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gojonanami · 7 months

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ALL'S FAIR (IN LOVE AND MERGERS) ✩ SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: you're not sure what's worse -- being an arranged marriage or being an arranged marriage with the person who used to be your best friend. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, nsfw, arranged marriage au, gojo and reader are both heirs to large companies, childhood best friends to enemies to lovers, lots of fluff + banter, gojo is down bad, geto makes an appearance, handjobs (f!+m! receiving), oral (f!+m! receiving), creampie, unprotected sex, dom! + sub!gojo, degradation (slut), breeding kink, gojo has a praise kink, semi public sex, office sex, tiny amount of sexting, under the desk oral (m!receiving), pet names (sweetheart, princess, baby), pregnancy mentions ✴︎ wc: 16,381 (why do i do this to myself?)

“Why do you look so down, Princess?” Your eyes flicker up from your book, forcing your expression to stay disinterested — the one emotion Satoru hated, “shouldn’t you share your feelings with your fiancé?”

“Don’t call yourself that,” you snap, and his lips curl at your reaction, “what are you so smug about? You’re stuck in the same position as me,”

“And what’s that?” You close your book, glaring daggers at his all too perfect face.

“Marrying your worst enemy.”

It wasn’t always like this.

Satoru Gojo used to be your friend — your best friend in fact. The fact your families’ companies were rivals often meant you ran in the same social circles more often than not. And it meant more than one boring adult party that the two of you were stuck with each other.

The two of you had become inseparable — attending the same prestigious schools with the most pretentious children, though the two of you were no exceptions. But you liked to think you were.

And you didn’t realize your feelings for Satoru, until someone else had.

“Do you want to hang out on Friday?” You ask, flipping through the channels as the two of you watched TV, looking for something other than the second half of movies and the reruns of shows you didn’t care for.

“I can’t, I’m going to the formal,” he replies, not looking up from his phone, and you pause.

“You’re going to that?” You raise an eyebrow, “we’ve never went,”

“Well I never had someone ask me who I wanted to go with,” his eyes flicker up from his phone, a smirk on his lips, “you jealous?”

Your reply leaves your lips like whiplash, “You wish,” you cross your arms, but you can’t help ask the question burning on your lips, “who are you going with?”

“Akari,” and you scoff, “what?”

“That girl goes out with a new guy every week,” you shake your head, “you’re better off staying at home with me,”

“So you are jealous,” he hums, leaning back on the couch, “if you wanted to go with me, all you had to do was ask, Princess,”

Your cheeks flush, which you make up for in indignancy and sharp words, “Don’t call me that,” the nickname your family affectionately had called you had become Satoru’s favorite thing to call you, “I’m just telling you to be careful — that girl isn’t someone you should trust with your feelings,”

“I think I’ll use my own judgment instead of someone who hasn’t even been on a single date before,” his tone is far too biting and his accuracy is far too sharp — and you can’t stop your face from dropping, and his lips part - regret flashing across his features, “princess—“

“Go home, Satoru,” you rise, brushing past him, “you know the way out,”

“Princess—“ he tries to reach for your hand, but you slap it away. His hand retracts like he’d been burned.

“Please, go,” you open the door for him, and he does, and little do you know that would be one of the last times you spoke.

The day of the formal arrives, the two of you hadn’t seen each other outside of class since that day. But Satoru did see you at the dance that night - on the arm of his former best friend, Suguru — the same one he had a falling out with a year ago. He doesn’t say a word to you, but you don’t miss the hurt in his eyes - but you wonder why it was there in the first place - and why he was acting like you put it there.

It all goes to hell after.

The Gojo Corporation poaches one of your family’s biggest clients in a shady backroom deal, breaking their truce and your family’s trust. Arguments and stress reach a peak over the phone and lines are drawn and metaphorical guns are drawn.

And you and Satoru are caught in the crossfire.

Not that you weren’t firing shots yourself.

It wasn’t until you pulled Satoru into a secluded classroom, and you shut the door behind the two of you. Even with the sunglasses perched on his nose as always, he flinches in the bright light of the sun setting behind you, dipping the classroom in a blazing orange — light sensitivity nearly required him to wear his sunglasses out, but he certainly made a statement in them — though what didn’t he make a statement in?

“What are we going to do about our families?” you chew your lip — you had listened this morning to your father rant about the Gojo family — unkind words to say about them all, even Satoru himself, who your father had treated as a second son — and now he was grilling you about what you had told him about the family business.

“What can we do?” His arms are crossed and his gaze is upwards, “they are going to do what they want,”

You stare at him, your heart cracks, blood rushing in your ears, “Satoru, if this gets worse, we won’t be able to be friends,” you refuse to let your voice break.

“So what? I know the way out, don’t I?” But your heart did break, “I’m sure Suguru could comfort you,”

Your eyes burn, but you can’t, you can’t let him see you cry, “Why are you so upset? You had a date—“

“And mine wasn’t the person who backstabbed me,” he bites back, “what my family did is done, and so are we,” and he doesn’t look back when he leaves.

And it was good — because he didn’t see you cry.

And now you sat with him in your living room, trying to process the fact you would be legally married soon enough.

“Worst enemy? I know you liked to embellish princess, but that seems excessive,” he snorts, “glad to know I haven’t escaped your thoughts these years,”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” and he grins his shit eating grin, and it’s almost as if no time has passed, except the person who sits before you isn’t a seventeen year old with an attitude of a shithead — it’s an adult man (albeit with the same attitude).

“Don’t need to - you already do that for me, baby,” he winks, and you don’t know whether you want to slap him or strangle him. Either way, you wanted him to shut up, “shouldn’t we at least try to make the best of this?”

“The best of what?” You scoff, ready for your veins to burst out of your head, if only to spare you the agony of this conversation, “Gojo, we were best friends a million years ago and then we weren’t and now we’re getting married - all on the whims of our families, so how do we make the best of it?”

He pauses a moment, almost thoughtfully, “I was your best friend?”

And you rise to your feet, “this is impossible,” you brush past him, but he catches you by your wrist, his thumb grazing your pulse.

“Princess, I’m sorry,” he says, and you stop, meeting his gaze reluctantly, his lips part, “that you were so annoying in high school—“

“Fuck you,” and you storm off as he cackles, but you don’t notice the small smile on his lips that stays as he watches you.

And nor do you hear him say, “God, I missed you.”

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath, as you place back the millionth dress you looked at, “we’re hardly celebrities but we have to make a public appearance?”

Your families wanted the marriage to be portrayed as a love marriage in the media - childhood friends falling in love after reconnecting - the thing of love stories. The thing that would circle the drain on social media on cute threads of meetcutes and what ifs. When in fact, you were being forced on a shopping date with an already well paid and positioned paparazzi ready to take pictures of this charade.

“You may not be, Princess, but I am quite the catch,” Satoru takes the attention in stride, not only of the paparazzi, but the passersby who gawked at the two of you. It was true, Satoru was nearly always listed as an eligible bachelor in far too many of these lists that existed, if not the eligible bachelor, and yet here you were, glued to his side like some taudry accessory.

“So does that mean if I just toss you away, someone else will catch you?” You grumble, and he looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Like it or not, you caught me,” he flashes you those pearly whites, and you supposed he blinded you as you stumble forward, tripping. But you don’t kiss the pavement — but you almost wish you do. He catches you, his arm around your waist, the other on your shoulder, and his eyes graze over you in a flash of concern, and then amusement, “and I’m not going anywhere this time,”

And you flush, the clicks of cameras in the distance snapping you back to reality, as you right yourself with a fake smile plastered on your lips. You brush his shirt off as lovingly as you can, “And if I go?”

His lips only curl into his obnoxiously charming smile, as he gestures for you to walk on, “I’ll follow, Princess,”

Finally the trip is over, and Satoru is driving the both of you back, “I’m surprised you took a day off for this,” he remarks, “usually you work all week,”

“Well I wasn’t given much of a choice, now was I?” And then you glance at him, furrowing your brow, “how do you know how often I work?”

“What’s the phrase? Keep your enemies close, and your lovers closer?” He gives a wry grin as you scowl at him, “you’re not surprised I kept tabs on you, are you?”

“Well, no,” because you did the exact same. You pinned the blame on late nights and doom scrolling on social media — curiosity killed the cat.

“And now I know you kept tabs on me,” he looks far too satisfied with himself, “I’m flattered,”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, “it’s not like you’re that interesting to begin with,”

“Sure,” he smirks, and then you glance outside, noticing you were getting further out from home rather than closer.

“Where are we going?” You sit up, glancing around — you didn’t recognize the area.

“Oh, you didn’t think our date was over yet, did you?” his lips curl, his eyes still on the road, “we are just going to a more private location,”

“If you take me to a hotel, I will slap you,” you murmur, and he laughs, a sound that makes your stomach flip.

“I didn’t know a princess’s mind could be in the gutter,” he remarks, his fingers flexing on the wheel, a small infinity tattoo on his ring finger, and your mind really then all but fled to the gutter as you thought what else he could use those fingers for.

“Oh my mind goes a lot of places,” this was growing more dangerous — for your tongue and for your heart.

And he notices your gaze flickering to his hands, and his lips curl, “I think I’d like to familiarize myself with the places your mind goes, Princess,” You flush, “but that’s for a different day.”

“Where are you taking me anyway?”

“We’re almost there, just enjoy the ride,” you eventually pull up to a park, and he leaves the car, opening the door for you, “after you, my lady,”

You slide out of the car, as he shuts the door behind you, and then pulls a basket out of the back, “Is there tape and rope in there?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know you were into that,” he winks, as you glare at him, “it’s a picnic basket - this is a nice spot to watch the sunset,”

“You watch sunsets?”

“Only with you,” you roll your eyes.

“Such a dork - are these the lines you use on all your dates? And don’t say only with me,” you add quickly, and he snorts.

“You catch on quick,” and he takes your hand, leading you along, “come on,”

His hand envelops yours, his fingers eventually intertwining with yours, his warmth flooding your body, but you can’t urge yourself to pull away.

A bottle of sparkling cider and a charcuterie board later, the two of you watch the sun begin its descent, blazing colors bleeding into one another.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, looking over your glass as you sip, “even when we used to hang out, I was the one to bring the snacks,”

“Well times change,” he replies, “plus you’re the one who always stopped me from buying snacks,”

“You always bought only sweets — it was always chocolate, sugar, and desserts,” you roll your eyes, “I see you got over that,”

“Nah, I just decided to buy things I know you like,” and your heart traitorously squeezes, but then he points, “look,” and your gaze falls onto the sunset and you gasp softly.

“It’s beautiful,” you sigh, and you don’t notice Satoru’s gaze on your face, a small smile on his lips.

“It is,” and you look back at him, his eyes shifting to you again.

“You never answered my question,” you say, “why are we doing this?”

“Why wouldn’t we? We’re getting married, Princess, did you forget?” He expertly dodges the question, swiftly leaping over a landmine, but you weren’t one to mince words or hesitate to do a direct assault.

“We’re getting married, it doesn’t mean we have to date,” you tilt your head, “Gojo, tell me—“

“Call me Satoru,” his words are so soft, hesitant even, as if his words could break apart any second if he had spoken them any quieter.

It’s a fragility he doesn’t often grace you with - that’s he’s maybe never given to you, and you don’t wish to break it.

But you’re also scared - scared that this will break yours.

“Satoru,” you whisper, and he smiles — the same smile he’d greet you with when you would meet up after school, the same smile when he’d beat you at whatever game you guys were playing, and the same smile you hadn’t seen in so long, “why are you doing all of this?”

“Is it not obvious?” He’s leaning closer and you only realize that you’re doing the same when your wrist hurts from leaning on your hand.

“Nothing is obvious when it comes to you, Satoru,” his lips warm yours with his breath, and the sun has set - there’s no other explanation for the warmth blooming on your skin other than him—

Ring. Ring. Ring.

His phone ringing sends both of you flinching apart, but his eyes don’t leave you for a lingering moment, before he picks up.

“Hello,” his voice is unwavering even after the moment you shared, you barely hear what he says over the blood thundering in your ears, “yes, we’ll be home shortly. Ok. Bye,”

He turns to look back at you, “My parents were wondering where we went,” and you nod, “we should get back,” and he begins to pack away the things,

“Satoru—“ you start, but he grabs your hands, tugging you forward.

“What?” he smiles, “not ready to part with me yet, princess?”

You scowl, pushing him away, brushing past him to the car, “Forget it,”

And he catches you by your wrist and pulls you back to him, your back against his front, “I don’t want to forget it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “I—”

And his phone rings again, and he sighs, showing you that it was your father this time, putting his phone on silent, “Our parents have impeccable timing,” and the moment is broken, as the two of you walk back to the car in relative silence, the sun long sunk below the horizon, and the moment along with it.

The wedding comes and goes without much ado — it was a private ceremony done with only your families and a few close family friends. And aside from a photo shoot that was to be “leaked” of the two of you looking far too lovey dovey that wound up circulating the media drain and ended up causing you and Satoru to keep a low profile for a week or two, not much of your life changed. The only thing being that you and Satoru slowly start to move in together, each moving your things into separate bedrooms, not that you’re around enough to even notice a shift as the work piled on due to the merger, only accumulates, and as do your late nights.

You come home again, back to your shared apartment, late at night, shutting the door softly behind you. You slip your shoes off, along with your jacket by the door, before setting your things down. You stretch your sore muscles, your stomach crying for mercy of the deprivation you had put it through today, and you allow it to lead you to the kitchen.

Satoru was surprisingly neat, aside from his own room that was a disaster zone not worth entering. The living spaces were always clean, as was the kitchen (though you had a sneaking suspicion he had hired a cleaning service to specifically tidy up when you were gone (due to the lingering lemony scent every surface had at times). You rummage through the refrigerator as quietly as you could, but not quietly enough as the lights flick on, and you feel akin to a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I feel like I’ve seen the mailman more than my own wife this week,” Satoru stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame of the door, a small grin on his lips, but a hint of something else in his eyes — concern? You don’t have the time to decipher the feeling, as your mind chooses to replay the phrase “my wife” on repeat.

“The merger has been killer to deal with — all the diligence requests has buried us,” you grumble, as you grab a box of cereal off the top of the refrigerator and the milk from the inside, and he’s holding a bowl and a spoon, “thanks,” as you reach for it, he holds it away from you.

“You know there’s something called delegating that you should try sometime, princess,” he says, tilting his head, “otherwise, you’re likely to run yourself into the ground,”

“It sounds like you care,” he puts down the bowl and spoon, grabbing the cereal and milk from you, and fixing a bowl for you, as you rub your eyes, sitting on the stool by the island.

His lips curl, “Who said I didn’t?”

You lay on the counter, staring up at him, “Didn’t know my husband could be anything but annoying,” and you enjoy the way his eyebrows shoot up, and it may have been your tired eyes, but you swore a small pink flush settled his way onto his cheeks, “cute,” you mumble, the word escaping you before you could stop it.

“What?” his eyes snap to yours, but he only finds them closed, the soft snores from your lips told him you weren’t pretending, as he stares at you, biting his lip, before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, “what are you doing to me, princess?” he murmurs.

And the next morning when you wake, you find yourself tucked into bed, as you roll over, to find your alarms had been turned off, and you were far too late to several meetings you had that morning.

You jolt up, before you find a note stuck to your shirt, you pause in your panic, to peel it off and read it:

Canceled your meetings for today and had your staff handle the ones they could deal with. You’re taking a break. You need it. - Satoru.

