#these two are so precious to me do you understand

[nymphaea-blue]

Lads boys when you cry.

Info : 1,5k+ word count (around 350+ per part), fluff, hurt/comfort, possible grammar mistakes.

Notes : I took bits of inspo from their in game interactions and some of them were so cute! I don't listen to other boys since I'm a Rafayel main but awh Sylus was a cutie in Tete-a-tete ^^

Rafayel

You entered Rafayel's home just as he worked on another painting. You felt bad for disturbing his work, no matter how many times he said that you are more important it still made you feel bad, but you needed him now. Tears slowly slid down your cheeks as your lip trembled when the small, water beads shining like pears eventually hit the ground.

No words were needed, your boyfriend stopped painting for a moment and you saw his expression change to concern before he looked at you, as if he already knew what was going on in your head without needing to ask you.

“Cutie? What’s wrong?” He asked, the usual playful smile gone from his face.

He got down from his chair and opened his arms right as you ran up to hug him, now sobbing into his soft cardigan.

“I’m here, it’s okay… Nothing can hurt you now, not with me here.” Rafayel gently whispered into your ear as his hands wrapped around you, one hand on your back and the other gently holding your head as you cried into his shoulder. 

The two of you stood like that for a moment. No words of judgement, no fussing, just deep understanding and comfort. Soft, honey sweet words came from your boyfriend in waves as the lemurian did his best to reassure you, to cease that growing pressure in your body and upsetting thoughts flooding your brain.

After a while, you calmed down, the feelings that pressed onto your heart going away bit by bit. Rafayel looked you in the eyes as you lifted your head up, he had a gentle smile on his face.

“There there, all better now. You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to, but I’m always here to listen, no matter if you are sad or happy, remember that, alright?.” He spoke as he wiped away the rest of tears from your cheeks as he caressed them.

“Now, what does my wonderful partner need? We can cuddle on the couch under a blanket, throw on a movie and order some takeout, or I can make us a nice, relaxing bath. We can do whatever you wish.”

Zayne

The apartment never felt smaller.

Oh how you wish you would feel better now, but you learned long ago that your mind mistakes a simple error for a reason to cry as if something horrible happened. So now, there you were, crying on your couch for who knows how long at this point. You felt hot, burning almost, and it was unbearable but at the same time you craved the warmth of someone familiar as the pitiful sounds flooded the room.

You didn’t even hear the sounds of keys opening the doors.

Zayne was just returning from his shift at the hospital, it ended early today and so he made his way back home after a quick visit to the local bakery, but the sounds immediately made him feel uneasy. He put down his keys and in what seemed like a second he was next to you.

“I’m here. Try to do deep breaths for me.” He said softly as he approached you, his voice quiet to not startle you.

You opened your eyes slightly, Zayne looked composed but he stared at you as if you were the most precious patient to him. Before you could stop yourself, you were already in his arms.

“It’s okay, focus on my voice. Deep breaths honey.” His voice instructed you and you found yourself following without thinking, slowly breathing in and breathing out as he guided you. 

The entire time you didn’t leave his arms. He pressed close to you, resting your head on his chest to help your breathing sync with his. Zayne didn’t ask what was wrong, he didn’t ask why you were home right now and he didn’t pressure you into answering anything, all he cared about is making sure you were safe at the moment, and you were, because he was right there. 

After a while, your breathing was more even and the tears less frequent. The both of you sat quietly now, though Zayne didn’t separate himself from you, letting you cry even if you were more stable now. The warmth of him by your side was a nice contrast to the natural cold of his hands that were working through the knots in your hair.

“Do you feel better now? I bought a new tea last week. It can help to relax one's mind, I can brew it for you if you like, I also got some new pastries to try. But for now, let’s stay like this a little longer, I’m not going anywhere.”

Xavier

This work day was just not for you. Everything seemed to fall apart but you did your best to not show it. 

The faint clicking of a computer keyboard kept the room filled with noise, but your head was louder. You didn’t remember opening your email, you didn’t think about what you were typing, it was just automatic at this point as you also went through the motions in your head. The same thing over and over again, you tried to distract yourself, think about something else, focus on something happening in the future but it always failed and made you even more shaken. Your fingers started trembling over the keyboard, tears slowly escaping your eyes as you hoped none of your coworkers would notice.

But he did.

One moment you were typing a mission report to Jenna, next you were in Xavier's arms in the break room. How? You didn’t know, and you honestly didn’t care.

“... Do you need something? Water? Food? Just let me know and I’ll get it for you.” He asked, his voice calm and focused like during missions but his body felt soft against yours as he looked into your eyes.

You managed to shake your head and nuzzle closer to him. You could feel the systematic way his hands ran over your back in order to reassure you. 

“I opened the window for you. Can you hear that? The birds chirping, the sounds of cars outside, the stray cat we sometimes pass by on our way to work? Listen to the surroundings and relax.”

Your boyfriend was worried, you knew that, you could tell by the way he did his best to figure out ways to distract you. Even though you didn’t have much faith in his method, you decided to try and do it as he asked and listened to what was happening outside. Soon enough, the sounds of nature and Linkons busy streets as well as the affection of your boyfriend made you calm down.

“Take your time and rest. Work will still be there tomorrow, it’s okay to focus on yourself and I’ll be there with you every step of the way.” Xavier said as he noticed you feeling better now, though he still didn’t let you go from the hold of his arms.

Sylus

Often you found yourself crying, a sudden flood of tears would come from your eyes. This growing pit formed in your heart in an instant but you never had with whom to share your pain. But that changed, now you have him - Sylus, the leader of N109 zone but also your wonderful boyfriend.

That’s why you arrived at his doorstep, already coming in since you had the keys and the twins didn’t try to stop you once they saw the state you were in. You weren’t exactly sure where you should go, he could be anywhere, he was a busy man after all but you had a feeling that he would be right where he always seemed to wait whenever something happened in your life.

Opening the doors to his bedroom, you saw him sitting on the bed, already changed into his bathrobe, a bunch of plushies on the bed and some food prepared on the table.

“Why hello sweetie. A little birdie told me that a certain hunter was in a particularly awful mood today, so I waited prepared.” Sylus said in his usual smooth, confident tone as he opened his arms to you.

You didn’t waste time and placed yourself in his arms, crying out into him as he toyed with your hair and held you tight. With him, you never felt like you had to suck up your feelings and play being somebody else, everything just came together, he always took care of you no matter what.

“Everything is alright now, you're safe, you can let everything out.” Sylus spoke softly as you clinged onto his bathrobe and sobbed. So many feelings were running through your head yet this never bothered him, he always welcomed you with open arms even if you felt bad.

The both of you stayed that way, he didn’t rush you, just offered words of comfort from time to time. Slowly but surely, you felt the ugly feeling in your mind pass and your eyelashes were no longer wet from tears.

“You can relax, I already took care of everything. There is food, drinks and essential oils. I know that you are strong but it’s okay to rely on me, I want to be your anchor.”

[blossombabbles]

When did he fall?

There's hardly anything I can trust.

But you're it.

