#tagging by names without explaining who is who

[cheftsunoda]

hiii!

I love your writing sooo much and I just had an idea for a story with Lando (if you write for him)

The idea came to me when I was watching one of his interviews in which he gets asked if he likes cats or dogs and he says that he's DEFINITELY a dog person and hates cats (which should be a crime imo)

Anyway I was wondering if you could write a story in which the reader LOVEEEES cats and Lando likes reader a lot but they tell him that they refuse to date someone who doesn’t like cats so Lando tries to charm/befriend their cat/cats

nine lives — ln4

lando norris x !cat lover reader

smau + blurbs

You’ve always said you could forgive many things in a relationship—bad taste in music, questionable cooking, even the occasional forgotten anniversary. But not liking cats? Unforgivable. Which is why, when a clip of Lando—your boyfriend of almost a year—where he boldly declares “I just don’t trust cats. They stare at you like they’re plotting your death.”, your phone practically explodes with notifications. And right in the middle of your peaceful Sunday morning, curled up in bed with four purring furballs and one very smug grey baby sprawled on your chest, Lando walks into the room holding his phone like it’s ticking.

“They’re all sending me this video,” he says, deadpan. “And now half the internet thinks we’re about to break up because I disrespected Mister Whiskers the Third.”

You blink at him. “You did. And you disrespected me.”

And that’s when he sighs—loudly, dramatically—and looks your cats in the eye like he’s facing his greatest challenge yet.

“I guess I’m gonna have to win them over, huh?”

fc : random pinterest girlies

(a/n) : hi babyyyyyy. thanks for the love:) i am a huge cat person so this was very fun for me to write. my cat was stepping on my keyboard keys as i was literally trying to type it out. LMAOOO

ALSO NOT MY DUMBASS HAVING THIS EDITED AND READY FOR TWO DAYS AND NOT REALIZING. IM SO SORRY.

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lando’s ‘undercover’ GQ interview — 6/23/2025

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It starts innocently enough. You’re lounging on the couch in your sunlit living room, a tabby curled against your hip, a calico stretched across your feet, and your ancient, grumpy Persian—Count Meowcula—curled up like a loaf of bread on the coffee table. Lando is still asleep upstairs, likely tangled in the duvet with his mouth slightly open and hair sticking up like a dandelion. You’re scrolling through your phone when the first tag pops up.

@/username000 : NOT LANDO SAYING HE HATES CATS 💀💀💀 @/yourusername come get your man pls

You furrow your brows and click the link.

It’s a recent clip, from the GQ interview he just did the other day. The interviewer shows him an old clip of himself.

And the younger Lando on the video, without missing a beat, replies with boyish arrogance, “Dogs, obviously. Cats are evil. I don’t trust them. They just sit there and judge you.”

Your jaw drops a little. “Excuse me?”

He goes on—oh, he goes on.

“They’re always knocking things off tables. Like, why? For what reason? I could never live with a cat. I’d be on edge all the time.”

You blink at the screen, stunned. A moment later, your mentions erupt like fireworks.

@/username00 : so like… yn owns FIVE cats and lando said THIS?????

@/username0 : the betrayal. the slander. does Count Meowcula know??

@/username1 : if my man ever said this about cats i’d simply let them scratch his eyes out 😭

You let out a little laugh—half horrified, half amused—and glance around the room. As if sensing drama, your youngest cat, a tiny grey kitten named Pickles, climbs onto your lap and stares directly into your phone screen like she’s reading the replies.

“I know,” you murmur to her. “He’s got some explaining to do.”

Almost on cue, heavy footsteps pad down the stairs. You hear a yawn, then a groggy voice.

“Morning…” Lando steps into the room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s in one of your hoodies and a pair of mismatched socks, hair a complete mess.

You swivel your phone toward him, the video paused on the exact moment he says, “Cats are evil.”

He squints. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Lando flops face first onto the couch beside you, groaning into a throw pillow. “I was, like, twenty! I didn’t know better!”

“The internet disagrees.” You smirk, holding your phone up as notifications keep pouring in. “You’ve got approximately two million cat lovers and a grumpy Count Meowcula very disappointed in you.”

Lando turns his head, eyes squinting at the Persian cat who is, indeed, staring at him with an expression of utter betrayal.

“I told him it was an old interview,” you say solemnly. “He doesn’t care.”

“I’ll never earn his forgiveness, will I?”

“Not unless you make amends.”

He sits up dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Then I have no choice. I must… bond with the cats.”

“Oh?” you tease. “The same cats who are evil? The ones you can’t trust?”

“I was young! I was foolish!” He throws himself at your feet in mock agony. “Please, my love, allow me to prove myself to you—and to Pickles. And to Mr. Whiskers. And… Count Meowcula.” He pauses.

“God, why do they all sound like retired supervillains?”

“Because they are.”

Pickles meows at him, unimpressed. Lando slowly sits back up, adjusting his hoodie and patting his lap. “Alright. I’m ready. Send me your softest warrior.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“I’m ready to face the consequences of my words,” he says solemnly. “Bring me the cats.”

One by one, like some ceremonial trial, the cats are introduced. Pickles curls up beside him without protest. Mr. Whiskers claws his leg once, just for good measure, and then lays on his foot. Count Meowcula eyes him for a solid three minutes before climbing onto his lap and promptly falling asleep.

You grab your phone and take a picture of the scene—Lando sitting stiff as a board, surrounded by cats, one paw resting over his knee like a warning.

Moments later, the tweet goes viral. The top reply?

@/alex_albon : petition for Lando to do a cat photoshoot in apology form.

You grin and show it to him.

“Absolutely not,” Lando mutters as Mr. Whiskers licks his hand. “Okay. Maybe. Only if I get to wear the little ears too.”

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yourusername

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 1,201,005 others.

yourusername : should i leave this muppet because he doesn’t like my babies?

tagged : lando

—

view 72,075 other comments.

alex_albon : yes. absolutely. dump him. lily and i will take you and your cats in.

liked by yourusername and lilymhe

↳ yourusername : omw to the albon farm where me and my 5 children will be APPRECIATED.

liked by alex_albon and lilymhe

↳ lando : HEY HEY WE DO NOT HAVE TO GO THIS FAR

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : i am like the cat whisperer now. ask pickles.

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : you screamed when mr whiskers jumped up on the couch behind you. mans was just existing.

liked by alex_albon

↳ lando : HE STARTLED ME.

liked by yourusername

maxverstappen1 : leave him. now. i want to see him walking down the road with one of those hobo sacks.

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : OH MY GOD. YOU ARE ALL SO OVERDRAMATIC. I WAS YOUNG.

↳ maxverstappen1 : do not care. you still said it.

liked by yourusername

username00 : i take it he is still in alot of trouble yn

↳ yourusername : oh yes. very much so. sleeping on the couch currently.

liked by maxverstappen1 and alex_albon

↳ maxverstappen1 : make him sleep on the sidewalk.

liked by yourusername and username00

lando : I AM SORRY BABYYYYY DO NOT LEAVE ME. I NEED YOU AND YOUR 5 CHILDREN.

liked by yourusername

alexandrasaintmleux : leave lando. not bc of the cat thing but just so you can date me😻

liked by yourusername

↳ lando : ALEX. OUT. DO NOT TRY TO WIN OUT ON MY MISFORTUNE.

liked by yourusername and alexandrasaintmleux

oscarpiastri : I, for one, stand for feline rights. #teampickles

liked by yourusername

charles_leclerc: just wait til she has a conversation with zhou about this…

liked by alex_albon, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, yourusername and zhouguanyu24

↳ zhouguanyu24 : oh i already know and sweetcorn and i are offended deeply

↳ lando : BROOOOOOOO

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f1gossipgirls

liked by yourusername and 1,100,100 others.

f1gossipgirls : Lando on live tonight with YN’s kitten Pickles!

tagged : lando and yourusername

—

view 175,007 other comments.

username000 : pickles pawing him in the head killed me #teampickles

liked by yourusername

username00 : @/yourusername you are so powerful. he went from hating cats to calling pickles his son in a matter of a week

liked by yourusername

↳ yourusername : that’s what good pussy does…bad joke?

liked by lando and username00

username0 : pickles had more screen time than max 😭

liked by yourusername and maxfewtrell

username1 : HE DID THE BABY VOICE AWWWWW

liked by yourusername

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The stream wasn’t even supposed to happen. It started because Max texted Lando “go live you coward I miss your face”, and then fifteen minutes later Lando was setting up his webcam while you sat cross legged on the couch, cradling Pickles in your lap like royalty. You had no intention of being on camera—until Pickles decided to launch himself from your arms and climb straight up Lando’s hoodie mid-intro.

“AH—oh my god—HE’S IN MY SHIRT,” Lando yelps, half-laughing, half-panicking, while you scramble into frame trying to extract the tiny menace from his hood. The comments explode instantly.

@/username0000 : IS THAT PICKLES??

@/username000: this is already the best stream of the year

You finally wrestle the kitten free and sit down beside Lando, both of you breathless from laughing. Pickles, smug as ever, curls into a perfect ball on Lando’s shoulder like he owns the place.

“He’s… decided to stay,” Lando mutters, eyes wide. “I’m not moving for the rest of the stream.”

“That’s called growth,” you tease. “You used to call him a demon.”

“I still think he is,” Lando says. “He’s just my demon now.”

Then Max joins the call. And everything goes downhill.

“Oi,” Max says, grinning into his camera. “Am I interrupting domestic bliss?”

“Pickles almost crawled into my ribcage five minutes ago,” Lando replies. “So yes, but it’s fine.”

You wave at Max. “Hi Max. I saved your best friend from a feline induced death.”

“Legend,” Max says with a wink. “Though if Pickles had finished the job, I’d finally win our Fantasy league.”

Lando flips him off. The chat goes wild. Over the next half hour, it descends into total chaos. Lando’s trying to game, Max is throwing shade, and you’re in the background trying to keep Pickles from knocking over an open can of Monster with the energy of a feral toddler. At one point a conversation sparks.

Max started. “So YN, how many cats is too many cats?”

You thought for a moment. ”Hypothetically?”

“Yeah.”

“Ten.”

Lando spits out his drink, “TEN?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying. We have the space.”

Max laughed. “This is how it starts. First it’s one kitten, next thing you know, you’re on a reality show called My Strange Addiction..’”

You laughed, “I’d watch my episode.”

Lando sighed heavily, “Don’t give her ideas, she’s already been measuring out a catio for the balcony.”

The chat is unhinged at this point.

@/username11: lando is literally becoming the cat dad he swore he’d never be and I love it

Then Pickles decides to crawl back onto Lando’s lap mid game, and instead of pushing him off, Lando just says, “Okay okay buddy, you can sit there, just don’t touch the mouse—”

Immediately, Pickles touches the mouse. Lando loses the round. Max howls laughing.

“I’ve been sabotaged,” Lando groans. “By my own child.”

You hand him a tiny sweater. “He earned this.”

Lando holds up the sweater to the camera—soft knit, neon orange, a little lightning bolt stitched across the back.

“It’s giving superhero sidekick,” Max says. “He needs a cape.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you say, already pulling out your phone to text your Etsy supplier.

By the end of the stream, Pickles is asleep on Lando’s chest, purring, and Lando’s stroking his tiny head absentmindedly while bickering with Max about who cheated in karting back in 2015.

“He’s so gone,” Max mouths into the camera, pointing at Lando, who doesn’t even notice because he’s too busy whispering, “You’re my best mate, but if you ever touch my mouse again, I swear—” to a literal sleeping kitten.

The final shot before the stream ends? Lando kissing the top of Pickles’ head without even realizing he’s doing it. The comments explode. And the clip goes viral.

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You come home expecting the usual—a trail of cat toys on the stairs, a half consumed cup of Lando’s coffee on the kitchen counter, and Pickles dramatically lounging in your spot on the couch. What you don’t expect is Lando standing in the hallway with his hands behind his back and the guiltiest grin on his face.

“What did you do?” you ask instantly.

“Why do you assume I did something?” he replies, rocking on his heels.

“You only smile like that when you’ve either crashed a scooter or spent a suspicious amount of money.”

“I prefer the term invested.”

You narrow your eyes. “Lando…”

He takes your hand. “Okay. Just… come with me.”

He leads you to the balcony, practically vibrating with excitement. The sliding doors are already open, and the cats are pacing back and forth like they know something’s up. And then you see it. A catio.

