducting, anyone would agree that Suguru Geto is breathtaking. The moment he dropped playing the cello ten years prior, every one of his admirers had almost lost hope - that is, until he picked up the baton. A true genius, they'd say, forgetting his last horrible performance, which graced the headlines for a long time after he ditched it in the middle, and how he disappeared for the next two years after it. Lonley? Gods no, he's a busy man, or perhaps struggling with all his greatness to find a mind akin to his own.

But only the small orchestra that played under him knew that all these words were just flattery - he was cold and unforgiving of any and all mistakes, and he really, truly despised the violinists.

Or he did, until the new violinist ran late to the first rehearsal of the year.

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minnaci · 5 months

Text

MONSTER HOUSE

contents: geto suguru x gn!reader, consensual dubcon, dom/sub dynamics (feat. sub!bottom!reader), reader is called "little thing", predator/prey roleplay, fingering (reader receiving in unspecified hole), reader experiences orgasm from penetration, heavy fear play, dumbification, light mindbreak, a bit of silly!geto in the omake

NOTE: while not explicitly depicted, geto and reader practice risk-aware consensual kink. scene negotiation took place offscreen, and dialogue was loosely scripted with equal input from both reader and geto. reader's initial hesitance and fear is a planned part of their scene, but tagged dubcon since the planning is not shown on-screen. their safeword is "safeword".

there's something tantalizing about being a little scared. just a little, just for play. you know suguru would never hurt you. but god, he's hunting you, haunting you, and your body thrums with delicious anticipation at every stray thump or bump.

the floorboards creak as you approach a long, darkened hallway, burdened by the weight of gazes unseen. your breath quickens, but the shadows continue to lurk— watching, waiting. just the wind, it seems. something scatters across the floor. your heart jumps into your throat. you're stuck there in limbo, on the edge of some tall, tall cliff, and you're not ready to fall. perhaps you should make a tactical retreat.

you take one step back, then two, then—

you collide with something warm and solid, and every nerve in your body screams run! run! run! but you're frozen— a deer in headlights, feet glued to the floor. by the time you convince your feet to take a step, it’s too late— strong arms cage you against a firm chest. cold dread drips down your spine. had he really been so close to you, watching you, and you hadn't even noticed?

warm breath ghosts against the shell of your ear. "found you."

"please don't hurt me," you whimper, playing into your role for the night. arousal hits you like a truck, and a sudden gush of slick wets your thighs. despite yourself, you go pliant in their grasp. you can't help it— not when it's your hunter, your lover, your suguru. he chuffs a soft chuckle at your immediate submission, rewarding you with a soft kiss before slipping back into his persona.

"hurt you?" his hands roam over your body, pausing at the dampness between your legs. "oh, dear, is that what they've told you about me?"

"they say a monster lives here. and— and people have heard strange sounds coming from this place after dark.“

geto laughs out loud— a real one. it’s a break from character, but you guess you deserve it. the past three noise complaints you've received from the neighbors have all been your fault.

"mmm, is that so? yet, you still chose to come in. what a brave little thing i’ve found." he laves a hot, messy kiss over your throbbing pulse point. your knees turn to jelly. "surely you're not so naive to think that all ‘strange sounds‘ are only caused by pain?“

"what are you talking about—? wait, no, you don’t mean—"

"oh, but i do. i do hunt down pretty things who enter my domain, but i don't hurt them. that's too barbaric for my tastes." his hand sneaks beneath your waistband, teasing. his voice lowers, caressing your ears like crushed velvet. "no, what i like to do is play with my toys. overload them with pleasure. make them feel so good that they break."

geto flips you around, and you see his face for the first time tonight. something dark edges his expression— blood on a knife, poison in a cup— and it sets you ablaze. your poor, dripping hole clenches around nothing. "doesn't that sound... fun, little thing?"