You wanted to protest, but even as you willed yourself to try and check your email, your body was screaming in agreement with Satoru, and you sighed, lying back down in bed, as you drifted into a dreamless sleep, with the note still in your hand.

~~~~~

“Gojo, get back in bed,” you cross your arms in front of his doorway, “you’re sick,”

“I’m fine,” he pouts, his normally pale skin flushed with a red tinge that gave away his fever, his eyes bloodshot from a restless night, and yet he still looked as perfect as ever, if not a bit rumpled from his askew hair and ruffled clothes, “I have to—”

“Rest,” you say, gently pushing him backwards towards his bed, “you need rest. You made me rest, and now it’s your turn,”

“But—”

“Satoru,” and the use of his name stops him in his tracks, as his knees buckle as his legs hit the end of his bed, “please?”

His resistance crumbles, “Princess, I’m fine—” and you press your forehead to his, making his breath catch, your face far too close far too fast.

“You’re burning up,” you ease him back into bed, as you roll your sleeves up, “will you be okay? I’m going to run out and get some supplies - have you taken any medicine?”

He shakes his head, “You can send out someone,” he says, reaching for his phone, but you grab it, “Princess-“

“I’m texting everyone that you’re sick and that you can’t make it in for the next two days while you recover,” you pocket his phone, putting it on silent, “consider this payback,” and you’re pulling on your jacket, “and I’m going to get you some things. I don’t need to send someone out. Do you want anything? I can’t get anything sweet because it will make your cough worse, but is there anything that you want?”

He shakes his head, as you snap your fingers and head out of the room, before returning with cold medicine, “I’ll give you this for now, and then I’ll grab some more while I’m out,”

You pour the medicine into the cup, and he sits up as best he could, reaching for the medicine cup, but you cup his chin, feeding it to him. He feels like his body is burning hotter from your touch than it is the fever, “I have to make sure you drink all of it, you can’t leave half of it in the cup like you did when we were kids,”

“You remember that?” he mumbles, as you help him lie down again, your hands gentle as you help lean back, and you tilt your head.

“I remember every ridiculous thing you did,” you snort, as you check to make sure you got everything — phone, wallet, keys — “just rest here, and call me if you need anything, ok?” his eyes are already starting to droop, heavy with sleep, and he gives a small nod.

And he catches you by your wrist, “Do you have to go?” he mumbles, pulling your hand close to his face, “I don’t want you to go,” his words slur, and he’s asleep in a moment, his hand still clutching yours to his face, lips brushing against your palm.

Heat flares up your cheeks, as you stand, motionless, his soft snores filling the room, as you manage to tug your hand away, and you stand over him, his mouth in an adorable pout, as sweat glistened on his forehead, white locks sticking to the damp skin. You leave for a moment to grab a cold compress for his forehead, and you come back, brushing his hair back to place the compress on. He shivers ever so slightly, but you just rub his head slowly, and he drifts back into sleep.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper, and you wonder, how often has Satoru been cared for by maids or employees rather than his family? How often had they passed the buck of caring for their son to others as if it was more of a chore than a privilege to take care of someone they loved.

You leave his phone on video call with yours so you can keep an eye on him as he sleeps, even if you were going down the street, you didn’t want to leave him alone completely. Instead of music, you listened to the cacophony of his soft snores and shifting of his sheets. You grabbed the things you needed - medicine, supply for meals, vitamin water, vitamin c supplements, and anything else you could think of.

You return, door shutting softly behind you as you hang up the call, and set everything down on the counter. You poke your head into Satoru’s room to find him still fast asleep, and you remove the cold compress, going to replace it with a new one, but his hand catches yours as it brushes your forehead, and he mumbles your name.

And you flush — were you sure you weren’t getting sick at this point?

You sigh, running your fingers through his hair, “You’re as touchy as you were when we were kids,” and he was — there wasn’t a moment that Satoru wasn’t all over you before the ages of puberty — holding hands, hugging, even laying on top of you — but it was innocent. But even as you got older, it was poking, it was a leg over yours, it was grabbing your wrist instead of your hand.

And now, your hand was dwarfed by his, consuming your wrist and hand with his own, and it was so warm — though exacerbated by his fever. And you couldn’t help but want to lace your fingers through his. But — you pulled your hand away and replace his cold compress — you couldn’t afford thoughts like that.

Not now.

You cooked soup for him, filled with vegetables and nutrients that he clearly did not get enough of, made freshly squeezed orange juice, and put the supplements you wanted him to take on the tray you had found in the kitchen.

You washed your hands, as you start to clean up, your back to his room, and you hear Satoru say your name.

You turn and see him in the doorway, “What are you doing?”

“I should be asking you that,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes, “what’s all this?”

“Lunch,” you walk over, waving him back into bed, “you need to rest,”

“Did you make me lunch?” he asks slowly, and you help him back into bed, as he frowns, “you didn’t have—”

“You’re my husband, Satoru,” you say, tilting your head, “I’m going to take care of you and not let you work yourself to the bone while you have a cold,”

And his lips curl at the words slowly, “Your husband,” he repeats, as if the words were foreign to him, and your cheeks flush as your words that were embarrassing enough to say linger in the air, “thank you,” he mumbles, as you nod, trying to calm your utterly burning cheeks before entering with the tray.

Satoru sits in bed still, more coherent than a few minutes before, a small smile on his lips as you enter his view, and you place the tray carefully on his bed, “Will you feed me?” And your eyes flit up to his innocent baby blues full of skies that you couldn’t say no to — and he knew that, “please?”

And now you’re feeding him, your lips carefully blowing on the hot soup as you spoon fed him, and he takes each one, “is it good?”

He nods, “It is, I didn’t know you could cook. The last thing I remember you making me was a microwave brownie that you burned,” and you rolled your eyes.

“That was because you told me to microwave it for too long,” you pout, and he laughs, sending him into a coughing fit, “karma,” and he scowls at you, before his lips split into a grin, “what?”

“Must have been pretty good in my past life,” he says, as you blow on another spoonful, “to end up with a pretty little wife like you, Princess,”

And you nearly drop the spoon, a few droplets slipping from the utensil, as he makes you flustered for the eighteenth time today — “Satoru,” you chide, and you’re not even sure what you are chiding him for — his word on a loop in your mind, “i think you’re high on cold medicine, or your fever,”

You don’t think he had ever called you pretty before.

And he leans forward pressing his forehead to yours, “I have no fever right now,” he whispers, his eyes glancing at the tray, “and I haven’t taken my cold medicine yet,”

Your words catch in your throat, and you’re swallowing thickly, as your eyes drift to his lips and back again, “Toru,” and you can’t lean away from him, he’s pulling you in, like he always did.

But then he pulls back, his cheeks flushed, “I think I should lie down,” and you blink, as you nod hastily.

“Of course,” you grab the tray and flee, leaving his medicine and water on the bedside table, heart thumping against your ribs and blood rushing to your cheeks.

And you don’t hear him grumble, “If only I wasn’t sick.”

After Satoru gets better, you barely see him. It feels empty in the house without his presence. You had grown accustomed to his loud, obtrusive presence, the clothes half thrown in the laundry basket, his snacks stacked up in the pantry and sometimes on the counters, and his cologne wafting through the halls. It seems all of that has faded with time, as he does his best to spend his time at work, and away from you.

After the billionth time of this, you get a phone call from his colleague, Nanami, asking for you to come and fetch him. You furrow your brow as he texts you the address of a bar near his work, and you arrive to find him passed out at a table, drink glasses and small plates littered the tabletop, his pale skin flushed, as he snored slightly as he slept.

His colleague too was flushed, but still sat with drink in hand looking utterly irritated and bemused, “How much did he drink?”

“Maybe two drinks?” and you raise an eyebrow, “he’s a lightweight, but he likes to pretend he isn’t,” he snorts, shaking his head, “did you two have a fight?”

You tilt your head, as you check on him, fingers brushing over his skin — he was so warm from the alcohol, “No, why do you ask?”

And Satoru is mumbling your name, again and again, pouting, “Is that you, my wife?” you flush, and that was your cue to get him out of there. Nanami helps you get him to his work car, luckily that came equipped with a driver, and you slide in beside him, as he dozes, his head drifting to your shoulder. His breath is warm against your neck, as he nestles into the soft skin of your nape, and you can feel his lips move, only catching your name between soft sighs and snores.

“Satoru,” you mutter, brushing his hair from his eyes, “what did you do?”

The driver helps you get him inside, and you’re left with him, his body leaning against yours on the couch, as you rouse him, “Satoru, wake up,” your hands cup his cheeks, and his eyes flutter open blearily.

You can still smell the scent of alcohol on his breath — and you know it’s sweet from the scent that drifts from him. Sometimes you wonder if he would taste sweet with how much sugar he consumes, but you brush that thought to the back of your head, as he finally speaks.

“Are you a dream?” he murmurs, and you have to suppress your laugh at his puppy dog stare.

“Don’t think so, Satoru,” you pinch his cheek lightly, “see? I’m real,”

He smiles, so gentle that it almost takes you aback, “Too real,” his hand slides over yours, flattening it against his cheek, “your hand is so soft, just like when we were kids, and we’d always hold hands anywhere we went,”

You swallow thickly, wondering if your cheeks were hotter than his were from the alcohol, “Well my family hasn’t sold me into manual labor yet, so they’ll stay that way,” and his eyes widen almost comically.

“I wouldn’t let them do that,” he says, almost every other word slurred, “can’t do that to my wife,” and your traitorous heart squeezes, despite itself, despite everything telling you that it didn’t mean anything — that he was drunk — and the million other reasons to brush it away, your heart does what it does best — takes it to heart, “I missed you so much,”

And he’s burying his face in your shoulder, warm breath against your skin making you shiver as you hold him gently, “then why have you been avoiding me?” He’s mumbling into your shoulder now, as you can’t help but laugh, “Stop, you’re tickling me.”

And his stare lifts and settles upon you, stopping your breath in its tracks, “I didn’t want to avoid you, I just was…” he mumbles something incoherent, “I couldn’t face you,”

“Why?” and it’s objectively cute the way he pouts, his face scrunching up like a child, his brow adorably furrowed, as he mutters under his breath slurred words you can’t make out, “let’s get you to bed — if you promise not to avoid me anymore,” you hold up a finger to his face.

He nods, lips still in the same pout, “promise,” he murmurs, as you help him into bed, but as you do, he grabs you, tugging you into bed with him with a yelp, his arms trapped you against him, as his face snuggles into your back, “stay,”

Your skin burns at his touch, his face buried into your back, his arms wrapped impossibly around you, “Satoru—”

“Please?” and the resistance you have crumbles, as you sigh, relaxing as best you could into his touch, “thank you, Princess,” he mumbles something else you can’t make out, before falling asleep.

And you bite your lip, ignoring how your skin feels under his touch — how were you ever going to sleep now?

But you do.

Satoru wakes with a slightly pounding head, a small groan caught in the back of his throat, as he stirs at the bright sunlight streaming in, his eyes fluttering awake to find you. His breath catches, as he stares at you. Your mouth slightly ajar, you softly snore as you sleep, your head resting against his arm, and he swallows thickly, as memories of last night trickle in.

And he nearly groans. He had avoided you to stop himself, to hold himself back from embarrassing himself, and he had gone and pulled you into bed with him after getting drunk. How pathetic was it that it only took you referring to him as your husband for all his walls to come crumbling down? Not that those walls ever stood a chance against you — it was easy for him to pull away from everyone, as if he had a barrier around him, stopping anything from coming near. But you — you were one thing that could penetrate his infinity — and the one thing he wanted to be infinite, if only for him.

His cheeks burn at his revelations and he can only be thankful you’re still asleep as he stares at you — god, he had almost let it slip twice last night. He had mumbled it twice, but from what he remembered, you hadn’t made out the words.

His cheeks burned, god he had said the words twice, and you didn’t even hear him, but the words had left his lips. And how many years had he been waiting to say them?

His fingers caress your cheek, making sure you were still asleep before he said them for a third time, “I love you.”

“How many social events must be inflicted upon us?” you mutter, pressed next to Satoru at the bar, as Satoru sips a soda instead of the alcohol they offered — if only to avoid the disaster that was the last time. But still, the lack of alcohol only makes your touch worse without its dulling effects, “and why did we need to go to this?”

“C’mon sweetheart, it’s not so bad,” Satoru smiles, his eyes skimming over your new suit that you had donned for the occasion, “I like seeing you all dressed up,”

“Well I rather be dressed down at home,” and he raises an eyebrow and you flush, “i mean in a t-shirt and shorts, you absolute perv,”

“Whatever you say, princess,” and you’re too busy elbowing him to notice who's walking over, until you hear your name.

You spot Satoru’s eyes narrow, his lips pursed, as you spot Suguru holding a hand up in greeting, patented grin on his lips, “Yo!”

“Suguru, it’s good to see you,” you greet, as he sweeps you up in a hug, and you shoot a look at Satoru, nudging him to be polite at the very least.

“Satoru, long time no see,” Suguru says, and Satoru plasters a fake smile on his lips.

“It has been,” and the three of you make pleasant small talk about your work — Suguru’s family was in a business adjacent to the work your families did.

“I heard about the merger your companies are doing, how have preparations been?” you open your mouth to answer, but Satoru gets to it first, his arm curling around your waist.

“It’s been going well, our marriage was the first step after all, wasn’t it, baby?” and you flush as Satoru does, doing your best not to glare at him.

“It was,” you smile, as Suguru raises his eyebrows.

“I hadn’t heard you both had married — congratulations,”

And then you’re beckoned by your family, and you slip away for a moment, going to speak to them about one thing or another, leaving Satoru and Suguru alone.

“It’s too bad we lost touch all these years,” Satoru sips at his drink.

“You don’t have to say that, Satoru,” Suguru replies, his grin melting away, “I know part of the reason was the business with our families companies, but I also know that it was personal,” and Satoru follows his eyes to you, as you laugh at something your mother said, “how has married life been treating you both?”

And Satoru glares, his grip tight around his glass, “Is your interest personal?”

“It’s not, but I see that you still haven’t been honest with each other,” he smiles over the lip of his drink, “was this marriage arranged by your families?” and Satoru’s silence was enough to confirm it, “well you should be careful, a marriage is a fragile thing, especially without love,”

“Is that a threat?” and Suguru’s dark irises meet his, full of mirth.

“No, just an observation, Satoru,” and you make your re-appearance, looking between the pair, sensing the tension, as your hand curls around Satoru’s, “It was lovely seeing you both. I hope to see more of you.”

And with that he’s gone, “What was that about?” you ask slowly, and Satoru can’t meet your gaze, only sipping his soda, “Satoru?”

“It’s nothing, princess, don’t worry about it,” and you tilt your head, your brow furrowed.

“That’s it,” you sigh, as you glance between the two of them, Suguru’s gaze still lingering on the two of you, “I know what this is about,” you declare, stepping ever closer to Satoru, your fingers brushing at his shoulder, sending his heart into a gallop.

“Princess—” your hand is sliding up his neck, brushing at his undercut, and your lips curl.

“I didn’t know you had an undercut,” and he can’t form words to respond to you, as you tug him closer, your lips were so close now, “it’s kind of hot,” and his mouth is so dry, his eyes can’t help but flicker down to your lips again, as you lean forward, pulling his head closer, closer, closer—

And you kiss him, it's barely a brush at first, but then you pull him in again, and he can taste the wine on your lips now, as your lips meet, his eyes fluttering shut as his hand slides to cup your face, the other around your waist. And finally you part, small pants leaving your lips, as your fingers toy with the hair resting on the back of his neck, smiling at him, as if you had done this a million times before.

And he wanted to do it a million times more. His fingers trace the length of your jaw, delighting in the shiver you give as he touches you, and wondering what other noises he could pull from you.

“Is he still watching?” you whisper, as you smooth over his collar, and he blinks, his eyes following yours to Suguru, who glances at the two of you before looking away, “think we convinced him?”

And his heart sinks just as high as it had soared, “what?” he murmurs, confused.

“He suspected us, right?” you continue with the phony smile on your lips, the heated lust in your gaze, and your soft touches — and it was all enough to break him.

But he doesn’t. He’s Satoru Gojo — he can’t be allowed to break.

So he gives a smile instead, “Yeah, I think we convinced him.”

He can’t help be quiet on the drive home, and he senses your unease, fidgeting in the seat beside him, your attempts to fill the silence falling on deaf ears, and you eventually stop trying, settling to look out of the window instead, until the two of you pull inside your driveway.

You both head inside, and the door shuts behind you, and he watches you struggle to take off your heels, the buckle not cooperating, as you lift your leg to undo it.

But then he’s kneeling before you, undoing your heels for you, as you stammer, “No, Gojo, you don’t have to—”

But his touch is gentle as he helps you out of your heels, one by one, his fingers brushing against your ankles, and then he rises, and for a split second, you forgot how tall he really was.

“No, I want to, because you’re my wife,” and his fingers brush against your jaw. “And I want your thoughts to be of me when I touch you, and not of someone else,” and he tilts your chin up, thumb dragging against your lips before he kisses you.

It was gentle but insistent — and far, far too fleeting, as he pulls away, “and I’ve told you before — I’m your husband, call me Satoru.”

And with that he’s gone, leaving you speechless and alone in your entryway.

You can’t sleep. For several nights.

You replay the moment over and over, the kiss, his words, and all of it.

What the fuck. Were you really up all night because of Satoru Gojo? You lay on your stomach, kicking your feet in frustration as you bury your hot face in your pillow. Your husband was going to be the death of you.

And especially with tomorrow.

Satoru’s family was hosting an event to announce the merger, and you stood in your bathroom, getting ready. You had opted for a baby blue dress that Satoru had picked for you when he had insisted on taking you shopping. He had winked and said you could wear his gaze this way. And you had only rolled your eyes at the time, but now it felt you could feel his eyes upon you.

“You look beautiful,” and you whirl around to find him standing in your doorway, a small smile on your lips, and you flush. It doesn’t go unnoticed, “is that all it takes to embarrass you now, Princess? I used to have to work a lot harder,”

You glare at him, “Shut up,” and your eyes flick to his untied tie, and it’s unspoken, as you walk over to tie his tie for him, “how did you even tie this the day of the formal if you don’t know how to?”

“I didn’t wear one,” he shrugs, his attention making you mess up the knot twice, “I only went to make you jealous anyway,”

Your fingers pause, as your eyes meet, “What?”

“I don’t want to play games anymore, Princess,” the back of his fingers brush against your cheek, “or at least, if I’m going to play, I’m going to play to win,” and you continue tying his tie, if only to distract yourself from your stomach doing flips, “do you know how it feels to want someone for so long only to end up married, but it’s not either of your choice?” And you swallow, not daring to look at him, “because I do.”

“Satoru,” your hands are shaking now, “I-“

“I don’t expect an answer, I don’t expect anything to change,” he adjusts his tie as you finish, turning his collar down, his blue button up matching your dress perfectly, “but I wanted you to know where I stood, and know wherever you are,” his gaze rakes over your form, the same color as the dress than clung to your skin, “I’ll always be here for you,”

“Satoru—“ but he gets a call — as always with impeccable timing, his parents were asking when they would be arriving. He hangs up shortly after, offering his arm with a smile.

“Shall we?” And you take his arm, ignoring the flip your heart does when his arm curls around yours.

The drive over is uneventful, but not the same can be said for the event itself. The merger event was being held at Satoru’s childhood home — the home Satoru had grown up in and around — and never wanted to be at.

“Are you okay?” you ask, your arm still curled around Satoru’s arm, as you glance at him, his shoulders tense and lips tight, before your concern makes the tension melt away a moment, rolling off his shoulders like snow on a spring day.

“I’m fine,” and you’re unconvinced, “just this place is like time has stood still,” he chuckles, his eyes finding the place where the two of you had cracked the chandelier fucking around with a ball inside, “look, still there,”

You snort, “I’m surprised your mother never noticed,”

“She did, she gave me hell for it,” he sips his drink, “I just didn’t tell you,”

“Why?”

“There was a lot I didn’t tell you,” his eyes snap to yours, his pain almost too visceral as he glances around the room he had grown up in — and you could feel him in this room, the ghost of his past roaming the halls, “why do you think I spent so much time at your house?”

“Because of my incredible company?” you half-joke, lips forced into a small smile, but he laughs, rolling his eyes.

“That too,” he hums, his fingers tracing up and down against your wrist sending a wave of heat down your spine.

“Well, you always have an escape now, don’t you?” you intertwine your fingers, “our home is always graced with the presence of your wife,”

He grins, the first actual smile you had seen all evening, “How lucky for you that it’s also graced with the presence of your incredibly handsome husband,”

And you open your mouth to respond, before Satoru’s father interrupts, his hand on Satoru’s shoulder, making him stiffen, “Son,” and his icy blue eyes slide to you, “and my daughter, would you mind if I steal my son for a moment?” it always struck you how different his eyes were from Satoru — the coldness as opposed to the warmth.

You glance at Satoru, and he gives a slight nod, “No, of course not,” you step away, as he pulls Satoru into a side room, and you linger nearby for him, mingling as best you can, when Satoru emerges, eyes downcast and fists clenched, “Satoru-“

“I’m okay,” he plasters on an easy smile, “it’s fine—“

“We’re leaving,” you grab his hand, “let’s go,” and he’s staring at you, as you drag him from the party, wordless.

“But your parents, my parents—”

“Have done enough for us already,” you say, and the two of you walk to the car in silence, “I can drive—”

“It’s ok, I got it,” and you both shut the doors, as he begins to drive. The ride home is quiet, and you glance at him here and there, but you hold your tongue, “you’re not going to ask?”

“It’s your dad - do I need to ask?” You scoff, “It may has been years but I know he’s nothing but a bully — especially to you,”

You may have been young, but you remembered the phone calls Satoru would get, the lectures about his potential and responsibilities as the next heir, the scoldings he’d get for anything less than perfect. And you remembered the look he had the next day — the same one he had when he had come out of that room.

And you couldn’t protect him then, but you could do it now.

He sighs as he pulls the car into the driveway, “You don’t deserve that, Toru,”

“Then what do I deserve?” And he meets your gaze with glassy eyes, and you give a small smile, your fingers reaching for him, brushing along his jaw.

“Love,” and you lean across the gap of the console, across the line you had drawn, across the misunderstandings you had, and you chose him. Your fingers cup his cheek, drawing him close, as you hear his breathe hitch, “can I—”

“You don’t need to ask me even once, Princess,” and you kiss him, your lips grazing his again and again, until your lips finally slide against each other, deepening it as he presses himself against you, hand bearing against the armrest between the two of you. And you can taste the sweet taste of the strawberry dessert that he all but inhaled at the party, the hint of the soda he drank instead of wine, and something that tasted utterly and perfectly of him.

“Toru,” you murmur, but his lips keep finding yours, and you can’t breathe much less think, “I—”

He silences you with another kiss, his fingers finding purchase on the back of your neck as he tugs you impossibly closer, before his lips are tracing a path down your jaw.

“What was that, sweetheart?” he smiles against your skin, “you what?”

“You’re insufferable, you’re endlessly frustrating, and I swear I want to murder you at least twice a day,” and he smiles, as you gasp as his teeth graze your pulse, “but you’re also my best friend, and I—“ you make him meet your eyes, fingers cupping his chin, ocean blue eyes drowning you with their gaze, “I love you,”

And he blinks ever so slowly, before his lips curl into the most beautiful smile you had seen, before he’s kissing you again, as you gasp, “Toru—”

“I’m never going to stop now, Princess,” he grins endlessly, as he presses his forehead to yours, dragging a thumb down your kiss ruined lips, “waited too long for you, but I’d wait a million years to do that again,”

“So should I make you wait?” you tease, and he’s looking like a kicked puppy, pouting and wide eyed, before he’s pressing butterfly kisses to your face, and you’re laughing, “I’m just kidding, baby—”

And he pauses, “‘Baby?’” and his grin is a million watt, as he kisses you again, “never thought I’d see the day you’d call me a pet name,”

Your noses brush as you both laugh, “Well, you are a big baby,” and he pouts again, and you kiss them, “but you’re my baby,”

And you barely remember how you manage to stumble into your home. Frantic touches and hurried kisses and fumbling keys. As soon as the door slams shut, he has you pressed against it, fingers busy with undoing your buttons, as he grins against your mouth.

“Know how long I wanted you? How long I dreamt of this?” he bites your bottom lip, “had to call you my wife before i could call you mine — thought about you dating Suguru, about all the times I wanted to lean over during our movie nights as kids and just kiss you — and how much I regretted it,”

“So you admit you’ve been pining for me,” you gasp as his teeth drag against your neck now, biting and sucking, as your fingers thread through his white locks, “Satoru,” you moan, biting your lip.

“Judging by that moan, I’m not the only one,” he smiles cheekily, his hands sliding down your back to rest at the back of your thighs, large palms and thick fingers pressing through the all too thin tulle of your dress, “can’t wait to see how fuckin’ wet you are for me, Princess.”

You gasp at his vulgar words, a rush of heat that leaves your legs shaking under his touch, “Now whose mind is the gutter?” You tease, your fingers tugging at his tie, unfurling the knot.

“Always has been when it’s come to you, want to make this perfect princess filthy,” he coos, and he’s pulling you up against the door, your hands wrapped around his neck, “wanna make my beautiful little wife scream my name, don’t I?”

“Toru—“ you gasp as his teeth graze along your chest, tugging the neckline of your dress impossibly low, “you’re going to rip it—“ and he does, pulling the fabric apart with ease, “what the fu—“ and he’s swallowing your swears with his tongue.

“I’ll buy you another,” he grins, “in fact I’ll buy you any amount you want, as long as you keep letting me do this,”

And he’s peeling the dress off of you, dress falling to the floor in a shamble of tulle, and your skin flushes at the air hitting your bare skin, and shivers at the feeling of his sharp breath against your neck.

“How are you so fucking perfect?” he sighs, burying his face in the nape of your neck, pressing butterfly kisses down your collarbone, “I should get an award for patience — not being able to touch you, to kiss you, but living with you?”

His fingers are skimming down your underwear now, snapping the waistband against your skin, you gasp, “Fuck, Toru,” you whimper, “thought you’d talk less during this,” your fingers are undoing his shirt now.

“Oh I can think of a few things that could shut me up,” his lips curl deviously, and you’re slipping his shirt off his shoulders, your lips pressing to his collarbone.

“I don’t think you’d even shut up from that,” as he shivers when your teeth graze his soft skin, “I think you’ll only whine more,”

And his gaze is hot as his eyes meet yours again, as he grasps at your thighs and picks you up, “let’s see who’s the one whining at the end of this,” you squeal, grasping into his shoulders, as he carries you into his bedroom, as he settles you down on his bed. His eyes raking over you, panting and disheveled, he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, “can’t believe you’re all mine, Princess,”

“Satoru,” you’re reaching for him, but he pins your hand to the bed, “wha—“

“Patience, baby,” he purrs, as he presses his lips to your wrist, “let me enjoy you,”

He’s so pretty it’s unfair - the way his breath hits your skin steals yours, pretty pink lips parted as he runs his tongue over them, the same ache between your legs longing for that tongue between them. But it leaves you with so little of the patience he asks you to have — especially after over a decade of this in the making.

And your impatience is evident, you suppose, by the pout on your lips, and he laughs, “Want a kiss, baby?”

You don’t have the time to say you want much more than a kiss, as he humors you with a kiss, lips teasing you with their sweet taste, and you don’t fail to notice his smile as you lean up into his touch. And suddenly his hands brush down your bare sides, squeezing your hips, and you’re gasping, “Feel good, Princess? We’ve barely started—“

“You keep teasing me and I’ll make you regret it,” you grumble, between breathless kisses, the bite of your words dampened by the soft pants that leave your lips, “Toru, I swear—“

And his thumb presses against the wet patch on your underwear, flimsy layer of soaked fabric barely doing a thing to hide your arousal, “Not acting like a good little girl for me,” he tuts, as you keen against his touch, gasping as you throw your head back as he grinds his fingers against your puffy clit, “all it took was one touch to have you so pliant, huh? Should’ve done this a long time ago,”

“Stop,” you whine, and his grin only grows larger with such self satisfaction, you don’t know if your lust addled brain wants you to strangle his neck or his cock, “please, just—“

“Just what?” And his fingers are breaching past your underwear, just barely touching the outer lips of your cunt, “come on, Princess, use your big girl words, or are you already fucked stupid before I’ve barely touched you?”

“Motherfuck—“

“I will be one once I get my needy little wife pregnant, won’t I?” And his long fingers finally tug down your underwear — the wet schlick of the sticky fabric hitting the floor make him drag his teeth over those beautiful lips, “but we got plenty of time for that, after all,” his fingers tease the outer lips of your throbbing pussy, “practice makes perfect,”

And he sinks a long finger knuckle deep — and a whine crawls its way out of your throat, his fingers were thicker than yours were — and so much better. His thumb teases your clit in tight circles as he begins to tease your walls, reaching deep, deep, deeper, your slick starting to drip onto his palm, “God, you’re soaking me, Princess,” and your hips can’t resist the urge to grind against his touch, “oh, and where’s that mouth now?” you can barely see much less talk, words failing as he begins to stretch you out - his other large palm rested against your thigh, keeping your legs nice and spread for him.

He’s grinning, he sinks another finger into you, teasing your walls apart, beginning to finger fuck you in earnest, “my mouthy girl just needed to be fucked right? Didn’t she?” And all you can hear are the filthy sounds of your cunt, as his fingers piston in and out, “nothing to say, Princess?” And he spanks your pussy, making you yelp, a whine leaving your throat, “and you thought I’d be whiny, look at you now, baby,” his fingers cup your chin to force your glassy eyes to meet his darkened blues, “such a good fucked out wife for me,”