Not just any catio. A custom, multi-level, architectural wonderland that stretches across half the balcony. There’s a tunnel system, clear bubble pods for sunbathing, platforms shaped like trophies, and tiny nameplates engraved for each cat. At the top—of course—is Count Meowcula, looking down on his kingdom like he’s about to demand taxes.

You blink. “Lando. What the hell is this?”

“It’s a Catio 2.0,” he says proudly. “Designed it with a guy from Reddit. Don’t ask how much it cost.”

You turn to him, stunned.

“And this?” you say, gesturing to the racing stripe hammock that literally says “PICKLES’ PAD.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Okay that part was my idea. And the tiny pit wall.”

There is a tiny pit wall. You burst out laughing, hand over your mouth. “I can’t believe you did this.”

He shrugs, pulling you into a hug. “You said they deserved fresh air and enrichment. And I figured… if I’m gonna be a cat dad, I might as well go all in.”

You lean up and kiss him, dizzy with love. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” he grins. “But you love me anyway.”

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It started as a joke. You were scrolling through Instagram with Lando one night, curled up on the couch while Pickles aggressively kneaded his thigh. Zhou had just posted yet another selfie with Sweetcorn, his fluffy, spoiled cat, perched on his shoulder like a queen.

Lando squinted at the screen. “I’m starting to think Zhou loves that cat more than he loves people.”

You smirked. “I respect it. Honestly, I love sweetcorn too.”

“Okay, weird. But what if we got him, like… a Sweetcorn pillow?” Lando said, half joking, half serious.

You stared at him. “Wait. That’s actually genius.”

Two weeks later, the package arrives.

A two foot long plush pillow—an eerily accurate, almost too realistic version of Sweetcorn, down to the slightly tilted ears and smug expression. You nearly cry laughing when you pull it out of the box. Lando holds it up like he’s presenting Simba.

“We’ve peaked,” he declares. “This is our legacy.”

You’re both waiting outside the Ferrari hospitality unit when Zhou walks up, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, completely unprepared.

Lando grins. “Got you a present.”

Zhou raises a brow. “What’d you do?”

Then you pull the pillow out from behind your back and hold it up proudly.

Zhou stops. Blinks. Takes off his sunglasses in slow motion.

“You did not.”

“Oh, we did,” you laugh. “Meet… travel-sized Sweetcorn.”

Zhou stares at the pillow, mouth open, completely speechless. Then, without a word, he drops his coffee and takes the pillow in his arms like a long lost child.

“I’m never sleeping alone again,” he says.

Lando bursts out laughing. “We made it extra squishy so you’d get maximum cuddle support.”

Zhou is still cradling the pillow, already doing voices— “‘Who needs anyone when I’ve got you, Sweetcorn 2.0.’”

You snap a picture of him holding the pillow like a baby, and before long it’s all over social media.

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lando

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 4,001,008 others.

lando : i have made amends with all the cat people in my life. built a catio, traveled to the albon farm and got zhou a mini sweetcorn. and i can say i finally understand why max broke down the door for his cat children.

tagged : alex_albon, yourusername, maxverstappen1 and zhouguany24

—

view 175,001 other comments.

yourusername : this is the man i love. covered in cat hair.

liked by lando

lando : god i hate how i will do literally anything for you

liked by yourusername

yourusername : love you lannnnnnn

liked by lando

maxverstappen1 : and id break ten more doors.

liked by yourusername and lando

alex_albon : you still flinched when one of ours sneezed but we made progress so idc

liked by yourusername and lando

zhouguanyu24 : mini sweetcorn sleeps beside me every night. nothing will ever top this gift.

liked by yourusername and lando

yukitsunoda0511 : yn!! do you think we can get him to go to the cat cafe in tokyo??

liked by yourusername

lando : no

yourusername : if you love me you will

liked by yukitsunoda0511

lando : GOD damnit

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[delta-experiment]

Hey all! It's been a long time!

Delta Experiment first went on indefinite hiatus when Chapter 2 of Deltarune released. Now, Chapters 3 and 4 of Deltarune are out! That's crazy to think about!

I still think about Delta Experiment a lot. (Maybe too much...)

While I was playing through Chapters 3 and 4, it struck me just how many things Delta Experiment correctly predicted (and just how many things I got wrong.) Comparing and contrasting the plans I had made to the finished product has been a very, very interesting experience.

The problem is, I can't really talk about it, because those chapters of Delta Experiment were never released...

So, in honor of Deltarune's newest release (and for the sake of my sanity), I've decided to share the plans of what the future chapters of Delta Experiment were going to be!

I plan on first giving the bare-bones premises of each chapter, and then individually going through one by one and expanding on how certain events and character arcs were going to play out. As I go through, I may also add commentary on how they compare or contrast with the actual release of Deltarune (don't worry, any spoilers would be properly tagged!)

Without any further delay, here's the (very, VERY) simplified outline. Keep in mind, all of these plans were made with only Chapter 1 to go off of!

CHAPTER 3: OUR NEWEST FAMILY MEMBER

In which:

Frisk and "Chris" investigate the skeletons, uncovering the relationships between them (and the fact that Sans, Papyrus and Gaster originally came from another world)

Sans teaches Frisk the ability to sense chroma.

Sans "befriends" your mother.

Asriel and Papyrus bond over their struggles with "Chris" and Gaster, resolving to be patient and grow closer as a family.

Sans receives a phone call from his alternate self.

The Cyan Flower blooms.

CHAPTER 4: BY ANY OTHER NAME

In which:

"Chris," Frisk and Asriel go to church, learning about the human Saints, the history of the Human-Monster war, the legend of the Angel and the Dark Knight.

"Chris" sleepwalks and trashes the house, blaming it on Asriel and getting them grounded.

"Chris", distraught, sneaks out to meet Asgore and thank him properly for helping them while they were living in the alley.

Asgore, sensing they need advice, tells them the story of him and Toriel's relationship, and how it was a lack of honesty that ultimately destroyed it.

"Chris" decides that they're going to try to be more honest from now on, beginning with their identity. Their true name is Chara.

Chara returns to Toriel, explains the situation, and takes the blame for ruining the house.

Asgore still holds a secret.

The Blue Flower blooms.

CHAPTER 5: BALL GAME

In which:

Human exchange students from the city come to Hometown for an annual ball game. The human kids are mean to the monsters, and the monsters form their own team with Jockington as the leader.

Chara's hatred of humans leads to them assaulting one of the other players, getting taken off of the team.

Noelle bravely scores her first-ever goal. Carol doesn't get to see it.

The monsters lose the game, but they proved themselves to be equals through their perseverance.

The Purple Flower blooms.

CHAPTER 6: TOWN HOLIDAY

In which:

Carol sets up the town carnival.

Chara and Asriel help Noelle to win her bake sale competition by selling more gingerbread than little Muffet's spider cookies.

Noelle, grateful, gives Chara a hug. This surprises them.

Meanwhile, Frisk meets a mysterious monster girl from the city who is in town for the carnival. She wins a deck of cards in a game, but ends up dropping them, so Frisk tries to return them to her.

Frisk follows the girl up the mountain, where they accidentally fall down a hole and end up in the Dark World. They experience the carnival from the perspective of the objects, and become good friends.

Frisk learns the girl's name is "Suzy".

They leave the Dark World, and Suzy leaves, asking them not to forget their friendship. They leave the Jack card with Frisk for assurance.

Suzy has seen too much. She is made to forget.

Chara, Asriel and Frisk reminisce about how they used to be enemies, but are now good friends.

The Green Flower blooms.

Chara lets it slip that their full name is "Chara Knightmer." With that knowledge, Gaster places a phone call...

CHAPTER 7: THE TRIAL

In which:

Chara's biological parents come to bring them home. However, there are some pressing concerns regarding their home life, their life in Hometown, and the jurisdiction of the law.

A trial is held to determine whether Chara will stay in Hometown. Carol will preside.

The Yellow Flower blooms.

CHAPTER 8: AN ENDING

In which:

Your actions have consequences.

CHAPTER 8: ANOTHER ENDING

In which:

The experiment is complete.

[acrosstheujiverse]

hihi ur introvert uji w reader headcannons came on my for you AND IM So GLAD omg i love it sm.

we see alot of introvert uji w the extrovert members but can u do a extrovert partner please 😭🙏

dynamics of an introvert and extrovert

【📂】 summary: scenarios you have with your introverted boyfriend, woozi, as an extrovert. 【🖇️】 pairing: introvert!jihoon x extrovert!reader. 【💿】 genre: FLUFF!! 【🧺】 tags: so sweet it makes your cheeks hurt from smiling; MY HEARTEU.  【📦】 w/c: 833

📬 — author’s note！thank you for your request, anonymous :)) sorry this took some time to write. i enjoyed working on it and hope you like it!

« dynamics of an introverted couple | main masterlist | (SOON) »

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it was at the annual high school talent show that you first fell for jihoon. he was one of the vocalists in a five-piece band, and his voice brought a kind of warmth to your heart.

you had talked with the other four members—jeonghan, joshua, seokmin, and seungkwan—but never once with jihoon. seeing him after the band’s performances was rare. you could never get the timing right.

it wasn’t until university that you finally had the chance to befriend him.

your love for jihoon would be loud—meaning everyone knows you two are dating. don’t get it twisted—you don’t talk about jihoon all the time. it’s just that when the topic of relationships comes up, you just happen to have a lot of loving words about him.

people notice how, whether he’s with you or not, your eyes and whole demeanor just scream “in love” the moment his name is mentioned.

you never fail to shower him with all the love you have—from whispering sweet nothings in bed to surprising him with thoughtful gifts.

jihoon sometimes wishes he could say the things to you that you so easily say to him.

“happy birthday to my ray of sunshine,” you once told him.

jihoon was confused. a ray of sunshine? you nodded eagerly and explained how—even though he’s quiet—he has a powerful presence whenever he’s on stage. like the sun, he lets his music speak for him.

sometimes… your love could be just… a bit overwhelming for an introvert like jihoon. sometimes, the way your energy fills every room, your endless words, and your bright, unfiltered affection make him retreat into the quiet corners of his mind to recharge. it’s not that he loves you any less—in fact, it’s quite the opposite. your warmth sometimes feels like too much to hold all at once, and jihoon needs those silent moments to gather himself and return to you with a full heart. but no matter how much he needs space, he never doubts the depth of your love, even if it’s louder than he’s used to.

you were one of the few lucky ones who ever received a long text message from jihoon—seungkwan was the other one.

you knew that jihoon would never say anything he didn’t mean.

“you were never hard to love, ji.”

you were always aware of his subtle gestures of affection—more than even he knew.

for jihoon, you would be his stars. you and he are of the same mind and body, but of different magnitude and abundance.

“unlike the moon, you don’t need the sun to shine. stars emit their own light. you shine brightly without me… but you shine more brightly with me.”

you once overheard him telling jeonghan, “they’re the chaos that makes me feel alive… but also the calm that brings me home. they’re like a supernova—blinding and explosive in presence, yet the light they leave behind lingers in quiet beauty for ages, guiding me even when they’re not near.”

you thrive in crowds, while jihoon thrives in corners. at parties, you’re the life of the room—he’s the person standing behind you, holding your drink and your jacket, quietly smiling because you’re shining.

jihoon always listens to your stories with an unreadable face, but later he’ll casually reference a small detail you didn’t even think he was paying attention to.

he’ll walk you to your class or the train station even if it’s out of his way—he won’t say much, but he’ll pull your hand into his pocket when it’s cold.

you once told him, “i love you,” at a crowded campus café and he went completely red. he didn’t say it back right away—but that night, he sent you a playlist titled “if i could say it better.”

jihoon won’t start pda, but he doesn’t pull away either. the first time you kissed his cheek in public, he stared straight ahead, then later texted: “can we do that again?”

when you’re venting loudly about something, he just lets you go off—then offers the most practical, well-thought-out advice that makes you pause mid-rant like, “how are you this calm?”

he sometimes writes lyrics about you, but he uses metaphors so layered even you have to ask, “is this one about me?”

you like grand gestures. he likes quiet consistency. you bring the spark; he keeps the fire going.

you once tried to surprise him with a flash mob dance (it was seungkwan’s idea). he panicked, ran the opposite direction, and didn’t stop blushing for three days.

on days when you feel overstimulated or burned out, jihoon wordlessly tucks you into bed, turns off your phone, and lies beside you with his hand resting over yours.

you said “i love you” first. jihoon said it second—at 2 a.m., curled around you, with your name whispered like a secret he finally let himself say out loud.

your relationship is like a sun and a star—separate lights, different intensities, but existing together in the same sky. never competing, always orbiting.