Jin is very slow burn in his affections, you didn't affect him at all at first. He hardly even thought about you... Until he did. At first it was the occasional extra thought while he smoked on the balcony, an odd question that came to mind he instantly ignored. It became a regular occurrence to ask about you, to ignore Tohma's teasing when he noticed.

He started missing you. Abnormal. You were just help. Calling you in to assist more. He needed the help, you're reliable. That's normal. Worrying. Abnormal, you were perfectly fine on your own.

You were strong, he'd seen it, you had awoken this thing in him that he felt he'd lost so long ago... What else was there for him but you? Clearly you're his cure. Shit... He's too far gone, isn't he?

He listened to every word you spoke, not feeling the need to look for things beneath the surface of your words - just hear you. Understand why you laughed, why you smiled, watch your eyes crinkle in the corners when any feigned smile turned genuine.

Well now... Aren't you entertaining?

It was when he glanced up at you, taking you out for the reward you were so promised by his beloved captain. Coming to realize just how close to a date this felt. You two, alone? The captain must truly trust you and even worse, trust him with you, his precious little gemstone.

Your laugh was loud, raw and unbidden despite your hand coming up to try to stifle the noise a moment after- trying to bring down your volume to no avail. Teeth showed, the slight embarrassment covering your cheeks, not even apologizing for your behavior, your noise or anything about yourself. The strangest thing happened... something not even he would have predicted. His chest tightened.

I swear I'll do everything in my power to protect you

The months had been ticking down but this darling has known you since day one, he's seen you get thrown into precarious situation after precarious situation and every time you handle it with the amount of grace he would hardly expect from somebody in your situation.

Today was no different. You were handling everything tactfully, so much so he was finding himself absently smiling at every word you spoke no matter how grim. But he noticed something before you could - the anomaly, it was coming and ten times faster than anyone would have liked. Without thinking he was already grabbing you by your waist, pulling you quickly towards himself and dashing in the direction it came. If only to keep you away from it a little longer.

Have you ever just suddenly felt a spark you didn't know was there? It was a shock to his mind but not his body, like some part of him had always known. For it he felt worse while his eyes knowingly took brief advantage of the proximity, your eyes, your flushed cheeks, your lips, everything about you simply stunned him.

"I apologize for that-" he quickly tried to excuse, putting his focus back in the right areas... Goodness what had become of him?

Y-you want to spend time with me?! I mean haha totallyyyy

He had always liked you, you were unbelievably and ever-changingly attractive, every day and every time he saw you was like a new burst of stars behind his eyes. Unfortunately, he was like that with a lot of people, even for him it was hard to tell if it was just desperation or genuine attraction.

But you were different. You were always just different. For him it was hard to confirm exactly when he knew you weren't just another desperate reach, whether it be your genuine attempts to reach out and spend time with him too, or the way you smiled at him, worried about his grades and well being.

Maybe it was the way you expertly made Romeo dip off his back.

No. The one time he was absolutely for sure that you were the one, the only priority in his heart had to be when he asked you to see that stupid movie with him. Luca of course invited himself somehow, but Kaito ensured that you were sat between them. His eyes would occasionally flick to your expression, trying to build up the gaul to touch your hand - only to be amazed every time he looked, you were reacting to the same parts that he was. Excited when he was, gasping in tandem with him, genuinely enjoying and invested in the same dumb movie he was.

He never did touch your hand... but having you talk to him so excitedly about the movie was more than reward enough for him. He'd do anything to hear you talk that excitedly again.

[opheliawillowbrook]

Chapter 6: What Happens After 2 A.M.

Summary:

Raven learns firsthand, nothing good ever happened after 2 Am, While Damian tried to come to terms with his feelings (good fucking luck with that) and Rose thinks Jason is a hot stalker.

So last we left off, our poor little empath was feeling all Fifty Shades of Rejected . And listen—if there’s one thing women don’t do better than men, it’s handling rejection.

Yeah, I said it. Don’t come for me in the comments just yet. Think about it: for every guy who’s ever rejected a woman, there are dozens of women who’ve rejected the one guy—not because he’s creepy or weird, but just because she’s not interested. And that’s fine! That’s how the world turns.

Men evolved to handle rejection—like water off a duck’s back. No biggie. On to the next one.

In fact, there’s a scientific term for this phenomenon: greater male variability . Which basically means... not all men get to procreate.

It’s like All Dogs Go to Heaven —but sadder. And lonelier.

Girls, on the other hand? We didn’t evolve for that. One of the easiest things in this world? Catching a dick. Takes almost no effort. You blink too long and—boom. Dick acquired.

So all these girls out here bragging like, “I may be a vapid, shallow, possum of a human being, but I can still catch a dick” —yeah, that’s not a flex. Anyone one or anything can catch a dick. Because for every nice guy looking for his future wife there are like five more who aren’t and are desperate enough to nut in anything. 

Now, keeping a man? Drowning him in a bowl of your pussy-whip? That’s the hard part. That's where evolution really comes into play. That’s the kind of thing that keeps even the most successful, bossed-up women awake at night wondering what they’re missing.

And the answer? Love is a fickle little bastard. Shows up when you least expect it. Usually when you're already crying in public or covered in almond milk at the back of a Whole Foods.

So do yourself a favor, Sarah. Give up. Completely. Stop being a bitch to every guy who says hi or asks you a random question near the produce section. And if he can afford to shop at Whole Foods? That’s a green flag.

Anyway, back to the story at hand.

So yeah, Raven was feeling pretty dejected—especially given that the object of her affection was the one person she regarded as her closest and dearest friend. That’s how they started off: more than friends, but less than lovers. She could understand why Damian’s first instinct was to treat her like the enemy. Hell, in her own way, she’d felt the same. Keep some distance. Don’t disclose too much. Unsure if she could trust him with that kind of depth.

But we all know that didn’t last long.

Because Raven and Damian were a fated pair, whether they liked it or not. Whether it was Ra’s who understood the power running deep within the Lazarus Pit, or Trigon who foresaw just how much his daughter would come to love the boy whose family he once made a deal with— that tether would become more precious than anyone realized.

And their souls would be bound together for all eternity.

That’s a lot to put on two kids.  Emotionally stunned, traumatized kids at that.

And as much as some people might think that should be the end of the story—the cosmic romance, the soul-binding, the star-crossed lovers destined by blood and brimstone—it wasn’t. Because as romantic and dramatic as all that might sound, it was also terrifying. Confusing. Uncharted.

It raised questions. It begged for clarity. And right now?

Damian was just out of reach.

So Raven did the only thing you can do when your “soulmate” isn’t soulmating.

She got fucking shit-faced.

In fact, she got so fucking shit-faced that, at a certain point in the night, everything turned to a blur. And the details of how she came to find herself in her own bed were not even hazy—just simply unaccounted for.

We’re talking: head pounding, stomach weak, mouth dry from booze. At least the air conditioner was blasting. That always helps with a gnarly hangover.

“Fuck,” she groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. She’d survived the darkest depths of her feelings and a full night’s worth of bad decisions... until she glanced over, and once her vision steadied—she realized she was not alone.

Raven froze.

