#anyway. to sum it up in a word. Difficult

[dragonsongmakhali]

got one of the ockiss poses done and i am so proud of myself for fighting The Horn Conundrum (〃´ω`〃)v

[ladsonlads]

Impartial Hearts | Sylus - Part One

Pairing -> Boss Sylus x Non MC Reader

Parts -> Part One | Part Two

Synopsis -> You’ve been working as Onychinus’s accountant for two years, and you’ve been carrying two heavy secrets for a third of it. You were in love with your boss, and your mother was dying.

A/N -> Guys this shit is just sad icl I need to lay off the sad songs... anyways, reader is not MC but MC is mentioned I called her 'Miss Hunter' or 'MC' bc I couldn't come up with a name, sorry.

EDIT: Thanks for all the love <33333 I honestly didn’t expect so many people to want a part two, I promise it’s in the works and I’ll try to get it out ASAP.

Trigger Warnings -> Death mentioned, heart issues mentioned.

Word Count -> 7.3K

“I’m sorry, what?” The question slipped out of your lips without much of an attempt from your brain to restrain it. You regretted that instantly.

“Watch your tone, Y/N.” The scarily low timbre in Sylus’s voice threatened retribution if you didn’t.

“Sorry… It’s just that— are you sure? I feel like this is a decision that requires a little bit more contemplation. Like getting a dog!” You tried to backpedal, but from the look of Sylus’s narrowing eyes, he wasn’t happy with your response. 

“Are you comparing her to a dog?” There was a threat thinly encased in Sylus’s question and under the thick layers of fear, you felt the slightest pang of jealousy that the he felt so strongly about defending her honour. 

What a dramatic and far-fetched conclusion. You wanted to say, but instead you bit your tongue. 

“N-No! Of course not. Not at all. I’m just wondering if wiring her such a significant sum from your equity account is a good idea when you met her—” You make a show of glancing at your shabby watch “— 13 hours ago is a sound decision.”

“So you’re questioning my judgement? Is that it?” 

You couldn’t blame him for being difficult, you walked right into that one. 

“No! Well… yes?” One would think that after two years of working for Sylus, you’d have the ability to stand your ground against him. But there was only so far someone could push a man like Sylus before he deemed you irredeemable. The consequence of which involved a hollow point in your skull. 

“Wrong answer. Wire it. Now. I’ll deal with your insubordination later.” He quickly left the room that doubled as your ‘office’; you shared it with the twins who liked to use it as their reprieve from crime. You wouldn’t have minded had they chosen less rambunctious ways of cooling-down, like reading or watching a show. Instead they’d play-fight, actually fight, play video games on the loudest volume or — the worst option of all — karaoke. 

The sarcastic yes sir died on your tongue as quickly as it crossed your mind. You pissed him off far more than usual today, and he was already way more tense since her arrival. 

Miss Hunter. Sylus kept her first name under lock-and-key, said it was safer that way. You barely caught a glimpse of her as Sylus dragged her out of his office, which was across from yours. From the glimpse you did catch, she was beautiful. Fair skin, jet black hair, a fit body. Her outfit, which was the Hunter’s Association standard issue uniform, had never looked so good. 

From what you knew from shameless eavesdropping, she was extremely important to Sylus. She was part of some critical master plan you weren’t privy to. 

You hated her.

Albeit, completely unfounded, your hatred for her stemmed from an ugly feeling you could not shake. In the two years you worked as an accountant for Onychinus, Sylus touched you once. Correction, you touched him once accidentally when you had too much to drink with the twins after work. You were taking careful steps to the bar to pour yourself another glass of a gross vodka raspberry mixture when you tripped on the edge of one of Sylus’s extremely expensive rugs. Your feet pedalled forward in an attempt to keep you upright, and you clashed right into Sylus who was innocently scrolling through his phone on the wall next to the bar. 

You could recall the fear you felt vividly. You almost felt the same wedge lodged in your throat. Sylus quickly removed you from him, steadying you with his cold palms on your shoulders (an action that made you blush like a schoolgirl) before verbally deeming you cut-off from all liquor from the night.

That was the full extent of all physical contact you’d had with Sylus in two whole years, meanwhile it took Miss Hunter less than 24-hours before he was holding her hand. God, you hated her.

“Oi, Y/N, we’re using the company card for lunch today.” Luke quickly yelled out to you from the hallway, too engrossed in your self-loathing and plain old regular loathing, you forgot to remind Luke that they only had $40 left on their weekly lunch budget. 

Knowing the twins, they wouldn’t have cared anyway, creating yet another problem you had to fix.

Looking at the excel sheet that contained this month’s trial balance, you shivered at the thought of having to deal with Sylus’s wrath at yet another monthly increase in expenses. So, you shifted the remaining balance on your lunch budget, a generous $255, into the twin’s joint account. It was only Thursday morning, and they’d managed to max-out their $1000 budget. 

You hated them too.

You looked through your drawer in hopes you had a leftover snack that could sadly double as your lunch and felt a wave of relief at the sight of a protein bar. 

It wasn’t like Sylus didn’t pay you enough to afford your own lunch, in fact he was the most generous employer you’d ever had. But the only thing bigger than his bank account was corporate greed, and the blood-sucking heathens at Akso hospital were milking you dry.

Life in the N109 Zone wasn’t easy for most people, especially your mother who raised you all on her own after your father left. She worked 3 jobs to put you through university in Linkon, so the least you could do was use every last cent you made on ensuring she had the best medical treatment money could buy. 

Your mother had a bad heart ever since she was born, it was a hereditary condition that would sometimes skip a generation only to show up in the next. She had an atrial septal defect, or in another words, a hole in her heart. You were born with one too, although yours was much smaller. She’d undergone several surgeries to repair the hole, but it reopened, and now the scar tissue surrounding the surgical site was obstructing her arteries. She was now on bypass patiently awaiting a heart transplant you couldn’t quite afford, but you’d make it happen. You were sure of it. 

With half the protein bar in your mouth, you began to call Dr Zayne, the cardiovascular surgeon who was overseeing your mother’s care. You called him for updates on your mother and the transplant list every day, since a train ticket to Linkon was too big an expense to justify, you’d settle for Dr Zayne’s cold recollections of your mother’s heart function. 

“Ah, Miss L/N, I was beginning to think you weren’t going to call today.” The dead-pan sarcasm dripped from his tone. 

“Your bedside manner needs serious work.” You bit back. You weren’t sure when or how your relationship with your mother’s doctor turned so hostile, but you figured the busy chief of surgery was annoyed by your constant calls. 

“Need I remind you, Y/N, you’re not the patient.” 

“There isn’t a waking second I’m not thinking about the patient, Dr Zayne.” 

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air at your confession. You didn’t mean to make him feel guilty, in all honesty, you looked forward to the banter before the updates on your mom, it helped ease the nerves. 

“Do you want to see her?”

“Of course, but I’m working a lot.”

“No, I mean right now.”

“Are you finally letting me borrow the hospital helicopter?”

“No, but I will let you borrow my phone so you can FaceTime her.”

His kind offer caught you off guard. “Really?!”

“Sure, you caught me in a rare moment where I don’t have someplace to be.”

“It must be Christmas.”

“Rarer than Christmas. Think solar eclipse.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Now give me my mother.”

Zayne kept his promise, and you spoke to your mother for your entire lunch break, and then some. You would’ve continued talking to her until the sunset if not for Sylus’s interruption. 

“I don’t pay you to FaceTime your friends, Y/N.”

“Sorry, I have to go. Talk to you later. I love you!” Your mother rasped out that she loved you too before you quickly hung up the phone. 

“Sorry.” Your apology fell on deaf ears as Sylus took slow, deliberate steps toward your desk. 

“Do you hate this job?” Sylus’s asked this deceivingly innocuous question while sliding a finger across the mahogany tabletop. 

“Um… no?” You placed your hands in your lap as you answered to hide the slight tremor. 

“You sound unsure.” 

“I like this job very much.” You made the declaration with as much confidence as you could muster. Your mood was already depleted from seeing your mother’s sick face for the first time in months. She wasn’t looking any healthier, and Zayne told you she’d barely moved up the list. 

107. There were 107 people who’s lives were more important than the woman who raised you. You were well aware that wasn’t the way they calculated the metric, but it didn’t make the number hurt any less. 

Sylus let out an sigh that suggested whatever he’d say next was a much tamer version of what he truly wanted to say. “Then I’d suggest you start acting like it. Remember, sweetheart, everyone’s replaceable. Especially you.” 

His comment stung like antiseptic on an open wound, though you were sure that was his intention. 

“Right. Of course. I won’t let you down.” 

“For your sake, I hope not. The twins told me they went to that seafood buffet for lunch, you haven’t let them go over the budget again, have you?” 

You quickly pulled up the online banking account connected to the company card. You saw the $189.95 charge for the seafood buffet and swallowed the lump in your throat. 

“Nope, it’s all dandy.” You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. He noticed. 

“Good. You wire that money like I asked?” The venom in his tone alleviated, and you were glad at least one thing seemed to have worked out for you that day. 

But alas, your joy was short-lived.

“Yes, an hour ago, but it’s still processing until you put in your access code.” You moved away from the computer to give him room to step around and put in the code like he usually did. However, his feet never moved from their position in front of your desk.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Just like that, his voice was all venom again. 

You were beginning to grow agitated with his misplaced anger constantly being taken out on you. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, he’d tear into you like a bear would a boxing bag and then act like everything was fine the next day. You never got an apology, you knew not to expect one. 

But lately these fits of unbridled rage came about more often than not, and Sylus took a shovel to your mole hill of resolve every time. 

“I always need your access code on transfers over $500,000. I’ve never told you before, I just assumed—” 

“Are you stupid?” You didn’t bother answering the mean rhetorical question. “What about this transaction seemed usual to you? Did I not convey my urgency effectively earlier? Or are there rocks where your brain should be?” His voice never went up in volume, but you could tell he was angry. Livid even. Seething with fury at your supposed incompetence. 

Your eyes welled up with tears at his outburst. Normally you could take whatever insults he’d throw at you with little outward reaction, but you were particularly sensitive from the sandwich-shaped hole in your stomach, and the maternal hole in your heart which ached every second, reminding you of the much bigger one your mother bore.

Before you could stop it, a tear rolled down your cheek, and the second you registered the sensation you quickly went to wipe it. 

“Stop crying.” Sylus ordered.

“I’m not—crying.” Your voice betrayed you, a hitch in your throat interrupting the sentence. The tears began to stream down faster, so fast your hands couldn’t keep up. 

You prepared yourself for a speech about how weak you were, how he wouldn’t tolerate such inane shows of infirmity. But all Sylus did was watch as you embarrassingly tried to pull yourself together. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed before Sylus moved next to you, hunching down to input his code into the transaction. His eyes glanced at the second monitor, displaying the company card’s account, and he zeroed in at the twin’s charge, and your lack thereof.

“Did you have lunch?” Sylus’s voice was softer, you attributed that to the fact that he was inches away from you. The question was so out of left-field it actually caused your tears to cease. 

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t use the card.” Your eyes followed his to the bank statement and you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Oh, I had some extra cash on me I wanted to get rid of.”

“You’re supposed to use the card, Y/N. That’s what it’s for.”

“It’s fine, I’ll have an extra big lunch tomorrow. Granted you’re not firing me?” You were only half-joking, but you could’ve sworn you saw the corners of his lips perk up in an almost-smile before he shut it straight down. 

“I won’t fire you if you tell me what’s got you this upset? I’m not so proud as to assume it was me.” It was that moment you realised Sylus was capable of feeling empathy. He was aware of how hurtful he was being all those times he’d berate you over the smallest inconveniences for virtually no reason, and he simply didn’t care. 

It was far worse to know that he did possess empathy, but chose not to extend it to you. 

“It’s just that time of the month.” You lied, convincingly. You’d mull over your blatant betrayal to feminism later, but for now you needed a means of shutting this inquiry down and quickly. You didn’t want anyone knowing about your mom, you were sure the pity would destroy you. She wasn’t going to die, and you didn’t want people to treat you like she might. 

Sylus waited for the transfer to clear before he left. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when the door closed behind him.

“Are you sure we only have $105 on our lunch budget.” Luke’s question grated on your frayed nerves.

“$105 and five cents.” Your distinction didn’t do much help. 

“Come on, can’t you do your weird accounty magic and make more appear? We want steak.” Kiernan’s plea wasn’t helping either. You’d exhausted every last option, anything else would definitely cause alarms when Sylus eventually reviewed the accounts. 

“I already did all I could, I gave you an extra $255!” And a fat good that did you, now you were hungry and annoyed.

“Well, we both know there’s plenty more where that came from.”

There really wasn’t, but you didn’t tell them that. 

“I’m sorry, $105 is all you’ve got.” 

“Fine. But we’re very unhappy with you, Y/N. Very unhappy.” Luke chastised you, but you couldn’t even pretend to care. 

“Better you than Sylus, now please leave.” The twins opened their mouths with a retort, but a domineering voice interrupted them. 

“You heard her. Beat it and stop bothering my accountant.” 

The twins scurried at the sound of Sylus’s voice, and you wondered how much of that conversation he overheard.

“So, where did that extra $255 come from, Y/N?”

Too much of the conversation. Way too much. 

“My budget.” You cut your losses and told him the truth. Any other answer would have surely pissed him off. 

“I give you $300 for the whole week. Your sandwich costs $15. Either you haven’t been eating, or you've been paying out of your own pocket against my orders. Which is it?” 

Well, that was a lose-lose situation if there ever was one. You didn’t want to deal with the questions about why you were skipping meals, so you lied again. You always were an exceptional liar, your mother taught you that the less people knew about you, the less they had to hurt you with.

“I made too much food for dinner so I had leftovers. It’s no biggie.” You didn’t even look up from your screen as the lie left your lips. 

“What leftovers?” He asked. 

“Pasta.” You answered. 

“What kind?”

“Alfredo.”

“With mushrooms?”

“Yeah.”

“You hate mushrooms.” 

Shit. Why did he know that?

“I had a change of heart.”

“You’re lying.”

You bit your lip in worry, wondering how you were going to get yourself out of this one.

You stalled as much as you could, pretending to be engrossed in something on your screen, until the sound of Sylus’s phone ringing broke the tension. 

You internally thanked every deity that could possibly be watching over you as he took the call, and prayed to all of them that it would be something urgent. 

You heard the faint sounds of a feminine voice through his phone.

“Kitten, where are you?”

Wait, who’s kitten? 

“Just calm down, tell me where you are.” Sylus didn’t even give you a second glance as he quickly stormed out of your office. Leaving you to mull over the intimate pet name, knowing exactly who it was intended for.

As Sylus left the room you reflected on the cacophony your feelings created in your mind. You weren’t sure when you developed such strong feelings for Sylus — or why. His personality was the antithesis of yours. Where he would free fall off of the proverbial cliff of his life without a second thought, every risk you took was meticulously calculated. Where he was rough and respected, you were sort of a pushover. Where his deadpan sense of humour tended to elicit more fear than laughter, you had an awkward habit of cracking jokes in situations they were not appropriate.

You were polar opposites, two parallel lines that were destined never to intertwine. You figured that was why everything hurt so much around him. He wasn’t right for you, but he would be right for someone else. 

The envy you’d carried for so long began to subside for the first time in years. Sylus had an array of estranged lovers that he’d bring around his mansion every once in a while, and now Miss Hunter. But for the first time the reminder of that fact didn’t hurt as much as it usually did. 

It was Mid-September and you warned yourself that if you couldn’t eliminate all the romantic feelings you had for Sylus by the end of Autumn, you’d cut your losses and quit. 

Of course, you’d have to find another job that paid just as well, but you were willing to cross that bridge when it came to it. There was only so much turmoil your fragile heart could take, and if you were dead, your mother would be as good as dead too. 

Happy with your iron-clad plan, you opened up your notes app and began to draft ‘Operation Sylus: No More’. You could change the name later.

Operation Sylus: No More

The foolproof guide of getting rid of all feelings Sylus related by the end of November. 

Step 1: avoid Sylus and all thoughts of him at all costs.

Step 2: no more funny jokes, his laugh is seriously deadly. 

Step 3: force yourself to remember Miss Hunter in moments of weakness. She’s the one he really wants. 

Step 4: try to find love elsewhere, like the corner shop owner, he may be in his 50s and happily married but he’s kind of a silver-fox!

Step 5: do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with Sylus for too long.

You looked back at your list, proud of the relatively easy steps to follow. This should be a cakewalk. Whoever said you couldn’t be the master of your own feelings clearly never met you. 

“Boss needs you in his office. He says bring your laptop.” Kiernan’s voice broke your focus. You were almost finished with the end of year report for this financial year, a task Sylus forced you to complete annually. It was meaningless, considering Onychinus wasn’t necessarily a legitimate business listed on the stock exchange, but you took it seriously nonetheless. 

“Okay, I’ll be right there.” You felt Kiernan’s eyes bore into you as you continued to make minor edits to the report. You’d sleep so much better once this 180 page document was out of your life. 

“He needs you now, Y/N. We’re both toast if you make him wait.” You sighed and couldn’t help but roll your eyes at Sylus’s lack of empathy for your large workload. 

You berated your past self for being so eager for this role, completing far too many tasks far too quickly, and setting the precedent that you were some sort of accounting machine. You really should learn to stick to the bare minimum. 

You walked over to the door leading to his office, and gave it a soft rap with your knuckles. The door opened by itself, or rather with the help of Sylus’s evol, to the sight of him leaning back in his chair, with Miss Hunter sitting directly in front of him on his desk.

Step 3 of your guide felt less like a friendly reminder and more like a stab in the gut. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man.

“We don’t have all day, sit down, Y/N.” Sylus’s command woke you from your trance, and you hoped your envy wasn’t as obvious as you thought it was. 

This was the first time you’d seen Miss Hunter up close, and when your eyes travelled to meet hers, she gave you a warm smile. You felt like the shittiest person to exist for ever hating her.

Your eyes scanned the room for somewhere to sit. The chairs opposite his seemed like they would intrude on the intimate moment he was clearly having with Miss Hunter, so you settled on an armchair in the corner that had a coffee table in front of it. 

Sylus sighed and didn’t even bother to ask you to move before he used his evol to whisk you up and deposit your body onto the chair at his table like a rag doll. You hated when he used his evol on you, it felt like the arms of a prickly cactus. 

“In a few minutes, I’ll be getting a phone call from a possible investor. He’s extremely exclusive and known for running tests on his potential partners before agreeing to invest with them. My intel suggests he’s going to propose a joint project, but the numbers he’ll give me will be far off. I need to counter-propose numbers that would generate a high return and quickly, or he’ll hang up and I’ll never hear from him again. So, open up your laptop and prepare, because if you tank this for me, there will no longer be a place for you here. Understood?”

When Sylus did things like that, it made it easier to love him a little less. He could be a complete and utter dick sometimes, and while you’d learned to accept it as a human flaw, recently it seemed more like a permanent predisposition. 

Perhaps Sylus was nice to you because you were entertaining, now that he had someone better to occupy his time, you were nothing more than a forgotten bygone. 

“Yeah, I got it.” You opened up an excel sheet with a project analysis template. These were the types of questions you’d get in your first year accounting courses but you let Sylus think it was much harder than it actually was — just to make him sweat. 

When the phone rang, Sylus’s muscles grew tense and Miss Hunter gave him a comforting squeeze on his shoulder. You bit your lip to hide the sudden scowl on your face. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man. Think of corner-shop man.

Your eyes bore into your excel sheet with an intensity that would’ve produced laser beams in an alternate reality. You focused entirely on the calculations, listening intently to the brassy voice of the investor on the phone. 

It didn’t take you long to generate the minimum initial investment they’d need to generate some form of return, as well as the payback period. You wrote the numbers down on a notepad, and you let him do the rest. 

When you heard the investor let out a humorous ‘I’m impressed’ you packed up your laptop and left the room without so much as a wave. You felt Sylus and Miss Hunter’s eyes follow you out of the room, but you didn’t bother looking back.

You felt the thin line between love and hate begin to grow blurry. Where Sylus was concerned, your feelings were as clear as the muddy water in a swamp. Maybe two and a half months was too much time. You needed these feelings gone expeditiously. 

You decided to take your lunch early, and you left the extravagant mansion that doubled as HQ to find your bike. You couldn’t really afford a car, or a license, but your bright yellow bike could do everything a car could for a fraction of the price. You were in the process of strapping up your helmet when Luke walked up. 

“What’s up with you lately?” His question was inevitable. You wondered how long it would take for someone to notice that you were fighting internal battles on every front. Your mother’s health, Sylus’s sudden chronic asshole syndrome flareup, your dwindling bank account. 

“Nothing, I’ve just been tired.”

“Well, we’re having a few friends over tonight. Just a small group, if you’re not too tired, you should come.” Luke was the more sociable twin, and he was most likely extending this invitation to you out of pity, but you’d take anything over being trapped in your own mind. 

“Will there be alcohol?” You quipped.

“Duh.” Luke’s response brought the first genuine smile to your face in weeks. 

“I’ll be there.” After your agreement, you cycled away toward the corner shop for lunch.

It was a quaint bakery/deli run by a Turkish man who you knew on a first name basis. He was aged-like-fine-wine handsome. Features weathered tastefully by age, with a full head of hair that quelled your fears of your future children inheriting the early onset male pattern baldness gene. 

But when you entered the store and saw Mr Demir, there were no butterflies. Your heart didn’t skip a beat. Your hands didn’t even quiver as you paid for the sandwich. In fact, they were so steady you figured you could give Dr Zayne a run for his money. 

Speaking of Dr Zayne, his daily updates were growing scarcer in detail, and you were worried that something was wrong. He insisted he was just busy and since your mother had moved up to 93 on the transplant list, you let it slide. 

“You know you’re allowed to try the other sandwiches, right?” Mr Demir’s handsome face contorted into a teasing smile, and if he didn’t own this shop with his beautiful wife, you might’ve asked him to marry you then and there. 

“I like this one. Your family is very talented.” You smiled at him, but it seemed even he could tell that it wasn’t genuine.

“You’re getting skinnier you know, and you haven’t been coming as often. Is something wrong or are you cheating on me with a salad store?” His joke brought a giggle out of you. 

You never thought that people noticed you in a way that was significant. You felt as if you were akin to a missing bird poster on a telephone pole in the middle of a busy street. People would glance at it, remember how common and undistinguishable birds are, and forget it ever existed.

Mr Demir’s concern warmed your heart, and you promised that if you ever won the lottery, you would give him half. 

“I’ve just been cooking more, that’s all. Thank you Mr Demir, say hello to your wife for me!” You gave him a small wave as you exited the shop and the weight suffocating your chest was a little lighter.

Mr Demir’s family had boundless love to share, and while their shop was small, they were happy. Maybe things would work out for you and your mother after all. 

The rest of the workday passed by like a fever dream. You finally managed to complete the annual report, a copy of it sitting in Sylus’s email, surely unopened. He left soon after that phone call with Miss Hunter, you didn’t bother to ask where.

The mansion was empty when you turned off the last monitor, and you thought you’d start pre-gaming early. Sylus always warned all of you that his bar was off-limits unless he stated otherwise, but the man had so much alcohol, you doubted he’d ever notice. 