- fin.

[sh4nksslvt]

Anatomy Lessons

Professor Law quizzes you on anatomy using your own body as the model—not allowing your release until you pass his intense, hands-on “lesson.”

law x fem!reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, NSFW, teasing, orgasm control, toys, professor law, student-teacher relationship, secret relationship, forbidden, modern au a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe n akward | ++ this is my frst time writing nsfw so bear w me lolol word count: 1.4k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

You stared blankly at the glaring red marks across your anatomy quiz.

58%.

The number felt like a slap. You weren’t the type to fail — not with your GPA, not with your ambition. And certainly not when your secret boyfriend was the professor teaching the course.

Still, Trafalgar Law didn’t play favorites. Not even with you.

Your phone buzzed under the desk as the last student filed out of the lecture hall.

[Trafalgar Law]: Come to my office. Now.

Your stomach flipped. Not out of fear. No, your relationship had always played dangerously on the line between power and pleasure. He was your professor, yes. But he was also the man who had you gripping his sheets just two nights ago, whispering anatomical terms against your thigh like they were gospel.

You quickly packed up your things and slipped through the side hallway to avoid lingering students.

Law’s office door clicked shut behind you.

You hadn’t even opened your mouth to explain before his voice cut through the air like a scalpel.

“Fifty-eight percent,” he said, his back turned as he scribbled something onto a clipboard. “Disappointing, considering how much of this content you’ve already had hands-on experience with.”

Your cheeks heated. “I was tired.”

“You were moaning my name at 2 a.m., y/n. Don’t blame exhaustion for laziness.”

You stepped forward, shutting the blinds without being asked. It was routine now — the ritual before your “private study sessions.”

“I’ll do extra credit,” you offered with a falsely innocent lilt.

Law turned around, black eyes glinting behind his glasses. He looked every bit the cold, brilliant professor. Black button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his tattoos, collar slightly undone like he’d barely had time to dress between lectures.

“I already have something in mind.”

You swallowed.

He leaned against the desk, beckoning you forward with two fingers.

“Strip. Just enough so I can access what I need.”

You unzipped your jacket, heart pounding, fingers trembling with a mix of excitement and dread. Off came your shirt. Then your bra. He didn’t move. Not even when you pushed down your skirt and stood in just your panties and knee-high socks.

“You’re the model today,” he said, pushing his chair back and gesturing for you to sit on his desk. “We’ll review what you’ve forgotten.”

You climbed up, sitting at the edge.

He picked up his pen and touched it to the top of your sternum.

“Name this.”

“…Sternum.”

“Good.”

His fingers trailed down between your breasts, eyes watching you clinically.

“These?”

“P-pectoralis major.”

“Both sides?”

“Yes.”

“Which part of the brain processes sensory touch?”

You blinked. “Uh… th-the parietal lobe?”

His lips curled. “You hesitated.”

Suddenly, he cupped your breast, thumb grazing your nipple. The contact was sharp, electrifying. You gasped.

“Don’t guess,” he said. “Learn.”

Your back arched slightly, and he pinched.

“Parietal lobe,” you choked.

“Better.”

He reached into the drawer and pulled out a familiar toy — slim, vibrating, curved perfectly to angle inside you. Your breath caught.

“Spread your legs,” he said coolly.

You obeyed.

He pushed your panties aside and ran a finger through your folds, already wet. He gave a soft hum of approval.

“Recite the bones of the pelvis while I insert this.”

You clutched the edge of the desk. “I-inominate bone, ischium, pubis, sacrum—ahh!”

He slid it in, slow and unforgiving. Your body clenched.

“Keep going.”

“C-coccyx… ilium…hngh~”

“Good girl.”

The toy stayed inside. He turned it on low.

You bit your lip hard to keep from moaning as it thrummed deep within you.

Law sat down, legs spread lazily, clipboard on his lap.

“I’ll quiz you,” he said. “You don’t get to come until you score 100%.”

You whimpered.

“And if you get loud,” he added, “I’ll have to punish you. We wouldn’t want the faculty lounge to overhear, would we?”

You shook your head.

His fingers returned to your body — one hand tweaking your nipple, the other sliding two fingers alongside the toy, pressing gently against your entrance.

“Where’s the G-spot located?” he asked, fingers rubbing precisely over that spongy patch inside.

“About… Haah~ t-two inches in, against the anterior wall!”

He smirked. “Impressive. But too slow.”

He turned the toy up a level.

Your hips jerked. You clamped a hand over your mouth.

“What’s the largest nerve in the human body?”

“S-sciatic…!”

His fingers curled.

“Muscles responsible for thigh abduction?”

“Gluteus medius, gluteus minimus—!”

He stopped.

You whined.

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“What's the difference between the sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems?”

You could barely think.

“Sym…sympathetic is fight or flight—parasympathetic is rest and digest.”

His hand returned to your cunt. Three fingers this time, plunging in, scissoring, curling, rubbing over the toy and your soaked walls.

“You really are a good student when you focus,” he whispered.

You were trembling, holding back an orgasm so hard it physically hurt.

He could see it. Your legs shaking, stomach tensing, eyes glossy.

“Hold it,” he warned.

You nodded desperately.

He took the toy out, leaving you empty, and pulled you off the desk, bending you over it instead. Your chest pressed against cool wood.

“You earned a reward,” he said. “But not release. Not yet.”

You heard the metallic clink of his belt unfastening — slow, deliberate. Then came the soft rasp of his zipper being dragged down, followed by the faint rustle of fabric as he pushed his slacks and briefs just far enough to free himself.

His cock sprang free — hard, thick, flushed deep red at the tip and already leaking with anticipation.

“You remember the planes of the body?” he asked, voice darker now.

You nodded shakily.

“Name them.”

“S-sagittal, transverse, frontal—Mmmfffp!”

Without any warning he slammed into you.

You cried out, mouth muffled by your hand.

He didn’t wait — thrusting deep and hard, one hand tangled in your hair, the other covering your mouth to keep your moans contained. His cock filled you completely — every thick inch stretching you open, dragging against your walls, hitting so deep it knocked the air from your lungs.

“Say them again.”

“Mmfh… sh’git’ll… f’nsverse… f’ontrl…” you sobbed against his palm.

He groaned. “Fuck-... look at you… can't speak properly, dripping onto my floor like a fucking slut, still trying to pass the test.”

He fucked you like he was trying to rearrange your organs — precise, rough, completely in control.

You came without warning — body writhing, moan stifled by his hand.

He growled low in your ear. “I didn’t say you could.”

“I-I couldn’t stop—!”

He pulled out and flipped you over, lifting you back onto the desk, legs spread wide. His cock glistened with your slick as he rubbed the tip against your clit.

“You’ll apologize properly,” he said, slapping your inner thigh.

“A-aahh! I’m sorry, P-professor…”

“Again.”

“Haah~ p-please...I’m sorry I came w-without permission!”

He thrust back inside.

This time it was brutal. Quick. Loud enough to make the books on the shelf rattle.

“You want t-to graduate?” he hissed, fingers digging into your hips.

“Y-yes, please!”

“You want that A mhm?”

“Yes! Nnhg~”

“Then take it. Take every inch.”

You did. You let him fuck the failure out of you.

When he finally came, it was deep, possessive, and with your name on his lips.

He stayed inside for a moment, breathing heavy against your throat, hand stroking your hair.

Eventually, he pulled out with a low groan, breath still ragged as he leaned over you, pressing a kiss on your lips — a soft contrast to everything before.

He didn’t speak at first. Just touched your cheek gently, brushing away a few stray strands of hair that clung to your damp skin. His fingers lingered.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quieter now, rough from exertion.

You nodded, dazed but smiling. “Mhm... just very thoroughly lectured.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. He helped you sit up slowly, his hands steadying your hips when your legs wobbled. Without needing to ask, he reached into the bottom drawer — the one that didn’t hold pens or medical charts, but a small towel, a water bottle, and a pack of wipes.

You knew he kept them there just for you.

He cleaned you up carefully, not rushing — a swipe of the warm cloth between your thighs, wiping down your skin where his marks bloomed red.

“Still trembling,” he muttered, voice almost affectionate. “You came too hard.”

“You made me,” you replied, letting your head rest against his chest.

“Hm,” he hummed. “Should’ve docked points for disobedience.”

“You didn’t seem to mind.”

He rolled his eyes and pressed the bottle of water into your hand, thumb rubbing absent circles along your thigh as you drank. Afterward, he helped you back into your clothes piece by piece — bra hooked, skirt adjusted, shirt straightened.

Once you were dressed, he bent down to press a kiss just beneath your jaw.

“I’ll write the retake,” he muttered. “You’ll get a 100% this time. No exceptions.”

You giggled softly, still breathless.

“Another… anatomy lesson soon, Professor?”

He looked at you — that cool, unreadable stare softening just enough at the edges.

“Next week. After hours.”

[saythatuwill]

now playing : ordinary // alex warren

this au will explore the idea of reader and vessel being married; however it is in a nonhuman vessel setting. to at the very least explain the thought process; the members of sleep token are all nonhuman and live in arcadia, but travel to earth for music related things. reader's species is up to interpretation, but you live in arcadia with him!

this is for cute, fluffy indulgence. it might be a jumble of ideas but... let me cook.

tags: @concretejunglefm, @fadingangelwisp, @chey-h, @xmads-omensx, @astronoids, (if you would like to be added/removed from this list, or if i forgot you, dm me!)

♡ husband!vessel, who loves to tell those in arcadia that you are, in fact, his spouse. being married to you is like a high honor. and everyone must know!

♡ "i'd have to ask my spouse." "i'm afraid i cannot go, i will be with my spouse." "have you met my spouse?"

♡ he's also very protective over you, if anyone fucks with you he will tweak, he will WITHOUT A DOUBT defend your honor no question. he'd fight for you, he'd kill for you.

♡ he's a sucker for physical affection. his favorite thing is to lay across your lap like an EXTREMELY long cat.

♡ if you have an inner child to heal, vessel is more than happy to help. he'll indulge in the whimsy, he'll do anything to make you happy.

♡ he waited until he made it to arcadia to propose and marry you because he wanted to be able to take you to a peaceful safe location. and when he did, oh he made it so special. took you to arcadia for the first time and showed you around, you danced with him, then he was whispering in your ear telling you he wanted to marry you.

♡ pretended to be human when he first met you but did a SHIT job at it. came up with a name on the fly; devon (which he saw on a uk map). got a PHONE for you, even got himself an apartment.

♡ i'm talking like, he talked to you for the first time and he just knew. from the moment he saw you, he knew you were it. it took a WHILE for things to go beyond a friendship, but he's adored you for a long time.

♡ he has a full monster form which looks SCARY and HUGE but he's very gentle with you even in that form. purrs at you. picks you up like you weigh nothing. your monster husband

♡ he learned a new kind of worship from you, something that isn't religious, merely honoring and worshipping you and what you two have together.

♡ he tends to isolate when he's going through it, gets distant, but no matter what, his arms are always around you when you go to bed.

♡ he still has powers related to dreams and sleeping. if you two sleep together, he often will pop his head into your dreams to make sure they're going well.

♡ or if he's away on tour and you can't come with him, he will fully walk into your dreams to spend time with you, or take you to HIS dream realm. he can't do this a lot because it's a draining thing to do though.

♡ he's not great at texting. like not just bad at replying, he's bad at sending texts. he types funny. if he's in human form for shows it's bad, if it's his Claws when he's in his normal form, it's WORSE. random typos, excessive spaces, random periods and capitalization.

♡ he loves voicemails and voice messages though. he'll send you voice messages at RANDOM and theyll be like 10-15 minutes long of just him rambling about his day or venting if he needs to. you listen to them at night because his voice is soothing

♡ he's quiet in public, in private though he is a YAPPER. he loves you because you don't tune him out either, you listen to him infodump. even if it's about chemistry, or the deep sea, or some video game he finds fascinating. even arcadian history. he's very excited and passionate about his interests.

♡ there's songs he's written that will never see the light of day, but they're for you and he plays them for you whenever you want. usually piano ballads, or guitar acoustics.

♡ he loves gift giving, and gift receiving. he gets very flustered and like "oh no dear heart you don't have to do this" but he keeps everything you give him. you could give him a rock he'd cherish it.

♡ his favorite gifts are things like playlists surprisingly. music is something that means everything to him, make him a playlist he will listen to it over and over and over again.