"you’re scaring me," you whimper. a small part of you really means it. you always forget how good geto is at playing monster. his gaze is so dark, so predatory, that it nearly makes you forget that he’s only playing. a much larger part of you preens at the intensity of his attention. you spread your legs, giving him more access to your weakest, sweetest spots. fuck, you feel pathetic. you feel good. "i— i’m scared, i’m so scared—"

geto takes full advantage of your new position, immediately zoning in on the sensitive places that he knows will make your brain shut down. every move he makes is so perfectly terrifying, all sharp teeth waiting to devour you and thick fingers working to milk pleasure from your greedy body. he leans in close, watching with satisfaction as your eyes cross and your lips part. he plays with you, exploiting your weak spots and riling you up until you're practically convulsing with the need to cum before he finally, finally brushes his lips against yours.

"your fear tastes so good," he moans into your mouth, rich and smooth as chocolate. "you won't be scared for long, though. i've got you all figured out. in fact... yeah, there it is. you'll never have to be scared again. just relax, little thing. let me turn that brain right off…"

geto crooks his fingers, nudging against a rough, exquisitely sensitive spot, and sure enough, your mind turns to mush, leaving you soft and vulnerable. you melt against him, focus narrowing to the slick, filthy drag of his fingers inside of you. he’s got that smile slashed across his face— the vicious one he puts on when he knows he’s won.

he always wins, with you. and you love it. your body was made to lose to him.

“suguru, suguru, cumming—” the heat inside of you snaps all at once, and you’re flung headfirst into a sea of sensation. its waves batter your consciousness, tearing you apart and molding you to geto’s clever, unyielding fingers. your pleasure-addled mind scrambles at lucidity, but it slips through grasp like sand. all you can do is feel, and you drown in the addictive high.

“there we go,” he purrs, eyes glued to the way you cream around his fingers. he sends you soaring with pain and pleasure, makes you brainless with delicious overstimulation. he might be playing a monster, but the power he holds over you is nothing short of godly. but they’re the same, aren’t they? gods and monsters, two sides of the same coin. “let it all out. you’re going to give me more, aren’t you? you’ll give me everything.”

you nod, eyes wide and worshipful. he raises his slick-covered fingers to his lips, tasting your pleasure for himself. any lingering resistance dissolves into wretched, mindless desire, and you let yourself be devoured.

—

OMAKE

"baby, you know i love you, but your motive doesn't make any sense. why would you choose to explore this allegedly monster-infested house?" geto is a comforting weight at your back as you lounge in your bed, poring over the first draft of your scene's script.

"because you're sexy," you say without missing a beat.

"yeah, i am, but you wouldn't know that. not when you're in character."

you crane your neck to stare at him. he's being dead serious. suddenly, you feel a surge of affection for him so strong it makes you want to squeeze him until his head pops off. "i love you so much."

"i love you more," he says, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek. "but seriously. we need to figure out your character's motivation before we play. otherwise, i won't be able to make sense of the plot."

"the plot? why are we talking about plot all of a sudden? didn't we agree to make this like a scene from that hentai you like— wait a minute. does this mean— do you watch hentai for the plot?"

"..."

"suguru."

"no comment."

networks: @enchantedforest-network @angelshub

#geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #writemin!#+geto #cw dubcon #angelshubnetwork

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aspoonofsugar · 4 months

Note

Have yo read Captive Prince? What do you think of Laurent's character? Does he foil any other characters (besides being mind to Damen's heart)?

Hi!

Yes, I have and I love Laurent <3 He has the most complex arc and is at the centre of the major conflict, so he foils several characters, who are used to explore his personality and to progress his arc.

In general, I would say three major jungian archetypes are used in Laurent's story:

Inner Child = the childish and most vulnerable part of a person, which is influenced by one's younger years. Laurent's inner child is embodied primarily by Nicaise, but also by every boy abused and raped by the Regent.

Shadow = the repressed part, which the person doesn't want to aknowledge. Laurent has severals: the Regent himself, Aimeric and Jokaste. They all embody Laurent's most negative side.