The inevitable Oh my god, did I fuck a stranger last night?! thought ran screaming through her skull.

Not because she didn’t recognize the guy lying next to her—but because she couldn’t see his face. Just a tuft of short black hair and the slope of a bare back, dimly lit in the shadowy room.

Now, an acceptable thing to do would’ve been to wake this motherfucker up.

But that’s easy to say in hindsight.

Because when you’ve only ever had sex with one guy—and not just some guy, but someone you know deeply, like historical-trauma-bound level know—and you wake up next to someone else that you don’t know? That’s soul-crushing humiliation. Especially when you were blacked out and have no idea what happened.

Which brings us to the other little conundrum of this blurry-ass wake-up call: Raven didn’t know if she’d actually slept with this guy or not.

Keep Reading Here

[nizhspo]

megumi's guide to emotional repression.

00: epilogue.

m.list | next

pairing: megumi fushiguro x f!reader

they call it soulmarking.

a phenomenon that dates back centuries—older than jujutsu sorcery, older than modern language. nobody knows where it started, but every child, without fail, wakes up one day with a name etched somewhere on their body.

not their own, but someone else’s. someone meant for them.

the placement varies—over the heart, the inner wrist, the curve of a shoulder blade. the mark is simple: a first name, written in characters as plain as breath. it arrives without pain, always the same way. one morning, you look in the mirror, and there it is: a name that isn’t yours, and yet belongs to you.

the world calls it romantic, a predestined fate, a divine design. but the truth is quieter than that.

soulmates are not promises.

they are possibilities. two souls shaped in complementary ways, molded in such a manner that they could fit beautifully, dangerously, perfectly—but only if they chose to. choice is the key. not all soulmates meet, not all soulmates choose each other, and some soulmates do meet, but never make it work. because love, real love, still requires time, effort, and growth.

it still requires a reason to stay.

names are not maps, but rather compass needles. you can spend your whole life chasing the wrong person with the right name. it happens, first names are common, repeated across cities and centuries, and the mark doesn’t come with a photo, or a date of arrival.

but when it’s them—really them, you know. the ache clicks into place, and the silence between your ribs quiets.

and yet: soulmates are just people. they can lie, hurt, leave, and die.

some treat the marks like curses. some scrub them off in fits of grief. some ignore them completely. some never find theirs at all, and some find them too late.

but for those who do, and who choose to hold on—the bond is something transcendent. it’s not perfect, not painless, but deep and irrevocable, like a second heartbeat.

when megumi was five, a girl in his class told him she didn’t care about her soulmate.

she said it plainly, the way children do–like announcing the weather. she tugged up her sleeve and showed him the name etched faintly on her arm, then pointed at a boy across the room with untied shoes and a runny nose.

“he’s not my type,” she whispered. “but daisuke from the next class? i like him. a lot.”

megumi frowned. “but… he’s not the name on your arm.”

“so?” she blinked. “i like him anyway.”

he stared at her, and she shrugged. “my mom says soulmates are supposed to make you happy. daisuke makes me laugh. that’s enough.”

megumi didn’t understand it then—not fully. but the idea stuck: that someone could have your name etched into their skin and still choose someone else. that a name didn’t mean a future.

that same night, he asked tsumiki what a soulmate really was.

she was brushing her hair, sitting cross-legged on their too-thin futon, humming a song he didn’t know the name of but always recognized after. she paused mid-stroke, thoughtful, then smiled softly like she’d been waiting for him to ask.

“a soulmate,” she said, “is someone the universe made just for you.”

megumi blinked. “like fate?”

she nodded, dreamy. “yeah. like a knight in shining armor, or… someone who hears your voice before you even speak. i think when you meet them, everything just clicks. it’s not always perfect, but it’s beautiful.”

“but how do you know it’s them?”

she turned to face him fully. her eyes were warm, almost wistful. “you just do,” she said. “your heart knows before your head catches up. even if it’s scary. even if it hurts. they’re the person you run to when it rains.”

megumi didn’t really get it. not then. but he memorized the way she said it, like it was something precious, something worth waiting for.

when he was nine, his biology teacher introduced a curriculum unit on soulmarks and genetics.

“it’s a biological anomaly,” the teacher began, arms crossed like he didn’t care. “but people treat it like prophecy. It’s dumb. don’t mistake a mark for a destiny. people get it wrong all the time.”

the class laughed. someone raised their hand and asked, “sir, do you believe in soulmates?”

the teacher scratched his head. “i believe in choice. and most people are too scared to make one.”

megumi didn’t laugh with the class that time. he just looked down at his desk, tracing the ridges in the wood, thinking about the letters inside of his elbow.

when megumi was taken in by gojo shortly after, he liked hanging around shoko. not because she doted on him, because she didn’t—but because she never treated him like a child. she didn’t coddle him, didn’t lower her voice or force softness into her tone because of the absence of a proper mother in his life. when shoko looked at him, she just saw a kid who’d seen too much and didn’t flinch at blood.

she was the one who bought him his first backpack after he was taken in. not gojo. gojo handed over the card and pointed toward the nearest station, said something breezy like “don’t let him buy any weapons,” and disappeared into the crowd. shoko had taken his hand, rolled her eyes, and brought him into the city. they bought school supplies, had ice cream for dinner, and stopped by the morgue so she could sign off a file.

megumi didn’t mind. he liked the quiet. liked her cigarette smell and how she never tried to explain death as something soft. she never told him sugarcoated stories. never said his parents were watching over him. she didn’t lie.

“you’re a sharp kid,” she told him once, when he was twelve. they were standing in a hospital hallway late at night, the vending machine humming beside them, shoko cracking open the window to let the smoke bleed out. her coat was draped over a folding chair. her gloves were off. one of her shoes had a blood smear across the sole.

megumi’s thumb was pressed to the underside of his forearm, over the faint letters that had bloomed there three years ago. his eyes were on the floor.

“so i’m gonna be honest with you,” she continued. “because i see you keep fiddling with that writing on your arm.”

his shoulders stiffened.

she didn’t make a big deal out of it. just exhaled slow, the smoke trailing like thread. “soulmates don’t fix people,” she said. “they don’t save anyone. if they did… geto would still be here.”

he didn’t ask what she meant, and she didn’t offer.

a silence passed, soft with the hum of electricity and the low moan of pipes. shoko tapped the ash from her cigarette out the window.

“gojo still thinks he can love someone back to life,” she added, like it was the worst thing a person could do. “don’t be like him.”

megumi nodded, barely. he didn’t know who geto was yet, not really. but he’d heard the name in gojo’s voice, that one time he woke up from a nightmare and found him standing at the window, hands in his hair.

he looked at shoko, the silver of her earrings catching moonlight, then looked back down at the letters on his arm. they hadn’t changed—they never did.

megumi didn’t ask anything else that night. just let the silence settle between them again, leaning slightly against the wall, eyes distant and watching as the smoke faded, and the sky started to pink.

a year later, megumi asked gojo about it.

it was after sparring, him still catching his breath and gojo looking casual as ever. the sky was low and gray, the kind that felt like it might snow if you looked at it wrong. megumi was icing his shoulder, sitting on the curb outside the training hall. gojo stretched against the wall, a bottle of something fizzy in his hand, blindfold pushed up into his hair.