And a third finger joining right as he brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars as his thumb bullied your clit, eyes rolling back as he did, and he’s grinning, “my perfect princess and her perfect little pussy,”

You came with his name on your lips, panting and shaking as he held you steady, his fingers dripping with your release, as he pulled away, watching your cunt twitch around nothing, aching for his fingers.

You're coming down from your high, chest rising and falling, as you watch him gather your release on his fingers, toying with your cunt, before he sucks them clean, “Fuck,” you whimper, as he licks and cleans himself of your cum, “Toru-“

“Fuck, baby, how’ve I resisted tasting you for so long?” And he’s bending down as he noses your thighs, making your hips jolt, still sensitive from your orgasm as he deeply inhaled, tip of his tongue darting out to lick your release from your thighs, “smell as sweet as you taste,” he hums, your legs trying to close, but his palms keep them spread, “can’t keep a man from his vices, can we baby?”

And his tongue teases your cum that pooled from your orgasm, the tip hot and wet as it tastes it, “tastes when better coming from this filthy princess cunt,” he grins against your thigh, teeth grazing your skin, making you lurch.

“T-Toru, please,” fuck you hated how needy you sounded, but you needed more — but he’s leaning away, pressing his cheek against the soft plush of your thigh.

“Need you to do something me first, sweetheart,” and his fingers are drawing teasing infinities on your thighs, “tell me how much you want me,”

“Fuck you,” you groan, “I know what you’re gonna say,” you add, cutting off his snappy retort of “I’m trying to,” “I want you, Satoru, please, I’ve wanted this for too long,” and your voice grows more teasing, “how long is my husband going to keep me waiting?”

And his eyes darken, the slight flush on his cheeks growing deeper, as his mouth presses a wet kiss to your sopping pussy, “good girl, think you deserve a reward,” and he’s manhandling your thighs, spreading them wide, as he buries his face in your cunt, “such a good little wife deserves to be eaten out,”

And eating is exactly what he does - you had only seen Satoru eat sweets with the same voracity he devoured you, pressing his thick fingers into your thighs as he splayed you out as his mouth pressed wet kisses to your dripping lips. His hot tongue drags up the length of your cunt, “best fucking thing I’ll ever taste, know what my last meal will be,” he’s murmuring against you, making you twitch, as he looks up at you with half lidded eyes and saliva and slick covered lips, “awww my pretty pussy begging to be filled? Well I can do that for you, baby,” and he’s burying his tongue in your messy hole.

The moan that leaves your lips leaves his cock harder and hurting, he didn’t know you could make such a lewd noise, and he couldn’t wait to make you make it again and again. He’s making out with your pussy at this mouth, your hips doing their best to grind against him, desperate for more, more, more.

And your fingers find his shoulders first, before sliding up to his hair, pressing him further against you, “you’re so fucking cute,” he murmurs, as he spreads your folds with his thumbs before tongue fucking you. His tongue teases and abuses your walls, deeper and deeper, before he pulls back to flick his tongue over your clit, making you moan even louder, “neighbors are gonna hear you at this rate, baby,” but he only sucks at your clit, harshly, “oh well, they know we’re newlyweds,” he’s humming as his ears hear your broken whines and pants, body tensed up against his.

And you’re so wet now, your slick drips down his jaw, mixed with his spit, “you’re all mine now, baby, can’t live without tasting you now—“ and he groans when your hips buck into his mouth again, feeling your walls twitch, “I know you’re close, Princess, tell me how good it feels,”

“S’good, Toru, I can’t—“ you’re pulling at his soft white locks now, making him grunt, and you fall apart, back arching as you cum as all you can hear are the squelching sounds of his tongue and mouth as he continues to eat you out through your orgasm.

And you’re twitching under him as he sucks up every bit of your cum, “so fucking good for me,” he’s finally pulling himself from your messy pussy, “can’t wait to feel you around me, should’ve known you have a little princess cunt,”

And he’s licking his lips and chin clean, as you watch him with half lidded eyes, still panting, as your eyes skim down his body, his jacket had been thrown aside at some point, but his now wrinkled shirt is only messily untucked from his dress pants, and disheveled was too good of a look on him, but you rather see those clothes on the floor of your bedroom, “you’re still annoyingly dressed,” you manage between breaths, still aching from his ministrations, “strip,”

He’s raising an eyebrow, a wicked grin on his lips, “So demanding for someone who was moaning my name a second ago,” but you pull yourself up, supporting yourself on a shaky arm while you use the other to tug on his tie, smashing his lips to yours.

You unfurl the very tie you tied, fingers flying to unbutton his shirt, “Made me feel so good, baby,” and now you were kneeling in front of him, your release slipping down your thighs, as you slipped his shirt off his shoulders, tossing it aside, heated eyes raking over his bare chest, tongue running over your lips, “only fair if I repay the favor,”

You’re undoing his belt for him, pulling it free from the loops, as your hand grazes his noticeable bulge in his suit pants, “surprised you haven’t ripped through,” you squeeze lightly, making his hips jerk, as he pouts all too cutely — and now you knew why he always teased you, “didn’t you tell me to have patience, love?”

“Your husband is running low on that at the moment, never been one to be patient, sweetheart,” he’s gritting his teeth, as you slip his pants off leaving him only in boxers.

Your eyes are glued to his erection, visible through the damp front of his boxers, wet with his precum, “so fuckin’ big, even better than I thought,” you say almost with reverence, and his lip quivers at the praise, a quiet groan leaving his throat. You raise an eyebrow, “like to be praised, baby boy?”

And he swallows, adam's apple bobbing, sweat on his forehead from his treatment of you, but a red flush deepens on his skin, “Princess,” it’s half a warning and half a plea—and morphs into a whimper as your fingers tease the head of his cock through his boxers, rubbing his precum into the fabric, “f-fuck, s’good with those hands, sweetheart,”

“Imagine how much better it’d be with your boxers out of the way,” you say leaning down and licking at the tip through the sticky fabric, as his head falls back with a soft moan, “can’t wait to feel this between my legs,” as you kiss the clothed tip, two fingers slipping in only to snap the waistband of the boxers against his skin, and he’s biting back a moan, a pout on his kiss ruined lips, “god, you’re so pretty,”

Another noise in the back of his throat, “Fuck, Princess,” he hissed, as you finally spare him, pulling his boxers off, his erection slapping against his too fucking incredible abs — how was he so unfairly perfect? He was so gorgeous — more long than girthy, but he was so thick still, and flushed red with pearly pre-cum at the tip. Each vein and curve felt as if he was made for you.

“All this for me, baby?” You tease, as his mouth opens and then closes as your fingers tease the head of his cock, a sharp inhale that keeps echoing in your ears, “all turned on from eating me out, huh?” You move close, nearly straddling him, but you don’t let your cunt brush against his cock — not yet.

And his dick twitches in your hand, “Sweetheart,” he whimpers, eyes nearly glassy with need, “such a fucking tease,”

And your lips curl, “Match made in heaven, baby,” you rub your thumb against his flushed tip, spreading the pre-cum along his shaft, “can’t wait to taste you, wonder if you taste as sweet as what you eat,” licking your lips, and he’s biting his lip, “tell me what you want, Toru,”

“Y’know what I want, Princess,” he’s panting as you lean forward to kiss him, lips sliding against his, just as your palm starts to stroke him, his moan is nearly pornographic, words spilling from his mouth, “want your pretty pussy around my cock, sweetheart, plesse,”

“Not so fast, baby,” you hum, your other hand moving to tease his balls, achingly full, judging by the gasp that left his throat, “wanna take my time with you, like you did with me, right?” And he breaks your kiss with a whine, “you feel so good in my hands, Toru, been thinking about this cock for too long,” and he’s grunting, lips parted as he pants, burying his face in your shoulder.

“How good?” he mumbles, and you’re grinning even wider — the great Satoru Gojo fell to pieces with only your touch and some praise, his face beautifully flushed as you tug him by the back of his hair, thumb running over his undercut as you do.

“So good that I wanna make you fall apart over and over until my name is the only thing on your lips,” you squeeze the base of his dick, making his hips jump, “gonna be a good boy for me and let me do it?”

And he’s nodding, utterly fucked out even before you’ve even started. And you guide him to the end of the bed, as you get on your knees for him, his gaze darkening as he watches you lean down to press your lips to the tip of his weeping erection, making him groan your name. And you trace his slit with the tip of your tongue, tasting his salty release, “How long you gonna tease me baby? I’m being so good for you,” he’s whining, his baby blues fluttering with lust as he looks down at you, choking as he sees how his precum paints your lips, “please, fuck, just—“

And you finally guide his cock into your mouth, and he’s jerking at the sensation and groaning as he watches your pretty little mouth take his length — those same smart lips that always had a reply for everything, the ones he’d jerked off to the thought of this very situation — you on your knees for him, the ones he’d wanted around him for so long — it was too much.

He almost blew his load all too fast, your warm mouth all too accommodating to his cock, as your wet walls and tongue swirl around him, tasting and sucking, your fingers grasping his thighs. And you bob up and down his length, the weight of his cock making the ache between your legs worse, and your eyes flicker up, and moan as you watch him.

He’s so fucking gorgeous — panting and so fucked out, as his lips part for you, your name leaving his kissed red lips, teeth baring down on his bottom lip, “Fuck, my little wife is so pretty on her knees,” as his hands settle on your head, watching you sink your mouth down on his cock, pleasure running up his spine, as his thick fingers dig into your scalp, “so nasty, baby, fuuuuck, gonna fuck your throat at this rate,” he groans, “how’d you get so good at this baby? Don’t answer that,” he adds, a growl in his words, and you almost giggle around his dick.

“Learned so I could blow you, husband, after all, this mouth is yours,” you grin, and his lips curl too and then they part as he grunts, as you press teasing kisses along his length before sliding it back into your mouth, beginning to let the tip hit the back of your throat. You gag on him, making him moan, as he helps you deepthroat him, his hips thrusting against you lightly, his white pubes brushing against your face.

And he’s moaning even louder, as he watches you, drool slipping down your chin as he fucks your mouth, tongue massaging him as he did, “Made just to fuck me, huh? Want my load that bad, Princess?” And his words have your eyes rolling back as he’s moving against you, his cock twitching telling you that he’s close, “shiiit, fuck, my wife’s a slut for me, gonna swallow my cum baby?”

“Only for you,” you pull away a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips to his dick, smiling, before you slip him back into your too eager mouth, and you hollow your cheeks, the lewd noises of your tongue and mouth sending him over the edge.

“Fuck, fuck, gonna cum, baby, can I cum in—“ and you make his tip brush your throat again as you suck, looking at him with half lidded, dilated eyes. And he spills into your mouth, hot cum down your throat, as he holds your head gently in place, “shit Princess,” his hips jumping at the sight of you, cum and spit slipping from the corner of your mouth as you pull his cock from you, “s’good for me,”

He’s still panting, as you climb into his lap properly, his cock sliding against your cunt, making his face twist in pleasure, as you lick your mouth clean of him, wiping your chin, “Taste so good, Toru,” you hum, his eyes half lidded with pleasure, chest still heaving, as he leans back on shaky arms, “you may be my favorite meal, but I think I rather,” you grind on his lap teasingly dragging his tip against your messy cunt, “have you cum inside me,”

And he gives a delicious gasp, “baby, too sensitive,” but you’re tilting his chin back as you meet his lips, both of you moaning as you taste yourselves on the other’s lips, “you’re gonna be the death of me, Princess,” he’s chuckling, as he starts to grab your thighs, putting you properly into his lap, “you gonna ride me like a good little princess? Fuck yourself on my cock?”

How does he have the upper hand when you’re the one on top?

As you feel yourself clench around nothing at his words, and he’s sliding your body back and forth, his cock slapping and sliding against your wrecked cunt, so close to sinking in. His hand bears down on your ass, slapping it, before his fingers squeeze it, making you jump against him, your chest brushing against his, “you like that huh?” he’s grinning, as he kisses you again, his lips sliding against you, swallowing your moans eagerly, “what do you want, baby? Remember to say please,” he adds, and you want to roll your eyes, but his fingers rub your clit, and any protest you had fled your mind.

“Please,” and you’re using your fingers to part yourself above him, making his eyes roll back, as you grasp his cock, teasing your dripping cunt with the head of his dick, “fuck me,”

And you sink onto him, inch by inch, as your head looks back, your walls squeezing as he parted your folds, “You’re drenching me, sweetheart, fucking perfect princess cunt is gonna wring me dry,” he grunts, as his fingers splay over your hips, grasping but not pushing, letting you go at your pace, “s’good, might just have to fill you up, again and again,” and your pussy twitches at that thought drawing a laugh from him lips, “you want that? My wife wants to be full of my cum,” he’s groaning when you finally fit all of his cock in you, cunt clamping down on him, “trying to break my cock? Don’t have to go that far to keep me, I’m living in this sweet cunt from now on,”

You’re a mess — whining and moaning, your chest bouncing as you begin to move against him, “Toru, so full, s’good,” his own hips jumping against yours, a low growl in his throat, as his hands begin to guide your hips, snapping his own hips as he fucks you onto his own cock, reaching new depths, as your eyes squeeze shut, “fuckfuckfuuuck, Toru,” you’re babbling and moaning his name, again and again — and he just needs more.

And he’s spanking you, hands coming down on your ass, as he grunts, your warm walls twitching and squeezing him, brushing against sweet spots that have both of you groaning, “such a fucking good girl, taking my cock — I know you can take more, baby, my perfect wife,” and he’s capturing your nipple in his mouth, teeth grazing it before he sucks, his hips growing even faster, until his cock finds your special spot.

“Toru, g’nna cum, I—“ And your orgasm hits you, head thrown back as your lips part in a silent scream, toes curling as you wrap your legs around his waist, and he’s fucking you right through — fucking relentless, almost limitless, with his pace, groaning as he watches his the base of his cock covered in your release, a pool of white that almost has him cumming then and there.

“S’ fuckinh pretty, Princess, and all mine,” he says, as you moan, as he slows his pace, your face buried in his shoulder, as you come down from your high, and he’s tilting your head.

But he isn’t done yet.

In a moment, he’s pulling his cock out — a whine parting your mouth — as he manhandles you so that you’re flat on your back, your ankles thrown over his shoulders, and spread wide for him. You’re the picture of filth — lips in a kiss ruined pout, chest rising and falling as you gaze up at him with needy eyes, and your perfect cunt leaking and drenched for him — he could see everything — all of you, the way your cum slid down your hole, the way it clenched around nothing, the pretty pink insides he was desperate to make his.

He licks his lips, “soaking my lap and sheets with your cum, baby, such a dirty girl,” and he’s spreading your lips, letting your release trickle out.

“Satoru,” you whine as he runs a finger over your still twitching pussy, as if begging for his cock back, “please, too sensitive,”

“Please what, sweetheart? Because your cunt seems to disagree,” his chuckle is a deep noise that reverberates through his chest as he leans down to press your lips to yours in a languid kiss, “such a nerdy princess, imagine how’d your family would feel — seeing you beg for my cock, huh? Not the chaste little princess anymore? Nah, you’re my filthy baby,” and you’re whimpering, “tell me baby, I know you’re not nearly fucked dumb yet, you’re too smart for that,” he coos, a grin on his lips as he stares with that damn crystalline gaze.

And finally he’s sinking into you again, cock sliding back into your soaked cunt, “God, I love you,” he murmurs, as he’s somehow deeper inside you, pussy pressed against all of him, “so fucking perfect, baby, better than I imagined,” he’s pussydrunk now as he rails into you, and you’re grasping at him, the only sound in your ears is the squelch of him as he filled you again and again as his chest presses against yours, fucking you long and hard, “you’re all mine now, baby. My wife, my body, my love, my soul — all of it,” he growls his last words, grunting as his hips begin to stutter as he kisses your sweet spot again and again, “you want me to cum in this sweet princess pussy, baby? Wanna make me a daddy?”

Your cunt twitches at that, and he laughs, “did you just get wetter, baby? Didn’t think you could do that,”

But you’re only moaning, you’re so fuckin’ close but you want him to cum with you - wanna feel him sink into as he does. And so you’re meeting his lips in a searing kiss, his hips thrusting harder and longer, “give me your baby, Toru, breed me,” you whisper, words slurring as you pant and stutter, all sense had left your mind - and all you wanted was him.

“Fuck, Princess,” he’s grunting as he pistons in and out of you, bed groaning under his thrusts, until your walls clamp down again and again on him as you cum, throbbing and needy as you moan his name, back arching, “g’nna cum,”

And he does, his cock hitting the deepest part of you as he does, his warm seed filling you up, as his hips continue to fuck it deeper into you, making you whimper, as he just keeps on cumming ropes, “oh, f-fuck, Princess,” he rasps as he kisses you, sloppy and wet, as he pants, watching your face come down him your high, eyelashes fluttering as you look up at him, “so beautiful,” he murmurs, as he rubs his thumb down your lips.

He pulls out slowly, groaning as he watches your mixed releases leak out of you, dragging the tip of his weeping erection down your cunt, a whine leaving your throat again, “So fucking filthy, baby,” he hums, a shiteating grin on his lips, as he collects his cum on his fingers, and pushes it back inside of you, as you jump, a small pout on your lips making him laugh, “gotta make good on my promise, baby,” and he’s kissing you silly again, “gotta get you pregnant and full for me,”

His body is sticky with sweat, as he eases your aching legs down, as he kisses up your body, nosing your neck, “So perfect for me, Princess, I love you,” he says so earnestly that it makes you melt, as you pull him into a kiss, “suppose we consummated our marriage now, does this mean we get to have a honeymoon now?” he’s grinning, as you roll your eyes, “come on, don’t you want to travel?”

And you laugh, “I don’t think we would even leave the hotel room if you had your way,” and he’s pressing his thumb against your bottom lip and dragging down, before kissing you, sliding his tongue into your mouth to taste you.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” And your breath catches a moment, before you sigh, and he grins again, “so?”

You roll over to grab your phone, kissing his lips, pulling up possible destinations, “where are we going?”

“Satoru, we’re at the office, uhmph—“ Satoru’s kissing you even before the elevator doors shut, and you can’t help but not care if anyone saw either of you making out, his talented tongue stealing your logic from under you, before he’s pulling away, your lipstick nearly smeared all over his face. You bite back a laugh, before using your thumb to wipe away the evidence of your kiss, “we’ve been here less than a minute, and you’re already making a mess,”

And his lips catch your thumb between them, kissing it sweetly, “What do I do better than make a mess of you, princess?” and he’s pressing sweet kisses to your fingertips, before you’re pulling him back for another kiss, right before you hear the elevator ding, and you scramble apart.

Your cheeks flushed, as you stepped onto the floor of the newly merged company that was formerly your families’ individual companies, now united as one — just as you and Satoru were now — which was why he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of you. The two of you had come into the office to finalize the transition for your staff, each of you dealing with formalities on either side, but Satoru did little to help your focus on the process with his blatant stares and sneaky touches.

Twice already he had pulled you into his office, only to have you either pressed against his door, or bent over his desk. And god, you sat in your office, biting your lip as you thought about paying him another visit — and fuck, this is what he wanted.

You pull your phone out and text him: You suck.

And his reply is instant. If I recall from last night, you’re the one who sucks ;)

You’ve left me high and dry, Satoru, and I shouldn’t be thinking about fucking you in the office. Especially with both of our parents around in meetings all day.

He replies, Nah, that’s exactly why you should be thinking about it.

And then another text.

Imagine our parents walking in while you’re under my desk doing what you do best, you’d be quiet for me, Princess? Wouldn’t let us get caught when I fuck your pretty mouth?

You’re biting your lip — Fucker, I hate you.

Nah, you love me, a little too much, Princess. Another text — especially the way you were moaning my name last night.

And there’s a knock at your door in that moment — “Come in,” you intone, and you were ninety-nine percent sure that was Satoru — ready to make good on his promise — and then white hair visible as the door swings open, “Father,”

It was a Gojo, but not the one you expected — your father in law, instead of his son.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he says, lips curling in a smile that was all too the same as his son — but missing the same charm, the distinct softness that made you adore Satoru was not present in his father — nor was his father very present at all — except to chastise his son on how he thought his son should live his life.

And he was interrupting — interrupting you about to sext his son and your husband from the confines of your office, but you only offered a smile, “Not at all, can I help you with something, Father?”

He’s shutting the door behind him, before taking a seat across from you, “I just wanted to have a chat with you — it’s been so long since we’ve been able to see the two of you — we still haven’t had you over since you’ve returned from your honeymoon,”

“It’s been very busy,” and it had been, but not too busy to see Satoru’s family. Since the launch party, you and Satoru had agreed to steer clear of his father for some time, until Satoru could develop some more healthy boundaries with him. And so you could get through a conversation without strangling him (although Satoru wasn’t opposed to seeing that), “with the merger and Satoru and I trying to spend time to get know each other again,”

“Of course,” but his smile told you he was unconvinced, “I wanted to talk to you about something important, I’ve seen how close you and Satoru have gotten since the engagement and the wedding, and I was happy to see you pushing him in the right direction,”

“”Pushing him?’” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

“With the merger, I haven’t seen him so focused, so determined, and I knew my suggestion to my wife to have you marry him was the right choice,” and you stare at him, mouth agape, as anger slowly melts from your stomach into every vein of his body, fingers curling into fists.

“Excuse me?”

He leans back in his chair, “When the idea of the merger was floated by me, I knew I wanted a condition to be your marriage to Satoru,” his eyes glance over the things on your desk — the stacked folders, the paperwork, and the pictures of your family and of Satoru, “you’re driven, you’re focused, you’re perfect — I knew you could change him, and I was right,” his lips curl, and you can’t hold your tongue anymore.

“Maybe what your son needed was someone to support him,” your words are even, but your body is tense, “he needed someone not to scold him, to put him down, to whisper doubts in his ear when he needed help,” you rise from your chair slowly, “I respect you as my father-in-law and as my family’s old friend and co-owner of this company, but,” you glare at him, “no one insults my husband’s capabilities, and makes me takes credit for his achievements,”

The old man’s teeth grit, and he opens to respond, when there’s a curt knock at the door, and Satoru enters, “Old man, how about you go chat with the other old farts in the room? Pretty sure you’re bleeding investors by the second the longer you talk with my wife,” he slides a small smile to you that tells you he heard everything.

Satoru’s father shoots a glare at both of you, before leaving the room in a huff, door shutting behind him, and you sigh, rubbing your temples, “I’m sorry if I made things worse—”

And he’s pulling you into a hug, arms snaking around your waist and pulling you against him, “Thank you, Princess,” he murmurs into your ear, making you tense, “oh you like that, huh?” and you roll your eyes, laughing.

“Even in a moment like this, huh?” you lean up and whisper in his ear, “I don’t just like it, I love it,” and it’s his turn to shiver, his cheeks burning, “you’re so cute,” you grin, before leaning up and kissing him. He melts into the kiss, his fingers cupping your cheek to deepen the kiss, pulling your waist against his, and you feel his arousal pressed against your thigh.

You pull away, tilting your head, you snort, “Already?”

And he bites his lip, “Take some responsibility, baby, it’s your fault,” and he leans down and grazes your ear with his teeth, “not my fault my hot wife defended my honor and then decided to whisper sweet nothings in my ear,”

You hum, guiding his lips to yours, your teeth graze over his bottom lip, “And how should I take responsibility, baby?” and he shudders, crystalline eyes glazed over with lust, “we’re in the office, not very professional,” his fingers unbutton your blouse, so he can lean down and kiss your collarbone.

“I was never very professional to begin with,” he smirks, his teeth grazing over the soft skin, sucking and biting, making you gasp, “don’t be so loud, someone will hear us, what will they think?” he murmurs, with a grin against your skin, as he continues to undo your blouse, as he turns you around so your back is against your chest, he tilts your head to look at your door, “look it’s unlocked, anyone could walk in,” and his fingers sneak down the front of your skirt, fingers teasing your panties, “fuuuck, princess, you’re soaked through — are you more turned on by the idea of getting caught?” and you whimper, only making him grin wickedly against your neck, “my filthy girl, imagine your father walking in, seeing your husband’s fingers down your skirt, legs spread wide like a slut,”

“Satoru,” you’re biting your lip so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised it would bleed, your knees buckling, as his fingers part your dripping folds, “we can’t—”

“We can,” he shushes you, guiding your lips to his, fingers cupping your throat, but he leans back to get confirmation that you were okay, and you lean in again to kiss him, “such a good girl,” You whimper, and he laughs, “gotta break in the new office don’t we?”

And his fingers slip your panties aside, two fingers parting your folds, and you gasp, as he stuffs two fingers into your mouth as well, “Not so loud, Princess, can’t give the office gossip mill something really juicy, now can we?” And his digits start to really fuck you, in and out, the wet squelch ringing in your ears, as his fingers bully and stretch your walls, until they find what they are looking for — your g-spot.

You fall apart, but it’s gushing all over his hand, soaking his hand, as your hand grasps at the fingers in his mouth trying to stifle your noises, “Fuck, Princess, did you just squirt for me?” He’s grinning, “such a sloppy little Princess, look you’re staining the carpet with your cum,” he guides your head to look, seeing the spot on the carpet, as you lean against him, “gotta do this again,”

He kisses you as you moan. Tangled limbs and eager touches, as you guide him over to the desk, as you settle him into the chair, lips still parting as your tongue slips in, “Your turn,” and before he can even react, you’re slipping down to your knees, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, slipping his aching dick out, nearly slapping your face with it, you drag it along your lips, “Like you said, I’m the one who sucks right?” you wink, before you finally lick the length of his cock, tracing the veins to the slit, “you always taste so good, Toru,” and he’s hissing now.

“Fuck, baby, you always so pretty on your knees for me,” and you have to disagree — he’s the one who looks pretty — shirt disheveled, chest rising and falling far too fast, as he looked down at you with his snowy white eyelashes half lidded with a lust ridden gaze — “your pretty mouth is s’fucking perfect, can’t wait to cum down that lovely throat,” he hisses, as his fingers dig into your scalp, urging his cock deeper, his tip brushing against your throat, making you gag.

He opens his mouth to apologize, but you only shake your head, as you do it again, making his hips buck against you, tip hitting your throat again, his composure quickly falling to shreds, as he’s fucking your throat now, biting his lip so hard to keep his groans in, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was bleeding afterwards.

“I-I’m close,” he’s gritting his teeth, but you only redouble your efforts, “so fuckin’ perfect, made to suck this dick—”

And that’s when there’s a knock on the door, making you both freeze. You panic silently — before Satoru is shepherding you under your desk, while he adjusts himself, scooting your chair in more, so his weeping cock is hidden along with you.

“Come in,” Satoru says, as even toned as someone who was just fucking their wife’s throat can manage, “Dad—what a nice surprise,”

And you cover your mouth — fuck it was your dad — Satoru called his dad, “old man” — what the fuck.

“I should be saying that to you son,” you bite your lip, listening to their conversation, “where’s my daughter? And why are you in her office?” and you covered your mouth, shit — you were hiding under your own desk, while Satoru sat in your chair.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I was just waiting for her to come back with lunch,” he manages, and you can almost see the dependable smile on his lips, “she volunteered to get us lunch and she told me to wait here so we could eat together,”

Your father was seemingly convinced after that, but to both of your dismay, sat down to speak with Satoru about business matters. You crouched, utterly bored as you listened to them talk, his erection beginning to wane, and you got an idea in your pretty little head — you grinned — well, Satoru should be careful what he wishes for, or he might just get you blowing him in front of your father.

You start slow — teasing the head with a brush of your fingers, easily could have been an accident, but it nearly makes him jump, as he gives a warning nudge with his foot gently. But then your hand begins to rub him in earnest, fingers using your spit as lube, as you heard your husband stammer over his words to your father. But it was nothing compared to when you closed your mouth over his cock, and began to deepthroat him again.

“Satoru, are you okay?’ you hear your father ask, as you discreetly suck your husband’s cock under his desk, and you can only imagine the delightful shade of red your Toru is turning.

“Sorry, I’m not feeling like myself,” he mumbles, as he grits his teeth in an attempt not to moan, and you can feel his thighs tense as he forces himself not to fuck your mouth as he wants to right now. He’s so close — as much as you like the idea of getting caught, you think Satoru likes it as much or maybe even more — his cock is twitching in your mouth as you suck and swirl your tongue around it, as your fingers dig into your thighs, “I apologize, I’m getting a call. Could you excuse me?”

And your father is oblivious, and excuses himself from the room, door shutting behind him, and Satoru groans, “Fuck, princess, you almost made me cum in front of your dad in this nasty fucking mouth,” and you suck harder, fingers fondling his balls, as his fingers find your locks again, and his hips jerk into your mouth, his white pubes tickling your nose, “thaaat’s it, fuck, so fuckin’ good, i’m close, sweetheart,” he groans, “you want me to cum—“ and you bury his cock deeper into your mouth as an answer, your hands pumping what you couldn’t fit, until he cums down your throat.

You meet his half lidded gaze, swallowing his cum, as you ease off his cock, a mix of cum and saliva connected your lips, “You taste so good,” you lick your lips, as you push the chair a little back and climb out, as you tug his boxers and pants back up, tucking his cock back in, “my favorite treat,”

He smiles, chest still rising and falling fast, “I love you, princess,” so genuinely as he pulls you into a deep kiss.

You giggle, humming against his lips, “So heartfelt after getting your soul sucked out of your dick,” you glance at the door, “do you think anyone heard us?”

He shrugs, as he pulls you into his lap, “I hope they did,” he grins against your neck, as you roll your eyes.

“You’re terrible,” and his lips curl.

“And you love me,” you kiss those same lips you would each day.

“I do.”