He only drank red wine and whiskey, and you hated wine, so you settled for an almost full bottle of whiskey. You took one sip and realised you couldn’t stand the taste either, but it was still better than the wine, so you chugged glass after glass like they were shots. 

The heavy alcohol burned your throat on the way down and continued to burn in your stomach, but the feeling kept you warm so you didn’t really mind. You’d consumed half the bottle by the time the twins returned with two other men and one girl following in suit.  

“Y/N! Good, you’re here. Help me set up the drinks on the table.” You nodded your head at Luke’s request, knowing your speech would likely be slurred. 

You helped him line up the bottles of cheap tequila, vodka, fireball and a fear-inducing amount of absinthe. These cheap spirits were much more your speed.

“Alright, we’re starting with truth or dare. Pick your poison and sit around the coffee table.” Kiernan’s announcement had everyone scattering around the coffee table with cups in hand. You opted for the fireball, too scared to mix alcohol this early in the night. 

You recognised everyone from another one of the twin’s impromptu parties. They only ever threw them when they were sure Sylus would be gone overnight. You didn’t let yourself dwell on where he was or who he was with. 

The game was more entertaining than you expected, everyone had interesting questions, and when it came to dares, the twins always had something sadistic in mind. 

It was your turn when they decided to up the stakes. You were already wasted, so you committed to answering whatever question they pummelled at you. 

“Truth.”

“You’re so boring, you always pick truth.” Luke whined, his arm shaking yours in protest.

“That’s because I’m scared of your dares.”

Luke rolled his eyes but conceded.

“Fine. How many people have you slept with?”

All conversations came to a stifling halt as everyone’s eyes landed on you. Far too embarrassed to tell 5 people you barely knew that you were still a virgin, you changed your answer. There was nothing to be ashamed of, but you knew the twins would mercilessly make fun of you, and you didn't have the energy to explain that between the constant pressure to succeed for your mother, and her eventual illness, your love life had been placed on the back-burner.

“Dare.”

“You know the rules, if you switch options and refuse to do it, you have to finish everyone’s drinks.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hit me.” You glared at Luke with determination. You should’ve known that when everyone was this drunk, the dares could only get progressively more outrageous.

“I dare you to call Sylus and tell him you crashed his McLaren.” Luke looked proud of his dare, and the smile dropped from your face instantly. 

Even Kiernan’s eyes flashed with concern before he broke out into an obnoxious laugh.

“Oh- Holy shit! That’s gold.” The words left Kieran’s mouth in-between his laughter. Everyone around the table looked at you eagerly.

You knew if you finished off everyone’s cups you’d definitely die, or worse, throw up. 

“Fine.” Too drunk to realise the implications of what you were doing, you dialled Sylus. There was also the chance he just didn’t pick up, but four and a half rings later his annoyed voice resounded through the speaker of your phone. 

“What is it?” From the sound of Sylus’s tone, you’d interrupted something important. You bit down the bitter feelings that threatened to spill out, and stuck to the objective.

“I have something to tell you, but you have to promise you won’t get mad.” There was no universe in which Sylus couldn’t tell you were drunk.

In all honesty, your phone call was a welcome reprieve from his mind-numbingly boring conversation with Linkon’s politicians. He’d offered to attend this event with MC with little thought as to what it would pertain. His eyes raked over her baby pink dress, and since he couldn’t get her out of it just yet, he entertained your drunk rambling.

“I don’t have to do anything.” Sylus expected you to apologise, but all he heard was a sound foreign to him. Were you laughing? Sylus heard indecipherable voices in the background, and he found himself wondering who was making you laugh. 

“True. Okay well, you know that dark grey sports car you love soooooooooooo much?” Nice going, Y/N, remind him just how much he loves this car. You thought. The phone was on speaker, per the requests of the fellow attendees. 

Everyone bit back laughs at the situation which was extremely unfunny to anyone with a blood alcohol level under 0.05. 

“What did you do?” Sylus’s question had a deadly underpinning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“I crashed it!” At your exclamation, the room exploded in laughter, and you muted the microphone quickly before Sylus could hear it.

“You crashed it?”

You quickly unmuted to add. “Yup! Absolutely totalled.”

“Are you okay? Where are you? I’m coming.” 

The laughter immediately died down. That was not how he was supposed to react, not at all. 

Luke and Kiernan gestured for you to shut it down and you quickly began to backtrack.

“No! No you don’t have to come home. I’m fine. It was just a prank.”

“Oh, so you’re at my place?” ShitShitShitShitShit.

“Yes… The twins and I had too much to drink and we thought it would be funny to prank you. I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have interrupted your night.”

You braced yourself for the angry lecture on how Sylus’s time was more valuable the rarest ruby, but it never came.

“Just you and the twins, right?”

Luke and Kiernan gestured for you to agree.

“Yes.”

“You should probably call an exorcist.” Were you drunk or did he actually just tell you to call an exorcist?

“Huh?” Everyone in the room looked just as perplexed.

“You know, since those three other people in my living room must be apparitions.” 

“You didn’t rig the camera?” Kiernan’s shrill scream was definitely registered by the phone’s mic. 

“Fuck! I forgot.” Luke exclaimed in response as they scrambled to pack everything up. 

“Um…” With everyone frantically running around the room, you were left to deal with Sylus’s wrath alone.

“How come you never laugh when you’re with me?” And with that question you were convinced the alcohol had induced auditory hallucinations.

“You’re not very funny.” You decided to play along, after all, imaginary Sylus was much more fun than the real one.

“Hmm, I thought I was.”

“Nope. All your jokes end in someone dying, and usually that someone is me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, those aren’t jokes.” That was something real Sylus would say. Damn, these auditory hallucinations were realistic.

“I know, I really thought you were going to kill me last week.” You let out an involuntary snort at the hilarious image of your head on a pike. 

“Why’s that?”

“Because I screwed up that wire transfer to Miss Hunter. You were soooo mad. You must reaaaalllyyyy like her.”

“I guess I do.” The line went quiet on both ends after that. 

This auditory hallucination was no fun following his confession, so you hung up. Sylus called a few times after, but you never noticed. The room began spinning and your eyes began watering, so you curled up on the floor until your head stopped pounding, but by then you were fast asleep.

Sylus returned to his mansion the next morning to find your office empty. It was still an hour before you were due to start, but you were always early. 

With an internal promise to check again in an hour, he walked toward the living room. It didn’t take long before he noticed a mop of light brown hair on his rug.

He walked toward your sleeping form with indignation, only to find every ounce of anger sucked out of him when he knelt down to find your sleeping face. 

He hadn’t been that close to you in what felt like forever. Was your face always that pale? His eyes caressed your under eye bags, and your hollow cheeks. He could’ve sworn they were fuller when he hired you. What happened to you? 

Before Sylus could give in to the urge to wake you up and ask, your phone made a sound from the coffee table. He picked it up and saw you were getting a call from Zayne.

Who the fuck was Zayne?

He answered the phone before he could think it through.

“Oh, Y/N, good. I’ve been trying to reach you since last night.”

“You should’ve taken the hint.” Sylus couldn’t help the bite in his tone. He wasn’t sure why he was so angry at this Zayne, but his emotions were beginning to confuse him more often than he cared to admit.

“Who’s this?”

Sylus could’ve said that he was your boss. He should’ve said that he was your boss. But what he said instead…

“Y/N’s mine.” His employee, but that distinction didn’t seem necessary in the moment.

“Well, could you tell her to call me back as soon as possible. I have urgent news about her mother.”

The comment about her mother perplexed Sylus even more. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m her mother’s heart surgeon. I have to go, have her call me soon.” Sylus felt stupid for the unnecessary show of hostility, but he only had more questions following Zayne’s answer.

It seemed the conversation was enough to wake you up from your slumber, and the moment you registered your surroundings, the headache you had was amplified tenfold. Your muscles hurt from sleeping on the hard floor, and you were sure your legs had morphed into jelly. 

You were never drinking again.

“Well hello, sleeping beauty.” Sylus watched as you groggily rubbed your eyes. The right side of your face had an indent matching the pattern of his rug, and your hair was dishevelled. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Sylus. I’m so sorry.” You spoke through a yawn before cradling your head in your hands. The world needed to stop spinning.

Sylus shoved an open bottle of water in your face, and you greedily snatched the peace offering before he had time to change his mind.

“Zayne called, said he had some news about your mother.”

You shot straight up, spilling some water in the process.

“What did he say? Where’s my phone?” You glanced at large Sylus’s hand which was wrapped around said phone. If you weren’t so worried about your mother, you might’ve found the sight of Sylus holding something covered in a floral case amusing. Powering through the piercing pain in your temple, you held your hand out.

“Please give it back.” 

“What’s wrong with your mother?”

“Please Sylus, I can’t do this right now.” You tried to lunge for the phone, but he was faster. Raising his hand above his head and well out of your reach. 

“You’ll have this back once you answer my question.”

“She has the flu. Now give it back.” You jumped up in a feeble attempt to retrieve the phone, but he was just so goddamn tall. 

“I didn’t know flu treatment protocol involved heart surgery now. Guess I need to brush up on the latest medical news.” His sardonic tone made you scoff. Only Sylus could be such a dick while your mother's life was in limbo.

Curse Dr Zayne and his blabbermouth. 

If it wasn’t for the severe hangover, you might’ve been able to think of an explanation. But you were so nervous you felt sick and you needed to know the news Dr Zayne had.

“Fine. She needs a heart transplant, she’s on coronary bypass and if she doesn’t get a heart soon she’ll die. Is that good enough for you?” You continued to try to reach the phone, not bothering to check Sylus’s reaction to your confession. 

He dropped the phone in your hand and you all but sprinted out of the living room to make the phone call.

The line rang once, twice, three times before Zayne picked up.

“Y/N?”

“Yes! What’s wrong? Is my mom okay? Tell me she’s okay.”

“Slow down, she’s alive, but she had a cardiac event. Not a heart attack, but it still did some damage. Her condition is worse, much worse, Y/N. I’m sorry.” 

Your back slumped against the wall of the hallway and you felt your knees give in as you slid to the floor. 

“How long does she have?” The tears streaming down your face fell onto your shirt, leaving uncomfortable wet spots in their wake.

“A few weeks, a month’s top. But this did move her to the top of the list. She might get a transplant in time.” Zayne must have heard the sadness in your voice if he’d offered words of encouragement. He never did that. 

“Thank you. I’m going to come see her.”

“I’ll get the nurses to bring in an extra bed. I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond so you hung up instead. The pain in your head was now but a mere memory as your heart began to splinter into a million little pieces. 

There was so much you still had to do. You needed to buy your mom her first ever house, and help her plant the prettiest flowers in the garden. You had to get her the dog she always dreamed about and the outdoor swing she missed from her childhood home. She still had to walk you down the aisle and sing your future children the lullabies she sang to you. She couldn’t go. Not yet. 

You didn’t even notice Sylus enter the hallway until you felt him sitting down next to you. He wove an arm behind your head, bringing your face into his chest. The intimacy of the act only made you cry harder. The last person to hold you that close was your mom, a few days before she’d collapsed. 

“It hurts.” You choked on your words and they came out muffled against Sylus’s chest.

“What hurts?” He asked. 

“My heart. It really hurts, Sylus.” You sobbed harder. It felt good to finally admit that you weren’t okay. To have someone hold you as your life fell apart around you. 

“Tell me what to do, Y/N. Anything.”

“Can I have some time off?” You took deep breaths as you tried to slow your crying down. You could break down once you reached the other side of this tumultuous predicament. 

The humble request drove Sylus insane. He’d offer you his own heart to save your mother if he wasn’t sure it was severely damaged, and all you could think to ask for was time off. 

“Of course.”

“Can you give me a ride to Linkon?” 

That request was a little better, but still not enough. 

“I’ll take you now, come on.”

“No wait, I need to go home and pack some things. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“You know you can still get a DUI on a pedal bike, right?”

“I’m not drunk.”

“But there’s still alcohol in your system, and you’re very upset. It won’t be safe, I’ll take you home on the way. Let’s go.” He stood up, his hand outstretched toward you. 

And with a heavy heart, you took Sylus’s hand.

[springismss]

ᱬ⛧ you needy? ~ s. gojo

sum: being the wife of the world's strongest sorcerer meant being away from him for days or weeks at a time - of course, he came back as needy as ever.

pairing: satoru gojo x wife! reader

content: 18+ - mdni. established relationship (marriage), pet names (baby, sweetheart, etc), wall fucking, cock warming, needy gojo, suggested multiple rounds, fingering, oral (f! receiving), suggested cum stuffing, unprotected fun

a/n: based on this post. lowercase intended. ik this sucks but posting anyways. cross-posted on ao3. as always likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated!

word count: 3.7k

links; jjk masterlist | masterlist

all was calm and somewhat quiet in the dimly lit household until the sound of the front door being slammed shut shattered every piece of that quietness. a small thud sounded a second after the person responsible for the initial noise let their head fall back against the wood, hand coming up to rub their tense temple as an exasperated sigh passed their lips.

all they needed was a moment, a moment to finally breathe after what felt like the longest mission of their life to date. not only had the main curse been a pain in the literal ass, but the smaller curses that were around made it a little more difficult to exorcise it in good time, which even they had to admit made the situation more frustrating.

dropping their hand, they let their head return back to normal as they remained on the door, taking a moment to try and figure out what day it was, let alone what time. of course, they knew it was nighttime at least, given how dark it was before they stepped through the door.

everything seemed to have blended into one long day, mind-numbing as they let out a frustrated growl before taking their time to indulge in the now quietness that enveloped them. a welcome relief from the noise they'd had to endure while away.

despite the material covering their eyes, they took a moment to scan the hallway settling on the area the light flickering from the front room came from, signalling the other person inside was awake, so it wasn't too late much to their relief. that's when they saw the head of said person sticking their head out of the door, a warm and welcoming smile tugging at their lips. "satoru, you're home!".

at the sound of the name reaching their ears, the figure pushed off the door and rushed forward, wrapping their arms around the smaller figure as they giggled.

satoru gojo was the strongest sorcerer in the world, the only surviving member of the gojo clan and a literal force to be reckoned with. yet here he was after an exhausting few weeks with his arms wrapped tightly around his wife.

you'd been an anchor to him many times before, keeping him grounded after long days of either teaching or exorcising. how he'd missed this, the feeling of you in his arms, your frame fitting perfectly against his as you welcomed him home.

after a few seconds, he pulled back to look down at you, your head tilting before you let out a playful squeal at your body being easily picked up, back pressed against the wall at your side as large hands rested on either side of your head.

you knew exactly where this was going and you couldn't deny a part of you loved it. even though you hated him being away on missions, the desire you both felt after he returned made you shiver each time.

everything that happened in the minutes after that passed in a blur of emotions - desire and need being the main ones driving the actions of your now needy husband. plump lips pressed against you before you felt sharp teeth dig into the sensitive flesh, tugging your lower lip into the hungry mouth of the man now responsible for the fire in both your gut and between your legs.

letting out a whine you raised your hands and gripped onto broad shoulders, pulling him closer. god know you missed him so much these past few weeks, especially when your fingers couldn't hit the places his longer ones could, drawing out those sweet highs from deep within.

managing to tug your lip free, you looked up at him and sucked in a quick breath at the bites now being placed directly below your jaw. this man would be the death of you and he hadn't even gotten to the part you both enjoyed yet. "toru, p-please". the pressure on your neck disappeared after a second, lips returning to yours as kisses grew sloppier and needier.

the small grunts sounded before silence greeted you once more and the cool air lapped at your once heated lips. furrowing your brows in confusion, you watched as satoru dropped to his knees, lips now decorating your thigh with the same warm, sloppy kisses that you felt only a few moments beforehand.

letting your head fall back slightly, you blinked mindlessly into the darkness above you as you felt those kisses trail up higher, closer to the one place you needed him the most right now.

those same kisses halted once again as you felt the waistband of your shorts and underwear being tugged, ripped away in tatters before you had time to look down. letting out a whine, you pressed a hand to your head and gnawed on your bottom lip before speaking, making sure he heard how annoyed you were. "for fucks sake, i've only just bought those toru, i swear if i didn't love you, i'd have booted you by now".

that was when the sound of his deep chuckle reached your ears, making you weak in the knees as his kisses resumed on your inner thigh, hand supporting the back of your flesh in his grip, words escaping between each creeping peck. "i know you~" kiss "would but~" kiss "let's face it~" kiss "i'll just buy you new ones".

with the last of his words out, satoru brought his other hand and using little to no force, pushed your supple thighs apart taking a moment to admire the way your already wet pussy looked in the soft glow of the light.

letting his tongue glide across his lips, he tilted his head up to you before smirking hands reaching up to pull your hips forward as he began to devour you like you were the essence of his very existence. skilled tongue lapped at your clit while his slender fingers easily slipped into your eager pussy, your warm gummy walls welcoming after being starved for so long.

all it took was one movement, one simple stretch of his fingers to have your head falling back, moans and whimpers escaping as you let your hands drop onto his head. the pads of your fingers rubbed small circles on his scalp before you gripped onto the snow-white strands of his hair, back pushing off the wall in an arch as you blinked back the tears pricking at your eyes, hips starting to move as you helped rub yourself against him.

you didn't realise how long it had been since you felt his tongue, but you were sure you weren't going to last that long the more his long fingers stretched you out, another being added to the two already buried knuckle deep, making you feel full yet not full enough at the same time.

although satoru enjoyed the sounds falling from your lips he couldn't wait any longer, growing bored of his face being buried between your legs. with almost no warning, he slipped his fingers out of your pussy as his tongue detached from your clit, a whine passed your lips in both shock and desperation, you were building to your climax so beautifully but he had to rip that away from you.

blinking your eyes to regain your composure, you dropped your head back down just in time to see him rising to his feet, reminding you of how much taller than you he was. "toru~".

the breathy pass of his name made satoru hum before he ripped off his uniform with little to no effort, tossing the now remnants somewhere to the side as he pressed a hand to your thigh again, gripping the flesh under his fingertips, savouring the feel before guiding your leg to wrap around his waist.

with a quick nod of your head knowing what he wanted, you let your hands travel up his torso savouring the flex of his muscles before they drape over his shoulders, fingers locked together as you felt your body being hoisted until you were at eye level with his parted lip, the tip of his cock now rubbing between your puffy pussy lips. "i can't wait any longer, sweet stuff, f-fuck, i need to feel you around me".

blinking at his words, you gave a quick smile before leaning forward, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, slowly dragging your kisses up his cheek until you stopped at his ear, hot breath causing him to shiver slightly. you let the echo of a moan slip from your throat before smirking, pressing a small peck to the shell of his ear, not before you whispered words he'd been dying to hear for what felt like a lifetime. "well, what are you waiting for honey, use me, fuck me".

it was like a switch had been flipped, the rubbing you had felt stopped suddenly, soon replaced with the obvious sensation of your ring of resistance being pushed past. sucking in a breath between your teeth, you squeezed your eyes closed before letting soft pants fall from your mouth as you felt your husband bottom out into you, walls stretched to what felt like their limits and more as it took you a moment to remember just how big he was, his thickness being the best part of his cock aside from the tufts of white hair settle at his base. it felt like it had been years since you were as close as this, yet it had only been a week or two at max.

after a few more slow seconds, you felt satoru's hips pull back as the fullness disappeared for a second before returning forcefully, knocking the air from your lungs with a harsh jolt. eyes screwed shut as you let your head fall, lips parted as whines and moans of pleasure began to fall from your mouth, hands gripping onto his shoulders and you tried your best to keep that last of your sanity in check but you were fighting a losing battle.

between the pressure building up in your gut and the cock inside you splitting you open with each hard snap of his hips, you knew it wouldn't be long before you were completely lost in the throes of pleasure. "fuck, that's it, baby girl, you take all of me so good".

oh, how his words had you clenching your walls around him, sucking him into the deepest part of your very being as you dug your nails into his shoulders before dragging them down his milky back. you knew those pretty crescent moons and red marks would be there for a few days at least, and they looked so pretty on satoru's skin. while yours left marks on his back, his fingers gripped onto your hips as he held you closer to his body, a grip that would no doubt leave small bruises, not that you would complain.

him marking your body in different ways was par for the course on most days.

to say you were pinned between a rock and a hard place was an understatement but right now, you couldn't have cared less. not when your legs are wrapped around hips that gave relentless thrusts into your pussy, dragging the most sinful noises from deep within. not when your arms were dragging pretty marks down his back for the world to potentially see, a reminder that the strongest in the world belonged to someone and that someone was you.

not when the rest of your body bounced painfully against the wall as thrusts continued to get rougher making you want that release to hold off so you could continue to enjoy this moment for a little longer. "toru, h-ah, feel so, fuck, full". letting your head roll back, you opened your mouth to let chants of satoru's name fall from your lips as you moved a hand, cupping his face to help keep yourself grounded.

you were close to your climax and you knew he could feel it as well, the way your gummy walls began to pulsate a little faster, gripping his cock a little too tightly.

moving one hand from your hip, satoru brought it up to his face and tugged down his blindfold effectively trapping your hand in its place as his eyes now looked you over. the way you let your head fall back to now look at him, the reddening of your cheeks and droll slipping from the corner of your mouth had him smirking.

despite being able to see and perceive everything around him thanks to his eyes, he never felt more powerful than right now. he was the only one who got to see you like this, bare in front of him making the most sinful noises for only him to hear.

his blue eyes always drove you crazy, they were the first thing you remember seeing when you first met him all those years back and they were the only eyes that would ever get to see you in such a state. "t-toru, p-please, i'm gonna~".

squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a shaky moan and you felt the pressure in your gut build, walls pulsating signalling you were close to your climax.

without any further words, satoru placed his hands on the wall behind you, steadying himself as he began to position his hips into you, the mushroom tip of his cock slamming against that spongy spot deep inside. the new sensation caused your gummy walls to pulsate faster around him, helping to milk him closer to his end, daring him to fill you with his seed.

and that is exactly what he did after a few more frantic thrusts into your pussy, of course, he wouldn't have been a gentleman if he didn't let your climax wash over you first. your vision flashed white as you gripped his cheek, nails pressing in slightly as a loud cry of his name slipped from your lips, your walls pulsating harshly, sucking his cock into you deeper than you both thought was possible right now.

with a few more harsh thrusts, satoru's hips stuttered to a stop as he shot thick ropes of white into your now eagerly awaiting pussy, no doubt taking up a new home deep inside your womb. the deep rumble in his chest of the moans you drew from him made you shiver more as heated lips caught yours once again.

after a few minutes of finally regaining yourself thanks to the kisses you were getting, you found yourself lying on cool silk sheets as you blinked in confusion, your gaze falling on your husband who only smiled brightly at your confusion.

tilting your head, you looked around the room before smiling softly, turning your attention back to satoru, mouthing a quick thank you as you felt the material of his blindfold being removed from your hand, being placed on the table at the side. "toru, you didn't have to do this you know".

shaking his head, satoru looked at you and hummed a little. he knew better than anyone this was where you were most comfortable when you were both intimate, he just couldn't help himself after the mission he'd just had. he missed you and your touch for so long that he just had to have you right there and then even if it was again at the wall that wasn't exactly the most comfortable of places.