“what’s it like?” megumi asked, voice low. “having a soulmate.”

gojo didn’t answer right away. just cracked open the bottle and took a long sip. then, softly, like a joke that hurt—he said, “it’s heavy.”

megumi looked up.

“everyone thinks it makes you stronger,” gojo went on, watching the street like it might answer for him. “like it unlocks something. makes you whole. and maybe it does, at first.”

a beat.

“but when you’re strong to begin with—when the world already expects so much from you, loving someone like that is just another weakness to be used. another pressure point.”

his voice was quiet, but flat, like he was explaining a technique.

“you train harder. fight smarter. not for the mission, but for them. and that sounds noble, right?” he glanced at megumi, something unreadable in his expression. “but when you lose them—when they’re used against you—you realize strength doesn’t protect shit.”

megumi didn’t say anything.

gojo finally smiled, but it was small, sharp, and didn’t reach his eyes. “being the strongest doesn’t mean you get to keep what matters. it just means you live long enough to lose more of it.”

he ruffled megumi’s hair as he passed, light and careless, like none of it weighed anything.

“careful with that name on your arm, kid,” he added over his shoulder. “it’s not always just fate, sometimes it’s leverage.”

then there was nanami, and the first time megumi met him, it was raining.

not a gentle drizzle, not the kind that came with umbrellas and hot drinks, but a sharp, drenching downpour, the sky split open like something had given up trying to hold it in. he was thirteen, still quiet in the wrong ways, and gojo had just shoved him at a man in a pressed suit and said, “watch him for the day, would you? i’ve got meetings. or a lunch. or maybe it’s karaoke. either way, he’s all yours.”

nanami kento had looked like he wanted to quit life on the spot.

“i’m not a babysitter,” he said flatly.

“he’s not a baby,” gojo replied, already walking backwards, whistling. “besides, i figured it’d be nice. you two are so… equally joyless.”

megumi had bristled. nanami had sighed.

they spent the day trailing a low-risk curse in the warehouse district. megumi wasn’t talkative, and nanami didn’t care to fill the silence. but there was something oddly calming about being near someone so measured—so capable. nanami didn’t ask questions he didn’t need answers to. he offered precise instructions. when megumi acted on instinct and took a blow he shouldn’t have, nanami didn’t yell or lecture. just patched him up, made a note in his notebook, and said, “next time, lead with your technique, not your fists.”

by the time the sky cracked open, they were on their way home. the bus was delayed. the only shelter was a rusted canopy that rattled every time thunder grumbled across the sky.

nanami didn’t offer his philosophy freely. he wasn’t the type. but maybe he saw the way megumi pressed a thumb against the name on his arm, like it was a bruise he couldn’t stop poking. maybe he recognized the look, because he’d worn it too, once.

“you alright?” nanami asked, voice calm, unreadable.

megumi nodded, but didn’t meet his eyes.

nanami stared out at the street. the rain had turned the pavement slick and glowing. “soulmates aren’t about feeling good,” he said after a moment. “they’re about what you do when it’s hard.”

megumi blinked and looked up. “…what do you mean?”

“i mean,” nanami said, “if you’re going to love someone, do it deliberately. not because your skin told you to. not because you’re told it’s fate. but because you choose them, even when it’s inconvenient. even when it hurts.”

megumi didn’t answer. he just nodded again, more slowly this time, and tucked that sentence somewhere he’d keep it.

he wouldn’t find out until years later, well after nanami was gone, that he’d once been engaged to a woman who ran a tea shop in shinjuku. that he’d given it up, not because he stopped loving her, but because jujutsu sorcery didn’t make room for soft endings. because duty, as it often did, devoured the life he could’ve had.

but even then, nanami hadn’t said anything bitter beneath that canopy. just the truth, plain and dry.

and megumi, twelve years old and soaked to the bone, had listened.

and then there was yuji.

it had barely been a week since meeting him. they didn’t know each other—not really. just thrown into chaos and curses and bloodstained hallways, tied together by circumstance and a name older than the stars carved into a boy’s body.

they were still sleeping on futons in the training hall back then, no dorm assignments yet, just tatami mats and sore limbs and the quiet hum of night pressing at the shoji.

“you got one, right?” yuji’s voice was quiet, almost shy.

megumi blinked in the dark. “one of what?”

“a soul mark,” yuji whispered.

megumi didn’t answer right away. he turned his head, stared at the ceiling. then nodded, and yuji let out a breath, like that meant something. maybe to him, it did.

“it’s okay,” he said quickly, like he was afraid megumi might think he was being weird. “i just think… it’s kind of nice, y’know?”

megumi didn’t know.

“like—” yuji shifted on the mat, crossed his legs, hands fidgeting. “like even if everything’s shit, even if everything gets taken from you… someone out there might already love you.”

he paused, smiled, small and crooked in the dark.

“even if they don’t know you yet.”

megumi didn’t say anything, he did turn to face him as yuji smiled up at the ceiling, arms folded beneath his head, the way kids do when they’re pretending not to be scared of the dark.

“i think… i don’t wanna die before i meet mine,” he said.

megumi glanced at him.

“like, if i’ve got a mark, and someone out there’s got my name, then i should at least get to see their face. right? even just once.” he turned his head, grinned, big and open, like it didn’t terrify him. “otherwise, it’s not a proper death.”

megumi didn’t smile, but something in his chest ached anyway, a quiet pressure beneath his ribs that didn’t ease when he shifted, didn’t fade when yuji’s breathing evened out beside him, and every time he caught the flash of black ink curling over his arm, sharp and certain, like a promise he never made– he thought about all of it.

the girl in his class, who chose daisuke from the next room even though her soulmark said someone else. tsumiki, who believed love was a kind of shelter. his teacher, who said a name could mean anything, until it didn’t. shoko, who told him the truth with ash on her breath. gojo, who talked about soulmates like fire: brilliant, blinding, and ruinous. nanami, who stood in the rain and said love was a choice. and yuji, who smiled like a boy and believed in the kindness of fate.

and he wondered, what if they were all right?

[psychicthepsychic-daily]

confirmation bias, and other fallacies

(Friday Night Funkin')

Words: 759

Summary:

Girlfriend's sick in bed after some (heavily implied) poor decisions she and Boyfriend made on a date. Psychic is left to tend to her and try to understand where she's coming from, when she says this is the boy in whose hands she'd put her life.

i did not mean for this to get so long oops- also i am indeed in the process of finishing the Aldryx birthday fic! i've just been super busy and hit with a bad case of writer's block! apologies for the delay and i'll be sure to get it out as soon as i can!

Psyfic taglist: @y010isaghost, @s0methingmoonlit, @flurriethefox, @hoodiehydra

Let me know if you'd like to be added to/removed from the taglist!

----------

"Sit up straight," Psychic cautions as he sets a tray of bread and tomato soup on the blanket between them, taking a seat on the edge of Girlfriend's bed and letting her disentangle herself from the sheets.