Anima/Animus = the anima is the female side of a man and the animus is the male side of a woman. It is usually used in romantic subplots to show two characters growing closer. Here, it is embodied by the bond between Laurent and Damen.

Laurent's arc is one where he integrates with Damen, but to succeed he also needs to save his inner child and to face his shadow. Or to fail and try again.

BROTHERS AND LOVERS

Laurent and Damen foil each others' brothers:

Laurent foils Kastor: both are the unfavourite child, but Laurent adores Auguste, while Kastor resents Damen. At the same time, Damen perceives them in opposite ways. Damen initially doesn't aknowledge the good in Laurent, while he doesn't see the evil in Kastor. It is as Nikandros says. At the beginning of the story, Damen sees things in black and white. By getting to know Laurent he learns complexity and that the world is in shades of grey. He integrates his own heart with Laurent's mind. His own idealism with Laurent's wisdom.

Damen foils Auguste: both are strong fighters and beloved leaders, able to inspire others. The moment Auguste dies, Laurent loses his heart and it is only with Damen that he learns to trust and to open up again. It is also through Damen that he overcomes Auguste's death and his sense of inferiority, which is carefully nurtured by the Regent. Laurent is brilliant, but his arc is about showing vulnerability and find new faith in others. He integrates his mind with Damen's heart. His wisdom with Damen's idealism.

So, as you said, Laurent is the mind to Damen's heart and has to rediscover his own interiority. He needs to love himself again. Only by doing so he can truly escape the Regent and grow up. This process of growth is the main focus of the trilogy and it happens twice:

Laurent fails to grow in the second book

Laurent succeeds and completes his growth in the third book

Let's see how.

NICAISE AND AIMERIC = LAURENT'S DARKEST HOUR

Laurent's darkest hour happens at the end of the second book. This is common for a trilogy. It is not rare for the second installement to end in a negative way. Now, The Prince's Gambit doesn't end badly. Laurent and Damen win and grow closer. Laurent even frees Damen and they have sex for the first time. Still, psychologically, Laurent risks a huge brakdown because of Nicaise and Aimeric's deaths.

Nicaise and Aimeric are two parts of Laurent:

-Nicaise is Laurent's child-self. He is petty and capricious, but he cares deeply. And yet, he can't show any vulnerability. The moment he does, he is killed. Moreover, Nicaise plaids for Laurent because he deep down thinks the Regent won't kill him. This is true for Laurent, as well:

"I didn't think he's really try to kill me" Laurent said "After everything... even after everything".

-Aimeric is Laurent's shadow. He is a young man, whose life is defined by the Regent's sexual abuse. Aimeric confuses the Regent's imitation of love with true care and fights to get it back, even if it means hurting people, who truly love him. Unconsciously, this is true for Laurent too:

"You play his games like you want to show him you can. Like you're trying to impress him. Is that it? You need to beat him at his own game? You want him to see you do it? At the expense of your positions and the lives of your men? Are you that desperate for his attention? Well, you have it. Congratulations. You must have loved it that he was obsessed enough with you that he killed his own boy to get at you. You win."

Damen's speech to Laurent is basically the same one Laurent gives Aimeric. Aimeric shines light on this specific aspect of Laurent. Laurent too still loves his uncle. He too wants his attention and on some level thinks of his uncle as his only family:

"When you lost your brother, was there someone to confort you?" "Yes," said Laurent. "In a way".

So, Nicaise and Aimeric embody Laurent's vulnerability. Nicaise is the child who still feels safe with the Regent. Aimeric is the young adult, who wants the Regent back. Both are Laurent. This is why Laurent wants to rescue them both. He grows close to Nicaise and tells him he will buy his contract and free him. He accepts Aimeric into his guard and refuses Damen's advice to send him away. And yet, the Regent uses them both against Laurent. He kills Nicaise and has Aimeric betray Laurent.