~~~~

“What do you wanna do today?” Satoru asks, your legs thrown over his lap, as you read a book you had picked up the other day out on a date with him, and he eats the kikufuku he had insisted on picking up the same day.

“Hmm, I have some ideas,” you hum, hiding your smile with a book, and you don’t need to see his face to know he’s grinning.

“And what’s that, Princess?” he leans forward, plucking the book from your fingers, as you tut at his sugar covered fingers, “shouldn’t you share your feelings with your husband?” And his lips brush against your neck, nose brushing against the soft skin of your nape, inhaling your scent.

“Well I have a surprise for you,” you weren’t planning on giving it to him now, but you pulled a wrapped box from behind the couch cushions, “should I make you wait?”

He’s reaching for the box already, as you laugh, and he’s snatching it from your fingers before you can tease him, “can I open it?” He was so eager, as always.

“Go ahead, baby,” you bite your lip, a small smile on your lips.

He lifts the lid of the wrapped box off, and the first thing his eyes flit across is the word “positive.”

His mouth parts, as he stares at the pregnancy test carefully nestled into the box, “is this—“ his cerulean eyes meet yours, a soft gaze with wonder, “are we—“

“We’re having a baby, Toru,” you nod, and he’s sweeping you into his arms, as you squeak, his body sweeping you up in his, as he buries his face in your neck, “Toru—“

“Is this real?” He murmurs, into your skin, all soft words and soft kisses, “I feel like I’m dreaming,”

“Well I am your dream girl, so maybe don’t be surprised when I pinch you and you wake up,” you pinch his cheek lightly, making his pale skin cutely flushed, pink dusting his cheeks, “no dream here, all real — so I guess you’re just lucky,”

“The luckiest,” he hums, a quiet noise that soothes you, “a beautiful wife, and now,” his fingers graze over your stomach, before lifting the hem of your shirt, to press his lips to it, “and now we’re going to be a family,”

Your lips curl, tilting his chin up so his watery gaze meets your own, thumb rubbing the length of his cheek, “We already were a family,

He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, “I thought we were mortal enemies,” and you laugh, before shrugging.

“That too,” and he pulls you into his lap, smiling, “but you’re actually pretty cute,”

He gasps mockingly, “Princess, do you have a crush on me? A mere commoner?”

You roll your eyes, pressing a languid kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering sweetness of the kikufuku, “I hate you,” you say, when he knows you mean quite the opposite.

And he only smiles the same way he always did — and the same way he always would — “love you too, Princess."

✩ a/n: so this was also inspired by a character AI made by @/fairybaby that has been living in my mind rent free for far too long. thank you to @/laneymusings for being the best emotional support from writing to formatting to everything in between

✩ tag list: @ryliobrow, @getosho3cakes, @delaneyyyy, @soukokufan, @purplscnerie, @solarlunarsstuff, @growingupnrealizing, @forest-fruits-jam, @achipstea1ingseagull, @fruitscall, @starplasma-cujoh, @crashing-a-jeep, @mwah-chia, @vorschlaghannah, @xrysakts, @emonaculate

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #sab [mlist]#gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk au

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kamiversee · 2 months

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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 44 || The Question at the End

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, heartwarmingly filthy smut (includes choking), fluff, & a ticklish tinge of angst.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 4.7k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——YOU WEREN’T PREPARED FOR the man that is Nanami Kento. Nope, nothing could mentally ready you for the way he eases his cock into you for what felt like hours on end, making you lose all sense of thought as he forces you to feel each and every inch and vein that decorates his member.

You don’t remember anything from when he was finger fucking you in his vehicle to now as your legs are pressed up against your chest with Nanami’s hands roughly squeezing onto the plush underside of your thighs while he stuffs you full of his girthy length.

“Fuuuck,” Nanami groaned, his hair disheveled and his eyes lustful and low-lidded as he gazed down at the flushed fucked out expression on your face. “You’re-, shit… you’re milking my cock, darling… hah, squeezing me so damn tight,”

Through the course of the list, you’ve experienced all kinds of sex but nothing quite like this. When Nanami said he fucks rough he wasn’t referring to his pace, instead, he was referring to the filth that leaves his lips and the stretch of his dick squeezing into you. It’s more of a buildup to that roughness he was referring to and you liked every second of that.

He’s a confident man, he knows how women react to his size. And as for you? Oh you felt like a virgin trying to take him in at first. Thank god for the car ride that consisted of him fingering you because you quickly realized how necessary that was.

Not only was that helpful but Nanami’s sexy voice was in your ear as he eased himself into you. He spoke so softly, so kindly, his tone laced in honey with how sweet it was as each word went straight to your core and only made his entry more slippery.

He hadn’t tied you up just yet, he’d revisit that idea later.

As he initially entered you, those soft lips of his were against your ear, saying things like, “Shhh, I know it’s big but you can take it, right?”

To which your nails would scrape against his back and your jaw would fall, leaving your mouth open with obscene moans leaving you, “I c-can’t-, f-fuuuck… ohmygod…” You whined and whined, to which he only went slower.

You’re not sure if it helped for him to go slower or if you just wanted him to thrust the rest in but either way, you were struggling.

“C’mon, that’s it, I’m almost-,” He grunts heavily, his warm breath hitting your skin, “A-Almost all the way in. You’re doing so good f’me, such a good girl aren’t you?”

You nodded weakly. He was halfway in but you couldn’t really tell. Your legs wrapped around his large muscular body and god he was a big man. His build was so damn perfect over you and his gentleness just made you melt beneath him.

“Uh-huh…” You babbled out to the man.

Nanami shifted down to the area right below your jaw and kissed you passionately before whispering to you, “You’re taking me so well, love.”

Yep, your walls suddenly clamp around his cock and Nanami lets out a moan against you.

“Kento,” You squeaked out, a whimper following his name as each inch of him was buried inside you, “You’re s’deep,” You slurred out.

Nanami nods, “Mhmm, I know… Here,” He moves a hand to grab your arm and you feel his fingers slip along your palm before they interlace with your own, squeezing your delicate hand in his own, “Hold on to me, I’ll make sure you feel good soon, okay?”

The sex was so soft and light that it had you utterly flustered. You didn’t even know what to do with yourself in a situation like this. Nanami moved so that his face was over your own and his eyes gazed so deeply into yours while he held your hand to comfort you through his hefty size.

His hips begin to draw back and you hiss when he then presses himself down into you again, the tip of his cock simply mushing into that tear-jerking spot inside you. Your delicate fingers squeeze onto his hand for dear life as Nanami works up a steady and simple pace. You were breathing so heavily and your eyes were hardly open.

Your jaw remained slack as soft moans poured from your moist lips, “M-Mmmgh… Kento,” You called, voice breathy.

The man tilts his head at you, his brows furrowed as he tries not to lose himself in the way your cunt just sucks him right back in each time he draws himself out, “Hm?” He inches his face to yours, “What is it, pretty? Talk to me.” He requested, and damn the way his voice was just as breathy as yours.

The whole situation was so hot, heavy, and intimate, far more intimate than you were expecting it to be. Your eyes dipped down to his lips and you felt his hands move your thighs farther apart before his chest pressed against yours.

“K-Kiss me,” You breathed.

Nanami chuckles, just barely, “Is that how you ask?” He groaned out slightly, his cock stretching you open as he voices his words to you.

You bite your lower lip for a moment to stifle the next whine that threatened to escape before turning your head to the side and uttering a desperate, “Please?”

The man moved his lips to your cheek, then slid over to your ear, “Look at me first,” He instructed.

Just before you get the chance to do so, his hand suddenly weighs into yours and you feel your fingers dip into the mattress a bit as Nanami holds himself up using your clasped hands. Then, his free hand comes up to your face, specifically your chin, and forces your head to turn to him.

Pleasureful tears are welling up in your eyes and you feel so embarrassed as you look at him. Nanami gives you this comforting small smile and your heart flutters like crazy.

“Please kiss me,” You say softly.

Nanami inclines himself down to you just a bit more, his warm lips brushing over your own, “Beg some more f’me,” He grunts, and you feel his dick sliding out of you a bit more than before, and he thrusts right back in moments later.

That was when things started to shift. “Please?” You’re so quick to follow his words, almost without a second thought.

He frowns to mock you, “So cute. Say it again.”

“P-Please?” You moaned this time, feeling his thick inches knock into you a bit harder than before, making you choke on air for a moment.

Then, your cunt simply floods around his cock when Nanami pushes his lips to yours, groaning out a very low and very sexy, “Good girl.”

Your lashes fluttered as your eyes closed and the kiss with Nanami was slow and firm, wet and plump lips slipping over one another before your tongues connected sloppily as his pace picked up.

You got so unintentionally loud, moaning against Nanami with little to no control over the sounds escaping your lips. His name left you like a damn mantra with the way he begins to, slowly, yet roughly drive his girthy cock into your squelching cunt.

Sounds of sex filled the air, loud as it always was, yet your moaning was slightly downed out by Nanami’s deep and guttural groans. That, along with the lewd sounds of your pussy just slobbering around his shaft.

Nanami’s lips pried from yours at some point and your eyes rolled to the back of your head when his dick simply clobbered into your gummy walls, the wet slap of his thick base to your cunt echoing throughout the room.

“You’re one perverted girl, y’know that?” Nanami suddenly pointed out as he pushed himself up a bit. His hand releases yours and the man sits back on his heels, placing those large hands of his to your upper thighs and then giving your body a tug.

A pornographic moan is ripped from your throat as his cock is felt impossibly deeper inside you. The slight change in positioning made Nanami penetrate so much further inside you, your pussy squeezing around the man ridiculously tight as he ups his thrusts.

Your entire body twitches when his thumb is felt at your clit, rolling such slow but painfully pleasurable circles around the sensitive but.

“M-My god-,” You gasp, your back arching off the bed, “M’gonna cum, s-shit… K-Kento-,”

“Mhm,” Nanami hums, biting his lip for a moment at the sight of your breasts jerking forward with his each thrust, “I knoww,” He coos, “Cum on my cock, lemme’ feel it, darling.”

The harsh smack of his pelvis to yours as he fucked his length into you filled your ears. You couldn’t think for a moment, couldn’t see, drool was dripping down out of the corner of your mouth, and his name rolled off your tongue more times than could be counted as your orgasm crashed over you.

Your legs tried to close around him but his free hand prevented that action as it was placed on your thigh, keeping you spread open for him. Instinctively, your hand reaches down to where his thumb was driving you over the edge and you try stopping the touch, overstimulation clouding your mind.

“C’monn, don’t push me away, pretty girl,” Nanami hushes out.

His voice made the entire thing so much worse. And he knew it too, he could feel how your cunt twitches and clamps around his already slick member, knowing his tone and words made you wetter than you were.

Your hands continue to try and move his hands away from your clit, wanting just a second to try and collect yourself. That was when Nanami decided now was a good time to revisit his thoughts from earlier.

There was a previously disregarded tie lying idly on his bed not too far from the two of you. One hand remains on your clit, driving you absolutely insane as his other hand reached for the tie.

You didn’t even realize what was happening until the pressure from your clit was suddenly lifted and your hands were brought together. You let out a filthy cry of pleasure as Nanami leans his muscular body over yours, pinning your hands up and above your head.

He shakes his head at your expression and his hips just don’t stop pounding his hefty cock into you, the bed beginning to rock with his each thrust. “Kinky woman you are.” He comments, “You probably wanted this to happen, huh? S’that why you were being so disobedient?”

A slight smile pulls at the corner of your lips, the sight not going unnoticed even through your fucked out expression. “M-Maybe, ah, fuuck…” You moaned out, “B-But, haah… y-you’re the one who-, m-mmmh… wanted t-to tie me up, aagnh-, a-anyways…” You get out, your words slurred and broken due to his heavy balls slapping against your skin as he bottomed you out.

You felt a fabric wrapping around your wrists, the feeling of being restricted completely foreign to you.

Nanami scoffs and his ability to fuck you and tie your hands up at the same time genuinely amuses you. “Oh? Someone’s quite talkative now,” He teases, clearly mocking how just a few minutes ago the most you could get out was his name.

You bite your lip hard for a second, trying to keep a whimper in whilst Nanami’s hand squeezes around your tied wrists, pinning you down to the bed while he begins rolling his hips down into yours, again making you really feel his every inch and vein.

“Ha-ahh… fuck, s-shut up,” You babble out.

Nanami cocks a brow at you, “I’d love to see you try and make me.” He tests, leaning down so that his lips ghost your own, “Shut me up, go on-,”

His words cut off suddenly as you purposefully close your walls around him, using what little strength you have in you to do so. The man moans at the feeling of your pussy squeezing his cock so suddenly, completely eating his words to you.

You flash a lustful smile at him, “Mgh… You were saying?” Your words are still breathy but even so, your confidence turned the man on like crazy.

Nanami bites his bottom lip and then scoffs, “Do that again ‘nd see what happens,” He challenges.

And who were you to not accept said challenge? Again, you clench around Nanami’s dick but this time, you’re all too quickly put in your place.

He lets go of your pinned hands, pulling the tie from you as he leans up and tosses his head back with an almost annoyed groan. “I had no plans on actually fucking you like a slut but,” He rolls his head back into place and meets your eyes for only a moment, “Seems’ like a brat like you needs to be put in her place.”

The tie that’d been around your wrist is brought up to the man’s mouth as he holds it there while moving. Your body is rapidly manhandled and Nanami pulls out of you for just a moment to flip you over. He then lifts your hips and forces your back into an arch.

After which, you moan loudly into the mattress as he thrusts his cock back into you. Then, your wrists are taken into his hold again, quickly crossed over one another behind your back, and then tied together.

And if that wasn’t enough, once your hands are firmly tied together, Nanami reaches over for something you don’t see. You don’t get a chance to mentally process the way he takes his belt and moves it to loop around your neck, using that to tug your head up from the mattress as his hips beat into your ass.

Your eyes widened, air and your voice left your throat completely, and you felt so stupidly cockdrunk in what felt like seconds. Your hands were tied behind your back, and the upper half of your body was forced up by a belt that wasn’t pulling you too tight but tight enough for you to have zero control.

“K-Kento, f-fu-uck… p-please-,” You whimpered as you felt his massive tip just pound into your sweet spot, making your eyes cross in lust.

Nanami scoffs and tugs you back enough so that he can speak into your ear, “Please what?” He grunts, “I thought you wanted me to shut up?”

His voice is so damn low now, almost lower than before? It’s husked in arousal and you could feel his cock twitching inside you.

“M’sorry,” You whine, “Ohfuck, f-fuck… Kento, mmmh… m’cumming, s-shit-,” It came so unexpectedly, your release coating his member in a messy slick as he fucked you from behind.

He chuckled suddenly and your eyes rolled back when he suddenly moved his free hand to shove two fingers into your mouth, “Give it to me, love,” He whispered so sweetly despite his hips crashing into yours so angrily.

Your jaw just fell and his fingers dove deeper into your mouth, drool and spit leaking out your mouth as you moaned and groaned around his thick digits. Your entire body spasmed and twitched as instead of just experiencing an orgasm, a different, but familiar, sensation takes over and you squirt unexpectedly.

Nanami groaned deeply against your ear, “Fuuuuck… You-, mgh… hah, messed’ up my sheets, pretty girl,” He points out, as if the fabric wasn’t long since soiled since he brought you into the bedroom.

You couldn’t respond to him. Your legs were shaking, an airy whine was leaving your lips, your throat trembled as the sound left you, and your eyes squeezed shut. Nanami let up on you after that.

His fingers leave your mouth, you choke out a staggered exhale, and his hand releases the belt, allowing your body to go forward and limp in front of him. His hands then find comfort on your hips and his thrusting slows only a bit to give you a moment's rest.

You’re moaning weakly into the sheets and your tied hands are trying to reach back and feel the man. Nanami, feeling pity for you, grabs ahold of one of your hands as he continues to stroke your insides juust right.

“Did’ so good for me, darling.” He praises, “So fuckin’ good.” His words left him in pants and you could tell you weren’t the only one feeling drained.

You found the strange sense of comfort wash over your body whilst he slowed his thrusts but kept holding your hand. While his thrusts grew slower, they also grew harder. Slow and harsh jerks of his hips into your ass just made you so dumb, his well-defined pelvis felt clashing into your ass over and over and over.

His stamina was top-notch, something you could hardly keep up with anymore.

“K-Kento… mmmh… s-so-, oh… s’deep…” You mumbled into the bed, missing the way he smiles softly at your fucked out state.

Nanami shrugs a bit, “Could’ go deeper if you want.”

You shook your head no amusingly fast. “N-No, you’re… aah… you’re de-eep enough…” Your words were coming out in broken moans and a tear slipped out of your eye as you simply took what he gave you.

The man chuckled, “Uhuh, I bet I am…” He mocked.

You wish you would have argued with that but your brain was too fuzzy with lust, arousal, and satisfaction that you couldn’t think straight.

Nanami took his other hand that wasn’t holding yours and placed it on your ass, spreading you apart slightly so he could get a good look at the mess you’ve made of his cock. The sight was like no other, it made his breath hitch.

“Shit,” Nanami cursed, “Such a messy girl…” He points out, then tosses his head back as he feels you pulse around his shaft. “You’re gonna make me cum if you keep-“

You move slowly, with the last of your energy to force your hips back to meet his heavy thrusts. Then, you turn your head and meet Nanami’s gaze.

Good lord that man was sexy. He was sweaty, his eyes were so low and clouded in this dazed stupor, lips parted with pants leaving him, and his abs were so clearly tensed.

His thrusting slowed and slowed until he came to a half-stop, watching the way you fucked yourself back on him. Nanami lets out a grunt, then a groan, like a really deep pussy-throbbing groan that let you know he was close. That, and you felt him grasp onto your hand tighter, his mouth shutting as he grits his teeth and furrowed his brows.

Even fucked out, if there’s one thing you still knew how to do, it was how to have lazy sex (Choso was to thank that for that). You rolled your hips as you continued your movements, feeling his cock glide in and out of you so smoothly.

Nanami lets out a moan and then suddenly grabs onto your hips, quickly pushing you so that his member slipped out of you before allowing himself to cum on your ass.

Somewhere deep deep down inside, you wished he came inside you but, you knew you needed to start being more careful. You’ve had sex with too many men to simply let the majority of them cum inside you. In the chance that you were to get pregnant, you wouldn’t want to have to go through the stress of figuring out whose it is.

That thought aside, Nanami was quick to untie your wrists and then lean his body over yours. You pushed yourself up just barely using your elbows so that your faces could meet and it seemed like you both had the same thing in mind, moving to share a sweet and sensual kiss.

You felt as the bed dipped a bit on your left side, Nanami’s right hand going to caress your obviously tired body as he kissed you.

When he pulls away, his eyes are gentle on yours, “You did so good for me,” He whispers.

Those words make you smile sleepily, “Did I?” You murmur back to the man.

He nods, “Mhm,” He then gives you another peck, “Now that that’s done,” Nanami shifts to kiss your forehead and then leans away from you, “Let me clean you up.”

In no world would you have been allowed to protest against that as Nanami was quick to move to act on his words.

In terms of aftercare, you think you’ve experienced the best of the best but… Nanami is just…

Well, you’re not sure any of the men you’ve dealt with have not only given you a bath but also massaged your feet as if they were a damn professional. Then, if that wasn’t enough, Nanami didn’t even allow you to lift a finger for the remainder of the night.

He asked if you wanted to stay or if you wanted him to take you home and after you settled on the first option, Nanami not only insisted that you sleep in his bed but also made sure you were completely taken care of.

Before allowing you to drift off to sleep, he offered you tea, meds, and even food-- all of which you sleepily denied, telling him you’d be fine until the morning. He then insisted that you take at least one of the offered items, to which you settled on the tea.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Nanami was such a caring man. Perhaps in another life…

No, you’ve got enough drama on your own. You don’t need to add a third man to that list-

Speaking of lists…

That’s…

That’s it.

It’s over. The list of people Gojo Satoru blackmailed you into seducing to clear his debt is complete.

As this information renders to you, you are now sitting up in Nanami’s large bed, the man sitting not too far from you flicking through channels on the big flatscreen TV as you sipped on the tea he’d given you.

After today… You could just run to Choso.

Or…

Or Gojo.

You blink at your own thoughts.

Or Gojo? What the hell? Since when was he an option? Despite you being conflicted, thinking about running to either of them to live some kind of happily ever after makes your heart feel all fluttery.

You sit back a bit, resting against the pillows behind you and you drink more of the given tea. Then, a sudden thought sparks.

“Kento,” You call, your voice as delicate as ever.

He finds some channel and when you look over to him, you notice he’s wearing reading glasses. He really is stupidly attractive without trying.

Nanami turns to you, “Yes? Everything okay?”

You grin, “Mhm, everything’s fine. I just uhm…” You swallow, “Can I ask you something.”

His eyes spark in curiosity, “Of course.”

You glance away from him, “Uh, you know who Gojo is, right?” Why did your question come out so dumb? You don’t know, you’re tired and you wanted to see if you could get even the slightest answer about that debt of his.

Nanami quirks a brow, “Gojo, as in, Gojo Satoru? Gojo the walking headache Satoru?” He grumbles.

You giggle, “Yeah, him.”

“Yes, I know him, why?” The blond asks.

You let out a sigh. There’s no reason you can’t ask Nanami about the debt right? With that thought, you look at him, “Does he owe you anything?” You ask vaguely.

Obviously, you know the answer to that since Gojo said he’s in debt-

“Owe me anything?” Nanami echoes in a confused manner, “Like what?”

Think, think, think, think-, “I mean like, does he owe you any favors?” You manage out.

“Why?” The blond deflects.

It was odd he didn’t answer the question just yet. Was he hiding something or was he truly confused?

“W-Well, Satoru owes me something so I was curious if he uh, owed things to a lot of people,” Yep, that came straight out of your ass.

You’ve gotten way too good at lying. Choso might not like that-

“No,” Nanami says.

Silence followed his answer.

No? Your brows furrowed and you chuckled, “No? No, what?” You murmured, acting as though you were questioning.

“You asked if he owed me anything, right?” Nanami shrugs, “The answer is no, Gojo doesn’t owe me anything. But I’m not surprised someone like him owes you something,” He jokes.

You just blink.

Did you hear all that correctly?

What…

What the hell does that mean??

If Gojo doesn’t owe Nanami anything, why the fuck did you just sleep with him? Well, it’s not like you regret it or anything, the sex was great but…

What the fuck is going on??