[umishiqu]

this is a lot so tiny warning in advance but i have a few things;

@ the person in the reblog tags saying that “now Jamil isn’t allowed to have curry” (skip to second paragraph to see my reply to og post), no, kalim literally gets Jamil curry chefs to learn from for his birthday, and Kalim literally goes to a cooking prep just for spice-based dishes (which would include curry). he never explains specifically why Jamil getting a coma through curry = curry is banned, we just assume the only reason is bcuz he is traumatized. it may have something to do with the fact that the spices in the curry make it that much harder for Kalim to figure out if there’s poison or not and that was one mistake he doesn’t plan on making again. and he learnt poison detection at all specifically so jamil didn’t need to taste test for him. projecting ideas onto them that canon already disproved (“kalim banned it and Jamil can’t eat it anymore!!1!”) is part of the problem and why people even emphasize kalim’s trauma at all, to at least get people to start looking at the character truly instead of an idea of them in their heads. i am brown and grew up in a poor family so if you wanna play race olympics too then let’s do this 💪 genuinely i just enjoy kalim more bcuz although both jamil and kalim are dishonest & hypocrites, one of them doesn’t then make it someone else’s (many someones) problem to “truly understand them” despite the dishonesty. kalim gets mad at jamil bcuz jamil isn’t getting what he wants for himself and resorting to smth that made him overblot in book 4, and its how you know kalim is a genuinely selfless person. as someone who’s been in jamil’s position one of these is more tolerable to me esp since the guy doesn’t mind sharing his wealth, and the other is a lot more privileged being in that position than i ever was and still wants more (jamil character song lyrics drop). (emphasizing this, kalim doesn’t correct any of his siblings when they call him nii-sama, but jamil gets to use only kalim’s name)

back to the actual post. i think people brush over the fact that kalim learnt how to detect poisons himself without Jamil needing to taste test for poison all the time. which is why, again, people are saying to pay attention to the fact that it’s Kalim who is the target of being poisoned and not Jamil. talking about jamil’s lack of understanding isn’t about his lack of sympathy (although this is something that makes me feel less sympathetic, not of his situation but in general, bcuz you do reap what you sow). it’s his lack of understanding of Kalim’s skills (ie saying in book 5 that there’s no way Kalim would be able to detect a magic curse used as poison for a murder attempt … until that’s exactly what he does with vil) (and it’s bcuz he pays attention to people that he was able to do this) (also in kalim’s lab cost where jamil says he couldn’t possibly make the meals in a day) (until… bcuz ruggie had kalim’s help that’s exactly what happened) (and before you say “but Jamil vocalized this!” jamil vocalizes a lot of things that are or aren’t true and kalim has the patience of a saint to not have punched him over the dorm leader thing in book 4 when Kalim had asked him about it all the way in the beginning of the year in his ceremony robes. he even gets upset with Jamil bcuz Jamil keeps calling him stupid and still expects him to sort all the mixed messages of what Jamil rly wants) (despite this kalim genuinely wants to try to figure it out with the real jamil, the one who isn’t honest - hard path to good results is the Scarabia way)

like yeah jamil doesn’t have sympathy for Kalim, this is a fact; he along with Kalim’s dad are the two people who basically told Kalim to suck it up bcuz it’s his fate. he doesn’t cope with it in the way Jamil wants him to, but people confuse kindness for carelessness, which is Jamil’s problem bcuz Kalim’s kindness protects + helps Kalim, and kalim was told to just cope when it came to his (emphasizing on his) fate and has taken precautions himself to make sure he isn’t poisoned. and there is a difference between his kindness and carelessness - like Kalim yelling at Vil over trying to poison Neige in the moment (and Jamil still finds a way to make it about Kalim being careless which Kalim almost yells at him for too, but just thanks him afterwards for saving them) or Kalim yelling at Jade for saying OB group could possibly be dead. and with the way the Asim family raised kalim (to be isolated - he couldn’t even go to middle school even though Jamil was able to attend), it’s also why i don’t think jamil is supposed to be taste testing Kalim’s food

i think a lot of people misconstrue what was actually enforced on Jamil in terms of his servitude to kalim vs what we think. in Jade’s Halloween story the adults yell at a younger Jamil for cooking bcuz “children aren’t supposed to cook with fire”. there’s a really weird emphasis on safety there when everything else suggests that they didn’t care about jamil. eventually, he did take on this task, but when and how wasn’t specified. it makes sense, since his backstory mainly shows his parents telling Jamil to be second to Kalim in everything, but nothing else - not even from the Asim family. we never question why jamil didn’t have trauma from being poisoned by curry or why smth like this wasn’t a part of his woes in his backstory. i think it’s fair to assume that he just didn’t regret choosing to do it, like how he’ll never regret choosing to protect kalim (and says that Azul mischaracterized Jamil in book 7 bcuz Kalim made the contract with Azul, which Jamil wouldn’t have let happen). not to deny it shaped his identity and what lengths Jamil himself will go to to get things done, but again his problems with kalim were about him having to be second to Kalim in everything bcuz of jamil’s parents, and Kalim’s seeming lack of care for it (it’s implied in book 4 jamil backstory that Jamil was expecting Kalim to notice but kept on getting blindsided by him and dropped his expectations) (doesn’t help that he normally sees Kalim as useless and unskilled) (in the same vein, it also doesn’t help that Jamil simultaneously wants to show his skill and vocalizes getting less work at the same time) (bcuz kalim was always trying to look for ways to help jamil even before book 4 but again - mixed messages. does he want to be voluntold to show his skills or does he want to rely on someone to help him? does he want both at the same time? does he want it with people other than kalim? lots of kalim’s interactions with jamil involved kalim trying to answer these questions but it goes under the radar. when kalim isn’t hypnotized in book 4 he’s still trying.)

he does hate Kalim’s lack of care for their situation, but like alab nariya moment where kalim stalking Jamil doesn’t register to Jamil as “this is a problem because this is a crime” but “this is a problem because Kalim used his power to be able to do it” (and cater is the one who takes a double take at this and mentions the priority), it has everything to do with Kalim’s exercise of privilege and not what it means to Jamil. (which is also why, despite knowing Kalim was raised to be forgiving and to have a “suck it up” attitude when it comes to people who harm him, and Jamil actively complains about it) (even tho he was one of two people who encouraged it haha…) (Jamil still believed he and his family would get thrown out if he did the slightest thing wrong against Kalim) (and this in itself is also bcuz Jamil didn’t understand why the adults wanted to curry Kalim’s favour so badly bcuz he’s useless af. there is no other option in his mind except that there would be a horrible punishment awaiting if they don’t) (“who would want to be your friend voluntarily??” -> this question gets answered later). there is def the question of why jamil’s priorities are like this but ill leave that for others to talk abt.

also kalim also went into a coma! i… i can’t believe i have to say this… tunnel vision is real. (see 4-7) the book does also touch on the curry incident, but its vague on whether these two happened at the same. it does help that kalim says “it was only found in my food”. he really wanted to emphasize jamil’s suffering and ignore his own, so he was vague - like usual - but eng version does clear this up that they both went comatose bcuz its harder for Kalim to be vaguer about it) (and kalim prioritizing other people and debasing himself and his feelings for other people, despite what they do to him, including forgiving them, is what Azul says Jamil most likely finds annoying) (but kalim will also do this to support jamil) (and hey book 7 also expanded on this to emphasize that Kalim forgiving people is a choice and not something he always wants to do) (like ofc he has privilege but he can’t change that? it’s not like money = evil and kind of money but not rly = good. how he chooses to use it is what matters. if you want him to learn to punish people over what they do to him bcuz it’ll make Jamil’s life easier, then jamil would not have gotten the same outcome when it comes to consequences as in game) (and he still would have been pushed to do a book 4 anyway, even if kalim was more punishing! bcuz the problem isn’t Jamil taste testing for kalim but again his parents telling him to come second to him in everything) (which now I’m wondering if people actually want kalim to do it, not bcuz it makes sense to kalim’s character, but to affirm jamil’s perspective… interesting meta conversation that just annoys me bcuz it’s also why people like talking abt kalim not knowing how to do anything and then leave him at that instead of seeing his development and the earnestness that the game explicitly talks about multiple times that motivates him to improve) anyway, like Kalim tells Jamil, he didn’t do anything else to Jamil after book 4 bcuz he likes interesting people and the variety of people at NRC.

anyway to end off. they both can be unreliable narrators but it just so happens that kalim (used to be) an unreliable narrator in the “i will affirm and support everything Jamil does” direction, while Jamil is… the exact same with kalim except his gets dismantled explicitly by the narrative multiple times, even before book 4, because ultimately it is jamil’s story. does perspective=truth? not rly esp when Jamil contradicts himself… a lot lmao. still wrapping my head around him complaining about how forgiving kalim is and somehow not registering that applying to Jamil coming first sometimes too (that’s bcuz the only people giving him consequences for it are jamil’s parents and he thought they were an extension of the actual rules) (Futaba did call Jamil a clumsy person…)

so i really hope people actually read all of this + go to the stories to confirm for themselves instead of seeing one word they don’t like and creating a problem from it bcuz yes. the vignettes + events outside of book 4 does explain some of their situation well and doesn’t leave things that ambiguous…

thinking abt jamil and kalim today. i don't like when ppl say kalim's life isn't really that great in a way jamil doesn't see and if only jamil could understand that then he wouldn't be so resentful of kalim's privilege. like my opinion is that No that's exactly Why jamil's resentful actually. jamil Sees the ways that kalim's life sucks. but he just does not have a lot of sympathy for kalim because he goes through those situations with kalim, and he sees the difference that comes with the level of privilege kalim wields. and to him that makes those struggles kind of laughable in comparison to his own.

like yeah kalim has had attempts on his life and still sits and eats at the same table as people who try to poison him . and nobody is denying that having people you know trying to assassinate you isn't traumatic. but also like canonically who do you think is most at risk of consuming that poison. Kalim??? or his POISON TESTER. jamils eating at that exact same table And he sure as fuck is not forgiving that assassin the same way kalim is able to because He has to make sure kalim's stupid forgiving nature doesn't open up the perfect avenue for this guy to try murder Again. kalim has the privilege to forgive this guy and be gracious JAMIL DOES NOT!!!!

another great example is the reason behind why kalim doesn't like to eat curry. poisoned curry sent jamil into a coma and kalim got distressed about it. Obviously this is traumatic for kalim . but you know . Who else . It would affect...... THE GUY IN THE FUCKING COMA....? kalim has the privilege to say "I never want to eat curry again because it sent Jamil into a coma" and it's just Done because he's the boss. jamil Does Not have the privilege to say "I don't want to poison test kalim's food again because it sent Me into a coma" because he has to serve kalim. and it doesn't matter what jamils personal feelings are on curry even though he was the one who GOT POISONED BY IT. do you get it now. is it clicking

[veeneris]

DESOLATED SPRING; SUMMER CAME. [suguru geto x fem!reader]

— i. death to the fool. one | two | three || masterlist

summary: suguru had been the first love you'd never gotten over from. so, when left without closure, you'd abandoned sorcery for good. but after paying him a visit at the worst possible time, you agree to go back to him. though, is it really for selfless reasons?

tags: SMUT! minors dni!!, P in V sex, fingering, blowjob, thigh riding, drunk sex (?? kind of), alcohol consumption, some spanking but nothing crazy, allusions to a breeding king, creampie, dom suguru but hes pretty soft just kinda mean, reader is a bit pathetic, suguru male manipulator?? we dont know.

word count: 10k.

n/a: when i tell u i started this over a year ago.. man. time flies. dont know wtf posessed me to write this bc im a nanami girl through and through. also this is my first time actually writing the smut to publish it so i was screeching internally the whole way. anywho !!!! any constructive criticism is appreciated. love yall mwa

Whatever conclusion you would ever get to reach regarding Suguru’s motives didn’t matter. The memory of him snuck through the gaps between your fingers; like emanating water from a fountain you cup with your hands in thirst, or sand sneaking though the needle thin hole at the center of an hourglass. He was but a figure, a dark mass of atoms, faceless, in the distance, whose presence and soul flickers like a candle that's never fully blown. And wonder hits sometimes. It whispers in your ear, drowned in emotion yet dried in hopelessness, “could I have changed this? Could I if, for a minute, I’d glanced back at the melted, petroleum black trail his thoughts dripped of while he walked?” 

