#it's hefty too! and Very sharp.

[rocketbirdie]

GUYS CHECK OUT THE LETTER OPENER I FOUND AT THE ANTIQUE FAIR

[tonycries]

BUTTER

Synopsis. First time cúmming inside = first time losing his mind.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, creampíes, PÚSSYDRÚNK JJK MEN, breéding, cúmplay, men whímpering, virgínity loss (Choso), overstím, ínnapropriate use of jujutsu, GOJO’S POWERS, proposals, full nélson, true form Sukuna, dp, spítting, p slápping, p talking, limitless, oraI (fem rec.), pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Earned it.

“I-is she really tellin’ me to hah- f-fill her up inside, doll?” Toji breathes, dazed eyes locked down at your stuffed entrance. And he can barely focus his gaze - barely even try to sound like himself right now. “I-is this real?”

Ragged rasps just about half as ruined as he feels, lilting up in pitch. In strain. Sharp intakes of breath becoming so labored when his entire hulking body wracks with a heaving shiver. 

And Toji’s scrambling his thick fingers to latch roughly onto your face, your waist - anywhere and everywhere that might help him keep an ounce of his sanity.

But it was too late.

“Heh, did I hngh- fuck the rationality outta ya? You really want me t-to-” Head throwing back, he can’t even think of finishing his sentence. Of doing anything other than curling one set of fingers around your throat. Biceps flexing when he shoves you even harder onto all fours on the silken sheets, he cranes over to place a line of pretty pecks down your teary cheeks, panting, “Well…wh-whatever my girl wants- she gets, right?”

And he meant it.

Oh, he couldn’t even believe it. Toji had your pretty pussy overfilled with all of his thick, thorough inches - slamming his hips drunkenly against yours when you’d babbled to cum inside. Fuck, it’s so real.

And that’s all it takes for him to clamor up one of his staggeringly muscular thighs up onto the plushy bed. To messily slip and slide across the saturated puddle of your sweet, sweet dripping juices and press his foot down shamelessly on your head. Like he couldn’t get enough.

The new angle nestles his hefty cock disruptively, dredges of his sweltering hot precum splat! against every inch of your clingy cunt.

“Oh yeah- th-this is the stuff.” His dark, dewy eyes veer to the very back of his head, hissing when his achy cock expands open your gummy walls. Throbbing head swelling plumper to curve even deeper, “Let me- l-let me hear ya, ma-”

Your trembly fingers rake a reddened line down his calf. Gasping for air at the way the rotund end of his angry, strawberry-pink tip kisses against your g-spot so snugly. “W-wan’ it so badly- please.”

“Want what?” Toji’s teasing tone rumbles from behind, and he’s gyrating his hips ever-so-slightly slower. Making sure to draw out those wet, translucent glides down your tight channel, “Can’t- can’t hear you-”

Honestly, he had absolutely no idea whether it was because of your honeyed tone breaking out into the cutest of whimpers, or because Toji’s ears were popping. Swatting a wet smack! at your beading clit to get you to yelp, his drawling mouth moves all by itself. “Already asked- t-tell me now unless ya want me to cum outside-”

“No! No no no-” And that was all the threat it took to have you careening unsteadily onto your elbows, fully forgetting the mean restraint of Toji’s foot on top of you. “Please- need you to cum inside please-”

“Louder.”

You’re sneakily shivering your hips down every one of his rummaging inches. “Toji-”

“Ohhhh- my bad.” With a slight snicker, his tongue glissades a wet gloss down the very edges of his scar. Leaving rounded circular bruises at your bobbing throat just how harshly Toji was jostling you with the vice-like embrace, and you can only manage out a few sniffles when he drags by one strong arm to crash the recoil into his ruthless hips. Dangerously stopping you in your tracks. Humming, “Stop fuckin’ running, I w-was talkin’ to ya pretty pussy.”

Your bleary eyes snap open, “What–”

“Shhh, doll- stop whining so much–” he’s cooing in a syrupy slow cadence. “Jus’ needa- needa hear it from her.”

Slapping down his leaky cockhead along your sloppy hole every few strokes, having you drooling a glossy sheen down his thick shaft like you were painting him. So much of it that the dripping wet noises were resounding in Toji’s ears, dancing around his melty mind like his new favorite song. 

Oh, he loved to hear it. Over and over and-

“S-so soaked.” he’s groaning out like a mantra, darkened eyes grifting together. Mouth can all but lift his drunken maw slack open at every tightening clamp of your syrupy pussy, “You want me to cum inside this badly, doll?” 

And you feel your puffed-up pussy lips get even more soaked at the utter pussydrunk look on Toji’s usually smug-features. “Because I’ve been thinking about this e-ever since the day I met ya-” He’s craning over - hunching, more like.  Baring you with his most crazed gaze, “To breed ya- to fill you up ‘ntil you think you’re gonna hah burst. To make ya a pretty momma so-” Back muscles flexing, abs aching with fatigue, lips dragging a sopping wet kiss. “-please let me cum inside.”

Ah, who was Toji Fushiguro against you?

Because as soon as your head even dares to move within the inch of that half-delirious nod you send his way, Toji’s sopping your insides sloshing wet with his cum. For the first time. In awe. Load after load being fucked up into you - white flashes behind your eyes when you feel it knock against your womb, trickling down over your cervix.

And there’s so much of it.

“Gonna have yer g-gorgeous eyes-” he slurs, crushing you with his full body weight. “-n’ your smile fuck- my love for ya-” It won’t’ stop - Toji can’t stop, can’t reel back the weepy curving divot of his head. “M’thinking four- no- five.” Still oozing out a milky gloss even when he’s dragging his fat cock out of your hole. 

Still cumming. Smearing every nook and cranny of the sheet below white as he flips you around and plants a sudden smack! on your overspilling pussy, gushing out obscenely when Toji’s urgently bringing his face down, down, down.

“Oh. Fuckin’ delicious.” His eyes droop half-lidded at the heavenly sight - shit, he could get used to this. Mouth watering, his feverish breath wafts all over your sensitive pussy. “I earned this, didn’t I, ma?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Happy wife, happy life

“Ken-”

“...”

“Ken.”

But oh, Nanami Kento can’t even hear his pretty wife right about now. Can’t do anything but shove his greedy tongue down the ends of your sopping wet slit, pooling your syrupy juices all the way down to his throat.

In fact, the only response you’re being gifted with is a furious pull on his dangling work tie - barely even bothering to change out of it - to be able to swipe his nose down more freely in a long kiss down your puffy clit. More, more, more-

Keening, your fingers tangle into Nanami’s blond strands - tugging, dragging, but shit, he couldn’t - wont. It hurt for him to even think of pulling away. Roughened palms scissor past your folds, and he pants, “P-please- fuck- just a bit- more-”

He was addicted. Gone. 

“B-but Ken-” Couldn’t register anything past the way your voice was dipping into a whiny territory right now that made him twitch dangerously. That is, until- “Wan’ to cum w-with you- to have you ah- cum inside-”

Oh.

If you thought that Nanami was drunk on you before then you were completely unprepared for the way that singular babbling plea make him still. 

It makes him gasp, honeyed eyes widening, feverish breaths spilling out in heaving puffs of condensation - once, twice. Before your back is suddenly slamming down on the counter, legs splayed out shamefully by Nanami’s sturdy forearms, and your cunt-

Fuck, in a few split-seconds, you were being stuffed so thoroughly open. Nanami’s reddish cockhead springing down to gift a wet thwack! thwack! thwack! on your puffed-up clit, he’s swiping down the ends of your drooling lips. 

“I-inside?” he breathes, a few octaves higher than usual.

You’re nodding, your fingers twirling around his haphazard tie. “Inside.”

“Anything…” Nanami breathes, and he sounds like he doesn’t even know that he’s saying the words. Barely ripping his gaze from you to scramble for your left hand - before placing a sweet, sweet peck on that cool wedding band on your ring finger. “Anything f-for you, my love.”

You’re almost crying at that ruthless stretch of his globular tip poking at your insides, he’s caving in a way open - and even after so many years, you’ve never gotten used to how staggeringly big Nanami’s girth was. How his curved divot was steaming out a thick wad of precum that already made you feel so full.

Now, you two had discussed kids - but never acted upon it like this. This needy. This frenzied-

“Wh-whatever you want, y’know-” He’s humming depravedly into your mouth like a mantra,  thumbing past your pouty lips to spit into your mouth. And that very sight of those translucent splatters makes his hips stutter mindlessly, “Anything for you- anything for the future momma of my kids-”

Shit, you throw your head back as soon as he’s grazing two digits down the very hood of your neglected clit - only for Nanami to jostle your head over his hands.

“C-careful-” he murmurs, hand dipping down to massage your neck. Your shoulders - all while his fat cock was rummaging every nook and cranny of your insides. “-don’t wan’ you to hurt your- hah-self, darling. S’not good f-for the-”

Baby.

Nanami doesn’t think he can even bear to say that simple word right about now. 

Risking losing whatever’s left of his sanity, he’s wrapping one beefy arm around your middle to crush your body to his. And before you know it, you’re being hastily jostled off of the counter and dangled midair - all while your gentle husband barely even breaks a sweat. Utilizing the lewd properties of gravity to let you bounce down onto his long length and back upwards. His voice cracks, “-baby.”

“Ah-” your trembly hands wrap their way around his neck, giving Nanami the perfect angle to pepper peck after sultry peck onto your bouncing tits. “D-don’t hah- drop me, Ken, m’kay?”

Drop you?

Drop you?

God, he lets out a slight chuckle at the very thought. Angling to rut his inches even deeper upwards, every tiny massage of your elastic walls around his painful cock makes Nanami nod. So fervently that stray strands stick to his prespired forehead. Such a pretty mess of your sensible husband. “Mhm- w-won’t drop you, I swear- I swear-”

Hips speeding up in such a sloppy way now, but even how you’re tightening his tie won’t make Nanami stop - slow down.

“Promise?”

Slowly, his dribbling cock gushes out even in even more velvety ribbons, you’re watching in such delirious awe at the way those delicate strings of slick and spit stretch all down his pinkish shaft. 

“Promise-” he groans, feeling light-headed. Heavy balls thwacking in a sticky staccato against your ass. Fingers gliding up, up, up to where he was nudging your sensitive g-spot, bruising out his circumference on all your sensitive areas. Kiss after French kiss into your gooey heaven. He presses down. “-gonna f-fill you up right here- won’t miss. Swear I won’t m-miss-”

And he doesn’t.

God, he grows sullenly quiet to hear all those delicious squelches the very moment Nanami’s steaming hot cum is spilling into you. Warming you from the very insides- and your own orgasm has you seeing stars. 

Sloshing around in his favorite little swivels, he can’t help but let his hips gyrate slowly to feel it coat a creamy gloss down his sensitive cock. To feel your tiny whimpers and whines when his seed dredges down your womb. Drip! drip! dripping onto the kitchen tile in an echoing splatter from your slobbery slit. 

You leave a wet peck at the ends of his curled lips, “W-wan’ keep it all inside, Ken- all of it-”

God, you were going to be the death of him.

“M’gonna marry you all over again- s-swear and- and…” And just then, he shudders so violently that you fear for a split-second, legs around his toned waist tightening. “-o-oh, my love- m’gonna cum again.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - “U-use me.”

“I-I’m so close-”  Geto finds it in himself to grit his teeth, to force his jittery fingers up to pinch your plump clit. “-gonna cum- fuck, s-stop riding me, honey- unless ya want me to fill you up heh-”

It’s said so low and sultry and even through your hazy mind, you know that it’s a simple tease coming from your boyfriend. You know that he didn’t mean anything by it - but that certainly doesn’t stop the way that your hands grasp around his shoulders, knocking your heads into a messy French kiss. “But, I want you to, Sugu.”

Oh. 

Geto Suguru can’t hide the way his chest heaves with a choked-up moan, how his head throws to the very back of his silken pillowcases when his hips rut upwards into you like a fucking animal.

It’s like he was out of control. Ears ringing with the words, it takes the cult leader below you every shred of will in his entire body to groan out, “D-don’t joke like that- fuck- gonna give me a heart attack, y’know-”

“M’not joking.”

Shit, his eyes widen. Straying down to where your puffy pussy lips were bulging around his fat girth, swallowing up every greedy inch that you were being drilled with. Throat dry, every sound that comes out of him now is painfully raspy, “Y-you fuckin’ mean it? Better not be fuck- talking outta this naughty-” Swat! Coming down to kiss a punishing smack against the edges of your drooling cunt. “-pussy.”

You couldn’t fake the way that makes you glissadingingly drenched even if you wanted to. Nails raking down Geto’s curvaceous pecs to steady your stuttering hips, your bounces grow frantic. 

“Please- c-cum inside-” begging. Maybe you were cockdrunk already, pouting in a way that has his hefty, cum-filled balls squeezing. “Jus’ want you all inside-”

And when Geto thinks back to this situation, he doesn’t know how he was ever supposed to stand a chance. Because with a gasping ricochet of his fat, curved cock onto your most precious g-spot, he’s surging stringy wads of seeds that trickles down your inner thigh. Cumming and cumming so hard - it’s never felt this good - that he almost forgets it’s too early.

That is, until you’re gasping a soft “Baby, did you-”

“Sh-shut up-” And you swear your big, strong boyfriend whimpers. He’s furiously blinking away those glittery globular tears at the ends of his eyes. A tiny pout smeared across his rosy pink lips when you’re being flipped.

One hand around your throat, the other plugging back creamy dredge after dredge into your drooling cunt. Almost as if it was offensive to him to catch that syrupy drizzle, he’s making such a fucking mess. 

“Such a filthy girl- n’ a filthy cunt-” He sputters out, and Geto felt like he was burning a bright red blush all down his pretty features. Matching the angry way your hips were being slammed into his, “Think you s-sooo fuckin’ fuck- fuck fuck fuck-”

And shit, he can’t even finish his sentence before those moans are petering out into speechlessness. A singular tight squeeze of your gummy walls encircles his hot girth. And it’s enough to make him whine, “Please- fuck, how are you doing this-”

Sounding so genuinely in disbelief, you watch as Geto’s mouth drops lewdly at the way every pearlescent bead of his cum was directed towards your cunt. Seeping out through the edges of your sopping lips.

You’re giggling in a drunken way that makes him flinch, “S-something wrong, Sugu?”

“Don’t-” he bares you with a feral grin. Heavy limbs throwing apart your limp legs to jostle his hips into you even harder, and it’s like Geto was spearheading into your lungs. Swiping up translucent wet splatters of his fat head in delicious drags down your spongy cervix. Hissing that even the slightest bit of recoil had him parting from the melty depths of your pussy. “-don’t call m that ‘nless you want me to- oh-” His dewy eyes roll to the back of his head, leaving another unapologetic smack! on your peaked clit. “-t-too late. M’gonna cum- fuck fuck fuck- n’ s’all your fault-”

“Awww–” Teasingly, your fingers drag through his long curtain of hair, scratching lightly at Geto’s scalp in a way that makes him purr. “-how can I hah- make it up to you, Sugu?”

The only thing he wanted right now was to cum inside you again. Once more. Twice. Thrice. Again and again and-

“Use me-” Geto gasps, and he’s careening his head down for what you assumed would be one of his favorite messy kisses - only to wrap those pinkish lips around your tongue and suck. “Use me use me- ohh please, use me- honey- make me a daddy. D-don’t even care anymore-”

And when he cums, Geto’s filling your already sloshingly drenched cunt with heavy loads of his seed. Sticky and honeyed enough that it’s next to impossible for him to pull out and sheath his rock-hard dick unforgivingly into your pussy. 

One of the biggest threats to jujutsu society - whimpering when he spews out a stream of wet swears into your open-mouth, shivering at every one of your milking clamps to drag out something delicious from him. 

He’s curling his hulking body into yours, dripping fingers glistening all the way down to Geto’s wrist with just how much of his loads he’d shoveled all the way back inside your cunt. Giving your sloppy hole a languid circle around the diameter with his slender fingers, before popping them into his mouth. 

And Geto can only see stars behind his eyes, he can only moan at the taste, “I think…” Peaking out a hazy eye at your squirming figure - where the hell did you think you were going? He’s hypnotized, dragging you back into his clutches with a hand curled prettily around your throat. “-that w-we’re not done until m’cumming b-blanks, honey.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Marry you…

One swipe - just one swipe of Choso’s fattened, blushing red tip down your slit is all that it takes for his stupidly pussydrunken eyes to run to the back of his head. For his drooling mouth to slack open with all the utter need of a virgin, “Please-”

You’re humming through your moans, arching your body just right for him to feed you more and more of his half-flaccid inches. “Tell me what you want, baby-”

Fuck, he’s winking open his eyes to peer down at you. Hands traveling their way to roughly jostle your pliant body into one of the meanest mating presses you’d never thought your dear inexperienced best friend possible.

“N-noo–” Choso’s whining, pressing wet pecks down your lips. “Don’t call me that, baby- or else m’gonna…”

Choso’s handsome cheeks burn a shameful red when his eyes drift down to the gooey splatters of cum smeared along your stomach from not too long ago. Just the prospect of being able to put it in too much for his fried brain to handle.

And you’re finding your fingers darting across the glossy sheen sticking to your skin, bringing those drippingly wet digits up, up, up for Choso to gladly wrap his lips around. Sucking. 

“But I want you to, Cho–” Watching as his eyes widen, mouth dropping into a soft oh! Your voice drops into such a hum that makes his swollen tip twitch startlingly. “Want you to c-cum inside m-”

Shit, he doesn’t hear the rest of the sentence - and he doesn’t want to. 

Not unless Choso wants to make an even bigger fool of himself in front of his pretty best friend that oh-so-kindly suggested taking away his virginity. Not like there’s anyone else he’d even dream of giving it to.

Thick, sculpted thigh hiking up, he’s slamming his hefty cockhead down until your swollen folds were kissing up in a sweet, sweet pucker against his thick hilt. Grinding in slow, sultry gyrations upwards like he still wanted to stuff you with more, more, more- 

“I-I can can cum inside?” Forehead beading with sweat, lower lip wobbling with the sheer effort that it took to merely hold back the way that his achingly hard cock was straining for release once more. Hissing at the almost sizzling drag of precum down your bulging g-spot. “For my first time? Inside? R-really inside?”

And despite the way that he was so patiently waiting for your answer, Choso couldn’t help the way the greedy curve of his thumb swipes down your peaked clit. Rolling in lazy circles - low, and slow to make your gummy walls clench in that particular way he’s slowly gotten addicted to. 

You’re nodding with a smug smile at how pretty he looked all fucked-out like this. Darkened eyes all droopy and half-lidded like he was blinking through syrup, muscles twitching mouth-wateringly, hair browner than usual with his sweat-dampened streaks. You can’t help but wring your fingers through his locks and tug, in a way that makes him hiss. In a way that makes him gasp. 

In a way that has him spurting out a thicker stream of precum into your gooey cunt - close. So close. “Mhm– let it a-all out inside, baby.”

Oh god, and then he does-

He does and Choso’s sure he sees the pearly gates of heaven right then and there, and he knows you’re his very own angel.

“Move your pretty fingers, baby– I wan’ you to t-take it all-” It’s not even mean the way he swats away one of your hands subconsciously cupping your split pussy - it’s just desperate. So that he can place pound after filthy pound to fuck you into the soaked sheets. 

Whining out, “Yeah please- fuck-”  Snapping his flexible body down until you were folded helplessly in half, every languid second is spent with such velvety ropes of cum being stuffed down to the bottom of your pussy. “Wan’ this forever- forever please-” Thick, stringy wads that stick and slide down your walls - that overspills when it’s too much for your snug channel to take. “W-want this…”

And just one look of his greedy gazy downwards And Choso’s gasping like he couldn’t even believe he could cum this much - couldn’t even believe he could stop at this point.

“Marry me-” he’s sputtering, eyes clearer with the sudden idea. As if he’s imagining it already. Hips shifting to lazy down his sloppy staccato into something more thorough. “B-be my wife- have my kids- please-” Something that has your toes curling with pleasure, branding every ridge and thumping vein down his shaft into your walls contorting around him. Hiccuping - little sobs curling at the back of his throat, “Please- please I need you to marry me-” 

It’s overspilling - adding to that little milky pool from below. He’s barely even thinking before swiping a hand through some of those creamy remnants of cum. Sucking. Taking your own - popping that ring finger of yours into his mouth.

Drool drips down the side of his sodden lips, moving to mewl softly. “D-did that really just happen?”

The words come out nothing but a whisper, strangled and strained from the very depths of his rumbling chest. And Choso’s peering down at you like you were everything - his softening cock sending sparks down his spine with every slight rub down your sopping wet folds. 

“Mhm–” your hands make their way down his pecs, rubbing over pert, pink nipples. Something that makes him let out a low shudder, reddened divot bursting in a few more wispy strings of seed. “N’ you did so hngh- good, Cho.”

“D-did I? Was I your oh- good boy?” he stutters, before letting out a keening pout. “B-but I need to have you cum, too, baby- need to have you cum-” And you’re so at his ravenous mercy when Choso swipes a wet thumb over and over down your throbbing clit. “-and then- then can we get married?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - MESS!

“What the fuck-” The king of curses breathes - he heaves - like never before, even in that human form of his right now. “Wh-what the fuck have you done to me, woman-”

And all the foes in the world had nothing against your honeyed whines. Absolutely no match for the way your elastic walls were clinging around his throbbing cock so tight. No match for your cockdrunk babbling that drove him insane.

“Such a filthy mouth you h-have-” he groans, leering over his inhumanly powerful body to bend over yours. You’re gaping when one of his big, beefy arms jostle you upwards into a headlock. Even shapeshifted from his true form, he was still so strong. Spitting, “Do you dare to- fuck- move those pretty lips of yours n’ repeat those words back to me, brat.”

As if you could do anything else. 

“I-I said-” you’re choking out, panting in feverish gasps of the heady air. “-said I want you to c-cum inside-”

Oh. 

In a split-second, you’re feeling your tautly stretched walls expand to limits you weren’t even sure were possible. The very bottom of your pussy being ravaged with two circular brandings - two. Two matching rock-hard cocks jostling around you. 

And the stretch of Sukuna’s devilishly true form opening your cunt to its very limits is so maddening that it takes you a second to realize that the rest of him had shapeshifted, too. 

Suddenly bigger, suddenly more towering, suddenly the king of curses. 

His strong forearm curls even tighter around your throat, knocking the remaining gasps out of your lungs. “Seriously? L-look where talking outta ya slutty pussy hah- got me-” Sukuna chuckles. Deep and rumbling from his bulging pecs, “-c-can’t even hold a n-normal form- you made me do this- fuck-”

He was fucking you like it was your fault.

Solid inches upon inches that were bruising. And if you thought that Sukuna’s size was staggering in whatever human form he’d conjured up for the safety of your poor pussy - it was absolutely incredible with both his twin girthy cocks. Bigger, thicker. The slightest ruts and grinds into your gushing cunt having him knocking into your lungs, painting down a hefty load of steamy precum. 

Messy.

“Messy-” you hear a primal rumble from above you. Shit, did you say that out loud? Condensed breath heady and hot against your ear, “Heheh- you think this is m-messy, lil’ human? Wait until I-I- hah-”

“Y-you’re really gonna cum inside, Kuna?” you’re batting your teary lashes up at your king, a delirious smile smearing itself all over your face. 

Wobbling when his snapping hips purposefully slow down to mere gyrating squelches, every push and pull feeding your slobbery pussy languidly. You have him hypnotized, maw slacking open with every lazy drag of his heavy cocks back and forth back and forth back and- “Mhm- gonna fill ya up. Breed ya u-until you’re begging that ya can’t take it. Until y-you’re all round n’ glowing with my heirs.”

God. He was out of control.

“I-I can take it-” Your nails rake airily down his ever-tightening forearm - nothing but mere kitten scratches to Sukuna. “Promise Kuna- I can-”

“Tch- this damn naughty m-mouth of yours.” he smirks in a sleazy way - just about all that Sukuna can do to not let his voice break out in whimpers right now. All he can do to hold back his building high, curvaceous tips of his thickened cocks spazzing out tight, voluminous globs of wispy white. He’s covering your prattling mouth with one hand, “Take it then- take it- but ya better make an equal mess f’me. Heh-”

Even through your bleary mind, you already knew what he wanted - to have you squirt all down Sukuna’s weepy cocks. To make a mess. 

Always his favorite.

“Th-think ya can do that?” He snarls down at you, twiddling a few sopping wet digits to toy with your pulsing clit. Third and fourth arms snaking around your waist to keep from your pathetic scrambling. To stop your escape when his hips jackhammer away harder. “Can you- my queen?”

Oh, he cuts himself off with a whimper.

Because all of a sudden your gushing cunt is surging out in waves of translucent slick. It sticks to his rubbing cocks - and all the way to his washboard abs -like a gloss, stars behind your eyes when Sukuna’s fucking you through your high. Praises slipping out in a way that would’ve tarnished the king’s reputation if anyone found out.

But right now, he didn’t care. 

Not when he’s all but bursting from his bawling tips - such thick rivers of cum that knock mercilessly into your gummy spots. The force of both his fat heads streaming out relentlessly is enough to leave your forbidden sweet spots all bruised and battered. 

Inflating your snug channel until Sukuna only had to slide a hand down to about halfway down your abdomen, pressing down at that nudge. “Heh, s’right at h-home-” 

And now that he’s filled your pretty pussy with seed, Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t think it’s possible to cum anywhere else. With a shuddering hiss, he’s dragging his cocks out, spying down with hooded eyes at the way your sloppy entrance was molding and constrictign around him - like you were trying to milk the fucking soul out of him.

But Sukuna had other plans - plans that included letting his second tongue loll out, rough tastebuds sweeping a long lick down your leaky slit. Creamy cum trickling down the pinkish muscle, and he could feel his mouth grinning. Something he’s been wanting to do since he moment he fucking saw you.

“H-hey-” you’re turning your head to huff back at him. 

Smack!

“Ahh, stop yer whining-” Sukuna’s smoothing one hand down over the raised bumps of all five digits on your ass, another one of his hands guiding his fat bases to drive up your sopping crease. Pooling the milky remnants on his rotund tips. “-because m’not done breeding this cunt properly yet, my queen.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Limit(less)

“This time-” Gojo’s heaving out a dragging shudder, his face burying hotly within the tender crook of your neck. Spitting - panting, “This time this time- this- time-”

Oh, it’s been just about the same thing that he’s been babbling for the past few hours now. All that he can utter after so long of his sensitively overworked cock stuffing in and out over your overspilling cunt, flickers of jujutsu bolting with every sodden drag down your melty walls.

Truly, the strongest didn’t expect to be addicted the first time he filled your drooling pussy with thick globs of his seed - it was an accident, the first trial of trying to use limitless for its…unintended purposes. 

But right now, Gojo had absolutely no clue if this was the nth trial or whether he was simply addicted to breeding your pretty cunt.

“T-Toru–” Your fingers scramble backwards to bury in his snow locks - difficult, with the way that your boyfriend was wrangling you into a tight full nelson. Feeling the push and pull of thick cursed technique in the air - inside you. “-s’not gonna work.”

God, just the sear of your grip on his scalp is enough to have Gojo’s hips rutting up in a perfect curve off the plush king-size mattress. Fucking up into your cunt so thoroughly that you gasp at the syrupy slosh of his cum from before inside you. 

His hiccups, voice cracking into a whine at the very end. “D-do you hate me, sweetheart?”

“No?” you’re breathing out in exasperation. But shit, you underestimate just how crazed this tiniest sentiment would drive him, choking back a strangled cry of your name when he’s sending a buzzing smack! down to the hood of your plump cunt. “Fuck- why would you think-”

“Th-then let me use limitless as a- hah- condom, pretty girl-” he’s whining. And you jolt at the wet splatters of a few stimulated, pearlescent tears slipping their way out of Gojo’s eyes. “It’ll work- this time- m’the strongest- s’gonna hah- w-work- a-and if not m’jus’ breedin’ my girl’s cute cunt, r-right?”

But even as he’s prattling on and on about this, you’re feeling the flickering falter of jujutsu around Gojo’s hefty girth. Molding your gummy walls taut around his fat circumference, your spine arches with electricity. 

“Heheh-” Goosebumps prickle down your spine at the high, humorless bout of laughter at your ear - and you crane your head to look at Gojo. Sure that he’s lost it. Already wondering just how high the kill count would be. “-didn’t think th-this pretty pussy of yours would have me so ruined, sweetheart.”

And truly - he sounded like it. 

He looked like it, with his rosy lips ajar, those cerulean eyes watery and half-lidded. Glowing with power and tiny shivers of lighting at every sodden kiss to the bullseye of your g-spot. Clashing over and over in a wet push and pull, Gojo thinks that he could almost feel the rotund indentations of his curved tip right on your sweetest spots. 

“Looks like y-you’re the one ruining me- Toru-” you whine. “Just look-”

Drunkenly, Gojo’s lolling his head to the sound of your voice. Not even looking, barely even thinking - that is, until he sees.

And Gojo can’t help but let out a slew of honeyed, pathetically cracking profanities at the heavenly sight below. Pale forearms stretching out your trembly thighs even more shamefully wide to get an even closer look. 

Of your quivering hole winking up at him glisteningly, coating his fat hilt a creamy ring of white from so many of his failed attempts. Your saturatedly wet pussy lips were practically gulping up all of his heavy inches, slobbering a slow trail of drool down the side of his strawberry pink shaft and onto his twitchy balls. Needy. 

And if Gojo’s limitless protection was unsteady before then-

“Shit-” Gojo takes in a shuddering gasp, slender digits falling down to plant a wet smack! on the very middle of your bulging slit - as if all of this was your fault. “Shit shit shit shit- I-I can’t- oh-” Sharp canines sinking down so hard into your skin that you think he might break through. Just about all that’s keeping Gojo tethered to reality when his limitless shatters. “Oh god. Th-think s’gonna be another b-baby…”

All the way into a zillion pieces of nothingness and-

And then he’s cumming. 

Cumming so hard that the dim lamps by the side of your bed flickers. Then explodes. 

Pouring out such steaming hot piles of his cum - once. Twice. Before his swollen, overwhelmed balls are clenching and then he’s shooting nothing but pathetic blanks. 

It takes you a second to register the sudden darkness - all across Tokyo, in fact. You’re gasping, “O-oh, Toru did you-”

“Run out-” he’s giggling. Giggling. “Fuck you m-made me- hah- really milked me dry, didn’t ya- Spread those pretty legs a bit more, pretty girl. Let me see.” All five rounded pads of his fingers are bruising on your thigh when Gojo’s splaying them out to confirm the sputtering way his cock was driving into you. “Can’t- can’t believe- no way, baby m’supposed t-to fill you up-”

Shit, he was babbling out his true intentions so stupidly. But luck was on his side, because with a final, jujutsu-sheened swat at your cunt, the buzzing power finally sends you over the edge. 