Nanami suddenly snaps his fingers, “You alright?”

You blink out of your thoughts, “Y-Yeah. So wait,” You return to your questions, “Satoru’s not in debt with you or anything?” You ask, receiving a confused stare from Nanami. To make yourself not seem weird, you quickly add on, “L-Like he is with me?”

Nanami laughs a bit, “I’m afraid not. I wouldn’t even allow Gojo to owe me anything, he’d never pay it back knowing him. Even so, is everything okay with you and him? Do you need help getting him to pay the debt he owes you-“

“N-No,” You unintentionally cut off, “Sorry, thanks for offering to help but uhm,” You turn your head to face forward, losing yourself in deep thought, “I’m fine. I’ll uh, figure things out with him myself.”

Nanami gazes at you for a long moment and then he brushes the topic off, turning back to the TV.

You, on the other hand, have never been this damn confused in your life. Why… Why would Gojo make you sleep with Nanami if he doesn’t owe him anything?

What if… What if Gojo really is just an asshole after all? What if you just forgot who the hell that man was?

You must have.

Yeah, you forgot. This is the same man who’s threatened you numerous times. You’ve been blinded. You forgot why Gojo really said he was doing this to you.

Forget the debt of his.

Forget those stupid and bullshit lies of him claiming to love you.

Fuck his stupid ass tears and confessions.

Screw this damn diamond necklace that still lay around your neck at this very moment.

Fuck Gojo Satoru.

That’s the same man who said from the very beginning…

He only started the list, because he was bored. How’d you forget? To him, it was all just a fucking game, remember?

‘And what better entertainment than watching Shoko's roomie get slut-shamed by the whole school?’ You forgot about that.

Your heart caves in your chest and you feel this twisted and burning feeling well up inside you. Before you settle on hating Gojo again, you want clear and direct answers.

R-Right?

Shit. You can’t stop the flashing and haunted memories of his sobbing. Why would he cry like that if this was all just a game to him? Does he just regret it that bad? Did he want you to feel sorry for him?

Shit. You hate this. You want to cry and scream at the same time.

Replaying his soft words makes your heart ache. No matter what happens, even through death, my heart will always beat for you.

But then, replaying his other words brings anger to your veins. I want the whole school to see what a fucking slut you are.

So…

Which statement is the real Gojo? Which words poured from his lips hold the truth?

Does he actually love you or… have you just been a pawn in his fucked up little game all this time? A piece to his twisted puzzle? Or, the missing fragment to his fractured heart?

What is it that you symbolize in the eyes of Gojo Satoru?

Now that the list is over, you’re left with two final options.

A. Demand Gojo to explain himself even though the chances of that being successful are slim to none.

Or;

B. Forget Gojo, free your mind, & run to the man who’s freakishly devoted to you; Choso Kamo.

The choice was yours.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙

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lovifie · 2 months

Text

Simon Riley whose favourite hair was always yours.

The first time he touched your hair, you were both deployed. You were walking before him, your hair in a braid behind your head that was almost hypnotizing. You stick your head from behind a wall, and Simon pulls your braid the moment he hears gunshots to keep you away from the fire line. A whine escapes your lips that sounds almost like a kicked dog and you quickly look back to him. "Thank you, Lt." You mutter.

And in that moment, with your hair still in his hand, he knew he was in trouble.

Your hair doesn't glow in the dark, yet it always draws his attention. Like a lifesaver floating in an ocean. He quickly learns that he can't wait to touch it again, so he observes and waits for a chance to do so.

Like when you were rewriting a report on the mess hall, Price told you it was illegible and taking in consideration Price's handwriting you took it to heart. So there you were, writing again the pages with your best handwriting.

A lock of hair in the middle of your face had Simon almost sprinting to you to move it out of your face before you could it yourself. Of course he didn't say anything romantic, instead he said: "You are gonna go blind like that, and you are supposed to watch my back out there."

It wasn't romantic on its own, but his hand remained caressing the hair now behind your ear and when you looked up to meet his gaze, the both of you pulled away from each other as if you had been hit. "That line is dropping, start it again." He comments. "Yes, Lt."

On another occasion, you got late to practice, overslept. Obviously by your bed hair, not even time to brush it. Price quickly told you to fix it and Simon seriously considered if the insubordination would be worth it, because he would rip both his arms off if he could wake up everyday with that sight.

It was at that point that Simon realized he was doomed, because he had not been slowly pulled to you, he fell face first and being honest to himself, he was happy with it. He wouldn't admit it yet, it was easier to believe he only liked your hair.

And as time went on, it became more and more easy to find excuses to touch it.

Like when you got sick that one time, waking in the middle of the night to empty your stomach on the toilet. And it went on until the morning, when he found you sitting on the bathroom floor, too weak to walk back to your room.

Face wet with tears for not being able to stop throwing up, for being tired and for feeling useless. He quickly crouched down, paper towel in hand to clean your face. "Why are you here?" He softly asked, mask hiding his expression but his eyes gave away his emotions.

"I got sick." You mumbled, voice hoarse with the strain of the night.

"That I can tell, love." The nickname caught the both of you by surprise, but neither complained. "Let's get you to bed."

You nod, grabbing his hand to stand up, before another round of nausea hit forcing you to back down to throw up again. He quickly moved your hair out of the way grabbing it at the back of your head. "You are gonna get sick, Ghost. Leave me alone, I'm fine."

"Number one, I'm pretty sure your dinner from last night it's on my hand, so I believe we are past nicknames now." He says, being interrupted before being able to say the second thing.

"Don't touch my hair with puke on your hand!" You say grabbing his wrist, making him chuckle. You barely had energy to pull your head up and still tried to fight him.

"I would never, love. That's the other hand." He said looking as you wiped your mouth, breath getting knock out of him when you lock your gaze on his. "What is it?" You asked, confusing him. "Your name."

"Simon."

"Simon?"

"Simon Riley."

A beat of silence simmered on the bathroom for a second.

"That's a surprisingly sweet name, Simon."

And if the world had ended at that moment, Simon would have died a happy man.

But he didn't, instead he eased his way into your heart.

It wasn't hard, and soon enough Simon didn't need excuses to touch your hair. And touching your hair was the excuse to get you closer to him.

Like when he was dying to kiss your lips, but you wouldn't look up to him. Why wouldn't you look at him? Couldn't you tell it was killing him? So he fisted your hair, pulling back slightly; enough to make you look up but not enough to sting. And when his eyes met yours, he dived right into your lips. Moving his hands to cup your face instead of hair, needing to feel the warmth of your skin. The kiss pulling the air from his lung but still making him feel more alive than ever.

Or like when you finally had the time and intimacy to make love. And when he had you on his bed, knees apart and face buried on his pillow, he fisted your hair again, pulling your head back, because he needed to hear you moan his name while he filled you to the brim. Simon Riley was not a saint, but he would go through the hell his life has been again if it meant he got to experience this. Your cunt milking his dick, your smaller hand grabbing the wrist of his hand on your hip, your moans filling the room and when you looked back to him over your shoulder, his life got meaning and he kissed your lips.

Or like when you would cuddle, and he would do tiny braids on your hair he would forget to undo or tell you about and you would find out hours later when you would try to brush your hair and end up with massive knots. Walking to him ready to throw the brush at his head and you would find him hugging your pillow on his sleep, completely relax and content with himself.

Or like when years later, he brushed the hair sticking to your forehead by the sweat while you pushed his daughter to life. If he could take the pain away he would, but he knew you were the strongest woman in this world and could do it. He also knew you needed his comfort, so he moved his hand from your hair to grab your hand even if you crushed every bone inside.

Your hair was always his favourite, until your daughter was born. Because she had Simon's eyes, but she had your hair. And your hair was beautiful, but his little girl's hair was the proof of the love between Simon and you.

Simon Riley loved your hair, but he loved you more.

Masterlist

Hii🩷

Accept this as an apology for the pain from Inmortal!Simon, hope that you guys like it ♥️♥️

Also I barely proof read it, so if there are any misspelled words, no there isn't ♥️🫡

If there is anything that you would like me to write my inbox is always open for request and asks ♥️

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#call of duty #ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #cod #ghost cod #simon riley imagine #cod smut #ghost smut #call of duty x reader #cod modern warfare #simon imagine #ghost imagine #simon ghost imagine

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assassinsblade · 3 months

Text

Arrows and Ashes | 3

Azriel's determined to help you get better. You are determined that you are fine.

WC: 3.6k

Warnings: Pining, friends to lovers, injuries, fluff, some brief unhealthy coping, self-deprecation.

a/n: If you would like notifications for my writing, you can turn on notifications for the blog @assassinslibrary where I reblog all my fics!

Part 1 Part 2

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Azriel couldn't sleep. All night, he stayed by your side, watching your back rise and fall with each breath. He counted them, making sure you were getting enough air, that you were alive and well. And when that didn’t quell the pounding of his heart and the trembling of his hands, he moved closer and listened for the air leaving your lungs and the heartbeat in your chest.

He tried to read to pass the time, picking up the book he had brought in from your bedroom. But the words refused to sink into his brain, and he found himself unable to focus on anything other than you.

Any time his eyes wavered from your form, anxiety pooled in his chest. His eyelids had even become heavy with sleep, but he forced them open again, his shadows swirling around him in irritation.

He realized while sitting in silence that this was the first time you had been in his bedroom for more than a few minutes. He had known you for centuries, since he had been a child, yet he kept his room very private. You would enter occasionally when dropping something off to him, calling him down for dinner, needing to tell him something, or asking him to accompany you somewhere. But spending a longer amount of time together? Normally that occurred outside of either of your bedrooms.

Now, as you laid in his bed, your hair fanned out on the pillow, Azriel couldn’t help but feel like you were meant to be there. You occupied this space like it was your own, despite the aesthetic contrasting so deeply with your vibrant personality. It made something warm pool in his chest, a feeling that reminded him of coming home after a mission or falling asleep after a long day. A feeling he had pushed down until the past few days. One he had tried to ignore out of fear.

A soft groan pulled him out of his thoughts, and he immediately sat up straighter, his heart faltering.

You started to roll over to face away from the wall, your body moving toward him instead. But Azriel jumped to his feet, laying his hands gently on your arm to keep you from turning onto your back.

“Don’t move too much.”

His voice came out as a whisper, as if the volume could pierce you and cause you more pain.

“Azriel?”

“It’s me,” he clarified, scarred fingers stroking soft circles on your bicep. “I’m here.”

You swallowed, and he could feel your body start to tremble beneath his touch. Adrenaline shakes, he surmised -- your body still recovering from the pain and trauma it suddenly endured.

“You don’t have to say anything. You’re in my room, you’re safe. You’ve just been resting.”

Blinking as if trying to orient yourself, you tried to turn again. His strong hands kept you in place.

“Could you-“ you coughed lightly. “Could you help me turn? I want to see you.”

One of his hands moved beneath your knees and the other cradled your back, just beneath your wounds. He lifted you from the bed slightly, moving your body toward him before releasing your legs and encouraging you to turn on your right side to face him, keeping pressure off your back.

When he finally released his hands, his hazel eyes stared into your own.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hey,” he spoke softly in return. His fingers gently moved your hair behind your ear.

Your eyes traced his face in silence before you finally moved your gaze away from him, noting where you were.

“Your bed is cozy.”

Azriel had to control his facial expression so as not to reveal his confusion and concern. That was the first thing you thought upon waking?

He gave you a soft smile instead. “Can I get you anything?”

You shook your head, burying yourself further into the blankets. “No, I’m okay.”

There was no way.

But you didn't elaborate and seemed content enough to stay laying there in silence, no acknowledgement of the life-altering event that had occurred to you.

Azriel didn’t like this at all. He had expected you to wake up in pain, whimpering, asking for him or Cassian or Rhys. For you to have been in a panic over your wings, sobbing and mourning them. He had been prepared to comfort you and hold you and explain how you were safe and that those males had been torn to pieces for hurting you.

But you were acting like nothing had even happened.

It was unnerving, and the shadowsinger for once had no read on the situation.

He eyed you carefully. “I’m going to have to change your bandages in a bit.”

You stiffened, your body tensing at his words before relaxing, your eyes feigning nonchalance.

“Later,” you challenged, closing your eyes again. “Is everyone coming for dinner?”

Azriel couldn’t mask his uncertainty over the situation, his brows furrowed and fingers twitching at his sides. “I’m not sure. Are you hungry?”

“You know I’d never turn down something sweet. Do we have any of those chocolate croissants from our cafe?”

“I’ll check. If not, I’ll have Rhys bring you some.”

You smiled, and he stood from where he was sitting by your form, looking at you one last time before crossing the threshold into the hallway so he can check for something to appease your unexpected sweet tooth.

Your entire behavior was unexpected. You wanted to eat. You were smiling. Not at all hinting at the trauma you had been through.

Azriel’s job was to inflict torture onto those in the dungeons (among other tasks). He knew the trauma it caused — the pain, the nightmares, the way it would permanently break some fae. He wasn’t sure if what had happened had not caught up to you yet, if you were in shock still, or if you were pretending to be okay, unwilling to show weakness in front of him.

Both possibilities made something twist in his stomach.

He forced his feet to move away from where you curled up in bed, shutting the door softly behind him and making his way to the kitchen. It was empty still, save for the bundles of daisies Rhys had dropped off at Azriel’s request. The high lord hadn’t questioned the order for the flowers, only leaving a note with them that said they all love you.

The two large bouquets looked silly now to the shadowsinger. Of course, he was hoping they would make you happy based on your past joy from flowers, but with everything that happened? They seemed so small in comparison.

He shook the thoughts from his head, instead looking around the counters and cabinets for any sign of your favorite treats. When he found none, he wrote a letter to Rhys seeing if he could deliver some of those chocolate croissants per your request. Once the high lord knew you were awake, he would probably do just about anything you asked.

Azriel sighed in defeat, bringing one of the bouqets back to the room with him so he wasn’t empty-handed.

He paused outside of the door, trying to settle his nerves. His shadows only swirled around him in agitation, and he tried to soothe them back to his sides. Only when he went to shush them, though, did he realize why they were unsettled.

A quiet whimper sounded from the other side of the door, followed by a sniffle and a small choked sob.

Azriel immediately opened the door, not hesitating to knock or make sure you were decent. His eyes scanned the room hurriedly, noting the tossed blankets on his bed and the light spilling from the bathroom.

He walked into the entryway, body instinctually turning toward your presence, guiding him toward the cracked door on the left. You shouldn’t be out of bed without assistance, and he definitely didn’t want you to be in there crying alone. He quickly placed the flowers on the desk next to the door before he peered into the open doorway, eyes immediately drawn to your red rimmed ones. You weren’t looking at him, though. Your eyes were turned over your bare shoulder, looking at the reflection of your back in the mirror.

Your back. Azriel's stomach dropped at the sight.

He hadn’t seen it all cleaned up without the bandages yet. It was still somehow just as gruesome as when it was splayed open and bloody on that table.

The wounds were large. Crescent-shaped and still healing. They were deep, gouged into the skin, and anyone else would look at them and call them ugly, an eye-sore, a blemish marking what would have been beautiful skin. Not Azriel, though. Never Azriel. Not when he still ran his own fingers along his scarred palms when nervous.

He slowly inched the door open further, the movement catching your eye and causing you to quickly turn your back to him, your arms crossing to cover your bare chest.

It was silent, your startled eyes searching his own for some sort of reaction. Did you expect him to be disgusted by your? By your scars?

In a way, he was. He didn't think you were disgusting in any way, but the act that was committed against you, the pain you had gone through in those moments, Cassian's memories still flashing in his mind -- that was what disgusted him.

You swallowed, and Azriel was moving before you could say something. He walked around you in a way that was cautious but attempting to be casual as to not put you on edge. He didn't face your back right away, especially as he felt you stiffen as he passed your side, and instead reached toward the counter where one of Madja's creams sat.

Unscrewing the lid, he finally made his presence known close behind you, pausing to let you breathe through your nerves before gently moving the hair that had fallen back over your shoulder. You shivered at the movement, but you didn't flee. You didn't tell him no.

So he gently dipped his fingers into the medicine, bringing it carefully up to the first of your wounds, still red and angry and glaring at him as if he were an enemy. He so very gently covered one edge with the white substance. You flinched at the feeling but still said nothing, so he continued, holding his breath and waiting for you to either lash out or break down.

Neither came though.

You stood still as can be, letting him apply the cream and dress your wounds, even taking the wrap from him and around your front to help hold the gauze in place. When he finally finished, he pulled your hair back from where it laid over your shoulder, letting it flow beautifully down your back, no longer suffocating the space by your neck. Then he walked back around to your front, meeting your gaze immediately and refusing to let it go.

Azriel tried to read what you were thinking, what you were feeling. But you only blinked away the remaining tears as if you were breaking out of a stupor.

You stood up taller, putting a faux smile on your face. "No chocolate croissants? I'm disappointed, Shadowsinger. You know Cassian wouldn't have returned without them."

A sharp pain twisted in his chest at your deflection, at your so obvious false display of contentment.

"Daisy-" he started, voice low and quiet.

"Why don't we go pick some up? You can use your shadows to get us to the gate right?"

"Daisy-"

You made your way toward the door, stumbling and moving slowly with your body's new imbalance and soreness. "Then you can go see everyone else. You shouldn't have to babysit-"

"Daisy."

You halted at his tone. The strong, demanding voice filled with such concern and care.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

He couldn't see your face, but he could almost picture your haunted look as you took a moment to collect yourself, your voice shaking when you finally spoke.

"Do what?"

"Pretend." He sighed. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Taking a deep breath, you shrugged. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I just want you to feel what you need to feel. You have been through a lot, and it's not good for you to just pretend like it didn't happen."

He walked closer to you, approaching you from behind, but you whirled around before he could get too close, gripping the doorway to stop yourself from stumbling.

"Of course I can't pretend like nothing happened. My wings are gone, Azriel. They are gone. My back feels like its been shredded -- like someone took me down to the butcher in Velaris to play with. And every day I will see those scars, feel those scars. I will watch as Rhys, Cassian, and you all fly, and I will forever be grounded. I will never again feel the wind in my hair or leap from the balcony. My body is changed; half of who I am has been taken from me, so I'm sorry if I don't know who I'm supposed to be after that."

By the end of your outburst, you were breathing heavy, choking on sobs that threatened to come up. Azriel watched as you swayed, your still healing and exhausted body needing rest, and he stepped closer.

"You aren't supposed to be anyone," he started, tears filling his own eyes. "You will always be Daisy, no one can take that away."

When he reached where you were standing, you shook your head, backing up into the bedroom as tears began to fall down your cheeks.

"You don't understand-"

"You're right. I could never understand. But I still want to help. Let me help, please."

"You can't help me. You can't go back in time or reattach my wings. I’m no longer me, I’m ruined.”

Azriel lunged forward at your words, propelled by something deep in his chest to correct you, to defend the sweet girl in front of him. His eyes were wild with hurt as he grasped your face between his palms, guiding your teary eyes to his own.

“Don’t you dare say that. You are the same girl who walked out of this house days ago. You are strong and brave and selfless, and everything you have lost is proof of that. You are not ruined, you are everything.”

You only looked at him, lip quivering as you tried to listen to him and hold back your sobs.

You shook your head slightly. “I’ll never be able to fly with you again.”

“I’ll take you.” Azriel vowed, voice deep and resolute. “I will carry you wherever you’d like.”

“I can’t even walk balanced-”

“My shadows will help support you while you recover. I will help support you.”

You looked away from him, tears filling your eyes once again. The words that came next were small, insecure. "No one will want me like this."

It took Azriel a few seconds to realize what you meant, because he could never dream of not wanting you. They all had trauma and nightmares, but you were referencing your scars, your forever-marked body. Madja had been able to close the wounds, but the worst ones had scarred. The lashings that had become infected in those dungeons had scarred. Only days ago you had been scar free save for a few. Not, you had hills and valleys of rough textured skin on your back, abdomen, thighs...

And you were the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Every scar a testament to your love and devotion to your family, a testament to your strength. He wanted more than just you, he wanted to worship you. He wanted to lay you down and cater to your every need, to massage and kiss every inch of your healing body, to show you just how beautiful he found you.

He swallowed, passion and an overwhelming amount of love filling his chest. It nearly ached. He directed you to look at him again. Nearly commanded it with his grip on you.

"I want you. In every form, in every life, in every universe. You are everything."

His words were strong, confident, and warm. He was pleading with you to believe him, to see and hear the truth that was right there.

You looked at him, studied him. Azriel knew your teary eyes were watching closely for a crack in his resolute stance. You would find none, though.

Eventually you sniffed, your eyebrows furrowing slightly as you asked in a sweet but broken voice, "What if your mate had these faults?"

Azriel didn't even have time to be shocked at the question, because he was immediately retaliating against your self-deprecation. "They are not faults. They are a part of you, of your story, and of your selflessness. They encompass so much of your beautiful heart in them, they could never be a fault."

The insinuation made him angry, but he tried to tamp down those feelings. You needed reassurance, not a reprimand.

You didn't even flinch at his response. Instead, you held his gaze and tried to cover the meekness making its way into your voice by standing up straighter. Azriel held you firm, steadying your balance with his shadows and his own feet against yours.

"And you'd still be saying this? If it was your mate?"

He was surprised the question didn't have that much of an effect on him. Anyone else bringing up mates normally had him tensing, snapping, getting defensive and changing the subject. From you though, It was comforting. Natural.

"Especially if it was my mate. But they would be able to feel all of this from me too. I would make sure they always knew they were wanted. I'd tell them everyday how beautiful they are, I'd get them sweet foods to make them feel better, I'd surprise them with flowers..."

As if the words summoned your eyes to them, he saw you see the giant bouquet of daisies sitting on his desk by the door. Your eyes widened slightly, your brows furrowing and chest rising a bit more rapidly. Azriel tightened his grip on you to steady you further.

He tilted his head to bring your gaze back to his own. "You are wanted, Daisy. I loved you before this, and I love you now. I will continue to love you always. Because you are you."

His words cracked something within you, because the next thing he knew, he was catching your weight against him. Your cheek pressed against his chest and your arms wrapped around his back, and then you were letting out such a heart-wrenching sob that Azriel immediately held you as tight as he could. He wished he could take all of the pain away, all of the haunting memories and nightmares. Any threats or fears, he vowed to fight them for you. Do anything until a smile was back on your pretty face.

"I want you too. I love you too," you mumbled into his chest.

It was only a few minutes before your sniffs subsided, and you pulled back with red splotchy cheeks and swollen eyes, skin wet with tears. Azriel cleared the hair from your face, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"You're my mate."

The words were so quiet, Azriel almost missed them.

But he couldn't. How could he? Mate, you had said. Him.

He was shocked enough at the acknowledgement of a physical bond between the two of you that he probably looked absurd, but he wasn't that shocked at the Cauldron deeming you two well-suited. After all, he had cared for you as more than a friend for months now, even if he had tried not to acknowledge it in fear of rejection.

He breathed, allowing his love for you to fill his veins, fill his very heart and soul. And then he met your sparkling eyes, still slightly watery from minutes prior.

And he felt it.

Deep within his chest, it's presence slowly becoming more prominent, was a golden thread. A tether that thrummed inside of him and brought him to you. A tug nearly sent him reeling.

"Your mate," was all he said.

"Yes," you whispered, still a little sniffly. "And I'm yours."

He let out a wet, happy chuckle, tears beginning to coat his own cheeks.

"You're mine," he repeated.

He made sure you were stable before grasping your face in his hands once again, bringing his lips to your cheek, then your forehead, then your other cheek, then your nose, and then your lips. He peppered them all over your face and arms, over the lacerations. He let the warmth in his chest take over and sing a song he had never known. The song escaped his lips in the form of kisses, in the form of I love you, my beautiful Daisy, and I'm so glad you're safe.

Only once he had regained control of his actions, he let his forehead rest on your own.

"You're mine," he said once again. "My everything."

And he knew you felt it.

#writing #acotar x reader #acotar fic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fluff

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pollyanna-nana · 1 month

Text

One of the most tragic and compelling aspects of Dunmeshi, to me, is that we’ll probably never know (unless Kui tells us lol) how Delgal actually felt about Thistle. I’ve seen people say that he genuinely cared for him as a brother and his journey to the surface was to save him from his madness as much as it was his people. I’ve seen people say that he saw Thistle as nothing more than a fancy accessory or tool that ended up going astray. Others I’ve seen (and personally agree with) say that the truth lies somewhere in the middle. But honestly, I think any one of these interpretations has the potential to be correct… and that’s just heartbreaking.