"it's the least i could do, i should have waited a few more minutes to make sure you were comfortable".

you shook your head and looked him over, taking in every single piece of him you could as he smiled wider at you, hand cupping your cheek as he peppered kisses all over your face, whispering how much he's missed you and that's not leaving you for more than a second next time.

you both knew the missions he undertook were dangerous and potentially fatal, one mistake and he might not come back to you. and that scared the life out of you. the both of you.

he had two choices every time a mission was presented to him - one, the most obvious one was to undertake the mission, exorcise the curse or curses and let everything return to as normal as it could be before the next mission that he was needed for, or two, decline and spend his time locked away from the world, being only in your arms as he tried to make every second count. he was no stranger to losing someone he loved,

he'd been through what felt like hell and back before he met you at such a young age. you were the one to help him battle his inner demons, the one who made him feel better after all the long days and nights he spent away, but most of all, you were the one who loved him with everything you had to offer, helping to heal his soul one day at a time and he'd be damned if he would ever give you up.

it still didn't feel real that this was your life, that the strongest sorcerer in the world was now your husband, if someone had told you this when you were younger, you would have laughed in their faces and told them to get a life, someone like him would never end up with the likes of you.

yet here you were, still connected in the most intimate way you could be, taking on the world together. lifting your other hand you cupped his face and brought your lips to the tip of his nose, giving it a quick kiss before moving down to his lips, placing a sweet yet hungry kiss against them before pulling away, scanning your eyes over his face once more as you smirked.

quickly moving your leg, you draped it over his hip, hand resting on his shoulder before you rolled him onto his back, placing your legs on either side of his as you straddled his waist, keeping his cock snuggly inside your cunt.

letting your hands fall onto his chest, you placed them crossed over where his heart was, feeling the thumping quickening the more he looked over you, anticipating what your next move was. the smirk on your lips widened as you uncrossed them, letting your body fall forward slightly cupping his cheek again, hot breath fanning over his ear as you let a small giggle sound. "satoru, you know since we're somewhere more comfortable, i was thinking you should fill me up~".

straightening your back, you let your head fall back as you rolled your hips, making the mushroom tip of his cock rub against that spongy spot again, another sinful moan dragging from your throat. "~stuff me so full of your come that it ends up slipping out my puffy pussy~".

letting your head return to normal, you bit your lip and grabbed ahold of his hand, fingers lacing together as you pulled his torso off the sheets into a sitting position, shifting yourself so you were pressed firmly in his lap, hips moving with every other word. "~so you have to fuck it back into me until i can't take any more. until it runs messily down my thighs and legs like the tears from my eyes at the pleasure".

satoru swore he forgot how to breathe when he looked up at you, eyes lidded slightly as you continued to roll your hips into his, his cock beginning to harden once again, begging him to move his hips in tandem with yours. "well, if that's what my sweetheart wants~".

it all happened within seconds as your back hit the sheets, a gasp sounding out as your husband began to roll his hips into yours rougher than you were a few moments ago, eyes fluttering shut. moving one of his large hands, he placed it just below your navel, pushing down as he continued to roll into you, loving the feeling of your body squirming below him trying to get off on the friction against your clit alone.

after a moment, that same hand moved to grip ahold of your tit, beginning to knead the flesh, nipple hardening underneath his grasp. "~that's what my sweetheart gets, to be stuffed full of my come until she can’t take any more".

letting go of your chest, satoru placed his hand beside your head, while his other hand ran down your side, grabbing ahold of your thigh he moved it up and pressed further into you.

his body pinned you in place as you felt yourself shift slightly until you could feel the burn of your thigh muscle, your gummy walls contouring to the shape of his cock again as he snapped his hips forward once more, dragging more of the sounds he loved from your throat.

being sure to fulfil the desire to be filled full of his come, in one way or another.

when it all came down to it, satoru gojo was hopelessly in love with you. you’d come along when he needed someone the most, at a dark time in not only his life but his story as the strongest. due to that, he just wanted to spend as much time as possible with you, however, that might be because he knew one day he'd leave you behind in this cruel world, with nothing but the memories he'd made with you.

be that spending time with you, showering you with endless gifts which you were adamant you didn't need, but secretly loved regardless, fucking you for hours on end, loving the feel of the way you writhe for him as you would show him you wanted it as much as him. watching you lose yourself in the pleasure that only he could provide to you.

at the end of the day, all satoru gojo was to you was your husband, the man who you loved more than anything in the world. not a weapon to be used. not the strongest sorcerer with the weight of the world on his shoulders. no, he was just the man who you loved more than life itself, and you were forever grateful he chose to spend the rest of his with you.

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

[mimipolo]

Hii I was gonna ask if you can do a headcanon about how Nam-gyu acts when he's jealous (and if you do anons can I be the rose🌹?)

Jealous! Nam-gyu x reader headcanons

He's definitely the type to get to stupid amounts of jealousy unprovoked

Anyone that knows how to make my works look prettier please dm tutorials or advice pretty please :^

When this man gets jealous you can easily tell. You're just catching up with one of your friends from uni and he's hovering over your shoulder and squinting at the poor guy like he killed you expecting him to take the hint.

He's standing unnecessarily close to you, his grip on your waist or shoulder constantly tightening as if you'd accidentally trip and fall into the other guys arms.

Actually has the audacity to ask the two of you "Are you done?" mid conversation and you both just share looks of astonishment, looking between yourselves then at him. It's so tense you both just have to laugh it off as he awkwardly walks away saying he hopes to see you around town again.

"Good riddance..."

Is all you hear from behind you and then he's tugging you in the opposite direction, wherevers furthest from that guy. He's pestering you with semi rude comments towards them as you walk away.

"What's his deal anyway?"

"Did he need to talk to you that long."

"He thinks he's all that, arrogant dick."

You roll your eyes and make a show of groaning dramatically at his behaviour to which he blatantly ignores, glad that you're (he's)not talking with them anymore.

It's one thing with people, it's easy for him to have jealousy towards them and even easier to justify himself. But when people aren't the problem is when it gets difficult. You're so dedicated to this pet/hobby/interest of yours and he's wondering why you couldn't obssess yourself with him like that.

You've been working on the same peice for a while now, you estimated that after two or three more days you'd finally be done. What you hadn't recognised was Nam-gyu constantly hovering around you all throughout the project. Offering you tea and asking you to come lie in bed with him, the vulnerability confused you but you just summed it up to being another one of his clingy moments. That's until he finally speaks up, his head resting atop of yours, his hands resting on the back of your chair. If you had taken a moment to glance up you'd see the visible pout frown on his face.

"[Namee]..."

"Hm?"

He lips furrow deeper, you couldn't even answer him, this dumb project you're working on has been occupying every small gap of time you had and leaving none for him, and of course you were oblivious. He liked that about you but damn he had offered you tea??

"You're always hunched over this table, when are ya finally finishing this thing?"

It would've been a normal question, even one of concern if it wasn't for the clear bitterness and irritation that laced his words. This catches your attention and you turn your head towards him a slight sympathetic yet playful look in your eyes.

"Aw, ya miss me Nam?"

"Go to hell."

Tutting disapprovingly at his words, he sucks his teeth in annoyance when he sees the winning grin on your face, you knew he'd eventually cave and start complaining. And so stretching your back you decide to pause your progress for tonight.

"All right then, bed it is."

He huffs like he doesn't care if you do or not but he's already making his way to lie on the bed as you push your chair out, you have to bite your lip in order not to laugh.

Totally the type to be petty, turning on his side when you two are sleeping then regrets it like five seconds after and is turning on his side to lean against you. You don't have to say or do anything.

The most embarassing moment of jealousy he's had was when you were holding one of his new born nephews with the most doting look in your eyes. You asked him why he looked so serious and he said how you should be holding him instead he's just hoping his sister rests up soon.

He's so dumb.

[melobballin]

no pain no game. juju watkins

✶ warnings ✶ 2.8k words count. black!fem reader. juju is being difficult and got a smart mouth. reader being worse. pt!reader. injured!juju. flirty!juju. agnst!juju. wlw. fluffy fluffy stuff.

"WE WANT YOU ON JUJU." Excuse you ? That's all your supervisor said to you before turning her heels and walking out of the classroom. No context. No time for you to blink or ask questions, let alone process what the fuck just happened.

Perfect timing. It was mid semester, you were already knee-deep in the trenches, buried under textbooks, assignments, and finals prep, trying really hard to keep your GPA from tanking.

But yeah, sure, babysitting juju sounded good, real good. Love that for you.

you’d handled injured athletes before—campus regulars, nothing wild. You could do this. No sweat.

But watkins ? That was a whole other story. juju meant headlines, pressure.

You were actually there when it happened. Your best friend, Nia, had basically dragged you to the court that night, guilt-tripping you with the "we never go out anymore !". And you remember it very vividly — her on the court, clutching her knee like it just stabbed her in the back mid-drive. Ever since, the whole department’s been walking on eggshells like somebody died or something.

You weren’t alarmed though. at all.

Yeah, it hurt to see her in pain like that, acl is no joke. But you somehow had no doubt that she was going to get through it in no time.

Still, as sure as you were, you had now a job to do. And baby, you damn good at your job. Top-of-the-class, resident miracle worker type good. Torn ACL ? Please. Move aside. You’ve handled worse.

Star player or not, bones heal the same.

“So… you said yes?” Nia called from the kitchen, halfway through some late-night snack that smelled like burnt remnants.

You rolled your eyes, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. “I didn’t even get the chance to say no. She hit me with the ‘you’re doing it’ and dipped.”

Nia strolled over, plate in hand, and dropped down next to you, pretending to be an emotional support. “And you mad ‘cause… what? You scared you’re actually gonna do a good job and fix her knee and end up in her bed or sum ?"

You side-eyed her. "Be serious please."

“I am,” she mumbled through a bite. “That girl is fine and you got godly hands. It’s like destiny.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. Juju was fine as hell. And intense. And slightly terrifying.

“I don’t care how good her crossover is,” you said, scrolling on your phone. “If she comes in with a bad attitude and try to run me over, I swear—”

“Girl,” Nia cut you off, grinning. “quit playing. You love a little spice. And you do be killin’ it out here. Stop worrying so much.”

You sighed, flipping onto your back. She smirked. “Anyway, make this entertaining for me. I’m bored or whatever.”

You grabbed a pillow and threw it at her. “I should jump you.”

Safe to say you kept scrolling through your phone that night, looking for her ig.

JUJU WAS LATE. Not the 2 minutes kinda late, the kinda late that made you be on ten. The rehab gym was hot and humid which was disgusting. your baby hairs were already fluffing out. Great start.

When Juju finally strolled in—hoodie pulled tight over her head, brace strapped on like armor, headphones jammed deep in her ears, and a blank face, you were already in position — file in hand, game face locked.

She didn't even glance your way. Just walked right past like you were invisible.

Okay. Cute.

You tapped her AirPods case on the table, trying to stay cool and calm. Click. Click. "You can take those out, missy." you said, finally putting her AirPods case on the table softly. "You won’t need them to hoop."

Nothing. Just a pair of eyes blinking at you like you were crazy.

She sat down, barely even breathed. Instead she stared at you, trying to figure out what the fuck you were talking about.

"You must be an intern or something," she finally said. "Ain’t no way you just asked me to hoop when i still got screws in my knee."

"I’m not. I’m the reason your ass gon’ be back on court. Now take the ball."

She stared. You stared back. If she wanted to waste her time staring into your soul, you weren’t going to waste yours.

“Just take the damn ball,” you said again, softer now. “I wanna see how you move. That’s it.”

Her eyes flicker around the room like she’s trying to will herself into confidence before snatching the ball from your hands. She barely bounces the ball before halting, the brace making her movement stiff and unfamiliar.

“Take your time.” you say, voice gentle but steady. “There’s no rush.”

She didn’t answer, just took another stiff step, the brace groaning under pressure. Her jaw clenched, her shoulders stiff. Then—

“Fuck,” she hissed, almost too quiet. You stepped closer. “That your leg talking or your pride?”

She side-eyed you. “Don’t start with me.”

“Already did. You showed up to my session late, full of attitude, and acting like I begged you to be here but can’t handle a little hooping.”

That got her attention. She turned to face you fully now. “Nobody begged. You lucky they trust you with me.”

You raised a brow. “No. You’re lucky. I’m the best.”

She let out a short laugh. “cocky on the first day ? Crazy.”

You smiled sweetly. “I’m not cocky. I’m confident. Unlike you right now. I don’t crumble when the pressure’s on.”

She licked her lips, slowly. “Yeah, we’ll see how long you keep talkin’ that shit when I’m back on the court… or in your face.”

You swallowed hard. One thing about you—if somebody came at you with flames, you were matching it with a wildfire. And Juju wouldn’t be no exception.

You stepped back, shaking your head. “Alright, hoop barbie. Let’s get to work.”

But she didn’t move. Just looked you over once—slow—and smirked.

“Bet.”

to : judea (watkins)

ur gonna get through this.

imma make sure you do.

YOU DON’T KNOW WHEN IT HAPPENED EXACTLY. Maybe it was after the fourth session when she finally showed up on time, hair slicked into a ponytail this time, knee brace strapped tighter and eyes just a little less dead. Or maybe it was the seventh, when she made that sarcastic comment about your outfit and you caught her smirking behind her water bottle.

Either way, it was clear that something in the air had shifted.

The routine was… comfortable. Begrudgingly so. She’d come in with that same grimace, all hoodie and bad attitude, and you’d hit her with your most professional voice, clipboard in hand, instructions clear. She’d push back every time—“Why we doing this again?” or “You tryna kill me today ?”but her body never lied. She followed through. She moved. She tried.

You’d both pretend it wasn’t a big deal.

Even when she made little comments like, “You always wear those leggings?” with a cocked brow and a glance that lasted too long.

"You’re always up in peoples business?” You didn’t entertain her. Much. Just smiled to yourself, flipped the page on your clipboard, and gave her an extra set just for being smart and annoying.

Tonight, though, it was different.

The gym was quiet, just you two again. Everyone else had cleared out early, and she was doing balance drills on the BOSU ball, arms stretched out like wings, focused as hell.

“Don’t lock your knee,” you warned, hovering nearby. “You’ll regret it in the morning.”

“I regret a lot of things already,” she muttered, wobbling slightly but catching herself. “One more won’t kill me.”

You gave her a look. She met it, sharp and tired.

“Alright,” you sighed, grabbing her towel. “That’s enough for today.”

“No,” she said quickly. “I can do one more set.”

“You’ve done five, juju. I’m not playing with you.”

She stepped down, chest rising and falling like she’d just run laps instead of standing still. Her eyes were darting around again, like she couldn’t sit still in her own skin. You saw it coming before she even opened her mouth.

“I don’t know who I am without ball.”

You blinked.

She wasn’t looking at you. Just standing there, towel hanging from her fingers, lips parted like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“Like…” she exhaled, sharp. “Everybody keeps acting like I’m gonna bounce right back, like it’s just a matter of time. Rehab. Surgery. Boom, I’m back on the court. But what if I don’t bounce back ? What if I’m… not that juju anymore?”

Her voice cracked on “juju.”

Your chest tightened. You stepped closer, gentle but sure. “Ju.”

She flinched a little at the sound of that nickname.

“You are still her. You’re just injured. Not erased.”

She laughed bitterly, wiping her face with her hoodie sleeve. “Yeah, easy for you to say. You ain’t the one waking up every day wondering if people only see you for how fast you run a play.”

You crossed your arms, firm. “No. But I see people fall apart in here every week. And guess what ? I’ve watched ‘em get back up. You’re not special.”

That made her look at you.

“I mean—no offense,” you added quickly, biting back a smirk. “You’re talented. Ridiculous, even. But you’re not the only person who’s ever had to fight for their comeback. And you sure as hell won’t be the last.”

Her eyes were glossy now, and her jaw flexed like she was trying to bite down her emotions.

“I hate this shit,” she muttered. “I hate needing help.”

“I know,” you said, softer now. “But you don’t have to like it. You just gotta let it work.”

She stared at you a little too long.

And then, like instinct, she leaned into you—shoulder brushing yours as she sank onto the bench nearby. She wasn’t crying. Not exactly. But her silence said more than enough.

You sat beside her, gently passing her the water bottle she’d ignored earlier. For the first time, she took it without a snide remark. “…Thanks,” she murmured.

You nodded, tapping your nails against your clipboard. “So, next session, we start resistance band training.”

She groaned, head tilting back dramatically. “Do you actually hate me ? You love torturing me.”

You smirked. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’d torture anyone for their own good.” Juju glanced sideways at you, smile faint but real. “You really believe I’ll make it back?”

“I told you I was gonna make sure you do. I don’t play about my job. Plus, I wouldn’t be wasting my time if I didn’t.”

Her gaze lingered. And for once, she didn’t say anything back.

Didn’t need to. The look on her face said everything : thank you, even if I don’t want to say it out loud.

YOU SWEAR JUJU HAS BEEN ON SOMETHING DIFFERENT LATELY. Not much had changed in the routine itself. Rehab drills. Knee work. Progress checks. But the energy though ? Completely different. She shows up with snacks now—sometimes two, casually tossing you one with a lazy, “figured you’d forget to eat.”

She still had that same tough, deadpan delivery, but it didn’t hit the same no more. Not when she lingers a second too long near your desk. Not when she catches your eye in the mirror while she’s stretching and smirks like she knew exactly what she was doing.

One afternoon, she flopped down on the mat, arms stretched over her head, all sweaty and grinning. You raised a brow. “You okay or just being dramatic?”

“Both,” she wheezed. “But if I die, I want you to know… I was right. That playlist does suck.”

You chucked your pen at her. “I should let your knee lock up for that.”

“Oh ? So violence is your love language?”

You froze for a beat.

She then laughed—really laughed—before sitting up slowly, stretching out her arms again. “You should see your face,” she teased, biting down a grin.

“Okay now you’re pissing me off,” you said, clearing your throat, flipping a page on your clipboard for no reason other than to stop yourself from blushing. “Go back to work.”

She was still grinning, smug and pleased with herself.

But then there were softer moments, too.

Like the time her brace pinched her skin mid-session and you immediately knelt to adjust it, fingers brushing against her calf. She sucked in a breath—not from pain, but from the way your hands moved.

You glanced up. “Too tight?” You softly asked.

Her eyes were already on you. “Nah. Just not used to people touchin’ me like that.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything. Just fixed the strap gently and stood back up.

Or the time she stayed after a session, claiming she needed to ice longer. You both ended up sitting on the floor by the wall, sharing a bottle of Gatorade and talking about nothing—her love-hate relationship with her coach, your childhood memories.

She bumped your knee with hers. “You real easy to talk to, you know that?”

“Keep gassing me up and I’m gonna start charging you per session.”

“Oh, so that’s what this is. Trappin’ me with kindness so you can run up my insurance bill.”

You snorted. “Exactly. Imma finesse your ass.”

You both laughed. And it lingered. Longer than it should’ve.

Then came the night it rained. Hard. She was the last person of your schedule again, and you were packing up when she peeked around the door, hoodie soaked, sneakers squeaking on the floor.

You raised a brow. “You walked in this?”

“Had no umbrella,” she shrugged. “Didn’t know if I’d make it on time. Didn’t wanna miss you.”

Your breath caught. Real subtle.

“Come here,” you said, grabbing a towel and tossing it at her. “You look like a wet cat.”

She took it and laughed, wiping her face. “You like cats?”

“No, but I’m starting to tolerate you, so maybe.”

“Oh wow,” she grinned. “I’m honored.”

She stayed longer that night. Sat with you while you finished your notes. She told you about her siblings. About her mom. How people all expected her to “tough it out,” and get back better even when she was hurting.

You just listened, letting her talk.

And at one point, she leaned against your shoulder—barely there, just enough to feel her warmth.

Neither of you said anything.

But she whispered, after a minute, “You kinda make it feel okay to be weak for a second.”

You turned your head toward her, heart thudding. “You’re not weak, Juju.”

She met your eyes. “Yeah… but you make it feel valid, ★. Even when it’s not true, ” That was the first time she called you by your name, too. Soft. Like it meant something.

And you swore, right then and there, something had shifted for good.

From : ju 🤍

u coming tonight right ?

I’m so ready !!!

To : ju 🤍

staff needs me at the center sorry

ik you’ll be killing it. proud of u <3

YOU DIDN’T GO TO THE GAME. You sat in your room, lights low, music on but not loud, your phone flipped upside down on the bed beside you. Every so often, you glanced at it. Waiting. Not for the score—you already knew she’d kill it—but maybe some word from her. A sign. Something small and stupid, like a “we won” or a selfie from the locker room.

Nothing came.

And you hated how disappointed you felt. Because it was your choice, right ? You’d made the call. You pulled back. Slowed the texts, the lingering touches. Didn’t show up to her last rehab session. Pretended like you were just busy.

It wasn’t a punishment.

You just… didn’t know how to let yourself want her. Not without getting burned.

The thing was—when she was hurt, she needed you. But now ? She was Juju again. Star of the team. Walking headline. Game day was hers. The roar of the crowd, the bright lights, the whole she’s back narrative. And you? You were just someone who helped her get there.

So you kept your distance. Told yourself it was safer that way.

Until your phone buzzed at 11:42 p.m.

From : juju 🤍

open the door.

I’m outside.

You stared at the message. Didn’t move at first. Then—three knocks.

You opened the door slowly, and there she was.

Still in sweats, hair tied up, slides on, backpack slung over one shoulder. Her eyes met yours, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

“I waited for you,” she said, voice low.

You blinked. “I know.”

She stepped inside without asking. Dropped her bag by the wall. Didn’t sit. Just turned to face you.

“You really weren’t gonna come?”

You crossed your arms. “Didn’t think it would matter.”

She laughed, short and sharp. “Right. ’Cause I just spent all these months blowing up your phone for fun.”

You stayed quiet.

“I looked for you,” she said, voice tighter now. “I kept checking the stands like an fucking idiot.”

You let out a breath. “Juju, what do you want from me?”

She stared at you. “I want to know why the hell you started acting like none of it meant anything.”

You swallowed. Looked down. “Because I didn’t want to make it harder when it ended.”

“When what ended?”

“This,” you said, motioning vaguely. “You. Me. Whatever… this was. It was never gonna last, and I’d rather stop now than wait for you to ghost me when everything goes back to normal.”

She flinched. “You think I’m just gonna dip on you because I got back on my feet ?”

“I think you don’t know what you want,” you said, softer. “And I think when you do figure it out, it won’t be me.”

Silence stretched out between you. Her jaw clenched. Her eyes dropped to the floor.

“You really think I’m that shallow?” she asked, voice lower now, almost hurt.

“I think you’re used to people wanting you for what you do. Not who you are. And I think that makes it easy to walk away when shit gets real.”

She didn’t say anything for a long second. Then she finally moved—slow, like she was figuring it out in real time. Walked closer until there was barely a foot between you.