Crashing headfirst into waves upon waves of white-hot pleasure, the engulfing goodness made you squeal. And it made Gojo grit his teeth with a low whimper at the way the simple clenching convulse of your gripping walls wrapped around his cock made him twitch in another dry orgasm. Another. And another. 

God, his first - well, not quite first - time cumming inside you and he’s already so fucked out.

Yet, despite it all, Gojo could almost count it a success…almost. 

“S-sweetheart, y’know Yaga always taught us that science experiments have hah- twenty-five trials, right?”

“...”

A/N. Gojo’s so annoying I love him.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[screampied]

✩ㅤ cw. fem! reader, size difference, choking, size kinks, unprotected, dirty talk, praise, full nelson, mdni.

play fighting with suguru which later turns into him having you in a full nelson.

“awww, c’mon. don’t tap out on me now, sweetheart,” he purrs against the soft shell of your ear, hearing you sweetly gasp at the gaping barrage he creates with his thick cock. just a few moments ago—you were on top of him and now you were being stuffed full, legs dangling and weakly being held hostage while a beefy arm of his slings around your throat. your body collapses backward as you’re just idly bouncing on his lap, feeling each of his bulky muscles flex and twitch behind you. “biiiig stretch, fuck there we go. mhm, my baby’s all nice ‘n flexible.” he gruffs, peppering a few sultry kisses near the open curvature of your neck. you moan, feeling the secure grasp of his broad hands move from its original placement, gluing under the cracks of your thighs.

he’s got you in such a risqué position, your body continues to jostle against his, feeling his carved hard abs rub off against your skin. “ngh, suguru,” you squawk, and your hooded eyes peer down at yourself taking him in fully. his base had a pretty sheeny tan, resuming to pump in and out of you, already blissfully bottoming out. you felt him everywhere—and he’s just holding you upright with two burly arms, locking his arms under your plush pretty thighs. “ ‘m gonna cum again, fuck.”

with a husky snicker, he deepens his thrusts against you by moving his hands toward your rickety hips. a cunning simper spreads against his lips before he ghosts a few silvery slick fingers down your sopping wet slit. “well yeah, with a weak pussy like this, bet you are. you poor thing.”

your jaw couldn’t help but loosely hang itself open as he’s just ruthlessly lodged inside of your cunt, creeping a swollen fat thumb near your puffy hood to toy and flick with it some more.

his touch to you was like electricity, and you were very much on the verge of breaking. he was so thick — insanely thick, geto’s pearly poking crownhead mercilessly drags in and out of your pasty walls and you recognize the delicious curve of his dick all too well.

your moans grow even louder, so loud that it’s bouncing against the paper thin walls whilst the sharp slaps of skin create shivers all throughout your body. “fuck, more. put me in a chokehold, sugu.”

“dirty girl,” he grunts, his hefty base starting to slather up with sappy juices from your slick heat. a big brawny arm curls around your neck again and he presses a chaste kiss toward your cheek.

“my, you really shouldn’t say such things, y’know,” and as you’re still taking his cock, you feel his free hand grab near one of your breasts. he gives it a nice squeeze before focusing his attention back towards your neck, hearing your cute exasperated gasps. licking against your ear, he lowly whispers, making you slightly turn your neck to face his feral sly eyes. “i could just snap you in half if i really wanted to. all i gotta do ‘s jus add a little pressure like this ‘n . . my doll’s gonna be all broken and we can’t have that, huh.”

sweet sweet whimpers spill from your lips as his arm still remains wrapped around your throat. he makes sure it’s a safe hold, giving you a few frisky squeezes here and there just to hear you whine for more.

he’s so beefy. through your glossy doe peripherals, you could visibly see his veins pop out through his skin. you felt your pussy throb once you start to imagine all the times he goes to the gym alone, all the times he’s lifting weights.

if anything though, you wanted him to be lifting you instead.

“nothin’ to say? aw, pity,” his gravelly voice lowers, and you’re brought back to harsh reality once his palm swats against your ass. you bite down on your tongue in attempt to suppress your incoming lewd whimper but it still comes out. “fuck, always so warm f’ me, god,” and his grip against your neck loosens. the pits of your tummy tense and coil up as your clammy thighs continue to tweak and spasm from his sharp thrusts. so deep. every few seconds, he’d pull your legs up or drag them further apart just to hear you gasp.

you’re almost marveled by the fact that such an obscene position even exists. your legs could barely stand and if it wasn’t for the help of his hands, you’d be screwed.

“s- sugu—ah!” you whine, feeling his bulbous head ram its way against your convulsing g-spot. he knows that spot like the back of his hand, the cute bumpy texture that never fails to present himself around his angered tip. shaggy long tresses of black hair tickle near the nape of your neck as you fall back. “fuck fuck fuuuck,” you loudly snivel, digging your nails into his meaty thigh. once he hits it, he keeps hitting it until your cute voice strains itself out. he’s still practically got you folded as you’re trying to ride out your euphoric orgasm. the bed devastatingly dips inward from the crushing masses of weight piling on top of it.

“there we go, that’s my sloppy girl,” he coos in a raspy tone. geto’s pitching his voice against your ear as he speaks and oh, his words a mere raunchy whisper. he hears your talkative cunt squelch out, faint strings of syrupy slick forming a little plash around his weighty base. geto holds your hips firmly, showering the crook of your neck with a plethora of balmy kisses as your body ruts and shakes.

“good girl, listen to how nasty you always sound for me,” he hums, sneaking his stubby fingers back down towards your weeping wet cunt, maneuvering a few circles near your drooling slit. “i know, i know,” he talks over your enraptured shrills, and he then gives your pussy a patting spank. you moan, falling back against his sweaty chest and a trail of his curly chest hair titillates against the center of your back. “this is a lot more fun then wrestling, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

“y- yeah,” you swallow, and he teasingly wraps a stocky bicep around your neck again. he’s still merrily buried inside of your gummy walls, feeling you writhe around his lap and he chuckles. you’re panting, full lungs desperately trying to gather up any amounts of air that it could before you exhale. “again, sugu.”

with a purring hum, he lifts you back up, trying to pull your leg over your shoulder. “hm, fine. but keep up. ‘m not gonna go easy on ya this time,” and he gives your dribbling sensitive clit another playful pat. “and ‘m certainly not gonna go easy on her either. but, i’ll try not to break you too bad this time princess, no promises.”

[alexiroflife]

jjk men when you aren't feeling well but try to hide it...

"hello! i was wondering if you could write an angst but w comfort fluff headcannon w the jjk men? i was thinking reader has an injury or is sick but she hides it, but they find out. it would be great if you can, but if not i totally understand. your writing is amazing!!!" -anon

gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

satoru gojo: (sprained ankle!)

you're fucked.

you know you are the moment you go to pick yourself up from your boyfriend's hardwood kitchen floors and wince in pain in reaction to the pressure in your left ankle.

you hiss, immediately stumbling back to a sitting position. You look over your outstretched foot to find that your ankle is rapidly swelling, and you curse under your breath.

this is so inconvenient. of all times to injure yourself, you of course had to a day before an important mission. you never handle injuries very well. you are always so quick to brush them off, or at least be in denial about them because you can't stand the thought of feeling helpless or incapable.

especially not when satoru gojo is your boyfriend, who unfortunately knows you far too well to overlook something like an injury to your ankle.

damn. what are you supposed to do? satoru will never let you out of his sight, let alone allow you to go on this mission if he finds out about your injury. as much as you love the way he looks after you, you're not in the mood to accept the fact that you may not be able to walk for a few days without his help.

you try to stand again, stubborn with determination. you grip onto the countertop and rise slowly on your able foot, then lean to press your injured foot down slowly. okay... not so bad! Maybe you can add just a little bit more pressure, and-

"fuck," you curse, sharp pain throbbing through your foot the moment you try to walk. You lift your leg immediately and whimper, leaning your body against the counter. "god dammit," you pout.

you should ice it, you think, but icing it will only make the injury more real. maybe it's not so bad, right? maybe if you just sit down for a bit and push it to the back of your head, it will go away?

you know it's not smart, but truthfully, you don't have the time to worry about a stupid ankle. you're sure you only irritated it. with some rest, you'll be fine.

you hop your way up the stairs with your hand gripping the railing tightly to your shared bedroom and ease yourself into bed. you decide you'll take a nap while you wait for satoru to come home, ignoring the simmering pain in your swollen ankle.

"babyyy!"

you wake suddenly to the sound of satoru's voice singing through the house. you jump and immediately hold in a whimper of pain when you accidentally shift your foot beneath the covers. you can tell solely by the lack of mobility in your ankle that it's, unsurprisingly, gotten worse.

you panic, moving quickly to prop your back up against the headboard. you fix yourself in the most normal possible position you can without agitating your foot, and you turn to the door with an innocent expression the second satoru bursts through with a beam.

"hey, pretty," he walks in and immediately crouches over the bed to wrap you up in a hug. you cringe as his lips meet every crook of your face, his body enveloping you in warmth. "missed you so much today," he sighs.

"missed you too, toru," you wrap your arms around his back. "how was your day?"

"same old same old. the higher-ups only get more annoying each day, if that's even possible," he grumbles into your ear, slumping against you. "what are you doing cooped up here all by yourself? you taking a nap?"

"yeah, I just woke up," you tell him with a hefty exhale, his lips meeting the crook of your neck lazily as he nuzzles into you. "you wanna take one with me, you big baby?" you giggle.

"god yes," satoru agrees. "but first, I'm starving. did you eat while I was gone?"

"nah, I waited for you, toru."

"well, you normally cook, baby, I was waiting for you."

you momentarily freeze and he pulls back reluctantly, not before dotting one more kiss to the crook of your jaw. you had completely forgotten about making dinner, but seeing how you couldn't even walk, those cards were off the table.

he looks down at you with his arms propped on either side of your figure on the bed. your ankle continues to throb, and while you try to hide the pain that you are currently in by shifting ever so subtly beneath him, his sapphire eyes catch the twitch in your brow and the motion of your body beneath his blindfold.

"not that I care if you cook or not. obviously you were tired..." he trails off. "you okay?"

fucking hell, damn those six eyes.

you nod despite yourself, keeping a soft smile as you brush your fingers over satoru's hair. "yeah, of course. just tired like you said. I'm sorry about dinner, it slipped my mind."

"don't you dare apologize," he ducks down to kiss your cheek loudly. "we can go out to eat. make it a date before your big mission tomorrow, yeah?"

you internally deflate. the idea sounds amazing, but going on a date would mean getting up, getting dressed, and walking out the door. you're unfortunately physically incapable of doing any of the above at the moment.

satoru watches the way your shoulders slump and your lips part as if to protest, and he tilts his head in slight confusion. "...or not..." he says slowly.

"sorry, toru, it's not that I don't wanna go, i just don't have the energy..." you excuse pathetically.

satoru's face tells you that he doesn't buy your words, but he complies nonetheless. "that's no problem, baby, we can order in instead."

you sigh and nod with a gentle smile. "that sounds great."

"someone's feeling real lazy today, huh?" he teases, hooking his finger into his blindfold to peel it from his face, revealing his bright irises gazing curiously down at you. "you sure you're just tired?"

"yeah... why?"

"i'm just askin," he says. his eyes dart over you one more time before he pushes himself up with an exhale and tugging at your arm. "come on, let's go to the living room to order."

why the hell does he want to move around so much?!

"um- why can't we just order here?"

a smile quirks on Satoru's lips as though you've made a joke. "cause, we'll be downstairs once the food gets here," he says.

you pucker your lips slightly and tilt your head. "can't we just eat it up here and you can go get it?"

gojo's eyes are now slim with suspicion as he pulls himself back over to you. "i mean, of course i can but you never eat takeout in bed, we always cuddle downstairs and eat."

"I'm tired, can't i change it up today?"

"you know i have no problem doing what you want and pampering you baby," satoru starts slowly. his eyes dash to your legs, and he suddenly notes that he has not seen you bend them in the few minutes he has been home. in fact, you had been rather stagnant instead of running up to clobber him when he entered the room, whether you were previously asleep or not. "but you're acting a little weird."

"no, I'm not," you deny adamantly. you have always been a poor liar, but in the face of Satoru Gojo, your lack of talent in the arena only proves to be more prominent. "you think too much, you know that?"

"you think so?" he raises a brow at you, a hint of playfulness remaining though it is steadily fleeting the longer he examines you. "you think i'm thinking too much if i feel like you're lying to me?"

you press your lips together tightly. "...yes."

"hm," he nods. "come here for a second, pretty," he requests, stepping back a bit to give you room to stand. "just real quick, then you can lay back down and I'll get us that food."

"why do you want me to stand?"

"i wanna give you a big hug," he opens his arms widely. "c'mon, give your loving boyfriend a hug. you'd never deny me that after such a long day."

"come hug me here, then," you roll your eyes, turning to look the other way as heat overtakes your body.

"i want to hold you and pick you up," he argues, knowingly. "just stand and walk to me for one second."

"no."

"no?!"

"no, i don't want to."

"don't want to or you can't?" he accuses, face falling along with his arms. he moves to sit at the edge of the bed beside your legs, resting a hand over your uninjured one. "why can't you get up?" he asks, this time a tad more serious.

"i don't feel like it, satoru, god," you murmur in annoyance, growing agitated with his swiftness to notice that something is wrong.

"don't 'satoru' me, baby, you're the one not telling the truth," he says. "what's wrong with your legs?"

"nothing."

"then stand up."

"no, satoru. stop telling me to stand."

"i will if you tell me what's wrong."

"nothing's wrong!" you shrug harshly, crossing your arms and suddenly taking interest in whatever is outside of the bedroom window. satoru stares at you intently for a moment then back down at your covered legs.

he gazes harshly between the two, pondering, before reaching over to rip the comforter upward to reveal your bare feet. you gasp slightly, jerking to stop him, when your swollen ankle is revealed.

his brows immediately angle and he leans to hastily look over it. "(y/n), what the hell?! what happened to your foot?"

you grow embarrassed suddenly, moving to brush his hands away. "it's not that bad, stop," you say, going to move your leg to the side when you hiss sharply.

"not that bad? baby, your ankle's the size of a golfball!"

"satoru, you're being dramatic."

"what happened?" he asks, concerned. "did this happen while I was gone?"

"it's fine, relax."

"(y/n)," satoru begins sternly. you can tell that you've pinched a nerve. "i'm about to lose it if you don't tell me how this happened and why you were trying to hide it from me."

you frown. "But-"

"Now."

you hug your arms around yourself with another meek shrug. "it's humiliating..." you murmur.

satoru softens slightly. "baby, humiliating? i'm worried about you getting hurt."

"yeah, but-" you sigh and close your eyes, your emotions suddenly getting the best of you. you hate feeling small and weak, as though you can't handle yourself, and you swear every time you injure yourself or get sick, it's the worst possible thing that could happen in the entire world. "i don't know. whatever."

"uh uh uh," your white-haired boyfriend tuts, leaning over the smooth his hand over your leg comfortingly. "it's not 'whatever.' i know exactly how you are. you can't fool me. is this about your mission tomorrow?"

"it's not just about the mission, toru, i just don't- i hate it when i can't do stuff on my own."

"you don't have to tell me something i'm already well aware of." you give him a look. "don't look at me like that. i know you like the back of my hand, and i especially know when you're uncomfortable."

"i get it, toru," you frown.

"why the attitude, hm?" he asks, leaning over to prop his elbow on the other side of you, his body resting against your lap as he peers up at you gently. "it's okay to get hurt- well, no, it's not okay for you to get hurt because it makes me wanna die, but you get what I mean."

your lips twitch in amusement momentarily, leading satoru to grin widely.

"there's that pretty smile."

"it's just-" you huff. "it was such a stupid thing... i rolled my ankle stepping down from closing the cabinets and when it started getting worse, i thought it was so dumb that something so small did that to me so i left it alone. now it's probably twisted, and i just feel really..."

"you're not weak," satoru interjects urgently. "if that's what you're saying, which i'm pretty sure you are. you're far from what i would call weak."

"still. it still made me feel weak. and i'm supposed to go on that mission tomorrow, and i don't know what the hell i'm gonna tell yaga-"

"forget the mission."

"...satoru, i can't just-"

"you can and you will. you have an injury, baby. you can't walk. it's okay, i'll talk to yaga and he'll get someone else on the assignment while I take care of you."

"but the fact that you even have to do that because i was clumsy!" you shake your head and look down. "it's so ridiculous. and i knew you were gonna worry..."

"of course i'm gonna worry, (y/n). no less than you'd worry for me."

"but you're you."

"so? do you worry for me any less because of that?"

"i mean... i know you're always gonna be fine, but... yeah, i guess."

"you guess?" satoru scoffs. "to think, my girlfriend doesn't care about me..."

"oh shut up," you nudge his head away. his grin remains, face turning back to you as he captures you in his soft gaze. "obviously I worry."

"then, there you go," satoru says. his free hand runs over your hip. "i know you can handle yourself just fine and that you're strong as hell, but whether you're going on a mission or stubbing your toe, I'm worrying 'cause i love you."

you pout slightly. "I love you too."

"i know," he beams, kissing your thigh. "so stop with that. as if you'd ever be weak for getting a little boo boo."

"yeah, but now you're not gonna let me do anything," you whine.

"is there really such a big problem with that?" satoru smirks. "try hiding an injury from me again, and you really won't be able to do anything. now let me see."

he pushes himself up to round the edge of the bed. he kneels down and cradles your foot in his hand delicately, fingers grazing the area of swelling. his brow angles. "can you move it?"

you shake your head slowly. "not without it hurting."

"in all seriousness, baby, you need to take better care of yourself. why didn't you ice it?"

"...i wanted it to go away."

"and you walked up the stairs after rolling your ankle?!"

"i wanted to get into bed!"

satoru lowers his head. "what am i gonna do with you? you're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days."

"it's really not that serious. i just need to rest it a bit and then I'll be fine-"

"i'm gonna go cook you some dinner, okay? then we can eat in bed and cuddle, and then I'll run you a hot bath later."

"satoru, i just said it's not that serious! please don't go burning down the house because of my ankle. we can literally still order food," you try to convince him, but the blue-eyed man is already on his feet, by your side, and kissing your lips.

"not another word. you're practically dying, now, i have to look after you."

"toru-"

"i'll be right back, i'm gonna grab you some ice and a pillow for your foot."

"satoru!"

but when you call him, he's already zooming out of the room and down the stairs. you sigh and plop your head back against the headboard with a soft smile. as humiliating as you find it to be injured, you can never say that gojo doesn't do everything he can, if not excessively more, to look after you when you are.

suguru geto: (cold!)

shit.

you step into the bathroom for the umpteenth time today to blow your nose, clearing your searing throat as you do so with a groan.

something in you knew this morning that you were coming down with a cold when you woke up to that dreadful scratch in the back of your throat, but the idea of getting sick physically ails you more than actually being sick does.

you're far too busy today to be weighed down by some common cold. you're in between meetings at work as you toss another tissue into the women's trash. You have paperwork to finish filling out by midnight, and you have to pick up the girls later from daycare.

how can you be sick of all things?

you know it's likely because you run yourself ragged more often than you need to, and suguru always tells you to slow down and take a breath, but you rarely listen to him. your life moves at a quick pace, constantly on the run from one task to the next, and you truly do not feel that you have the leisure of giving yourself one second to rest.

you're on the verge of earning a new promotion, and you need the money. you need the opportunities, and the accomplishments to care for the family you've built with geto. just as suguru works tirelessly to manage his cult, you work tirelessly to keep a living for yourself.

you're proud of the work you have done, truly you are, but at times it feels as though you are amounting to nothing, chasing promises of a higher position that have yet to come. despite the haziness of the path ahead, you push harder and harder each day.

suguru hates it, how you drive yourself to the brink of insanity day in and day out, but you can't help but be an overachiever. you can't help but work hard for those who may not even deserve it.

and now, of course, you're sick. you can feel your temperature spiking, your nose is stuffy, and your head is pounding. you want to go home and curl into bed, but you have responsibilities to fulfill. just a few more hours... then you're home with geto, with the girls, safe in bed just to wake up and do it all over again tomorrow.

you jump when your phone suddenly rings in your pocket. you pull it out to see your boyfriend's contact, and you straighten yourself up as best as you can to make it sound as though you aren't struggling to breathe through your nostrils.

"hello?"

"hey, babe, how's work going?" suguru's soothing voice echoes through the phone and you sigh, clinging to the comfort his tone provides. you miss him. you want to go home already.

"it's good," you lie. "i have a few more meetings. then some paperwork to finish, but I'll be able to get mimi and nana on time."

"actually, i called to tell you not to worry about that. i got finished up here with the group pretty early, so i'll be able to get them later."

you're relieved that you won't have to expose the girls to your germs in the car. "okay, thanks for letting me know. you need me to pick up some food on the way home?"

"no, we're gonna make pizzas later. the girls have been dying to try it making it from scratch forever, so i'll take them to the store once i get them."

"...oh. okay..." you nod. "there's nothing else you need me to do then?"

"just to come home in one piece," suguru says. "i'm trying to take some stuff off your plate, (y/n). you've been exhausted, and you can't tell me otherwise."

"sugu, I'm fine," you dismiss him, only to turn your head into your elbow to muffle a cough. you forget to mute the call when you do so.

"what was that? are you okay?" the dark-haired man questions quickly. "you're not sick, are you?"

"no, no," you deny fast, voice slightly hoarse. you clear your throat quickly. "something was just- stuck in my throat. but I'm fine. i'm not sick."

suguru's quiet for a moment, and you chew on the inside of your lip while you wait for him to respond. you know it's impossible to fool suguru, especially when it comes to matters regarding you or the girls, but you can't handle him worrying over you right now. his concerns would only bring you back to reality, pulling you from this cycle of overworking you've fallen into. you need to keep going. You can't stop, and if suguru knows you're sick, he will make you stop.

"suguru? you there?" you finally say.

"oh yeah, i'm here," he responds rather quickly, and you internally curse yourself. "what time do you get off?"

"uhhh..." you think about it for a moment. it's 3:30 now, and technically you only have an hour and a half left, but since the girls will be picked up by Suguru, you realize you can finish your paperwork in the office. "today's kind of a long day... so I probably won't be home until... 7?"

"(Y/n)."

"i know, i know, but listen, i just have to finish up this paperwork. that's all."

"weren't you just gonna do it at home?"

"well, yeah, but since you're getting the girls, it's kinda easier for me to finish it here..." you start mumbling lowly, knowing that whatever explanation you give is not one that suguru will willingly accept.

"babe, please just come home at a normal time today. you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"i promise it won't be past 7. i swear. just let me get this done, and I'll be home."

suguru releases a hefty sigh, and you can picture him rubbing his thumb against his forehead in stress. "7 o'clock, (y/n). i mean it. if you're so much as five minutes late, i'm coming over there myself with rainbow dragon."

you chuckle softly. "i promise it won't get to that. i'll be fine, alright? i'll text you when I'm headed out."

"okay. I'll see you in a bit."

after your meetings had ended, your cold symptoms grew worse. your coughs were more frequent, a pile of tissues were stacked at your cubicle, and the glare of your computer screen felt as though it was burning a hole into your already aching head.

you feel miserable, and as luck would have it, your boss placed a new stack of papers onto your desk to finish filling out before you went home on his way out of the door.

you're alone in the office now, surrounded by excess assignments, and you can hardly breathe through your nose. you check the time, and its thirty to the time you told suguru you'd be home. you groan, rubbing your hands over your face.

you're tired. your bones are aching. you want to be with the girls, you want to be home, you don't want to do this anymore. you're so burned out, it hurts, and you want to cry and collapse face-first onto your desk at the same time.

just then, your phone lights up with a message from suguru. you open it eagerly to be greeted with an image of the girls beaming up at the camera in the kitchen, hands covered in tomato sauce as they display them to the phone. beneath the photo, suguru types.

we miss you :(

you break, placing your phone down and shielding your face in your hands as the tears flow. god, you miss spending time with them. you're hardly home anymore because you've been so busy with work, and you're yearning to be held by your boyfriend, to hear the girls laugh, to sink into the bed combined with your deteriorating physical state makes you feel worse.

you miss having a life.

you don't know how long you spend crying in your empty office before your body shuts down on you completely. the energy you exerted shedding tears in addition to your long days at work send you into a deep sleep. before you know it, you're knocked out with your cheek pressed against one of your unfinished papers.

the second you failed to answer Suguru's text, he knew something was wrong. he calls, and calls, and calls after twenty minutes, but you don't answer. He wastes absolutely no time in calling up manami to look after the girls before trekking out of the house to you with rainbow dragon, just as he promised.

he's prepared to break a window when he sees the janitor leaving the building. he takes the opportunity to swoop in through the doors after grumbling something about his girlfriend being inside, before making his way up to you.

when he reaches your office, he finds you lying in the only occupied cubicle. His eyes go wide as he studies your slumped figure, walking slowly to where you're seated. he notes the tissues and cough drop wrappers crowding your space, then the tears that coat your lashes when he kneels down.

"jesus, (y/n)," he murmurs, swiftly getting to work and clearing your desk of all your trash. when he's done, he crouches by you again and runs a hand over your back. "baby, wake up for me. come on," he coaxes softly.

you stir, face tightening in discomfort. suguru sees the bags under your eyes and his frown deepens. Eventually, you wake with furrowed brows, adjusting your blurry eyes to the sight of suguru gazing down at you worriedly.

"sugu...?" you mumble weakly, only to be interrupted by a few coughs that rack your chest. suguru's heart aches.

"i knew it," he sighs, eyes hardening as his hand strokes over your warm forehead. "why don't you listen?"

"what are you doing here?" you grumble, picking your head up slowly. you're greeted with a retched reminder of your headache, and you wince, pressing your hand to your head.

"we had an agreement, remember?" he reminds you, and you slowly recall. you move to grab your phone and the time reads 7:15. "i wasn't joking."

"suguru..."

"stop," he immediately cuts you off. "look at you, (y/n). you've made yourself sick."

"it's just a- a cough," you murmur, rubbing your irritated eyes harshly.

"that's bullshit, baby," he tells you rather firmly. "i don't know why you're trying to hide this from me when i knew something like this would happen. we're going home."

"no, wait, Suguru, i didn't finish my paperwork yet."

"do you think I give two shits about your paperwork?"

his tone comes off rather harshly, and both of you notice. he blinks his eyes tensely and readjusts himself, attempting to reel in his anger. his anger for you, over your lack of care for your wellbeing, at your fucking boss for letting you work yourself like this.

"you've been killing yourself for weeks, (y/n). i won't let you anymore. this is the last straw."

"hold on," you urge. suguru looks down at you, befuddled. "i really can't just up and leave my work behind like this. I'm sorry, I can't."

"what's more important to you, (y/n)? being healthy or working yourself to death?" he proposes, almost pained by the latter. "if you cared about your well-being, you would have asked for an extension or at least had a conversation with your dick of a boss about doing this another time. anyone can see that you aren't feeling well, and someone who cares will tell you that enough is enough."

"don't make me do this, suguru," you whimper. suguru's face relaxes when he sees your eyes glossing over. "don't make me stop. I can't stop."

"baby," he curls his brows, holding your cheek in his hand as he kneels before you. "why are you doing this to yourself?"

"b-because, I have to..."

"no, you don't. i've been telling you this for years, you don't have to do this."

"but I need to make something of myself. i have to keep going. i can't just quit, because if I do, then what will any of this have meant? why have i been doing this?"

"you're breaking my heart, baby," suguru exhales. "this job doesn't define you. i see how hardworking, smart, and strong you are. i see the effort you put into everything you do. i see the commitment in your heart. i see it everywhere, all the time, and that is one of many reasons why i love you so much."

your lips wobble as you look into his hazel eyes as his voice and words melt you into his palm. you've been moving so fast all this time, you've been trying to prevent yourself from falling into suguru's warmth, which has always had the power to make you do anything he says.

"but I can't stand to watch you make yourself sick because you think there's more you need to do. this isn't good for you. you know it isn't."

you nod, red nose flaring as you sniff. "i know," you admit.

"so please, please take a break. i'm literally begging you. you need to come home and rest. i'll take care of everything else, just come home. lay down. come back to us. to me."

your shoulders jerk as a few tears drop from your eyes. "sugu, i can't do this anymore," you finally give in. "i don't even feel like myself. i just want to go home."

"then let's go baby, come on," he stands and takes you with him in his arms, pressing your body to his as he holds you. you sink into him, your exhaustion and your sickness finally crashing down over you. "i'm gonna fucking kill your boss," he murmurs into your hair.

you laugh weakly against him, closing your eyes. "later. just take me home, now. please."

"yes ma'am," he nods, kneeling down to pick you up into his arms. you wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest.

"m'gonna get you sick," you mutter.

"we can be sick together," he chuckles. "the girls and I can make you some soup. they've been obsessed with cooking lately," he says, leaning over to shut off your monitor before carrying you off to the elevators.

"that picture of them you sent earlier made me so sad. I miss you guys so much."

"i'm sorry baby, i didn't mean to upset you that much. i was only trying to guilt you a little into coming home early."

you slap his shoulder pathetically. "asshole."

"i know, i'm sorry," he kisses your head. "gonna get you all better in no time."

kento nanami: (low iron!)

you have always been a little anemic, and of course that never really posed as a terrible challenge for you until you ran out of iron supplements.

it is your responsibility undoubtedly to keep track of when you run out and when you need to restock, but recently, you've found yourself neglecting the habit.

you never did like taking iron pills, or any supplements for that matter. you feel as though they take too much out of your daily life, as though they're a burden to your existence, and the harder you think about it, the less inclined you are to keep track of it.

it's been about three weeks since you last took your iron, and while you would like to say that you have improved significantly, you would be lying.

perhaps the first few days of not taking your supplements was fine, but as time droned on, the symptoms kicked back in rather quickly. you are extremely tired all the time, you feel lighter on your feet as if you are going to pass out at any given moment, and your hands and feet are ridiculously cold though it is now the summertime, and the weather outside thoroughly contrasts your body temperature.

you're in denial about the changes, of course. you want to be able to feel fine without the crutch of your pills, but the reality of the situation is that you don't, and it's crushing you for some reason.

what's crushing you more is that you know how disappointed nanami will be to find out that you haven't been being responsible in stocking up on your supplements. he would normally keep track of when you run out in addition to you, but he's reeled it in a bit over the past few months because you wanted him to trust that you can handle taking care of something that you've managed all of your life, so he did.

and yet, here you are, trying to hide the symptoms of your iron deficiency that are only proving harder to veil. nanami has already asked you a few times if you are feeling okay over the past few weeks, therefore you know that he suspects exactly what is happening, but you brush him off each time.