After all, Delgal is dead. Like, dead-dead. The very first chapter of the manga starts with his spirit leaving this mortal coil, taking that answer with him. And…

How he talks about Thistle here… it’s interesting. He does not ask for him to be talked down, or captured or imprisoned, but instead “defeated”. Which Mithrun interprets as asking for his death… which is reasonable, because that’s likely how the vast majority of adventurers interpreted his words, too. Obviously as he was crumbling to dust he probably didn’t have the capacity to be particularly verbose or explain the complex backstory to how the kingdom ended up this way, but the effect is the same no matter how he may have felt with it. He asked for Thistle to be killed.

But… even in situations where he wasn’t under any such time limit to explain what was going on, he still seemed not to. Most glaringly:

Yaad seemingly has no idea that it was Delgal’s fault that Thistle sought the demon’s power. Obviously he couldn’t talk to him about it because Thistle was, uh, a little out there by that point, but why didn’t Delgal explain? Was he embarrassed? Mournful? Couldn’t find the words?

Delgal was scared of dying. He wanted prosperity at any cost, and how could Thistle possibly refuse? Did he even realize that what he was the one who pushed his own brother— One who basically helped raise him despite being a child himself, and in many ways is still a child— down this path? Or was it like watching an overzealous employee misinterpret directions?

The way Yaad describes things here makes it sound like Thistle simply dug too deep in his studies and fell into madness, but we know that’s not true. Delgal didn’t “suggest” he learn magic, he wanted a mage who could help himself and his people defy death, which he admits to Thistle openly:

So, why? Why not tell his grandson, at least, the truth of the matter? Did he worry it might make the remaining residents more likely to upset Thistle, and therefore suffer the consequences? Did he just not care? For what it’s worth though, Yaad does suspect the truth from Delgal’s behavior.

He “always blamed himself” for his descent into the dark arts. This is just Yaad’s observation, and that’s without knowing that it was quite literally Delgal’s fault Thistle went down this path. So, why? Why was it all kept a secret?

Of course, this made things ripe for the winged lion to manipulate to its advantage. Clearly despite knowing he’d pushed him into using it, Delgal still thought the lion was a force of good that was misused by Thistle as a result of his madness. His face in that last panel is particularly haunting. He looks terrible, gaunt and pale with overgrown hair and missing teeth. Had he gone mad, with grief and sorrow, as well?

Could he no longer see Thistle the way he did when they were younger? No one can ask him, because he died long before the story even began.

To go back to the original question, well, how did Delgal see Thistle? None of the previous points make a definitive answer any clearer, and I think that’s just brilliant. And so, so tragic.

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illyrianbitch · 2 months

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Worth It

Pairing: Reader x Bat Boys

Summary: It can be hard to remember why you’ve put up with your best friends for centuries-- until they remind you why they're worth it.

Warnings: irritation cause of males? perhaps? friendship fluff. boys being boys aka bat boys are immature male dummies and reader is fed up.

Word Count: 3.4k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“Are you guys idiots?”

Your voice was a loud bellow as you made your way into Rhysand’s office. From the look on your face, the three males quickly realized that their dirty little secret had been exposed– something that they were all expecting, Azriel being the first to mention that they hadn’t done a great job at hiding it.

Sure, it was a silly idea for them to keep an ancient cursed object. Rhysand didn’t think it was real, when Cassian came running home and claiming he won it in a bet. The person seemed awfully enthusiastic to get rid of it, Cass had said, told me that it would change my life forever. Weird guy. It only took one interaction for Azriel’s shadows to instantly skitter from the small gold thing, whispering into Azriel’s ears like scared children. Cursed, old, evil, run.

Rhysand was going to tell you that they kept it, to get a better idea of it, that's all, and that it just so happened to be sitting on the table near your room. He was. At least, he planned on it.

It was Cassian who made the first move, leaning to the side and lowering his head slightly to Rhysand. “This feels like a trick question,” he attempted to whisper, but the sound was loud enough to carry through the room.

You ignored him, instead glaring at the violet eyes that held your gaze.

“You didn’t think to tell me about something this dangerous?”

“I just thought-”

“Thought what?” You asked him, mouth agape, “That you’d just lie to me about living with a deadly object?”

“We didn’t lie, we just didn’t tell you,” Cassian clarified innocently. He regretted his input once your stare met his and he quickly muttered out a small apology, looking to become as small as he could make his large form to be.

“And thats better?”

Rhysand let out a deep breath.

“Y/n, just calm down.”

Your head snapped to face him at a force that made him question how you hadn’t broken it. Rhysand’s eyes widened as they met yours, a sense of rage now flickering in your gaze. Azriel instantly grimaced at the words of his brother, his gaze meeting Cassian’s, whose eyes were wide as his mouth formed a small “oh.” Both males took a cautionary step backwards.

“Calm down?” you repeated, slowly stalking towards Rhysand with an icy calmness that made him instantly shrink.

“Well,” he started putting one palm out towards you, “I just mean that we should sit down and think rationally about this.”

“Think rationally?”

Rhysand looked over his shoulders in an attempt to seek some backup, but Cassian averted his gaze and Azriel simply shook his head. You’ve done it now, was what Azriel’s gaze seemed to say. His shadows curled around him, slithering up his body until they were peeking over his shoulders, alert and ready to watch— in amusement, it would seem.

Rhys nervously laughed.

“Can we start over?”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Compared to the others, your bedroom was extremely large, adorned with its own fireplace and seating area. But with the three Illyrian males standing around you, it felt quite cramped. You watched as they wandered around your room, picking up your stuff and throwing it to each other. This was your fault, of course, since you’d specifically asked for them to come.

“Guys,” you said, “can we focus, please.”

The three males turned around to face you, all looking at you with wide stares and raised brows, as if they had been caught doing something they weren't supposed to be doing.

“Right,” Rhysand said as he balanced a small porcelain heart in his hand, a Solstice gift from Mor. He quickly glanced down at the object, eyes widening slightly before he turned his head and threw it in the air, effectively tossing it off to Cassian, who caught it with parted lips.

“Dude.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you walked forward.“Give me that,” you said as you ripped the item out of the males large, calloused hands.

“I need one of you to help me make Landon jealous.”

“Not it,” Rhys said, the words quickly tumbling out of his mouth as his hands flew up in surrender.

You stared at him blankly, your lips forming into a tight line.

“What?”

The line quickly turned into a scowl as you held his stare, a look of innocence on his beautiful features.

“Am I truly that hideous you don’t want to help me out?”

“Oh, please,” Rhysand said with a dramatic scoff, “You know you’re hot. We know you’re hot. But It’s not my fault you can’t flirt normally. This is a perfect night for me to get some, so, I can’t.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms carefully, the porcelain heart safely in your grasp.

“Were the two guys from last night not enough?”

Instantly, a smug grin found its way onto Rhysand’s face.

“Oh, c’mon,” he said, his voice low and sultry. A sense of pride clung to him. “I’m a growing male, I have a healthy appetite.”

From beside him, Cassian nodded with a grin, putting his knuckles out for Rhys to give him a fist bump. Azriel simply let out a small laugh and shook his head, eyes trained on you as you grimaced, your nose crinkled with a frown.

“You make it sound like you're eating them.”

Somehow, the grin grew, his pearly white teeth gleaming at you.

“Aren’t I?”

“You’re gross,” you responded, “I don’t want your help anyways.”

Rhysand let his mouth fall open in feign offense and you seized the moment to flip him off– a vulgar gesture that he instantly returned. Azriel and Cassian exchanged a glance.

“I got you, Y/n,” Cass finally said, walking up to you to wrap his arm around your shoulder. He pulled you into his embrace, looking down at you with a large, wolfish grin. You held his eyes for a moment, thinking about how well Cassian fit into your plans. A subtle sense of doubt crept into you, and once Cassian wiggled his eyebrows, you were done for. Your eyes instantly flickered to the last of your best friends.

“Az?” Your voice was a soft plea, accompanied by a small, unsure smile that had Azriel sigh in defeat.

Cassian scoffed, pulling apart from you in an effort to see your entire face. “What? Why him?”

You gave a sheepish smile, your gaze bouncing between the three males before settling on him once more. “I love you, Cassian, but you won’t make him jealous.”

“And why not?”

It was Azriel who responded with a small snicker, “Because you’re easy.”

Cassian’s mouth was open in shock as he registered the statement, his eyelids falling in soft blinks before he let out another scoff.

“Well now I’m offended.”

“Don’t be,” Rhys said from across the room as he fell down on your couch, propping up his legs on the arms of it. “It means you’ve got a good game. Think about how many people you’ve fucked thats gotten you such a title. I mean the amount of puss-”

You let out a loud groan, pushing Cassian off you with a soft shove.

“Oh my Gods, we get it. You guys are slutty. Can we get back to me now? Please?”

Your words were only met with a round of laughter.

“And get your dirty shoes off my couch, Rhys.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

“What the fuck happened to my cake?” You seethed, the words coming out bitter and sharp. The door slammed behind you as it collided with the wall, the impact of your entrance causing a dent in the surface.

The boys visibly recoiled, Cassian flinching at the roughness of your voice, a voice that was usually comforting and soft. The three males exchanged wary glances, and then Rhysand was lifting his chin.

“I-” he started, only to be interrupted by a cough from Cassian, “We don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“My powdered sugar pound cake, Rhysand. I know you guys did something. Where is it? Did you eat it? Destroy it?”

Another beat of silence. You were sure your teeth were bound to break with the force of your clenched jaw, your teeth gritting harder with every minute spent looking at their avoiding eyes.

“We didn’t touch your cake, Y/n.”

You glared at Rhys, the apparent dedicated spokesmen of the three, and let out a harsh exhale.

“There is powdered sugar on your hands!” You said, shoving an accusatory finger at them. "Right now!”

The males all simultaneously looked down at their hands, Cassian gasping in feign surprise– a sound so exaggerated you resisted the urge to hit him on the side of the head for the act alone. Rhysand was a bit more subtle, bringing his hands up to his face, examining them, and then tossing a casual shrug your way.

“This is completely unrelated powdered sugar.”

With a flare of your nostrils, you turned your head to face Azriel, who met your gaze with a small smirk on his face, of all things.

“And what's your excuse, Az?”

He shook his head. “Don’t have one.”

“So you admit you guys ate it?”

“I didn’t admit anything.”

You clenched your hands into fists, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palms.

“Yes you did.”

Azriel’s eyebrow quirked, and then he was narrowing his eyes at you.

“Did I?”

“Yeah, Y/n, did he?” Cassian echoed, putting his hands on his hips.

Your nostrils flared as your gaze bounced between the three males. You wanted to take all three of their heads and knock them together, hope that one of them would produce a module of maturity.

They braced themselves for an outburst, for you to run up to one of them and hit them in the face, if anything, but nothing came. Instead you looked away and shook your head.

“Fuck you, guys. You suck. Gods.”

And you left.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You came to a halt as you turned the corner, now staring into the living room where your best friends stood shirtless next to one another, a determined look on their faces.

"What the hell are you guys doing?"

Rhys looked up with a grin. "We're settling a debate," he said, gesturing to the tape measure in his grip. "Gonna find out who's got the biggest wingspan."

You raised an eyebrow, bringing your finger up to your lips as you laughed.

"Want to place a bet?" Azriel said as he rolled his back, a small smirk on his lips.

Cassian flexed his wings behind him, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he shook loose pieces of hair out of his face. "I'm pretty sure it's me," he boasted.

Rhys shook his head, his wings unfolding slightly as he stood up taller. "Not a chance," he countered. "I think you'll find mine's larger."

"What does wingspan really determine?" You asked incredulously.

You watched as all three males blinked, staring at you as if you had spoken in a tongue different than your own.

"Uh," Cass said, lifting a finger, "Absolutely everything, my dear, Y/n."

You rolled your eyes at him, but began walking to them in spite of yourself. When you found yourself in front of Rhysand, you looked up and put your palm out.

Rhys frowned, eyebrows furrowing at the outstretched hand.

"Well?" You said, raising your eyebrows. "For a proper assessment, you need a fair judge."

He grinned, enthusiastically shoving the tape measure into your palm.

"Alright boys," Rhys said, turning around to face his brothers, stretching his hands out as his wings extended behind him-- almost hitting you in the face. "Let's settle this."

One by one, your friends approached you, Rhysand with a grin, Azriel with a smirk, shadows pointed at the edge of his wings, and Cassian with a cheeky wink.

After all three had been measured, you stepped back, trying to hide your grin. "Looks like we have a winner."

Cassian puffed out his chest triumphantly. "I knew it!"

You raised an eyebrow. "Actually, Azriel's wingspan is slightly larger."

Cassian's face fell as Az let out a loud laugh in victory, shadows surrounding Cass like a mocking audience. He swatted them away with his hands.

Rhys chuckled, clapping Cassian on the back. "Looks like you'll have to concede this one, Cass. Being last place isn't so bad."

Cassian frowned. "Azriel cheated! His shadows held his wings up, I swear."

A snicker in response.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a sore loser."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

"Why do you look like that?"

You gasped in surprise, your hand flying to your heart as you turned to the source of the voice. Cassian stood in your doorway, casually leaning against the doorframe as he bit into an apple.

"Cassian!" You scolded, pushing your hair off your shoulder as you walked towards him. "You can't just come into my room and scare me like that!"

"Why not?" He said, mouth filled to brim with chewed apple bits.

You stared at his mouth with a frown, lifting your hand so that your nail could slightly scrape off a piece stuck to the stubble on his chin. Cassian gave you a smile as he finished chewing, wiping off his mouth with his free hand.

"Gross," you muttered. You shook off your hand before looking at him again, "And you just can't."

"Well I'm here, so, seems like I can."

You rolled your eyes, but Cass only smiled at the reaction.

"So why are you dressed like that?"

You frowned. "Like what?"

"Good. Like, hot.”

"Gee, thanks," you deadpanned, your head tilting to the side as you gave him a blank stare "You sure know how to make me feel confident."

Cassian let out a laugh, placing a soft, large hand on your forearm. "No, no, you always look good. But where ya going?"

You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks, but before you could respond, Rhys appeared behind Cassian, curiosity written all over his face.

"What's happening?" He said as walked in, throwing himself onto your bed. He frowned as his eyes scanned you. "You look pretty. What's going on?"

You let out an exasperated sigh, realizing you were about to have an audience.

"Guys, get out," you said firmly. "I'm going on a date."

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a quick glance before both of the males broke out into large grins.

"Ooooh, a date?" Cassian teased, brushing past you to sit next to Rhysand on your bed.

"Yes, now get out."

You walked towards them, attempting to grab their hands and pull them up with the sheer force of will. Between your futile attempts, Azriel's voice sounded from the doorway. "What are we all doing in your room?"

You let out a loud groan. "Where do you guys keep coming from?"

You turned around to face him, hands on your hips and an annoyed frown on your lips. Just as his brothers did, Azriel's eyes scanned your appearance.

"You look good," he said. His shadows curled around his body, a few around his ear as the corners of his lips turned upwards. "You're going on a date?"

From behind you, Cassian and Rhysand broke out into a sound that you could only describe as a giggle, the grown males turning to one another to make theatrical kissing sounds.

"You guys are so annoying. Get out."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

There was a soft knock at your door.

You groaned, slipping yourself further into your covers.

The knock came once more and you closed your eyes, hitting the back of your head against your pillow. "Leave me alone!"

Much to your dismay, your protest was met with the sound of your door opening and a heavy set of footsteps approaching your bed. It only took a few seconds before your beige covers were being lifted off your face. You squinted at the light that met your eyes.

"Well, look who's alive."

You scowled as your eyes met Rhysand's violet ones, a large smile on his face as he hovered over you. There was a softness in his eyes that made you feel guilty for the expression, and the scowl quickly turned into a small frown.

As you pulled yourself upright, Rhysand made himself comfortable at the edge of your bed. "How you feeling?"

Your knew your eyes were puffy and sensitive from the crying you'd done all night. You were grateful it was Rhysand who sat in front of you, someone you weren't embarrassed to be seen in such a state with.

"I just got cheated on,” you murmured, rubbing your face with your hands. "How do you think I'm feeling?"

He sighed, a small frown on his lips as he urged you to scoot farther into the bed, making room for him to situate himself next to you. As he maneuvered, you caught sight of your bedside table, now decorated with a large bouquet of multicolored flowers, delicately wrapped in with a white bow. Next to it sat a small bear, its fur a white and blue pattern that perfectly matched that of the ceramic heart gifted to you from Mor.

"Are those for me?"

Rhysand quickly glanced over before giving you a nod.

"Yeah," he said, "The florist gave me a whole explanation for every flower. I told her that I wanted to g-"

Rhys stopped as he noticed your staring, eyes wide as you looked at him, lips curled down. "What?" he asked.

You felt your lip quiver, a small burn in your chest as you looked at him. Realization quickly flickered in his eyes--- realization that you were about to start sobbing.

"Don't make it a thing," Rhys said, staring at you blankly. But as your eyes began to well with tears, his facade quickly broke and he sighed, putting an arm around you and pulling you in. "I had to take care of my best girl, okay?"

Your nose tickled as the corners of your eyesight became blurry, a sudden pool of tears now at the corners of your eyes. "Thank you," you told him, as you burrowed yourself further into his embrace.

You closed your eyes, taking a moment to bathe in the comfortable silence. But a second quickly passed, and both you and Rhysand jerked at the sound of your door slamming into the wall.

"I'm here!" Cassian's voice boomed.

You blinked at the sight in front of you, Cassian's hair messily tied together atop of his head, his hands barely containing a pile of food assortments. His chin rested against 2 tubs of ice cream haphazardly stacked on top one another, his palms desperately grabbing onto a variety of chocolates, candies, bags of chips, and fruits.

His eyes met yours, instantly softening at your appearance. He gave you a smile. "Hey, beautiful. Nice to see ya."

"What you got there, Cass?" Rhys said, his head tilting as he closely scanned the pile his brother clutched to his chest.

"I got everything," he responded, eyes darting between you and Rhys. They settled on you as he continued, "I didn't know what you'd want."

You let out a laugh, your cheeks suddenly straining from the impact of your smile. Your face fell as you examined his haul, your brows furrowing as you pointed to a small plastic bag.

"Are those... pads?"

Cassian attempted to look down, but the ice cream containers beneath his chin constricted his movements. "I'm not sure, the lady at the store said you probably needed them with everything I was buying."

Rhysand let out a snort at this, his hand affectionately rubbing up and down your bicep. You smiled as Cassian shuffled to your couch, carefully dropping the ideas on your cushions, and then moving to place the rest on the table.

"Hey," you said with a frown, "Wheres Az?"

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged a glance.

"What?" You asked, looking between the two males. "Where is he?"

Cassian gave you a sheepish smile and then Rhys was laughing, a deep sound that you felt as his chest moved beneath you.

"Where do you think? He's beating the shit out of Landon."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

oh how nice it would be to live with the batboys with the vibes of new girl 😌 (until they do something stupid)

a/n: i’m slowly getting all my drafts and requests out 🫶🏻

1K notes · View notes

sanakiras · 26 days

Text

HEAVEN

PAIRING — jeon wonwoo x fem!reader

WORD COUNT — 3.4k

SYNOPSIS — wonwoo has a reputation for being distant, quiet and a bit mysterious. once you get to know him better, though, you come to find the sweet, shy boy underneath the surface.

TAGS — established relationship, explicit sexual content, sub-ish virgin!wonwoo, lowkey corruption kink, i have a sickening crush on this man can you tell, not proofread :)

♪ — the nbhd - heaven,, hank lotion - k-sEx

NOTE — gam3 bo1 wonwoo and ep 1 nana tour wonwoo footage has been making me act UP and i think he’s just so cute <3 screw the hard dom wonu agenda i like to see my men a lil WEAK ‼️😁

like most people, you felt rather intimidated when you met jeon wonwoo for the first time.

stoic, quiet, intelligent. the strong and silent type. that was the clear image you had of him. and to top it all off, he had the criminally good looks too. a relatively rare kind of man to come across, in your opinion.

though you began to see him in a different light after bonding with him over your shared love for video games. since then, you’ve discovered he can actually be quite talkative, cracking silly puns or laughing at the corniest dad jokes. he’s well-spoken and is actually very open about his feelings, which you found refreshing.

and while developing a friendship with him, you realized how much of a big softie he actually is, which paints quite the contrast compared to his cold and quiet persona he unintentionally seems to put up towards those outside his circle of close friends and family.

it reminds you of the day he asked you out — that sweet, shy smile on his face with rosy cheeks, all flustered and stuttering that you really don’t have to say yes if you don’t feel like it and he’ll push it all to the side like nothing happened if that’s what you’d prefer—

you very easily interrupted him by agreeing to go on a date with him. you’d never seen him smile wider.

wonwoo is cute when he smiles.

and despite his nervousness in the beginning, he still made efforts to be as talkative as he could and show you his interest in you, which you found very sweet. you had a great time with him, and you noticed rather quickly how comfortable you felt around him.

a couple dates later, he asked you if you wanted to be his girlfriend, and you certainly didn’t refuse him.

he’s also turned out to be a gentleman in his own way — subtly saying he could do certain things for you to make your life easier in that monotone voice of his, eyes following you around whenever he’s with you.

the first time he slept over at your place was rather recently after you two made it official. it wasn’t planned, since he was supposed to go back to his place after your date, but due to issues with public transport, you offered him to stay with you instead.

with his face and chest bare, he got into bed next to you. of course you’d imagined what he looked like underneath his big hoodies, but actually having him by your side like this was different.

and wonwoo was putting every bit of effort into playing it cool, even though he was freaking out to be sleeping next to his first girlfriend, forcing himself to look away from your tank top that left very little to the imagination.

yet ironically, it was all he could fantasize about before drifting to sleep.

normally, you’d only let a guy into your bed to do things other than sleeping once you’ve been dating for quite a while. it’s never been something you like to initiate quickly — but wonwoo’s been making you question it. severely.

because he looks so hot when he’s out on the field with his football team, when he’s working out, when he’s gaming on his pc, even when he just fucking smiles at you. the worst thing of it all might be that he doesn’t even seem the slightest bit aware of how attractive he is, nor what effect it has on you.

maybe you should really just tell him you want to jump him like a tree.

but you don’t want to rush him. for all you know, he doesn’t feel like doing that at all with you yet, and for some reason you just didn’t know when or how to ask him about it. later, you thought to yourself.

though you will say you’ve been pushing his buttons a little over the course of time. ever since that night, you’ve subtly been putting yourself on display for him. low-cut shirts and dresses so he can take a peek at your cleavage, accidentally exposing a bit of the fabric of your lingerie, sitting in his lap and rubbing up on him — unintentionally, of course.

it took every ounce of self-control in your body not to smirk when you felt him stiffen up underneath you.

the progress of your relationship has been nothing but positive, really. but you’re aching for him to just touch you at this point.

the day you hit your breaking point isn’t much later. you were trying on some newly bought dresses in front of him, one more revealing than the other — sundresses always work magic on men for whatever reason — and you turned around to find him pathetically trying to hide his hard-on while seated on your bed.

and you just couldn’t find it in you to wait any longer.

so that’s how you ended up sitting in his lap, hands on the back of his neck as you’re grinding against him. his glasses are sitting lop-sided on his nose, black locks messy from your fingers threading through them, lips swollen from your kisses.

the moment he feels your fingers tugging at his hoodie, he feels the need to clear up what he’s been meaning to tell you for a while now.

“i need to tell you something. i’ve—” he cuts himself off when he accidentally lets out a whimper, “i’ve never had sex with anyone.”

he’s still heavily breathing, looking at you in anticipation, and you just can’t escape the buzzing feeling you get from the idea of taking his virginity.

“do you want to?” you ask him, and how could he say no when you’re holding his face like this, looking at him like you’re willing to give him the ride of his life?

“yeah, yeah, i just—i usually don’t last very long,” he sheepishly admits, then internally asking himself why the fuck he would say that, “sorry, i’m nervous.”

but you think it’s endearing. “i don’t mind. we can always go for a second round, right?”

all he can do is nod his head in agreement. “i, i um—i’m not sure what to do next. i’m sorry, this is embarrassing.”