“I’m not good at this,” she said, honest and quiet. “Not with feelings. I don’t talk. I just… I play. I move. I keep it moving. But this?” She gestured between you. “I wasn’t trying to just pass time. I needed you. And not just for the knee.”

You looked at her. Really looked at her. She looked tired. Still sweaty around the hairline. Eyes puffy like she might’ve cried on the way here. And you softened, just a little.

“I was scared,” she admitted. “I still am. You saw me at my lowest. And instead of clowning me, you stayed. That shit… messed me up a little. Made me wanna be soft, even when I didn’t know how.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t trust it. But damn, it felt true.

“I like you,” she said, no frills. “And I don’t wanna go back to my life like none of this happened. Not without you in it.”

You didn’t respond right away. You were still processing the fact that she was standing in your room, post-win, looking at you like you were the prize.

Then you stepped forward. Just enough to close the space.

“So… what now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She shrugged, hand grazing yours. “We figure it out. Slowly. If you want.”

You hesitated, then laced your fingers with hers. Felt her thumb move softly over the back of your hand.

“I want,” you said. “But I need you to mean it.”

“I do,” she murmured.

And then you kissed her.

Not rushed. Not needy. Just real. Gentle, warm, slow like exhale after a long-ass day. Her hands found your waist, yours found her hoodie. She leaned into you like she’d been holding that tension for too long. And you let yourself fall for a second. Let it feel good.

She tightened her arm around your waist. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

You didn’t answer. Just held her a little tighter.

Because you were starting to believe it.

And for once, that was enough.

© written by melobballin | please be gentle with me that’s my first writing for ju 🤍 hope you’ll like it !

[iamthatonefangirl]

So I’m not completely sure how requests work but I NEED a fic where the reader like gets into an argument with the winter soldier about something small or big like how he never opens up to her (whatever you prefer) and then some HATE sex after (not really hate just frustrated yk)

disconnect - nsfw winter soldier

I received a few asks that inspired me to develop a story combining them. this is my interpretation of them.

pre-established relationship. if you're new here, there's a mention of a prior event.

disclaimer: fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated. dark/sad themes, similar to depictions of depression. read at your own discretion.

~~~

it's stupid, really.

the mud boot tracks all over the entryway when you get home. the huge disaster area the kitchen is.

is it really that difficult to not leave a mess everywhere?

you make your way to the bedroom and drop your bag somewhere on the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed to chuck off your shoes and jacket.

you sit there for a moment, head buried in your hands.

the weight of your situation gets to you more often than not. a lot of those thoughts in your head go unsaid for a number of reasons, particularly because he doesn't have the emotional capacity to care, in your opinion.

is this really the life you thought you'd end up living?

if you wanted to quit working, you could. he brings in more than plenty.

and you'd never have to worry about being sexually frustrated a day in your life.

is that really the sum total of your relationship?

you let out a sigh.

you feel stuck.

~~~

he comes into the bedroom ten minutes later, fresh out of the shower, covered in water from head to toe minus the towel wrapped around his waist.

he goes straight for the bed, lying down on the fresh sheets, soaking them.

"seriously?" you ask, looking up at him, exasperated at this point.

he tilts his head in your direction and gives you a blank stare as though he has no clue what you're talking about.

you take a deep breath and shove down your anger. he's been gone for a week, cut him some slack, you tell yourself.

"everything go okay?" you ask.

you don't want to know the gory details, and he wouldn't tell you, anyways. his face contorts, giving you a disgusted look as though you're crazy for even asking.

he proceeds to shove his hands behind his head, closing his eyes to get some rest.

another deep breath.

"are you hungry?" you offer. the mess in the kitchen tells you that he's not, but you're seriously trying here.

he lets out a low grunt, which you take to mean 'no.'

"can you stay awake for five minutes to fucking talk to me?" you say, anger rising in your chest as you struggle to keep your head straight.

"not talking to you about work," he grumbles, not even opening his eyes.

"clearly, you're not talking to me at all! fuck, I mean, when do you ever?" you yell, standing and walking over to the side of the bed next to where he's laying.

in your anger, you grab his arm and roughly yank it out from under his head, surprising him. his eyes shoot open and he glares up at you as though you've just personally offended him.

"you never fucking talk to me! I- I don't even know if you like me! it's like you just live in my apartment so you can fuck me whenever you want!" you yell at him. your emotions are getting the better of you, your insecurities and your anger twisting in your head. you're completely helpless to stop your mouth from speaking them into reality.

not a word in response. his face is completely devoid of any emotion.

"I don't even know why I expect anything different from you," you scoff. "you're a heartless motherfucker. you don't even care about me."

you feel so empty inside. all the sacrifices you've made, all the times you've cried over the fact that you can't just be normal, all because of what he does for a living, who he is.

all while having to stomach the nausea of simply knowing why you have to keep him a secret.

it's too much to deal with anymore.

he watches as you drag an empty duffel bag out of the closet and begin throwing various items of clothing inside it. it takes a few moments, but it finally clicks in his head: you're leaving. and he doesn't know when, or if, you'll be back.

he stands, grabbing your arm as carefully as he can, stopping you from continuing to pack. "no. stay," he tells you. he sounds so calm, his voice is void of its usual sternness.

he's only calm because he's panicking inside.

you take his calm demeanor to mean that he genuinely does not give a fuck.

"get off me. I'm leaving," you tell him, pulling your arm away from his grasp. that's all you can say, because that's all you know right now. you have no plans for where you're going or when you're coming back.

if you're coming back.

you shove a few more things in your bag as your eyes tear up.

what has your life come to?

~~~

the door slams behind you on your way out, shaking the whole apartment. eerie silence follows.

no sounds of pans clattering in the kitchen. no music blaring while you shower. no keyboard clicking while you work. no more of your laughing as you watch videos on your phone.

no more you.

all there is is dead silence.

he used to live in the silence. he took comfort in it; he'd be able to hear a threat coming from a mile away as long as he lived in the silence. it was his way of protection, his entire way of life.

it doesn't have that comforting effect anymore.

because now?

he's alone.

now, alone, in the silence he once reveled in, he roams the apartment in contemplation. he sees everything he didn't see before.

the mess he left everywhere, destroying the effort you put in every day to keep a tidy home.

but more importantly? he sees the disconnect. the stark contrast between your carefulness and his tendency to act as a bull in a china shop opens his eyes to reality.

he always saw you as a team.

but now?

he realizes that you're not.

you're normal. he isn't.

he never could be.

~~~

your best bet for now is to go to a friend's place, you think. you sob your eyes out as you sit in the driver's seat of your car, and you come up with a lie that's at least semi-believable.

you take a few deep breaths as you click her contact on speed-dial.

"hey, so you'll never believe my luck," you begin, trying to hide your sniffling from the microphone. "my building is infested with rats. I don't know how long it'll be until they've dealt with it. at least a week, probably. do you think I could spend a few nights at your place?"

your voice is choppy as you speak, and it's clear you've been crying, but she doesn't question it. she gives you the 'okay' to come over, and you hang up quickly before the tears start again.

that's how you end up sleeping on her couch that night, sobbing silently into your hoodie as you try to determine what the hell you're supposed to do now.

for so long, you've put up with his bullshit, kept his secret, kept your mouth shut, all for one reason: you love him.

but he's not capable of loving anyone.

~~~

for a while, the feeling of isolation doesn't bother him. all he feels is indifference.

yet as he finally cleans up after himself, the ache in his chest begins. he almost wonders if he's having a heart attack; he's never felt this before.

yes, he has.

he freezes in place, the memory coming to him. he injured you, once, purely by accident. that's when he's felt this helplessness, this emptiness, this deep-seated pain in his chest.

guilt?

he's not sure.

he kneels on the cold hard tile of the entryway, not bothering to put on longer pants or a towel to protect his knees as he wipes up the mud he tracked inside. he doesn't deserve that comfort.

he lays in bed alone that night, mind empty. sleep never finds him.

the following morning, before the sun has risen, he makes a decision.

he opens his bank account and navigates to the most recent transfer, forwarding it back to the sender with one message: deal's off. busy.

~~~

the next morning, you wake up, still feeling terribly nauseous. you look in the bathroom mirror to find your eyes are puffy and bloodshot from crying.

you never should've gotten involved with a cold-hearted killer.

every bone in your body is saying to leave. get out of New York, quit your job, leave him and this whole life behind.

instead, you make a cup of coffee and force some yogurt down your throat before going to work.

you're up early, and don't care to deal with the traffic driving further into the city, so you might as well take the train.

~~~

he has absolutely no clue where you are.

he knows none of the addresses of your friends where you might have gone, not even a single one of their names.

if you didn't have to work, he wouldn't even be sure that you were still in the state.

work.

he doesn't even know the address of your workplace. he has a vague sense of the name of the company, how hard can it be to find?

so that's where he starts.

he camps out down a side street near your office, giving him a narrow field of vision to the entrance while staying hidden. it's the end of the workday, you should be coming out soon.

normally, scouting out a target is easy. he takes a short amount of time to watch them, determine their routines, and find the best course of action to take them out in the most efficient way possible.

there's always a plan, an end goal there. here?

he has no plan. there is no end goal.

for now, he needs to know where you're staying. so he watches and waits for you to come out of the one place where he can count on being able to find you.

he's not prepared for the pang of some unfamiliar emotion that he feels when he sees you come out of the building. you look exhausted; clearly, you didn't sleep last night, same as him.

you still look perfect.

he assumes you're heading to the parking lot, and he realizes he didn't think this far ahead. he doesn't have a fucking car, how is he supposed to follow you to find out where you're going?

he would never make this kind of bullshit mistake on a job.

he's scanning the area, trying to find the most inconspicuous car he can find that he thinks he might be able to hotwire-

you walk right past the parking lot.

he begins to trail you from across the street, mind working through all the possible answers as to where you're going. for now, his focus is keeping his eyes on you at all times.

he refuses to acknowledge the way his chest hurts even more as he follows you down the street and into the train station.

he hates when you take the train, hence why you always drive. to him, the train isn't safe. there's too many variables, too many things could go wrong. today, though, it works to his advantage.

all he can do for now is get on the train car behind you and wait to see where you get off at.

~~~

you're so tired, it's probably for the best you didn't drive today, lest you wanted to accidentally total your car by falling asleep at the wheel.

you want nothing more than to go home to him.

you don't. you get off the train and walk into the first bar you see.

it's after the workday, just past 6pm on a Tuesday, so it's packed, full of both blue- and white-collar workers in need of a drink.

you sit at the bar with the rest of the men as you all contemplate your life choices. you drink way too much, consuming more alcohol than is safe for you to have in your system while walking back.

oh well.

as you walk in the darkness, your head feels heavy, your body warm from the alcohol. you're being reckless, you know you are.

you don't have it in you to care. you feel like your entire life is being ripped apart at the seams, and it's all your fault. you're aware of the reality; you shouldn't ask for more than he can give. that's not fair to him.

no. this isn't fair to you.

~~~

he hates every fucking second of this. you're acting stupid, putting yourself in danger, getting drunk in public while operating under the assumption that you're all alone on these dark streets.

is this how you feel every day? do you feel alone even when he's there?

is he nothing more than a nuisance to you, a reminder of all your fears and all your lost dreams rolled into one?

at least he knows he's there to protect you.

to him, you were his savior.

but to you, he's nothing more than a ball and chain around your ankle.

his chest grows even tighter.

once you get inside the place you're apparently staying at, he relaxes somewhat. you're inside, you're safe.

that means nothing to him. to him, you're only safe within the confines of your own home. you're only safe when you're with him.

does he make you feel unsafe?

he finds another dark alley to hole up in. he's not going anywhere, not going home, not sleeping until you've got this figured out.

~~~

days go by. he learns your friend's schedule, learns the area, learns that you're drinking every day after work.

he knows he doesn't have the right to approach you. he'd lose you for good if he did, he thinks.

except on the fourth day of you being gone, after all these sleepless nights of him sitting on the cold, hard ground, you don't go into work. he watches your friend leave, but not you.

something's wrong.

in the back of his head, he hears your voice from your fight, if he could even call it a fight, saying,

"I don't even know if you like me!"

"you don't even care about me."

the words float around his mind, amplifying the tightness in his chest by 100 times.

that's it. he's done waiting, done watching you like you're a target, done pretending like you're both not miserable. he's done pretending he doesn't care.

~~~

you don't go into work on Friday.

you've spent all week ignoring your problems, ignoring the nausea in your stomach, drinking so much alcohol that you're lucky you don't pass out in the street, alone.

it's time to make a decision.

you don't get up from the couch until mid-morning, getting up to take a shower before heading to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

as you finish preparing your drink, staring down into the mug, you think you hear something in the distance. but the noise is so faint, you attribute it to your lack of sleep and food. you're fine, there's nothing there.

you hear it again, louder this time, and you turn towards where you hear the noise coming from-

from behind you, a hand slips over your mouth, and an arm wraps itself around your waist. you're about to panic when you hear the figure speak,

"it's me."

you let yourself relax against him. he scared the absolute shit out of you, making you fear for your fucking life, but you don't care. he's here.

but then your anger returns with a vengeance.

you put all your weight into throwing yourself forward, out of his grasp, and he lets go.

"how dare you!" is the first thing you say, and then you turn to face him.

woah.

if you thought you looked like shit from lack of sleep, it was nothing compared to how he looked.

you pause your yelling at him for a moment to take in the fact that he looks so tired he might be ready to collapse, that he looks like he hasn't showered or eaten in days.

you push past your worry and begin again, your anger boiling over as you continue yelling.

"how do you know I'm here? have you been fucking following me?"

he forces himself to speak.

"yes."

you scoff. of course he has.

"I'm not a child! I'm a fully grown adult, James!" you yell.

"then why the hell have you been acting like you're a goddamn child?" he yells back.

you've never heard him raise his voice like this before.

"you could have gotten yourself killed. you're lucky I was there. you did everything wrong, against how I taught you to keep yourself safe!"

your entire body is vibrating with the range of emotions you feel right now. you're so pissed off at him, but you've finally gotten him to speak to you. you hate that he's been watching you like his prey all week, but it means that maybe, in his eyes, you're worth losing sleep over.

you both stand there for a minute as you delay responding. your hair is soaking through your pajama shirt, which you realize as you stand there, is one of his t-shirts. your coffee is spilled everywhere from when he startled you, the mug flipped on its side on the counter.

you try to gather your thoughts to respond. you end up coming back to the one thing that you haven't been able to forget about all week, the one thing that breaks your heart more than any of it.

"you didn't even fight for me," you say quietly. you do everything in your power to take deep breaths, blinking your eyes quickly to stop the tears in their wake. "you didn't even fight for me to stay. you just let me go."

you give him the benefit of the doubt when he doesn't respond immediately. you know he needs to gather his thoughts.

you wipe your eyes a few times, listening to the silence, just praying that you mean enough to him that he'll respond.

"I'll never make that mistake again."

you've missed him so much, even in your rage and despair, that those words are all the reassurance you need to hear from him. he steps closer to you, slowly, waiting for your permission to approach.

you take in his appearance once more. he clearly hasn't eaten or slept in days, and he looks dirty. you connect the dots in your head: he hasn't even gone home, hasn't left your side once all week.

the idea of him following you all week pissed you off only minutes before. but now?

your tears spill from your eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck, embracing him as though he's your entire world.

he's never felt as relieved as he does when you cling to him. the aching in his chest finally begins to dissipate for the first time in a week.

you may be in some random apartment, but he's finally home.

he wraps his arms around your waist and picks you up. you get the hint and wrap your legs around his hips, holding onto him as he walks you over to the couch you've spent the last few days crying on.

he lays you down and begins to peel his shirt from your body, revealing every inch of your beautiful skin to him.

he knows has to show you how sorry he is, the only way he knows how.

he adjusts your positioning so you're sitting face forward on the couch, legs dangling over the edge, and he spreads your thighs as he gets to his knees in front of you.

it about takes your breath away.

this man, who is so possessive over you, so afraid of showing even a sliver of weakness or vulnerability, so against the idea of giving up any form of power, is on his knees for you in apology.

you know this isn't easy for him. this is the biggest display of trust you think you've ever seen from him, and your fears about not meaning anything to him begin to disappear.

you're the most important thing in his life. he wishes he had the words to tell you that.

he wraps his hands around the back of your knees, bringing you closer to him, and he pushes his tongue between your legs so softly.

his mouth is wet, and warm, and he hasn't eaten in days, but he'd rather you be the only thing he tastes for the rest of his life, anyways.

a few more involuntary tears spill from your eyes as he laves his tongue over you. you feel so sensitive, the combination of lacking his touch for so long and the emotion behind his actions is making you so much more conscious of his every movement.

he buries his tongue in you over and over again like it's his only mission in life.

he feels the entire lower half of his face, having gone unshaved for the last week, is soaked, covered in you. he hopes he leaves you with a mild rug burn between your thighs so you feel him for days afterwards.

you're so perceptive to his every move, you feel it distinctly when he begins to trace shapes over your clit.

A, E, S is all you make out.

James.

he's writing his name on your skin with his tongue.

you let out a whimper when you realize it, and your gentle hold on the back of his head tightens, pulling his face closer against your cunt.

"James," you whisper as he begins to work you faster, "please."

that's all it takes for him to push you over the edge. your thighs close on either side of his head, and he can mostly hear the way you whine his name as you come for him.

you barely have a second to relax your muscles before he's crowding you on the couch, repositioning you so you're laying underneath him.

his mouth begins to attack your neck, your rules against him putting hickeys on your neck be damned. and you gladly let him, you don't care right now.

he takes no time at all to shove the fabric of his pants out of the way, wrapping your legs around his hips once more, pushing himself down into you.

"fuck," you whisper at the stretch.

he continues his assault on your neck, marking you up and down all the way to your breasts, anywhere he can reach.

he bites back a groan every time you moan so perfectly, filling his ears, repeating his name every few thrusts.

but there's still something in the back of his head he needs you to know.

he doesn't stop, doesn't quit fucking you so beautifully as he brings his mouth to your ear.

"of course I like you," he admits so quietly, and his tone makes it sound like it's the most obvious thing in the world. you're brought back to the other night when you expressed your deepest vulnerabilities to him, and now, he's making up for what he should have told you then. "and of course I care about you."

you clutch him against you as tight as humanly possible until you're both letting yourselves go, feeling the comforting warmth as he releases inside you.

his body gives out, collapsing on top of you, exhausted from the physical and emotional toll of the week.

you finally feel tired too, more so than you have all week. it's as though your body is finally poised to truly rest now that he's with you again.

you can't sleep yet.

"take me home, James," you whisper, and he doesn't hesitate.

~~~

(guys as I'm writing this I'm about to cry)

yeah so I think I spent about six hours on this total y'all

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[artificial-transmutations]

The wedding getaway

A mile in each other's shoes

"Oh, come on, you can't be serious."

Lance groaned and looked at Lisa, the bride's maid, who in turn didn't appear all that amused either, although for different reasons. She smiled a sweet and poisonous smile as she answered.

"Yes, I am, Lance. Dead serious. Apparently, you have no idea how difficult it is to find a hotel with enough free rooms on a Caribbean island in the middle of spring break."

Before Lance could answer anything, she continued with a sharp voice.

"Or how expensive. So, yes, I'm afraid you have to share your suite with one of the other singles for the duration of your all-inclusive stay. Deal with it."

Lance took a deep breath and fought down the urge to say something very inappropriate. Lisa was probably right, and he wouldn't die from having to share a room with one of the other guests for a few days. He would only go there to sleep, anyway.

"Ok, ok. No need to explode like that. So, who will be my... roommate?"

In an instant, Lisa had a list in her hand and looked at it until she found the name.

"Let's see... that would be Jamal, who also didn't arrive with a date. I trust the two of you know each other?"

"Jamal? Oh god, no! Why do I have to room with the n... with him? Isn't there any other option?"

Lance couldn't believe it. Jamal, really? Of all the guest, he had to endure Jamal?

"No." Lisa said firmly. "And now, if you excuse me, there are a thousand other places I need to be right now. Have fun and try to get along with your roommate, ok? I'm not gonna make any changes."

With a flip of her hair, she walked away.

Lance was fuming as he fingered the keycard to his room. This had to be a bad joke. Jamal and him... Let's say they never got along really well. And ‘never’ was quite a long time for them, actually. They've known each other since kindergarten and didn't get along very well even then, although they had arguably be friends back then. But ever since, their relationship became worse.

It wasn't Lance's fault, of course. That much was certain, he decided, as he drew the card through the door sensor. Jamal was just so...

The door opened and revealed the object of his disdain.

Black.

There was hardly any way to phrase it differently, Jamal had the unmistakable dark skin color of a dirty ... Black man. Lance didn't consider himself a racist, but the fact was that people who weren't white were less civilized, that was just the way it was.

"Lance."

Jamal's voice was just as dark as his skin as he glared at Lance. Unlike Lance, Jamal most definitely was racist. He was proud of his heritage and thought very lowly of Lance, no doubt because of his skin color. If things were allowed to continue like that, people like Lance would surely become even more oppressed by people like Jamal. He closed the door behind him.

"Yes, that's me. Do you have a problem with that?"

He approached the other man like a predator until he stood right in front of him. They were about the same size, and Lance could see the dark wide nostrils of the other guy flare.

"Yes."

Jamal spat the word.

"I do. What are you doing here, you white piece of trash?"

Lance gritted his teeth.

"What are you doing here, you filthy ni-"

Jamal's fist flew before Lance could finish the word and it was only due to the fact that Lance expected the hit that he could dodge and thus avoid having his teeth bashed in. He answered with a quick kick to the balls, and the two men began their brawl.

The fight was short and intense, but neither of them managed to seriously hurt their opponent. At the end, they sat at different sides of the large double bed, breathing heavily.

"Fuck."

Lance spit out a blood drop. Jamal had a surprisingly hard punch.

"Yeah, that about sums it up."

Jamal was massaging his wrist, and Lance guessed that his jaw would bruise pretty badly. He was more than surprised, however, when Jamal offered him his hand to help him up.

"It's no use, Lance. It looks like we're stuck together for the next few days, and I've got better things to do than beat your racist ass every time I go to my room. Truce?"

Lance considered the proposition for a few moments, before he nodded and grabbed the dark hand.

"Truce. At least as long as we're stuck in this room with each other, you fucking monkey."

A moment of silence followed before Jamal got up and went to the bathroom to take a shower. From inside, he mocked Lance again.

"You know, Lance, you really need to learn how to control your racism. I bet the only reason why you're so angry about me is the fact that I have a big dick."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, asshole."

These were going to be a few long days. The wedding wouldn't be for another two days to give everyone time to enjoy themselves a bit. Originally, Lance had looked forward to this opportunity, but now it seemed like these days were going to be more of an ordeal than anything else.

Of course, there was no way he was going to sleep in the same bed as Jamal, and, luckily, Jamal agreed on that without argument and moved his stuff to the couch. They didn't speak a single word to each other this evening, and Jamal left the hotel room shortly after, allowing Lance some time alone. He was still bruised up and dirty from the short fight and took the opportunity to take a shower himself.

The water was somewhat soothing, and slowly, Lance regained his composure. He certainly wouldn't let someone like him spoil his vacation, and perhaps Jamal was right, and it was a good idea to just ignore each other as much as possible. He could live with that.