"i'm good, honey," you'd tell him. "just had a long day. what about you? how are you feeling?"

you feel like shit lying to him, but you're afraid of being truthful for some reason. he would scold you, and you'd have to resort to the aid of your only weakness all over again.

god, why can't you just be normal?

you've even tried to ween off of the strict iron-sufficient diet that you've been on practically all your life because you feel like you have something to prove, especially in this world of jujutsu. how can you be a sorcerer with low iron? how can something so smell render you so weak? it's pathetic.

you don't want to think about it, in truth. you want it all to just go away. you want to be fine, to feel fine without eating certain things constantly or taking those damn pills, and you try to force yourself to, but it only grows worse the longer you hide it.

you stumble into your home after a long day of teaching and press your back to the door with a sigh. you know nanami won't be home for another forty or so minutes, so you kick your shoes off, go grab a water, and plop down on the couch.

you feel so tired. you pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, leaning back. this is stupid, you think. you're being stupid. just reorder the damn pills.

but something stubborn within you refuses. something within you that must prove you can push past this.

you decide to watch some tv to distract you as you wait for nanami to return home. he suggested cooking for you tonight, so you rest until you hear him walking through the door.

"hi honey," he greets. you turn to smile gently at him as he rounds the corner. your cheeks pinch with happiness, your current turmoil momentarily forgotten when you see your husband approach. you go to stand and walk into his open arms, just like you normally do when he comes home.

you put the remote to the side and shoot up. your mind is occupied only by nanami as you move toward him, but you see his face drop and your vision turns upside down, and suddenly, you're falling.

kento is quick to react, ducking down impressively to catch you in his arms before you can hit the ground. you collapse into him, head dizzy and breath suddenly gone.

"sweetheart?! (y/n) are you alright? are you awake?"

you groan, shifting in his strong arms as they cradle you securely. when your vision regains focus, you're staring up at nanami's worried face, your body resting over his lap. you blink rapidly before realizing what just happened.

"oh shit," you whisper.

"(y/n)," nanami says your name again, caressing your cheek sweetly. "are you here with me now?"

"y-yeah," you nod, moving to sit up and press your hand to his chest. "i'm alright."

"absolutely not," he stops you immediately, pressing against you to lay you back down on his lip. you frown, looking up at him. "don't even try sitting up like that right now."

"kento," you start, growing worried by the tense look on his face. "i'm okay, really. i just sat up too fast."

"i know," he affirms, his thumb still smoothing over your skin. "and care to tell me why that alone is making you pass out?"

you can't find the words to respond as you stare at him, likely as guiltily as you feel. he hums knowingly.

"right," he sighs. "(y/n), how long has it been since you've taken your iron?"

and there it is. the very question you had been dreading.

"...i'm not sure what you're-"

"don't. really, don't," he interjects firmly and you shiver, rather unfamiliar with this side of your doting partner. "i'm still trying to adjust to the fact that you haven't been truthful with me. the least you can do is tell me how long it's been."

your heart drops. "kento..."

"i'm not in the mood for stalling, sweetheart. go on. out with it."

the sternness of his voice hardly matches the way he is holding you and stroking your cheek, but nevertheless, you feel awful. you avert your gaze and shrink into yourself. "three weeks."

"three?" he repeats incredulously, and you nod in shame. "i knew it had been over a week, but three, (y/n)?"

"i know," you mutter.

"why? after you told me not to check after you, to trust that you'd take care of yourself," nanami questions. "this is why i tried to help you. i know it can be a hassle sometimes, and forgetting is one thing, but to deliberately stop taking them when you know how much i worry about it... when you know how important it is for you?"

you bite hard on your lip and look away, brows curling. nanami notices immediately and softens himself, leaning down closer to you.

"my love," he starts. "i don't mean to upset you, but this is very upsetting to me."

"i know. i know, i'm sorry..." you whimper.

"but not because it's about me, (y/n), because it's about you. and you've been hiding this from me, of all things. i don't understand."

"i just didn't wanna take them anymore, ken," you say quietly.

the blonde furrows his brows. "you didn't want to take them? have you not been taking them for years?"

"i have but that's the problem. i'm a sorcerer now, and..." you exhale. "the point of being a sorcerer is to not have anything weighing you down, and this weighs me down."

"if anything, (y/n), not taking the supplements weighs you down more."

"no, i just mean- all of it, the whole iron deficiency, i hate it," you confess. "i'm tired of relying on something to be strong. i'm tired of being tied down to this. i wanted to see if i could overcome it, but i can't. i'll always have this problem, and it sucks, ken," you ramble. "if i could go without taking these pills and still do my job like i always have, then just maybe.... maybe i could be better. and i could prove that i... i don't need those stupid pills, or the extra greens, or the- whatever. just all of it."

nanami looks down at you rather sadly. "i had no idea you felt this way."

"i haven't always felt this way. it's just lately, i don't know, i feel pressured to go beyond."

"darling, your iron-deficiency doesn't make you any less talented than other sorcerers."

"i know. i mean, i should know, but i can't help but feel that way."

nanami presses his lips together, smoothing a knuckle over your cheekbone. "i'm sorry you feel like this."

"it's not your fault, ken. and i shouldn't have kept this from you, i know. i'm sorry. i just felt humiliated by it."

"there's nothing for you to be humiliated by," he reassures you. "your deficiency is no different from any of us having to feed ourselves or drink water in between missions to keep ourselves alive. it's a necessity, and though we are sorcerers, we live off of necessities to keep ourselves physically and mentally able to work. you have a responsibility to yourself. just like the rest of us. just because your iron's a little lower doesn't mean anything about who you are as a sorcerer."

"...i never thought of it like that. i've just been thinking of it as a burden."

"it's only a burden if you view it that way. you are a grade one sorcerer who i have watched climb the ranks effortlessly since we were in high school, all the while with an iron deficiency that you have always taken supplements for. that never stopped you," he says. "the problem comes in when you don't keep up with yourself and take care of those needs. just like how i'd be unable to work if i decided to skip my last few meals and drink less water."

"that makes sense," you mumble, capturing his soft brown eyes with yours.

"good," he nods. "(y/n) you can't neglect your needs like this."

"i know."

"i'm being serious. i'll start checking behind you again if i find out that you're not doing what you need to do to take care of your body."

"i know, ken, i'm sorry, i-" you stop yourself and shake your head. "i just let my insecurities get the best of me."

"then, let me handle taking care of your insecurities. you handle taking your supplements. do we have an agreement?"

you nod slowly. "yeah. we do. i'm sorry for lying again, ken."

"please don't do it again," he sighs, ducking to kiss your forehead. "but i know you wouldn't lie to me about anything else, and that you hiding this was solely out of fear."

you slowly move to sit up, and this time, kento helps you very gradually. he guides you back to sit on the couch and cups your face gently, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "i'll go order some more iron and then get started on dinner. alright?"

you hum with a soft smile. "alright. i love you, ken."

he returns your loving smile. "i love you more, sweetheart."

choso kamo: (broken finger!)

it had fully been an accident.

you should have been paying more attention to what you were doing and at the same time, so should have panda.

it really was an honest mistake. you were standing in the doorway as everyone left the classroom, your fingers clutched around the frame as everyone filed out. you were asking around if anyone had seen your boyfriend, and yuta mentioned that he saw him with yuji earlier that day.

you thanked him, and just as you were about to pull your hand away, panda, who was the last out of the room, slammed the door shut behind him thinking you had already moved out of the way.

but you hadn't.

the door flew into your index and middle fingers and you screamed bloody murder. the cursed corpse as well as his classmates whipped their heads around, and to panda's horror, you were knocking your forehead against the wall with tears in your eyes as your fingers trembled in the doorframe.

"(Y/N), HOLY SHIT I'M SO SORRY!"

you hadn't expected panda to actually break one of your fingers, but you give the freak credit for his unnatural strength. you later find out that yuji and choso had gone out to grab food for you when you see a text from your boyfriend pop up asking what flavor ramen you want the second you learn that shoko will not be available until late tonight.

for the time being, you're given a finger splint and pain medicine as though you aren't freaking surrounded by jujutsu sorcery.

and god, did it hurt! like, really, really hurt. your fingers are throbbing, and the one that isn't broken is bruised and stained with some blood. you wish you could be angrier at panda, but his groveling before your feet on his knees eases your frustration a bit. after all, it hadn't been on purpose.

you're sent home and you are given no choice but to wait until choso returns, and you're... nervous. choso never handles the ailment of his loved ones very well. his spiritual and physical connection to his brothers wellbeings' often causes him to lose his mind every time yuji gets accidentally punched in the face during training, and when it comes to you? well, choso is just the same if not somehow worse.

you remember one time you got a papercut and winced when your finger made contact with soap. choso was quick to your side, grasping your wrist and looking over your hand as though it had been severed off.

one thing you have come to know in your relationship with the brunette is that he would (and has) killed someone for the sake of the people closest to him. he does not mess around when it comes to his family, and he certainly doesn't mess around when it comes to you.

and while you think he can be a bit excessive with making sure you're alright when it's hardly necessary, it's first and foremost endearing, and it only makes you realize that he will go ballistic the second he finds out that someone broke your finger.

he doesn't naively think that you can never go unharmed, though he would be incredibly content with the notion if it were plausible. he's familiar with scars, wounds, fights, and battles, and he knows you're in the very center of it just as much as he and his brother are. but still, he hates it when you're hurt. he wants to protect you as best as he can, or to at least prevent you from suffering any more than a sorcerer already has to suffer. he only wants you to be safe.

so to prevent him from having a heart attack, you decide it's better if he doesn't know about the incident. when you answer his texts before heading home, you mention nothing about your poor finger in hopes of him not finding out at least until after you're healed.

that plan of yours, however, fails when choso comes barging through the door three hours earlier than you expected him to return. your eyes go wide from where you sit on the couch, and you have no time to even go to hide your fingers behind your back when choso marches up to you, agitated.

"uh-" you're cut off when he grabs your arm gently and lifts it into the air, your taped crooked finger showcasing itself to him. you press your lips together at how poorly the plan to conceal this from him has failed. "cho-"

"were you gonna tell me about this?" his violet eyes fly to yours in a fury, and you're almost stunned by how aggravated he looks. his voice is calm, low, but his face is wrecked with concern and almost betrayal.

"...i was, but i wanted to wait because i didn't want you to freak out..." you say slowly, watching him softly. "like you are now..?"

"that's not fair, (y/n)," he frowns and you furrow your brows. "that's not fair at all."

"woah, hold on... are you mad at me?"

"i don't know," he answers you honestly, looking between your face and your trembling hand. "i'm... upset."

"who told you about my fingers, love?"

"yuji got a text from yuta," he tells you, moving to sit down on the space beside you with your hand still cradled in his. "he said that panda was begging me not to kill him, and this was after i had talked to you."

"oh..." you sigh. "okay, yeah, i can see how that looks."

"why didn't you tell me you got hurt? and pretty badly too? where's ieiri?"

"she won't be back on campus for another hour," you explain. "i didn't want you to worry, cho, i figured i'd just tell you after it was better, but..."

"why would you try to hide something from me?" he asks you, suddenly sounding hurt. it's clear on his face that he doesn't understand why you would conceal something as important as your health from him, whether it was small or not. you tell each other everything, and that shouldn't have stopped now of all times because you don't want him to worry.

"i didn't know you'd get so upset, cho, honestly," you tell him. "i-" you stop when a sharp pain shoots through your fingers and you gasp. choso's face drops and he gently sets your hand down to his lap, panicked.

"i'm sorry," he apologizes. "shit, you must be in a lot of pain."

"it's nothing i haven't experienced before," you try to reassure him, giving him a tight smile.

"why does that matter?" choso drags his brows together. "pain is pain. i don't like when you feel any of it."

you melt. "i know. i know you don't, i don't like when you feel any of it either."

"so don't... keep stuff like this from me, (y/n)," he says sternly. "please, i need to know. i don't have the same connection to you that i have with my blood brothers, but i'm still connected to you all the same. when you hurt, i hurt."

"i get it cho, i'm sorry," you nod bashfully. "i wasn't trying to make you mad. i just don't like it when you're stressed out."

"i'm always stressed out," he says flatly, and you raise your brows with a halfhearted smile.

"yeah, i know. so why stress you even more?"

"i'd rather be stressed about you if i'm stressing about anything," he says, looking over your face as the hardness in his gaze washes away. "you know you're everything to me."

"i know, baby," you push out your bottom lip, pressing your free hand to the side of his cheek and leaning in to kiss him. his ears burn when you pull away, and he sighs heavily.

"don't offend me by trying to hide stuff like this. it won't work."

"i'm sorryyyy," you giggle and choso grumbles incoherently under his breath.

his gaze goes back to your fingers and his brows curl. "how the hell do you slam a door on someone's hand?" he hisses.

"it was an accident, cho, he didn't mean it."

"i know, and i shouldn't really be angry at him but i can't help but be irritated because you're hurt..." his fingers graze the tape. "how bad does it hurt?"

"cho, it'll be okay."

"that wasn't my question."

you roll your eyes at his attitude with a soft smile. "it hurts as much as a broken finger would."

"right. sorry," he murmurs.

"you're okay, love, you don't need to apologize."

"i still wish i- nevermind," he refrains himself from discussing how he wanted to be there to protect you from such an unpredictable occurence. "is there anything i can do to help you feel better while we wait? do you need anything?"

"ummm," you try to think. "actually, could you grab a new pack of ice from the freezer? and... the snacks you got me earlier."

the brunette's face brightens slightly with the thought that he can do something to help ease your pain as you wait for shoko to return to the school.

he nods in determination, carefully sliding your hand into your lap and kissing your cheek before hopping up to run to the kitchen. he returns with the items you requested, placing the snacks down beside him and lifting the bag of ice over your hand.

"like this?" he eases the bag down and you wince, nodding.

"mhm. yeah," you strain out. choso watches your face sadly, hating the fact that you're hurting.

"i'm sorry for getting upset," he mumbles. you turn to look at him curiously. "i just love you a lot."

"i love you more, cho," you smile gently, leaning your head against his shoulder. he sighs, resting his chin atop your head as he ices your hand. "and don't worry, i get it. i won't try to hide injuries from you anymore."

"i really hope so."

"now can you pass me those chips please?"

toji fushiguro: (knife cut!)

toji is going to absolutely kill you, and you are dreading the moment he does.

he has always told you not to touch his weapons. even if you see any of them lying around his place because he never bothers to clean up in between jobs. his one rule when you're over is to leave them alone and to let him handle them when he gets back. he doesn't care how much you protest, he doesn't care that you want to help him pick up after himself.

no touching. that is all he asks of you.

and of course... one afternoon when he's out sorting out some finances with shiu and one of his knives is glaring at you from where it lay on the kitchen table, you can't help yourself.

you don't really think anything is going to happen. after all, you're not a baby, nor are you an idiot. you know how to handle a freaking knife and you know where to put it, and yet, somehow, you allow your arrogance with the task to distract you. you're not handling it as carefully as you should be, and the second you hear the keys jingling outside the front door, you panic.

the blade, naturally, fumbles in your grasp, and swipes through the air, over your palm, and to the carpet. you jump, stepping away as quickly as it falls. you feel a sting in your hand and look down to see the fresh gash stretching over your skin. you gape as blood slowly simmers from the wound, befuddled as to how something like this even happened so quickly.

you have no time to clean it when you hear the key inside the lock. you hurriedly pick up the knife with your unwounded hand, place it back on the table where you first saw it, rip a napkin from said table to press to your bleeding palm, and clench it into a fist just as the door opens.

toji immediately greets you with a raised brow, jade eyes eying you oddly as he steps in. "the hell are you gettin' into?" he asks, confused by the way you are standing against the wall when he enters.

you're quick to move into his space to distract him from the vision of his knife and from looking any further downward from your face. you lean up on your tiptoes, normal hand on his forearm as you kiss his scarred lips. "what do you mean?"

"why were you just standing there like that?"

"can't I wait by the door for you to come back?" you bat your eyelashes, and toji grunts, gazing down at you with lidded eyes as his hand comes around the small of your back. "i'm just happy to see you."

"you take a pill or somethin', doll?"

you glare at him. "now why would you ask me that?"

"you're just acting a little too nice, that's all."

you scoff. "i don't know what you're talking about, i'm literally always happy to see you."

"yeah, but i was gone for thirty minutes and you never make a show of it like this."

"why are you making it sound like i don't show you love? you're the one who's mean all the time," you retort sassily.

a smirk captures toji's lips as he ducks down to kiss you again. "that's more like it," he murmurs against you. "still ain't answer my question though."

"i literally did. i told you i was waiting for you."

"sure," he says, unconvinced. his eyes drag down your body and momentarily go to your fist when you swiftly wrap both arms around his neck, pulling him down to crash your lips into him once more.

his brows narrow and as you kiss him, and you can feel the blood on your hand seeping through your napkin. you curse internally, lowering your hand back down behind him as he pulls away.

"not that i'm against this," toji starts, voice dangerously low against your mouth. "but it feels like you're tryin' to distract me from something."

"why would i be doing that?" you ask gently, looking up into his piercing eyes. he hums, dragging himself away from you. he grabs your chin softly and tilts your head left and right, looking over your face. "what are you doing?" you ask.

"lookin' for whatever you're hiding."

"i'm not hiding anything, toji."

"uh huh."

shit. it's never a good sign when toji doesn't even try to pretend to believe anything you're saying, and the way he's looking over your face let's you know that he at least suspects you've done something to yourself that he should know about.

you keep your fist to his back as he looks over the rest of your body with a rather relaxed expression, which only means that he doesn't suspect you touching any of his weapons. yet.

you have to keep his attention away from the knife on the table so that he doesn't figure it out.

"can you stop messing around already? i wanna go take a shower," you try to say, but toji doesn't listen.

"turn around f'me."

"huh?"

"huh?" he mimics you, looking at you unimpressed. "turn."

you suck your teeth. "i hate when you get like this."

"and i hate when you lie, now turn."

you grimance. you can't turn around with him looking down at your hand, and you're sure by now that the napkin you hold is coated red. your eye twitches in that moment when you feel a line of blood drip down your wrist.

god dammit. you're so dead.

nonetheless, you try to keep your palm facing inward as you slip it from his back and turn over your left shoulder, which connects to the uninjured hand. the second your back is to him, you bring your bloody hand in front of you.

"yeah, no," you hear toji gruffly say. your heart hammers in your throat and you know what's coming next. he moves around you to wrap his hand around your wrist and tug at it.

you cringe, allowing yourself to accept your fate when he pulls forward your balled up hand.

"open."

"can't we just-"

"open."

you sigh heavily, slowly peeling open your palm to reveal the red-stained napkin balled in it, the line of blood rushing down your inner arm, and the slice that stretches across your hand.

toji's eyes blow wide, and before he asks you anything, he throws his head over his shoulder to locate the knife that sits on the table. "are you fucking kidding me, (y/n)?" he growls, turning back to face you angrily.

"okay, let's not act like this is so crazy!" you immediately defend, throwing your other arm up. "you leave your shit lying around all the time!"

"and every single time, i tell you that i'll take care of it. what the fuck, do i have to go child-proofing the house now because of you?"

"if you would just be more mindful of how you leave your space, you wouldn't even have to worry about shit like this! you shouldn't even have knives lying around in the first place."

"i'm a grown man, (y/n), i know how to avoid cutting myself with the weapons i use daily."

"you're being a prick."

"oh baby, you must not know me because i'm about to be worse," he grunts, eyes heated with fury, and you frown.

"toji, come onnn, it was an accident."

"what do i always say about my weapons, (y/n)?"

"i just wanted to help you put it away, is that so crazy?"

"what. do i say. about my weapons."

you deflate slightly, uneased by the rate at which toji is growing angry with you. "...not to touch them."

"so why the fuck did you touch them?" he growls, picking up the napkin in your palm and tossing it over his shoulder. he looks over your wound and clenches his jaw. "fucking hell, (y/n)."

"look, i'm sorry."

"shut the hell up and come on."

despite his rage, he leads you to the bathoom with surprising care.

when you arrive, he flicks on the light with his free hand and swipes up a cloth from under the sink. he turns to you, pressing it down to your wound to stop the bleeding. once it seems like it's done, he puts the cloth down and turns on the faucet. "put your hand under," he orders, guiding it to the cool water nonetheless.

the water hits your open wound bitterly and you jump, watching the blood run through the drain as toji washes your arm as well.

"sit," he nods over to the bathtub, shutting off the faucet.

you oblige mutely, shuffling over and holding out your hand. you sit slowly on the ledge of the tub and watch as toji shuffles through his cupboards for a bottle of peroxide, some bandages, and ointment. you dread what is coming, for you know your hand is gonna sting like a bitch.

toji thuds over to sit hunched on the closed toilet lid, leaning over to grab your hand again. you stretch your fingers out and he sighs, shaking his head. "so fucking hard-headed," he murmurs.

you watch him screw open the bottle of liquid.

"go slowly," you plead.

"it's gonna hurt all the same, doll," he tells you, and you pout. "you should listen next time, then maybe you wouldn't have to go through this."

"shut the fuck up."

toji clicks his tongue, glancing at you momentarily before leaning down and holding the bottle over you, grasping your wrist loosely with your hand above his knee. "keep still."

the peroxide comes flooding out of the bottle and onto your hand, bubbling instantly over your gash. you whimper, tensing your body and scrunching your eyes at the sting.

"i know," toji mumbles, smoothing his thumb gently over your wrist. "you're alright."

your fingers dig into your thigh as it continues to burn. toji leans over to put down the bottle and continues to caress your arm, lowering your hand to his lap. he blows over your palm slightly as the peroxide dries, and you eventually open your eyes.

"not so bad," he tells you. he leans himself back to reach for a new cloth then pats it around the gash, drying your hand and your arm. he reaches back again for the tube of almost empty ointment he found and twists it open, squeezing it over your wound. "shit, hold on," he stops. he lets you lift your hand as he rushes to wash his own before coming to sit back down at hold yours on his leg again, now with bandages in hand.

you watch him gently as he works the bandage over you with such attentiveness, a dip in his brow proving his focus. you suddenly feel guilty for making him worry.

"i'm sorry," you finally say again, this time with more meaning.

toji's green eyes snap up at you amidst his wrapping. "yeah?"

"i really was just trying to help you. didn't mean to stress you out."

toji sighs, pausing his movements to look you in the eye. "you need to be more careful. i tell you not to touch my stuff because it's not your responsibility. obviously i know you can yourself, but some of my shit's really dangerous and i don't want you gettin' hurt," he gestures to your hand. "it could've been a lot worse, but still."

"if you don't want me touching your weapons, toji, you should probably clean them up more," you quirk a brow and he exhales loudly.

"i'm seeing that now, yeah," he says. "i'll be more careful if you are. don't need my doll getting a bunch of scars 'cause of me, now."

you smile softly. "yeah. i won't touch your stuff anymore, i promise."

"...how about instead i just... teach you how to handle 'em the right way?"

you perk up. "really?"

"i don't see why not. i'd rather you know how to use some of it than see you scrape yourself up because you don't know how to hold a knife."

"don't be a smartass."

toji smirks, continuing with his wrapping of your hand. "i mean it. i'll sit down with you sometime to show you."

"...how about after we're done here?"

"don't fucking push it."

ryomen sukuna: (fever!)

you wake up in a cold sweat, shivering.

you groan in displeasure, rolling over, slightly discombobulated. it can't be any later than 7 am, but you are boiling hot. you press your hand to your forehead and curse. you're sweating profusely and you feel incredibly lightheaded.

you don't even have the energy to get up, but you know that you need to take your temperature. you shudder, carefully shuffling out of bed and wincing as every brush against your skin feels like the stab of a thousand pins and needles.

you lethargically make your way to your bathroom, the cool air hitting your neck and sending you into a fit of shivers. you cling to yourself, teeth chattering, and reach into your cabinet for a thermometer. with half-open eyes, you pop it under your tongue and make your way back to your bed, bundling up in your blankets and curling into a ball.

it feels like hours before the beep resounds, and you slowly lift it from your mouth to read the little digital numbers.

102.4. perfect.

you shudder in pain, tossing the thermometer to the side and nestling your face in your pillows. you feel like absolute shit, but you can't bring yourself to do much else. you need medicine, water, a cool compress, but none of those things you have access to currently.

you close your eyes as your mind swarms, body throbbing and shuddering with chills though the last thing you need is to be cuddled under the covers. you think maybe it will go away if you get some rest. maybe you just need to relax, to take some time in bed. you'll let sukuna know when-

shit! sukuna.

there's no way in hell or on earth that sukuna will allow you to go untreated if you tell him, but god, you don't feel like letting him know. despite his likely haste to make sure you have everything you need, you can only imagine the snarky comments about your fragility, your strange body, your vulnerability that he''ll spout.

you don't want to hear it. you don't want to hear any of it, because you're sure that if you do, you'll start crying. you're already worn down, clearly, and the last thing you need on top of a fever is your boyfriend joking about your weak state.

you elect to stay in bed and tell sukuna you'll see him another time if he pesters you today.

which of course, he does.

a whirlwind of alarming dreams that you almost thought were hallucinations are disrupted by the persistent buzzing of your phone on your dress. you groan, reaching out a shaky hand to blindly grab the device and answer the call, pressing it to your ear with no knowledge of who you're speaking to.

"yes?" you croak.

"can't answer a telephone call the first time it rings?" sukuna's voice thunders through the mic, and you lift your brows.

"kuna?" you try to say his name normally, despite the constant chatter of your teeth.

"who the hell else would it be?"

"sorry... i was asleep."

"at this hour?"

"...what'dy'mean?"

"jesus, woman, it's 2 in the afternoon. why the hell are you still in bed?"

you reel momentarily at his words. 2 pm? it was just 7 in the morning! have you really been sleeping all this time?

"oh..." is all you can manage to say before a chill wracks your body again. you cringe, curling into yourself and holding the phone away from you.

"oh?" the king of curses repeats. "what is the matter with you?"

"n-nothing," you respond quickly. "i guess i was up late last night. i was c-completely knocked out..." you tremble.

"last night you told me you were going to sleep early because you were tired, you brat."

fuckkkk.

how could you have forgotten about that? you hadn't been feeling well last night, which is likely the reason why you feel so much worse today, so you turned in early. "i- couldn't fall asleep until later, though," you mumble.

"you are attempting to deceive me," sukuna grunts. "care to explain why?"

"m'not, kuna," you sigh halfheartedly.

"what exactly do you take me for?"

you're really not in the mood for this. you're aching at this point, and you can tell your body temperature has only risen. you're so weak. you can barely even process the fact that you're on the phone, and you can't handle sukuna's attitude. not if he's not going to help, which you automatically assume that he won't.

"i'm going back to bed," you say softly.

"what do you mean back to bed?!" sukuna fumes. "seriously, what the hell is the matter with you. you sound ill."

"i'm not i-ill."

"then why do you keep stumbling over your words, woman?" he questions, his voice mellowing out into a steady intensity. "what is it now? your monthly plague? whatever you people call allergies?"

this is exactly why you don't want him to know. he handles these things too crudely, as if it's a burden upon his existence. "y-you ask too many damn questions."

"i wouldn't have to if you answered them. now talk."

"i'm fine, sukuna. i'm just gonna go back to sleep."

"you hang up this phone, i'm at your door in two seconds."

"that's impossible."

"try me."

you know he's serious, but you don't have the energy. you can't stay on the phone with him any longer, trying to speak like nothing's wrong. it's cold. so cold, but you're so hot. you're probably drenched in a pool of your own sweat, but you can't feel it. you want to sleep. you just want him to let you sleep.

your vision grows dizzy as you stare ahead, brows arching in discomfort. you think you press the end call button, but you can still hear his voice picking up in urgency... is he shouting? are you even on the phone anymore? you aren't sure.

your vision suddenly drifts into inky blackness as the phone rests beside you on your pillow. the last thing you are aware of before you slip into unconsciousness again is banging at your front door.

sukuna bursts into your apartment mere minutes after you stopped answering him on the phone. he looks about ready to kill, crimson eyes wide and pupils shrunken as he breathes heavily, looking all over your apartment.

he's stomping to your room and throwing the door open when he sees you laying in the bed. "(y/n)!" he barks, searching for some response from you, but all he recieves or nonsensical murmurs.

he moves quickly to the side of your bed and grabs at your shoulder, turning you over to find your sheets drenched and your face tight with discomfort. he falters, heart jerking at the sight. "...the fuck?"

he presses a hand to your sweat-drenched face and furrows his brows in concern. you're hot. too hot for the temperature of a human being, and you're sweating like crazy, mumbling things under your breath in your sleep he can't even hear.

"the fuck did you do?" he grumbles, starting to internally panic. he scrambles to remember what this could be. he knows of plague, of pestilence, so maybe you're suffering some form of that?

hell, he can't tell. not from a glance. he's not even sure if he knows how to help you. you're entirely too hot for him to brush this off like it's nothing, and you passed out in the middle of speaking to him.

he looks over and sees the thermometer on your sheets and leans over to pick it up. the screen reads a high number, which he assumes is the temperature of your body. curious himself, he prods open your jaw and tucks it into your mouth, pressing the button the way you had shown him when you had the flu to reset the time.

"come the fuck on," he growls as seconds tick by before it beeps, and he pulls it from your lips to read 104.7.

he doesn't know how far it is from your usual temp, but he knows it's high. too high.

he's quick to dial uraume for some more information, and the second he hears that you need immediate medical help, he's picking you up and making a run for it without even thinking that uraume can likely help you.

when you wake, you're blinded by nauseating lights blaring down overhead. "ugh," you groan, feeling light and disoriented. you turn your head to the side and blink, to find sukuna's face staring directly at you rather harshly.

you jump slightly, startled. "what-?" you start, scrunching your eyes to adjust to the sight before you. "sukuna? what are you..." you trail off when you realize that you aren't in your house, nor are you at sukuna's estate. instead, you're in a hospital bed hooked up to a series of fluids.

your eyes go wide as you sit up suddenly, only to be hit with a sudden dizzy spell that sends you leaning back into the bed.

"don't move," he orders, and you turn to him in confusion. never would you have expected to see the day that sukuna sits in a chair beside you in a hospital.

"why are we... what happened?"

"apparently you had a high fever," he answers harshly, fist-propping his chin up over his leg. "too high for you to be seen in my care, and too high for you to be lying in bed as though nothing was wrong."

your heart sinks. "how high?"

"when we got here, tipping past 105."

"...are you serious?"

"i had to come bust down your door to make sure you were alive. i put you on an empty roller downstairs because these fucking dumbass doctors can't see me and i had to get their attention so they could notice you. yes, i am serious."

he sounds pissed. and you hardly want to think of what he means by ‘getting their attention.’

"what do you have to say for yourself? for daring to lie to me? for pretending like you weren't on the brink of a much worse fate?"

"...i..."

"you're so lucky you're unwell, girl, because you don't even want to imagine the things i would do to you as punishment for putting yourself in such a ridiculous situation," he growls. "all you had to do was tell me and i would have taken care of it before it got worse."

you blink, almost dumbfounded. you still aren't all there, but you can tell that your fever has gone down significantly. you're no longer sweating and fewer chills wrack your body. "...huh?"