Laurent wants to help both Nicaise and Aimeric and the Regent tells him he can't. Just like he can't save himself.

According to the Regent's narrative:

Laurent is fond of Nicaise, but eventually leaves him alone out of selfishness

Laurent welcomes Aimeric in, but this is a blind spot that is used against him

By using vulnerable and abused kids, the Regent conveys to Laurent two messages. On the one hand Laurent isn't selfless enough to truly save anyone. He isn't good enough to be a protector like Auguste. On the other hand he is still foolish enough to trust others. He isn't smart enough to be a mastermind like the Regent. Too cruel and too foolish is how the Regent wants Laurent to see himself. So, that Laurent would feel trapped and cut others out.

And Laurent almost gives in, but is stopped by Damen:

"You tried to hurt me, and you have. I wish you would see that what you have just done to me is what your uncle is doing to you."

Damen goes through to Laurent and stops him from losing himself. He saves him from turning into a copy of the Regent.

THE REGENT

The Regent is Laurent's negative foil. He is who Laurent could become if he gave in to his worst instincts. As a matter of fact Laurent shares many similarities with his uncle:

Both are very intelligent master manipulators

Both are able to seize people's weaknesses and to use them

Both can be cruel and ruthless

Both tend to complicate things

This isn't by chance because the Regent does his best to break Laurent's heart and to warp his mind into a frailer copy of his own. He needs Laurent to think like him and to follow his rules, so that he can beat his nephew. This is why the Regent spends the years after Marlas by abusing Laurent in different ways.

The Regent's abuse has a double nature:

It has a sexual component: the Regent rapes Laurent multiple times as a child and shows possessiveness of him as a young adult. For example, many of his assassin attempts come with a sexual element. The assassins instructed to rape Laurent by using a drogue the Regent clearly used on his nephew as a child. Having Laurent and Damen sleep together, so that Laurent would eventually kill himself. Twisting Laurent and Damen's love story, as if to frame Laurent as dirty and despicable. Spreading voices about Laurent's supposed romantic feelings for Auguste. And so on...

It has an emotional component: the Regent keeps mentioning Auguste, which hurts Laurent in two ways. On the one hand it doesn't let him move on from his brother's death. On the other hand it drills into Laurent he isn't as good as the previous prince

"I hate to see you grown up like this," said the Regent, "when you were such a lovely boy."

The Regent basically blames Laurent for both growing up (physically) and not growing up (psychologically). He manipulates him by treating him as a child, while implying he isn't pure as a child anymore. The result is that Laurent hates himself.

This self-hate manifests itself in recklessness, suicidal tendencies and self-destroying behaviors. Like Laurent lashing out at others, when he is actually furious at himself. This is why specifically Laurent breaks Aimeric by using their shared trauma as a weapon. He hurts both Aimeric and Jord (who hasn't done anything, but being loyal to Laurent) because to truly face Aimeric means to accept himself and he can't.

Symbolically, Laurent kills Aimeric like he is slowly killing himself. This is why Aimeric's death happens after the reveal of Nicaise's murder by the Regent. Laurent kills Aimeric, just like the Regent kills Nicaise. Both victims are abused kids with frail and unstable senses of self, who deep down seek love and vulnerability. The lesson Laurent needs to learn is that he can't save the Nicaise within himself, if he doesn't help the Aimeric too. This is why it is important that Laurent is able to express empathy for Aimeric and to recognize he is a wounded person, just like Nicaise:

"Nicaise knew that when he got too old, he would be replaced." "Like Aimeric," said Damen. Into the long silence that stretched out between them, Laurent said: "Like Aimeric."

It is the first step to aknowledge his own hurt too.

AUGUSTE WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH

The second step is instead to face Auguste's ghost. Laurent's big brother is a double edged sword for the Prince. On the one hand Laurent deeply loves Auguste and is devastated by his dead. On the other hand his idealization of Auguste is unhealthy and leads to Laurent undervaluing himself.