She sneezes. Sneezes again. "Thanks, Psyche," she smiles before sneezing a third time, and that somehow makes the last few hours looking after her worth it. Girlfriend reaches for the spoon and takes a slurp of the soup. "This is nice."

"That's good to hear," he says, tracing the stitching in her maroon comforter. "Next time, don't run the entire perimeter of Newgrounds immediately after swimming in a frozen lake." He can't stop a little bit of snark from entering his tone, even with her.

"It was an accident," Girlfriend mutters defensively. "I already told you that. And I made it out fine. Boyfriend was there to help me."

Boyfriend. Always Boyfriend was there and Boyfriend saved me and Boyfriend was so brave for my sake. Has she forgotten the eighteen years her parents, Psychic spent protecting her, teaching her to protect herself? Scorned, worthless, gone? She's lucky her parents aren't home to hear her.

"It still shouldn't have happened to begin with," Psychic narrows his eyes at her but keeps his tone calm. "And he may have been there this time, but what if someday something does happen and he's not? What if there's nothing he can do? You have to be more careful, Girlfriend. You have to be able to look out for yourself."

She scoffs, blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes and sniffing a little. Psychic gives her the tissue box. "I can," she grumbles, blowing her nose and dropping a wad of Kleenex into the bin by her bed. "I'm not helpless just because he's around to help me, Psychic. I'm just safer because of him. I can rely on him, that doesn't make me weak. I thought you would understand that..." She takes another, smaller sip of soup and stuffs a slice of bread in her mouth, avoiding his gaze. A small, hurt frown creases her face.

Guilt creeps up on Psychic again, frustratingly enough, where it never used to. It's not his place to lecture her.

I wasn't lecturing her, I was only expressing my concerns over her safety and his recklessness—

It's not his place.

That should be enough for him. Boyfriend was there and he wasn't, big deal. Girlfriend is safe, albeit with a fever and cold that she'll recover from overnight. She's a good kid. A strong kid.

She has someone to look out for her now, without the inherent judgement her family has, including him. Psychic's aware of that. Having been around since before her birth, there's no way his devotion hasn't distorted his own view of her. How to protect her. And everyone deserves someone to trust, outside of that echo chamber of assumptions and expectations.

Just because it's Boyfriend doesn't make that any less true. She's right, Psychic of all people should understand.

"I'm sorry." Girlfriend's always preferred for him to say it outright, not hide his feelings behind formalities and language her father would use. "I shouldn't doubt you. I do understand, Girlfriend. But please... remember to stay safe. Both of you. I'm glad things are getting better for you, but it's up to you to keep it that way."

She gives him a tentative grin. "It's okay, Psyche. Does that—" She sneezes. "Does that mean you called Boyfriend?"

Psychic rolls his eyes. "Of course I did." Boyfriend was out of his apartment and dashing across the city before Psychic had a chance to hang up. Possibly the only respectable thing that shrimp's ever done. "He's on his way. Finish your food, Girlfriend. I'll make you some tea."

When she's done, Psychic reaches out with his telekinesis and lifts her tray. "Get some rest," he encourages softly, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. Her forehead is still warm. Psychic lets his magic soothe some of her discomfort. "Your boyfriend will be here soon. I'll come back with your tea in a minute."

He switches off the ceiling light as he leaves but her bedside lamp continues to glow as she snuggles deeper within the covers. She's already asleep by the time he comes back.

Psychic doesn't wake her; the girl needs her rest. He leaves her tea on the nightstand to warm again later, and remains outside her room, resolute to keep her safe and comforted, no matter who he shares that role with now.

[starcurtain]

Just caught up with Natlan's archon quest and lord help me, I have a burning need to see Alhaitham and Ororon interact.

I truly feel that they would vibe perfectly. Not in a ship way, but like, in the way of Kaveh quietly wailing: "For archons' sake, he's brought another tacky thing into the house. Traveler, please do something; they've been staring eye to eye over the coffee table for like an hour now but haven't said a single word. I don't know what to do. Send help."

[callme000]

I'm already sick of listening to nerds bitching about historical accuracy in Nolan's adaption of The Odyssey

[waytootiredstudent]

When a character is like "they care about you so I have to care too" fuuuck I eat that shit up. You love someone so much that you even love the things they love. You care so much that you even care for the things they care about. If that transcends death? Even better. They are dead but they loved you so much that I have to take care of you now no matter what I think. You are nothing to me but everything to them so I have to care now too.

[sysig]

Reading moodboard #84430940 (Patreon)

[bluukive]

mdni, stubborn wifey is hesitant to sit on Sukuna's face

It wasn't hard for Sukuna to convince you to straddle his head, with thighs trembling, and robes tossed to the side somewhere like a second thought. Unfortunately for him, you refused to sit down.

“Stop squirming, woman,” Sukuna barked, his voice creating a low rumble between your shaking legs. His hands were occupied, settling on your waist and aching thighs. The four limbs flexed in an attempt to get you to sit, but not hard enough to hurt you.

“Sit. On. My. Face. Do not make me beg.”

“Wait, no. Listen to me—” You stammer, attempting to crane your head back so that you could look at your increasingly impatient husband. “It’s not that I don’t want to. . . what if I hurt you or something?"

Sukuna paused, and you could feel his stare burn holes into your bare ass that he was face to face with. He was offended.

"Do you truly think you will hurt me?”

You grimaced, turning back around and staring at the bulges underneath his own undergardments. “Maybe! I know I'm not exactly the lightest and—”

He scoffed. A deep, utterly offended sound like you’ve just told him that his muscles were just there for show.

“I have flattened countless provinces with a single wave of my hands, levelled many terrains during my lifetime,” he deadpanned, tone growing increasingly proud. "And you think your precious little cunt on my face is going to kill me?”

You groaned into your hand in deep embarrassment. “Must you phrase it like that?”

“Cunt, pussy. Mine, more importantly,” he listed lazily, a sliver of tongue flashing against his sharp teeth as he spread your pussy open with a thick thumb.

"Call it what you wish. I demand you put it on my mouth. Now.”

You shifted again, lower lip caught under your teeth as you debated to yourself whether to give into your husbands desires. “I don't understand why you want me to sit on your face. How does this even feel good for you?"

Sukuna's nostrils flared, and he prayed to whatever godforsaken deity was out there for more patience.

“Woman—” he started but then cut himself off with a gravelly mutter. Sukuna dragged a large hand over his face, aching now for some sort of contact from you. "You deny me pleasure by not letting me make you cum.”

“There's no way you get pleasure out of this. I'm incredibly baffled—”

And that retort from you was the last straw.

Your husband had decided that you had stalled enough, finally yanking you down by your hips until your pussy slammed directly onto his salivating mouth. A sharp gasp left you as your hands looked for something to support your weight. But that was unnecessary since Sukuna held you in place with ease.

“Thiiis,” he snarls between frenzied licks and sucks, “is what gets me off.”

You couldn't reply, cries coming out choked.

"Hearing you cry for me, feeling you clench around my tongue. This is what makes me feel good.”