"did that fucking fever scramble your brain or what?" he fumes, eyeing you sharply. "you should have told me."

you part your lips slightly as you look at him. "honestly, sukuna, i didn't think you'd really... i don't know-"

"care?"

"no, not care. i just didn't think you'd handle it well. i didn't even handle it well myself."

"you believe me to be incapable of tending to sickness?"

"no, i just thought you'd like... not take it seriously."

sukuna's eyes darken, and you realize that you may have said the wrong thing. "in what reality would i fail to take any threat to your health seriously, whether you are frail or not?"

"see, that's what i mean. you always have to slip in something about me being frail."

"because you are. as a member of your species. look at where you lay currently," sukuna grimaces. "that is not an insult to you, it's an observation. it's an insult, however, to everyone else who isn't you."

you relax slightly. "then you were actually worried?"

sukuna scoffs. "why the hell do you think i'm sitting in a human hospital with your sick ass right now? i thought we were past you believing i do not concern myself over you."

you suddenly feel foolish, having forced yourself to suffer in your isolation and simultaneously made sukuna, of all people, worry over you.

"hm. feeling foolish, are you?" he says, reading your mind.

"shut up,," you whine, only to clutch your stomach suddenly with a groan. sukuna sighs as he gently eases your head back onto the pillow.

"i told you not to exert yourself. you give me a headache."

"kuna," you mumble.

"what?"

"can you... take me home?"

sukuna raises a brow. "home?"

"to your place," you clarify. "i don't wanna be here. i just want to be with you. want you to hold me."

"you're such a needy thing," he exhales, toying with a strand of your hair as he leans over and gazes gently at you. "you have medications you need to take."

"then bring them with."

"and if you get sick again? you've only been here ten hours."

"ten?!" you exclaim.

"you were very ill, (y/n)."

you groan. "ten is long enough. i hate hospitals. take me home. i feel better anyway, and if i get worse, i’ll just go to uraume."

sukuna sighs, standing slowly. "after i get these tubes out of you without further damaging you, i will take you home," he says, looking over the IVs that you're hooked up to.

you close your eyes tiredly and nod in acceptance. "okay," you murmur.

he grunts. "let me find some damn instructions.”

"kuna," your hand weakly reaches out to catch his wrist and he stops, turning to look down at you.

"what is it?"

you open your eyes to look up at him fondly, exhaustion welling in your gaze. "thank you."

the king of curses clenches his jaw. he smoothes ahead over your now warm forehead and leans over you. "don't do some shit like this again."

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 11 — BREEDING

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — blade, welt, anaxa, phainon

— warnings. — fem! reader, breeding kink, spit kink, cum eating, very messy, possessive boys, lovesick and pussydrunk giggles, oral (fem! receiving), hitting it raw

⚝ — BLADE

there's no lead in with your boyfriend, no warm up— not with blade, yeah? not with him, just your thighs lazily thrown over his shoulders and his mouth dragging down between them like he's searching for something that'll surely save his heart.

his tongue was brutal and mean attacking the little pearl through the protective hood of your clit, making you instantly flinch into him, whimpering from the pressure as he groans like it only made him harder the more he heard you voice yourself. by now, his face shimmered of spit and slick before he pulls back— just to let a thick globule of spit hit your messy cunt again, big and heavy and right on your entrance— blade groans out at the sheer sight, "you want to be used, don't you? made a mess of? filled so deep it leaks out of you for days."

"that's what you've said, haven't you?" he was awfully good at giving you what you've sought after and blade doesn't stop, not even when you're shaking, not even when your breath fractures into broken little sobs.

he only drives into you over and over, stuffing you so full it spills out around him and covers his girth and pelvis, a sight both so hot and humiliating it turned your thighs into jelly— not to mention when it's sticking to his skin or soaking into the ruined sheets below.

you feel it all— feel the mess you've made and the weight of it on both of your bodies, the slow, endless filling of his cum pumping into you until you felt like you couldn't possibly breathe anymore— yet he just kept going, naturally, like he's literally carving himself into you, like he's trying to brand his existence into the deepest, most secret parts of your body so he'd for once, love being alive.

he huffs out when you sob into his lips, a gravelly noise torn from the bottom of his chest as he continues grinding into you with a brutal force that left you gasping, half-sobbing against his strong chest, "i'll ruin every inch," and you can't tell if he's actually shaking from restraint or insane hunger for you.

every greedy shove of hips against your cunt carved a deeper wound inside you, raw, passionate and the friction unbearable, your thighs slick and weak from the hefty fullness he's forced upon your hole, your hands sliding uselessly against his arms— clinging one moment and slipping the next, your body too wrung out to do anything but take him.

slick and semen spill out around where he bullies himself deeper, a vulgar, sticky testament to how little control he has left— how little you have left, all you can do is tremble and arch into him, as well as clutch at him with your numb fingers grazing at his biceps while he groans into your throat like he'll die if he doesn't break you open a little more.

his hands were splayed at your hips like he's holding together something broken, but it's not you— it's him, something's fracturing, something sharp and cavernous and when blade finally presses in once more, pistoling his cock through everything you've given him, the filthy mixture of your arousal and his cum covering the insides of your thighs as blade groans— a raw, strangled thing that sounded like a force of life had crushed through him.

well, there you see it, he was showing it, already wanting to be ready for another round, correct?

because blade's not done, oh no don't be silly now— he'll never be done, his cock was already glazed in the evidence of your last few rounds and still he shoves it back in like he's punishing you for how wet and how soft and how tight you were for him.

"you'll keep squeezing me like that, i'll fill you again, i swear—" his voice catches, one uncoordinated thrust of through your hole and he moans, hips twitching with mild overstimulation, "fuck, i'll keep doing it until you can't walk" as the tremble in his hands betrayed how close he truly was, how the tight, wet clench of your walls sucking him in was unraveling him thread by desperate thread. 

⚝ — WELT

"this is all i was asking for," welt purrs at you, his voice resembling poisoned silk as he dragged two fingers through your soaked mess, his lips curled up in a smirk, "you're leaking already for me, how shameful."

the man doesn't hide how hard he got seeing the way your body reacted to his faint touches— how he readjusted his boxers when your slick gathered so easily on his fingers, the way it glistened when he held it to the light like a chemist examining his prized specimen.

welt tastes it instantly, although slow, his tongue curling around the evidence as he groans at your taste infiltrating his taste buds, "i'll fuck you until you cry for mercy and beg me not to stop, i want to see it all— your spit, your cum, me, dripping from every hole, every inch of you marked," there, listen close, welt was laughing again.

not mockery, but devotion— fanged and fevered, unwell and you're beneath him and he's already soaked you again, cock smacking against your folds with disgustingly wet slaps of slick and spit glazing your thighs as welt just hums like a man given purpose.

"you think i'm stopping?" he whispers against your temple, tongue dragging hot over the shell of your ear, "after I just made you cum on my cock like that?" as you're still twitching from the aftermath, overstimmed to the brim, your cunt a mess and full, fuck, and he just shifts back slightly to admire the sight, what a man gone mad.

welt couldn't stop looking at how your hole pulses and spasms like it's begging for more, reaching for him, greedy and flushed and leaking cum, "look at that, so empty, so needy," he smears his fingers through the mess he's left inside you, presses the slick digits to your lips, "taste that, that's mine," and when he fucks back in, he abruptly spits on your tongue.

"don't swallow it yet, let it stay there. let me see it— dripping down your chin like the perfect little thing you are."

⚝ — ANAXA

anaxa doesn't wait, in fact, ugh, come on now, lets remain honest here— did he ever strike you as somebody who'd kindly wait for you to settle onto the bed when you don't even need to blink before he's shoving you onto the bed like gravity has betrayed you all by himself?

like he owns the air in your lungs and intends to squeeze every last moan out with his hands, his hips, his cock.

"witness yourself," anaxa breathes out, a low, menacing murmur, gloved fingers prying you apart with slow, clinical cruelty, like he's cataloging something rare and precious in his mind, only to later defile it with his slender hands, "already soaked for me? already out of breath too? and i've barely even laid claim on you, ah, how do you expect to survive me, little one?"

he leans in to be face level with your glistening pussy, his breath fanning against your folds as he spits, repeatedly— once slow, twice again— right over your swollen folds. it trickles down in a glistening line and he watches with a hollow, consuming hunger, like a scholar before a ritual.

"even better now," his voice cuts low, scraping through the thick air as you whine out his name, your nipples hard and erected from how anaxa has been handling you, "so prettily aching for me, huh? you want to be ruined, don't you? stretched wide, stuffed full, yeah, so full it spills out of you, again and again and you'll still beg for more."

"I just know you will," as he pushes himself in with a groan, the large and shuddering stretch on your pussy stinging instantly before you felt a familiar heat greet your walls— the split alone folds you in half, has your toes curling and your nails scrambling for anything to hold onto as anaxa carefully pinned down your wrists, dragging your hands up above your head, beginning to fuck you.

"you're mine now," he breathes, lips brushing your ear, "every drop you spill— mine, every tear you cry from getting fucked so hard you forget your name— it belongs to me."

he thrusts harder, chasing the sound of your body squelching beneath him as you clench tight and cry out, making him lose his fucking mind. one hand leaves your wrists to force your jaw open, his spit falling directly onto your tongue before he leans in to kiss it deeper into your throat.

"i'll ruin you so many times, you won't know which mess came first, mine or yours," and when he does, inch by inch, a high pitched moan shatters over your cries as you wince out his name when his cock massaged over your walls repeatedly well, his skilled fingers rubbing your tits ever so tenderly.

if only he wasn't so damn messy— your thighs slick with everything he's spilled inside you, rubbing the head of his cock through the cum-slick mess between your legs just to spread it over yourself more, fuck, anaxa really cannot stop.

⚝ — PHAINON

an impassioned and heavy stillness seemed to press down the air on itself, and in that darkened room you've found yourself splayed out right underneath phainon's towering frame, trembling under the cool, hefty weight of him.

"sweetheart, you're clenching," he says, quite fascinated, as he pushes into you with a low, shaky moan, "gripping me so tight— do you want to milk every drop out of me?"

he's obsessed with it, the mess, the physical evidence of what you're doing to him as he leans down, biting your shoulder, thrusting deeper just to hear the wet, obscene squelches of his warm cum inside you, "again," he whispers, voice cracking, "i need to see more, more of it leaking out, down your thighs, on my cock, fuck, fuck, on your stomach too, fuck— i need to paint you with it."

you're both drenched, tangled in sweat and spit and endless release, his hands greedily spreading your folds to admire the way you glisten with all he's spilled inside you, "you'll remember me by the way you drip," he breathes, "every time you move, it'll remind you who ruined you."

phainon has already fucked you twice and still looks like he's starving.

his hair was stuck to his forehead as sweat dripped down his chest, yet his hands haven't stopped shaking since the moment you moaned out his name and pulled him in the first time.

you're dazed, truly, raw and full of warm cum and yet he's still staring between your legs like you're an unanswered prayer, "can't help it," he murmurs, almost apologetic— almost, "when i see it like that."

his voice trails off as he drags his fingers through your wrecked cunt with cum dripping out of you instantly, coating his fingers in strings that glisten under the low light, "fuck— fuck," phainon moans before immediately shoving his fingers into your mouth, "taste it, baby come on, tell me it's not perfect."

you filthily whimper around his fingers, suckling on them and rolling your tongue over his knuckles as his cock twitches, "no, no— don't close your legs now," as he pulls them open again, wider this time and groans at the sight of his cum leaking out in slow, wet rivulets, "keep them open, yeah? i want to see it, all of it, i need to see how many times i can fill you before your body can't hold it anymore."

phainon leans in, whispers hot against your throat as he presses his cum-stricken fingers against your tongue, "you'll let me try, won't you?"

©2025 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[monster-disaster]

I have a request for you!

A female reader that is happy-go-lucky and carefree. She frequents a monster brothel very much to the annoyance of the owner, a large gruff skull headed male demon. All the workers outright refuse to accept any payment from her because she's that good of a fuck and they also slack off during work hours to chat with her. She's very amusing and has an infectiously positive attitude, becoming a pseudo therapy dog for them. He considers her a menace to his establishment.

The next time she comes in he gives her an itemized bill and tells her she is barred from entering until she pays up. The workers start making a fuss and his hubris kicks in and makes a bargain. He'll see if she is that good of a fuck, and if he runs out of stamina before her he'll pay for everything.

He's thinking that she's going to end up under him out of energy and breathlessly moaning his name. If only he knew the opposite is going to happen..…

Dear Anon, I love your brain.

demon!Ezek x human!Reader Good to know: smut

The demon stands outside, framed by the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp. His arms are crossed over his chest, muscles straining the fabric of his shirt as he watches you round the corner. His dark, angular face twists into a scowl at the sight of you walking towards him with a spring in your step, light and easy as if you are simply meeting an old friend rather than the very creature who sent you away with a hefty bill only weeks ago. His sharp eyes narrow with suspicion, and annoyance rolls off his spine in waves. Yet, when your gaze meets his, you flash him a grin, bright and carefree. Your lipstick glints under the light of the setting sun still peaking out between the tall buildings. The glow gives you an orange blush that makes the deep color of your eyes shine with something that makes him grumble.

"Little pest," he greets you with a grunt. "I thought you wouldn't come."

The curve of your lips turns sly as you peek at him through your eyelashes. "You thought wrong," you tell him. "I missed my boys too much not to come, anyway."

Your words hit their mark. The tight frown etched into his bony features deepens at the use of your words. He almost scoffs. His annoyance lingers in the air, but he says nothing, only stares at you with that simmering, barely contained displeasure.

Your boys...

And he can't even argue with that. Ever since he sent you away with that bill, his men have treated him like the enemy rather than their boss. They grumble under their breath, shooting him looks like he is a storm cloud hanging over their heads. They have become a flock of offended hens, huffing and puffing whenever they catch sight of him. Their loyalty to you has been a thorn in his side ever since.

You have been the thorn in his side ever since you first set foot in his brothel years ago, slipping through the front door like a breeze that none of them saw coming. You charmed your way into his men's good graces, winning over their hearts with a flick of your little finger. It got to the point where his men wouldn't even accept your money, brushing off your attempts to pay with dismissive waves and toothy grins. It was a rare sight, seeing the lot of them, usually gruff and hardened, melting under your influence like snow under a warm sun. They'd offer you drinks on the house, pull up chairs beside you for conversations, and treat you like one of their own, much to his growing frustration. He’d seen how their eyes would light up when you arrived, and the playful banter that used to fill the rooms whenever you were around. To them, you were a welcome break from the usual grind, but to him, you were nothing but a nuisance, one he couldn’t quite seem to rid himself of no matter how many times he tried to draw boundaries.

"Come, then," the demon rumbles, jerking his head toward the entrance before opening it in front of you with a rough motion. The hinges creak in protest, blending into the noises of the traffic around.

"Where are the others?" you ask immediately, your gaze sweeping over the empty, dimly lit hall as you step through the doorway.

"I sent them home."

The deal he made with you spread through the brothel within a few hours. The whispers and knowing glances bounced from one monster to another like wildfire, and before the demon knew it, the place was unbearable with the sneaky exchanges. He felt like the butt of a joke, and he couldn't stand it any longer.

"Oh," you reply. The disappointment in your voice only adds fuel to his growing annoyance. "I wanted to ask Blake how his family gathering went."

Ezek scowls down at you. His features, all bones, seem haunting. The deep crimson of his skin darkens as he glares. "What?" he asks, irritated. Then, he shakes his head dismissively. "Don't answer. I don't care."

You huff in answer. "Rude."

He rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply as he gestures for you to follow him. The impatience buzzes beneath his taut skin, making his movements rigid while he leads you down the corridor. Each step he takes is purposeful as if he is trying to outrun his annoyance simmering just below the surface.

After he’d had enough of his men’s antics, he finally made the decision to call you. He swore he felt Hell freezing over when you answered the line, all chirpy and upbeat as usual. It was infuriating how effortlessly you managed to sound cheerful when he was at his wit's end at the brothel.

"What can I do for you?"

Ezek snarled before he forced the words out of his mouth. "I have a deal for you."

His idea was simple: you could come and go as you pleased for free, as long as you showed him why the monsters who were supposed to work for him and generate profit acted like you were the one who owned the place. It was a way for him to regain some semblance of control while getting rid of you for good.

"I will be there," you agreed.

The room he chose is simple, with low lights that cast a warm, inviting glow all over. Neatly arranged sheets lie atop the bed, their sweet scent filling the air and mingling with the subtle hints of something floral and fresh.

"I need the bathroom first," you say, already putting down your purse and making your way to the other door.

"Sure," the male grunts in reply with a hint of disinterest in his voice as he loosens a few buttons of his shirt. The fabric parts, revealing a glimpse of his skin.

He settles down on the bed, leaning back against the plush headboard while waiting for you. He can hear you moving around, and without realizing it, he steals glances toward the bathroom, his mind racing with thoughts he can't quite pin down. You are a lively little thing, radiating so much brightness that he has no choice but to feel both frustrated and intrigued at the same time. It doesn’t matter, though. After this night, he will show you that you have no place here, and everyone can move on without making his life impossible. The thought solidifies in his mind. He’s determined to reclaim his authority, to restore order among the chaos you've brought. This night will serve as a reminder to both you and his men that while your presence may be captivating, it’s also fleeting, a temporary distraction that he intends to put an end to.

When you appear at the doorway a few minutes later, he can’t help but be surprised at the sight of you. He expected you to go all out to impress him, but instead, you are clad in nothing but simple white underwear that fits snugly over your curves. Ezek feels a mix of admiration and irritation stir within him as he lets his gaze rake over your soft body. It’s disarming, and he can’t shake the feeling that you are effortlessly turning the tables on him, challenging his resolve in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

"What do you think?" you ask him with a big smile on your face. You twirl around to show him more, though there isn’t much to reveal when it comes to your underwear. It looks soft and comfortable, but his attention is quickly drawn to the plush curve of your ass before you turn back to face him. "I bought it just yesterday."

For a long second, Ezek is silent, taking in the sight of you. Did you really buy this for tonight? But he doesn’t voice any of this, though. While you’re nothing but an annoying little pest in his life, he has no desire to hurt your feelings or damage your self-esteem. Besides, he knows his men would burn him alive if they sensed he’d crossed that line. Instead, he clenches his jaw, torn between frustration and a reluctant admiration for your naiveness.

"You look stunning."

And he isn’t lying. Your natural confidence shines brighter than any lingerie ever could. The soft glow of your skin under the dim lights enhances your allure, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the thin fabric of your bra, clinging to you and showing off your hard nipples. It’s a sight that pulls his focus, stirring something deep within him that he’s too annoyed to confront. Even in something so simple, you manage to captivate him in a way he didn’t expect, and it leaves him grappling with a newfound awareness of just how potent your presence can be.

Moving on the bed, Ezek lets his legs fall onto the plush carpet as he leans slightly onto his knees.

"Come here," he commands, locking his gaze onto yours the whole time.

Maybe he is struggling to find his footing in this situation, but he sure won’t let you lead this dance between the two of you.

_

His long fingers grip your hips with bruising force, digging into the soft skin as he struggles to find control. It’s as if he can’t decide whether to stop you or urge you to move faster, making you bounce harder on his lap. It feels like his brain shut down the moment you climbed onto his lap an hour ago, and now all he can focus on is the heat of your body. Your warmth presses into him in a way that makes it impossible to think straight. Every shift of your body and every roll of your hips sends a fresh jolt through him, and he’s not sure if it’s pleasure or frustration that makes his grip tighten even more. Probably both. His breath comes out ragged, catching in his chest as he tries to steady himself, but it's a losing battle. Every time he thinks he is regaining control, you shift or press closer, and the edges of his thoughts blur again.

You are on his lap, riding him with a relentless rhythm. Your warm, slick heat envelopes him with every bounce. The sound of your bodies colliding, skin slapping against skin, fills the otherwise quiet room, blending with the soft creak of the bed beneath you. If Ezek could muster even a shred of sanity, he’d be irritated by the rhythmic noise. He sure will change every bed in this damn brothel the moment he can think again. But right now, every coherent thought slips through his grasp like sand. His fingers press deeper into your soft flesh, trying to steady you, or perhaps himself, as each movement sends a fresh surge of pleasure through him. It’s maddening, the way you ride him, guiding the pace with a confidence that both frustrates and excites him.

"Ezek," you moan above him. The high, desperate sound wraps around him like a vice, pulling tight, and he feels his erection jerk inside your wet, clenching heat.

A low growl rumbles from his chest. His teeth grind together at the way you moan his name, and then your hands slip from the headboard to wrap around his horns. The sudden, sharp tug on his skull makes his vision go white-hot at the edges as a shudder of raw sensation courses down his spine. His hips buck upward in a frantic, uncontrolled thrust that has him driving deeper inside you. The pressure of your grip on his horns leaves him reeling, forcing out another growl from deep in his throat as his body responds to you in ways he can’t quite rein in. He holds you down, forcing you to stay tight and snug around his cock as he grinds his hips up into you. He can feel the slick warmth of his previous release as it seeps out of your used hole, dripping around the base of his cock with every thrust. The sensation is filthy, spurring him on further to push into you with a rough determination that leaves your pussy clenching around him.

"Fuck," the demon snarls, his voice rough and guttural as he pushes himself up on the bed.

He moves with a sudden, feral urgency, crowding you beneath his larger frame. With a swift motion, he flips you onto your stomach, forcing your chest down into the rumpled sheets while your surprised squeal echoes in the room. His palm presses down firmly on the small of your back, pinning you in place as he shifts one of your legs to the side, spreading you open. The position leaves your pussy swollen and easily accessible.

"Ezek!" His name falls from your lips like a breathless plea as he drives into you again. Your body arches instinctively, responding to the overwhelming pleasure. His hips snap forward with an animalistic force. Each stroke is deep and unrelenting as if he’s determined to imprint himself into every part of you. You can feel him everywhere, the heat of his body against yours, the way his presence fills the space around you, making it feel both electric and consuming.

The male leans over you, his breath is hot against your ear as he growls. "Cum around me, Y/N." The weight of his body presses down. Your ass is soft and plush against his pelvis. Each thrust drives him deeper, pushing you closer to the edge.

The demon's muscles are taut as he holds himself above you. He can feel the familiar tingle at the base of his spine, a sign that he is nearing his own release. His balls pull tight, the need to fill you up almost primal, urging him on with a ferocity that makes his heart race. He digs his fingers into the sheets, anchoring himself as he quickens his pace.

“Y/N,” he growls, his voice low and raw. "Let go for me."

The tight, urging command is the final push you need. He swears he could break his own teeth by the force he closes his mouth as your warm pussy clutches and pulses around him. The feeling of you milking his already sensitive cock snaps the molten heat pooling low in his stomach. It’s as if every nerve ending in his body ignites at once, stealing his breath away for several long seconds. The tight grip of your warmth around him pushes him to the brink, and he can't help but growl as he feels his release barreling toward him, unstoppable.

With a final, deep thrust, he lets go, filling you completely as he shudders in ecstasy. Thick spurts of his cum paint your tightening walls. The warmth of him floods you in waves that send shockwaves of pleasure coursing through both of you. He can feel the pearly white liquid drip down, smearing over your joined skin.

As he finally catches his breath, he collapses onto the bed next to you, chest heaving and the world still spinning. For a long while, both of you lie sprawled out on the bed, the air warm and thick with the mingled scent of your arousal. He turns his head to glance at you, and a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. The dim light casts a soft glow across your features, highlighting the contentment etched on your face. It’s a sight that sends a wave of satisfaction through him.

He takes a moment to soak it all in.

Until you break the silence.

“Do you think if I give you some time, you’ll be ready for another round?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows. Your voice is hoarse, yet as cheerful and bright as ever.

The question catches the demon off guard, leaving him momentarily breathless as he stares at you in disbelief. “Wha'?”

You shrug with a playful glint in your eyes. “You are better than I thought.”

The praise ignites a fire within him, causing his blood to boil. His usual scowl returns, hardening the sharp lines of his features as he processes your words.

For a few silent seconds, you hold his gaze, tilting your head slightly as if trying to decipher his reaction. “That’s a no?”

The demon groans, frustration creeping into his voice as he glances up at the ceiling. “Go and find your boys.”

“And what if I do that thing with my tongue again?” you ask. The sultry tilt in your voice sends a jolt of arousal and pain through his already spent cock, making it twitch in response.

Well, call him a machoist... "Give me ten minutes."

He will hear about this from the others anyway when you saunter into the brothel, so why shouldn't he enjoy it while he can?

[nanamiskentos]

UNADULTERATED LOATHING ! ☓. ── ( 五条 悟, gojo satoru )

⌗ dazzling starlet, bardot reincarnatе. well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist ? you have an effect on gojo satoru, and he tells you that it's pure, unadulterated loathing. but why does his heart say otherwise?

ᯓ starring ─ ﹙ 五条 悟 : gojo satoru ﹚ ─ the strongest x reader

𝓳𝓳𝓴. ㅤ﹑ ( 呪術廻戦 x afab!reader )  ─── ❛ cw ⌓. sfw. wicked!au. enemies to lovers, gojo is SO in love, mutual pining, this is just a one-shot, like a quick snippet. wc ⌓. 2k.

𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ( author says ) i finally watched wicked and i was listening to olivia rodrigo's lacy

you push through the doors of your long awaited assigned dormitory, already dreaming of the quiet solitude that's ready for you. that blissful moment when you can drop your bags, sink into the comfort of your room, and finally crack open that hefty book in your bag.

but the moment that you step aside, that dream dies a swift and unceremonious death. this room is a disaster. a veritable storm of pale blue, navy, and stark white sprawls across every available surface that the eye can take in. clothes draped over chairs, video game casings cracked open at odd angles, and half-finished letters abandoned in precarious piles. there's even a pair of sunglasses littered on the floor, so very close to polished tips of your new boots.

you just inhale sharply, already bracing yourself for the worst as you round the heavy trunk that blocks your path. only to collide, at full, devastating force into a solid, broad chest.

a firm plane of muscle that belongs to none other than the golden boy, gojo satoru.

and god, how your head snaps up in horror. his ever-present sunglasses are pushed up to his white hair, exposing a pair of sharp and wary eyes. bright and assessing, and currently locked onto you as if your very presence is the final act of some awful cosmic joke.

for a long and weighty moment, neither of you speak. there's a realisation settling between the two of you like a stone dropped into deep water. the administration truly did not make a mistake, gojo satoru was your new roommate.

"do you really think this is fair?" you ask, voice a tad weaker than you had hoped.

gojo just exhales through his nose, as if he's suffering through tragedies untold, "i do not." but his voice is melodic, smooth, as he straightens his spine so the very uppermost tufts of his snowy hair brush the ceiling, "as i was promised a private suite. but thanks for asking."

your eyes fall back skywards, stepping past him to assess your new surrounding. manoeuvring carefully through this...mess. gojo, for his part, seems content to move aside and keep his distance. he's just watching you in the large, oaken vanity, fiddling with his already-perfect hair.

casual, far too casual. he's suspicious, you realise. which, considering your mutual dislike, is quite fair.

still, it seems as though he's eager to make a show of his generosity. gojo's leaning away from the mirror, "i saved you some space, by the way." gesturing a long limb towards the farthest, least appealing corner of the room, where a diminutive daybed sits awkwardly beside a tiny, lopsided table with exactly one draw. your eyes fall on gojo's own bed, a rather ornate and gilded piece with curtans. ugh, what a diva.

gojo somehow must be mistaking your stony grimace for gratitude, for he's smiling. all beatific and cherubic, as though he's a saint sent down from the heavens above, "it was nothing. roommates do these things for each other, after all."

your eyes meet jewel-blue, still watching as gojo basks in your silent outrage. he's stretching his arms out luxuriously, kicking up his own boots onto a plush, cornflower blue ottoman.

you're going to strangle gojo satoru in his sleep. but had you not turned away from the walking waste of oxygen, you might have noticed the sudden, red flush that plastered itself onto gojo's alabaster skin — crawling up his neck until it tickled at his ears.

the room is now steeped in candlelight, the soft glow of gojo's lamp casting a cool, blue hue over everything. shadows flicker along the walls, elongating the handsome angles of his face as he lounges at his desk, twirling a navy feather-quill between his fingers. the fine parchment before him still lays untouched, for his gaze keeps drifting to you.

you, curled up on your far end of the room on your bed, bathed in the tired amber glow of your own lamp. gojo just watches as you're lost in your own careful strokes of ink on dry parchment. and he hates to admit it, loathes to even bestow upon you this grace, but he's fascinated by the sight of you — the most brilliant (if odd) peer in this damn cohort.

you write the way people pray, head bowed and utterly absorbed as each word is something sacred. your lashes cast long shadows on your cheeks, and gojo just gnaws at the soft flesh in his own mouth. enraptured by the parting of your lips lost in thought.

gojo satoru has seen beautiful things before, no-one raised in the illustrious gojo clan hasn't, but this is something else. something he can't quite name, and he fears that he hates you for the hold you have over him.

"to whom it may concern at the ol' gojo clan. guess what?" gojo finally begins, scrawling the words onto his letters without much thought. pretending to make a big show of tapping his chin, kicking back against his bed.

but across the room, you're so, so adamant to barely acknowledge gojo. forgoing his desire for constant attention to be rather focused on your own letter to home, "my dear father. thank you for agreeting to let me stay."

gojo's exhaling dramatically, head lolling back onto his tired neck, "i can't hear your guesses because this is a letter. so i'll just tell you."

silence stretches between the two of you, filled only by the faint rustling of paper, and the distant sound of laughter from the courtyard below. gojo's fingers tap out a restless rhythm against the wood of his bedside table. you're still refusing to acknowledge him, still wrapped up in your letter, and gojo — who has spent his entire life commanding love and affection, expecting it, feels something like irritation curl in his chest. or maybe it's something else entirely.

he tries again, and unbeknownst to the lovestruck gojo, you're penning the exact same words on your own letters.

"there's been some confusion over rooming here at school."

you're suddenly glancing over at him, and gojo bites his heavy tongue at the flicker of exasperation flashing through your eyes. watching as you sigh, and shake your head, "but of course," you scrawl, "i'll focus on my studies."

gojo's lips twitch, "but of course, i'll rise above it."

it seems that neither of you are aware that you are both writing in tandem now, so very synchronised as gojo dips his quill lazily into that half-empty ink pot, "for i know that's how you'd want me to respond."

gojo watches from you from behind the rim of his sunglasses, shameless in his greed for the sight of you, and utterly fascinated. the delicate furrow of your brow, the way your fingers tap absently against the desk when you pause to think. he knows people. he understands them.

but you? you are a riddle wrapped in something unfairly lovely, a puzzle he isn't even sure he's able to solve, because maybe knowing would make the mystery less intoxicating. gojo briefly wonders why he feels as though he's about to hurl.