These powerful contradictive feelings come to the surface in his "sparring" match with Damen. There, Laurent for once is able to show all his anger and grief. He lets it all out and is forced to accept he would have never been able to kill Damen in a fight. Still, another realization comes to the surface:

"I know," said Laurent, "that I was never good enough." Damen said, "Neither was your brother." "You're wrong. He was -" "What?" "Better than I am. He would have -" Laurent cut himself off. He pressed his eyes closed, with a breath of something like laughter. "Stopped you." He said it as though he could hear the ludicrousness of it.

Damen's words might seem cruel, but they are actually necessary because they break Laurent's internalised idolisation of Auguste. Laurent has been brought up with the convinction that Auguste is somehow better than him. This idea is present even before Auguste's death because of their father's favouritism. The early loss of his brother and subsequent abuse only makes this feeling stronger. Hence why Damen refusing this helps Laurent grow. Damen is the first one to see Laurent as his own person and to give him a choice:

Damen picked up the discarded knife, and when Laurent's eyes opened, he put it in Laurent's hand. Braced it. Drew it to his own abdomen, so that they stood in a familiar posture. Laurent's back was to the post. "Stop me," said Damen.

Laurent chooses to give up on his revenge. He chooses his present relationship with Damen over Auguste's ghost. He starts wishing for something positive for himself. He starts caring for himself. He starts looking toward a possible future.

JOKASTE = OPENING THE DOOR

To reach this future Laurent has to face Jokaste, who is really another version of Laurent:

"You're lucky we're alike," Jokaste said, stepping down. She and Laurent looked at one another like two reptiles.

Not only that, though, she is Aimeric and Nicaise combined in a single character:

Like Aimeric, she betrays a lover for selfish reasons (apparently)

Like Nicaise, she is caught up in a power struggle and has to choose the side, which ensures her survival, even if it means negate her heart to do so

"You mean, the only difference between us is that I chose the wrong brother?" As the stars began to drift across the sky, Laurent thought of Nicaise, standing in the courtyard with a handful of sapphires. "I don't think you chose," said Laurent.

This time Laurent is able to see this. He empathizes with Jokaste and gives her freedom. He opens her the door:

"We're alike. You said that. Would you have opened the door for me? I don't know. But you opened one for him."

In this way Laurent understands the Aimeric he could not understand and saves the Nicaise he could not save. By the end, Aimeric (Jokaste) is shown mercy and Nicaise (her baby) survives. Laurent gives Jokaste and her family a future. And in this way, he symbolically gives himself a future and a family. He opens his own door.

THE TRIAL

The climax of the trilogy is Laurent's trial in Ios. This choice is interesting on multiple levels:

It is an inversion of the ending of book 1, where Damen is blamed for the assassination attempt on Laurent's life and Laurent protects him. In fatc, it is not by chance that Damen mentions the episode in his initial defense of Laurent.

It shows Damen and Laurent's integration. As a matter of fact Damen is the one who realizes Paschal has the key to dethrone the Regent. He is able to do so because through Laurent he has learnt to observe others, to understand them and to empathize with them. Laurent instead selflessly gives everything up for the person he loves and bravely faces off the Regent with no plan, but simply with his heart. The Regent tries to turn it into a weakness and to force Laurent to give it up, but fails. Finally, he and not Damen is the one who fights Kastor and kills him. He uses the skills he has learnt for his revenge and uses them to protect Damen, instead. He chooses life and love over death and hate.

Most importanlty, though, the trial starts as a farce, but by the end it becomes a fair administration of justice, which punishes the criminal and recognizes the innocent. Let's see how this change happens.

NICAISE = VICTORY

Laurent wins not because of his mind, but because of his heart. Specifically, he wins because of the relationships he builds and of his ability to empathize with the humblest people, those nobody cares about.