When he was sufficiently clean and calm, he left the shower and reached for a fresh towel, only to see a small article of clothing fall from the rack.

With some disgust, Lance noticed what it was: A piece of underwear, a pair of boxer briefs to be exact. It was previously worn, and Lance had no doubts who the owner was. Jamal must have forgotten it when he took a shower earlier.

Lance tried to ignore the unwanted textile as much as he could, but his eyes kept returning to it. Truth be told, it wasn't all that small. In fact, especially the pouch area was rather large, and the fabric looked like it had been stretched somewhat. Without really wanting to, Lance had picked up the piece of underwear and inspected it from all sides now. Frustratingly enough, what Jamal had said earlier appeared to be true. If this piece of underwear was any indicator, then Jamal's dick had to be fairly huge.

That only angered Lance further. Who did Jamal think he was, with his stupid large penis, mocking him? Did Jamal think he could impress him with that?

The piece of clothing had a slightly damp feeling to it. Most probably it was because of the steam from two showers, but was that really all? His body acted on autopilot when he brought the foreign item of clothing closer and sniffed. It was a bit musky, that was for sure, but he wasn't quite sure yet. He buried his nose in the front part of the pouch, right where the dick had been before and took another deep breath.

Oh, there it was. Definitely, Jamal's scent was embedded in the fabric, and the smell was stronger now. Lance felt a rush of shame and anger. Did he really smell the underwear of his black temporary roommate? That was disgusting. He was just about to drop the garment, when he noticed something else. His own -rather small- dick stood proudly at attention.

"What?" Lance said out loud? He was hard because of a man’s underwear? No, not just any man’s. Jamal's, his arch enemies if he had any.

No, this had to stop. With a quick motion, Lance pulled the underwear over his legs and left the bathroom.

Only when he pulled on his pants over the baggy and mostly empty cloth that concealed his erection, he took note of what he had done. Why had he put on the thing?! Well, now it was too much of a hassle to change that, he decided and closed his pants, pressing the damp sweaty fabric against his groin.

Luckily, Jamal didn't come back until late in the night, when Lance was already asleep. He half noticed the other man getting settled on the couch, but he was too tired to care.

When Lance woke up the next morning, he was covered in sweat and his boxers were uncomfortably tight. He groaned as the memories of the day before came back. A quick glance confirmed: Yep, the black man was still there, on the couch, and still asleep, as it seemed.

With a throb, his cock demanded attention under the sheets. It had been quite a while since he had woken up with such a severe case of morning wood, but there was nothing he could do about it now. He wasn't alone, after all. He couldn't resist, however, to reach down under his sheets to readjust himself.

Only when he felt the unfamiliar fabric, again somewhat wet, by his own sweat and precum did he fully remember. Right, for some reason, he had put on Jamal's underwear after the shower. And later, when he went to bed, he hadn't fixed his mistake. There was something else, though.

Lance carefully felt the outline of his cock. This wasn't right. The stolen underwear pouch was filled to the brim with a throbbing organ entirely unfamiliar to him. This wasn't his cock! It was much, much too large!

However, every touch on the large piece of flesh felt good, and he couldn't resist stroking the length stealthily, if only a few times. Why did this feel so good? Lance failed to fully suppress a moan, and saw Jamal stir in his sleep. He really had to stop this. Only perhaps one or more stroke.

Were before, when rubbing one off, he often resorted to only using three fingers to stimulate his length due to his tools size. Now, however, he found that his whole hand was unable to fully close around the shaft, and there was a lot of space for his hand to move up and down, too.

He threw Jamal another glance, but the unwanted roommate still seemed to be asleep. Perhaps he could continue just a bit longer, and perhaps pick up some speed...

This time, too, he failed to muffle his moan completely.

"Ahh, fuck, yes..."

He breathed as he pumped the thick organ faster and faster, using his other hand to caress his balls through the underwear, which felt unusually large as well. Not being able to keep it down any longer, he pumped faster and faster, through Jamal's underwear, until, with a loud groan, he shot a generous load into the fabric.

Lance saw stars for a moment, but the noise had apparently been enough to wake up Jamal, and he turned around on the couch and remarked with a sleepy voice filled with annoyance.

"Dude, what the fuck? Did you just jerk off?"

"Uhh, no. I was... not."

"Yeah, right. And I'm the president. What the fuck, dude? Couldn't you wait until I was gone or something?"

Jamal groaned and got up to go to the bathroom. As he was walking, Lance got a short glimpse at the other man’s groin for the first time. If one thing was for certain, his dick wasn't as large as Lance had suspected. Most of the front of Jamal's boxer briefs was obviously empty.

Jamal spent a surprisingly large amount of time in the bathroom, and when he emerged again, he was - as far as Lance could tell - pale as if he had seen a ghost. He didn't speak a word as he quickly got dressed and basically fled the room, leaving a puzzled Lance behind. What had gotten into that guy again? He shook his head and, finally, removed the sheets and pulled down his borrowed boxer briefs.

And then, he looked at his crotch dumbfounded. He had been right. It wasn't his dick, even though it was flaccid again now, it was much too large. However, that wasn't the biggest problem. Despite being too big, it was decidedly... Black.

And it wasn't just his shaft that was suddenly dark skinned. His balls, too, and the rest of his groin as well. When he turned in front of the mirror, he realized that even his ass-cheeks were a rich dark brown color now, and his pubes dark and wiry.

Lance's head was swimming. What in the world was going on? Was it an infection?

No, even a guy as biased as Lance knew that dark skin was not a disease you got infected with. He simply had no explanation for what he was seeing. Luckily, only his groin was affected. Both his legs and his torso were still as white as they were supposed to be. And his face was fine, too.

Lance shook his head. He'd have to get to the bottom of it, but that had time until later. Today, he wanted to enjoy the beach a bit. However, as he tried to put on his swimming trunks he noticed a problem with his new anatomy. Neither his swimwear nor his pants would fit without being extraordinarily uncomfortable. Not wanting to cut off the circulation to his now much larger tool, he glanced over to Jamal's suitcase. Judging by the pair of boxer briefs, Jamal's stuff should be about the same size, even though Lance didn't really understand why the other man brought clothes this big.

After rummaging through Jamal's belongings for a bit, Lance found what he was looking for. A pair of swimming trunks and a pair of pants that fit comfortably as he put them on without a second thought. He briefly considered fully dressing from the other man’s trunk, but decided against it and took socks, shirt and sunglasses from his own stash.

Finally, fully equipped, he went to the beach.

Given the time of the year, it was rather full, just as he had expected it to be. Nevertheless, he found a spot to lay down a bit and sunbathe, and soon, the warm rays had him relaxed.

For a while, nothing happened. Lance felt at peace, and his thoughts returned to the morning events. He was no stranger to masturbating, but it was the first time that he had felt the urge to do so while in the same room as another guy. Even stranger though, he didn't feel particularly ashamed about it anymore. So, what if Jamal had seen him? He certainly jerked off, too. Put aside all the obvious things that separated them, that was one thing they had in common. They were both men, and men had certain needs. Nothing wrong with indulging in them, right?

In fact, in the morning sun, his thoughts about Jamal were less hostile than usual. It was really hard to be angry all the time when relaxing in the warm seaside sand.

A few hours later, Lance decided to take a swim. However, as he wiggled out of his borrowed pants, he was confronted with yet another surprise.

Apparently, the dark skin had spread. Now, the whole length of his legs was decidedly dark-skinned. Lance shook his head as if he would be able to revert the skin color of his legs like that. But it was no use: The pigment was there to stay. This couldn't possibly be natural, or even healthy! He needed to see a doctor, right now!

Half-panicking, he checked his upper body but was relieved to see that there, his skin was just as milky white as it was supposed to be, as were his feet.

Against all logic, his panic subsided. Sure, he looked ridiculous like that, but it wasn't that bad. In fact, once he managed to look past the weird color of his skin, he found his legs somewhat better looking even, packed with lean muscles. It wasn't bodybuilder level, but a whole new level of power that he never had before.

Originally, he wanted to run, search for a doctor as quickly as he could, but now, he reconsidered. He might as well go through with his plan and swim a bit in the inviting ocean. He could look for a doctor afterwards.

The water was wonderful, and the feeling of his legs powerfully propelling him through the waves was intoxicating. Lance lost track of time, and it was only when his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten all day that he turned back, all thoughts of a doctor forgotten.

He grabbed his stuff and went back to his hotel room to change, but was surprised to meet Jamal in there, when he unlocked the door.

The other man was sitting on the bed with his pants at his ankles and was furiously beating his meat. When the door opened, he quickly covered his groin with a pillow, but there were two things Lance had noticed: First, Jamal's dick was really small! And, secondly, from the waist down, Jamal's skin was colored a bright tone of pink, a stark contrast to his dark torso. There was an obvious connection waiting to be found, something really profoundly easy, but it escaped Lance persistently.

Instead, for the first time in God knew how long, Lance smiled at Jamal briefly.

"Don't mind me, just carry on. I'll just get changed really quickly."

"O...okay." Jamal replied, obviously confused about more than Lance's statement. Hesitatingly, he removed the pillow and continued his work, his eyes glued at the other man.

Since Jamal was occupying the bed at the moment, and Lance didn't want to disturb him by accessing his own suitcase, without thinking too much about it, he grabbed a new set of clothes from Jamal's: A pair of socks, pants, fresh underwear, a shirt and a baseball cap. He got dressed and nodded at the furiously masturbating Jamal again as he left the room just as Jamal came.

Dinner was somewhat strange for Lance. His upper body, arms and feet felt all strange and tingly, and below the borrowed cap, his hair felt like it was shifting and changing. He was really hungry today and was glad about the all you can eat buffet.

However, the more he ate, the more the strange feeling took hold of his head and face as well, and with it, another urge awakened. Lance's thoughts consistently went back to the picture of Jamal masturbating on their bed. Say what you want, but that white boy really had a cute body. That was something Lance had always liked about Jamal James.

Lance Lamar felt his groin get tight again. It was difficult enough to find underwear for his large black python, but when he got aroused, there was hardly anything able to contain the beast of burden.

Finally, he stood up in all of his black glory and went to the elevator. Time to see if James was still around and was up for a length of his loving boyfriends large dick up his cute tight ass.

He was.

As he left the dining hall, Lisa smiled a thin smile and changed an entry in her list. Two less troublemakers and one more happy couple for the wedding.

What a great couple, in the end! After all, racism never pays.

If you like to read about another great couple, in a magical story, perhaps check out this novel!

[deadsnakey]

𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐘!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐱 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐱 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐fluff ೀ Headcanons. . .ᐟ 0.6k wordsᥫ᭡┈─★

༚༅༚˳✿˳.༚༅༚

𝜗℘　It genuinely doesn't matter to them what your insecurity is, even if its something that looks fine to them or never seen, they'll still protest against it because they think you're perfect and a literal goddess dude.

𝜗℘　It's been a few months since you guys have been dating and it's been great, except it's a little difficult sometimes to hide an insecurity of yours, rather its more noticeable to others or not.

𝜗℘　When they find out, which i feel like they find out around the same time because they're both really observing. Theo because he’s an introvert and very intelligent and Mattheo because he really cares about you so he notices the smallest things most times.

𝜗℘　Anyways, when they do find out or have a big suspicion, they find a good time to ask you about it and their gentle and genuinely thoughtful about it and try their best to be gentle with their words.

𝜗℘　They really don't want to trigger you or anything.

𝜗℘　Even if you're good at lying, they'll be able to see right through you. Just tell 'em the truth girlie, there's no point in lying when they've already found out. I think it'll hurt them a little bit if you're so persistent because do you not trust them or sum?

𝜗℘　But if you do open up after a few tries, they'll give you the most comfort and be very understanding. Mattheo will have you between his legs with his arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder listening closely.

𝜗℘　Theo is beside you guys, petting your hair and giving you kisses every now and then, nodding along to what you're saying so you know he's listening and you have both of their full attention.

𝜗℘　Once you're done, they'd tell you how much they love and care about you, they cherish you and shower you with nothing but love. 

𝜗℘　They love all of your flaws and imperfections.

𝜗℘　“Hey, it's okay to feel this way. But, just know, we’re here for you, okay? I know it may be hard for you but please try your best to remember that we’ll be here for you, always. This is a safe place, Okay, sweet girl?” 

𝜗℘　“Even if you think it's not a big deal or you're overreacting, you're not. You're feelings are valid. We're going to try our best to..make you feel like you're beautiful and worthy of love, because you are, Tesoro. we love you.”

𝜗℘　Maybe theres tears, maybe there arent. Theo will wipe your tears with his thumbs if you do end up crying, kiss your eyes gently.

𝜗℘　If youre not crying, then theyd cuddle you for a little while before mattheo runs you a nice bat. Bubbles, your favorite scented candies lit on the sink with a bathbomb on the side for you in case you want to use it. 

𝜗℘　Theyll have everything out for you, theyll even wear the hello kitty matching pajamas you three have together if it makes you happy. (Theo’s keroppi, Mattheo is badz maru, and youre whoever u wanna be.)

𝜗℘　they'll order food of your choice, watch whatever you want and they'll squish you in the middle since you need the comfort tonight. (since mattheo prob sleeps in the middle; he's touch starved man, its bad. really cuddly while sleeping too.)

the request right here!

[crazycat010]

I found you

PART ONE OF THE Gojo Satoru x reader (soulmates AU)

part 1 ; part 2

IN WHICH: Gojo finally finds his soulmate, after being given a very unlucky way of connecting to them.

fluff, angst, y/n is insecure about her looks and powers, her colleagues are worried sick about her. Almost-dying thoughts. Talks about death (fight and curses being killed), blood and scars. Fight between y/n and her friend.

Reader is written about as a female and there are references to her clothing. Happy ending.

word count=6.103 words

“Ahh” Gojo hissed, grabbing his face in pain, when was it going to end?

Another blow, this time directed to his abdomen, made him double over in pain.

“Gojo-sensei! Are you okay?” Yuji gasped, checking to see if he was okay.

“Yeah, don’t worry! M’fine.” The teacher laughed it off, used to the feeling.

“You sure got an unlucky way of connecting with your soulmate.” Maki added.

He shrugged his shoulders. He was one of the strongest, if not the strongest sorcerers alive, he came from a rich family, had many friends at Jujutsu High and a never ending list of women of all kinds who would do everything to even go on a date with him! All in all, he considered himself lucky, yeah, maybe his parents hadn’t been the best, being married for convenience and not love, but his mother loved him and his sister was very dear to him.

Nonetheless, everyone who learned his way of connecting with his soulmate cringed sorrowfully, pitying him: he felt most, if not all, the pain his soulmate felt. Though it was probably the same for his other half, it really made his life more difficult. It was like they were constantly getting beaten up for some reason, while he tried in every way possible to not hurt himself as to not pain them more.

With his students, he was headed to the entry of Tokyo Jujutsu High School’s complex, where he would meet with the students and teachers from the Kyoto College.

He’d heard a new teacher had recently arrived, but he didn’t care about it much. He had resigned from trying to reach his soulmate a long time ago, after many years spent searching.

He had gotten quite tired, and decided it would be better to let fate do his own thing. Was he gonna meet his soulmate soon? Had he already met her? Was he ever going to meet her?

Those question remained unanswered, and the ‘soulmate’ case closed.

After a long walk, they’d finally reached the meeting point. He had never realized the grounds were so big…

They were met with the usual group: the two teachers Gakuganji and Utahime and the students Mai Zenin, Kasumi Mia, Noritoshi Kamo, Aoi Todo and Mono Nishimiya.

Gojo looked around, expecting to see another teacher, but was found with nobody else.

Not having to hear the question, Utahime had already answered: “The new teacher had… some jobs to finish. She should arrive this evening.”

“Oh, okay! Well, let’s head to the school grounds so we can have a proper catch up!” Gojo said happily, masking yet another strong blow, this time aimed to the back of his neck.

The trek in the Foothills of Mount Mushiro was unusually quiet.

Seeing Gojo’s confused expression, Utahime said: “The kids have grown quite attached to our new teacher. They’ll get back to normal once she’s back.” She told him calmly, almost as she was reassuring herself.

“So, what’s up with this new teacher?” Satoru couldn’t help but ask, interested in this new mysterious figure.

“I promised not to do any spoilers, but I’ll tell you this: she’s very patient and kind, even more than me. The only problem is, taking care of everybody else, she often forgets to look after herself, getting injured because of her Cursed Technique. That pretty much sums up her entire personality, so I think you two will get along nicely.”

“Oh so they’re a she?” Gojo implied, smirking.

Utahime rolled her eyes, chuckling.

“Anyways, it’s good to know we’ve got someone else on our side. I bet you care a lot about her.” He replied.

“We all do…”

The dinner was filled with the usual laughter and chaotic environment, created by the Kyoto Sister-School Goodwill Event. Yet Gojo could sense something was off: while most of the students were able to fake it and enjoy their time, Utahime, Mai and Todo looked nervous and uptight, waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly, Mei Mei said, taken back: “She’s here.”

Mai and Todo sprinted towards the door, Utahime and the rest of he students following closely.

Even the old Yoshinobu had gotten up and was slowly heading towards the entrance door.

“Hellooo…Ahh!” Said an unfamiliar voice, before hearing a loud thump of bodies falling over.

“I swear if you ever scare us like that again, we will kill you. And that’s final.” Mai said to the unknown figure in a stern voice, opposed to her comforted look.

“Todo?” Asked the girl, searching for help.

“I’m on her side on this one.” Answered the black-haired boy.

“C’mon, not even you Utahime?” She asked again. Utahime raised her hands up, showing she was also on the green haired girl’s side.

“We’re glad you’re back, Y/n-sensei.” Said Kamo, offering a hand to get her up to her feet, while Yoshinobu simply nodded.

“We sure are!” Said Mika and Nishimiya, reaching for their teacher in a fond group hug.

‘So that’s the mysterious teacher…Y/n. That’s an unusual name, but I like it’ Gojo thought, heading to the new sensei to properly greet her.

“So you must be the new teacher everyone’s talking about!” Said Gojo.

“Y/n Y/Ln, it’s nice to meet you.” She replied.

“Gojo Satoru, and the pleasure is all mine.” Said the smug teacher, going for a simple handshake since he’d noticed her hands were entirely covered by black leather gloves.

‘The new teacher looked, weird. Not in a bad way though. She had silver straight hair, cut short just below her chin, with a huge side bang covering the left side of her face. Her eyes resembled her personality, a sparkly silver adorned by big lashes and complimented by a pair of thin brows of roughly the same color. She wasn’t short, but she was just around Utahime’s height, so the difference between her and Satori made her lift her chin upwards in a cute way, in order to face him directly. Her clothes were torn apart, leaving her in a black leather suit that covered her entire body, a neck warmer on her neck and chin and a belt with small weapons, matching gloves and combat steel-toe boots. She was full of cuts and what looked like blood and dirt and prominent a eye bag could be seen on her right side of the face.’ Gojo eyed her cautiously.

“Well, I’m sure you must be famished by now, so why don’t we go back to the dinner table and get a new seat for miss Y/Ln here.” Shoko interrupted the oncoming silence.

“Don’t worry. I was able to grab something to eat along the way. Nonetheless I’m very tired, so, if you don’t mind, I’ll head to my dorm to wash off the dirt and get some rest.” Y/n kindly turned down her offer.

“I’ll show you the dorms.” Utahime intervened, grabbing her by her arm with force.

“Don’t worry, I saw where they were com…” The silver haired girl tried to stop Utahime, but was met with an icy glare even Gojo had rarely seen on his ex-classmate’s features.

“I said I’m showing you the dorms. C’mon let’s go.” She ordered Y/n, who couldn’t do anything but comply, getting pitiful looks from her students.

The evening continued nonetheless, no sign of Utahime’s return.

‘That just means we’ll get to meet the new kid tomorrow’, Gojo shrugged it off.

The next day, Y/n was finally able to join the others for breakfast, having been patched up the night before by a very angry Utahime.

She knew what she had done the other day was risky, telling everybody to go so she could single-handedly defeat the three first grade curses, but she wasn’t gonna risk anyone else getting injured, that’s just who she was like.

She knew Utahime would’ve gotten furious and mad at her for making her worry and scolding her, but, in reality, she was happy knowing there were people who really cared about her well-being.

That morning she ate almost twice her daily portions: she had lied the day before, in fact, she hadn’t eaten anything since the past breakfast, but she didn’t want to intrude in the meal or, especially, she didn’t want to have to take off her gloves or any other part of her suit to eat.

Underneath all that fabric, her body was constantly full of bruises and cuts, which concentrated on her arms and the cause was her Cursed Technique.

YOUR (Y/N’S) POV

“Soo, Y/Ln. How are you feeling? You looked pretty rough last day.” Gojo tried to initiate a conversation with you, after you’d finished eating and were casually strolling around the campus to show you were all the main facilities were located.

“I’m fine, thanks. And please, call me Y/n.” You responded, smiling.

“That goes for me too. Anyways, I’m glad you’re doing good, you should’ve seen your students and co-teachers yesterday, they were worried sick.” He replied.

“I’m sure they were.”

“Well, you got me curious. What happened?” He asked, trying to not invade your privacy but at the same time get to know you more.

“Let’s just say, on our way here, we got caught up with some curses. They weren’t that strong, but I decided to finish the job myself while the others came here.” You answered.

“What grade were they? What do you mean by some?” He questioned you.

“They were…three first grades.” You said, a bit embarrassed for some reason.

“What? I mean, wow! You managed to take them all out on your own! I don’t mean to come as judgy or stuff, but when they’d told me a new teacher had arrived at Kyoto High, I didn’t really expect someone that strong.” He said, shocked.

“Thanks, I guess…? I kinda get that a lot!” You replied, chuckling to yourself and shoving your hands in your pockets.

You wore a simple navy blue hoodie and black tight jeans with a pair of white and blue sneakers with silver gloves covering your hands.

You had always been very insecure about your scars, being basically covered in scratches and those squiggly white lines. When you didn’t wear gloves or you exposed your scars in any way, you always got weird or pitiful stares from those around you, so, a couple of years ago, you’d decided it would be in your best interest to hide them.

You started absentmindedly fidgeting with your necklace, until Gojo interrupted you in your actions: “What’s up with the gloves? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You were used to people asking that type of questions, so you replied how you usually did: “My hands get cold.”

He stared at you, unamused. Many people figured that was a lie, but they usually dropped the topic at your response. Instead, he questioned you further: “Are you sure?”

You rolled your eyes, not knowing if you were more irritated or amused by his investigative nature. All your friends knew about it, and he looked like a pretty chill guy, so, it wouldn’t hurt to tell him.

“Okay, fine. It’s because of my Cursed Technique. It’s called Glass Veil.”

He seemed intrigued by it, asking you: “I’ve never heard of it before. How does it work?” 