Sukuna's tongue flattened against your folds, dragging upwards in motions slow enough to make you squeal in ecstasy.

“I want you to use me," he murmurs, voice delirious. “I want you to make a mess. Most importantly, dear wife—” Sukuna paused to obscenely suck your clit into his mouth with force, “I need you to sit on my face like it's your throne."

You’re panting now, eyes teary with thighs trembling on either side of his head. Your nails raked up his abs, fingers prodding at his grumbling stomach mouth in the process. Its tongue flicked out, lathering your weak digits with warm saliva.

“Sh-shiiit,” you gasped raggedly, "Kuna, fuck—”

Your beloved husband didn't answer. He chose to pull you down harder, like he didn't want to breathe. Two hands kneaded at your hips as he licked deeper, tongue-fucking you earnestly while one of his lower arms lazily palmed both painfully erect cocks beneath his underwear.

You leaned forward, clearly dazed. Your bleary eyes landed on the movement in front of you. The sight of your husband getting off made you clench once more around his tongue, cunt oozing out another warm wave of slick that Sukuna was more than happy to lap up.

All he could think about was making you cum on his tongue.

"A-ah, you're touching yourself. . ."

“Of course,” he practically purred against your slick-soaked cunt. “My wifes pretty cunt is on my mouth. Did you think I would not?”

You couldn't answer him— not like this, where pleasure was the sole thing at the forefront of your poor fucked-out mind.

"S-slow down, please. S'too much."

“Not enough,” he drawled through wetted lips as he gathered saliva into his mouth, spitting directly onto your clenching hole. You felt the impact, jolting forward with a pitched squeal to your husbands perverted delight.

Sukuna removed his hand off of his cock, fully intending on denying himself pleasure if you weren't the one giving it to him. He experimentally bucked his hips up into the air once, hissing at the friction of his cocks against his clothes.

“Sit still now, and let me come from devouring you.”

[yurizq]

ෆ You didn't really understand what sex meant. You knew the basics, of course. You weren't a child. But the feelings part— the trembling, fluttery, breath-stealing part-that you didn't know.

Not until you met Toji.

He was nothing like the boys who smiled at you awkwardly or asked you on nervous coffee dates.

Toji Fushiguro was... something else.

Bigger. Quieter. Dangerous in a way that never made you afraid-just made your heart beat weird and your thoughts get foggy. You followed him like a shadow, always asking questions in your soft, curious voice.

"Toji," you said one night, curled on his lap, playing with the zipper on his jacket, "how do people know when they're ready to... um... sleep together?"

His body stiffened.

You blinked up at him, legs tucked under you, wearing nothing but one of his shirts and a pair of your sleep shorts. You didn't notice the way his jaw flexed. Or the way his eyes darkened.

"I-I don't mean I'm ready!" you said quickly, hands flailing. "I just meant... how do you know?"

He was silent for a long moment.

Then, finally, he growled, "You askin' me to show you?"

Your breath caught. "You'd... do that?"

Toji stared at you, completely still.

"You don't even know what you're askin' for, do you?"

You shook your head slowly. "No... but... if it's with you... I think I'd like it."

That was all it took.

He took you to the bedroom, moved with a quiet, intense purpose. You were barely breathing as he laid you down, brushing your hair out of your eyes like you were something precious.

"You're shakin'," he murmured, watching your hands fidget.

"Scared?"

You hesitated. "No... just nervous. l've never... I mean... no one's ever touched me before."

Toji exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was trying to rein himself in.

"You're killin' me, angel."

He undressed you slowly-almost reverently-lifting your shirt off your trembling body, peeling your shorts down your thighs. You squeaked, instinctively covering yourself.

"Hey," he said, voice low but gentle, grabbing your wrists. "None of that. I

wanna see you."

You lowered your arms, cheeks burning. "Sorry... I just... I don't know what to do."

Toji leaned down, brushing his lips against your neck, your jaw, your cheek. "That's the best part, baby.

You don't have to know. Just let me do the work."

You nodded, trusting.

When he touched you-between your legs, with two thick fingers-you jumped, hips twitching. "Toji-! That tickles!"

He smirked. "That ain't tickling, sweetheart. That's what. You're already soaking wet."

"For a good girl like you?" he growled.

He worked you open slowly, stretching you carefully, kissing you when you whined or tried to squirm away.

And when he finally slid the tip of his cock against your entrance, your eyes went wide.

"Toji... it's not gonna fit," you whispered, panicked. "It's too big..."

"It'll fit," he promised, voice gruff, body tense. "Might cry a little. That's okay. I'll hold you through it."

You did cry-just a little. From the stretch, the pressure, the depth of him. He kissed your tears away, praising you the whole time.

"Doin' so good for me," he whispered, cradling your face as he sank deeper.

"Takin' me so well. Just like that."

And once you were fully open to him, once your whimpers turned to soft moans and your legs wrapped around his waist, Toji lost control.

He fucked you slow but deep, grinding into you with each thrust, one hand gripping the headboard, the other guiding your hips.

You were panting beneath him, overwhelmed and desperate, your body trembling with every new sensation. "It feels weird," you gasped. "It's so much..."

"Shh," he soothed, kissing your temple. "You're doin' perfect. You were made to take me."

When you finally broke-your first orgasm hitting like a wave, eyes wide and dazed-Toji groaned, thrusting deeper as he spilled inside you.

"Now you're mine," he growled into your neck. "You understand that, right? You let me inside, and that means no one else gets you. Ever."

You nodded, already half-asleep in his arms. "Okay... I like being yours..."

He kissed your shoulder.

"You don't even know what you've done to me.

[chuluoyi]

✎ all of me

- gojo satoru x reader

you understand that some things in marriage just needs compromise. and he soon understands too, when you're at your most vulnerable and he fails to be by your side when you need him the most

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship (you're married & have a son!) argument, feral gojo, mentions of injury & blood, fluff

note: if it isn't obvious by now i'm in the mood of angst-hurt/comfort this week HEHE :)) this is longer than the usual love entry, so i hope you'll enjoy it!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Bantering with your husband is not uncommon―in fact, it happens on daily basis.

"Satoru― I'm talking to you!"

But having serious arguments with him is another matter entirely.

Your fists tightening at your sides, facing his unamused expression. How insufferable is he? You told him that everyday, but right now, he's truly surpassed previous levels of infuriating behavior.

"And I can hear you, sweetheart," he retorted, casting a glance your way. The term of endearment he used for you sounding almost like a sneer to your ears and you felt offended.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously," you griped, trying to calm your emotions, still balling your hands. "Someone is following our son on his way back from school―how can you be this... flippant?!"

Numerous photograph of your son exiting the school building from different angles had arrived in your mailbox, and if it wasn't a creepy warning from those who placed a target on his back, then you didn't know what it was.

Satoru let out an exasperated grunt. "I'm telling you, I'll pick him up for the rest of the week. No one will lay a hand on him."

You gritted your teeth. "And I'm telling you, they're trying to make you do just that. Even morons know not to mess with you― they're leaving hints, and you're taking the bait!"