“it’s not, really. it’s not some big performance you need to put up, it’s something fun and exciting and intimate. you can go ahead and relax, and tell me if you like or don’t like what i’m doing.” you reassure him so patiently, which puts him at ease.

jesus — if anything, he’s already a whimpering, stuttering mess and you’re hardly even touching him.

so you move your hand down into his boxers, fingers wrapping around him to test the waters. he gasps in surprise once he feels you touching him, heat rushing to his cheeks.

“just let me take care of you, ‘kay? we can stop anytime.” you tell him, and he trusts you enough to let you go on.

you press another kiss to his lips before moving backwards, fingers taking a hold of the waistband of both his sweatpants and boxers.

the cold on his skin makes him shiver, but he’s hardly given the time to feel exposed in front of you when you’ve already got your hands on him, pleasantly surprised by his size.

“you’re so big, wonu.” you tell him in a sweet voice, feeling like you’re about to drool at the sight of him.

“didn’t think i was big.” he mumbles more to himself than to you, staring at the ceiling as he tries to steady his breathing.

you chuckle a little as you watch him. “you are. gonna have to work for it to make you fit into me.” the words make his eyes widen, images of you getting fucked by him flashing through his mind.

“fuck, really?”

“mhm. but you’ll do that for me, won’t you?”

wonwoo is absolutely crumbling underneath you here. the effect that your mere words have on him should be studied, because shit, he’s never felt this hot before. why is it so hot in here? is he sweating already? “yeah, i’ll—i’ll do anything you want me to.”

he’s such a sweetheart that it makes you want to ruin him.

for the sake of both his and your own pleasure, you decide not to tease any longer and touch his cock with your lips. he lets out a moan of surprise, the feeling being unfamiliar to him, but holy shit — this has got to be what heaven feels like.

his chest heaves as he tries to control his breathing once more, focusing on keeping his breathing by his stomach. your tongue darts out to lick his cock, and he whimpers, which makes you triumphantly smile a little.

you’re genuinely curious to see how long he can last, so you catch him by surprise by taking him into your mouth as far as possible, and his hand subconscously flies to the back of your head, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to push your head down or pull it back. he releases a choked moan, spurring you on to keep him lodged in your throat despite his efforts to pull you off him.

“fuck—please don’t make me cum already, baby, please—” he begs, loving the feeling of your mouth on him like that — he just doesn’t want to hit his peak that fast.

unfortunately for him, you do.

with your mouth currently no longer on him, you gently jerk him off instead, his hips automatically bucking into your grip. "what if i want you to?"

“you’ve barely—barely touched me. ‘s embarrassing.” he chokes out. the heat is still rushing to his cheeks. his hands are shaking.

of course he’s nervous. you’re his first time, his first girlfriend, it’s all new to him. he’s clearly afraid you might be turned off by him being all flustered like this.

so you make it your mission to show him it’s very much the opposite.

discarding your dress, you’re left in your tank top and underwear, nipples poking through the thin, white fabric. you move to tilt his face up with your glossy, acrylic nail, gently holding his chin, your face mere inches away from his.

“do you have any idea how wet i am? just from seeing you like this?” you ask, pulling his one hand down so he can feel the dampness of your panties. “bet you could slip right in.”

a broken whimper slips out of his mouth when he feels it. he didn’t know you were this turned on.

you push his head and upper body back against the pillows, making him lie down fully, and you’re just so eager to suck the life out of him.

the feeling of your warm mouth and tongue around him makes him experience a sensation he didn’t think was possible. christ, this must be what heaven feels like.

“oh my god—you’re so fucking good.” he’s arching his back with his eyes tightly shut from the pleasure you’re giving him. it’s only when you take him as far in your throat as possible that the first guttural groan is ripped from the depths of his chest. it’s a low, sexy sound that makes you clench around nothing.

he’s burning hot under you, causing his glasses to fog up a little. he carelessly throws the pair onto his nightstand, the grip on the back of your head becoming harsher and less gentle than before, because he’s that fucking close now.

it’s cute seeing wonwoo not knowing what to do with himself. keeping your mouth on his cock, gripping the sheets, throwing his head back before he casts his eyes back down to watch you suck him off — it’s like he’s being overstimulated in the best way possible.

it’s enough for you to sense he’s close, which makes you take your mouth off him to jerk him off instead, all so you can watch him chase his release. “that’s it, wonu, give it to me.”

there’s a sudden shiver that runs from his back and core all the way down to his toes. he tenses up, unintentionally grabbing your wrist to stop your movements as he trembles and his body gives in to his orgasm.

once he’s coming down from his high, he looks at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“that was… holy shit.” he laughs a little to himself, eliciting a chuckle from you.

“i’m that good, huh?”

“yeah.”

“wanna keep going?”

“mhm.”

“okay. take off your shirt.”

wonwoo blinks for a moment. he practically forgot he was still wearing one, so he sits up and gets rid of the black shirt, throwing it beside your bed, now completely bare before you.

if he’s being honest, you did ease his nerves by letting him have his first orgasm already. the strange sense of shame he previously felt has disappeared into the air, with only nervous excitement left.

he feels good.

especially when he watches you move to sit on your knees on the bed, removing the tank top and slipping out of your underwear.

his eyes are glued to your naked body, hardly able to look away — that is, until you sit down in his lap, your dripping heat touching his hardening dick, making him twitch under you.

“where do you keep your condoms?”

the question forces him out of his constant staring at your body. “uh—nightstand.” he mutters, taking the initiative to reach and get it himself.

thankfully, he manages to get it on himself quickly. you urge him to lie back down again while you position yourself above him, shamelessly staring at his strong chest and broad shoulders.

his mouth is agape when you sink down on him, and fuck, he’s in so deep.

the stretch burns, especially because you didn’t get yourself ready, but you’re so dripping wet to the point you don’t care — you need him in you.

wonwoo notices you struggle despite your arousal. “you don’t have to take me all the way if it hurts.”

you hum, a half-smirk creeping onto your face. “but it hurts so good. so i will.”

once he’s sheathed fully inside you, he’s subconsciously holding his breath. the anticipation for you to move is killing him. the sensitivity of his dick makes him whimper, his lashes fluttering as his teeth sink into his lower lip in a failed attempt to hold it together.

you decide to tease him a little by clenching down on him. his hands fly to your hips, gripping the skin harder than intended from the sudden feeling, his breathing becoming erratic again. “hah—don’t do that, please, i don’t wanna cum yet baby—please.”

“why? you close?” you ask him with an innocent face, knowing damn well what you’re doing to him.

“yeah. need you so bad.” he answers truthfully, his ego and pride nowhere to be found anymore. whether he sounds pathetic or not, he doesn’t give a shit. all he knows is that you’re sitting on top of him and he needs you to make him feel what he’s been desperate to feel for so damn long.

so you tilt your head. “‘s okay, wonu. i’ll give it to you.”

he can hardly even make out a response before you lift your hips and proceed to sink back down on him, your hands on his chest. a filthy moan rolls past his lips — you think it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard in your damn life.

then you begin to roll your hips, and he sucks through his teeth from the feeling, a mix of overstimulation and pleasure rushing through him. once you let out your first dragged-out moan, his fingers twitch for a moment, digging deeper into your skin.

“have you thought about this? fucking me?”

despite the position he’s in right now, he still feels his face heat up when you ask him dirty things like that, even more so when he answers them.

“yeah, i did.”

“when? tell me. i wanna hear it.” you tell him, and when you’re so gorgeously riding him like this, how could he not oblige?

wonwoo swallows, stuttering as he focuses on recalling the memories while admiring you and the feeling you’re letting him experience. “when i saw you wearing that short skirt on our second date, and—and that time you came to watch me at the football game. couple of my teammates were drooling over you. so was i.”

his words turn you on, because you doubted whether you were sensing actual jealousy from him that night, and this confirms it.

“were you?” you ask, running your nails down his stomach. “what’d you do about it?”

he bites his lip. “i’ll sound like a pervert if i answer that.”

teasing him again, you push yourself down on him almost harshly, relishing in the way he gasps under you. wonwoo is wonderfully responsive in bed, and you’re having a fucking field trip with it.

“yeah? try me.”

“i touched myself after getting home, and i... thought about you. in that skirt.”

“i’ll wear it for you next time.” you smile, watching him close his eyes in pleasure when you leave your marks on his chest, putting a few hickeys on his neck and collarbone on purpose. “i touched myself thinking of you, too.”

that makes him twitch inside you, which is exactly what you wanted.

his hands dip to the curve of your ass, following your movement. “really?”

“mhm. i thought you looked so sexy in your football attire. you were wearing that tight compression shirt that you always wear when you go to the gym too — drove me nuts, wonu.” you confess, which seems to work as a brief shot of adrenaline for him.

he moves to sit up, bringing your bodies closer together by looping his arms around your waist, the slight change in position making you moan.

the drag of his cock inside you is slowly making you go insane. your face is hot and you’re dripping wet for him, sucking him in to the point you feel like you need to claw at the walls.

“god, feels so good.” he mutters, his mouth finding your breasts before he begins to suck on the skin like a man starved.

once he notices you’re both getting closer, but you’re getting tired from your position on top, he takes a breath and flips you over, now hovering above you.

burying his face in the crook of your neck, he holds onto your body and fucks you. his thrusts are harder than he intends them to, the control over his body lost in his relentless drive to make you both feel good.

he’s panting hard, doing everything in his power to make you cum first this time while indulging in his own pleasure as well. “am i doing good for my first time? does it feel good?”

god, you can only half-catch the words with the way he’s fucking you. it’s almost funny — such a sweetheart he is, asking you if he’s doing well while simultaneously fucking you into oblivion.

“you’re so good, wonu. so good—‘m so close.” you cry out, manicured nails digging into his back, making him groan.

“wanna feel you cum around me so bad.” the words almost sound like a plea, like he’s begging you for it.

then he kisses your neck, and he hits the perfect spot inside you over and over, and it’s enough to make you clench so hard around him that he can’t hold it any longer. your orgasm makes your legs shake, and he fucks you right through it, making you wonder why the hell it took the universe so long to let him into your life.

he moans and whines and shakes when he hits his climax, twitching inside you, filling up the condom. with heavy breaths, he lets his body rest on top of you, his head by your collarbone, a comfortable silence emerging as your heartbeats slow and breathing steadies.

surprisingly, it’s him who speaks up first.

“i’m gonna need a while for my legs to start working again.” he chuckles breathily, covering his face a little when he notices you poking fun at him.

“aw, baby, did i drain you that much?”

“i genuinely can’t even feel my limbs.”

you laugh at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and he smiles so sweetly — as if he didn’t just fuck the living daylights out of you. “wanna go again?”

he blushes a bit, tilting his head as if he has to think about it, before sheepishly giving you his answer.

“... yeah.”

thanks for reading! let me know if u liked it x

® SANAKIRAS — do not repost, remake or copy my work in any way whatsoever. translations are not allowed.

#jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #wonwoo smut #svt ff #svt fic #seventeen fanfic #svt x reader #svt smut #svthub #jeon wonwoo fanfic #original post

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yesimwriting · 5 months

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Heyy ya!! Hwo you doing? I wanted to ask maybe you can write Coriolanus x reader when he gets to district after just finishing training for pacekeepers, or maybe where his tribute just arrived to the capitol and the reader maybe says the “what does my mentor do besides bring me roses?” Line? ❤️

A/n the turn around for this was so fast for me 😭 i got excited

hi!! i love these prompts and am so glad for the excuse to write something for him 😭,, also i didn't blatantly make the reader the district 12 tribute bc i didn't want to necessarily cute lucy gray out all together, but it's clear that she's from a poorer district and that being assigned to mentor her is an insult to the Snow name,, also reader pulls a katniss and volunteers for a younger family member bc the irony of that scratches an inch in my brain

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

Warnings: my first time writing for a specific character, Coriolanus's internal thoughts are a little softer than they should be at some points but i love the accidental and deeply impractical crush trope so

---

Of Angels

The desperation masquerading as fierceness behind her eyes is undeniable. Coriolanus feels the way your panic, your shock as the weight of your own words dawn on you in his chest. He swallows, forcing down the feeling.

Take me--take me instead! The phrase is repeated again and again, shaky and pleading.

Something about the display, about the 12-year-old girl that desperately tries to cling to you as peace keepers push you forward, makes it hard to watch. Even worse, it makes it impossible to look away.

The first ever district volunteer. A suicide mission or a--a desperate call for attention? A decision made out of hysteria that you're already starting to regret?

He can't decide as the footage of you being ushered onto stage is played. Surely, Dr. Gaul and other Capitol officials won't find this acceptable. The concept of volunteering has always been reserved for the careers, the districts that produce well fed children that train for this. It's a way to allow them to pick their best, their strongest. It is not a way for someone to lay down their life for someone else.

"Are you saying you volunteer?"

You blink, eyes wild and bright as you openly survey the crowd. Coriolanus briefly thinks that you might attempt to take what he doubts is an actual out. You seem to be considering something before finally nodding once. The motion so stiff it makes you look smaller, like the girl whose name was originally called.

"Yes," you mumble. The softness of it is a personal accost. Your choice was made in panic, but that isn't who you are. You're not much of a performer or a fighter or even bold...you're not much of a chance at the Plinth Prize. "I-I volunteer."

----

In the end, he had come because of Tigris. She had insisted that there was a way to see his tribute as more than just another face from the districts, as more human than animal.

She loves that little girl enough to die in her place. If I was her, I'd want someone to tell me that my choice meant something. I'd want someone to show that they care about me.

The words had felt dismissible at first, but the more he thought about them, the more it made sense. Panem had seen the entire thing, had seen the way that his tribute continued to comfort the younger girl even after sentencing herself to death. There's a story worthy of a show in that.

If he can convince you to go on camera, to speak of the girl, of the choice...maybe he'd have a chance at his future. And if the public support manages to help you in some way or another, that'd only be an additional benefit. You love that girl enough to die for her, maybe that means you love her enough to fight tooth and nail to live for her as well.

The train that stops at each district pulls to a stop. The doors open, releasing the sound of tributes that are learning the consequences of attempting to cause issues for the peacekeepers.

A boy he vaguely recognizes steps out, and then a younger girl. Are you one of the tributes already risking their lives in an attempt to aggravate peacekeepers? Or maybe you're cowering at the back of the train, clinging onto the safety of a familiar space.

You prove to be neither. You emerge from the train, perfectly in tact and stable.

Coriolanus parts his lips, yet no words manage to come out. You're different in person, the white you're dressed in is objectively dirtier than it was when you were reaped and yet somehow, here in the dim, gray station it feels brighter. A stray beam of sunlight breaking through a cluster of clouds. A promise that the storm will end soon and that the angels have yet to abandon the earth.

Your dress is a simple thing, loose enough to be a hand-me-down or maybe even borrowed, the lace of the skirt falling farther down your knees than it should. That paired with the ribbon scraps tied to each side of your head make you look younger and cruelly innocent.

"Hello." The blandness of his own beginning forces a burning sort of regret to take over his chest. You attentively turn, expression kind and expecting. It only makes the embarrassment he doesn't fully understand scorch him from the inside out with more violence. He's once again struck with the desire to look away and finding himself incapable of doing so. "My name is Coriolanus Snow, and I'm your mentor."

You nod, features hardening. You've pieced it all together--his appearance, what he's saying, and where you are. He's revealed himself as part of the Capitol and now you can no longer watch him with kind, accepting eyes. The look you're giving him is almost enough to make him wish he could have presented this differently.

Coriolanus extends an arm, the carefully chosen pure white rose an olive branch. You blink, eyebrows drawing together before you slowly reach out and take the flower by its stem. Your fingertips brush against his own, the warmth of your skin is so shocking he has to remind himself not to flinch.

"A mentor?" You repeat the word like your only reason for doing so is to try out the foreign word on your tongue. "Does everyone get one or am I just lucky?" You look down at the rose you're now holding. "Or has the rumor that I'm a rebellion trick spread to the Capitol?"

The last question genuinely surprises him. It shouldn't, there had been some talk about why anyone from a poor district would ever choose to go into the games. The way you and the girl you saved reacted to each other could have been staged...but Coriolanus didn't think it was enough to warrant genuine rumors. Anyone that had looked at your eyes and seen the fear in them would have known that it was sacrifice. Is sacrifice. That girl means the world to you.

"No," he starts slowly, "No, everyone gets one and no one here has any preconceptions about you."

You raise your eyebrows, making it clear that you don't believe him. No preconceptions had been a strong way to phrase things, but the urge to assure you had taken over with no warning. You then look away, glancing around to take in your surroundings.

"Then why isn't there..." You trail off, your gaze landing firmly on him. "You're not supposed to be here."

He blinks. For the first time, it feels like you're truly looking at him. His own susceptibility to your wide eyes turns his stomach. You're the one that should feel like something up for display under his stare. "No, I'm not."

The admission forces the edge of your lips to pull upwards. "Alright," you hum, "So what does my mentor do for me besides bring me roses?"

"I do my best to take care of you."

For a second, all you do is stare. He's surprised you. The realization brings him more relief than it should. "The girl who you volunteered for..."

You tilt your head downwards, hiding your expression as your fingers carefully toy with the exterior of the soft petals. "My cousin," the explanation is low, cautious, "But we uh--we're more like sisters."

An in that he doesn't even have to work for. "I understand that." You look up, not bothering to hide your confusion. Maybe you weren't expecting something so human to come out. Maybe human works for you. "During the war, we took care of each other...and then after our parents passed, we were left in the care of our grandmother."

The silence that follows is tight, straining against the sympathies you're not willing to extend to someone like him. Your lips part, and Coriolanus is disgusted by the part of him that's curious about what's going to come next.

You're pushed back with no warning. His attention snaps towards the peacekeeper who is shoving against your shoulder with more force than necessary.

"Excuse--" No reaction, no response as another peacekeeper grabs your arm. "Excuse me, I'm her--" You're being dragged away in order to be packed into another vehicle of transportation with the rest of them.

Coriolanus stays near, doing his best to never lose sight of you in the chaos. A tribute breaks free from the hold of the peacekeepers and launches his body forward. An ill thought out escape attempt. The distraction is all Coriolanus needs. This is his chance to go after you, to cement a connection that will guarantee cooperation.

It's not the distraction that gets him to move or even thoughts of the Plinth prize, it's the final flash of angel white fabric as its forced back into darkness. He rushes forward before he can overthink, entering the vehicle just as the doors shut.

----

i think i might make a part 2!!

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #coriolanus x reader

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buckyalpine · 7 months

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LMAOO OKAY IMAGINE 40s!BUCKY (like tfa stark expo version) MAGICALLY TELEPORTING TO MODERN DAY, and Sharon’s bitch ass is hanging all over him, flirting hardcore, and is absolutely thrilled bc he’s actually giving her some attention. BUT THEN HE SEES THE READER AND IS LIKE “oh wow who is THAT” and leaves her alone to go woo the gorgeous dame. I can picture her face getting all red and embarrassed and upset. And Sam and Nat and Tony are in the background giggling.

GOD I LOOOVEEE THISSSS 40's heart has my heart cause this blushing soldier would be such a perfect mix of devilishly handsome and adorably shy.

"Shit" Tony huffed watching his time portal experiment start up and fail for the fourth time in a row while Bruce continued to medal with the dials, resetting the machine once more. "Why does it keep doing that"

"Give it a secondary power source, there's not enough juice with the first one"

Tony nodded, rummaging through a pile of knick knacks on his desk, grabbing a vial and adding it to the generator.

"Alright, set the timer to 19:00 hours and 40 in the past. Let's see if we can just travel to yesterday first before messing with going back years" He snorted, as Bruce punched in the time before hitting the start up button. The machine started to rumble before growing hot, the dials and buttons spinning and clicking on its own, parts starting to pop off.

"Oh shit!" Tony ducked under the table, shielding himself from getting knocked out as the portal grew more powerful, a force filed growing, knocking down things around the lab.

"What the hell did you use as a power source?!" Bruce yelled over the high pitched whizz the machine started to make, blinding light filling the room before disappearing, leaving a cloud of smoke in its place.

"I don't know, I just grabbed something that look like it'd fit" Toy shrugged between coughs as the smoke dissipated, squinting when he realized the platform wasn't empty.

Someone was standing there.

"What the hell..."

Blinking with bright blue eyes was a young soldier, dressed in a fresh, clean and pressed uniform, looking like a lost puppy while Tony and Bruce blinked in both confusion and amusement.

"Banner what the hell did you do with the timer?!"

"You're vial set everything into over drive, it must've recalibrated to 1940 instead of a couple of hours ago!" Bruce threw his hands up while the younger version of Bucky stared at the lab with child like wonder, his eyes twinkling as if it were Christmas day.

"Holy shit..." He breathed out seeing the vast technology, his mind still reeling over what was happening. One minute, he was on his way to see Steve and take some girls dancing and next thing he knew, he was sucked through a loop.

"Dear God-alright, uh-Barnes?" Tony waved the soldier over, mentally debating on what to tell him.

"Mr. Stark? It's-it's an honor, sir" Bucky shook Tony's hand before standing tall before him with his back straight, ever the bright eyed Sargent. Tony scratched his head before letting him take a seat, figuring honesty was the best police.

"Sargent. This may take a while"

Bucky understood bits and pieces of what Tony explained to him while getting a tour of the compound, the common room being the last place for him to check out. The team alternated between greeting and secretly cooing over the adorable young Bucky while also simultaneously laughing at Tony. At the very least, the billionaire was lucky the actual Bucky was away on a mission with you and Steve; there was only so much he could handle in a day. The soldier decided to hang back in the living room with the others, happily chatting away with Sam and Nat.

Then there was Sharon

"Hey Soldier" She winked, giving him a smirk causing the young Bucky to blush, throwing her a flirty smile right back.

"Nice to meet ya' doll" Bucky drawled out making her giggle, his lip catching between his teeth when she flipped her hair back.

"Aren't you sweet" She whispered, her heart beating a little faster when he moved towards her, his sweet baby blues gazing down at her intently. She'd tried a million times to get Bucky's attention before and he didn't look at her twice. She wasn't about to lose her chance with the new one.

"Look whose talking" Bucky chuckled back, his naturally flirty nature taking over with ease, after all it would be rude for him to ignore her.

"Someone's gotta protect him from this randy she goat" Sam whispered while Nat snorted, watching the two of them continuing to flirt, Sharon's hands toying with the buttons on Bucky's uniform, making her way up to brush his collar.

There was no way she was going to just let the gorgeous soldier go.

The machine wasn't fixed any time soon so Bucky was given a room to stay in. He loved the feeling of modern day sweats, looking cute as ever in some comfy joggers and a cotton tshirt, his fluffy cropped hair always neatly brushed and face shaven.

He was a Sargent after all. He always looked his best, even in lounge clothing.

There hadn't been a day where Sharon left Bucky alone. She clung onto his side, practically crawling up his leg day in and day out while the others side eyed the situation, keeping an eye out for the innocent Bucky.

"So, what's a soldier like you doin' without a girl, hm?" Sharon teased, pressing her hand to his chest, loving the way Bucky flirted back with her while the both of them sat in the common room with a movie playing in the background. Tony, Nat and Sam glanced at each other, quietly watching from their place in the kitchen while the blonde continued to giggle and blush, running her finger's through his hair.

"How do you keep your hair so soft, Sargent"

"Well, I- woah"

Sharon frowned when the soldier stopped talking half way after something- or someone- caught his attention. His eyes grew wide, a classic boyish smile appearing on his face when he saw the prettiest dame he'd ever laid his eyes on walk by the living room, making his heart flutter.

"who was THAT" Bucky stared in awe, seeing her stretch her arms up, still in some type of modern tactical suit, rubbing sleep from her eyes and yet she was still one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.

"Uh-excuse me" Sharon's face twisted watching Bucky stare are you like a love struck puppy, nearly jumping over the sofa so he could run and talk to you. He didn't take his eyes off you, practically swooning when he saw you pack away the gun from you holster.

"Huh-yeah, sorry-" Bucky mumbled, still focused on you, unbothered by the way Sharon's face was now red with embarrassment, seething at what he was doing.