You decided to explain it further: “it’s exactly what it sounds like. I create barriers made of transparent, glass-like cursed energy. They can reflect attacks, bend light to make me invisible, or distort space to create mirages. Sounds great, right? Yeah, well, here’s the catch. My defenses aren’t invincible—if an attack is too strong, the barriers shatter, and I feel every bit of that damage. Cuts, energy recoil, you name it. And if I try to reflect something too powerful? My own body starts breaking down from the strain. Oh, and those mirages? They don’t just mess with my enemies—they mess with me too. Use too many, and suddenly, I can’t tell what’s real anymore. If I push myself too hard, my entire technique collapses like shattered glass—leaving me completely defenseless. So yeah… it’s powerful, but if I’m not careful? It’ll kill me before my opponent even gets the chance.”

He looked at you, amazed. “Woah. I didn’t know techniques like that existed. I’m sorry for you though, it must hurt when you fight.”

“Yeah, well, you get used to it.”

“You know you shouldn’t. You should ask for help if fighting off curses becomes a threat to your safety.” He scolded you.

“Thanks…I-I mean, I don’t know what to say. I really appreciate it, Satoru.” Yes, you had many friends that worried about you, but this felt different. You were happy to know you’d made a new friend. After knowing how your technique worked, most tried to change the argument or make it about themselves, making you wonder if you’d said something wrong.

“But hey, enough about me. What do you have to tell me?” You asked.

“Well, I think you know pretty well how my Cursed Techniques work.” Gojo replied.

“Yeah, but, I’d like to hear more about how you manage to use them.” You inquired further.

“Okay, so, basically…” He had looked surprised at first, but in the end, started telling you everything. He talked to you about the basics of his techniques, then began to trail off about how he’d learned them and how he used them in fights. You’d talked so much it had already become lunch time, when, somehow, the topic became the thing you feared the most: soulmates.

You’d heard of all types of ways someone is connected to his soulmate and finds him, there were the most romantic ones, like where the other’s first sentence to you is written on your forearm; the more unique ones, where one would switch bodies with the other on a certain date; or the more creative ones where flowers sprouted in the point the other would first touch you or bump into you. You’d read so many books about it, wondering if you’d ever be able to find your soulmate.

You’d tried anything, yet you never found any red strings, or markings on your skin.

The main difficulty was, you didn’t have any signs of knowing if your soulmate was alive or not. I mean, you sometimes felt intense pain in parts of your body, but you were convinced it was simply because of your Cursed Technique and how you often over-worked yourself, which looked like a pretty good explanation for those around you.

“Do you have a soulmate?” Gojo asked, coming to a stop.

You were in front of a beautiful lake with the sun and a soft breeze helping you relax.

“Not that I know of. They might as well be dead or have never existed. I never got any signs actually.” You said, voice lowering.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Satoru said, staring at his shoes sadly.

“What about you? I’m sure you got a beautiful lady or dude waiting for you at home.” You shrugged off the heavy burden that had weighed on your shoulders since forever.

“Pft. I wish!” He replied.

“Wait really? Did you get any signs?” You asked, surprised.

“Yeah. I can feel part of their pain, at least the physical one.” He said, chuckling.

“Oof, that must be painful!” You said.

“Yes, it is. I just wish I could find her, or him for that matter. I’ve been searching for years.” He confessed you.

You went to give him a pat on the back, telling him encouragingly: “I’m sure you’ll find them, sooner or later. I may have not known you for much, but you seem like a pretty good guy, and after all you’ve done as a Sorcerer, you deserve to have a happy ending more than anyone.

He looked taken back at your words and hugged you tightly, crying a bit in your sweater.

You caressed his broad shoulders, giving him small reassuring pats, and telling him not to worry, your heart subtly breaking at his broken state.

Breaking the hug, he wiped his eyes and sniffed, feeling like a weight had been lifted from him with his confessions.

Grabbing a tissue from your pockets, you wiped his beautiful eyes, getting lost in them for a second.

You then offered it to him to blow his nose, and he took it gratefully, thanking you.

“Blimey, it’s already 1:15 p.m.! We’re late for lunch!” You said panicked, looking at his watch.

Laughing, he took his hand in yours with a nonchalant: “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

In the blink of an eye, you’d been teleported right outside the dining hall, where he kindly opened the door for you and held it in a very gentlemanly way.

Thanking him, you quickly reached your seat at the table, in between Mai and Utahime, who both wore the same scolding look as ever, to which you replied with a tight lipped smile.

That afternoon, the students’ training was planned, in order to make the last preparations before the competition days.

You sat on a bench near the practice grounds with Gojo, asking him about his students and their cursed techniques.

The day ended quickly, and you soon sent all your students off to bed, in order to regain all their strength back with a good night’s sleep and be in perfect shape for tomorrow’s team competition.

The next day, tension filled the air heavily and all the students were silent, reorganizing their mind and thinking about the strategies they had  practiced yesterday.

You didn’t know what the Tokyo students had in mind, but with your students you had elaborated an intricate and intelligent plan that used everyone’s abilities: Mono would be the jolly, controlling from above on her flying broomstick the situation and occasionally helping on the grounds, Miwa would work in pair with Mekamaru, focusing on the trio formed by Panda, Yuta and Inumaki; Todo had taken upon himself the responsibility of Yuji Itadori; Kamo would concentrate on Megumi and Mai on Nobara and Maki.

You’d explicitly told them not to engage combat unless needed, focusing on the task at hand, which consisted of killing 14 curses scattered across the forests of Mount Mushiro.

You teachers were to gather in the main classroom, where you would know what your students were doing thanks to Mei Mei’s crows.

To say you were anxious was an understatement, but Utahime told you to calm down and that everything was under control in case something went wrong.

The teams had until midday to defeat the curses, and then the team with the most points would’ve won.

Everything was going smoothly, the teams having killed 6 curses each and not fighting against each other too much.

That was, until Mei Mei lost contact with her crows. It was obvious someone, or something, had killed them.

You immediately panicked, scared your students could get hurt by what had finished Mei’s crows. The other teachers were on alert as well, instantly dividing their jobs between who would rescue the kids and who was going to fight off the curse.

Mei Mei had been able to get back one crow, which helped you all realize the problem at hand: there were around 5 special grade curses and many lower-grade curses.

You had planned for Gojo, Yaga, Yoshinobu and Mei to fight off the curses while Utahime, Nanami and Shoko were going to help the students.

They were going to divide themselves into groups for the different areas of the High School: Gojo and Mei would take the eastern side of Mount Mushiro, Yaga and Yoshinobu the Western. There was only the section surrounding the dormitories left, but before you could offer yourself for the job, Utahime grabbed you by the wrist: “You’re not going anywhere.”

“What?” You scoffed.

“You’re not joining the fight, you’re already injured.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” You replied cockily.

“You don’t get to choose after all your reckless decisions.” She shouted back, the room going silent.

“They’re my students too, so if you think I’m just gonna sit here while they risk their lives out there, then you’re wrong.”

“Why do you have to be so difficult?”

“Hey Utahime, calm down. We know you’re right but we have other things to discuss right now.” Gojo tried to make the girl relax.

“No you shut up! Y/n don’t you dare step out of that room! Do you understand me?” She said.

“I already told you I’m going and there’s no stopping me!” You replied, moments away from becoming the angriest you had ever been.

Impatient, she lashed out at your insolence:“YOU’RE GOING TO DIE!”

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?” You yelled back, the words slipping out of your mouth before you were able to register it.

Everybody’s heads turned to you, making you feel uncomfortable, so you decided to just go outside and do your job: “I’m going to fight the curses located near the dormitory, if someone else has got anything to say, tell it to the wall, at least it may listen.”

You shut the door loudly behind you, not caring about their shocked expressions or Utahime’s blank stare: you were utterly furious, who was she to tell you what to do? You were a grown-up sorcerer, you knew the risks of your job. She had no reason to lash out at you that way, she may have been worried, but it’s still your students we’re talking about; besides, your bruises had already completely healed and you were well-rested.

Thinking back to it, though, you felt sorry to have screamed at her, she hadn’t deserved it: she was only worried about you, but it sometimes got too much; you would apologize later.

You started running to the site in the uncomfortable sweater. You certainly hadn’t expected an attack that day, so the outfit wasn’t the most appropriate: you wore a baggy pink hoodie with a plain black sports Bra underneath and a matching pair of black leggings with your usual boots and gloves.

Along the way, you met a few small curses, bringing them down one by one without even having to use your powers, slicing them in parts with the small knives hid in the boots.

Reaching the dormitories, everything seemed oddly quiet and ordinary around you, until you sensed a tremor in the ground.

What was happening? You looked around as the ground rumbled and shook, a huge crack filled with water opening a few feet away from you. Out of the blue (literally), emerged a towering, humanoid figure with a body made of black, swirling water, deep-sea corals, and glowing abyssal fish embedded in its skin, its face masked by an eerie, translucent jellyfish-like veil.

You rapidly formed a glass shield around you to protect you from the high-speed water whips that came from the creature’s limbs.

You didn’t recount ever facing a curse like this before, but you figured it was nature-based.

In the bat of an eye, the whips started coming from all directions, rendering you unable to do anything but protect yourself in any way you could.

You formed a glass sphere around you, in order to get complete coverage while you studied the curse’s powers and thought of a plan to end him.

However, you weren’t given the time to think, as a water field surrounded your figure, pressure rising at unmatchable speed while the temperature and the oxygen decreased.

You had to be swift: you were already in a glass bell-like structure, where the oxygen would’ve run out quickly, so your biggest issue at the moment was to keep breathing.

Feeling another tidal wave coming to hit you, you made up a fallback plan, using the strong force to make the glass bell explode from within, sending shards of glasses flying and temporarily stopping the curse from attacking you because of the great quantity of cursed energy that had hit him.

You regained fighting stance in that short period of time, but weren’t able to react as another huge wave crashed over you, swallowing you whole. It would’ve been useless to create another shield, as it would’ve shattered in pieces, causing you severe feedback injuries and tiring you even more in the effort.

You felt like you were in a maelstrom, unable to breath and consequentially think properly, losing consciousness against the high pressure and not feeling your limbs because of the intense cold that had surrounded you.

You regained your vision, once the curse had stabilized the whirlpool in front of him and cleared a small tunnel, barely big enough for you to start breathing again.

He smirked at your unresponsiveness, your head throbbing and heavy: what if Utahime was right? Maybe you shouldn’t have come here, maybe you shouldn’t have tried to save your students, becoming a dead-weight to the other sorcerers who could actually provide help to those in need. Maybe you weren’t enough and you shouldn’t have ever considered becoming a jujutsu sorcerer. You should’ve stayed with your parents, attended a good school and got a financially rewarding job, ignoring the monsters you saw while walking around the city center and forgetting about the small light balls you had been able to create since you were a kid.

You could’ve prevented this, but deep down, you had always known it: you were born alone and you were going to die alone. You couldn’t wish for your friends or family’s help: your family loved you dearly, but, not being sorcerers, they didn’t understand you; Utahime and the rest of Kyoto’s sorcerers only took you under their wing out of pity, nobody saw you as anything else but a loner who liked hurting herself. You weren’t going to have a happy ending like Gojo or Utahime deserved, you were never going to find your soulmate.

Accepting your fate, a smile found its way onto your cracked lips, tears flowing freely from your eyes and merging with the surrounding water.

“I knew you were an easy prey the moment I saw you. How could anybody this helpless become a sorcerer? If you’re afraid of your own looks, how do you expect to be able to save everybody? You can’t fight! You were never meant to become a sorcerer, you’re just a harmless little girl who’ll die alone and unloved, forgotten by her very own friends and family.”

You knew it was the end, yet you weren’t scared. Exhaustion took over you as the Abyssal Curse, ‘Shinkai’, as you remembered him from a book in Kyoto’s library, ultimated his domain expansion: The Midnight Trench.

Suddenly, you were surrounded by void, you started struggling to breath, lungs feeling flooded and bones crushing under the increased water pressure and cursed energy barriers.

Then, a group of sea-monsters like you’d never encountered before, attacked you, devouring you from limb to limb, ripping your body to pieces as your mind felt like it was about to explode.

You saw your friends’ faces and your past’s happy memories started filling your head: you saw your parents bringing you for the first time at a Luna Park, Utahime comforting you after a bad training, Shoko curing your cuts, Mai and Todo offering you your very first Takoyaki, Gojo hugging you so tightly you felt like you couldn’t breath…

You couldn’t breath. YOU COULDN’T BREATH!

You had to get out of here, you were too young to die! You still had to save your students, find a real purpose in life, make your family and friends proud and happy but, most importantly, you had to find your soulmate! You couldn’t let your family, Utahime or your other colleagues down and you had to prove the curse wrong: you could fight and you sure as heck were going to!

You tried to remember what you had read about this particular curse: their domain expansion was characterized by hallucinations like the one you were having right now. You concentrated on your powers, when immediately a thought came to your mind, making you laugh: ‘You were the one who created mirage-like illusions! This curse had no chance against you whilst it used your own cursed technique!’

Simultaneously, you created a new mirage of yourself and made the real you invisible, thanks to the small light that reflected into the oceanic void.

As the curse started attacking the illusion, you saw a ray of sunshine from above: that was it! You’d found an exit!

You decided it was time to test that little gadget Mechamaru had built inside your boots: clicking a small button, a soft gush of wind came out from your soles, slowly lifting you in the air.

A soft breeze caressed your face, body warming with the sun rays, clean air filling your lungs: you had made it out! Concentrating on what you had to do now, you suppressed temporarily your ecstasy, knowing it wouldn’t have taken long for the curse to discover the deception.

You remembered these kind of curses usually took their cursed energy from water sources they couldn’t depart from, unless they didn’t mind losing a substantial portion of their powers.

Looking around, you noticed how a blue gluey trail connected the curse, still focused on their small domain, to a water fountain near the dormitory.

Sprinting towards it with all the strength you had left, you closed the pipe in order to stop the water from running and cutting off Shinkai’s water source.

The curse visibly tumbled, the energy they had previously used for their techniques and domain being drained from their body.

“Hah! You escaped, you insolent little girl. I should’ve known. Well, what are we gonna do now?”

You kept silent and invisible, circling him as he kept his back on you, eyes trained where the whirlpool had been until seconds ago.

Having reached the perfect spot, you revealed yourself: “I’ll kill you and all your stupid friends.”

“I’d like to see you t…”

His sentence was cut short by you slicing his head off with a sword made out of light.

The Jelly sphere rolled onto the ground, the body collapsing on itself and becoming a pool of suspiciously dark water, before evaporating completely.

You sighed, but the happiness was shortly lived.

Not only were the grounds near the dormitory a complete mess, but also you were full of cuts and bruises, your head so heavy it felt like it was about to fall off.

On your right arm, a huge gash had appeared, blood dripping copiously and drenching your torn apart hoodie. You decided to take it off, ripping a piece with which you would have wrapped your forearm, and throwing away the remaining pieces, leaving yourself in the sports bra.

Your legs and abdomen weren’t in a much better state, clothes ripped to pieces because of the explosion you’d created at the start of the fight, and you were thankful you couldn’t take a look at your back even if you wanted to, knowing it was probably reduced even worse than your front.

Not finding anyone near your position, you headed towards Mount Mushiro, were most of the students were located, along with the teachers and the curses.

You put one foot in front of the other, trying not to let your dizziness get the best of you, when pain shot in your left leg, as if you’d twisted it badly. Soon, you felt the same pain on your back and your left arm, falling to your knees as you gasped for air. It didn’t come from your cuts; it was different, like it came from the inside. You got a sense of deja-vu…Had you ever felt like this before? You were sure you had. All of a sudden, you remembered the mysterious pain you’d felt many times when you were younger.

As everything clicked into place, your conversation about soulmates with Satoru flashed in front of your eyes. You fought back the joyous tears that threatened to spill from your bruised eyes, a ray of hope appearing in your mind. Had you found your soulmate? If so, what did the pain mean? Was he okay? A sense of worry and anxiety washed over you, as you ran up the stairs of Mount Mushiro, heading to where loud battle noises came from, your heart beat increasing rapidly.

Not wasting any time, you bolted towards Gojo’s location, relieved at the vision of him beat up, but with the same smirk as ever. A huge dead curse’s body rotting behind his glorious figure.

Before coming out of the woods, a small voice in the back of your mind remembered you your scars were all exposed by then to anybody who looked in your way. What was he gonna think of you? Would he repel you for your looks? Would he hate you and be disgusted by you forever, not giving you a chance to prove your theory?

But then, you stopped listening. You stopped listening to the small devil that had haunted your past since you’d discovered your cursed technique, reminding you about how you didn’t fit in and weren’t liked by anyone.

You decided you were done giving in to your fears and letting them win over you: you only decided how you were going to live your life, and you sure as hell didn’t eat to hide your true self ever since, if you could.

Feeling free from the Cains you’d bound yourself to, you jolted towards an oblivious Satoru in a hug that sent you both flying on the ground.

“What the…?”

A confused look passed his face, soon followed by a mix of anger, worry and relief.

“What did you think you were doing? Running off alone to challenge a special grade? Are you freaking insane? You’re hurt! You shouldn’t…”

Sensing something was wrong, he halted in his words.

You were a complete wreck, full of blood and dirt, sobbing incessantly and body shaking feverishly, your hands gripping his suit like he was going to fly away any time, yet a sincere smile painting your features like a small kid who’s been gifted candy.

“Hey, hey. Shh, shhh. Don’t cry, it’s okay! I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all fine!” He soothed you, caressing your bare back with his left hand, holding you tightly with the other hand, still sat on the ground.

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?” He asked in a patient, father-like tone.

You slowed down your sobs and trembling, sniffing every minute or so, your throat feeling dry and blocked.

Not enough brave to look at him in the eyes, you asked him: “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” He answered, lifting your chin up in order to look at you in the eyes.

Your side bang had moved behind your ear, revealing an ugly scar that ran across the left side of her face, from her eyebrow, along her eyelid, to her rosy cheek, wet with tears.

You had chosen that haircut specifically to hide that repulsing scar, yet, when he saw it, he didn’t flinch or appear disgusted. Rather than that, he looked…intrigued, almost happy to have seen a side of you you usually hid from others.

He’d also noticed how you didn’t have your hoodie or your gloves anymore, and he felt somehow relieved: you trusted him. Besides, to him, you’d never looked more attractive.

“Turn your infinity off.” It wasn’t meant to sound like an order, but to Gojo it seemed rather bossy, yet, confused, he complied nonetheless.

As you felt your skin touch, for the first time ever, a warm chill rand down your spine and a burnt feeling spread across your left hand’s ring finger, where a marking had appeared: ‘Satoru Gojo’.

He looked at his hand, finding the same marking as yours, but with your name written instead.

He stared at you lovingly, contemplating whether to kiss you or not.

He recounted the years spent searching for you, the pain he had felt and the loneliness that had graved on him until the day he’d met you, deciding to go for it.

You were both dirty and stinky, though it still somehow felt beautiful, more than you could’ve ever imagined.

It was slow and passionate, full of raw emotions that couldn’t be kept at bay anymore.

Finally, as you two detached, a new feeling washed over you, one you’d never felt before: love.

You’d finally found your soulmate, as he’d found you, and you knew you would both love each other to whatever end.

Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it. You're welcome to come check out my account and my other posts and/or make requests :) (MASTERLIST) Do NOT plagiarize this or any of my content.

Do you think I should make a part 2?

Love you guys! See you soon!😘

Written by crazycat010 © 2025 crazycat010

[sungiescheotluv]

champagne supernova ⭑.ᐟ park jisung

pairing: park jisung x gender neutral reader

word count: 4.2k

tags/warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, emo(ish) jisung, non-idol au.

summary: making friends as an adult is difficult. luckily for you, the rock/alternative online community welcomes you with open arms, one person in particular catching your interest.

notes: hi thereee! 😁 back again with another jisung fic, one that i actually came up with myself lmao. since getting back into the dreamies, i've been a bit surprised by (but absolutely loving) jisung's taste in music. hence this silly fic, which i do hope you enjoy! thank you so much for all your recent support, it makes my heart smile whenever you like or comment on a post! anyways, happy reading! much loveeeee! <3

The concept of internet safety is lost on you. How else could you explain sharing a hotel room with someone you’d never met before in real life? 

Perhaps, you should retrace your steps. See how you’ve managed to find yourself in such a dangerous position, the front door locked and your body pinned to the bed.

Making friends as an adult is difficult. On par with counting every grain of rice in a field, you’d say.

You underestimated how easy maintaining friendship was when younger, third places like school, daycares, extra-curricular activities demanding your presence, inadvertently strengthening your social life. Not that you were the most social, you had a hard time approaching people actually, but maybe that was a part of your charm. Bringing you out of your shell, like all your friends did before your bond was cemented in tree trunks or sandy beaches. University is the last place you take this ease for granted, exposed to all different kinds of people and relationships, some platonic and not-so much. Either way, despite the barge of assignments and countless nights out, you’d make it into adulthood relatively unscathed.

Adulthood, however, doesn’t turn out as you expect. You’d been sold a dream, one eight-year old you envisioned dabbling with the stars accompanied by a lavish life and all the ice-cream you could get your hands on. Unfortunately, no star would be rubbing shoulders with you anytime soon and any that would, you’d have to pay a large sum of money to even see. A large sum you did not have. So, yeah. Just that, toxic work culture, endless bills and a whole host of other obligations linger above your head like a grey cloud.

What helps is finding the small joys in life. Slow mornings when the city is asleep, the scent of coffee at the crack of dawn, the sunshine against your skin, friends who despite their busy schedules carve out time to see you. All pieces of your life that make it worth living. Music is in there too, the art of melodies and lyrics strung together having the strange ability to carry you throughout even your worst days.

Your moods refuse to stick to a certain genre and in the midst of dark afternoons and frost covered roads, you find yourself gravitating towards alternative music. Slow, steady and aching. Like how your life moves with the severe lack of sun. It’s not a genre your circle of friends dabble in as much as you do. It’s to be expected, anyone who deviates from a standard of ‘normalcy’ was outcasted, one too many examples found in your high school days where kids got called weird and satanic for wearing a Green Day t-shirt to school. The thought makes you laugh now, but back then, when all that matters is fitting in, it was sad and suffocating. Seeing a part of yourself denied before your very eyes. Sometimes you’d hang out with those kids, bond over your collection of CDs and even go to a few gigs together. However, when Monday came around and they’d approach you and your friends, raving about the concert - you froze. Confronted into either owning yourself and being outcasted like the rest of the emo kids or ignoring them, deny yourself for the sake of social standing. 

You pretend like they’ve grown two heads, feigned confusion knitting your eyebrows together while your friends laugh and hurl insults at someone who you considered a friend - a better one than the ones at your side. And yet, you let the laughter continue, a coward with its tail between its legs as you depart, the taste of iron on your tongue.

Maybe this is payback for those poor decisions. A dead-end job, a successful but shitting ex and enough inner turmoil to make a therapist clutch their pearls. 

You abandon those friends when you get to university, getting better ones that wouldn’t make someone feel small due to their own insecurities. You make amends with the emo kids, your apology marking the true end of your friendship. You search online spaces for like-minded people, showing up as yourself and being embraced as. Everyone in the Reddit community is unbelievably sweet, sharing their music recommendations, concert wishlists and pictures of their cats. Some members, including yourself, form a closer bond, taking your conversation to a Discord server that becomes your escape in a way. A channel for heartfelt discussion that extends past your love for music. You’re not as active due to work obligations, but whenever you pop up, one member in particular always greets you with a warmth like no other. 