Contrary to what you believed, Satoru felt just as worried as you upon knowing that someone might have marked his precious son, who was now six years old and had recently started attending preschool.

But this is where your approaches differ. You are always the cautious one, overanalyzing each detail, while he leans towards being impulsive, often resorting to brute force.

"Who do you think can stand a chance against me?" Satoru challenged with a real sneer this time. "Remember my words, wife, no one is going to hurt me, you or our baby. I'll end them where they stand."

"That's not the point!" you threw your hands in the air, irate. "Satoru, they're going to take advantage of―"

"Look, I don't want to argue with you." Satoru's gaze was hard on you, his tone clipped, and it made you stiffen. "His safety comes first— and you, of all people, should know I'd never let anything happen to him. You need to quit nitpicking and have a little faith in me."

"I know you are more than capable, but you are not―!"

And then he said it, and his words piercing through you like a knife―

"Don't compare me to you," your husband remarked a little too coldly. "I can do things you can't. Just rest your pretty head, I'll take care of the rest."

Nevermind that he blatantly dismissed your skills as a jujutsu sorcerer, nevermind that he totally didn't listen to you at all―he just went and made himself look like some sort unparalleled god, forgetting how much his hubris could actually take him.

And all these thoughts only made you angrier.

"So be it then." You tried desperately to hold yourself from shaking because you'd be damned if you showed it to him. "A word of advice, Satoru: beware of your arrogance."

With those words, you spun around, marching off toward your son's room, because no way in hell was you going to sleep with that obnoxious prick tonight.

But when you caught the sight of your baby scuttling away from the gap in the door, a fragment of your heart crumbled. Oh. He has seen it all.

In Gojo Satoru's mind, he is made of two things: a powerful jujutsu sorcerer and a family man.

With his immense strength, comes a certain responsibility. And with that responsibility, certain habits have formed. If you just took a few seconds to breathe and looked back throughout the past decade he'd spent with you, you'd know that in fact―

It was also his way to shield you. Satoru stands by the principle that you and his little boy must be protected at all cost, and he most certainly would pull all stops to do just that.

But frankly, he couldn't deny that he felt insulted by how defiant you were. Did you really think he would let anyone ever touch your―his―son? He wouldn't, they'd meet his wrath first and you should've known that.

Still, something akin to guilt nudged at his conscience as he lay alone in your shared bed that night. It felt strange not having you cuddling him. He felt empty.

. . .

None of your shampoo-scented pillow, none of your nightdresses, all of it replaced by a single photo hanging in the wall and the urn of ashes—

Abruptly, he jerked his eyes open, shaken from the most dreadful nightmare he had experienced—

Of you no longer by his side.

“Mama.” Your little boy looked up to you with his doe-blue eyes in the next day, his hand gripping yours. “I’ll be fine.”

You were accompanying him to the preschool. While Satoru had requested Ichiji to drive him, you insisted on tagging along to keep a watchful eye as well. You'd leave your husband to pick him up later just as he wanted.

“Huh?” you turned to him, tilting your head.

“I'll stick by Uncle Ichiji's side the entire time,” he replied in a murmur. “And papa will be picking me up too later. If there are bad guys, they'll get him first.”

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. Your boy witnessed your outburst last night and hadn't inquired about it until now, and even then, he was trying to reassure you.

“So… don’t fight.” His round, cerulean eyes then darted towards you, blinking hesitantly, causing you to catch your breath.

He looks so much like Satoru. At six years old, he was the spitting image of him, except his personality—he took after you in that area. It was as if your son was a softer, more innocent version of him. And your heart twisted, remembering your argument last night.

Don't compare me to you.

With a sigh, you bent down to be eye-level with him and managed a smile, holding both of his little hands. “I’m sorry… it was just misunderstanding last night, okay? Don’t worry.”

“…really?”

“Really. Mama and papa were just tired,” you tried to reason, a thin smile on your face. "It's going to be okay, just like you said, yeah? Papa will beat the bad guys out there."

“Will he pull through...? If they bring a knife, and he's just there laughing, they can cut him.”

A giggle escaped your lips at your baby's innocent wonderings, easing the ache in your heart as you recalled how Satoru humored him in so many ways.

You gently poked your son in the cheek. "Nah, do you remember what he always goes on about?"

He puffed up his cheeks in response, his expression turning sour as if combing through memories of hundreds of shenanigans Satoru had instigated to recall his words. You let out a hearty chuckle, finding him so adorable.

"He's strong, he's going to win. He always does."

"Oh. Mmm." Your son scrunched up his nose cutely, before looking away and squeezing your hand. A sincerer smile bloomed in your lips, heart melting at the sight of your growing munchkin.

You will protect him. And maybe you could patch things up with Satoru later that night. Maybe yesterday you were just too paranoid.

That was the plan... at least until your son suddenly screamed—someone wrenching him from your grasp. Without a second thought, you reacted, flipping the attacker away from you and him.

. . . and that was the beginning of how everything started to unravel so terribly that day.

"Gojo-san...! There's been an incident!"

He got that call right after he finished some things with Yaga. Satoru teleported to the preschool right away, only to be greeted by a scene of utter chaos.

Several teachers stood outside the building, and police officers were present at the scene. It was all a blur of cursed energy until his eyes caught sight of—

His little boy, red-faced and obviously in fear, was clinging to Ichiji, who was frantically making calls. Some teachers gathered around him were seemingly trying to coax him to speak.

He didn't waste a second to dash towards him, tearing through the crowd.

"Are you okay? Hey, buddy, what happened?" Satoru pulled him away from Ichiji and turned him over, crouching to his level to check for any signs of injury or harm.

And upon seeing him actually here, his son's eyes immediately welled up with tears, and Satoru felt a chill run through his veins as he broke into sobs, which quickly turned into heart-wrenching wails.

"Mama—! F-find mama—!" the little boy choked out through his tears, clutching onto his shirt tightly and crumbling in his embrace, thoroughly inconsolable.

Satoru's sharp gaze quickly swept over the scene, seeking any clues, while he tightened his hold over him. It was then he noticed traces of your cursed energy mingled with blood.

They hurt you.

"Hey, kiddo—listen to me, it's going to be alright, yeah?" Satoru said, gently pulling away to wipe away his tears, holding the boy's face tenderly in his hands. "Go with Ichiji for now, okay? I'm going to bring mama back, I promise."

He didn't need to be told twice. Your son is always obedient when it matters the most. He gave him a small nod, still shaking with tears.

"Don't worry," he flashed a reassuring smile and ruffled his hair. "I'm the strongest, remember? I'll get her back," he vowed once again. "She'll be fine. Wait for me until then, yeah?"

Ichiji was ready to leave as he had called for those in headquarters as backup in case anything were to happen again. Trusting him to keep his son safe, Satoru took off as soon as he could no longer see the sight of his son's tear-streaked face trying to watch him as the car pulled away.

"I won't repeat myself— where is my wife?"

Satoru wasn't playing this time. He skipped past taunts and just plain threats. These little fries, he thought.

The man he held by the throat was in a lot of distress. "Hyaaa! It's him! Please, please, let me go! I'm acting under orders!"