"Look at this guy, he's not even hiding the fact that he's staring at y/n" Sam snorted while Tony and Nat snickered, watching the young Bucky watch you with heart eyes, "Aw man, he's got it bad"

"Hey y/n, looks like someone's got a little crush on you" Nat whispered, discreetly nodding to the living room. You nearly squeaked in surprise, seeing a very very young version of your boyfriend sitting on the couch, taking peeks over at you whilst ignoring the blonde who was still fighting for his attention.

"Tony, you did this, didn't you" You sighed while Tony smiled proudly, now fully invested in how all this was going to play out.

"I'll explain later. Go wash and change and you can talk to him"

As soon as you were out of the kitchen, Bucky scrambled to the group, cheeks tinted pink, bashful as ever, looking at the three smirking faces, wiggling their eyebrows at him.

"See something you like, soldier?" Nat prodded while Bucky nearly giggled, nodding.

"Who was that" He asked in earnest, truly curious to at least get your name.

"That would be y/n. I'll introduce you once she's back down. You might be her type, y'know" Sam winked knowing damn well he was your type. After all you were technically already dating. Bucky bounced on his heels, waiting patiently while Sharon huffed, refusing to move from her spot on the couch. You made your way back down after a shower to see an exited Sam and a shy Bucky along with a smug Tony and Nat.

"Y/n, meet young Buck" Sam smiled while you held your hand out, swooning at the way he shook it gently, throwing you smile few got to see, one he had when he got butterflies in his belly.

"Nice to meet you Sarge"

"Pleasures all mine, angel" Bucky whispered, leading you off to the living room to talk to you more, offering you a seat, wondering if you wanted anything to snack on or drink, forgetting Sharon's existence entirely. Sharon nearly opened her mouth to say something, immediately shutting it with a satisfied smirk seeing the other Bucky walk in followed by Steve. Hopefully he'd see his girlfriend was a cheating whore, flirting with someone else even if it was him from the past. Her brain wracked itself in hopes that this would all crash and burn while Bucky frowned the closer he got.

"What the fuck Stark" Bucky scrunched his face walking in on some punk flirting with his girl, only to realize said punk was a younger version of him.

"Relax, I'll fuse you two together" Tony shrugged while Bucky's face twisted again, grumbling when his younger self kissed you hand again, pulling you up for a dance while fumbling with a phone he'd just managed to figure out.

"They're cute" Steve grinned, nudging Bucky playfully while Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling to himself a little while later when you caught his eyes, throwing him a wink. You laid your head against the young soldiers chest while he swayed with you, unaware that he was being watched by everyone else, in his own world with just you in it.

"You better fuse us together" Bucky hissed, narrowing his eyes when you giggled at something that was whispered in you ear; Tony snorted with a shit eating grin on his face.

"Why Barnes, scared of a little competition?"

Before Bucky could retort, Sharon was up and walking with purpose, stalking right towards Bucky.

"Y'know they're both flirting hard, right? Aren't you two dating?"

Bucky wordlessly stared at her while the others looked at her with confusion, the desperation becoming embarrassing.

"Sharon, shut up" Sam deadpanned while her mouth gaped open and shut before storming off.

"Back to what I was saying. Scared, Barnes?"

"You should be the scared one" Bucky sassed back, knowing exactly what his younger self was capable of; he knew that innocent boyish charm did wonders when it needed to. That being said, even his past self recognized real love, gravitating towards his one true soul mate after just seeing her once.

He watched the two of you continue to dance and whisper, the young soldier tipping your chin up, eyes flicking to your lips, his soft pouty pink lips so close to yours, leaning down so he could press a kiss so sweet-

"Alright that's it, punk get your hands off her!"

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murdrdocs · 7 months

Text

SAW YOUR END. void stiles

description. it's hard not to give into the Nogistune. he does have the face of your favorite person, after all

includes. DARK CONTENT 18+, SMUT 18+, SLIGHT DUBCON (r wants it but for safe measures), fem! reader, impact play, choking, degradation, stiles is possessed, forced impregnation, baby trapping (kinda), snowballing, reader is secretly in luv with stiles, implied that stiles is present, some angst, title from 'cherry waves' by deftones

wc: 4.5k+

→ kinktober masterlist

He’s more intimidating up close than you would’ve thought.

You’ve been telling yourself that if faced with the shell of your best friend, you could handle yourself. The Nogistune doesn’t fight. He plots, plans, weakens you with words alone. And you thought this was something you could control. No amount of taunts or insults or manipulation could catch you off guard.

But you somehow forgot that while he would slowly weaken your resolve, he would be wearing the face and body and voice of your best friend. You hadn’t considered that this would make you weak in and of itself, heart already thudding loudly behind your chest when you saw those amber eyes, mouth dry when he spoke your name, hands shaking with the desire to meet him in the middle when he reached out for you.

You find yourself to be more fragile than you thought, lip quivering and eyes welling up when his gaze hardens instead of softens. Your entire body trembling when he starts his slow torture, words perfectly chosen to hit the spots of you that will be most affected.

He’s unpredictable, possibly completely predictable if you’d been thinking with the parts of you that excelled in reason instead of the parts that excelled in emotion.

But his unpredictable nature leaks into his actions, his desires, as his taunts turn from ones to break you down to ones that are designed to have you as putty in his hands. Promises to give you your deepest desires, ones you were previously sure that no one other than yourself and your diary knew. Claims that he could fulfill your wishes if you would just give in.

It all sounds too good to be true, too simple and sweet and perfect. But again, rationale isn’t your strong suit at this point, so you’re standing before him, chest pressed to his, sooner than you realize it.

Heads tilted, lips closing in on the others, tips of noses brushing until they poke at the others cheek as lips finally press together.

Chapped pillows against moisturized, teeth clacking and spit swapping. It’s easy for you to forget that this is a trick, that this is all an elaborate scheme, while he kisses you like he wants it.

The Nogitsune kisses you as if he’s trying to actually devour you. He sucks your saliva up as it pools between your mouths, he licks around your mouth and tongues at your bones, his hands claw at your body to pull you tighter and closer to him until you can feel the muscle tone of Stiles’ body.

The grip he has on your waist –– slightly conservative as he almost refuses to venture down to your lower back –– has you stumbling, leaving your hands with nowhere else to go other than Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles has worn this shirt many times before, the cotton relaxed around his muscles. But in the short time that the Nogistune has been present in it, it’s become distressed, tiny tears in both of the shoulders, the color a little dull from what you can tell.

The tears in the fabric have your hands pressing against Stiles’ bare skin while they fumble along the material. You flinch at the first press, surprised at just how chilled his skin is.

In comparison, you feel like you’re on fire.

Your body burns where he touches you, yet the parts his form doesn’t reach is unbearably cold, similar to his own body. You need him everywhere and nowhere all at once. You want what he can give you and resent the idea simultaneously.

Two wars raging in your mind, knocking around your head until you have a pressure and a fog that demands your attention.

Instead, you focus on reality.

You focus on the bulge that presses against denim to reach you. You focus on the thigh coming between yours. You focus on the damp feeling in your shorts, pressed warmly against your cunt.

Stiles’ thigh presses against your center and you sigh contentedly, eyebrows relaxing from their cinched position as you subtly start to submit in the Nogitsune’s hold. He breathes in when you breathe out, taking in every breath that you let out like you’re feeding them to him. He groans when you groan, echoing you.

You’re lost in his movements, trying to decipher why he does what he does while also trying to enjoy the feeling, creating too much for your head to handle, and suddenly –– without realizing it –– you’re walking backwards, legs bumping into your bed, knees bending and body falling back to thud against the mattress.

The Nogistune doesn’t follow you. Instead, he stands at the edge, looking down at you. His eyes are dark and empty as they stare at your body from head to toe. Suddenly, you’re self conscious about his opinion, your tiny brain convincing you that the opinion of the Nogistune correlates to that of Stiles. You shrink in on yourself, legs glued together at the knee, drawing up to your chest as you attempt to hide.

The Nogistune isn’t having it.

He tuts, the bed dipping at the end under his weight as he kneels. Two rough and large hands find your bare knees and you shiver, both thankful and regretful that you’d decided on your smallest pair of shorts for the night as you’d previously been completely unaware and unable to guess that your night would take a turn like this.

“Don’t hide from me.” It’s an order, one you wouldn’t dream of disobeying, fear of what would happen if you did preventing you from doing so. Either way, he’s spreading your legs open himself as he says it until they’re wide enough to welcome him in.

He takes your forced spread as an invitation from you, shuffling forward until he’s completely situated between your legs. The Nogitsune’s hands press into the pillow beneath you, strong forearms belonging to Stiles caging you in. He stares down at you, analyzing your reaction as he slots one thigh between both of yours, the other resting on the outside of your left leg.

“Pretty little thing like you,” he says, head tilting as his analyzing gaze shifts to one that resembles amazement. Wonder, even.

“Innocent. An angel. Would never hurt a fly.” He’s spitting the words out now as if he doesn’t believe them.

His eyes narrow, glazing over as if he’s not paying attention to you anymore, and then he blinks and you’re the main focus once more. “That’s what he’s telling me. He’s trying to get out, you know. Trying to convince me to stop. He’s begging.” He takes a second, eyes calculating as he watches you for a reaction.

You think you don’t give him one, but there’s one hidden in the minute shifts of your features.

“But you don’t want that, do you?” He comes to a conclusion. “You don’t want me to stop. If you did, you wouldn’t be humping my leg like a bitch in heat.” And you are, your hips having a mind of their own as they push and pull against the material on his legs.

You hadn’t even noticed it was happening, too busy taking in his words as if they’re a form of hypnosis. Maybe they were, because it’s not until he points out your mindless hip movements that you’re fully aware of them, hands clutching at the Nogitsune’s sides as you start to pleasure yourself.

”Want me to please you?” His voice is sickly sweet, a teasing pout on his lips, his eyes faux soft and his thick eyebrows lifted. You know he’s mocking you, it’s evident in his voice and face. But you’re already submitting, wanting just that, and telling him with a sincere nod. “Yeah?” He shouldn’t sound as hot as he does, and you shouldn’t be as horny as you are. But at this point, you’re pushing aside nearly all of your morals, deciding instead to completely give in.

“Yes. Please, Void.”

His face twists into one of surprise at the nickname. “Is that what you all call me? ‘Void’.” You stop, fearing you’d angered the usually cool headed Nogisgune. Until he smiles, slight but enough to be seen, and his hands slide down to your cunt.

“Is that what you’ll call me when I bring you to completion?”

Another nod from you, your hips starting to squirm with impatience. You’re not above begging, as you’ve proven time and time again tonight, but there’s no need.

Void slides his hand down to the waistband of your shorts, separating the elastic from your skin enough to slide his hand beneath the thin layer.

You’re not wearing any panties, something about minimal layers being good for vaginal health. In reality, few layers is best for easy access, proven with the way Void easily slides two fingers through your slit, pushing your lips apart to let you feel the cool air against your center.

Goosebumps raise along your skin, your bedroom suddenly colder than it was before.

“So fucking wet.” His words are nothing but an observation, he’s quite frankly pointing out the obvious. There’s no hidden meanings or underlying intentions woven between the syllables. It’s straightforward.

And that’s probably why you’re so embarrassed about it.

You try to close your legs, shy away from Void, but of course he doesn’t let you.

He uses his free hand to push your knees apart, holding one of them down while his occupied hand flexes as he slides his two fingers down to tease your entrance.

“You can’t hide from me, sweet thing. You know that, don’t you?” This is full of a double meaning. You feel the weight of the words as you start to surrender even more, body weighted into the mattress while Void slides Stiles’ middle finger into your fluttering walls.

There’s barely any reaction, not much of a stretch nor enough stimulation to give you much. So Void adds a second, pushing your walls apart while he inserts.

You hiss, hands instinctively going down to wrap around Void’s wrist. He doesn’t swat your hands away. He lets you wrap your fingers around his wrist, and his eyebrows raise as he waits for you to make a move.

You don’t.

Your hand limply sits curled around a slender wrist, not tight enough to really do anything at all.

Void continues his slow torture, setting a pace for his fingers that leaves so much to the imagination.

What would it be like faster? Could you hear the squelch that way? Do you want it faster? Since that would inevitably bring you to the end at a speed that would easily have you unfulfilled and desiring more.

There’s not much room to think more, however, when Void starts lowering himself, eyes trained on yours while his head steadily moves down.

When he’s above your navel, he presses a kiss right below it, and then his other hand digs into the elastic of your shorts to pull them down. You’re left bare, open, save for Void’s fingers momentarily filling you up.

“Do you taste as good as you look? Hm?” he asks you, voice low and teasing. Completely unaware of the answer, you choose to not answer at all. But Void is determined, pulling his fingers out of you and floating them over to your mouth.

Your lips part easily, without any verbal prompting from him. He slips the digits in, and lets you suck, dark eyes trained on your mouth while you clean the pale skin.

His eyebrows raise to prompt you to answer his question.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” It’s snarky, but spoken like you’ve said the sweetest, most innocent thing in the world, words almost dainty as they saunter out in a single file line from your lips.

He hums, eyes squinting as his lips raise in something that looks like admiration. “Got a mouth on you.”

And then his hands are holding your thighs open as he slots his face between your legs.

The first lick is slow, his tongue flat as he confidently traces it from just above your asshole to just above your clit.

You gasp, not expecting that wide of a trail, and then you melt.

Void’s fingers presses into your thighs as he situates them over his shoulders, giving him the perfect position to devour.

Which, he does.

You don’t know how you expected a dark spirit with thousands of years of age over you to give head, but any expectation you would have had wouldn’t have been nearly as good as it is.

None of the previous ‘best head you’ve ever had’ exists in this room. In this space. In this moment. No conscious thoughts about the possible repercussions you’ll face from finally having Stiles’ head between your thighs, but in the most unconventional way. Nothing exists outside of Stiles’ mouth on your cunt, Void driving his actions as pleasure that knocks the breath out of you is introduced to your system.

Your eyes stick to the ceiling, or they close, fear that if you look down you’ll either cum too fast and cease the best moment of your life, or you’ll be wracked with guilt when poised with Stiles’ eyes peering up at you.

But of course, Void won’t let you off that easily.

His command to look at him is so strong that you don’t even consider disobeying it. Instead, you stare down at him, eyes finding his like opposite ends of a magnet. You prepare for that guilt to make you physically sick. You prepare to get uncomfortably turned off and recoil in on yourself instead of spreading your legs wider for Void.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, you feel weirdly comforted, back arching further and your hand confidently coming down to thread through Stiles’ waves, the dark hair beginning to stick to his forehead with the physical exertion.

Void pulls Stiles’ lips from your center, rosy-pink glistening before he licks them clean. You notice Stiles’ cheeks are turning a similar color and it’s then that something switches in your head.

Suddenly, you see Stiles instead of the Nogistune. It doesn’t help when you’re sent a smile that feels soft and familiar.

You’re pushed out of your daze by the grate of his voice.

“I bet you’re pretending I’m him, aren’t you?”

He licks up your cunt once more, another long stripe that collects your pooled arousal just before he sucks at your clit.

“Wanna scream his name while I make you cum? Hm?” It’s wrong, but you do.

You nod, the movement small and shy as you wiggle your hips to demand attention. He gives in, pressing his lips back to your sensitive nerve endings. You start to chase your orgasm, grinding your hips against Void’s face as you begin to imagine it’s Stiles between your legs instead. It’s easy to do, especially when his face is shoved in your pussy.

Stiles’ name falls from your lips with a stutter at first, unsure from your tongue as you test it. Void shakes his head. “Say it like you mean it,” he tells you before diving back in.

He bares his teeth and nips on the bud, giving way for the name of the face he wears to push from your chest with more assurance this time.

It’s the same name you moan when Void pushes you over the edge with his mouth alone.

With the post orgasm haze over your mind, bleeding into your body, it’s easier for you to see Stiles more than the Nogitsune.

His face relaxed, the light in your room brightening his dark eyes. His lips pink and swollen and glistening, spreading into a satisfied smile as your breathing starts to level out.

Logic attempts to remind you that no matter how similar they look, this isn’t Stiles. But when Void softens his eyes, his hands shake a little at your side, and his smile lacks cockiness, it’s easier than it should be for you to forget. It’s easy for you to look past the pale skin and purple under eyes and messier-than-it-should-be hair and instead see your best friend. The guy you’ve been pining after since middle school.

“You’re prettier than you know.” Void presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, close to the junction of your pelvis and limb. The action shoves you back to reality, putting you in that post-orgasmic euphoric haze.

“Too pretty for him.” Another kiss. “Should keep you close to me, shouldn’t I?”

Maybe there’s something else affecting you other than your post-orgasm haze, because the thought starts to sound not so bad. You try to nod, but your body is heavy. You’re tired, but your body wants more.

Shamelessly, you start to grind, a pathetic attempt of receiving friction from perhaps the air, since that’s the only thing you’re getting. You feel drunk, confused, and incredibly horny.

A frustrated groan falls from your lips, Void replying in a chuckle.

“What? You want more?”

You muster your strength to nod, and you can’t see it, but you look like the prettiest fucked out thing.

Hair messy atop your head, lips swollen and slick and pouty, eyes glazed over and it looks like you’ll cry if Void turns down your advances. He briefly considers doing so, just to fuck with you, see what you’re like at your weakest, but he figures there’s another way to get you to that point.

Void’s hand slides up your torso, palm wide and calluses rough against your soft body. He rises as he does so, hand cupping your jaw, face hovering over yours as he brings your attention solely to him. You blink dumbly, waiting for his next move.

“You know I’m gonna need something from you, too, baby, right? And not just those pretty sounds you make when you cum.” You stare at him, feeling like it’s all you've been doing this entire encounter. But there are no words, nothing for you to say to him.

You lick your lips and it takes longer than it should for a response to form in your head, each word appearing one at a time. “What … do you need?”

He kisses the side of your neck and then his hand slides down to rest over the area. You stay still, breath sitting in your chest, unmoving.

He sucks in a breath himself, as if he’s taunting you with how relaxed and unphased he is. Suddenly, you begin to feel like trapped prey.

“I need to hurt you, honey.” He tilts his head, eyes scanning over your body, calculating. “Not a lot, just enough to feed myself.” His grip on your throat seems to get tighter, more secure. “That’s okay, right?”

You’re dumb. So fucking dumb and clueless and desperate.

Because you’re nodding, hand pathetically circling Stiles’ wrist when pressure is applied to the sides of your throat.

“That’s a good girl.” He kisses your forehead, and then your cheek is struck.

You gasp, the sound is an instinct from your body. It forces you to breathe, and the airflow combined with the sting from your cheek feels good. You wonder if they’ll be a mark tomorrow, and the thought excites you instead of worries you.

You don’t consider the lie you’ll have to tell Scott or Lydia. You don’t think about how you’ll potentially feel looking in the mirror in the morning. All you think about is how you want Void to do it again.

Especially when he looks like this while he does it: Veins along his arms and neck turning black as he seemingly takes the pain, not away like Scott can, but as Void takes your pain he adds to it. Multiplies it, even.

It’s not filled with gloom, nor despair, but there’s something heavy that feels vaguely uncomfortable from the lack of attention, like an itch that needs to be scratched.

You need more.

Void seems to sense this.

“On all fours,” he instructs you, hand leaving your neck to allow you to do as told.

There’s the sound of shuffling, not just from you. Metal against metal, fabric against fabric. More shuffling, the added weight against the bed is gone, and then hands are pulling you back towards the edge.

There’s barely any wait, any anticipation, before your walls are forcibly stretched.

You wish you could see it, maybe if you were doing it in missionary, but beggars truly can’t be choosers and you’re perfectly fine with taking what you can get.

Void is at least a few inches deep before you consider the option of protection. You bring it up to him, glancing over your shoulder and your voice wobbling as you say it.

Void tuts as if he’s disappointed, shaking his head.

“You don’t want his babies?” He speaks through a pout, the epitome of condescending. “Don’t want to be the whore with her crush’s seed festering in her womb? ‘Cause I think you do.”

His hand presses flat against the middle of your back, pressing you down into the mattress, leaving you with your ass up.

Void bottoms out completely, a hiss sounding through your teeth as you try to adjust as quickly as you can.

He doesn’t give you much grace, instantly setting a pace that has you gasping, pornographic sounds slipping from between your lips. It’s nearly exactly as you’d imagined it, loud with the squelches of you and Void combining in the purest way possible. But it’s dirty, fast and lacking any neatness or grace.

He fucks you just as you expected from him: Mercilessly, with little to no concern for how you feel.

As if to emphasize this, he spanks you, the clap loud to the point where it seems fake. But the sting left behind on your left ass cheek begs to differ.

It’s not long before his thrusts become erratic, most likely from the build up of the entire ordeal. A lack of rhythm becomes present as he fucks you harder, with more intention behind each aggressive snap of his hips into yours. You’re sent further and further into the mattress as he does so, your lips pressing against your definitely sodden sheets. You attempt to maneuver your head to where he can hear you, a plea for him to cum anywhere but inside of you desperately climbing up your throat.

But it gets stuck behind your mouth. Void’s hand presses into the back of your head, forcing your face into the sheets, and just when you feel as if you can’t breathe, his hand wraps around your throat and he pulls you up, your back against his chest.

His chin sits on your shoulder, his lips brush your earlobe as he speaks.

“Gonna cum in you, yeah? Fill you with little Nogitsune babies. Be a lot better than the little weaklings he would give you. Bet you would look so pretty carrying my kids. Tits all swollen,” his free hand circles around your waist at this point, climbing up to pinch an already sensitive nipple between his pointer and thumb.

You hiss, attempting to recoil away from the clamp. There’s nowhere for you to go, completely closed in by Void in all places. He’s still in you, rock hard and hot and fucking up into your walls with a depth that stings, his tip not too far from your cervix. His body is around you, arms circled around you, hands at your neck and stomach, pressing you back against him.

You couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. And with another orgasm brewing low in your belly, you want the opposite. It’s hard to admit, and it’s not like you will ever admit it, but you have the sudden craving for Void to fill you up.

You whine, pretending to be disinterested by the thought he puts in your head. But Void continues speaking, voice heavy and a little slurred as he continues to take the pain he’s inducing.

“Feel so good around me. It’s like this is how it was supposed to be. You and him. Maybe you two were made for each other.” He chuckles cruelly, almost taunting you with the idea. You have to bite back a sob because that sounds so nice, but it seems impossible after this.

You can’t imagine Stiles ever wanting to be with you after this.

“He wants that, too, you know. But ‘s not gonna happen when I’m here.” He kisses your cheek, and it would be romantic in any other situation.

You can’t even consider the idea of romance when Void’s hand squeezes at your throat and his voice drops a few octaves as he tells you: “You’re mine.”

His hand slides from your tit to between your thighs, two fingers circling your clit rapidly, meant to send you over the edge. You do so a few moments later, satisfied that he hadn't made you beg while your body completely relaxes until you let out a sound that is practically inhuman.

It’s a mix between a growl and a moan and a sob. You sound like a wounded animal. And while Void cums in you, you feel like one too.

He lets you go, allowing you to collapse face first into your bed.

Both of you are still for a moment, Void's heavy body atop of yours as you both lay limply on your mattress. Of course, he moves first, separating from you and letting you lay there in silence.

There’s no tranquility, no comfort, just thick silence.

You’re spent, fucked out as you attempt to catch your breath.

It’s almost impossible to do so when Void lifts your hips a little and then presses his tongue flat against your entrance. You gasp, experiencing too much too soon, and again attempt to thrash away. He holds you still, strong hands holding you up as his lips pucker around your hole. He sucks, and it becomes clear to you that he’s retrieving his own cum from inside of you.

When he’s finished, he flips you over and goes to your mouth, and it’s shameful that you still don’t have to be asked to open. You do it automatically, lips parting as Void presses his to yours. The swap is disgusting, both in taste and texture, but you lose yourself in the messiness of the kiss.

By the time Void pulls away, there’s drool and cum from both of you sliding down your chin. He smiles at the sight, gently tapping your cheek before doing the same with a much harder slap on your abused cunt.

This time, you don’t recoil, or writhe away, or even make a sound. You’re completely submissive, the only indicator of the pain being the way your stomach flexes.

Void grins, satisfied with how he’s made you. You expect more from him. You’re expecting him to tug his dick back up, so you’re sat watching him dumbly as he mechanically redresses.

You don’t move, too tired to do so, just blinking languidly while pale skin is recovered.

Just before Void leaves, he tells you: “I’m not done with you.”

And it’s both a threat and a promise. One you hope he keeps.

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