Linkin.parkjisung is his user, his icon the rock and roll hand sign over his face. Likes Blur, Green Day, Oasis and of course, Linkin Park. He’s like you, dips in and out, types a few responses before he’s gone again. It’s a scenario where other members grow closer, and your anxiety around speaking in the group begins. They’re already close, it seems almost futile to interrupt, right? 

What if you’re ignored? What if you’ve missed your window of opportunity? 

It’s a line of thinking that crosses your mind when you send in an apology for being inactive, moments later your phone pinging with a notification.

Linkin.parkjisung: no need to apologize! life gets busy for everyone, myself included. hope you’re doing ok (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

Other group members echo his message, sending in their own real-life obligations that the group ends up bonding over, complaining of rising car insurance and overly demanding bosses. 

It’s the start of it all, really. That one message, a hand extended to yours that breaks you out of your shell and kick starts your friendship with Jisung. From that day onwards, you move more freely throughout the server, making good friends with everyone but better friends with Jisung. Somewhere down the line, you end up privately messaging each other. What starts out as simply giving each other music recommendations (since he apparently always loves the songs/artists you send into the server) becomes sneaking into the bathroom during a busy family reunion to call Jisung about how your grandmother wore a catsuit to impress her ex, your grandfather. You grow that close, no details spared on life events. How else is there space for secrecy when you’re video calling drunk, watching festival performances of Fontaines D.C.?

In any case, you’re close. You text everyday and call every week like clockwork, namely because you live some hours away from each other. During your calls, he’s shrouded in a low darkness, self conscious of the way he looks, he says. You’re unconvinced, slivers of his features in photos he sends you with his roommates’ three cats or on call saying otherwise. Regardless, you let it slide because Jisung becomes more than his face - he becomes a source of comfort, someone who makes you laugh as much as brings you calm, someone you slowly can’t imagine your days without. In hindsight, this is where your romantic feelings develop. And with convenient timing too because one of the bands you recommended to Jisung, Wunderhorse are on tour, set to perform in a city two hours from the both of you.

“Tickets are going onsale at 10 am on Thursday,” Jisung murmurs, the clicks of his cursor coming through your laptop speaker. “Remember to set your alarm.”

“Will do. Lemme set a remin-” opening up your calendar, you see an unwelcome surprise. “Fuck.”

“What’s up?” Jisung’s voice echoes with sincere concern.

“I forgot I have a shift that day,” you groan, already knowing by the time your lunch break came, the event would be sold out. “We’re understaffed as is, so there’s no way I can get someone to cover for me.”

A deep hum vibrates from Jisung’s chest, a few more clicks of his cursor sounding before he asks in a small voice. “Well, I could just get the tickets for us both.”

“You would?”

“Yeah, I’m meant to be working from home that day anyways. And not to flex, but my internet’s pretty decent.”

You laugh. “Is that for your job or your crippling gaming addiction?”

“A bit of both,” he chuckles back, the sound blooming a warmth of happiness in your chest. “Working in CompSci has its perks.”

“So, I’m finding out,” you smile, an underlying layer of discomfort shifting you against your desk chair. “Are you sure, though?”

“Of course. I’d hate if you lost out on this knowing I could’ve done something to help,” Jisung explains. “You were the one to introduce me to them anyways. Plus we’d have a better chance of sticking together in the pit if we get them together, right?”

You swallow a lump in your throat, something taking flight in your airy chest. “Yeah, you’re right. Just send me your bank details so I can transfer you the day of.”

“Coming right up!” he jokes, and you laugh, however lame he claims himself to be.

On Thursday, he sends you a photo of his solid black high-tech set-up, a PC he’s constructed himself with more monitors than you can count. The side of his face is included in the picture, silky black hair, a brown eye and a beauty mark on his cheekbone you dream of kissing later that night. You find out he secures the tickets on your lunch break, your debt towards him being booking the hotel you’d be staying at. Due to the limited funds you’re working with, you end up getting a shared room, an option that gives him pause before he agrees in a tremored voice. You’re a bit apprehensive yourself, but you booked for two beds, so it should be fine. If worst comes to worst, and something happens between you two – like him turning out to be a sexist neckbeard loser he couldn’t take no for an answer - you’d sleep in your car (or kick him out, actually). At any rate, you had options (and a friend tracking your live location).

In no time, weeks fly by and Wunderhorse drops their latest album. It’s the best thing you’ve experienced since sliced bread, an opinion Jisung shares as you two listen to it over call late one Friday night, speaking about your favourite songs amongst other things. You don’t know how it starts, perhaps it’s a lyric that sticks out to him that he mentions or something else entirely, but suddenly, you’re reminded of high school you. How deeply you wanted to be accepted by others, and how that satisfaction depended on the person you got it from. That you preferred conformity instead of individuality, because being seen with popular shallow kids meant something to you.

“I wasn’t a good person in high school,” you find yourself admitting, your body hollowed out with guilt. Regret like ash on your tongue. “I hurt people because I valued other people’s opinions over my own. I know I was young, but-”

“You said it yourself: you were young,” Jisung comments, the serious intent in his voice catching you off guard. “The fact you recognise your behaviour and feel remorse for it shows how much you’ve grown. I mean, high school can be very unforgiving because nobody really knows who they are or what the fuck they’re doing, so it’s only reasonably to make choices you may regret. What’s important, I think, is how you’ve chosen to move forward,”

“You said it yourself, you’ve apologised to those you hurt. Not many, if any person in your position, would do the same, which shows how much you genuinely care to make things right,” you sniff, vision blurring with tears of relief and sadness. “So, if you ask me, I think you’re being a bit hard on yourself. It’s all a learning curve, you were doing what was best to protect yourself then. And now, you’re a better and kinder person because of it.”

Another time you should’ve known you’d fallen for him. Yet, you remain none the wiser. All the way until concert day, getting off work early that Friday afternoon and making the journey down to the bright city lights of Seoul. Everything twinkles and dazzles, a 180 from your modest living in your hometown. You suppose your excitement for the concert has some role in this too, but considering the lack of vibrancy in your life, you allow yourself to sink your teeth into this. Feel the goosebumps against your skin, the lightness in your limbs and the uptake in your heartbeat.

You check into the hotel first since Jisung has a last-minute team meeting at work, setting yourself up on your side of the cosy room of wooden and white hues. As you slip on your Hello Kitty headband to do skincare, a knock rasps against the door, audible above the sound of your music.

With furrowed eyebrows, you approach the door, revealing a sight that stops your heart in its tracks.

On the other side of the door is who you should’ve expected: Jisung. What you don’t expect, however, is his sharp features, black smooth hair with matching formal clothing to contrast so beautifully with his porcelain skin. The dark, ocean blue contacts he wears with a pretty pink lip tint. Not to mention that beauty mark you’ve been thirsting over for the past few months? Yeah, that’s all in eye-view now, close enough to touch and it’s this fact that sends your brain into overdrive.

While you malfunction, Jisung dips his head, a large fist curled to his lips to hide his sheepish smile. Chuckles in a bit of an awkward and embarrassed way. 

Oh my god?!

“Nice to finally meet you,” he greets, black leather overnight bag clutched to his side. A fluffy blue and pink keychain of Little Twin Stars hangs off the zip, a cute juxtaposition to his intimidating outfit. And height. God, he really wasn’t lying when he said he was nearly 6 ft. 

“I texted you I’d arrived, but you hadn’t read them,”

A forceful blink out of your trance brings you back to reality, one where you’re not openly drooling over how handsome your internet best friend is. “Yeah, sorry. I was busy getting ready.”

“I figured so,” his eyes scan your clothes - your ripped baggy jeans, leather platform shoes amongst what you have on - and his lips curve, admiration in his eyes. “You look great.”

If there weren’t societal ideals of an inappropriate reaction to that compliment, you would’ve tattooed it to your forehead, or on your lower back. Maybe ripped off your shirt and kissed him before combusting because what do you mean, this very handsome man, thinks you look great?!

“Thank you,” you blush, your body running hot like a furnace. Even so, you decide to take advantage of the situation, leaning in for an embrace that he reciprocates as you mumble into his shoulder. “Nice to finally meet you too.”

The rest of the afternoon blurs, the few moments of scattered glances and awkward silence incomparable with the ease of conversation that flows between you once his favourite song, Poppy, comes on. Catching up to speed with each other’s day as you two get ready, it’s not lost on you how domestic the scene is - how familiar, or right it feels. Jisung, in all aspects of the word, is endearing - flustered by the compliments you send his way, brightening up at the new additions to the setlist and best of you, timid with pink cheeks when he hands over a ‘first meeting’ gift - an assortment of snacks, a Hello Kitty plushie and a card that makes you coo. It takes everything in you not to sink your teeth into him, overwhelmed by the sweetness that laces his actions and words, riding the high he and the music gives you as you make your way to the venue after you’re both finished.

Long lines snake around the arena, grey clouds permeating the area as rainfall clatters to the pavement. Jisung, ever so prepared, brings along an umbrella that you share, squeezing underneath so much you feel the warmth of Jisung through his bare, very defined bicep. How someone looks so good in a silver sequin top under a tattered sleeveless black vest is beyond you. Then again, him being single is beyond your comprehension too. Considering his calm and thoughtful demeanour, coupled with his good looks, you would’ve expected people lining up by the thousands to plead their case. However, whenever you two talked about this, he’d simply say his go-to phrase and change the topic, his phrase being:

“I’ve got my eye on someone. Just working up the courage to ask them out.”

Whoever managed to catch his eye, you’d thought to be lucky. Maybe they’d saved a small village in their past life because as people push when the doors open, Jisung shields you from any damage, reminding you how good of a romantic partner he could be. Especially so when you’re inside and he snaps all your photos, accompanying you to the bar and merch table where you get matching t-shirts before he keeps them with him so you’re free throughout the concert. Dimmed red lights and chatter fill the spacious hall, a flood of warm bodies surrounding you as you peer at the stage, the band all set up and ready to go come showtime. You sing along to the host of songs the venue plays beforehand, enough nudges in the shoulder to get Jisung to sing along and of course - of course - he has a beautiful voice too. At this point, you were convinced he either had a missing toe or had weird opinions about the order of cereal because the more you spent time with him, the more he shines in your eyes.

Eventually, the chatter dies down and all lights go off, screams rising through the crowd as Wunderhorse comes onto the stage. Buzzing at a frequency unheard of, you bounce off the balls of your feet, hand holding Jisung as you exclaim, “It’s them! It’s really them!”

Missing how flushed Jisung becomes at the contact, you sing with all your heart - offkey and all - to their opening song, Midas. The energy is through the roof, a dizzying world of flashing lights and music that retches the lyrics straight out of you. In a moment’s chance, Jisung and you turn to each other mid-song, smiles bright as the stage lights outline your damp faces, chest heaving with a mouthful of lyrics in their wake. It’s the happiest you’ve been, holding his hand like this, and as the night winds to simmer, you sway to slow songs and thank your lucky stars for finding your way back to this.

After the show, you two chatter with other adoring fans before trekking to your nearby hotel, stomachs growling for food. Jisung finds a great Chinese place that delivers until 2 am, a gesture you simper at, unaware he’d even remembered you’d liked the cuisine. At this point, you’re drained in the best possible way, a dull ache in your feet but riding a high of something you’ll remember forever. 

Now, you’re all up to speed. Great. Let’s get back to your current dilemma.

Somehow, someway, your unlaced and stubborn platform shoes cause a stumble, one that Jisung tries to save you from but ends up caught in the mix. How, you might ask? Well, you’re not entirely sure but what you definitely know is that you’ve fallen on one of the beds, Jisung’s body caging yours as he braces his own fall. Face-to-face. With you.

Ok.

You’re close enough to share a breath, within reach to see his long lashes and shaky pupils that dart from your eyes to your lips, back to your eyes again. Suddenly, the room temperature dials to an unprecedented heat, walls closing in on you two as you lie in waiting. Waiting for the other to make their move. To lean in or pull away, heads or tails on a coin.

His phone rings, cutting through the tension-filled air with a knife. The moment, gone. 

“You okay?” he rasps, a knit in his eyebrows as if he’s holding himself back. You blink wordlessly, your answer in an absent nod. “I’ll, uhm…get the food.”

It’s not a suggestion, nothing that you can object to, particularly when he’s long gone and you’re clutching at your chest, months of infatuation knocking the breath out of you.

When Jisung returns minutes later, you’ve turned the TV on, preparing to fill the silence if need be. It proves necessary, only groans of pleasure and compliments to the chef shared between you two as you eat your weight in noodles. Not much is said when you’re getting ready for bed either, brushing your teeth together as if you're a couple and settling into separate beds, all the lights turned off.

Still reeling for the fall, and convinced his shallow breaths allude to his slumber, you’re startled by the call of your name, head turning towards Jisung beside you.

“Yes?”

“You sure you’re ok?” he asks before clearing his throat. “That was…some fall.”

You can say that again.

“I’m ok,” you lie. You’re on high alert, frazzled at every end with a heart you’ve just realised longs for the man not even two metres away from you. “Are you?”

Silence. The only feedback you hear is the crinkle of his duvet as he shuffles in his bed.

“Ask me another question.”

You turn to him, shrouded in darkness. “Like what?”

He doesn’t speak again, lets the silence devour the space between you before he says. “Ask me about the person I’m interested in.”

Water that rivals the arctic pours down your back, a harsh call to reality as you remember. Right, he has someone he’s interested in. Someone who he’ll devout his time to, listen to their music recommendations and hold their hands at concerts. And you? Well, you’ll still be friends, just not as close. Maybe not even friends at all.

The thought closes an iron fist around your heart.

“Why haven’t you asked them out?” is what you manage, because it’s on your mind - what time and place he’ll find himself in when he confesses his feelings.

“Because I’m scared,” he admits, small and in a whisper. “Considering we met online, it’s kind of hard to gauge their interest or read any signs. You don’t give me much to work with,”

You still. “I don’t?’

“I mean, I haven’t been too obvious, but I’m crazy about you,” he confesses. “I love the light in your eyes and the kindness in your heart. You’re so deeply human and live life like it’s your first and last. There’s no one like you and I think the idea of knowing how special you are triggered my fear of rejection. Because what would my life be without watching festival performances drunk with you? What would it be if you didn’t laugh at my lame jokes and didn’t command my every thought?”

Jisung shuffles again, a flicker of dim light in between you two at a lamp source as he stares over at you, wholehearted and vulnerable. “It’d be an empty one - not worth living.”

Slowly, your body brings you upwards, the two of you hanging off the edges of your bed. So close if you’d reach out, your hands would touch. 

“When?” you croak, unable to meet his eyes. “When did you…start feeling this way?”

His eyes lower, a slight curve to the corner of his lips. “Around November?”

Electricity zaps your back straight. Five months ago? “When we joined the server?”

“Shortly after that,” he admits, a coy grin breaking out against his flushed features. “I was having a really hard day and you’d recommend a song in the chat, Favourite by Fontaines DC, and said how nostalgic and hopeful it felt to you. I gave it a listen and…it was like a battery in my back. I cried, but I also smiled too because I understood what you meant by it all,”

He threads his fingers together, peering up with shining eyes as he adds, “it felt like a peak into your soul, and mine too….I think that’s where it started.”

Your hand finally reaches out, overlaying his as tears fill your sight. “You know you’re my favourite, right?”

“No one stood a chance after that drunk video of you singing along to Champagne Supernova,” you share a laugh, reminiscing of the video he accidentally sent into the server one December night. A die-hard Oasis fan till the end. “I mean it. There’s no one I’d want to spend my days with, listen to music with and discover all there is to life. No one but you.”

His bottom lip gives a wobble, hands unearthing from yours as his thumb grazes your knuckles, bringing the hand up in a searing kiss. One he looks you right in the eyes for as he says, “Can we push the beds together please?”

You bark out an unexpected laugh, fondness shaping your smile as you speak with all of your heart. “I would love nothing more.”

[acornered]

I am finally working on launching a patreon for my art because I am flat broke and cannot stand another second at a commercial job. Tbh this is so difficult because I have never had much confidence in my abilities as an artist, but my girlfriend (who makes her living as an artist on patreon) has been so sweet and encouraging, and her support has helped me muster up the courage to try sharing my art with the world.

Anyway, a question for the kind people of tumblr: what sort of things would you like to see me make art of? What objects would you be willing to give me a small monthly sum for? Any advice or words of encouragement from fellow artists? Is my girlfriend the cutest human in the world (yes.)?? Please comment below 😊💜🐛

[shanksbaby]

Hello can you do admirals with a s/o who can't get mad, not exactly like kuzan cuz he could still have disagreements, but I mean you could throw a brick at them and they would just get it treated, and then be like don't do that again or sum-

btw love the writing keep it up👍

the request are closed but since i like this prompt so much, i decided to write anyway, thank you for the kind words!

Admirals with a difficult to anger S\0

Borsalino

you two are very similar. In fact, no one has ever seen Kizaru angry, or actually feel any negative emotion, he always wears the same smirk. And even though he sometimes seems sadistic in dealing with the pirates he doesn't show anger like Sakazuki.

literally the most peaceful couple in the world

joking aside, I feel like colliding with Kizaru or Kizaru colliding with you are very rare events. It's more likely that Kizaru gets mad at you for something, although as soon as he sees your little face looking at him with that calm look he forgets all his anger.

but these events are rare, you never get angry and Kizaru is too lazy to start an argument with you, among other things with a person who has never raised his voice with anyone.

and even when he gets angry with you, the yellow monkey can at most show a face of frustration, but he will never raise his voice at you (in reality he has never done this with anyone), if the topic involves him excessively he may change tone of voice (he doesn't raise it but simply stops dragging the words)

Sakazuki

I think you are one of the few, if not the only person to calm his anger. But in the beginning it wasn't always like this… the first time he got pissed at you and saw you looking at him with that innocent look while asking him to please stop because he was attracting attention, he thought you were teasing him.

then he started to understand that you couldn't get angry, he doesn't know how you do it, especially when the world is full of idiots and incompetents.

at first he looked at you as if you were an alien, sometimes he tried to force you to get angry, for example by shouting at you for silly things at work, but nothing seemed to trigger your anger so he gave up feeling defeated. You are one of the few people who managed to surprise him.

when you see him get angry you always try to calm him down (also because you are worried about his physical well-being). Sometimes you succeed, other times you just end up making the situation worse. But you never get angry with him, so much so that the marines think you are some kind of divine gift.

Kuzan

as Jinbei said, Aokiji is a man who rarely shows his passion. Generally he never gets angry either, he is much more laid back (similar to Borsalino). So arguments with him are very rare, also because he really doesn't have the energy to argue, especially with you.

he was surprised when after a guy spilled a drink on you only for you to refuse him and you just looked at him and told him he shouldn't have done that…I mean, he got mad about you and you, on the other hand, didn't Did you show the slightest sign of anger?

so, just like Sakazuki, he tried to whet your anger, through for example jokes like throwing you in the pool or ruin your food, but nothing. All you did was ask him to never do that again because you didn't like these pranks.

the rare times he gets angry with you and raises his voice (we know that in fact he can be loud sometimes), he immediately feels guilty when he looks into your eyes. You are too cute to be mad. Then she immediately apologizes and tries to make up for what he has done through gifts or bringing you coffee.

I am sorry if it's short but sadly i am in session + i have to go at the university for the laboratories

[genderqueerdykes]

hey what are your thoughts on the word gay just being used by people who don’t strictly fit the definition of it?

like for example I’m non binary and I don’t feel like my attraction to any gender is straight, so I often just use the word gay or queer as a descriptor for myself

anyway I think ur account is pretty cool and u hope this isn’t weird :)

hello there!

i think it's totally fine for you to use gay to describe your attraction! there are lots of non binary gays out there, you do not have to be a man in order to be gay, and you don't even have to be attracted to men. from roughly the 1950's all the way up to the 1990s in the United States, it was extremely common for lesbians to call themselves "gay women"! you still find people who identify that way to this day!

"gay" was used as a sort of umbrella for people with queer attraction, regardless of gender, for many decades! and besides, non binary attraction can be quite difficult to sum up at times, so saying that your attraction is "gay" or "queer" makes perfect sense to me!

naw that's not weird, thanks for stopping by to ask! that's totally chill. there's loads of gay non binary people out there! there's no limits to what kind of attraction you can experience, especially when you're stepping outside of the conventional gender binary. hope that helps somewhat! take care, thanks for stopping by to ask!

[starmahgalaxies]

YES. YES. YES.

I could post more comments but that about sums it up. Drowning in a sea of denial won't save either of you, child. lmao.

Hikari, you look so much better! ❤️

This just made things a whole lot more difficult. I'm not blaming kitty. I could never blame a kitty mostly. I do love that the background for this episode is the digivice being herded around by a lot of animals and some motor vehicles.

Kid goes to to summer camp for one day (and everything I could gather is it's meant to be an overnight camp as the parents are shown surprised their kids suddenly came home) and acts like they were gone for months. I don't want kids but if I had them and this was the response I would be anxious to have them away again for a while.

Anyway, Taichi is a sweetheart and parent hugs can be the best.

You could have told them. "Hey, I would like some privacy, please knock and ask for permission before you come in." And I think they would have taken it fine.

I'm not against kids locking their doors if they need to. They should be allowed to set aside something that is simply their space. I'm more unnerved that there isn't a built in locks already, and Koushiro had to go out and buy one. He is shaken by the decision though, and that's why I'm bringing it up as a simpler situation would be asking.

Every adopted child experience I have heard about says that the children would have been preferred to be told at the earliest possible time, and it's a breach of trust to withhold that essential information and shows lack of faith that they could handle it, exasperating the problem.

Something that could lead to trust issues beyond that (see above with Koushiro installing a lock in his bedroom without mentioning it because he feels that it is the easiest solution despite loving his parents).

I'm not adopted and don't have personal experience, hence why I won't make shitpost jokes about it like I do with Yamato and Takeru dealing with their parents divorce (of which my experience is plenty), but I still feel like mentioning... yeah. Be honest with your kids.

Their faces are funny. Caught in the headlights there.

Child who is more logical and pragmatic coming up with a whole comedy routine on the spot. Respect.

Beyond the roadblock of Koushiro not being told about his adopted status, they could compete for the sweetest family in Adventure.

Koromon small enough to eat without notice under the table XD.

I respect you taking your sister's word for it, but no. Do not let the conversation drop. It's obviously her. AHHHH

In other news, sleepy Koromon is adorable.

Giant iceberg of slime ahead 😁

I knew the perverted old man files will corrupt Gennai eventually. This is a joke... mostly.

If I can't see through Tentomon's disguise from the back then I guess it's a pretty good disguise.

Knows her child came home more emotional than usual and seems to have had a long day vs. "I know he would be upset if I didn't wake him up and tell him his friend called and seemed troubled."

😆😁

He looks so happy ❤️

Yeah! If I child is comfortable enough to misbehave/be rebellious around their parents than that could be a sign that they are comfortable enough to not be seen as "perfect." Showing weakness around authority figures is a better sign than them putting on a perfect act to avoid disappointment or retaliation.