"yes, there's been some confusion, for you see, my roommate is..."

gojo pauses, contemplating, for how does one describe you? how does anyone categorise something so strangely, annoyingly captivating?

you are contradictions woven into the shape of a person. sharp and soft, cold and brilliant, distant but so alive. he wants to say infuriating or prickly or entirely too self-serious, but none of those words quite capture the way that gojo's world seems to tilt slightly whenever you shoot him that unimpressed look.

"unusually and exceedingly peculiar, and altogether quite impossible to describe."

but you? you have very little hesitation. your quill barely lingering before you hastily scribble away, "blonde."

scratching the quill against the cheap parchment in a single stroke, amending yourself, "or rather, silver-haired and silver-tongued. yet, all too lacking for wit or decency."

and so you gently blow on the drying ink, neatly creasing the letter as you do your best not to meet gojo satoru's eyes. isn't he just too much? too loud, too arrogant, too sure of himself?

gojo satoru walks into a room as though it belongs to him, like the air bends around him and gravity itself is an afterthought to the heir of the gojo clan.

and god, you hate the way that your eyes must betray you first, catching on the sharp lines of his jaw or the effortless sway of his posture. the way his silver-white hair falls perfectly, no matter how carelessly he runs a hand through it. you hate, truly loathe the way gojo tilts his head when he's pretending to listen, or the way pink lips curl when he's about to say something that will drive you absolutely nuts.

you tell yourself that you find him irritating, not intoxicating. that you're unmoved, not entranced. that you don't notice the absurd prettiness of the school's golden boy, that annoyingly, careless confidence and the way he seems to puncture the air out of your lungs.

gojo's snowy head jerks, as though he can hear your thoughts. eyes narrowing behind dark lenses as he folds his own letter and tucks it into the pocket of his uniform jacket. you just school your features, and shoot him a seething look as though you did not just spend the last five minutes memorising every single detail of his face.

it's just loathing. pure, unadulterated loathing.

[sturnioz]

hear me out…. one of fratboy!chris’ ex fwbs runs into him and shy!reader at a party and she makes it very clear she misses sex with him

how are they both reacting?

you can't help but stare at her in awe. she is gorgeous.

cherry. that's her name — or rather, her nickname. all thanks to her vibrant red hair and big breasts that fit so perfectly in her low-cut dress.

you know you probably look a bit silly, standing beside chris in the crowded kitchen, your mouth agape and eyes sparkling as you watch how she carries herself with an intoxicating confidence.

her red lips curl into a sultry smile as she gazes at chris, her perfectly applied fake lashes fluttering as she speaks to him. you watch, mesmerised, as she leans in closer, placing a hand on chris' shoulder, her fingers lingering just a moment too longer as she whispers something in his ear. he nods, reaching into his pocket to grab whatever she asked for, and the sight suddenly twists your stomach into knots.

when her eyes finally dart toward you, your heart races. you straighten your back instinctively and offer her a polite smile as she tilts her head slightly, seemingly sizing you up.

"hi," she greets, her tone short and blunt, but you barely register it.

"hello." you kindly introduce yourself, hastily adding your name at the end, hoping to make a good impression. "you're really pretty."

"thanks." her tone is blunt again, and while the straightforwardness of her reply should sting, it barely registers in your mind; you're too consumed by her beauty, trying to comprehend how someone so stunning could be standing right in front of you.

"how do you know chris?" you ask, trying your best to keep the conversation flowing despite your social awkwardness.

"we used to fuck." the way she says it makes you blink, recoiling slightly. there's a sharpness in her tone that leaves you feeling unsettled, and a frown threatens to break across your lips — not because you're surprised by what she said, you're fully aware of how many people chris had slept with before you.

it's the way in which she delivers the information that feels off, leaving a strange feeling within you that you can't quite pinpoint.

"that's... that's cool, yeah," you murmur awkwardly, your admiration rapidly overshadowed by an uncomfortable tension. the intensity of her gaze makes you feel small, and you instinctively shuffle closer to chris' side, as if you're seeking out help or comfort.

chris remains silent, completely unfazed as he pulls a baggy filled with pink, heart-shaped pills from his pocket and hands them to cherry, who immediately breaks into a smile, her fingers lingering in his grasp just a moment too long.

"you're the best, as always," cherry says, her voice going back to that sultry tone as she leans in closer, her gaze fixed on chris. "am i still allowed to pay for this a different way or...?"

"nah, pills went up a lot since last time. s'gonna cost you," chris says as he holds out his hand with a nonchalant grin. "pay up."

"come on.. you know money isn't always the better payment." her tone is playful now, yet there's an underlying intensity that makes your stomach churn, and you swallow thickly, unsure on how to react with seeing this happen right in front of your eyes.

"i need the money." chris doesn't back down, his expression now firm as he still holds out his hand. cherry hesitates, her jaw tightening, the playful glint in her eye momentarily dimming as she reaches into her purse, retrieving a handful of cash and slamming a few hefty dollar bills into his palm.

your eyes wide at the amount you see — more than you originally expected for just a few miniature pills, and you're unable to contain your curiosity as you accidentally blurt out, "how much are the pills?"

"why?" chris snaps back his usual response when you ask about these things. he rolls up the bills and shoves them into his pocket with practiced ease, his eyes narrowing as he stares at you. "don't get any funny ideas, kid, or i swear—"

"s'just a lot of money..." you speak in awe, your gaze darting from the cash in his pocket to his eyes, searching for an understanding. "that's, like, a lot."

chris blinks, the corner of his lips twitching upward ever so slightly at your expression. "well, yeah.. its fuckin' drugs."

"i used to pay for it a different way, right?" cherry chimes in, her voice smooth and enticing. to be honest, you did forget for a brief moment that she was still here with you, and your head turns towards her, but her focused is locked on chris. "i still should, to be honest — you always liked it that way."

"yeah, i did," chris hums in agreement, and you shift uncomfortably beside him, chewing on your bottom lip as a wave of anxiety washes over you.

"do you still have those blue ones we used to take together?" she asks him, but her focus now shifts to you. "we used to get high together all the time, and the way he would move his hips when we fucked? it was something else."

you catch a glimpse of the smug, proud grin on chris' face from the corner of your eye, and a rush of discomfort floods your system, twisting your insides. the feelings bubbling up inside you are confusing, leaving your head spinning as if you've had three beers too many.

"i don't have that shit anymore, wasn't doin' good." chris confesses, pulling out a joint and fishing for his lighter, his nonchalance only making it worse for you.

"you still have my number right?" cherry asks, her voice low and inviting. "if you start selling it again, you should give me a call.. you know i'll be there."

as chris strikes the lighter, the flame flickers to life, igniting his joint as he looks at cherry — holding her gaze for a moment longer than necessary as he takes a hit, holding it in his lungs before releasing the smoke in a slow, deliberate exhale.

"yeah, a'ight. i will." he drawls, and your heart races as you watch cherry smirk at him, a look of satisfaction spreading across her face before she gracefully walks off, her hips swaying as she disappears into the crowd.

you swallow hard again, glancing up at chris, who's still staring in the direction cherry left as he takes another hit. you want to ask him what that was all about, to try for answers, but the words catch in your throat. it's not your place to question him, yet the urge to understand still lingers.

but, to your surprise, chris lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he pulls out his phone. "m'gonna run her money so fuckin' bad," he hums, a smirk playing on his lips as his eyes flick to you. "she's not gonna know what hit her, kid."

[admiringlove]

➵ pairing. gojo satoru x fem! reader.

➵ summary. you yearned for adventure, but the thrill you sought quickly spirals into a web of secrets as dark forces converge on hogwarts. with cryptic notes mysteriously appearing and a shadowy figure wielding parseltongue, your identity as a marauder hangs precariously in the balance. as you grapple with mounting responsibilities, the tension between you and the infuriating gojo satoru reaches a boiling point. can you unravel the mystery before it consumes you, or will the weight of the truth prove too heavy to bear?

➵ warnings. gojo being gojo; profanity; dueling; toji ripping people off; mentions of gambling or placing bets; mentions of theft; pureblood gojo being a dick at times; reader being stupid; causing physical harm (burning someone's hand, specifically gojo); fictional slurs mentioned once (1); etc.

➵ genre. wizarding world au; academic rivals to lovers; enemies to lovers; angst; fluff; adventure; etc.

➵ word count. 13k.

➵ author's note. as usual, ty for proofreading, my dear aspen. AND on that note, here is chapter two where the real show begins :)

➵ navigation. previous, masterlist, next.

One month had passed in agonizing monotony.

The requests had been laughable: a missing toad, students floundering with their grades despite the term having barely begun, and petty attempts at hexing one another in the name of Quidditch rivalries. Even the bludger debacle had been little more than a blip on the radar. Nothing gripping. Nothing exhilarating.

Now, on an unremarkable Sunday morning, you found yourself curled up in the common room, the faint crackle of the fire your only company. Your eyes scanned the dense text of The Rise of Pureblood Families—a tome so ancient it felt like it might crumble to dust in your hands. Professor Fig had insisted it was essential reading for his next lecture, though you suspected he delighted in tormenting his students with the driest material imaginable.

The quiet is abruptly shattered by the sharp snap of the book right in front of your face. You blink, startled, only to see Utahime standing over you, disheveled and very much unimpressed.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing up this early?” she grumbles, collapsing onto the sofa beside you and rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes.

“Reading,” you mutter, holding up the hefty volume as evidence. “I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

She yawns, sprawling across the cushions like a lazy cat. “You’re a menace. It’s Sunday. Go back to bed like a normal person.”

“Some of us actually care about our classes,” you tease, leaning your head against her shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “Fig’s got us studying the bloodlines of the founders. Pureblood supremacy and all that delightful rot.”

Her eyes narrow at the title of the book, and she plucks it from your lap with a scoff. “History of Magic: The Rise of Pureblood Families? What on Earth is wrong with you?”

“It’s for class!” you protest, half-whining. “You’re the one who bailed on History of Magic last year. Ancient Runes was your grand pursuit of knowledge, remember?”

“Had I known they’d give me a time-turner if I took both, I’d have made better choices,” she mutters darkly, flipping through the brittle pages. Her eyes catch on a familiar name, and a wicked grin spreads across her face. “Oh, look. The Gojo clan. How utterly predictable.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Of course they’re in there.”

“Of course they are,” she drawls, setting the book down with exaggerated delicacy. “The question is, how many pages do you think he’s read about himself?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you silently wished the universe would send you something, anything, to break the tedium of this slow-burning school year. Something big, or dangerous, or impossible. Something worth remembering.

The book slides from your lap, landing on the sofa with a muted thud, and that’s when you notice it—a sliver of something protruding from between the pages, barely discernible against the worn parchment. Utahime is saying something about Quidditch, her words lazy and half-formed, but your attention has already shifted. Slowly, you reach for the book, the weight of its age settling into your palms, and tilt it toward the light.

There it is again. Something thin, fragile, and out of place. You pinch it between your fingers, the texture unmistakable—parchment, slightly waxy and crinkled at the edges. You pull it free, and as you do, your heart gives a faint, involuntary flutter.

The piece of parchment is blank. Utterly unremarkable at first glance, the kind of thing you’d toss aside without a second thought. Yet, there’s a heaviness to it, a peculiar presence that makes you pause. You trace its edges, the uneven cut of the paper catching against the pad of your thumb.

“Hm?” Utahime mumbles, stretching beside you. Her voice is sluggish, sleep-heavy. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing,” you reply, but your tone betrays the lie. You fold the parchment in half, slipping it into your pocket as casually as you can manage.

She doesn’t press further, yawning mid-sentence as she shifts in her seat. “You’re weird. Anyway, did you hear? Itadori's been selected as the new Seeker of our team—”

“Iori,” you interrupt, glancing toward the clock above the fireplace. “Is it alright if I head out? I’m starving.”

“Now?” she asks, blinking at you like you’ve grown a second head. “It’s barely sunrise. The Hall’s probably empty.”

“I’ll check the kitchens, then,” you offer, already reaching for your robe. “House Elves always have something ready. Coffee, maybe a pie or two.”

“Suit yourself.” She waves you off, her voice dissolving into another yawn. “Bring me back a treacle tart if they’ve got one.”

You smile, grateful for her indifference. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As you step through the portrait hole, the cold stone of the castle’s corridors greets you. The folded parchment burns faintly in your pocket, its blank surface somehow heavier now, as though it’s watching you, waiting for you to notice something you’ve missed.

You crouch briefly, tugging your wand from its hiding place in your boot, the smooth wood a comforting weight in your palm. "Lumos," you whisper, your steps echoing unevenly against the cold stone floors, sharp and deliberate in the stillness of the castle at dawn. Reaching the Reception Hall, you hesitate, your gaze sweeping the expanse of shadowed corridors around you. Too early for students to wander. Too suspicious if you were caught.

The Floo Flame waits ahead, green embers crackling faintly in the dark fireplace. You move toward it, fingers brushing the small bowl of Floo Powder resting on the corner table. For a moment, you simply stand there, listening—nothing but the distant groan of shifting stone, before sighing out softly, "Nox."

Satisfied, you take a measured breath, gripping a pinch of the silvery powder, and step into the fireplace.

Your heart thrums like a drumbeat, resonating in your chest, in your fingertips, in the tips of your ears. “Room of Requirement,” you murmur, the words precise, deliberate, the syllables sharp in the still air. You release the powder, and the world blurs in a flash of emerald flames.

When you open your eyes, the Room greets you in its usual, haunting splendor. Shadows dance across towering bookshelves and stretch over the cavernous ceiling. The faint scent of parchment and the warmth of the ever-crackling fireplace mingle with the quiet, electric hum of something unseen—something alive. The air here always felt charged, like a secret waiting to unfold.

You walk toward the long table and its pinboard, the polished surface gleaming faintly in the dim light. Then, a voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and lazy all at once.

“Didn’t think you’d be here this fine morning.”

The sound makes you flinch, your pulse skipping. You turn, already preparing a cutting retort, something sharp-edged and brimming with profanity. But the words die on your tongue the moment you see him.

Satoru. Of course. His silver hair catches the flickering firelight, the perpetual smirk curling at his lips as infuriating as ever. But it’s what he’s holding that freezes you in place. Between his middle and index fingers, he dangles something thin and yellowed—a piece of parchment, eerily familiar, catching the light like a warning.

“You got one too,” you say, your voice low and surprised as you reach into your pocket, pulling out the parchment you’d found earlier. It feels heavier now, though it shouldn’t.

He nods, the motion slow and deliberate, humming under his breath as he strolls toward you. “Indeed. Blank, isn’t it? Curious little thing.”

His gaze flicks to yours, bright and unreadable. He spins the parchment in his fingers lazily, before adding, “Come with me, Fawkes Junior. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

“Do you think whoever sent it knows that we’re—”

“Highly likely,” he interrupts, voice maddeningly nonchalant. He brushes past you, the faint scent of mahogany and something sharper lingering in the air. “But let’s see what it is first, shall we?”

You trail behind him toward the long table, your steps hesitant, the weight of the parchment in your hand growing heavier with every passing second. Satoru reaches the table first, his movements unhurried, almost theatrical. He places his parchment down with a casual flick of his wrist, then steps back, fixing you with an expectant look. His pale eyes gleam with something unreadable, his smirk daring you to ask the obvious.

You stare at him, confused, your brows knitting together as you clutch your own parchment tighter. “What?” you ask, your voice defensive, though you’re not sure why.

“Don’t just stand there like a stunned pixie,” he says, his tone dripping with exaggerated exasperation. “Put your parchment down and do the honors, you toad.”

Your lips part in indignation, a sharp retort already forming. “I’m not a toad! You’re the toad.” But even as you say it, you step up to the table, cheeks warm, and place your parchment beside his.

“Right,” you mutter under your breath, steadying yourself. Your fingers twitch as you pull your wand from your robes, pointing it toward the two scraps of parchment. You feel the weight of his gaze on you, sharp and unwavering, as if he’s daring you to mess up.

Sucking in a breath, you focus, the words spilling from your lips with careful precision. “Aparecium.”

For a moment, nothing happens. The fire crackles softly in the hearth behind you, the sound stretching into the silence like a taut thread. And then, it begins.

The ink blooms slowly, almost hypnotically, across the surface of the parchment. Black tendrils unfurl like vines, weaving their way across the waxy paper in intricate patterns. You watch, transfixed, as words begin to take shape, each letter etching itself with deliberate grace. The air feels heavier now, charged with something alive, something ancient.

Your breath catches, and you barely notice Satoru stepping closer until his shoulder brushes against yours. The warmth of him is startling, a contrast to the chill that seems to radiate from the parchment. He leans in, his eyes fixed on the ink as it scrawls its secrets onto the paper, and you can feel the faint buzz of his presence, like static against your skin.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with fascination.

You nod, unable to tear your eyes away, the strange, hypnotic motion of the ink consuming your thoughts.

“It’s a riddle,” you murmur, your fingers brushing over the parchment as you absorb the message. “Where still waters mirror the void, a whisper slithers ancient and coy.”

“A raven-haired calls what none can see, beneath the night's veil by the serpent's decree,” Satoru intones, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. For a heartbeat, his expression is inscrutable, his gaze penetrating, as if he’s searching for answers hidden within the very air around you. Then, without another word, he strides over to the pinboard, his movements fluid and graceful, as he plucks a pin from its holder.

With a deft flick of his wrist, he secures his piece of paper to the board, then extends his hand toward you, the gesture inviting yet commanding. You hand over your parchment, and he makes a point of placing yours before his. He studies the board, the tension in the air thickening as he furrows his brow, lost in thought, his usually playful demeanor replaced by an unexpected gravity.

“It’s so early in the damn morning, so I can’t think of anything coherent,” he admits, his voice tinged with frustration. “You think this could be a prank?” He turns back to you, one eyebrow arched in skepticism.

You shake your head, your resolve firm. “Whoever sent this knows our identity. They know we’re the Marauders. This is serious. Whatever they’ve uncovered can’t be known by anyone else in the school—only us. That’s why the notes are so mysterious and the riddle so convoluted.”

“Right,” he murmurs, a flicker of concern crossing his features. “Unfortunate for us that whoever this shithead—”

“—Language,” you interject, shooting him a mock disapproving look.

“This very mysterious person, bless them, clearly knows who we are and has the ability to slip notes into our things at will.” He leans against the edge of the long table, arms crossed over his chest, the muscles in his shoulders tensing as he considers the implications. “Can I ask where you found yours?” His gaze sharpens and you feel a thrill run through you at the weight of his attention.

You nod, recalling the moment with clarity. “A textbook about purebloods and their family history—lineages and whatnot. We’re studying it in Fig’s class.” The words hang in the air, charged with the gravity of the situation, as Satoru’s eyes narrow thoughtfully.

“Mine was tucked away in my quill case,” he replies, his gaze flitting back to the pinboard, where the riddle still looms ominously. He rubs his chin thoughtfully, an idiosyncratic gesture that somehow amplifies his charm. “Specifically, the one with my family’s crest.”

You furrow your brow, a mix of curiosity and anxiety knotting your stomach. “You think it’s linked to you? To the message?” The anticipation thrums within you, a palpable energy that makes your fingers clench and unclench, as if in a desperate attempt to control the tension building in the air. He casts his eyes downward, the intensity of the moment settling over him like a cloak. “Honestly, Fawkes, I have no clue. But I'd say, to start with the people in that class.”

Just then, the resonant toll of the bell reverberates through the stone corridors, a stark reminder of time slipping away. Sighing, you glance at your wrist, where your watch glints in the dim light. “It’s eight.”

“Breakfast,” you murmur, realization dawning. “Oh, I promised Iori I’d stop by the Kitchens to snag some treacle tarts before coming here. I really should—”

“Just head out first and cut through the dungeons,” he interjects, a hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I don’t want to be seen with you anyway. It’s highly suspicious, and let’s be honest, you're you.”

His tone twists the knife of irritation deeper into your gut, and you roll your eyes, exasperation rising like bile. What an absolute git. This was precisely why you loathed him—the unnecessary comments, the incessant teasing, the way he seemed to revel in making your skin crawl. He exuded an aristocratic aura, a smug confidence born from privilege, and it infuriated you how someone so insufferably arrogant could also be undeniably captivating.

“I’d challenge you to a duel, Gojo,” you declare, striding toward the door with renewed determination, your voice steady and defiant. “But I’d be wasting my time on someone I’ve already beaten multiple times.”

“Then you should practice, Fawkes,” he smirks, a glint of challenge dancing in his eyes, revealing the sharpness of his teeth like a predator sizing up its prey. “You’ll be losing soon enough.”

“In your dreams,” you retort, unable to suppress a smirk of your own, even as frustration simmers beneath the surface.

You're nearly at the library doors when a voice calls your name, sharp and high, like a bird swooping down to catch its prey. You turn to see Professor Flitwick hurrying toward you, his small frame bouncing with an urgency that makes you pause. His wand is clutched tightly in one hand, and his robes billow awkwardly around his ankles as he paces forward.

"[L/N]! I've been meaning to catch you about the Dueling Club since yesterday!" he says breathlessly, halting just short of colliding with you. His cheeks are flushed, and you can't help but feel a pang of concern as you swing your bag off your shoulder and pull out a bottle of water, handing it to him without a word.

He looks surprised for a moment but then beams, taking it with a small bow. "Thank you, thank you," he says, uncapping it and taking a long sip. When he hands it back, he dabs at his mouth with the sleeve of his robe, his energy seemingly renewed. "Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the first meeting of the Dueling Club must happen tomorrow. I've compiled a list of second-year students I believe show great promise, and I trust you'll take the lead in getting them started. I'll announce it to them in class tomorrow morning and send them to you after lectures."

"Of course, Professor," you reply, your tone steady, though you feel the weight of the task settle on your shoulders. "I'll make sure everything is ready."

"Excellent, excellent!" he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slightly crumpled piece of parchment. "Here’s the list. Do give it a look—very talented young witches and wizards on there."

You unfold the parchment as he bustles away, scanning the names quickly. Most are unfamiliar to you, but three jump out like ink bleeding through the page: Maki Zenin, Mai Zenin, and Inumaki Toge. The Zenins, of course, were legendary among pureblood families—sharp-edged and shrouded in rumors of internal rivalries. And Inumaki, though quieter in reputation, carried a name steeped in mystique.

Your thoughts drift to Fushiguro Toji, the senior who had once borne the Zenin name before renouncing it—a choice that was as infamous as it was mysterious. You’d seen him around the castle often enough to recognize his tall, brooding figure, his presence more like a shadow slipping past than a person. His reputation was formidable, a quiet storm of skill and restraint, known for his precision in dueling and his unsettling aloofness. You knew him from the Slytherin Quidditch team and the Dueling Club, though he’d only joined the latter last year under McGonagall and Flitwick’s persuasion. They’d promised recommendation letters and credits to help him secure a spot at the Auror’s Office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It wasn’t ambition that drove him—or at least, not ambition anyone could easily understand. The way Utahime spoke of him didn’t help; her tone was always a mix of admiration and unease, as if he were a force to respect but not to trust completely.

You tuck the parchment into your bag as the heavy oak doors of the library come into view. The anticipation of sorting through tomes and chasing down obscure references pulls at you, even if you know it might take hours.

Where still waters mirror the void, a whisper slithers ancient and coy.

The riddle loops in your mind as you step into the hushed sanctuary of the library. You’d spent most of the day—after completing your homework—trying to decode it, poring over textbooks in your dorm and whispering the lines to yourself like some sort of incantation. Still, nothing clicked. There were no voids you could think of. Not unless it was about the Forbidden Forest.

You hoped the restricted section held the answers. If not, you were out of ideas.

Madam Pince’s gaze catches you the moment you step inside. She’s perched at her desk like some sort of malevolent statue, her sharp eyes narrowing behind thin spectacles. With her pale, hollow cheeks and the way her lips press into a disapproving line, she looks less like a librarian and more like an avenging specter. Asking her for permission to enter the Restricted Section is a gamble, but it might be one worth taking—after all, you are a Prefect. You move deeper into the rows of shelves, steeling yourself for the conversation to come.

Your throat feels dry as you wander toward a shelf near the left corner of Madam Pince’s desk. The polished wood bears an engraved plaque: Atlases and Maps. You step into the section, glancing over your shoulder to check on her. Madam Pince’s sharp eyes remain fixed on a pile of returned books, her thin lips pursed in bitterness, as though even their presence offends her.

Maybe, when her mood isn’t quite so sour—which, in truth, is almost never—you’ll muster the courage to ask for access to the Restricted Section. You rehearse excuses in your head: something for History of Magic? Or maybe Magical Theory? Whichever sounds more plausible in the moment. Just imagining the conversation makes your palms damp, the thought of her vulture-like gaze boring into you far worse than any hex.

Pretending to browse, you let your fingers trail lightly over the leather-bound spines of the books on the shelf. The titles blur past, meaningless as your eyes flick back to Madam Pince every few seconds. She hasn’t noticed you yet, and for now, that’s all you need. You try to appear absorbed in the neatly arranged volumes, but your heart thuds against your ribs, loud enough to feel like a betrayal.

Then, a voice breaks the silence—low and far too close for comfort.

“You know you’re not fooling anyone.”

You flinch, the sound startling you so much that your hand knocks into a book, sending it teetering on the edge of the shelf. You barely catch it, spinning around to face the source of the interruption.

“Fushiguro,” you hiss, placing a hand over your chest as you whisper his name, “Whatever do you mean?”

“‘Whatever do I mean?’ Really?” He raises an eyebrow, the scar on his lip catching your gaze as he smirks, his expression a mix of amusement and challenge. “You’re standing near a shelf designated for second and third years, and you’re asking me what I mean?”

“I—I,” you stammer, your cheeks growing warm under his scrutiny, “You’re here too!”

As if on cue, Madam Pince’s ears seem to perk up, her sharp gaze snapping to you with palpable disdain. She raises a bony finger to her lips, a chilling “Sh!” escaping her thin, pursed mouth. You cringe, your shoulders instinctively tensing as Fushiguro grabs your arm just above the elbow and pulls you deeper into the library, away from her watchful eyes.

You walk in a daze beside him, your heart racing like a caged bird as you try to maintain some semblance of composure. The curious glances from a few fellow students make you feel like a fish under a magnifying glass, and you find that looking down at your feet is the safest option.

After weaving through the labyrinth of towering shelves for what feels like minutes, he finally pulls you into a secluded corner where the dim light casts long, flickering shadows. The hush of the library seems louder here, wrapping around the two of you like a heavy cloak. Fushiguro releases your arm and leans casually against the wall, his sharp eyes locking onto yours.

“Care to explain why you’re spying on that ugly old hag?” he asks, his tone laced with amusement and challenge, the corner of his mouth curling into the faintest smirk.

Fuck. What were you supposed to say? That you were one half of the Marauders? That you found yourself here, drawn by a peculiar riddle that felt far too suspicious to be dismissed as a harmless prank? You blink for a moment, your lips pursing as you grapple with the weight of your words. In that fleeting silence, he tilts his head at you, a mix of annoyance and curiosity etched across his features. “Can’t tell me?”

You nod vigorously, your expression filled with both determination and trepidation. His expression shifts slightly, looking as if your shenanigans have piqued his interest. “What do you want, anyway? You don’t have to give me details, but now I’m curious.”

“Restricted Section,” you croak, the admission slipping from your lips with an embarrassing crack in your voice. You cringe at the sound, disappointment flooding over you like a tide of shame. He huffs, unimpressed. “That’s it?”

Your eyes widen as you narrow them at him, summoning the Gryffindor stubbornness that runs in your blood. “What do you mean, ‘that’s it’? It’s not allowed for students to go there.”

“Just because something isn’t allowed, [L/N], doesn’t mean it’s not possible. I've been there loads of times,” he replies, smacking your forehead lightly with a book he had been holding. You hadn’t even noticed it until now. Blinking in surprise, you rub the spot on your hairline where the tome had collided, gazing at him with the indignation of a rule-following goody-two-shoes. “I should report you.”

“You were going to ask Pince for access to the Restricted Section; that’s like inviting detention,” he retorts, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re quite stupid for a Prefect.”

“I am not stupid!” you exclaim, heat rising to your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Your hands grow clammy with frustration, and as he tilts his head, an amused glint in his eyes, you can’t help but feel like a fool caught unguarded. You pause for a few moments, before pursing your lips, “How would we even go in?”

"Ah, you know, just snag a few Invisibility Potions from Snape's office during dinner. He'll likely notice they’re gone, but I’ll replace them by the next morning. Being a seventh-year has its perks—I passed the exam last year and have my license," he says casually, his tone almost teasing. "Though I do need some money for that."

"Money?" you echo, your voice rising in disbelief. "I don’t have much. I’m not a pureblood like you."

"Then it's a no-go, princess," he shrugs, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Forget about it."

"Wait, no—"

"Five hundred Galleons. The potion will cost me four hundred to replace those in Snape's office, and I need a hundred for the trip to Hogsmeade just to fetch you anything at all," he says, sounding as if he’s been haggling his entire life. You scoff, incredulous. "That's a ridiculous amount! Where am I supposed to get five hundred Galleons?"

"Seems like your problem, not mine," he replies, his jaw set, the faintest hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "This is what I do, [L/N]. Get used to it."

With that, he turns on his heel and strides away, leaving you exasperated. Where on earth could you possibly gather five hundred Galleons? Your allowance barely stretched to a couple hundred for the entire school year, just enough for a few trips to Hogsmeade. Gringotts was where your parents usually exchanged Muggle money for wizarding currency when they visited.

And then, like a lightning bolt, realization strikes you. Gojo. That insufferable white-haired twat probably received more of an allowance than you could even imagine. You gasp softly at the revelation, a plan forming in your mind as you break into a run. Ignoring Madam Pince’s shout, urging you to stop running, you dash toward the only place you think he could be—the Great Hall. Dinner would be starting soon, and with it, a glimmer of hope for your desperate situation.

And there he is, just as you suspected—Gojo, strolling alongside Suguru, his hands shoved carelessly into the pockets of his trousers. Laughter dances between them, a sound that feels foreign to your ears as you call out his name, “Oi, Gojo!”

He turns, an eyebrow arching in that infuriating way of his, as if your presence is a sudden, unwelcome surprise. “Oh, look who decided to grace me with her presence. Fawkes, I really didn’t want to see your face today.”

You huff out a breath, feeling the heat of exertion flush your cheeks. “I need to speak with you,” you manage, your voice tinged with urgency. “It’s important. Prefect things. Please.”

For a moment, he regards you with a bemusement that makes your insides twist. His gaze flickers to Suguru, exchanging a silent conversation that leaves you feeling slightly out of the loop. You nod at Suguru, a brief acknowledgment before your attention snaps back to Satoru, who seems to be weighing the gravity of your request.

“Go on, Suguru, I’ll meet you at the Great Hall,” Gojo finally says, his tone softening as his friend walks away with a casual “Alright.” With Suguru gone, Gojo turns his full attention to you, exhaling a resigned sigh. “What is it?”

“I need five hundred galleons,” you state, your heart racing at the enormity of the ask. “It’s for solving the riddle.”