Whatever conclusion you were seeking regarding Suguru’s motives didn’t matter. He was gone, left somewhere; the words he’d once pronounced reverberated in your brains, muted harshly by forgetfulness. His hands, once so warm and positively heavy on your shoulders, now felt like the soreness after staying on a plank for a bit too long. And as that movie he’d watched with you said, “his eyes, once so magnetic, now just felt empty.” 

Or at least they did las time you saw him. Who knows about now. Perhaps the wilting of his self was the drought in a blazing summer. Perhaps he didn’t abandon you — the three of you — and he stood somewhere, enjoying a new Sun, imagining your return. 

And oh, such ridiculous thought it was. You sat still; gaze lost in the intricacies of the printed characters which formed the text of one of the many ads in the newsletter. You’d picked it up after some person conveniently forgot it in the seat next to you, as you used the subway to get to your office. There, dark ink which acted like the void Nietzsche described, stared back at you. Whatever shapes that made whatever words were blurry and strange; that which mattered was the figure in pixelated black and white next to them. Familiar, yet someone so different. His smile, once so sweet and even mischievous, now arrogant and malicious. His lips, once made to murmur comforting, sensible thoughts, now grown to affirm bullshit. And yet... 

“Say, I’ve noticed you’re looking quite tired lately...” you absentmindedly comment to an unsuspecting coworker. Of course she has. A pesky little curse has been snaking up her leg for around three weeks now. It’s a grade three at most, but it’s not like you’d do anything about it nowadays. Your days slaying curses were over. 

Mirai is her name. She turns to you in a rather sheepish way, almost ashamed that you noticed the dark circles under the pale concealer she uses. “Ah, well, I’ve had some trouble sleeping lately,” she explains. Under your silent stare, she relents. “I’ve tried to get the doctor to prescribe me some sleeping pills, but you know how they get. With “oh, just your cycle”, and all that...” 

“I see.” You smile sympathetically, feigning coyness as you carefully pluck a certain paper out of your bag. “This may sound kind of crazy, but my roommate was complaining about the same stuff for a while, and she got much better after visiting this guy—” explaining tentatively, holding just the right amount of eye contact. She doesn’t look convinced. “If I’m being honest, I’ve always been rather skeptic, but rumor has it that they’re cutting staff again soon. And since Takeshi said your productivity had gone down these past few months, I thought I’d just let you know that I’m here to...” 

It works. Her throat bobs as she gulps inconspicuously, taking the poster skittishly and checking it on both sides with a flick of her wrist. Her lip twitched. “Look, I’m not sure I—” You interrupt, anxiety in the way you hold her hands easily mistaken for concern. Your pupils, flickering dashingly fast between her own. 

“Please. You know I don’t get along with anyone else here... And besides, I’m worried about you.” You squeeze, fingers warm over her own, eyes full of desperate drive. “I really am worried. The boss has been pretty hard on you lately. Look, I’ll— I’ll go with you, okay? And if it’s useless, then you lose nothing! I don’t want to take any chances...” 

Mirai sighs and fixes you with a resigned look.  

“Alright... If you say so,” she begrudgingly utters. It’s obvious that her accepting the offer is just to please you — or rather, make you shut up. You had that kind of effect in people. Just like Satoru eventually left you be whenever you, once again, refused to take on missions; or maybe the way Shoko stopped calling altogether. 

You smile reassuringly the moment she accepts, and do so once again the moment you find yourselves in front of the Buddhist temple Suguru, ‘the priest’, stays at. The flat, renewed, smooth concrete steps that climb up to the entrance almost seem to gleam under the sun’s white light. And a needle sneaked right in between the rugosities of your brain, prickling right in the memory of Suguru’s complaints about the unkept, cobbled pavements that some temples you’d visited together in missions had. New reminder, perhaps, that whoever took over him after Riko was killed was just some shadow of what he was destined to be, but not someone else entirely. Truth was that a sick sense of jealousy corroded you whenever you thought about it that way... Some girl he’d known for so little, changing all of you, ruining what you had. Ruining what you could’ve been. A dark, unwelcome vine, rotting and dying and desperate to be fed, sliding around the wet walls of your beating, bloody, fleshy engine and squishing hard enough to provoke leakage. Guilt; seeping into your arteries and acting as anesthesia. Emotion, as you bit the inside of the corners of your mouth, pulling at the skin and ripping it., unfeeling, uncaring, when your nervous system strikes back and tries to force you to stop.  

But it’s not the sharp pain that wakes you up, and neither Mirai’s whisper as you stand in an empty room. You didn’t pay much attention to its appearance: three scrolls hanging on a wall caught your eye, though, made the cogs in your brain turn. Death to the fool, punishment to the weak, love to the strong. 

You wondered, ironically chastising yourself at the same time, which one of them you aspired to be. A depraved part of you wished to be all three if it meant having Suguru’s eyes on you once again. If not filled with love, at least sparkling in approval. You were a fool, a desperate woman who could not get over her teenage crush. And if fools deserved the cold embrace of death, you wished it to be a result of Suguru’s hands or whatever they were holding. Whether it was a blade to your chest, a poisoned treat, or his fingers squeezing your throat. “You dumb, useless bitch,” he’d seethe, bruising and mean and oh so mockingly. You’d cry, for sure, if he ever looked at you like that. “You left behind sorcery, like a coward would. How does that make you any better than a monkey, hm?” The world feels light, and he’s real and there and it's his words that ache and not his absence. “Fucking whore. Look at yourself. I should end you here and now, throw your corpse somewhere and never look back.” 

And a sick little zap of excitement made you squirm in place. 

“Are you even listening?!” Mirai whisper-yells, slapping your elbow lightly. “Look, I really appreciate your intentions, but those people outside looked so... weird, and this place is genuinely just giving me the creeps—” 

She goes completely silent as the door behind you slides open. And your breath catches in anticipation. Time slows in the moments that followed. The world was sucked in and twisted by a supermassive blackhole that didn’t accept you there. From inside, mere seconds passed; inside your skull, the three years you knew Suguru played on loop for what seemed five times over. Further stood the almost decade after. The eternity without him. 

“Apologies for my delay,” says a familiar voice in a foreign way. You have not looked back yet and know it’s him already. There’s a deepness, smooth and somehow melodic, to the way his vocal cords make noise. It sounds chilly rather than calming, but the fake warmness that decorates his mannerisms is enough to make your belly flutter. “There were urgent matters I was required for.” 

The wooden clacks of his steps are heard as he walks into the room. He doesn’t focus on you — not yet; he’s tranquil as he lays sideways on the room’s decking, then places his elbow on the rest designed for it. He then looks, and you do so too. A black yukata embraces his body, and a green and yellow kasaya drapes over it. His hair is still long (if not even longer), but the part of if that isn’t tied into the bun he always wore falls down his back; his earrings, too, have remained the exact same (two big black circles; earlobes gauged). His face is, perhaps, what’s changed the most yet stayed eerily similar. His factions more mature in the soft lines they draw under his eyes, those tinted a dark chocolate brown you so vividly remember. They have a teasing, mocking but fascinated glint when they land on yours. You bow your head immediately, playing your coyness off as respect. 

“That’s alright... sir,” answers Mirai, imitating your gesture. “So, uh...” She pauses, anxiously turning to face you in a silent scream for help. 

“So, you have trouble sleeping — even more getting out of bed, you’re constantly tired, you have no energy for any physical activity...” he hums, eyes zeroing in the worm shaped curse that coils around her left leg. It tightens, constricts, and the occasional clacking sound its jaw makes sometimes makes your nose scrunch up. Mirai’s eyes, however, open as wide as plates at the accuracy of his description. “I’m assuming I’m correct, yes?” he grins, wide and Chesire cat-like. 

Mirai gapes at him. “Yes.” 

“Hm, just stay still for a second...” Suguru outstretches his hand, eyes lidded as he focuses on the creature. It screeches and writhes, going as far as to try and bite into Mirai’s thigh. It doesn’t work. It folds on itself and constricts into a ball that resembles a magnified marble, tinted forest green and flashing bronze. 

Your coworker gasps as her back straightens. Her eyes look almost starry when she glances back at you. She’s about to open her mouth, when— 

“And you, I’m afraid...” Suguru looks at you, his eyebrows are pinched in a honeyed, fake concern. “The evil that bites at you is a much more complicated thing. I’m afraid I’m in need of a much more powerful ritual.” 

“Uh,” You blink repeatedly. “I’m, uhm... I didn’t come here for... That’s...” 

Terrible? Or rather... Lucky you, ‘to have realized soon enough’? Mirai’s pupils have been glazed over in concern as she stares, surprised by the sudden turn of events. Suguru’s lips spit some excuse that’s as easy to swallow as a berry dipped in chocolate. The three of you walk to the entrance as she thanks the ‘priest’. You don’t have the heart to mutter encouraging words as she grips your hands and thanks you. 

“I’m telling you. It’s worked! You’ll be alright, okay? It’s nothing, I’m positive. You know how these things are always exaggerated. You’re fine,” she repeats. You smile. Your throat has been tied into a knot, your flesh tingles. She mistakes your paleness as fear of the unknown — it is, rather, fear of confrontation. 

“I’ll see you on Monday” is the best you can come up with. “I’m just happy you’re okay... yeah?” 

Whatever Mirai says next escapes you, and in the blink of an eye the sun is setting (early December’s effect, though you had already come in late anyway) and all you see is her back as she walks down the steps to the bottom of the mountain (you can’t hear them anymore. She looks like a grain of rice with that white coat of hers in the distance). You turn back to Suguru. He’s already looking. There’s an eerie silence as, for some reason you silently curse, no one’s outside anymore. 

And he, under your skittish stare, chuckles. He covers his mouth with a sleeve, elegant in his movement, corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement and pupils glittering in a mix of curiosity and excitement, “I’m surprised you’d set up such a twisted show for a mere excuse... You even went as far as to let your friend over there suffer. I wonder for how long.” 

“She’s not my friend.” 

“Oh?” 

He fixes you with a mocking, brief curl of his lip. You shrink into yourself. 

“She’s my coworker,” you murmur, less bravely. 

“I see you’ve stopped considering everyone you interact with a ‘friend’,” he muses.  

Your nose scrunches up in distaste. You didn’t sense real malice in his teasing, but it still made you feel small and funny to look at. “I guess.” 

He pulls out a sanitizing spray. “Since she’s no ‘friend’, I’m assuming you won’t be offended if I clean myself from... her, then. I don’t want a monkey’s stench on me.” 

“Go right ahead.” 

He even hums a little tune while he uses it on his hands and clothes. Sighing happily as he puts it away, he offers you a beaming smile. “Ah, much better! Now, now. As much as I am delighted to see you again, [Name], I’m also curious about... Well, everything, really. Do you really think you need an excuse to come see me?” 

“...Excuse— uh, excuse me?” 

He pouts slightly, brows quivering in a twinge of genuine, though overplayed, emotion. 

“Well, all these years, no news from you... And suddenly you appear with that coworker of yours, as if you’re not perfectly capable of exorcising that little curse yourself.” 

You swallow. “I’m not an exorcist anymore,” you say, almost embarrassed under the wary façade. “She wanted to try this, try you, and asked me to accompany her,” you lie. 

“Not even a birthday letter, I received from you. Or Christmas postcards. Or a New Years text. I was really sad about it for quite some time, you know?” he continues. “Ah... And even then, you still came back, after so long. Did you assume I’d ignore you? Are you uncomfortable in my presence?” 

‘I was hoping that you wouldn’t,’ you wanted to say. “As I said, Mirai wanted me to come.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“Am not,” you huff. “Curses are none of my business anymore.” 

“What about sorcerers? Are they still any of your business?” 

A beat of silence. A rather awkward one. 

“They handle themselves just fine without me.” 

“...I see,” he says, tongue clicking. He sounds disappointed. There was something dancing on the tip of his tongue, but he refrained from continuing. The disappointment finds itself contagious when it curls in your stomach as you realize his words sting. “Say, why don’t you come in for some tea? We should catch up.” 

As tempted as you are to accept, there’s a strange feeling about him. You open your mouth to say no, when he positions himself behind you and gently rests his hands on your shoulders. 

“Come on, [Name]...” he sighed, “I’ve missed you so much. Do you know how embarrassing it was to pull that stunt in front of your friend?” 

“Coworker,” you correct lowly. 

“Your coworker, then” he sighs. “Still... Please? Just for an hour. I’ll take you home right after if you want me to.” 