First of all, Laurent obviously wins thanks to Damen. It is Damen choosing him over his kingdom that makes it possible to the tides to turn. So, it is because Laurent overcome his internalized hate for Damianos and slowly comes to accept and love him, that he is saved in the end. In a sense, the night where he has to choose if to let Damen die or to save him out of loyalty in volume 1 is when Laurent chooses who he wants to be. He can let a man he hates die without risking anything, like the Regent would. Or he can save that man our of a sense of fairness, like Auguste would. Laurent chooses the latter and makes the first true move towards his victory.

Secondly, Laurent is able to touch the councilors' sense of morality thanks to Loyse, Aimeric's mother. She reveals that her husband basically sold Aimeric to the Regent in exchange of power. She also explains how the Regent conspired with Kastor to kill Theodemes. This testimony isn't decisive because the assassination of Theodemes is a matter of Akielos. Nonetheless, Loyse re-opens the trial and gives importance to Aimeric's story and pain. It is also important that she is a woman because the Regent hates women. She is the character nobody considers, as everyone is focused on Guion's, the powerful councilor. And yet, Laurent does and convinces her to break free from her husband influence for the sake of her son.

Thirdly, Laurent is saved by Paschal's testimony. That said, Paschal is only able to reveal the truth about the Regent's murder of the King only because of Nicaise. In general, Nicaise is a character, who ends up being important in the finales of all three books:

In book one, Nicaise goes to Laurent's apartments after the attempted murder. He is clearly worried and can't decide if to openly switch sides and tell Laurent the truth or not. He also appears to tell Laurent goodbye and to give him his earrings. Symbolically, Laurent is saying goodbye to his younger and most innocent self, as he prepares to enter war with his uncle.

In book two, Nicaise's death is revealed in the climax and it leads to Laurent's decision to march on Charcy. It also kickstarts Laurent's deepest psychological crisis, as he struggles to keep a clean mind and shows how deep he is hurt and desperate.

In book three, Nicaise is the one who indirectly hands Laurent victory, as it is him who stole Govart's papers and gave him to Paschal.

In other words, Nicaise is the one who leads to victory, which fits his name. As a matter of fact Nicaise means "victorious", the person who brings victory and he delivers.

Thematically, this is very important, as Laurent initially regrets to have grown close to Nicaise:

"I killed Nicaise when I left it half done. I should have either stayed away from him, or broken his faith in my uncle. I didn't plan it out, I left it to chance. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't thinking about him like that. I just... I liked him."

He believes that because of their sibling-like bond Nicaise is now dead. He believes his influence isn't enough to break the Regent's control over Nicaise. And yet, it is precisely because of Laurent's love and care for Nicaise that the boy is able to rebel himself enough to steal key documents and to hand them to Laurent's side. Nicaise dies tragically, but his life and Laurent's kindness to him are not in vain. They change the destiny of two kingdoms. Laurent isn't able to save his child-self, but his child-self is strong enough to save him. Just like Laurent might not cancel what happened to him in the past, but can still move forward:

"Stop it, you're hurting him. You're hurting him. Let him go." A soldier was holding him back, and the boy was fighting him. Laurent looked at the boy, and in his eyes was the knowledge that some things couldn't be fixed. He said, "Get that boy out of here."

The new Regent pet once again mirrors a part of Laurent. The side of him that still sees the Regent at family. And yet, Laurent is finally able to accept this part of himself, but is strong enough to start healing. Just like as King he has now the chance to help as many children as the Regent hurt. Laurent ends is arc by growing up. He isn't a child anymore:

"You think you can defy me?" the Regent said to Laurent. "You think you can rule Vere? You?" Laurent said, "I'm not a boy anymore."

He isn't a boy anymore, he can't be controlled by the Regent anymore. He can now start a new life as his own person, free from the Regent and from Auguste's ghost. A life of love and new relationships.

#the captive prince #captive prince #laurent #damen #damianos #the regent #aimeric #nicaise #jokaste #my meta #the captive prince meta #asksfullofsugar #anonymous

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