His eyes narrow slightly, a mixture of disbelief and curiosity flickering across his face. “Why do you need that much money to solve a damn riddle? I mean, I’d give it to you because I have it, but I want to know what it’s for.”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, catching your breath before continuing, “It’s Toji. He said he’d help me get into the Restricted Section of the library if I give him that much. He’s going to steal Invisibility potions from Snape’s office tonight if I say yes, and then buy them back from J. Pippins in Hogsmeade by tomorrow to replace them.”

Gojo scoffs, rolling his eyes in that trademark manner that both irritates and fascinates you. “That conniving asshole. Why do you want to go to the library? Just think about it, you nag. The answer will come to you. I already solved my part.”

“Because there might be clues- wait, what?” You blink slowly, the revelation dawning on you like a flickering candle. “You solved it? How?”

His gaze sweeps the empty corridor, ensuring the coast is clear before he closes the distance between you, grabbing your arm in a gesture that feels oddly possessive. “Someone with black hair at Hogwarts can speak in Parseltongue,” he murmurs, his voice low and conspiratorial. “I don’t remember your bit by heart, but if you want, we can sneak into the library tonight. Although,” he adds, his expression shifting to one of playful mischief, “I don’t think we’ll need to go in the restriction section at all for this. Remind me what your part was again?”

“Where still waters mirror the void, a whisper slithers ancient and coy,” you recite, the words falling from your lips like the echo of a half-remembered dream. They feel foreign, unwieldy, yet they carry the weight of something unspoken, something inevitable.

Gojo stares at you, his expression teetering between incredulity and amusement. He tilts his head, a hum escaping him—a low, resonant sound that vibrates in the air between you. It’s maddening, the way he always manages to make the most mundane gesture seem deliberate, practiced. You shudder, half at the sound and half at your brain for noticing it. This was Gojo Satoru, after all—the bane of your existence, the splinter lodged in your side since the moment you’d collided with him on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago.

He finally speaks, his voice thoughtful but tinged with that insufferable self-assurance. “Don’t go with Fushiguro. I have a better idea if you really want to sneak into the library.”

You hesitate, narrowing your eyes. “No prefect duties tonight, but the others will be about,” you say, your voice laced with skepticism. “What about them?”

His grin widens, that familiar glint in his eyes—a spark that you’ve learned to both anticipate and dread. “You remember when I told you I was working on something? For us? To make our lives as Marauders easier?”

Something twists in your chest. You know that look too well, the sharp edges of mischief cutting into his usually polished demeanor. Despite yourself, you feel the pull, the gravity that always seems to draw you into his orbit, no matter how fiercely you try to resist. “Yes?” you say, your voice tinged with hope despite the knot of hesitation in your chest. There’s something about him—something that unsettles you. Maybe it’s his intellect, sharp and unrelenting, always outpacing yours no matter how hard you tried to keep up. It wasn’t fair, but then again, nothing about him ever was.

He was always going to be better than you. The pureblood, the chosen one, the untouchable and glorious Satoru Gojo. And you? You were just a mudblood. The word still stung every time it surfaced in your mind, an unwelcome echo of whispered taunts from years past. You hated it, hated how it lingered, how it shaped the way you measured yourself against him. But no matter how much you loathed admitting it, he would always outshine you.

“It’s ready,” he announces, stopping your train of thought as he grins like the Cheshire Cat, every tooth glinting in the dim light of the corridor. “Think you can set aside your idiocy for one night and meet me outside your common room at midnight?”

“For your very kind information,” you say, your teeth gritting with irritation, “I happen to be better at you than a lot of things. But fine. This might be worth it.”

He groans theatrically, rolling his eyes with all the drama of a starlet in distress. “Gryffindors and your ‘knight in shining armor’ act—it’s unbearable!”

“As if Slytherins are any better,” you retort, your voice rising with indignation. “You’re all anarchists! You tried to poison our Quidditch team last year!”

He laughs, the sound sharp and incredulous. “How long are you going to hold that over my head? You hexed me before I even got the chance to do anything! I was in the infirmary the entire night because you made the bones in my arm disappear. Do you know how painful it is to grow bones back?”

You wince despite yourself. You might loathe the boy with every fiber of your being, but even you can admit—albeit silently, buried deep beneath layers of pride—that you may have gone too far that time. Still, Gojo’s grin persists, maddeningly bright, and you find yourself standing in that strange liminal space between rivalry and camaraderie, where annoyance and admiration blur together in a way that leaves you dizzy.

“Midnight,” he says, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “Don’t keep me waiting, Fawkes.”

You huff, crossing your arms even as your resolve wavers. “I’ll think about it.”

But you already know you’ll be there. You always are.

It is a quarter to midnight, and the dormitory is cloaked in shadows, save for the faint silver sliver of moonlight sneaking through the half-drawn curtains. You sit up in bed, the ache of sleep pulling at your limbs, and lift your head from the scattered parchment on your desk. Your gaze drifts to your owl, a small tawny creature perched in quiet repose within his cage.

He’s quite small, and no louder than a whisper. His feathers, a soft patchwork of golden brown and deep earthen hues, are flecked with the faintest hints of black and white—an accidental constellation brushed into his down. He looks as though he belongs somewhere else entirely, a creature born of twilight and mystery, yet tethered to you by six steadfast years of companionship. His dark, endless eyes blink once in the low light, and you think, not for the first time, how much you love this bird.

He’s carried your words across distances great and small: letters home to your parents, scribbled notes to friends during summer holidays, even last-minute assignments dropped hastily into professors’ inboxes. And on those long nights when unspoken worries press heavy against your chest, he perches on your desk, watching you with an unfailing patience that no human has ever shown. On the rare nights when sleep overtakes you mid-assignment, he naps beside you, a quiet, feathery sentinel.

You smile softly at the memory, yawning as you stretch, the cool air brushing against your skin when you swing your legs over the side of the bed. The dormitory is still, filled only with the muted sound of soft breathing. You glance around, ensuring no one else is awake, before slipping to your feet and padding silently toward the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The voice stops you mid-step, sharp and sudden like a lit match in the dark. You turn to see Mei Mei sitting upright in her bed, her arms crossed and her posture exuding the kind of lazy authority that only she can manage. Her calculating smirk catches the faint light, and her eyes glint as though she’s caught you red-handed.

“I—uh,” you stammer, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I’m just… going out?”

“Out, why?” she asks, arching one elegant brow. Her tone isn’t stern—it’s amused. You can tell by the way she studies you that she isn’t actually upset. Mei Mei never bothers with rules unless they entertain her. Unfortunately, watching you squirm seems to qualify.

You sigh, the sound heavy with resignation. “Just a stroll. Nothing exciting. Maybe the Astronomy Tower.”

She makes a low hum of consideration, clearly unconvinced, though her expression doesn’t waver. You’ve gotten better at lying since this whole Marauders business started. At first, it was small white lies—just enough to fend off suspicion from Shoko or Utahime. But now? Now you lie like it’s second nature.

“Alright,” Mei Mei says at last, waving you off with a languid flick of her hand. “But don’t stay out so long that Filch catches you.”

Relief rushes through you like a dam breaking, and you nod quickly, mumbling a thanks as you tiptoe to the door. You descend the staircase with painstaking care, placing each step on the balls of your feet, wincing at the faint creak of wood beneath your weight. The common room is still, the embers in the fireplace glowing faintly like the last sigh of a dying star.

When you finally step out into the corridor, you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. For a moment, the world is utterly still—just you, the cold stone beneath your feet, and the faint hum of magic in the air. Your heart pounds in your ears, each beat louder than the last, but you tell yourself it’s nothing. You’re alone.

Until you’re not.

A hand grabs your arm, firm in its suddenness. Panic surges up your throat, and your mouth opens to scream, but another hand clamps over your lips, silencing you before the sound can escape.

“Shh, Fawkes,” a voice hisses, low and urgent, close enough that you can feel the warmth of their breath against your skin. Your heart leaps as you recognize the voice, even before the speaker pulls you closer, draping something over your shoulders in one fluid motion.

“Don’t make a sound,” Gojo whispers. His voice is soft but carries a sharp edge of command, and even through the haze of your panic, you obey.

You blink, momentarily disoriented, as the closeness of him settles over you like a weight. It’s almost unbearable, how near he is. His face hovers inches from yours, his breath steady and warm in the cool corridor air. He moves with precise, deliberate motions, draping something—a shroud?—over both your heads with one hand while clutching a lantern in the other. The golden light from the lantern flickers between you, casting soft, wavering shadows across the sharp angles of his face. He hands the lantern to you in a rush, his fingers brushing yours briefly, before gathering the edges of the fabric and adjusting it around you both.

You stare at him, utterly still, wide-eyed and transfixed. There’s something almost childlike in the way his tongue pokes out slightly between his lips as he concentrates, but it doesn’t diminish the sharpness of him—his cheekbones catching the light, the unruly mop of white hair falling just over his brow. Gosh, he’s beautiful. You hate to admit it, but all those girls who follow him with dreamy eyes aren’t entirely wrong. There’s something about him, something beyond his charm, that’s infuriatingly magnetic.

And with his hair disheveled like this, caught in a quiet moment of focus, you think for a split second—before shaking the thought away—that you understand them.

You keep blinking, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck, before realization strikes like a jolt of lightning.

“Is this what I think it is?” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

He glances at you sidelong, huffing out a soft laugh, though his hands don’t stop their work on the edges of the fabric. “If you can tell, I’m impressed.”

You stare at the material draped around you, eyes wide, then back at him. “An Invisibility Cloak,” you breathe, the words almost reverent. “For Merlin’s sake, this is an Invisibility Cloak. Oh, my God. Why do you have an Invisibility Cloak?”

“Careful, Fawkes,” he says, his tone as sharp as it is teasing. “It’s an Invisibility Cloak, not a soundproof one. Stop being so loud.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice even as he pulls the fabric tighter around you both. It feels absurdly intimate, standing so close beneath its folds, like you’re two conspirators bound together by something larger than yourselves.

“Why do you have this?” you whisper again as the two of you begin your slow descent down the stairs.

“Because I do,” he replies simply, his voice laced with that infuriating nonchalance. “And because you’d be hopeless without me.”

You want to scoff, to argue, but you can’t quite summon the indignation. Not when the echo of his voice, low and teasing, sends an unfamiliar warmth unfurling in your chest. “I’m being serious. Why do you have this?”

“It’s a family heirloom. Now, stop pestering me,” he says, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. But then, as if compelled by the weight of his own words, he continues, “Pureblood families are weird. They isolate you, treat you like some twisted artifact, and then, when you’re older, they suddenly expect you to make connections, form alliances, carry the name. And just when you’re ready to resent them forever, they hand you gifts like this. It’s as if they think a shiny object will make you forget everything you suffered through.”

He stops abruptly, a flicker of vulnerability flashing in his eyes before adding, “Wait. I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

You can’t resist the grin that spreads across your face. “Oh, please, go on,” you tease, the words slipping out like a reflex. “I like it when you’re the one having a bad time for once.”

His glance is sharp, though not unkind. “Of course you do.”

The two of you walk on, your steps echoing softly in the quiet night as you pass the Quad Courtyard, heading toward the vast hallway that leads to the West Tower. The immensity of Hogwarts often feels like a burden during late-night escapades, every corridor stretching endlessly, but in moments like these, the castle’s haunting beauty makes the trek feel almost worth it.

“I really shouldn’t have brought this stupid lantern,” Gojo mutters, holding it out in mild disdain. “My wand would’ve been enough.”

“Look at you, learning from your mistakes,” you say, glancing up at him with a smile that threatens to linger too long. “Seeing the consequences of your actions for once.”

He shakes his head, a small, knowing grin on his lips. “Laugh all you want, you nag. This is the only time I’m letting my guard down.”

“Wait,” you say, your steps faltering slightly. “Is this the thing you were talking about? The one you were working on? For… our little secret?”

“Oh, I completely forgot,” he says, coming to a halt so abruptly that you almost bump into him. “Stop walking, I’ll show you.”

And so you do. You stand there in the dim corridor, the lantern’s warm light casting long shadows across the stone walls. He shuffles for a moment, reaching into his pocket and pulling out what looks like a simple piece of parchment.

You raise an incredulous eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s it? What’s this supposed to be?”

He shoots you a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Watch,” he says, shaking his head at your skepticism. He points his wand at the parchment, his voice suddenly lower, more focused.

“I solemnly swear,” he begins, a mischievous glint in his eye, “that I am up to no good.”

You gasp as the ink begins to spread across the page, winding like tendrils of ivy until intricate patterns form. Your breath hitches as the lines weave together, revealing a sprawling map—detailed, alive, and impossibly magical. It isn’t just a map; it’s the castle.

In bold, elegant letters, the words Messrs Fawkes and Ashen are proud to present the Marauder’s Map appear at the top of the parchment.

“What is this?” you ask, your voice an octave higher, a mixture of awe and disbelief. “And who’s Ashen?”

“A nickname I gave myself,” he says with a lopsided grin. “Because of my Patronus. I’m not telling you what it is yet, but it’s cool, right? Here, hand me the lantern and open this.”

You pass him the glass lantern, its warm light flickering against the curves of the flame within, casting shadows that dance along Gojo’s features. He cradles it effortlessly, his other hand gesturing for you to take the parchment. You obey, gingerly grasping it as though it were a relic, something impossibly delicate. Your fingers brush the edges, feeling the fine texture of the material, old but imbued with something alive.

As you carefully unfold it, the words spill from your lips in a voice barely above a whisper, yet brimming with wonder and affection. “This is Hogwarts.”

He hums in confirmation, a small smile playing at his lips, but you barely notice. Your attention is pulled elsewhere. You squint at the intricate lines and patterns, noticing something unusual—the map seems to move. Small, deliberate shifts catch your eye.

And then, there they are. Tiny footprints, trailing delicately across the paper.

“And that,” you begin, your voice hitching in disbelief, “is it really—”

“Filch,” Gojo interjects, his grin widening into something wickedly triumphant. “Stomping the hallway outside the Great Hall this very moment. Do you see the way he turns every four steps? It’s maddening. Oh, and did you know Dumbledore paces a lot in his study? Back and forth, back and forth. I never took him for the restless type, but apparently, even geniuses aren’t exempt.”

Your eyes widen as you scan the parchment, finding the tiny figure labeled Dumbledore indeed moving back and forth within the boundaries of his study. Your fingers press lightly against the parchment, as if the connection could make it any more real. Slowly, you lift your gaze to meet Gojo’s impossibly vivid blue eyes.

“It shows everyone?” you ask, the disbelief still lingering in your tone.

“Everyone,” he confirms, his voice dropping to a lower, conspiratorial register.

“Everyone?” you repeat, needing to hear it again, as if the weight of such a thing can’t fully sink in on the first try.

He nods, his expression turning smug. “Everyone. Where they are, what they’re doing, every minute, of every day.”

“Brilliant,” you breathe, the word slipping out in a hushed, awestruck whisper. You eagerly unfold another section, the map expanding under your careful hands. New details spill forth—more corridors, more staircases, more figures. Your heart races as you spot the prefects, their tiny forms marked by their names, retreating one by one to their respective dormitories. The intricacy of it all feels overwhelming, as though you’re holding the very soul of the castle in your hands.

“How did you even make this?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mixture of curiosity and admiration.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating low in his throat. “Trade secret,” he says, winking down at you. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he adjusts the cloak around you both, ensuring the edges stay snug. “Now, be so kind as to lead us safely to the library, yeah? The map’s not just for show.”

You glance up at him, still clutching the parchment like a lifeline, feeling its magic through your fingers. “With this?” you tease, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I’d hardly call it sneaking.”

“Call it what you want,” he replies, his grin devilish as ever. “But let’s not get caught.”

The walk to the library feels like a stolen moment, effortless and exhilarating all at once. The hallways are deserted, their vastness echoing only with the muted sounds of your footsteps. Along the way, you suggest leaving the lantern behind—its light now more of a liability than a necessity. You extinguish it carefully, placing it on one of the desks tucked into a shadowed corner. Gojo nods in agreement, and together, you slip into the back of the library, where the shelves hold the deepest secrets of Hogwarts' history.

"I can't tell you how happy this makes me," you whisper, your voice laced with an almost childlike giddiness. The sheer joy of being here, surrounded by endless rows of books, makes you shiver. The scent of old parchment and binding glue fills your lungs, intoxicating in its familiarity. It feels sacred—this darkened library, the weight of knowledge hanging in the air, and the only thing marring its perfection is Gojo, standing there with his usual smirk.

He rolls his eyes, muttering something about you being a "proper nerd," but you brush it off. “Okay,” you begin, turning serious, “I think we can put the cloak away for now. Let’s focus on finding books about voids at Hogwarts. It has to be something connected to the dungeons. Or, maybe, a secret passageway leading out of the castle? There are only six that I know of, but there could be more—”

“There are seven, actually,” Gojo interrupts, his tone maddeningly smug. He pulls the Invisibility Cloak off the two of you in one fluid motion, the fabric slipping through his fingers like liquid moonlight. With a practiced flick, he spreads the map out on the nearest desk, tracing a slender finger over its intricate details. “This one here, the One-Eyed Witch Passageway, leads straight to Honeydukes’ cellar.”

“Bloody hell,” you breathe, your voice tinged with awe. Your eyes light up as you take in the map’s delicate markings, and a mischievous grin spreads across your face. “Can I keep this?”

“Absolutely not,” he says, snatching it away with exaggerated indignation. “You’d rip it or spill tea on it by the end of the day.”

“Rude,” you retort, glaring at him half-heartedly.

He ignores you, folding the map with care as though it were made of glass. “I’ll guard it with my life. Oh, and, Fawkes, when you’re done, don’t forget to give it a tap and say ‘Mischief Managed.’ Otherwise, anyone can read it.”

He taps it with his wand, and the markings disappear just as fast as they'd come. You gasp a little, but then, you nod, mentally noting the precaution. “Right, got it.”

He then motions to the left. “Now, quit gawking and get to work. You take that side of the shelf,” he says, gesturing to the bookshelves nearby. “I’ll start over there.”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips as you turn to the towering shelves. The library, vast and infinite in its secrets, stretches before you, and for a moment, you feel like you’re on the brink of discovery. Or mischief. Or both.

Quickly, you spring into action, eagerly pulling out several thick tomes from the shelves. The first one you grab, "The Hidden History of Hogwarts: Tales of Adventure and Intrigue," is intriguing, though not quite hefty enough for your liking. With a determined huff, you rise onto your toes to reach for the illustrious "Hogwarts: A History," along with a few more notable titles, before finally settling into one of the chairs with a soft creak. You spill the books across the table, their spines cracking open like secrets waiting to be unearthed, and begin flipping through their pages as rapidly as you can manage.

Moments later, Gojo occupies a chair two seats away from you, a stack of his own books piled high beside him. You can’t help but steal a glance at him, an inkling of admiration tugging at your thoughts as he immerses himself in the research.

Time slips away, the world around you fading into a blur as your tired eyes scan each page with fervor. You skim through portions that may hold no relevance to your riddle, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. And then, there it is—a recurring echo of the word “void.”

“Void, void, void,” you mutter to yourself, a spark of recognition igniting in your mind. As the realization dawns, you quickly turn to Gojo, tugging at his sleeve and other parts of his shirt with a sense of urgency. “It’s the Black Lake! The Black Lake is where someone with dark hair was speaking in Parseltongue.”

Gojo leans in, a spark of intrigue lighting his expression. “Not just dark. Black hair. A raven-haired calls what none can see, beneath the night’s veil by the serpent’s decree. Someone with black hair might be practicing dark magic at Hogwarts. They can speak Parseltongue, and they've been doing it near the Black Lake for some reason. Whoever sent us that message wants us to know that something terrible could be happening at Hogwarts anytime soon.”

The next day, in the afternoon after lectures have concluded, you're setting up in the dungeons for the Dueling Club meeting—specifically, the chambers reserved for the club. These dungeons were far removed from the ones you and Gojo often snuck into, the ones so off-limits that even the most daring students steered clear. As you position the last training dummy along the far side of the dimly lit room, the murmurs of students arriving behind you begin to fill the air. Then, you hear a familiar voice, smooth and teasing.

"So, I’m guessing you got what you wanted one way or another," Toji says, leaning against the wall with his signature smirk.

You turn to him, your expression knowingly smug. "I did, actually. Got exactly what I wanted."

"I’d say I’m bummed I didn’t get a chance to rip you off," he begins, pushing off the wall and brushing past you, "but it’s okay. I rip off enough people to keep my reputation intact."

"You have a reputation for more than just ripping people off, Fushiguro," you shoot back, a playful lilt in your voice. But as the words leave your mouth, something about his expression makes you hesitate. Before you can apologize, though, he waves it off casually.

"It’s hard to survive on your own after ditching a shitty pureblood family," he says, his tone a strange mix of bitterness and pride. "Well, not that you’d know, but still."

"I’m sure growing up rich had its perks," you tease lightly, testing the waters.

He smirks, a glint of mischief lighting up his dark eyes. "Not at all. Maybe someday I’ll tell you all about it."

"Maybe," you reply, grinning as you move to the center of the room. Across the space, Shoko waves at you, her face a rare picture of enthusiasm as the younger students file in, awe and excitement radiating off them in waves. In one corner, Professors Flitwick and McGonagall stand together, observing quietly, their mere presence a reassuring reminder.

You clear your throat, stepping forward to address the room. "Alright, everyone," you begin, scanning the group and catching sight of a familiar mop of silver hair amidst the crowd. "Welcome to the Dueling Club. My name is [L/N] [Y/N], and I am the Head of the Club. Before we get started, we need to go over some rules."

Your voice is steady and authoritative, carrying over the hushed whispers.

"First, all participants must adhere to safety protocols to prevent injuries," you say firmly. "Every duel will be supervised by either a senior student or a professor. Physical altercations or the use of magical items like cursed artifacts is strictly forbidden. Standard dueling etiquette is a must, and we’ll demonstrate it shortly for those who are new. The duel ends immediately if one participant is incapacitated, yields, or if a professor steps in."

You pause, ensuring their attention is fixed on you.

"Spells that cause lasting harm, such as permanent transfigurations or irreversible effects, are strictly prohibited. The supervising professor has the final say in all duels, and their decisions are final. Younger students—those in first through third years—will only duel peers within their age group for safety reasons. Grudge matches are forbidden. Each duel is limited to ten minutes unless a professor decides otherwise. Spectators must stay behind the safety barriers and are not allowed to interfere."

Your gaze sweeps the crowd, ensuring everyone is following. "Unauthorized dueling outside the club is strictly prohibited," you continue, your tone sharper now. "Finally, missing three consecutive sessions without prior notice may result in suspension from the club."

"Are we clear?" you finish, your voice resonating with authority.

A murmur of agreement ripples through the group as anticipation builds, their excitement palpable as they prepare for the first duels of the term.

"Alright," you begin, your voice cutting through the low hum of chatter, "I need a volunteer, preferably fifth year and above, for a demonstration of how a duel is to be conducted for the younger members. Anyone?"

You didn’t need to wait. You know before the words even left your mouth whose hand would rise first.

Sure enough, Gojo Satoru’s arm shoots up, almost gleefully, his speed outpacing anyone else's reaction by several beats. He wears that same maddeningly smug expression you’d grown far too accustomed to, his silver hair catching the low light in a way that made him impossible to ignore.

You narrow your eyes at him, a silent warning, and gave a brief shake of your head—a clear no. His eyebrows furrow in mock offense, a whine already forming on his lips. But before you could say anything, Professor Flitwick's enthusiasm intervened.

“Ah, Gojo Satoru! Excellent choice!” Flitwick exclaims, motioning him forward with a flourish. “Come on up. A real treat for everyone, this is! We’ll see two of our finest students in action. A duel between Ms. [L/N], our reigning champion—unsurprisingly, given her Headship of the club—and Mr. Gojo, who isn’t far behind her in skill. Pay close attention, everyone!”

Gojo practically saunters his way to the center, brushing past you with deliberate ease, his smirk growing wider as he passed. The sheer arrogance radiating from him was almost palpable, and it took every ounce of restraint not to roll your eyes. He'd lost to you twice last year before the term ended, and you really weren't planning on breaking that streak. You clench your jaw instead, ignoring the simmering irritation pooling low in your chest.

This wasn’t how you’d envisioned the demonstration going. You’d hoped for someone else, anyone else—someone who wouldn’t make such a spectacle of the moment. But now you were here, and there was no backing out.

The two of you take your positions on opposite ends of the room, the circle of students around you buzzing with anticipation. The younger ones leaned forward, their eyes wide with awe and barely suppressed excitement, while the older students exchanged knowing glances, whispering wagers under their breath. You couldn't lose, especially not now, in front of the second-years that held you in such high regard.

“Wands at the ready!” Professor Flitwick calls out, his voice bright with excitement, and you raise your wand with deliberate precision, your movements sharp and controlled.

Gojo mirrored you, of course, but he did it with an infuriating grace, as though the act of lifting his wand were a performance in itself. His blue eyes sparkle with mischief, and as his lips curl into a smirk, he lets out a soft snicker.

“You scared, Fawkes?” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “Think I might beat you?”

“Absolutely not,” you hiss in return, your tone low but laced with steel. “I have an image to uphold.”

The two of you lower your wands briefly, turning to walk the traditional ten paces back. Each step feels heavier than it should, the air between you thick with unspoken challenges. When you finally turn to face him again, your stance is resolute—offensive, calculated.

His, however, is wide, open, almost careless. He was baiting you, leaving himself vulnerable in a way that made your blood boil. He wanted you to strike first. He'd throw quick attacks your way and eventually disarm you. Fine, you thought. You’d play his game. The count started in your head.

Three... two... one.

“Immobulus!” you call, your voice slicing through the room as your wand slashes through the air.

Gojo moves with infuriating ease, dodging the spell as though he’d anticipated it. With a quick, fluid motion, his wand flicks toward you. “Impedimenta!” he counters, the jinx used for slowing things down hurtling toward you faster than you'd expect.

You sidestep just in time, your breath catching as the spell crackles past you. The near miss sent a rush of heat down your spine, but you recovered quickly, slipping into a defensive stance.

The two of you begin circling each other, the space between you electric. He wears that same smirk, taunting, while your face stays set, determination etched into every line.

The duel escalates quickly. Spells ricochet off the dungeon walls, filling the room with flashes of light and sharp cracks of sound. His attacks come faster than they did last year, his movements sharper, more refined. Somewhere deep down, you register his improvement—damn him for it—but you don’t have time to dwell.

This isn’t going to be easy. He’s caught up to you in skill, and though you hate to admit it, that fact makes your blood run hotter. But you aren’t going to lose. So you smirk, sending aggressive attacks one after another, chasing him so he won’t have time to think. “Stupefy!”

You wait, watching for the smallest mistake, the slightest hesitation. And then it comes, just as he dodges your disarming spell—his fingers tighten on his wand for a fraction too long.

You focus as much as you can, your grip on your wand steady as you whisper, “Flagrante.”

The curse hits its mark instantly. Gojo yelps, his wand clattering to the floor as he clutches his hand. The circle of students falls silent, their awe-struck faces illuminated by the faint glow of the curse’s residual heat.

You straighten, lowering your wand and undoing the curse immediately, satisfaction blooming in your chest. Victory, though slightly bitter, is still victory.

Professor McGonagall steps forward, her expression cool and disapproving. “Newer students,” she says, her voice clipped, “are not to attempt what Ms. [L/N] just demonstrated. Flagrante is an advanced curse, highly dangerous, and entirely unsuitable for this setting. Even the most experienced duelists could easily miscalculate.”

You cringe at her words, the satisfaction of your win dimming under her sharp tone.

Gojo, however, seems entirely unbothered. He retrieves his wand, his injured hand cradled lightly in the other. When his gaze meets yours, it holds something you can't quite name. Pride? Annoyance? Maybe both.

But then his lips curl into a soft, almost imperceptible smile. Not his usual smirk, but something gentler, more genuine. It sent a strange, unfamiliar warmth through your chest, one that lingered far longer than you expected.

As the students pair off and separate into groups, Gojo saunters up to you with his usual grin. “Well, looks like your streak is now up to three. Impressive, Fawkes Junior. Although… weren’t you the one always preaching about following the rules? How’d you manage to use a curse on me?”

“When it comes to you,” you smirk, taking a few deliberate steps back while pointing your wand at his injured hand, “I just have to be better than you. Episkey.”

He winces slightly as the healing charm begins to mend the red burns on his pale skin. Slowly but surely, the angry marks fade, leaving his hand looking unscathed, the same snow-like perfection as before. He mutters a quick thanks under his breath.

“Now go,” you say, dismissing him with a flick of your wrist, “Practice with someone else instead of wasting my time. I’ve got to oversee the second-years with the professors.”

“Babysitter duties, huh?” he replies with a smug grin as he steps back toward his group. You have no doubt he’s either about to duel with Shoko or find someone younger to pester for his own amusement. You roll your eyes and turn away, heading toward the younger students to fulfill your Head duties.

The day unfolds in a haze, the heavy weight of your thoughts never quite lifting. Dueling Club wraps up hours before dinner, leaving you with an uneasy stretch of time. Time to rest, perhaps. Or to think—which, as it turns out, is far more exhausting.

The revelation from yesterday refuses to leave you. Someone, somewhere within these walls, was practicing dark magic. And the thought sends shivers down your spine. Hogwarts had always been a sanctuary, a place of learning and wonder—safety, even. But now, its shadows felt longer, its corners darker.

You try not to dwell on it, but how could you not? The line from the riddle echoes endlessly in your mind: A raven-haired calls what none can see. And with how many black-haired students roamed the halls of Hogwarts this year, the task of uncovering the truth felt impossibly daunting. Parseltongue wasn’t exactly something people casually advertised, after all.

Lost in your spiraling thoughts, you almost miss the familiar figures ahead. Turning down the hallway toward Gryffindor Tower, you spot Shoko. She’s leaning against the wall next to an arch, chatting casually with two others with a cigarette between her fingers. As you draw closer, you recognize Nanami and Utahime. Shoko waves you over, her ever-relaxed smile widening as she sees you.

“Hi,” you sigh, letting your shoulders slump as you lean into hers. There’s comfort in her presence, steady and grounding, something that soothes you. “I haven’t gotten time to see you at all so far. How have you been?”

“Irritated, mostly,” she says with a half-smile, resting her head lightly against yours. “You know I’m stuck dealing with two idiots.”

You huff a laugh.

“And you two?” Shoko continues. “You’ve both gotten way too busy, huh? Managing the Dueling Club and the Quidditch team? I’m surprised you’re still alive. And Kento, Prefect duties on top of everything else? How are you even here right now?”

“I’m wondering the same thing,” Nanami mutters, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“And her,” Utahime chimes in, jerking her thumb in your direction with a teasing grin. “She’s been trying to cozy up to Snape, of all people. That sourpuss! I still don’t know why.”