“I’d rather you stay far, far away from my house.” 

Unsure, you have no time to deny as he pushes you lightly in front of him, making you walk. And honestly, you would’ve ended up accepting anyway (even if you’d never admit it to yourself now that you could blame him), but in his pleading, you found Satoru’s playful pushiness rather than Suguru’s temperance. You didn’t know how to feel about it yet. 

You’d forgotten how persuasive Suguru could be. One cup of tea turned to a finished teapot, and somehow that turned into three glasses of whiskey with a big, nice ice cube. You drink, content with the warmth in your stomach. 

“Isn’t this a sin?” you question when he follows your same action. “Gotta protect the Buddhist façade, oh priest...” 

“Not quite a sin. As long as I don't drink excessively, it should be fine.” He shrugs. “Not that I particularly care, with all due respect... But you know how much I hate hangovers, anyway.” 

You hum. In all honesty, everything about the past hour had been, and still was, quite awkward and weird. You sit on an elegant couch, some feet away from Suguru. There’s a large coffee table in which sit the empty teapot, cups, and a now empty bottle of blue label whiskey. Expensive stuff. You’d prefer the humble company, though. Or would you? 

“So...” he breaks the silence, turning his body towards yours, resting his face on an arm propped up on the back pillow of the couch. “How come you left sorcery?” 

The gulp of whiskey you down feels thicker than maple syrup. Almost chokes you, too. You reply sharply, throat burning, before you can actually think of a response, “I never felt like it was for me anyway.” 

“We both know that’s a lie.” He stares. “You know you’re so much better than some monkey like the one you brought today...” he goes on, apparently disgusted. “You could keep them like pathetic little pets if you so wished.” 

“That’s weird. I’ll pass.” 

“You used to enjoy that,” he muses mockingly. “Being a pet, I mean.” 

The atmosphere was filled with discomfort once again. At least for you. Suguru’s lidded gaze was teasing as he, too, finished his glass. 

“Something the matter?” he asks, nonchalant. Fucking asshole. He gets up and walks towards the alcohol cabinet. “It’s not like I’m making it up.” He sneaks behind you, bottle of strawberry tequila in hand – your favorite.  

“Yeah, well, not anymore... I’m no one’s pet,” you awkwardly cut him off. “I don’t like where this is going.” 

“Going where?” he muses. He’s not keen on addressing the elephant in the room. 

You are not, either. So, you shush and mutter, “Where’s the shot glasses?” 

You knew mixing strong drinks wasn’t a good idea. Being there wasn’t either. Why the hell not? 

So, he chuckles and groans when he gets up once again, grabbing the glasses. 

He reaches over your shoulder to place them on the table, then wraps his arms around your neck, bending so that his breath is on your ear. 

Your world feels fuzzy and your senses are slowed. Though, you’re pretty sure Suguru’s the same. “I’ve missed you, [Name],” he murmurs once more. This time, it feels more real. “And now you’re back... I can’t help wondering if you’ve missed me, too.” 

He nuzzles your neck and his hot breath fans your neck. You’re starting to sweat. “I have,” you sheepishly admit, and feel him grinning against you. 

You fell right into his trap, like he wanted you to. 

“What should we do about that, hm?” he murmurs. He then licks a stripe up your neck, and whispers right into your ear. “I’m not letting you leave again, [Name].” 

You’re not sure you want to leave, either, as his hands start trekking lower and lower, unbuttoning your shirt without resistance and attempting to sneak underneath clumsily. You’re both too drunk to think straight.  

“Please,” you stammer, chest heaving as you finally feel his soft hands on your skin, “please, let me kiss you.” 

“Fuck, love, I want nothing more.” 

He circled around the couch as even in his poor judgment he could tell that jumping over it and potentially cracking his skull on the table was probably not the hottest thing to do. He grabbed your waist once he reached you, and flipped your positions, making you straddle him. You could feel his hard-on pressing on your thigh. 

“You see what you do to me, hm? And you haven’t even touched me yet, sweetheart,” he whispers against your neck kissing down up until your collarbone, where he left a little love-bite. The loud whimper you make embarrassed you. “I’ve missed your precious voice. No one else’s compares, my sweet.” 

You can’t take it anymore and roughly press your mouth against his. His tongue licks your lower lip and slips past, moving along yours sensually. Taking your hips, he makes you grind against him. 

“Ah!” 

“You look so beautiful,” he whimpers. His hair sticks to his forehead and his face is flushed a nice shade of pink. His lidded gaze, both hazed by the drink and the lust, pretty much just looks like heart-eyes. “God, [Name], you don’t know how many times I’ve replayed our tapes, just to feel something...” 

That makes your hips twitch. “You greedy f-fucker,” you huff, pulling on his collar to get a good angle of his neck, “you kept almost all of them. I’ve had to rewatch the same two for years.” You attack right under his jugular, biting to keep the flesh in place and sucking. 

He moans, throwing his head back, and spanks your ass, moving his hands to grab it. “Sorry, babe,” he chuckles, “the camcorder was mine— ngh!” he stops when he feels you grab his dick through his clothes, lifting yourself up from his lap for your arm to fit. 

“What’s wrong, Suguru?” you murmur, biting his earlobe. “Cat got your tongue?” 

“A bitch, more like,” he retorts, letting out a low laugh. One of his hands moved up to your neck, “And here I was, trying to be nice today and give you a warm welcome. Don’t you think I’ve let you play around long enough, hm? Or has our time apart clouded your judgement?” You pant. His hold wasn’t too hard. You maintain eye contact. He wore a smug smirk now, his eyes fiery. When you shake your head no, he snorts. “Use your words, love. I can’t understand you otherwise.” 

“No, sir, I’m sorry,” you utter, submitting immediately. His eyes glint. You gave him what he wanted without resistance. 

“Good girl,” he loosens his grip, “you don’t need to apologize.” He pulls you close again for a wet kiss, biting your lower lip.  “Now take those clothes off for me.” 

You eagerly obey, prying them off carelessly and throwing them off to the floor. As you did so, Suguru began playing with your chest, pinching your nipples playfully, twisting them harshly to make you hiss in pain. As an apology, or maybe because he just felt like it, he took it between his lips, licking it hungrily, nipping once or twice. You shivered in pleasure as he did so, mewling for more. He manhandled you to lie you down, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. 

“Why are these still on, hm?” he asked teasingly, tracing his finger around the lining of your panties, snapping the waistband. “Fuck, you’re really wet,” he comments casually as he eyes the darker patch on the fabric, prying your legs apart and resting his cheek on one of your bent knees. “How long has it been since you last got some dick?” 

“None of your business,” you spit. He frowns, and slaps your clit harshly, making you whine. “...A year and a half,” you admit, mortified. 

“See? It wasn’t that hard,” he snickers condescendingly, his fingers playing with your cunt over your panties. 

“Oh... Just fucking take those off.” 

“Be patient, dear.” 

“I’ve been masturbating thinking about you for ten years, I think that’s long enough,” you say, desperate. He smirks, pressing light kisses over your knee and inner thigh. 

“I know, my love. Me too,” he murmurs lovingly, finally pulling off your panties. Toying with your folds, he flicks your clit gently, making you moan. “Why don’t I prepare you for your reward?” 

“Please.” 

He presses a finger in, then a second one. In and out, curling them at the right spot. You’re on cloud nine, one of your hands toying with your breasts, the other gripping his forearm. 

“You’re taking it so well, my dear,” he praises lovingly. “Such a good girl. Keep those legs open for me. Mhm, just like that. So pretty.” 

He speeds up, his palm rubbing your clit just right. Your head spins from the pleasure and the booze. “D-don’t stop, Suguru, ah!” 

“I can feel you tighten up, baby. Are you close, hm? You wanna cum for me?” 

“Y-yes, yes, fuck, please—” 

He chuckles mockingly, and pulls his fingers out. “That’s too bad. You’re only cumming on my cock today.” 

You whimper, staring with lust as he strips naked. His boxers remain, a very visible hardness underneath. You can even see the precum leaking through them. Your nails softly run down his abdomen to the waistband, sending him a pleading look. His look is of approval, so you slowly pull them down. The sight makes you bite your lip to suppress a moan. The body’s as light as the rest of his skin, with some angry veins noticeable; the head is of a light shade of pink, dripping clear precum. It’s bigger than average. Around, maybe, 16cm? Girthy as well. As you stare hungrily, he snorts. 

“You can stop drooling now, love,” he rasps with sarcasm. With a hand, he holds one of your legs apart, gripping tightly the flesh of your thigh. With the other, he begins to pump himself. “You want it inside you, huh?” He mocks as he sees you start to get antsy. 

“I thought you were trying to be nice today,” you complain, clicking your tongue. 

“Changed my mind when you started acting like a cunt.” 

He presses the tip to your folds, collecting your wetness. A silence filled with expectation settles. 

(In)Conveniently, a buzzing sound came from the pocket of your jeans, awakening you from the drunken trance. You groan. 

[Three missed calls from: ‘Kikiii<3’] 

“Just ignore it,” Suguru sighs when he sees you unlock the screen. 

Kikiii<3: bitch where u at?????? 

Kikiii<3: ur weirdo rich hot friend jst showed up 

Kikiii<3: and wants to talk to u like....... rn 

“Who is it anyway?” Geto asks impatiently, staring at you as you frown at the screen. 

“My roommate,” you mumble out, feeling yourself slowed down due to the drinks. 

And, as for the friend... The one and only Satoru Gojo. Fuck. Oh, fuck, shit, fuck. 

“Uh–” Suddenly, you’re hyperaware of the situation you’re in. Suguru’s dick about to enter you, his hands holding your hips. An impending doom, hung above your head like a ticking grandfather clock, getting close to the song at midnight. Once it sounds, you’d be back at the start of a new day, a new grief — and it was sure to be hellish. You push his arms off, sobered up. “I’m sorry, this is so sudden. I have to go.” 

“What’s wrong, my sweet?” he hums as you stand up, clearly slow and still on the piss. “Are you alright? Did something happen?” 

“It’s, uhm...” Your head spins as you put your underwear back on in a rush and hop to put your pants. “Nothing to worry about, I just have to leave.” 

“What...?” he scoffs, confused. He, too, slowly begins to dress up. Messily. 

Kikiii<3: FFS DONT LEAVE ME ON SEEN HES LIKE SCARY MAD NOW 

Kikiii<3: ur ruining my chances w him hes just staring at me..... ominously......... 

Kikiii<3: what if he thinks im ugly:( 

You: no he doenst .tell him to come pick me uu if hes o worried 

Kikiii<3: uhhhh [nickname] r u drunk 

You: maybe :3ccc 

You: jst tell him to  come 

Kikiii<3: girl istg T_T ts so awkward i will kms in front of u 

You: [location in real time] 

“It was nice seeing you,” you hiccup, doing your best to stop your mind from swirling as you button your shirt. “Will probably be the last time. I don’t think this is healthy for either of us,” you stumble, grabbing your purse and your jacket with one arm, holding the shirt’s collar shut with your free hand. 

He frowns and straightens, taking two menacing steps. The air stills. 

“Last time?” he smirks. “Don’t lie to yourself like that... You know you want more. You’ll be back here sooner than later, dear.” 

As you walk away, he follows. Steps echoing in the long hallways of the building, dim city lights seep through the windows and guide your way. He speaks, if anything calmly, calling you – demanding you to turn around. To talk to him. Saying your name, so sweetly – calling you by the dumb nicknames he used to. Never an idiot as much as a love fool, you identified a certain passive aggressiveness in his tone. One that proved to be dangerous, leaning on threatening. 

He, however, did not attack. God bless Ballantine's. Nor did he chase you once you finally reached the concrete stairs leading down the hill. You turn one last time. He rests his body lazily on one of the pillars, gaze pinned on your figure, lustful and sleepy. He had always been a lightweight, quiet and horny when he was on the piss. You swear he stared right at your ass the whole time you walked downstairs. 

(He had a wolfish grin on his face, too, as he licked his lips and dragged himself back inside.) 

Sat at the last step, you stared right at the floor for what seemed like an eternity. Visiting Suguru felt like relapsing — because it was, probably. You now felt ridiculous for huffing at Shoko when she didn’t quit smoking when you did, as she had agreed to. You hadn’t talked to her in a while. You missed her.  

A thought flashed you when you saw (one of) Gojo’s (many) black, luxurious car(s) slowly pull up. The Six Eyes. He’d probably seen everything. How to look at him now? Your phone buzzed with Keiko’s messages, full of concern. 