Two worried siblings concerned about two different things looking out into the distance forlornly:

[mortish-writes]

I'm considering adding another route following the first seven nights. I've gotten various requests over the past few weeks and this encompasses most of the types of story lines that have been requested. Each of these routes would come with a unique prologue and MC. I'll explain each one below.

M/F/M - Storyline where Valdricht and Serax aren't in a relationship. You can choose to be with both of them in an MFM relationship or split off with one. I think the trickiest aspect of this one is the MF options. Valdricht/MC would be a piece of cake, but if it's just you and Serax, it'll be really difficult to get him to engage with the epic gods and monsters story line. He'd rather laze about a brothel and tell stories of slaying dragons than actually slaying them. It might be kind of fun to write all the ways he attempts to avoid doing anything that will advance the plot. It might also turn into a brothel simulator.

Priest - You'd play as a male MC raised within the Elodari faith with a backstory that's pretty intense. Your overall story line would be similar to that of the Heretic route, except with the added struggle of adapting to the female body given to you by The Weaver.

Female Serax - Why does this need its own route? Can't we just click a button and make Serax a lady? Girl, please. It needs an entirely different backstory for Serax, Valdricht, and the MC. Tbh I've given this one the least amount of thought, probably because I know it would be the most fun and I don't want to distract myself. And by least amount of thought, I mean that I have a 20k word outline.

Cultist - Oh boy. Here's some BoS lore for you. This was supposed to be the original story route alongside the Heretic route. I'd planned to do a Light vs Darkness MC route where you could be raised in the Elodari faith as a vestal or raised by fanatical Duskweaver cultists. I realized that it would mean a lot more writing and I'd be significantly delaying the demo launch, so I scrapped it. But it's all still outlined and it's quite different. Rather than being a Cinderella-esque story, you're a venerated child and you're raised in a hidden place with the knowledge that you'll be the mother of a god. To sum it up, you'd play as a sheltered shadow princess.

Anyway, I'll run this poll again later. I think that your opinions might change as you get to know the characters better.

Night IV is coming along well. The intimate scene took some turns I didn't expect and came out even better than I'd hoped. I'm still playing with the Zealot route to see if there's any possibility for that on Night IV, but I don't think there's any scenario in which it feels like intimacy is something she genuinely wants, rather than feels obligated to engage in because of The Weaver. Having grown up on my grandma's stash of 70's bodice rippers about women getting abducted by hot pirates and highland lairds, I could easily write that sort of scene, but I think it would offend modern sensibilities. I'll give it some more thought once I wrap up the main route.

-Mortish

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Task master III, or: Made a meal outta me, and come back for more

Chapter 1 - The Bet

(Dean Winchester x female reader)

Summary While you and Dean are on a case, you plan to revive an old game, but because you’re on a job, it’s a little more difficult. So you have to get creative. Or: Dean and you tease each other and whoever cracks first, loses. Chapter 1 of 3. CWs Two idiots that are desperate for each other. Fingering & handjob. Ridiculous amounts of flirting. 18+, 4.5k words

Task master series masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

All work and no play is making you a very dull, horny girl, you are thinking as you enter the luxurious penthouse.

Dean is walking ahead of you, all broad shoulders and that perfect ass clad in washed out jeans. It’s evil, actually, how good he looks from the back, when he already looks so good from the front. There are things you want to do to this man that are making it very, very difficult to focus on what you’re supposed to do, which is work.

The penthouse belongs to a guy called Richard Mulligan III and he wants to offer you and the Winchesters a job. A paying job, which isn’t what you usually do.

But things have been tight. The credit card scams have gotten you into some trouble lately which is why you need to lay low in that area, and you can’t get by on hustling pool or darts, at least not for long. This guy is offering you a substantial sum to take care of a demon problem he has, so you know it’s along your line of business.

Sam is staying off the case, both because there’s other work to do and also because his delicate sensitivities make him reluctant to accept money for hunting. Dean and you don’t have the same reservations. In your opinion, you should be getting paid for this job anyway.

But since money’s been tight, some of your usual indulgences have had to take a backseat, one of them being you and Dean having your own motel room. It’s not that you mind sharing with Sam, you love the big lug, it’s more that it hasn’t allowed you and Dean any… privacy for a while.

And right about now, you are in dire need of some privacy with your boyfriend. Especially if he has the nerve to walk around with an ass like a ripe peach and shoulders that make you want to yodel.

Okay, concentrate. If you do this job and get paid, you are locking Dean in a room for a week. You’re probably tying him to the bed, so he can’t leave.

You need to take a deep breath at that particular mental image.

The private security guys that greeted you at the elevator are now leading you into what seems to be the living area of the penthouse. It’s all marble and you think there’s an unhealthy amount of modern art that doesn’t really mean anything to you on the walls. But as Dean once said – the uglier the art, the richer the people.

The guy himself is sitting in a giant cream colored armchair, and he gets up when the two of you walk in. Jesus, you’re sticking out like sore thumbs, Dean in his usual plaid, jeans and cotton, you mostly in black, tight fitting but practical.

The guy – Mulligan – looks at you kindly. He looks like a dandy, including a thin, dark mustache. He extends his arms a little in what’s supposed to be a welcoming gesture.

Types like this, you know, either distinguish themselves by looking down at people like you or they are fascinated, want that life style, or think they do, the fact that everything comes easy to them making them feel like they are missing out on some substantial masculine experience. Some of them start hunting rare animals, some have mistresses, and some, like this guy, start dabbling in the occult.

“So good of you to make time for me,” he says, and you recognize his silky voice from the phone call you had with him a few days ago. He shakes Dean’s hand, making sure to grip hard and keep his gaze, then takes your hand and to your horror, brings the back of it to his mouth, kissing it.

“Enchanted,” he says, smiling at you. You raise your eyebrows.

“Sure,” you say, but you’re not sure what the expected response to that is.

“You want a drink?” Mulligan asks, like this is a social call. Dean inclines his head.

“Wouldn’t say no to that,” he says. Mulligan waves his hand at one of the security guards, who apparently moonlights as a waiter, then notions to the couch across from the armchair he was in. You and Dean sit, and you look around the place.

There’s a long bar, a TV the size of the Impala and a pool table. Mulligan is talking in hushed tones to another security guard who walks off on another quest just as the first one returns with a tray of drinks. It’s flutes of something bubbly, and while you were hoping for something stronger, you sure aren’t going to complain.

You take one of the glasses when the guard lowers the tray towards you, and suppress a giggle as Dean takes a glass as well, his disappointment showing on his face. He’s fisting the stem of the glass like he’s gonna use it to attack someone. Mulligan takes the third glass while you take a sip, the bubbles tickling your nose, and then you notice that the rich man is watching you and Dean.

“You are… together?” he asks and both you and Dean look at him dumbfounded. It’s not a question and not a statement, but Mulligan continues talking before either of you can answer.

“It must be a thrilling life, hunting,” he says, his voice all dreamy. “The brushes with death, the diverse bodily fluids one is confronted with every day, the constant facing off with external and internal darkness, it must be…” He searches for the right word for a second. You desperately hope he doesn’t find it.

“I imagine it must be quite the aphrodisiac,” he concludes. You force a polite smile, even though you don’t really want him to be imagining anything.

“Yeah,” Dean says, also a gritty smile on his face, and he throws you a quick look, eyebrows raised just enough for you to see.

“About that job you were talking about…” he continues, hoping to get the conversation back on track.

“Yes,” Mulligan says, nodding. “As you know I run a few businesses downtown.” He pauses, takes a sip.

“Do you like the Romanée?” he asks you suddenly. “I’ve always preferred it over the Roederer.” You’re not sure what he’s talking about for a second but then you realize he means the champagne.

“It’s delicious,” you say, trying your best at a charming nod. It seems to be the right answer, because Mulligan smiles, impressed by your good taste, maybe.

“Anyway,” he continues. “My businesses are all legal, proper. They allow reprieve for those with occult interest, a place to come together, have a drink, discuss their passions and sometimes engage in some… more carnal satisfactions.” He raises his eyebrows to make sure you both understand what he means.

“Fucking,” you confirm. Dean looks at you again, a little surprised but also a smile playing on his lips, while Mulligan giggles.

“Get straight to the point, don’t you?” he says. You shrug as if to say yeah.

“Nothing illegal happens in my little den of sin,” Mulligan continues. “Yes, some of the desires put on display there are a little exotic, but it all happens between consenting and very willing adults.” You nod along. Let it be your luck that during the time you’re lusting for Dean more than you ever have you end up in an investigation that surrounds a supernatural sex club. Of course.

“But,” Mulligan continues, “a lot of my clientele is from rich, old families. And very often, they are not as open minded. There has been a gang of demons in this city for years, and I’ve always left them in peace and they me, but lately they have decided to try to blackmail my clients by exposing them in indulging in some of the more compromising acts.” Mulligan sighs.

“What do you know about those demons?” you ask.

“They are led by a fellow who calls himself the Butcher,” and at that Mulligan rolls his eyes. “I’ve never credited demons with an overabundance of creativity, but the Butcher? Please.” He takes another sip and you do the same. The stuff isn’t half bad.

“And you want us to take the guy out of commission?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Mulligan confirms. “Him and enough of his cronies that he leaves me the hell alone. Pun intended.” He winks at you both, and you have to admit, he’s kind of starting to grow on you.

“Okay,” Dean says, thinking. “We’re gonna need access to the club. We’re also gonna need to speak to police to find out where those demons are hiding out.” Mulligan nods.

“Access to the club is easy, of course, but I don’t know about local police.”

You shake your head. “That’s okay, we have a way to do that.” At Mulligan’s questioning look, you add: “Very convincing fake FBI badges.”

“Ah,” Mulligan says, and then a cheeky little look goes over his face, before he adds: “Including the outfits, I hope?” You can’t help but chuckle a little.

“Including the outfits,” you confirm. Mulligan pretends that a little shudder goes through him, then winks at you again.

“Delicious,” he says.

“Okay,” Dean says, clearly not loving this conversation. “We should get going.” You both get up, depositing your empty and Dean’s full glass on the tray the guard is holding towards you.

“All work, are you?” Mulligan asks, and you see him look Dean up and down once. You grin, because yeah, you agree, with the looking him up and down. It's one of your favorite past times.

Dean clears his throat and then Mulligan reaches into his breast pocket and takes out what you believe is a key card.

“This will allow you access to the establishment in question,” he says, handing the card to Dean. “If you need anything, let me know and I will be happy to oblige.” There’s not much more to say, so you nod at Mulligan and start walking out.

Dean pockets the card when you get downstairs where the Impala is parked curbside.

“What’s first?” you ask.

“Police, I would say,” Dean answers, leaning on the roof of the car. “If we can find out where the Butcher and his lackeys are we can go straight there, gank’ em and call it a day.” You nod.

“Makes sense,” you answer and look up at Dean after looking down the street. There’s a distant grin on his face.

“You see that pool table in there?” he asks and you feel a smile spread over your face, knowing exactly where he’s going. “When this job is done, we should play again,” Dean says, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

Dean and you got together over a game of pool, where the price for the winner was that you got to tell the other one what to do. You won, and that’s how you and Dean ended up having sex in the Impala. The next time you played, when Dean won, is what you would consider the beginning of your relationship. It’s all good memories, but still you find yourself pouting at Dean.

“Wish we could stop and play right now,” you say. Dean nods and then opens the car door.

“Believe me, darlin’,” he says, “so do I.”

As you’re driving back to the motel, Dean’s hand doesn’t leave your leg. It’s what he always does, a sweet, casual yet slightly territorial gesture, but with what you were just talking about and your ever growing need for him, it carries a lot more meaning. Almost as if reading your thoughts, his hand slips higher while you’re stopped at a red light.

“Dean,” you say, torn between your tone being warning and encouraging.

“Am I makin’ you nervous?” he asks and you could slap that cocky expression off his face when he turns to you. And no, nervous isn’t the right word, but you’re not gonna admit that.

So with a grin, you say: “Oh please, I have so much more self-control than you.” Dean narrows his eyes and when he speaks, it’s not in the flirty, raspy tone he just used, but in his normal voice.

“Wait, do you actually think that?” he asks, unbelieving.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, not believing he is actually questioning this. “By, like, a long mile.” The light goes green and Dean looks at the street, but he throws you another look.

“You know you’re wrong, right?” he asks. “I mean, we’re joking and all, but you know you’re wrong.” Your mouth actually falls open.

“I am not wrong,” you say, your voice confrontational. Dean actually scoffs. How dare he.

“Excuse me,” you say and you lean forward, one finger pointing at Dean, “but who fucked who in that closet in the haunted house when that asshole ghost wouldn’t show up?” Dean chuckles, and grabs for your finger, closing his hand around it.

“Baby,” he says, “that’s because you begged me to do that.”

“I did not beg,” you reply, but you also have to giggle, “I asked politely.” Dean laughs and he pulls your hand in, kisses it.

“I love you, you know that?” he says. Your heart flutters at that.

“I love you too,” you say, but can’t help but add: “And I do have better self-control than you.” Dean grins, then nips at the skin on the back of your hand.

“Sure you do,” he says.

You get to the motel, check in. It’s not a nice place, there’s several spots of water damage on the wallpapers and it doesn’t smell great either, so you’re more than happy when you and Dean agree to simply get changed and get out of there.

Dean tosses his flannel into his bag while he picks out his suit, while you undress to your underwear. You’re just about to put on the rest of your outfit when you step in front of the bathroom mirror, and stop what it is you’re doing to pin up your hair, make it look a little more respectable.

You’re concentrating on doing that when you suddenly see in the reflection of the not entirely clean mirror that Dean is watching you. He’s still in the bedroom but he’s stopped whatever he’s doing to look at you.

“What?” you ask, grinning. He starts walking towards you and even that, even just that, him walking, is enough to make you feel heat bloom in your core.

He stops right behind you, so close that you can feel his breath on your now exposed neck and runs his hands over your shoulders and down your arms.

“Nothin’,” he says, then leans down and kisses your shoulder. “Just thinking that we should allow ourselves a couple of days off when this is done.” You smile and nod.

“I was thinking the same thing,” you reply. Dean keeps studying your skin, mesmerized by whatever he’s seeing as he kisses you a little closer to your neck.

“Oh yeah?” he says, and the next kiss lands on the back of your neck. “Any specific plans?” You can feel your body react to him, especially when his hands wander from your arms to your hips and then up.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you ask, because you want to tease him but also because even with this small amount of touching you are already working at only fifty percent brain capacity. Dean Winchester just has that effect on you.

“I would like to know,” he says, and one of his hands wanders higher, while the other wanders lower.

“But I can tell you what I have planned in the meantime,” he continues, and then he squeezes your breast, making you gasp a little, while at the same time running his fingers along the waistband of your underwear. He brings his mouth close to your ear, while holding your gaze in the mirror. “Would you like to know?”

You nod, because your mouth is dry and talking might be difficult. Dean squeezes your breast again, then lets his fingers roam over the fabric of your bra to find your nipple, while he flattens his other hand over your belly, then pushes his fingers down into your panties.

“First of all you’d be wearing a lot less than this,” he says, voice low as he watches your reaction to the tips of his fingers grazing your clit – a little added tension in your muscles, your back arching just a touch. He starts touching you with both hands at the same time, the fingers on your nipple making the same circles as the one in your underwear. A little sigh leaves you and you lay your hands on his lower arms, just wanting to touch him, be close to him.

“And I would use that cat toy thing you have to get you all worked up,” Dean continues, then gently closes his lips on your earlobe and tugs at it. You grin, finding your voice.

“It’s not a cat toy,” you say, a little breathless “it’s a feather tickler.” Dean shrugs.

“Yeah, that thing,” he continues, unperturbed. “And I would use it on you until you are dripping wet and begging for me.” You bite your lower lip and push your ass back against Dean, but he only grins.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I mean until you ask politely for me.” You purse your lips, not willing to show him your laugh at the tease. Your hand on his one arm wanders lower, until it is over his hand, only separated by the fabric of your panties, as you are urging him to go faster.

“Smartass,” you mumble, but it doesn’t come out particularly cool, since your voice is cracking a little. At that, Dean squeezes your nipple a little more harshly, a tiny moan escaping you.

He is looking at you intently in the mirror, studying your face and he’s pulling you against him a little, grinding his hardening cock against you. The pace he is rubbing you with is picking up, and you lean your head back against him, the arousal building and building in you as you roll your hips, adding to the friction and stimulation.

Dean moves his fingers from your clit for a second, pushing them lower on you, and then pushes two fingers into you, his palm continuing to rub you. You moan again and cup his hand from outside of your underwear so you can really grind against him, push him deeper.

“And then?” you ask, stuttering, but Dean is staring at you in the mirror. You see him shake his head.

“Look at you,” he says, and his voice is so low and raw that it sends a bolt of lightning through you. You do then, look at yourself in the mirror, the way Dean has you fast in his grasp but you are squirming, grinding yourself back against his crotch, where you can feel his hardness now, and down on his hand, desperately seeking release.

And the way Dean is studying you, like you are the best thing he’s ever seen.

“You gonna come on my hand?” he asks, and you nod, because it’s all you want, all you can think of. Your hand leaves his then and you bring it behind you, a tight fit between how hard you are pressed against Dean, but enough to find the zipper of his pants. You can’t quite reach, so Dean lets go of your breast, undoes the button and the fly and you let your hand wander inside, immediately finding his wonderful, hard warmness, while he brings his arm around you again, this time around your waist though so he can tug you even closer.

You start stroking him and while the angle is a little awkward it’s also arousing, to have him so close, to need to rely on just your sense of touch, and you make up for it in eagerness and enthusiasm, plus Dean is quickly fucking himself into your hand so your own coordination doesn’t need to be so good.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters and leans his forehead against the back of yours, looking down himself. He looks back up, grin disheveled in his reflection.

“Been a while since I got a handjob,” he says, and he’s breathing heavily, but so are you, because Dean keeps pushing his fingers into you and they’ve started to make a wet sound. That plus the visual of seeing him like this is getting you there fast.

You bite your lip, rub him faster. You would suggest that he turn your around and fuck you instead but the thought of stopping even for a few seconds quickly discourages you. You need to get off, and so does Dean, because, again, it has been way too long.

“Baby,” Dean says and you can feel his movement stutter a little, his cock twitching in your hand. You just stroke him even faster, so that his expression almost turns to one of pain for a moment, but then he leans forward, and with his grip around you almost slams himself and your hand against your ass a few times before he groans and squeezes his eyes shut, and you can feel his come coating your hand.

You gasp at the feeling, and you can almost feel Dean’s release in your own body, which shouldn’t be possible. He takes a few seconds to recover, his movement on your having stopped when he started to come. He’s breathing hard and you can’t help but grin at his mirror image.

“Now tell me who’s got bad self-control,” you say. Dean looks up and he actually glares at you and then a second later he pulls his hand from you. He grabs your hand that was in his pants by the wrist, pulls it out, ignoring the mess he’s making and then he is turning you around.

His hand is back in your underwear immediately and he pushes you back against the sink as he start driving his fingers into you as fast as the confinement of your underwear allows it. It feels so intense for a second that you bring one leg up, and Dean pins it under his elbow, keeping it there, not changing his pace.

Your head leans back, meets the mirror with a thud as the rough stimulation makes your body twitch. Dean pushes his mouth against your neck the moment it is exposed to him, mouthing at it.

“How am I supposed to control myself,” he says and his hand driving into you is now making a loud squelching sound on every push. “When you’re standing around looking like this?” You moan, high-pitched and repeatedly, and you can feel an orgasm building in you, brought on fast and hard by what Dean is doing.

“When all I’ve been thinking about for the last week,” he continues, and curls his fingers inside you a little further than he already was, making more intense pleasure explode in you. “Is how badly I wanna make you come so hard you scream my name?”

And you’re pretty sure that’s exactly what you’re going to do, because just then Dean scrapes his teeth along your neck, the additional stimulation making your stomach muscles pull together, your leg lift up even higher.

“Come on,” Dean breathes against you. “Come for me, baby.” Your hands tighten on the edge of the sink where you’ve been trying to hold on, steady yourself against Dean’s hard work on you.

“I, Dean, oh god, Jesus, fuck,” you moan as you feel your pussy clench on Dean’s fingers, the heady high starting to hit you.

“I—” you just gasp but there’s really no need to announce your orgasm. Dean can feel it, can feel it in your desperate clenching, the grimace your face is pulled into, she shudder going through you and the animalistic sound coming from somewhere in your throat.

You tense, your entire body does, and Dean brings his lips back to your neck, kissing, gently now, so that that is the first thing you feel when your body comes back to earth.

His fingers are still working at you but slowly, only to help you through the release, and the second he can feel you start to try to close your legs, he pulls back, uses the hand instead to hold you up.

Your wrap your one arm around his shoulders, making sure it’s not the one with the hand with his come on it. And his lips are the first thing you feel, the way they brush over the thin, sensitive skin of your throat, so gentle that you could almost think you’re imagining it. Your head falls forward against his and Dean just holds you for a minute, and you hold him.

“Holy shit,” you mutter eventually, and feel Dean chuckle against you.

“Holy shit,” he repeats. It’s like a fog is clearing and you’re able to think straight again. Dean pulls his head back and looks into your eyes. You lean forward, kiss him and he returns it, gently.

“I really needed that,” you mutter when you separate just a little. Dean kisses the side of your mouth and then your chin.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, frowning.

“Cause we were working and I didn’t want to stress you out?” you say, immediately thinking it sounds silly. Dean huffs.

“Stress me out?” he repeats, landing a short kiss on your jaw.

“Yeah,” you say, and then add: “I realize what that sounds like now.” Dean looks at you again, grins.

“At least now we can concentrate on work, right?” he asks. Right, work. Totally.

You nod, kiss him again, and then Dean is letting go of you and you stand on your own two feet again.

Damn, you could use a nap.

Dean grabs some toilet paper, cleans himself up and you wash your hands. As Dean tosses the paper into the toilet and then washes his hands as well, he bumps his shoulder into yours.

“I still think I have better self-control than you,” he says, and gives you a challenging look in the mirror. You roll your eyes.

“Give it up, Winchester,” you say. “There is no way. No. Way.” Dean narrows his eyes.

“You wanna put that to the test?” he asks. You frown.

“Only if you’re prepared to lose,” you reply.

“Ha,” Dean says. He quickly dries his hands on a small towel hanging off the wall, then turns to you. You face him, listening.

“Until this case is done,” he says, and holds his hand up before you, “whoever gives into the other first, loses.”

“What’s the price?” you ask, and Dean shrugs.

“Honor?” he asks. “Sexual servitude?” You grin.

“Baby,” you say, “if you want me to be your master you just have to say that, you don’t have to pretend to start a bet you’re going to lose anyway.” Dean chuckles, arrogantly.

“Please,” he says. “I’ll have you in a Princess Leia costume before you know it.”

You think for a second, than take his hand where he extended it to you.

“Deal,” you say and shake it. Dean grins and you grin and maybe this case isn’t going to be so bad after all.