The mention of Snape jolts you, a moment of panic flashing across your face before you remember why she’d say that. Right. Your excuse the first night of the Marauders meeting. You grimace, shifting awkwardly. “Y-yeah. That… uh, hasn’t been going too well. Still isn’t, actually.”

“Don’t bother,” Nanami says flatly, crossing his arms. “He hates all Gryffindors on principle. And you? With the way you’re always trying to one-up Gojo? You’re his least favorite.”

“Speaking of that,” Shoko cuts in, nudging you with her elbow, “Nice job at the duel today. First time I’ve seen you break a rule to win. Miss Perfect, finally showing her rebellious streak.”

Her words pull a soft laugh from you, but the weight in your chest tightens. If only she knew the half of it. If only they all knew. One month in, and you’d already broken enough rules to keep Filch busy for a year. An Invisibility Cloak. The Marauders Map. Sneaking around the castle’s most restricted areas. You’d told yourself it was all for a greater purpose, but still, the guilt lingered.

“Yeah, well,” you say lightly, masking your unease with a grin, “It’s hard not to pick up some bad habits when I’m surrounded by the worst influences.”

Shoko smirks again, flicking the ash from her cigarette. “I aim to please. Speaking of bad habits, don’t think I didn’t notice you and Fushiguro Toji today.”

Your cheeks burn. “I wasn’t flirting!”

“Never said you were,” Shoko says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “That exchange in the Dueling Club? Definitely flirting. Saw it with my own two eyes.”

Utahime gasps in mock outrage. “Didn’t I warn you about him? Ever since he renounced his family name, all he’s done is hop from one pureblood girl to another. That, and making money off of shady bets or ripping people off. I even heard he’s got connections in Knockturn Alley.”

You shake your head, exasperated. “He’s actually quite nice, even though he did try to rip me off. And I wasn’t flirting with him—”

“My eyes say otherwise,” Shoko interrupts, grinning.

“Get them checked,” you retort, narrowing your eyes. “It was a friendly conversation. Nothing more.”

Nanami chuckles, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “I only wish I’d been there to see you let loose for once.”

“Let’s not talk about him anymore, please.” You sigh and steer the conversation to safer ground. “Are you lot going to Hogsmeade next week? I might have to stay back. Flitwick’s been breathing down my neck about the second-years—especially the Zenins and Inumaki. He wants me to give them, you know, special attention.”

Shoko raises an eyebrow as she flicks the stub of her cigarette out of the stone archway, muttering a wordless charm to dissipate it mid-air. You watch as it vanishes completely before touching the ground. Shoko’s casual mastery of wandless magic always left you in awe. It was effortless with her, a talent you couldn’t help but envy. But before your thoughts could linger on your inadequacies, she speaks.

"Have you seen them?" she says, her tone sharp with incredulity. "They're ridiculously good at everything. Honestly, you might end up dragging them into your Quidditch team, alongside that Itadori kid. I caught him practicing the other day—just a casual glance—and it scared me. But for now, I think we've got Mai Zenin and Inumaki Toge in our House. And, well, Gojo and Suguru are there anyway. Oh, and me."

"I’ve only made it to practice once," you admit with a wince. "Too much on my plate this year."

Utahime’s brow arches sharply as she folds her arms. "I can excuse the Dueling Club meetings since you're the Head, but miss another day of practice, and I’m benching you."

"I know, I know!" you groan. "I’m just... stressed, okay? Prefect duties are insane this year, and I’m falling behind on assignments too."

That draws an audible gasp from Shoko. "You? Behind? Bloody hell, what’s the world coming to?"

For a split second, you consider telling them the truth—that you weren’t just behind because of typical school stress. That something far darker was unraveling at Hogwarts, something that made your sleepless nights and frayed nerves feel trivial in comparison. But how could you? The weight of it, the potential to cause panic, was too much. Instead, you shake your head, plastering on a weak smile.

"I don’t know," you say quietly. "I’m just not managing things well this year. But I’ll come to practice tomorrow. I promise."

"You’d better," Utahime warns, but her tone softens slightly. "I need a Chaser. I’m making Itadori our Seeker this year, and since I’m Keeper, I’ve got to step up too. Maki Zenin is quite the Beater, though."

"How’s practice going with him? Itadori?" you ask.

"Bloody amazing," she says, her eyes lighting up. "Kento was there the other day. He can back me up."

Nanami nods in agreement. "He’s... an interesting character. Relentlessly enthusiastic, which is exhausting, but his skill is unreal. Playing by the rules, though? That’s his Achilles’ heel. Iori and I are drilling that into him."

Shoko smirks, crossing her arms. "Speaking of stepping up, Gojo’s been upping his game too. He, Suguru and I were training after lectures yesterday. And then, long past curfew too. Almost till midnight. Although, Satoru left because he had some errands to run."

You pause for a moment. So that's where he'd been before your spontaneously decided meeting last night.

Then, you groan dramatically, throwing your head back. "I’m drowning over here, barely keeping up, and that smug little git is already pulling ahead?"

Your friends erupt in laughter, Shoko shaking her head as she teases, "Seems like beating him might be the only thing to pull you out of your slump, eh?"

You roll your eyes, but a reluctant grin spreads across your face. "It just might," you admit, chuckling softly.

"Okay, Fawkes, hit me," Gojo bursts into the Room of Requirement, a little late after your prefect duties that night. You had arrived directly after rounds, and he was about fifteen minutes behind schedule. He rushes to the long table, shedding his robe in one swift motion and flinging it onto a nearby wooden chair.

You sigh, "Well, I did some research while doing homework today."

He motions for you to begin, and you walk over to the pinboard, tacking up a copied page from a library book. "Parseltongue, as you probably already know, is hereditary and spoken by the descendants of Salazar Slytherin. So my guess would be that all pureblood students at the school could potentially be Parselmouths, regardless of their House. There have been exceptions in the past, although the textbook I got this from didn’t name them explicitly."

"Are you saying it couldn't just be a Slytherin pureblood?" he raises an eyebrow. "This just makes our job harder. There are so many possibilities now. If it were just Slytherin, we’d only have around thirty people in that House to investigate. If we rule out anyone without black hair, that narrows the count by half!"

"I know," you sigh again, feeling the weight of the task. "The book was about Salazar Slytherin, and it mentioned that there have been exceptions where purebloods were sorted into other Houses and still retained the ability to speak Parseltongue. However, we could probably rule out Hufflepuff; the cases discussed only Ravenclaw and Gryffindor."

"There's only like two purebloods in Hufflepuff anyway. They wouldn't be able to speak Parseltongue even if they had it in their blood," Gojo rolls his eyes, his elitism palpable. You say, "Don't be a dick."

"I'm just saying," he defends, raising his arms. "If your entire lineage is Slytherin and you end up a Hufflepuff, it’s a shame, really."

"Focus on our work," you interject.

"Let’s narrow the list down first to all black-haired students. That should make our job easier, right?" he suggests. "Then we can check their ancestry one by one."

"How does one even do that?" you mumble, glancing at the pile of student requests on your desk. "There’s no way—"

"I can handle that part," he replies, straightening his lips as he looks at you. "My father works at the Ministry, remember? I can pull some strings. Or we could find books on magical genealogy in the Restricted Section of the library. It’ll take time, though—probably at least a month."

"We have no way of knowing what this person is doing in the meantime," you sigh, still looking at the requests. "I also have to be at Quidditch practice tomorrow."

"A little overworked, are you?" he teases. "Our little Fawkes is finally having a hard time keeping up."

"Screw you, Gojo," you retorted. "It’s hard being Head of the Dueling Club, a Prefect, and playing Quidditch while doing this with you, nonetheless."

"Quit something, then," he shrugs. "It’s not like Quidditch is going to help you get to St. Mungo’s as a Healer."

"Shoko's doing it," you counter. "So I must too."

"Shoko’s doing it because her family is ridiculous. She’s not a Prefect, if you haven’t noticed. And she’s not Head of a club or Captain of the team. She’s just along for the ride while you’re taking on everything that’s wearing you thin. She’s a pureblood; you’re not."

"Are you saying I’m lesser because I’m a muggle-born?" you ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

He groans. "Are you even listening to what I’m saying? Purebloods, like me, Shoko, and Suguru, are forced to do things we don’t want to! You, however, have the choice. I don’t! I have to be the best at everything because I have the ‘Gojo’ name on my back and the clan on my ass. Shoko has to do Quidditch because she’s a pureblood. She has to take on extra things she doesn’t want to because of her family pressure. If it were up to her, she'd be in her dorm for half the day, smoking away. Do you think I want to be a Prefect? Or that I want to be a scholar? I just am because I am supposed to be. I have to be the greatest—you don’t!"

"But what if I want to?" you say, your nerves fraying. "I want to be the greatest. I want to be as good as you at everything I do, if not better!"

"That’s your choice, Fawkes," he laughs incredulously. "All you have to do is drop one thing, and you won't be so stressed. You can’t possibly do everything you want all the time."

"Maybe I can!" you reply, your voice rising. "And maybe I will."

"Whatever," he scoffs, standing up and grabbing his robe. "Just have the list ready. And work on the normal requests. If you want, ask for my help. If not, piss off."

"Fuck you," you spit, the tension thick in the air. "I don’t need your help."

"That makes my life easier anyway," he retorts with a sarcastic smile as he leaves the Room.

You sigh, feeling the weight of your decisions pressing down on you. What had you just brought upon yourself? You were going to be wrung dry, and it was all your doing. With your head hung low, you start pulling parchments and a quill toward you. You would stay here all night if it meant getting everything done. And the requests? You’d tackle them all. You’d prove Gojo wrong with every fiber of your being.

And perhaps, tomorrow, you’d steal an Invigoration Draught vial from Snape’s office after class to keep up. Yes, that would do.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[lay-z]

I'm sorry, but this is so self-indulgent, it hurts. I've been thinking about it since it happened...So, here goes nothing. Also, this took a turn while I wrote it, because I have no control over myself and usually change plotlines mid-writing. MINORS, DNI - 18+ only !!! Pairing: f!reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish Warnings/Info: German reader 🇩🇪; trash talk; banter; cussing; Scottish slang (I feel like that should count as a warning...); German language; fuckbuddies to lovers; sexual tension; explicit smut; unprotected sex; some jealousy; dom!Soap; fluff

“Ach, ye gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me, lass!" Soap scoffs loudly as soon as he sees you swagger in to the private 141 rec room inside the HQ with a smug smile on your lips and that popular pink football jersey of the German national team adorning your body. 

Soap is wearing his new cobalt blue Scotland jersey himself; fabric straining around his bulging biceps, stretching over his broad chest, and fitting snugly around his narrow waist like a second skin, because he's bought it a size too small on purpose.  

Captain Price and Gaz are both showing off their support and colours by wearing their white England jerseys, naturally, while Ghost doesn't seem to care much because 'our bloody team isn't playing tonight anyways'. Keegan is wearing a vintage looking Portugal jersey, because 'Cristiano is still the fucking goat', and Roach is just happy to be there, really. He's more into American football, but he doesn't dare to speak that thought out loud tonight. 

The atmosphere is light-hearted, riddled with boisterous laughter, crude banter and the smells of Price's cigar smoke, savoury snacks, hefty beer and hard liquor, while the group is gathered around the sofa in front of the large flat TV screen mounted on the wall, either sitting on its plush cushions or on one of the office chairs borrowed from one of the nearby meeting rooms.  

Tensions are high, especially between you and Soap as the group waits for the preliminary reporting and interviews to end and the match to finally begin. 

Germany vs. Scotland, the first opening match for this year's European Football Championship tournament. 

Soap chokes up during Scotland's national anthem, overwhelmed by the sheer pride his fellow countrymen display in the stadium in Munich, while you merely stand with your hand over your heart as the German national anthem is sung next – singing your own national anthem and showing any kind of patriotism for your country, always makes you feel weird somehow; many thanks to inherited generational shame.  

Still, you feel a tiny bit of pride as you witness your own compatriots sing the anthem just as noisily as the Scots. 

"That a rare smile I spy on yer lips, lassie?" Soap teases after the anthems are finished, nudging his elbow against your upper arm while he's holding a bottle of beer in his hand. He loves to tease you with stereotypes that don't even apply to you most times, but he does it, nonetheless.  

"Ye like how yer fellow Krauts have shown some pride in their country, eh?" He snickers, earning a sharp, scolding glare from Captain Price.  

"Careful, MacTavish," the Captain chides from his chair next to the couch, his voice muffled by the cigar he's currently chewing on, while the others chuckle and snort among each other, "Keep the bloody banter above the belt, son."  

However, you simply click your tongue and roll your eyes at him as Soap continues to grin at you. Both of you know that he doesn't mean any menace by it, and you've said way worse stuff to each other in the past anyway – all in the name of good-natured, friendly banter, of course. Besides, you live for the constant banter and bickering between you two. It's pretty much the main foundation of your friendship, and what inevitably lead to your affair.  

"Very proud of my Krauts, yeah," you retort eventually, completely unfazed by the "slur", poking his large biceps with your forefinger harshly as you shoot him a mock glare, "I'll be even prouder when our team has completely annihilated yours, Scotch." 

Soap's chest rumbles with a low grunt at your name calling, and he loves how you defy him easily, as he lets his dark blue eyes roam over your figure appreciatively. He notices how the fabric of your jersey clings to your upper body, accentuating your delicious curves and ample chest, and how the thin collar hugs your pretty neck, making him want to wrap his hand around your throat just like he did last night. 

Gaz chuckles at your comment and even Ghost snorts quietly behind his balaclava, while Soap narrows his eyes at you playfully, now towering as he takes one more step towards you; close enough for you to tilt your head back slightly to keep eye contact with him.  

Gods, you love how tall he is compared to you; how he could easily bend you to his will if he wanted to. 

Soap notices how your pupils dilate as you hold his gaze fiercely and he can already feel his blood heat up in his veins with excitement, rushing south. He clenches his jaw as you bat your eyelashes up at him with that bratty smirk of yours and his fingers tighten around the cold beer bottle in his hand, the other one stuffed into the pocket of his jeans, to keep himself from grabbing and bending you over the couch in front of everyone, including your superiors.  

The tension between you two is becoming more noticeable to everyone present now, all thick and palpable.  

"Is – is that behaviour considered normal for them?" Roach enquires in a hushed whisper as he leans in to speak to the other men, shoving another handful of salted and roasted peanuts into his mouth while his eyes flicker back and forth between you and Soap. He's more interested in whatever is going on between the two Sergeants than the goddamn soccer game on TV. 

Keegan simply nods with an affirming hum as he lifts the rim of his beer bottle to his lips, eyes glued to the TV, while Gaz answers verbally, also not taking his eyes off the screen. 

"Aye," the latter confirms, "Just ignore them, Sanderson. We don't interfere, unless they get physical. Right, Captain?" 

The older male nods firmly in return, his face a mask of seriousness as he watches the kick-off with intrigue, taking a slow sip of his glass of bourbon. 

"And even then, only if it's not sexual." Ghost adds gruffly, though one can practically hear that he's smirking beneath his mask. The Lieutenant has never said it out loud yet, but he is very much aware of the thing that has been going on between his Sergeant's for a while now.  

Soap manages to stay cocky after the first two goals for the German soccer team, despite his teammates and, especially, your teasing. The third one, a penalty goal, makes him break out in a sweat with both anger and devastation, all hope for a win now gone at once.  

The Germans don't stop there, though. 

You're tugging at Soap's arm, his jersey, jumping up and down like some excited bunny, laughing and cheering hysterically after having had a few drinks at this point, celebrating with the rest of the team, while the Scotsman looks on with a sour, stony expression.  

He doesn't even know when everyone else suddenly became a fan of the goddamn Germans, all he knows is that his team is losing, and he's currently outnumbered by impostors. Creepin' Jesus, even Roach is cheering for them! He should've known better than to watch the bloody game with you and the lads. 

"Aw, come on, Soapey!" You coo at him condescendingly, grinning widely as he crosses his arms in front of his chest with a huff, rolling his shoulders coolly as if he's not incredibly vexed, "Are you not enjoying the game, huh?" 

"Ach," he scoffs, shrugging off your hand from his shoulder like a petulant child, "Away an bile yer heid." 

"English, MacTavish!" Ghost scolds from his seat on the couch, having heard the insult despite the noise in the room, and you can see how badly Soap wants to flip the Lieutenant off.  

"Ah, ah, ah, Johnny," you butt in a with a smug tone to your voice, "Be nice now. Your boys can still win thi–" 

Your voice is cut off by loud cheering as Germany scores their fourth goal. 

"Fuckin' sore winner, hen," Soap grunts as he bullies his cock deeper into your quivering cunt; right up to the hilt, stretching your velvety walls and hitting your g-spot repeatedly while you're burying your face into the soft pillows on the mattress beneath you, muffling your desperate noises as you take his fat cock like the good little bonnie you usually are behind closed doors. 

In this position, he has the best view on your delicious curves and soft skin, now adorned with his deep blue Scotland jersey after he’d swiftly pulled the German one off you once you were in your bedroom; the fabric now rucked up to your shoulder blades, one hand of his fisting the stretchy fabric tightly to keep you exposed. 

"Teasin' me all fuckin’ night," he huffs through gritted teeth as his blunt nails dig into your skin, tightening his grip around the fat on your hips with his other hand, so you can't escape him, "Over some fuckin' football game." 

While Soap rolls and thrusts his hips in a steady, brutal rhythm, positioned between his spread knees behind you, you're grabbing fistfuls of your blanket as you moan and whimper helplessly, dampening the white sheets with your drool, taking everything he's giving you in retaliation to your bratty behaviour back at the rec room. 

Soap had immediately grabbed a tight hold of your wrist and pulled you out of the room, towards the 141 quarters, as soon as the final whistle had rung out, ending the match with a terrible loss for Scotland. He didn’t bear to stand a minute longer to listen to his and your teammates mockery, and he didn’t care about the confused looks everyone, except Ghost, were shooting you and him as you’d left together. 

He doesn’t care much anymore that Scotland lost to Germany – 5:1; it just so happens to be the perfect excuse to completely wreck you tonight, and Soap keeps telling himself that it’s not at all because he’s witnessed Keegan getting friendly with you over the past few times the team went out to the pub on base. You two might not be official, but you’re still his – and his only.

His friend, his fuckbuddy, his lover.

"You're jus'.... mad they– a-ah~" You slur, but your words are cut off by another pathetic moan that is ripped from your throat when Soap grabs you by the nape of your neck suddenly, like a dog would grab her puppies, squeezing your flesh and muscle with his calloused hand to keep you in place, then pulls his thick cock out up to its angry-red tip only to pound back into you with determined fervour to finally shut you up for good. 

No, Soap is not mad about the bloody game – he’s mad that you’d spent halftime sitting on Keegan’s lap like an obedient puppy when the latter had asked you to take a seat, because the chairs were taken and Ghost took up most space on the sofa – and Soap was too proud to tell you to sit on his lap instead.

The bed rocks and creaks under your combined weight, hitting the wall repeatedly with a very telling “thudthudthudthud–” for your surrounding neighbours, your teammates, while the warm glow of your bedside lamp casts a lewd shadow of your current activity on the white walls of your bedroom. Fuck, Soap hopes Keegan can hear you two going at it in his apartment.

“What was that, bonnie? Ye said sum’?” the Scotsman grits out mockingly, biting his lower lip, nostrils flaring with exerted breaths as he squeezes your neck tighter, forcing you to arch your back and your pretty ass up into him as he pounds into you; skin slapping skin as his balls tap against your clit with each deep and rapid thrust. 

Meanwhile, you don’t even register his teasing words anymore as you’re fully focused on the mind-blowing pleasure Soap is giving you; hard and dominating and the opposite of how the usually treats you during sex.  

Your eyes roll back, toes curling as the tension of your impending climax begins to build up, up, up then; heat blossoming in your lower abdomen as he keeps pushing you towards the edge with each delightful rock of his powerful hips and his girthy cock ramming into your sweet spot.  

However, Soap knows those sounds you’re making all too well already; the way you’re breathing pattern changes, the higher pitch of your wanton moans and sweet cries of pleasure, the way your walls begin to clench harder around his thick length, practically sucking him in deeper into your silky heat – he can read all the signs like the bloody morning paper, knows you’re about to cum on his dick... 

And despite his own pleasure licking and tingling at his lower spine, making his burly muscles tense and twitch and his balls tighten with the inevitable – he stops his movements at once, ruins both your orgasms, and pulls his throbbing cock from your soppy, warm cunt. Glancing down briefly, Soap sees his bare cock glistening with your slick, creamy arousal and his pearly pre-cum gathering at the base of his cock, and the sight makes him shudder and groan with excitement. 

He can’t have you cum like this tonight, though, fucking you doggy – Gods, no. Soap needs to watch you fall apart on his cock, needs to see your gorgeous features contort in pleasure and your reaction when he spills his thick load into you for the very first time without anything holding him back and separating him from you – knowing he’s the only one able to have you like this.

“Up,” he grunts out next, simultaneously pulling you upwards by your neck while he feels your rapidly fluttering pulse under his fingertips, until your back is flush with his sweat-slicked and bare, heaving chest while his rock hard cock rubs and pokes along your ass cheeks, “Gimme yer mouth.”  

Cranking your neck towards him obediently, Soap reaches out and cups the side of your jawline to angle your face to his liking, capturing your mouth in a sloppy kiss and swiftly plunging his hot tongue past your lips. Your eyes flutter shut as you moan into his mouth while his other large hand snakes around your body, slipping beneath his jersey you’re wearing, cupping and groping your plump tits greedily, pinching your stiff nipples with the rough pads of his thumb and forefinger.

Soap goes on to shift and manhandle you into a different position and you gladly let him. 

He pushes you down onto your back, smirking to himself when you spread your legs for him all too eagerly, making grabby hands with a frustrated pout to have him on top of you again – it’s adorable, really, and he appreciates the view of your pussy, all puffy and wet for him, before he nestles himself between your thighs – the place that has easily become his favourite over the past few months.

 “Yer such a brat,” Soap chuckles darkly as he grabs one of your legs by your calf to hike it up over his broad shoulder, then the other, before he spits into his palm and gives his cock a few good pumps with his fist, tapping and rubbing the swollen tip on your sensitive clit teasingly until you let out a needy whine, one hand of yours reaching up to hold on to the back of his neck, tugging at his short Mohawk.

You’re his brat, though. Emphasis on his.

“And you’re such an ass tonight, Johnny,” you mewl in return and suck in a breath when Soap aligns his thick tip with your slick hole, pushing in halfway with one languid thrust and leaving you both breathless again. 

“’m not an arse,” he objects with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he watches you bite your lower lip raw to keep your lewd noises at bay, “Ye just have a way of drivin’ me doolally, hen.” He counters, and then leans in to crash your lips together once more, folding your legs up even further while his cock sinks into your cunt fully, followed by a guttural moan of his when he feels your walls clench and tighten around him, squeezing him until his muscles tremble with restraint.

He groans against your lips; the feeling of your throbbing heat and the taste of your soft tongue flicking and lapping against his is nearly enough to make him cum on the spot. It’s almost like he can feel your heartbeat through your snug, perfect pussy, and it nearly drives him to the brink of madness each time you let him fuck you.

“You can’t say shit like doolally and not expect me to laugh,” you snicker softly, nipping at his lower lip as you lock eyes with him, batting your eyelashes, “Sounds fucking ridiculous.” 

Soap grins in return and continues his deep, deliberate thrusts into your delicious cunt. His heart always flutters giddily whenever you gaze into his eyes with that cheeky look of yours, especially when his cock is buried to the hilt inside you, stretching you out with every inch he has to offer.

“Say some in German then,” he croons lowly, nudging his nose below your chin to make you tilt your head up to give him better access to your neck before he begins peppering wet, hot kisses along your pulse point, sucking a purple love bite into your creamy skin to mark you up. “I wanna laugh, too,” he grumbles between nips and pecks. 

You click your tongue in mock annoyance, enjoying his ministrations and the way his beard tickles your skin too much to be mad at his teasing, and you tug on his short hair a little harder before raking your nails over his scalp until he purrs against your skin in pure bliss. Soap can feel how you swallow hard as he licks a long stripe from your collarbone up your throat, then your walls clench tightly around his cock and he grits his teeth as another pleasant shudder runs down his spine.  

“Say. Sum’. To. Me. Lass.” He demands, this time punctuating each word with a sudden deep and sharp rock of his hips that makes the bed’s headboard hit the wall again. 

Your eyes flutter shut with a breathy moan and your brain short-circuits while each of his thrusts makes a jolt of hot searing pleasure shoot right into your core, making your spine tingle and your body tense with bliss. 

“Ich liebe dich,” you blurt out unintentionally instead of an insult, your speech slurred and unintelligible as he presses his weight further into you, knocking the breath out of your lungs in this position. Your eyes widen as soon as you realize what you’ve just confessed and you pray he didn’t understand that. 

Soap doesn’t speak German, but those words do sound familiar. 

His stomach tightens, his heart skips a heavy beat while his mind begins to race, and his rhythm falters momentarily before he picks up his pace again, fucking into you fast, deep and thoroughly to drown out the sudden wave of foreign emotions on the brink of overwhelming him. 

“Again,” he demands against your ear, gripping your body tightly and keeping you in place on the mattress as he ruts into your cunt with newfound vigor and goad, his pelvis stimulating your clit with each sharp snap of his hips.

“Say –“ He gets a hold of your jaw, curling his large hand around it to make you look at him while he grits his teeth, huffing like some feral bull. “– that again.”

Reaching one hand out behind you, you brace your flat palm against the headboard while your other hand keeps holding on to the back of his neck, fingernails digging into thick muscle and skin as you cling onto him desperately.

“F-fuck, Johnny!” You cry out. “Ich liebe dich, du Vollidiot!” you repeat in between breathy, high-pitched moans, though more confident this time, before your eyes roll back in pleasure with another loud moan of his given name.

Soap can barely keep it together then. His heart nearly bursts out of his chest and his jaw clenches so hard, the veins in his neck start protruding and fluttering with his rapid pulse as he feels you come apart around his cock; your tight, soppy walls convulsing and clenching, pushing and coaxing him to his own sudden release.

And he lets go of your jaw, clutches the pillow next to your head tightly as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, groaning and moaning shamelessly as his body seizes up, balls tightening almost painfully before he spends his thick cum into your perfect cunt.

You wince and exhale a hiss when Soap leans back to look at you and lowers your legs at last, letting you stretch out your sore muscles while he stays buried inside you, moving his hips almost lazily and caressing your burning leg muscles soothingly while both your bodies keep twitching and shaking with small aftershocks. You can feel his warm cum and your own wetness leaking and dripping down your ass crack, ruining your bed sheets below – and you remember that you did actually let him fuck you raw this time in a fit of frivolity.

Your blurry vision becomes clear again once you blink away the haziness and then you already feel Soap’s calloused fingers tracing your jawline, his deep blue eyes drinking in your gorgeous, flushed features almost reverently.

“What?” You ask defensively, looking up at his ruggedly handsome face, now squirming under his uncharacteristically tender gaze and the feeling of his softening cock still resting all snug inside your cunt, acting as if you haven’t just professed your love to him, after weeks of dancing around the topic.

“Well,” he begins, clearing his throat after another beat of awkward silence as he can feel his cheeks begin to heat up with a burning blush,

“Ye cannae finally confess ye love me an’ not expect me ta combust, luv.”

[tonycries]

“She My Best Friend, Yeah We Not a Couple.”

Synopsis. You know it’s wrong to fuck your best friend. But how can you complain when you’re slammed against the library desk and stuffed full of his big cock like this?

Pairing. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected sex, panties in your mouth (+ some other very heinous things), really fucking dirty, public sex, jealous sex (from his side), pet names (my angel), swearing.

Word count. 1.3k

A/N. My ancestors are prolly so proud of me rn. Art by @_3em on X.

“Best friend” his ass. 

It’s laughable really - the way those other losers think they have a chance with you when you’re begging for his dick every night. 

He’s known you since you were both whiney, snot-faced brats - and right now he’s got you sitting prettily on his lap in a study room tucked on the campus library. Your needy mewls are muffled into the crook of his neck as he holds you steady by your hips, the length of his achingly hard cock nudging the line of your ass. 

Panties hastily pulled to the side, your slick pools on his flushed tip, dripping along his length to his tight balls. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your racing pulse, he drags his hefty erection teasingly along your dripping folds. 

God, he could feel the way your pussy was clenching desperately around nothing and it was driving him insane. 

Surely that study buddy of yours could wait a few minutes. Who did that scrub even think he was? Eyeing his pretty lil’ best friend like that.

“Hngh- please, I want-.” you whisper into his ear, the heat of your breath sending blood rushing straight to his already rock-hard cock. Your needy whimpers are cut off as he subconsciously thrusts in-between your swollen folds, juices making the prominent veins along his length glisten.

Fuck, this was getting too much for him too. 

“Tell me what you want, my angel.” he leans down to murmur raspily in your ear, sending a trail of goosebumps down your spine. You were so fucking hot. 

That scrub couldn’t even imagine this. How perfect you were. How wet you were for him. How lustful your voice is as you sinfully whine, “I want your cock in me so badly. Want you to fuck me right here. Right now.”

With lightning speed, he’s got you bent against the cold surface of the library desk, painfully hard cock throbbing under the thin material of your panties. You gasp as his length grinds against your quivering cunt.

Having you splayed out so sinfully for him, he’s never been more thankful that the old librarian was such a heavy sleeper - probably wouldn’t wake up for a stampede of elephants if it happened. 

“This shit is getting in my fucking way.” he groans out as a large hand grabs your soaked panties. 

A sharp rip! of fabric sounds throughout the still air of the study room. “Much better.” he grins dangerously, harshly groping every inch of skin now laid completely bare for him.

“Please. Put it in.” you mewl, voice dripping with need for him. Fuck, he’ll never get used to this. 

“Shhh, my angel.” with a low hiss, he bullies his thick cock into your dripping cunt.

“God. S’tight, so tight. Pussy so desperate for me hah- sucking me back in. She doesn’t want me to leave, huh?” he grits out through strangled moans as he sheaths himself completely into your wet pussy. Shit, at this point they’ll hear him and not you.

Warm walls squeezing him to insanity, he fucks you at a feral pace, pulling out till his tip teases your dripping entrance, only to ram himself fully inside once more. 

“Ah! Hngh- It’s too much. Please!” 

He would never get to know the feeling of your snug cunt desperately sucking his cock back in every time he rams into you. He would never get to feel the way your walls clamp down on him, struggling to adjust to the burning stretch of his thick cock. He could never make you feel this good.

That loser probably has a small dick anyway.

He drinks in the pornographic ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth at each harsh thrust, feeling intoxicated off the animalistic cadence of his hips, and the thick white ring of slick forming at his base. 

“Shit. Always so good f’me, my angel.” he groans, your pretty moans only making him thrust impossibly deeper in a way that has you scrambling to hold onto the table for support. 