You: its all good. gojos here. idk if ill sleep at home today. ily bye 

Kikiii<3: WILL U STOP PLAYING NONCHALANT IM WORRIED SICK 

You: sybau 

You: ill tell u when i see u 

Kikiii<3: damn ok u fuckin cunt (pls b safe ilysm) 

You didn’t bother replying. The car door shut with force, and now there was a very angry, very scary Satoru frowning down at you. His breath was loud. He was visibly trying to relax. Two fragments of sky stared at you from beneath his sunglasses. 

“...Hi, ‘Toru...” you greet sheepishly, hunched over and unable to look him in the eye. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he spits. “Are you a toddler? Do I have to check on you every three days so you don’t pull moronic stunts like this, huh?” 

Your lip begins to tremble. Nothing hurt more than your best friend’s disappointment. He’s visibly shook. He sounds hurt, too. Gojo’s a cheery guy, almost childish at times. He rarely snapped. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You’re— Ugh...” He rubs his temples. A hand of his pulls his hair back. You don’t miss the way he mouths an insult under his breath. “Just get in the car. You won’t fucking guess what.” 

He helps you stand up when he sees your legs shake. It's cold outside and you still wore work clothes, thin jacket rendered useless. “C’mere,” he mutters, gently pulling you up. You step arrhythmically, shoes loudly clanking. His were lighter as he steadies the pace. He opens the passenger seat’s door, sits you down, and puts on your seatbelt. Not ten seconds after, he’s behind the steering wheel. 

“Can I sleep at your place today?” you asked, breaking the silence. The engine replies before him. 

“It’ll be for the best,” he says, ominously. His mouth opens, just to sigh shut. “[Name], you couldn’t have picked a worst fucking day if you tried.” 

In order to be safe, tall structures such as skyscrapers or rollercoasters need to be flexible. Wobble when strong winds hit them, stay flexible so they can alleviate wind pressure, avoiding crumbling down, and ensure they don’t snap under force. In a way, you believed sorcery was the same. It’s a wild world. Corrupt, strange, full of resentments that more often than not lasted centuries. But it remained a secret, an archaic force that has not yet turned completely despotic in nature. That does not, however, mean that some stop trying to break that thin, weak twig that can make everything topple over. People don’t count on the younger branches being the hardest to rip, though. They hold on to the trunk, green and bleeding (or perhaps crying?) underneath the fresh bark. While some are rotten and tired, as sturdy or high up as they may look at first, it’s the apparently feeble ones that hold on to their loyalties with claws and fangs. 

The ride was silent and frankly, awkward. He'd dropped the bomb and now was letting you process it — make sure your ears didn’t ring from the explosion so you could listen to his next words. Once again, it seemed that whatever conclusion you may have attempted to finally reach would never come. Closure used to be a rock you had to fetch, but the years you spent eroding memories from replaying them had eventually turned it into thin grains of sand you couldn’t quite keep in your palms. 

“Suguru has declared war and he’s launching an attack on Christmas,” you repeat, lips dry. Satoru’s eyes are focused on the road. You know damn well he could stare straight at you and still see where he’s going. Goes to show he can’t even look at you. “Today? Why... Like, what triggered it? I’m... this is—” 

“...I’ll tell you more about it at home.” His head tilts towards your lap. Your lap? You look down. Your phone sits there, a couple more concerned messages from Keiko were the only notifications that you had received. 

You didn’t have to overthink it. He was obviously implying that someone may have access to your phone, and therefore your mic. The thought sent a shiver down your spine. You were aware that most higher-ups (or ‘stuck up senile fucks’, as Satoru often called them in private) didn’t really agree with your friend’s... orthodox methods. Still. As far as to spy on him? 

You just hum in affirmation. 

“Satoru...” 

“Yeah?” 

“I wanna throw up.” 

You can see his eye twitch under his sunglasses. 

It wasn’t long before you arrived at his house. Nowadays he often stayed in the room assigned to him in the school, but his massive fucking mansion didn’t just vanish. There you were, knelt before the toilet in one of the (at the very least) four bathrooms in his house. You puked. It was basically crystal clear, since it was mostly alcohol. Satoru stroked your back with care. As much as the sight wasn’t a nice one, there wouldn’t be much of a difference even if he stayed outside the room. He oftentimes swore you were the only person in the world that often significantly annoys him, yet he still loves. 

“[Name], did you even have dinner beforehand?” he asks between one of your breaks. Your head spins again, ethanol doing its silly little magic. You manage to shake your head no, and he sighs. “That’s fine. I’ll just order some.” 

“M-my wallet—” You suppress a gag. “It’s in my purse.” 

“My treat. You just, uh... you keep going, yeah?” He pats your back encouragingly, awkwardly choosing his words. He never knew how to act around people that weren’t sober. 

“Remember that time when we got drunk and you accidentally sent three cars flying?” you giggle dumbly, then immediately regret it when you retch. 

“You keep going, I said,” he huffs, embarrassed about it still. That was the first and only time he tried alcohol. He made you swear to never tell.  

You throw up again, tilting over the edge of the WC. Satoru’s careful hands peel your hair out of your sweaty face, softly rubbing your back still. 

“I-I think I’m done,” you sentence after some seconds of silence. You straighten your back. He silently hands you a glass of sink water that you tiredly gulp down.  

“You sure you’re good?” he checks. You nod. “Alright, let’s go sit on the couch.” 

He ordered some food at your favorite restaurant while you washed your face and changed to comfier clothes. You intentionally left your phone on his bedside table. Satoru soon follows and leaves it there as well, locking the master bedroom’s door as you both sit on the couch. 

Still somewhat dizzy, you sat up. You wore the same old clothes you’d left there over the years. 

“It’s been a while since I last stayed here,” you mutter thoughtfully. He nods. There’s a veil of melancholy that drapes over the both of you.  

Usually, people refer to warm blankets as comfortable, but when summer burns your back, comfort is brought by a chilly embrace. Perhaps that’s why neither of you had chosen to really get over what happened. Something about staying sad felt like a nice breeze under the scorching sun. 

In all honesty, though, you prefer to know that some things had gotten better. For the seven months after Suguru left, you cried. Either hidden away in bathrooms (sometimes the school’s ones), or hidden away in Satoru’s guest room. He used to stroke your hair with a distant look in his eyes. As much as you sobbed or sniffled, he remained completely still. As much as you loved 'Toru, you weren’t sure if a Gojo’s heart was big enough to shed tears. You for sure knew that Satoru’s brain wasn’t able to fathom the thought. He could dissociate, keep quiet, pop a headache that lasted days — but since the day he was born, Satoru knew (or rather, had been made aware) that his eyes only served one purpose: to see. See far beyond what any other human, sorcerer or not, could imagine. His beautiful blue irises never got enough rest to afford some tears. The six eyes user couldn’t cry. 

He seemed distant once more, deep in thought. Not in the rattling way, like he’d been all those years ago, but rather deep in thought. As if... considering his trust in you. 

“I’m sorry for going there,” you mumble, unsettled by his silence. “It was so stupid.” 

“Stupid doesn’t even cut it, [Name],” he sighs. He hastily takes off his sunglasses and leaves them on the table. He hunches over, elbows on his knees, and groans into his hands, which rub his face and temples. “You think I haven’t been tempted to pull the same stunt? I didn’t, though. You could’ve resisted it too if you stopped pitying yourself so much. And lo and behold, you go right back to him like an idiot because you want to get dicked down. It’s unbelievable. I didn’t question your choice to leave sorcery,” (Lies. He had. Numerous times, even,) “but this is not just about curses anymore. Suguru is about to commit mass murder if we do nothing.” 

You keep quiet as he scolds you. AS shameful as it is, there’s nothing to say — you know he’s right. With a sigh, curling up, you hug your knees and look at him. “So, what’s everyone planning to do?” 

“Half of us will stay in Shinjuku, the others will stand guard in Kyoto.” 

“That’s awfully simple.” 

“Aren’t you a smart cookie?” he clicks his tongue in annoyance. “We know nothing else, other than what he told us.” 

“Mmh. Guess that’s your best chance...” 

He frowns under his blindfold. You can tell by the faint crease over where his brow must be. 

“Your?” 

“Huh?” 

“You won’t help?” he says with an accusatory tone. 

“Uh...” You inevitably look down. Being called out was always embarrassing. 

“Suguru wants to commit mass murder, and you still assume it’s none of your business? What the fuck’s wrong with you?!” he snaps. “For the love of—” he groans, and hunches over, hands covering his face, fingers combing through his hair as he straightens once again. “This is fucking it, [Name].” 

“It, what?” you frown. “I think I made my decision clear, like over a decade ago. I’m not a sorcerer.” 

“But you are. Only sorcery can stop him, and we are short-staffed. You know what that means? Civilians, dead and buried. Dozens, if not hundreds. Defenseless. Mauled. Possessed. Disemboweled. How selfish can you be?!” 

Satoru was an independent man. He let you be, in his own way. As much as he was persistent, he wasn’t necessarily pedantic. Now, though, he glared at you, his back straightened and shoulders stiff. And he wasn’t wrong. How selfish can you be? How lazy? To be able to convince yourself it’s not your business? 

“So, you want me to fight?” you sighed. He stared, silent, as the cogs in his brain stopped and clicked, the light bulb turning on. 

“Actually... There’s something you could do.” 

The morning after, your head felt like someone had drilled a hole through your eye socket right into your skull. Hungover and weak, and lacking any sort of motivation, you sat in silence as Satoru’s car parked at the bottom of the hill. A long, snaky set of stairs lead to the top, torii gates preceding the ascension.  

“I bet most are already there,” Satoru said, breaking the ice once you both stepped out of the vehicle. A beeping sound came from it once he finally shut the engine off. “As always, expect it to be a fucking bore.” 

After ten minutes of walking upstairs in silence, and some more of you anxiously staring at the building, Gojo eventually slid open the door to the room where the attendees sat. They turned their heads, unimpressed by his tardiness, but froze upon the sight of you. 

“Sorry for being late,” Satoru smirked, “I wasn’t on my own, so blame them.” 

He briefly turned to you, softening the corners of his mouth into an encouraging smile. 

“Hi... It’s been a while,” you muttered, feeling small under their stares. Wordlessly, Nanami pulls a chair next to him so you can sit. The scraping against the floor sounds like a screech. “Thanks,” you sit. He makes a reassuring hum, but doesn’t smile. 

The meeting was nothing short of awkward. No one was sure about what you guys were supposed to do — you went in circles: was there a chance to sabotage the plan? If so, how? Could Suguru boycott yours? Would he? What intel did you have on him? Eventually, Utahime slumped forward, head on her hands. 

“I think I have an idea on how to gather more information,” Satoru says. “That’s why I brought [Name] in the first place.” 

“Jeez, what are you implyi—?” 

“I’m not implying anything. I think we should send them to pretend to be on Geto’s side,” he spat. A long pause. 

“Okay,” Mei Mei stated, resting her elbows on the table and her chin on her hands. “How would that even work? He must assume [Nickname] hasn’t cut all ties with us… For all he knows, they’re just another sorcerer. Some sort of puppy love that ended almost a decade ago won’t cloud his judgement.” 

You clear your throat. “So, yeah, about that... I, uh, may have paid him a visit yesterday.” 

Shoko, who was quietly listening in, suddenly coughed in shock. 

“WHAT?!” Utahime sits up like a light bolt, slamming her palms on the table. Ijichi flinches, and Yaga makes a sound that sounds like a sigh, a whine, and a groan, all at once. “YOU DID WHAT?!” 

“I-I didn’t know what he was up to!” you stammer. The room was tense, formalities broken, and Satoru sat in front of you, arms crossed and leaned back in a relaxed way. He wasn’t speaking up. ‘Defend yourself’ was written all over his face (at least in the subtle frown he wore... You couldn’t really see his eyes). “So, uh, I saw an ad for some weird Buddhist cult, and his photo was printed on it, and, uh, you know… I… I got curious...” 

“So that’s how he’s been gathering curses this whole time?” Mei Mei places a hand under her chin. “Smart move. No wonder he’s managed to keep a low profile... And made a living for so long.” 

Nanami sighs, “What’s done it’s done. Let’s just focus on how to move forward,” he interrupts. It’s rather cold, but you can tell he’s just trying to cut you some slack. “Is he expecting to see you again?” 

‘You know you want more.’ You hear inside your head. 