His throaty groans and the merciless slapping of his heavy balls against your ass echoes across the room as his fingers dig deep purple marks into your hips.

“S-someone’s gonna hah- hear-” 

“Then we must be quiet, hm?”

Before you have a chance to process what’s happening, the wet panties that were tightly gripped in his hand are now stuffed into your mouth. You moan around the large fingers forcing themselves inside, cold rings stretching your mouth as much as your cunt.

His cock twitches as he forces you to taste yourself, feeling you getting impossibly wetter. That’s his girl. 

He could never fuck you like this. 

Moans now muffled by the fabric in your mouth, his saliva-coated fingers move down to draw rough circles on your clit - making you yelp at the stimulation. 

He knows someone could walk in at any moment - and a part of him actually wants it to happen. Let them see, he thinks. At least then those fuckers would finally take a hint.

A soft whine of his name snaps him out of his pussy-drunk thoughts, blown-out eyes now meeting your dazed ones as you lock eyes with him over your shoulder. Lipstick smeared, tears clinging to your lashes, and panties half-hanging out of your kiss-bitten lips.

Ah, actually scratch that - he’s gonna keep his pretty lil’ best friend all to himself.

“Shhh, my angel. I’ve got you.” he towers over you, pressing a trail of kisses up the curve of your spine before angling your neck to attach his lips with yours. He delights in your surprised squeal, clearly not expecting him to kiss you with your panties still in your mouth. But for you, he’d do anything.

Cock twitching, your feet almost lift off the ground as the rhythm of his hips gets harsher. He intertwines his tongue with yours, sweet slick-soaked panties wrapped in the middle. Fuck, he was going insane at the contrast of your soft tongue with the lacy fabric of your panties, hand around your neck getting tighter.

You moan incoherently as he sucks on your tongue, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth and onto the polished library desk. 

It was so fucking lewd. Doesn’t matter how many losers swarm around you - none of them deserved you. None of them could fuck you like this.

Your sounds of pleasure get more and more frantic as his cock still slams inside you relentlessly, ringed-fingers continuing their abuse on your clit - getting closer and closer to what you crave.

He can feel the way your walls flutter so snugly around him. God, he’s so fucking turned on that he doesn’t know whether the heartbeat he feels between his legs is his or yours.

Neither of you have to wait long. His tongue still continues its dance with yours, around your soaked panties, as you both cum with a muffled moan. 

Your pussy clenches around him as you climax him as if to milk his cock for all he’s worth. And you do, thick ropes of his hot cum painting your pulsing hole white. 

Riding out both your highs, he fucks his cum into you animalistically - feet lifting off the floor at his firm grip on your waist and the sheer power of his rough thrusts.

So messy. Damn, he has to send the librarian an apology gift later - a fruit basket or something, he wonders, barely lucidly. 

His mind is still foggy as he pulls his sensitive cock out, and pockets your panties for a lonely night without his dear best friend. Promptly plugging his fingers in your quivering pussy, cum smearing on his fingers, he mutters out a quick “Keep it inside.”

Walking out of the heavy, sex-filled atmosphere of the study room, he bumps into that fucking study buddy of yours - running late and clearly surprised to see him there.

With a slow smirk, “Sorry in advance, my girl made a bit of a mess in there. Hope you don’t mind.”

Hey, this is what best friends are for, right?

- GOJO, GETO, Choso, Tsukishima, ATSUMU, SUNA, Oikawa, Kuroo, EREN, Armin

A/N. Teehee *blushes like a slut*

Longfic Sunday incoming if I manage to write 6k words by tomorrow.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[artofchoisan]

A SPECIAL KIND OF HEAT DELIVERY

Delivery!Boy!Hongjoong x University!Student!Reader

The Plot: The summer heat was getting to you and your fan found the perfect moment to break down, having no other choice, you decided to order an air conditioner online but what you didn't expect was for the heat to make you so horny and needy towards the handsome delivery man with a smirk that never left his lips.

TW: Rough Sex.

Words: 2.4k

► ATEEZ MASTERLIST

In the midst of this scorching summer day, you find yourself trapped in this unbearable heat. Flopping down on the couch, you desperately fan yourself with a magazine, but the thick, humid air offers little relief. “Ugh, this heat is unbearable," you groan, beads of sweat forming on your forehead. "And the fan? Useless. Completely kaput. Can't catch a break today."

Your phone buzzes with a notification that your new air conditioner has been dispatched. "Finally! I can't wait for that cool breeze to hit me. This is torture," you mutter, scrolling through the tracking details.

You were dressed in very light clothes because it was so hot, and you felt self-conscious. The intense heat made you take off some layers, and you ended up wearing a short, light crop top and airy shorts.

Despite feeling a bit insecure about showing your stomach and thighs, the need to cool down was more important, your nipples perking through your light shirt, making you in such a state that doesn't seem to be looking hot, at least for yourself especially how you felt so sweaty because of how God had been generous of you with your breasts.

As you sat there, fanning yourself, a series of knocks interrupted the stillness of the room. Not giving much thought to your exposed and revealing attire, you hurried to the door, eager to thank the delivery man carrying the hefty package. With each step, the cool breeze from the fan lifted the light fabric of your crop top, revealing a hint of your midriff and thighs.

When you opened the door, you saw the delivery person struggling with the heavy package. "Thank you so much!" you said, relieved to have the air conditioner. "I've been so hot, and this is exactly what I needed."

The delivery person, catching his breath, looked up at you and offered a friendly smile. However, his gaze lingered just a moment longer than expected, and a subtle smirk played on his lips. Perhaps it was the revealing attire, or you just hope it wasn't a smirk that made fun of you since your stomach wasn't the most flat, heck it wasn't flat.

"Hey, no problem! I'm glad I could help," he replied, his eyes unmistakably lingering on your exposed midriff and thighs. "It's a scorcher out here, huh?"

You nodded in agreement, still fanning yourself and now it was you who couldn't deny the fact that this man was quite handsome, placing the package down, he lift up his sleeves and holy, those veins and muscles were no joke despite his skinny figure and as your eyes lingered more onto him, that chest was wide, oh fuck the heat was making you too horny.

His dark, tousled hair framed a face adorned with a subtle smirk, giving off an air of confidence. Dressed in a casual yet effortlessly stylish manner, he exuded a magnetic charm with that sharp jawline and imposing aura.

Unable to resist the temptation, you decided to see how your flirtatious efforts would be received, running a hand through your tousled hair and adjusting the revealing crop top that had inadvertently become the center of attention.

"Hey, so, I was thinking..." you began, "I really want to thank you for carrying this heavy package. It's been a lifesaver. How about a glass of water to cool off?"

The delivery person's smirk deepened, and he chuckled, seemingly amused by the sudden change in tone. "Well, I wouldn't say no to that. A glass of water sounds perfect right about now."

As you lead him to the kitchen, you introduce yourself "Thanks again for the delivery," you said, attempting to keep the conversation light while your mind was buzzing with anticipation.

He extended a hand with that ever-present smirk, "I'm Hongjoong. Nice to meet you." The touch of his hand sent a shiver down your spine, you truly need to get laid but then your insecurity of your stomach pouch clouds your mind.

Pouring a glass of water, you handed it to Hongjoong, making sure your fingers grazed his ever so slightly. "Here you go, Hongjoong. Thanks for being my hero today," you teased, a seductive glint in your eyes.

He accepted the glass, his smirk never wavering. "My pleasure. Heroes do enjoy a cool drink now and then."

As you handed Hongjoong the glass of water, you couldn't resist pushing the flirtatious banter a step further. "You have no idea how this heat has been killing me," you confessed, your voice dropping to a teasing tone. "It's like a relentless wave that just won't let up."

Hongjoong chuckled, his eyes holding a knowing glint. "Tell me about it. It's a real scorcher out there."

Deciding to show rather than tell, you moved to the freezer and grabbed an ice cube, a playful smile on your lips. "Watch this," you murmured, pressing the ice cube to your neck. The cold shock made you shiver, and you let out a soft gasp, allowing the ice to trace a path down your neck and onto your chest. The water from the melting ice cascaded down, leaving a glistening trail on your exposed skin and dampening your clothes slightly.

The room seemed to heat up even more as you continued the display, the sensual act of the melting ice becoming a silent invitation. Hongjoong's gaze intensified, his eyes now fixated on the provocative scene unfolding before him. "It's like a sauna in here," you remarked, your movements deliberate as you let the ice cube trace a path across your collarbone and down between your breasts.

Hongjoong's smirk deepened, and he took another sip of water, his eyes locked on you. "You're not wrong about that," he replied, his voice low and husky. "Mind if I borrow that ice cube?" he said, his tone teasing yet filled with a sensual promise.

Your playful smile persisted as you handed him the ice cube. Hongjoong took the ice from your fingertips. He mirrored your earlier movements, pressing the ice to his own neck, then allowing it to trail down his chest.

As the water cascaded over his defined torso, you couldn't help but bite your lip, your gaze fixed on the alluring sight. Hongjoong's eyes locked onto yours, "You know," he began, his voice dropping to a needy tone, "there are more ways to beat this heat."

A mischievous glint sparkled in your eyes as you played along, "Oh really? Care to show me?"

As Hongjoong's hands found their way to your waist then his touch grazed your love handle, and you instinctively tensed up. "Don't be ashamed of that," he whispered, his voice a seductive murmur against your ear. "I love those," he continued, his fingers digging slightly deeper into your skin.

Feeling the heat of the moment, Hongjoong closed the remaining distance between you, his lips crashing onto yours with a sinful urgency. The kiss was a heady blend of desire and passion, and as his tongue forcefully sought entrance into your mouth, you moaned at the intoxicating sensation. The taste of him was divine.

The sinful dance of tongues and the intensity of the kiss left you breathless. Hongjoong's hands explored your body with a confident touch, igniting sparks of pleasure. His fingers traced the contours of your skin.

In a daring move, you broke the kiss, locking eyes with Hongjoong with a sensual gaze. "I think we can find an even better way to cool down," you teased, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. Hongjoong's eyes darkened with desire as he eagerly awaited your next move.

With a provocative confidence, you dropped to your knees in front of him, your eyes never leaving his. A gasp escaping his lips at that. As you knelt before him, "You seemed to enjoy the show," you murmured before mouthing at his clothed crotch to which a grunt escaped his lips.

“Let’s make the show even better.” With that, you quickly get rid of your shirt revealing your naked upper body to him, your chest in full view of him, “I hate my stomach but I’m quite proud of my tits.”

Hongjoong seemed to be in awe at that, he was loving it even with your fats, fuck he was perfect and to reward him, you quickly work on his pants and pulled it down along his boxer revealing his erected cock.

Grabbing your breast, you rub them between your tits as you gave him a sensual look as you continue on working your tits around his cock as Hongjoong throw his head back, “Fuck you’re so good.” Breathing out and panting out, Your boobjob continued unabated. His face twisted into a variety of different expressions.

Satisfied at getting him fully hard and ready, you wasted no time and sealing your mouth around the tip of his raging red cock as his cursed out, your tongue swirling around the tip before laying flat on it before continue sucking on it, your gaze locked onto his whom had his mouth slightly open, head tilted as he looked down on you.

Without warning, you took him whole in your mouth as he cursed out, his fingers gripped into your hair as you began to suck him with much fervor, your eyes never leaving his resisting the urge to not gagged as you continue the harsh in and out motions never stopping as your hand palmed onto his balls, “Fuck, you’re so good at that, your mouth is such a sin.”

Sucking him even harder and feeling his veiny cock to hit the back of your throat as you gagged but your mouth not leaving your new addiction, then slightly bringing in your teeth to graze along the length which seemed to make Hongjoong to see some stars.

“So hungry for my cock huh?” Hongjoong, voice roughened in pleasure. “Like being choked with that? Bet your cunt is just as greedy as your mouth. Gonna fuck—” With that he released all in your mouth as you took everything and licked his cock clean.

Hongjoong gripped on your arm and pulled you up as a demonic smirk played on his lips, “Let’s give you what you want.” With that he turned your around and bend you onto the couch, one knee against the couch as your fingers tug onto the top of the couch, “Fuck you’re such a sight, best delivery of my life.”

Almost ripping your shorts, he quickly ripped off your underwear as it slapped against your skin before ripping. His hand dug as your hip as he teasingly rubbed hs cock against your entrance but you were not up for any foreplay, as you just slammed yourself hard against his cock as you cried out in pleasure as he cursed out, “Fuck, you’re such a needy devil. Let’s waste no time then.”

Hongjoong thrusts upward forcefully, causing you to bounce on his lap, and a high-pitched moan escapes you before he began to mercilessly fuck you hard then his hand reached to grope one of your tits hard as he pinched your nipple as you cried out in bliss, “Fuck fuck fuck….yes please….Mhmmm.”

His clothed stomach pressed against your back as he leaned closer to bite onto your shoulder, he was the true devil here and that made his cock to reach even further inside of you, “Oh fuck, don't stop.” Biting onto your shoulder and sucking as he continued to thrust his hips forward as your eyes rolled back at his animalistic behavior.

Your vision went dark and screamed out as a hard orgasm ripped through you as Hongjoong continue to pound into you chasing his own highs before he remove himself from you and strings of cums landed onto your bared back, “Fuck..” He breathed out and panting out against your shoulder, “You felt so good, fuck, your tits, ass, thighs and stomach, you’re a wonder.”

You couldn't help but to laugh but your body goes limp as you both fell onto the couch, “Well fuck the heat, I’m lucky to have score a man who love all those insecurities of mine.”

The man grinned as he let you lay on the couch as you laid on the couch, “I’m more of a man that prefers to have something to grab.” With that he spank your ass as you gasp as playfully kick him with your leg, “That was such good sex though.”

“Well blame the heat for making me so horny.” You couldn't help but to giggle, “Feel I need to make more deliveries if I get to have you to be the delivery person.” “How about this?” You began to propose an idea, “I don't really do this but you got me curious, how about we exchange numbers so we can do it more properly?”

Hesitant and scared, not sure whether such a man would like the kind of idea you were proposing, this man seemed too good to be true, way out of your own league was what you thought but his praises to you had make you to want to know more about him, “If you don't want to, then all good, we can just consider it a one time thing.”

But his smile that he gave you, erased all your doubts as he landed another spank onto your ass as he chuckle, “I’ll continue to do that if you don't stop looking down at yourself.” He was perfect, “I’d like that, you got me curious as well, maybe then I can praise your body more until you see how fucking gorgeous you’re.”

“Even with my stomach pouch?” You laughed.

He grinned and smack your ass harder as you whine, “I was fucking you hard right? I couldn't care less about that but your tits are so fucking good and I want to grab your handles even more, why you women hate that, I fucking love it.”

This man was a wonder but then a genuine smile appeared on his lips, “Let me take you out? I know this place that’s not hot at all and the food is quite great and if you are still up to it…” His fingers traced alongside your legs, “Maybe we could hit either of our places and try to beat this heat?”

Turning onto your back leaning onto your elbows as you looked at him, you couldn't help but to smile as you wrapped your leg around him, his hungry eyes landing on your exposed chest as you nodded, “Well I would truly like that idea.”

Who knew a simple delivery could lead to that, it started with lust and even if it ends on that, at least you’ll have a great time.

[beloveds-embrace]

🕸️ anon back on my shit:

(can be read a poly! 141)

the thing about the 141 is that they know how to take care of each other so well, but their individual versions of self care are not meeting any normal persons standards.

sitting with john in his office, just sharing space together, doing paperwork together, reading while he goes through files, organizing the piles he leaves on his desk. slowly making his office a bit more homey, getting a better chair that supports his back, changing out the lightbulbs bc fluorescent lighting gives the worst headaches, clearing out one of the deep drawers at the bottom of his desk, somehow fitting in a thick blanket and a fair sized pillow for his (but mostly your) use on those long nights, gifting him a pair of blue light glasses since you can see the way his brows furrow when he stares at the screen.

doing skincare with simon because that mask has to cause some hellish kind of dry skin and irritation and overall discomfort on his face and neck…and you can’t help but laugh when he’s got a sheet mask on or eye masks, his under eyes have to be suffering with all of that black liner smudged all over. slowly stocking his bathroom cabinet with moisturizers, face washes, sheet masks, eye masks, hand creams so so much more because maybe if he sees them every time he opens the cabinet to grab a something from the first aid kit, he’ll actually get to using what you’ve bought him (and — though it was originally reluctantly — he doesn’t want you to feel bad the next time you open the cabinet and see everything is the same way you left it, so he uses what you get him, and he never manages to run out of anything)

spending time with kyle and drawing together. sketching each other, the base, the rest of the 141, the trees, the sky, the sunset, all the places you want to go but never been, all the places you’ve been but never want to go again. perching in utterly insane places, spying on the rest of your team together, drawing them existing, content, sharing drawings and giggling together at the faces you capture. sharing earbuds and playing soft music, helping each other disconnect from the chaos of the day. buying a small tin set of watercolors and a paper pad to be be tucked into a pocket on his vest so that he won’t spend the trips to and from missions staring into space

lying on johnny’s floor gaming with him every once and a while, keeping your reactions sharp and timely with something that isn’t shooting a target or going for each others throats in a spar, making sure restless energy that can’t be spent running or fighting or shooting gets out somehow. yelling at the screen, screeching and shoving and smiling at one another while slamming the controller buttons unreasonably hard. buying him a game or two he mentioned so that the two of you can play after getting back from missions, keeping his games, controllers, and console organized and as clean as you can because johnny’s version of clean and yours are two very different things (and you just know he’ll end up tripping over the wires he leaves sticking out or spilling something and then he’ll pout and then have nowhere to put that restless energy and—)

cooking for all of them. buying good cookware to store in the tiny shared kitchenette, stocking the spice cabinet, getting actual plates instead of the flimsy paper dishes that have seen better days and utensils that can hold hefty bites of food and won’t snap in anyone’s grasp, making sure you note what foods they like, what snacks they reach for often, what recipes they favor the most, keeping a recipe book for all their favorites (and yours too). making three times the portion that the recipes call for because it can never hurt to have more food than less, and let’s be real, these men would be going feral for food that isn’t from the mess and also satisfies them. they don’t have to worry about eating too much bc there’s so damn much if it, all the time. actually looking forward for the later times of the day because it means a warm, fulfilling mean alongside the people they’ve come to care about, made by someone they’ve gotten so lucky to have at their side. making a pocket of home and finding peace in the job that offers neither.

[lialacleaf]

Simon Riley X Reader: Domestic Headcanons: Baking

Warnings: Simon misses his Mum :c, fluffy

Pt.2

Simon has very few fond memories of his family but he remembers how his Mum used to cook during the holidays, and would always involve him in the food prep to distract him from his Dad's foul mood.

After losing his family, cooking just isn't the same without his Mum, and even if he isn't on a mission he tries to avoid being in the kitchen because it just aches for him.

But then you come along, working on base under Laswell and Simon constantly hears you fiddling around in the kitchen. He avoids investigating like the plague for the first few weeks but eventually, his curiosity gets the better of him.

He finds you covered in flour in mid-October, making a pumpkin pie crust from scratch, and has to just stand there for a moment and watch in befuddlement as you swear at the bowl you just tipped over.

There's something bubbling on the stove, and you're too distracted to notice that your simmer pot is going to boil over. You've got a mix of orange and lemon slices with diced apple and cinnamon sticks. It's just like how his Mum used to make them.

The click of the stove dial has you jumping, having not noticed the shadowy figure of Ghost slipping into the kitchen.

"Heat's too high," he says, and you blink at him in confusion before understanding settles on your pretty face.

"Shoot! I...forgot to turn that down when I..." you gestured awkwardly to the bowl of flour and he tilts his masked chin downwards at you.

You give him an awkward smile before returning to the task of making your dough.

He doesn't leave immediately, just watches you struggle a bit with kneading the dough before he huffs and yanks his gloves off, pushing you to the side as he surprises you by properly kneading the dough, and laying it in the pie pan perfectly.

You watch him from the corner of your eye as you finish making the filling, and add it to the pie crust.

You can hardly believe that you're baking a pie with Lieutenant Ghost. You shrug it off however and pull two mugs from the cupboard, filling them both with the contents of your pot, however, when you turn around to offer him one, he's already gone.

The second time you're in the kitchen making apple turnovers for your co-worker's birthday, the window is open for you to enjoy an early November rainy day, and you're in your coziest pair of socks.

You almost don't recognize him, jumping at the sight of the tall blonde man who has materialized out of thin air to peel your apples. His eyes peek at you over the top of a black surgical mask, and you feel your heart stop, then start up again with a disjointed stutter as you take in the familiar chocolatey color.

He doesn't say anything, just peels the apples until the bag is empty. You reach for the last one and realize there's no Leuitenant to be seen.

The third time he joins you you're trying to perfect your gravy recipe. Most of the base's inhabitants have gone home for the holidays, but the few that have remained are planning a Thanksgiving potluck.

"You're still here." He actually makes you jump.

"Couldn't afford plane tickets for Christmas and Thanksgiving, and I'm not missing my Dad's pumpkin log and hot cocoa," you explain

He hums softly, leaning against the counter as he examines your cheese biscuits.

Your eyes widen slightly when you see him pull the surgical mask down just enough to take a large bite of the biscuit he nabbed off the tray.

You're greeted with the sight of a sharp jaw and full lips, and you quickly pull your eyes away, focusing on the gravy in your pot.

Something doesn't taste quite right, and you frown softly. Ghost leans over to take a deep whiff, bumping your shoulder in the process.

"You added salt?"

You offer him a deadpan expression.

"Scoot," he orders, pushing you aside and fishing a spoon out of the drawer. He nods to himself after a taste and proceeds to add a hefty helping of rosemary.

You try not to think about the fact that you've never seen his face before now as you try his concoction. It's not bad. "Where'd you learn how to cook, Ghost?"

He stares deeply at you for a few seconds, before he sets the spoon in the sink. "My Mum."

He leaves you after that, and you doubt you're going to see him at the potluck.

You don't see him in the kitchen again until December, and you're baking snickerdoodles to leave the boys with when you return to your family.

He's avoided the kitchen for a few weeks, and you're strangely relieved to see him lurking there.

"Wanted to give you this before you left."

He holds out a carefully wrapped package, and you accept it with a dumbfounded expression. He's out the door again before you've even thanked him.

A few days later you're sitting in the armchair of your parents' house, a pile of unwrapped presents at your feet as you carefully tear away the paper concealing the Leuitenant's gift. You're greeted with the sight of an old leather-bound book, one filled with handwritten recipes you realize upon closer inspection and an elegant Mrs. Riley engraved on the front page.

You have a feeling Ghost will be joining you in the kitchen more often. Maybe even Simon.

AN: Requests are always open!

[meerawrites]

World of Darkness Meet Cute

(art by: @underpaid-paragon)

A tender curiosity on ao3.

Los Angeles, California, 2000s 

 The vampire Audrey had never been to Los Angeles, an oversight on the coquettish, dark-haired, green eyed, and lightly olive coloured (though Audrey swears sometimes she thinks looking in a mirror she is growing paler and more like marble every night – perhaps a trick of the light, or a defence mechanism in her head… after all they’ve been subjected to the vampire would say they cannot assume any real fault for it). She really never intended to go that far down the Pacific coast anyway, San Francisco is just fine to her, or, going back to New York, or France, maybe this time she would wander as far as the country of Egypt or India, but no, not this night. 

Audrey is no man of cloth or prophetess though she has met a handful of those… allegedly. Audrey knows when to do as she is commanded, and moreover when is a good time to flee the scene, and when violence outside of to Audrey at least the violence inherent in the blood of Cain vampires very survival depends upon, where precisely is the line between one's survival and monstrousness Audrey’s read enough human and cainite speculation on the subject to have an informed opinion on this of course. Audrey believes most earnestly their otherness, monstrousness, queerness –  as in unusualness is inseparable from their vampiric nature, Audrey’s unabashed and unashamed bisexuality she believes is the modern human word for it,  and biromanticism. Audrey is not even sure she believes the story of Cain and all those after, it seems too clean to Audrey, and far too simplistic, and although Audrey is fairly certain she would be the vampiric equivalent of excommunicated for heresy (absurd given the Catholic God perhaps has the least amount of scientific backing for his existence), but, Audrey does not believe in the end times or, as Prince Sebastian Lacroix put it in their terms, Gehenna.In any case, to Los Angeles it is, everyone knows the consequences of disobedience to a Prince are unkind at best, second final oblivion at worst. 

Los Angeles is a fine city, Audrey only slightly unnerved by how new and clean the night skyline looks compared to San Francisco or New Orleans. All cities have ghastly stories beneath them, the clean and bright ones especially. When she arrives she is met personally by the Ventrue, and the Prince, Sebastian Lacroix. She makes a fast acquaintance of him, an even faster friend, and an even faster bed buddy, Lacroix of all people knows how this goes she could half guess he has done it with reason one hundred times before, he pays her hefty tab. Of course Audrey regrets none of it, why should she? The consequences after all of not kneeling to one's Prince and superiors, is often death. Though she could be in love with Lacroix were he less controlling and perhaps kinder, he is attractive for a Ventrue, the clan represented by a sword, the sharp ones.  Audrey is a rose herself, a Toreador, often derided as overly sentimental or emotional that or they are assumed to be the kind ones. How little some other vampires know, really. Audrey sees beauty everywhere – it sometimes comes at a cost. Audrey had come to Los Angeles out of necessity now it seems she stays out of a morbid longing for the picturesque and some tender curiosity. 

Once Audrey makes herself presentable and put together again, the dark-haired coquette keeps her head down and observes. Something about a Sarcophogus, the Sabbat death cult and the Anarchs, often hypocrites, starting trouble. Audrey thinks little of it. This particular accident is not hers after all. Audrey is out on a balcony observing the skyline again when she can actually be bothered to pay attention to her own. The woman is blonde, with big makeup, bigger hair, and if may as well have stepped out of an 80s disco.

 “Pardon me, Madam,” Audrey starts, in a whisper. “I do not think we’ve met, though I dare say I’ve met plenty… like you,” the Toreador jests, mostly.

“Oh,” the blonde chuckles softly. “Circe,” and she offers Audrey her hand. Audrey isn’t sure what to do, exactly; it must be an American thing. She opts for two cheek kisses as the French do instead. 

Circe, the Malkavian laughs, but Audrey can sense no malice in it. “Careful, Vanitas, people will talk,” Circe observes with an honesty deeply unfamiliar to Audrey. 

“They called us the rose clan degenerates back in the day, you know, I’ll concede I was always degenerate, but I often think our kind lacks any humour or self-awareness,” Audrey jokes back. “Besides, with me, people always talk. You are a seer, oui? In my time, they called you mad or Lunatics. I don’t see it, madness is a trait inherent to every being under the sun or moon, how else does one explain fanaticism or war?”  Audrey asks, largely rhetorically. “So, Circe, Cassandra , tell me what you see…”

[temis-de-leon]

Still awake talking to crush because of a nightmare - 500 F.C.

Characters: Beelzebub x gn!reader

Main Masterlist

500 followers masterlist

Requested by: Romance Anon

C/W: pre-established relationship. MC gazes at Beel's muscles for a hot second but literally who wouldn't

.

A part of you, the one that was left behind under the heftiness of your pillows and your duvet, quivered with unease as you roamed the empty, poorly lit aisles. The air around you felt stale, polluted with floating dust and the pungent scent of mould, and multiple spots on the floor were covered with some type of organic residue and dirty water.

It reminded you of those backroom videos that showed up on TikTok in the middle of the night and creeped you out for hours, except now the location was right there and the possibility of being hunted by a creature of sorts was very real.

Perhaps you wouldn’t be so unnerved if you weren’t dozing off by the second. The edges of your vision were blurry, slightly feverish, and you couldn’t shake off the feeling that the dark blob in the corner of your eye was a living being, even when you finally turned around with your heart in your throat and saw it was just a shadow.

You stifled a yawn under the collar of your pyjama shirt, dead set on not openly breathing the oxygen inside the old convenience store, and grabbed the wired shopping cart to push yourself backwards.

The vibrations of Beel’s hum reached your core and you smiled slightly when his hand grabbed your shoulder and tightened its grip. The comforting gesture helped settle your nerves a little bit.

“What are you in the mood for, MC?” he asked, his monotone tone too loud.

The constant buzz of the fluorescent lights unsettled you.

“I’m not really hungry right now” you mumbled in return, slurring your words together. “Choose whatever you want and I’ll pay. My treat, reme-?”

Another yawn interrupted your sentence, but you didn’t even realize it.

Blinking slowly, and feeling kind of reptilian because of it, you repositioned yourself and rested your head against the metal edge of the cart. Your vision turned even foggier, and the sharp pain in your temple made it impossible for you to sleep in that pose, but, hopefully, you wouldn’t be there for much longer.

Beel’s pace sped up ever so slightly, clearly motivated by guilt over your tired expression.

Soon enough you were in the refrigerated area and his shadow loomed over you as he leaned forward to grab more than a few products.

You hoped he wouldn’t notice you blatantly staring at his muscles in your drowsy state. His biceps looked huge and you wondered if he’d carry you to bed if you faked being asleep once you finished shopping.

Hell, you wondered if he’d carry you even if you were awake.

“Don’t go overboard, okay?” you reminded him, letting your hand grab his forearm to catch his attention.

He was warm, his skin soft and his muscle tense in the flexed angle you’d stopped him in.

Your gulp was embarrassingly loud.

“Lucifer is gonna murder me if he learns I’m indulging you and I’m really not in… position… I’m not qualified to… I’ll lose, all right?” another yawn. Your hand fell, letting him go, and you crossed your arms over the iron edge to cushion your head. Your new hiding place wasn’t dark enough, but it was better than the artificial white light from above “Was that nightmare so bad, anyway?” you asked against the fabric of your sleeve.

The cart rattled under the weight of the numerous bottles and containers he was grabbing, your wallet equally shaking in fear at the future money loss.

“Same as always” he sighed.

His words reached your brain a couple of seconds too late, so when you finally peaked under your lashes to look at him, Beel was already distracted with a free sample display.

Had it been about his sister? His brothers? Had it been about you? The seriousness in his eyes let you know it wasn’t anything about food, but possibilities beyond that were endless. Beel felt too much for his family and the events of the past had never left the poor sixth brother’s mind. Whatever his imagination could come up with, he would suffer.

“Do you wanna talk about it…?” you ask, voice meek due lack of energy.

Beel turned, looked down at you and, after a couple of silent seconds, smiled sheepishly. Without thinking much of it, he took a bag of mini chocolate chip cookies and opened it right then and there. Instead of eating, though, which was what you thought he would do, he grabbed one and held it right in front of your mouth. Your lips grazed the tip of his fingers when you bit on the cookie.

The late hours of the night made it all impossibly sweet.

Although his blushing might’ve had something to do with it as well.

“I don’t need it” he said in the end, smiling widely as he munched on a whole fist of cookies. His next words were muffled by the mouthful of treats. “Everything’s good right now”

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom @mia4gotcookiez