“I… guess so? He seemed like it, yeah. I did tell him to piss off before I left, though, so—” 

“I mean, you went right back to him after such a long time. It won’t surprise him if you show up there again,” Shoko states, aloof. It’s her own unique way of basically saying that what you did was pathetic. 

“Ieiri’s right,” Yaga sentences. “Your actions are questionable, to say the least... All we can do now is try to turn them around in our favor.” 

At six o’clock sharp, you stood firmly where you were the day before. Anxiety gnawed at you. You’d begged Satoru to keep an eye out for Keiko — probably the most consistent bond in your life as it is, as sad as it may sound, and also the most vulnerable if Suguru goes off the rails. Gojo, clearly not too happy, had accepted in the end. 

You kept your best poker face as the lady in front of you gave you a once over. “[Name] [Last name]?” she asked. You nodded, about to give her a response, “Master Geto told me to expect you. Come with me.” 

She looked stunning in her purple dress, and her words only made you feel more self-conscious. You didn’t even look formal — you'd grabbed some jeans and a wooly jumper and focused the rest of your energy on praying the whole time you were getting to your destination. Her judgmental side eye as you walked quietly behind her was more than reasonable, or so you thought. Not even twenty-four hours earlier, you’d stormed off hastily, promising to never come back. Maybe you should’ve grabbed a clown wig as an accessory. 

The woman paused her walking before an oddly modest wooden door to some room and knocked. After a brief pause, she solemnly opened the door. “Master Geto—” 

“What now, Manami?” Suguru’s hunched figure groaned, as he sat before a desk. “I can't believe I still have to go through all this paperwork... Monkey bullshit, all of it.” 

“[Name]’s here.” 

His back suddenly straightened, and he turned in disbelief. When your gazes clashed and you pried yours away, a big, mocking grin made its way towards his lips. “Wow... new record, sweetheart.” 

“...I’ll leave you two alone,” Manami utters awkwardly, walking backwards to shut the door again. She was gone before you could thank her. 

Suguru hums as he turns his chair. This seemed to be his room. Large, king-sized bed, even larger window, desk, comfy chair, built-in wardrobe... The place wasn’t as absurdly huge as you had expected Suguru’s bedroom to be. It wasn’t small by any means, either, but as elegant as it looked, it still had some coziness to it. Nice surprise coming from him.  

You expect him to start the conversation. However, he doesn’t speak. He sits smugly, manspreading, elbow placed on the chair’s armrest, head tilted sideways as he stares intently. 

“...Uh, good evening,” is all you manage to muster. “Why was that lady expecting me?” 

“I already told you. I knew you’d be back,” he scoffs, grin on his face. You can’t decide whether to smack it off or kiss it away. “Even then, I must say you’ve exceeded my expectations. I thought it’d be at least three or four days... You really haven’t changed.” 

You shrug awkwardly. “I can leave if you want...” 

“No. Stay right there.” His brows furrow, and a cold stare pins you down. As you involuntarily step back, he seems to relax, and his voice softens. “Please. We can dine together. My treat?” 

“...Fine.” 

He grins mischievously, “Good, ‘cause we already have a reservation! I told Manami to call the restaurant as soon as you arrived.” 

Cunning asshole... You can’t help the smile that blossoms on your face. He hasn’t changed that much. 

“Is it a fancy place? I have nothing to wear.” 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, dear. I already picked out something for you to wear.” He hums. You couldn't tell if he was being loving or condescending. 

“Listen, I... I wanna apologize for yesterday.” You scratch your neck. “Uhm, stuff happened, but I shouldn’t have left so suddenly.” 

His look pierces you, as calm as his composure is. He reads you like a book, and knowing you won’t say nothing more, he sighs. 

“It’s fine. I’m not mad.” He steps closer to you, and envelopes you in a warm embrace. One you gladly return. “You don’t know how much I’ve been yearning for you this entire time, [Name]. I know... I know I was the one who left, and I’m sorry. I didn’t even give you a chance, or a real explanation. I swear I’ll answer any of your questions tonight.” 

You take a breath in, smelling his clothes. Not even his scent had changed. Clean, soapy, always with a bit of a sandalwood hint. 

“Tonight? At dinner you mean?” you muster, putty in his hold. His chest vibrates with a low ‘mhm’. “Why not now?” 

He lets out a low chuckle, “Because now that we’re alone, sweetie...” his hands run down your body, settling on your waist. You slowly pull a bit away from him, as his stare turns hungry, eyes flickering between yours and your lips. The atmosphere takes a very drastic turn. “While I do have a client in around an hour, I thought we could finish what we started yesterday.” 

It’s like a switch has been turned on. Well, scratch that. You’re turned on now. That’s kind of pathetic. What is this, Pavlov’s bell? His touch means ‘get wet’? Well, shit. It works. Why do your thoughts rush so much? Are you really gonna get shy at this very moment? You were this close to having sex yesterday! Well, the alcohol did some numbers on you, but he clearly didn’t regret a thing and, well, truth be told, you could say the same. 

It wasn’t long before he made you kneel before him, saying he deserved a proper apology. You’d clicked your tongue, but obeyed anyway, taking him in your hand and slowly pumping him once. He was already hard in your grasp, and your hand motion pulled back his foreskin, which revealed an already leaking tip. His hand caressed your cheek, thumb pressing against your lower lip. When you silently took his finger into your mouth, he smiled smugly, pleased. It makes a popping sound when he pulls it out. 

“Are you going to be nice today?” you tease. 

“Who said you could talk?” he chastises, clicking his tongue. “Be a dear and open up for me. Just like that...” 

He grabs you by the hair gently, never one to tug on it. He places his tip near your lips, looking at you right in the eye, smug. He always did this, waiting for you to act like a dog with a bone and reach for his cock yourself. It was just another game to him, to relish in the position of power. Supporting yourself by gripping his thigh, you follow his lead and lick a stripe up his dick, from the base to the tip. He guides your head so that you take him all at once, and a pornographic moan of your name emerges from his throat. It’s good motivation, you think, pushing yourself further so he hits the back of your throat. Failing to suppress your gag reflex, you cough once as he slowly moves your head back a bit. Fuck, it’s been a while since your last blowjob. 

“I’m alright, Suguru,” you utter. “Don’t tell me you’ve softened up...” 

He chuckles, taking up on your challenge, his hold on your hair firmer, “Never.” 

His eyes crinkle with a satisfied smile when he forces you down his cock in one go. You whine around it, tears on the corners of your eyes, not once breaking eye contact. “Such a pretty fucking whore. Is this where you belong? Hm?” he purrs. You let him guide your head up and down his shaft, timing your breaths so you don’t choke again. “Ah...! I asked you a question, love. Or is your mouth too full to answer?” he taunts. 

It’s not long before he’s fucking your face passionately, hips twitching, balls hitting your chin, your nose right below his navel. And he whines. No growling or grunting like some others who repress themselves. Suguru was always noisy in bed, both vocally and in his rough but meticulous ways. You prayed that no one came near the door to hear you two. 

He pulls out suddenly. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I was getting close,” he responds simply, tugging on your arm to get you to stand up. Leaving a wet kiss on your lips, making sure to nip at your lower lip, he mutters a “Take your clothes off, will you?” as he completely removes his yukata, folding it as neatly as he can and leaving it on his desk. 

He admires from the bed, sitting in a manspread and pulled-down boxers as your hastily throw your t-shirt over your head and jump out of your jeans (to which he giggles a bit. Cock rock hard twitching when you roughly undo the clasp of your bra, he makes sure to slowly fist it, as if he could possibly lose his erection with such a wonderful sight in front of him. He taps his thigh twice, and you obediently straddle it. “Should I take my panties off?” you ask. “I fucking hate the word panties. It sounds so unserious.” 

He snorts. “Yeah, go ahead and take those ‘panties’ off.” 

“Piss off,” you huff at his mocking tone. He just smirks and watches you discard the last piece of clothing you had left. 

“You know what I want you to do. Right, sweetheart?” He takes your arm and pulls you back to your place on his thigh. You’re skin to skin now. He leaves quick pecks on your neck. “C’mon. Ride my thigh.” 

You move your hips a bit, wetness squelching underneath you. “Suguru...” you murmur. Your hands are on your shoulders, and so is your head, face nuzzled on the crook of his neck. He takes one of your hands and places it on his dick. “Motherfucker, making me do all the work,” you click your tongue. 

“Watch your mouth, darling,” he warns softly, “or there won’t be any work for you to do.” 

“S’that a threat?” you question. “You want this as much as I do.” 

“Clearly, I have more restraint,” he says. He’s mean without violence. He’s poison without sting. He’s taking your hip and gripping tight. “Who said you could stop? Get a move on or you won’t get fucked at all.” 

You whimper, moving faster. You can feel your wetness pooling beneath you, staining Suguru’s boxers. Your hand fists his cock, and you take the liberty to bite his shoulder gently. He hums in pleasure, slapping your ass once. 

“Good girl,” he praises. “You want it inside, don’t you? I can feel your clit throbbing. You’re so wet... Filthy slut. Bet you’re enjoying this. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” 

“A-am not,” you whine. “Fuck, Suguru, please—” 

“Stop using my name,” he grunts. He’s slick as well, your hand easily pumping up and down as he continuously leaked precum. “That’s not how you call me.” 

“...Sir,” you moan. “Sir, please take me already.” 

He flips you over in the blink of an eye, manhandling you on all fours, a hand restraining both of yours behind your back, the other pinning your neck down. You look up at him pleadingly through messy strands of hair over your eyes. Freeing your neck, he brushes them away from your face. 

“You’re still on birth control, aren’t you?” he asks. “I kind of forgot to ask yesterday.” 

“Yeah, I am. Just put it i— Oh!” the stretch makes you hiss. He waits for a few seconds until you relax again. He slowly but surely keeps going. “A-ah! Sir!” 

“Almost there, sweetheart— You’re tight, shit—” 

When he’s finally all the way in, you both sigh out in pain and pleasure. He gives you some seconds to relax before he starts moving, letting out some moans of your name as he did so. His pace hurried and you bit the pillow, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. He grabs a handful of your ass and fondles with it for a bit, before changing his course of action and lowering it to your sensitive clit instead. You left a loud gasp as he began rubbing it. 

“[Name], ah—” he lets out. “You’re squeezing me so tight, you whore,” he spat. “Dirty bitch.” 

Your voice is strained. “I’m yours, Sir, I-I'm all yours.” 

“That, you are,” he chuckles darkly, spanking you once as he speeds up his pace, thrusting harder into you. “You’ll always be. Mine to use. Mine to break.” 

He rubs your clit faster, relishing in your pretty noises. “M’close. S-sir, please.” 

“Awh, do you wanna get there, yeah?” he snickers. “You’re so pathetic. I’d be disgusted if I didn’t like you so much.” He speeds up his pace even more, letting go of your wrists to grab your waist, left hand still between your legs. “Beg for it, slut.” 

“Please, Sir, please... I’m s-so close! Please!” 

He whines loudly, and you feel his pace start to become irregular. “So am I, love,” he lets out. “Fuck, I missed being inside you,” he huffs. “Where do you want it?” 

“Inside,” you plead. He twitches. 

“Ah, yeah? Want my load inside you? Is this your kink coming back again, hm?” You nod furiously, not bothering to bite down on the pillow anymore as you scream ‘yes’ over and over. “Cum for me, pretty girl.” 

The coil inside you snaps as you cream all over him, moaning his name loudly. He follows some seconds later, thrusting one last time as he fills you up. 

For some seconds, there’s a deafening silence. He doesn’t waste a second as he slowly pulls out and fetches a towel. He massages your sore thighs as you lay there in silence, blissed. 

“While I’d love to stay,” he utters, cleaning you thoroughly. “I must go soon.” 

You give him a disappointed look, and he bends to give your cheek a soft kiss. 

“Whatever,” you murmur. 

“I’ll make it up to you tonight. All of it. I promise. I’ll pick you up at nine.” 

Sooner rather than later, you’re fully dressed and walking down the stairs of the temple, legs still a bit shaky. Suguru’s assistant had handed you a carefully wrapped package, which you assumed to be a dress. “For tonight. Master Geto picked it out himself.” 

“...Cool.” 

She’d blinked at you. It was so awkward. But even more awkward would be to explain everything to Keiko in non-sorcerer terms. And as you walked home, bag in your hand, lost in thought, you gulped at a sudden realization. 

...How could he be so sure of where to go get you, if you’d never told Suguru where you lived? 

i will burn in hell. :3