He then flung him across the wall— might have added more cursed energy than necessary.

At the moment, his entire focus was on trying to locate you. He couldn't let his mind wander to anything else; in fact, he didn't permit himself to.

It didn't take him long to piece together the general location of where you were through the residual of your cursed energy. They stationed several hooligans in this abandoned warehouse to stall him, but he got rid of them quickly and he could sense that you were close by.

"It's Gojo Satoru!"

"Run! Ruuuun!"

What a pain. They picked the wrong person to mess with, and Satoru's lips curled into a manic grin as he opened his palm, pulling them in—

"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."

Chaos erupted as the building collapsed around him. He hoped you would realize he was here and manage to avoid getting caught in the wreckage. He was sure you'd know though.

And true to his thoughts, soon he found you— blasting your attacker away with a powerful kick.

Satoru thought that you were a sight to behold, really. And he was about to call out to you when he felt it.

It happened almost in an instant. The way his heart dropped to his stomach, and how his body reacted, barely whispering the incantation for Red as he shot it at something lurking behind you—

At that moment, the only thing you were aware of was the foul stench of a curse. Time seemed to stop before the overwhelming force of Red expelled it away from you.

But before then, you experienced a searing, white-hot pain that scorched through your flesh and pierced your abdomen—

"Y/N―fuck―!" The voice that came from Satoru's throat was raw and laden with panic.

He pulled you against him protectively as you collapsed, blinded by pain. He immediately felt warmth spreading across his lower body—your blood was rapidly drenching his shirt, and he felt a shiver down his spine.

You held onto him tightly while suppressing your scream, feeling every bit of your strength drain away along with the dark crimson blood that poured out of you.

"―toru―" you managed to croak amidst the scalding pain, curling and whimpering in his hold.

"Hey― sweetheart, please―" his voice rang in your ears, as he pressed down on your wound. His hands were shaking, and you clawed at him and groaned in agony. "I-I'm taking you back now― You're going to be alright, yeah?"

The wound was beyond anything you had experienced before, causing you to cry out and gasp for air. It was almost as if something fried your insides. It was hard to stay conscious.

"I've got you now. You're going to be okay." His voice was coarse, as he hurriedly carried you out. And he tried not to let the full-blown panic take over him when your body went limp in his arms, your breaths slowing, head lolling in his chest.

"You're going to be alright! You hear me, sweetheart? You're going to make it. Our baby― he's waiting for you. I promise you, you're going to be fine―"

Perhaps he was trying to tell that to himself, because despite the excruciating pain, a wave of reassurance washed over you.

You were in the arms of the strongest sorcerer alive, what more could you possibly afraid of?

A special grade curse. They had actually unleashed a potent curse and likely aimed at him as their final card—until it veered off course and struck you, leaving a searing gash across your abdomen.

Satoru felt numb as he sat in the waiting room in his bloodied uniform. You got hurt so terribly right in front of his eyes, and all he could feel was this profound void that seemed to bore through him and pierced his soul.

He was supposed to protect you. He said it to your face that nothing and no one would touch your son, and it was in his wedding vows that he'd protect you with his life too.

And yet what happened?

If only he was faster. If only he was able to pull you to him and protect you with his infinity—none of this shit would have happened.

Seeing your face twisted in agony and smeared with blood made him feel sick to his stomach. Inside that OR, you hovered on the brink of life and death, and he was here, unable to do anything.

Satoru rested his head against the wall, feeling a sharp pain surge through his chest. He remembered waking up to your face every morning, the way your touches felt, and how you had brightened his world for the past decade. If he lost you now... he wouldn't survive it. He would wreck anything, everything—

"Papa!" and came his voice of reason. Satoru immediately discarded his bloodstained jacket by instinct, throwing it away before his boy could see it, with Ichiji and Megumi closely trailing behind.

His son crashed himself into him and threw his little arms around his torso, crying—and in that very second, the thump of his heart sounded louder in his ears. Somehow it felt like a knife that twisted his insides.

"Hey, kiddo." Satoru repositioned him so that he would sit on his lap and hugged him, patting him in the back. "There, there... it's alright, yeah? Mama is inside, she'll get better soon."

Your little boy pulled away and wiped his eyes, and Satoru chuckled as he helped him blow his nose. His child was incredibly adorable, and his actions mirrored yours to such an extent that it made Satoru's heart soften.

"Mama g-got hurt trying to... tell me to g-go..." the boy suddenly said amidst his quieter sniffles. "And... she s-said... papa— i-is strong and g-going to win..."

You believe in him. Ignoring the ache in his chest, only able to reply him with a "Yeah..."

Not long after, Shoko emerged from the operating room and informed him that the surgery had been successful, though you would likely need to have a one-week stay in the hospital for observation. He intended to move you to the VIP suite and stay the night there, but then he remembered his son, who was holding his hand.

Satoru crouched down and patted him in the head, fixing him a smile. "See? Mama is okay, but she needs to sleep here to get even better. Now you go home first with big brother Megumi, yeah?"

Your son adored Megumi and often begged you to let him stay over at his place, but this time he looked hesitant, fiddling with his little fingers. "Really? Mama will be home... soon?"

"Mm-hmm, the more she sleeps here, the faster she'll go back home, alright?"

And with that, his baby nodded and Satoru turned to Megumi with a nod. "Thank you for this, Megumi."

The boy whose life he had once saved on some sort of a whim, now grown up and shared the same concern he had for you, Fushiguro Megumi had never before witnessed his benefactor expressing such sincere gratitude for anything before.

When you came to, your body felt as heavy as lead.

The discomfort in your abdomen made you flinch, and you almost let out a groan until you turned to your side and saw him.

Satoru was asleep while sitting in the sofa next to your bed, dark circles evident under his eyes. It might have been your imagination, but his cheeks appeared to be slightly red too.

You tried to recall what had happened to you when it came back—you urging your son to run away as you let yourself being taken away, almost escaping from that warehouse, the flash of excruciating pain, and Satoru's stricken voice.

So he must've been here since last night. Any remnants of your disagreement seemed to have vanished, seeing him there with you, barely covering himself with the blanket, with a frown still marking his forehead even in his sleep.

You wanted to reach out to him until the movement sent a sharp jab to your stomach and you cried out a bit.

In that split second, Satoru's eyes jerked open, and realizing you were awake, his gaze locked onto yours. "Y/N—" But your strained whimper and expression told him everything. "Does it hurt? I-I'll get Shoko, wait—"

And then he hit the call button. Throughout it all, he kept a firm grip on your hand for reassurance. A few minutes later, Shoko arrived and examined your wound, subsequently administering painkillers to alleviate your discomfort.

"It's going to leave a scar," she explained grimly, showing the mangled skin where the curse had made its mark on you, and seeing that, Satoru clenched his fists.

Shoko sighed, empathizing with her friend's frustration. "It's going to fade with time, don't worry. You did well, Gojo. You brought her here quickly. Had you been even slightly later, there could have been an irreversible damage to her organs."

But your husband remained quiet, unable to bring himself to look at you. And after she left, you tried to finally voice your question to him.

"O-our—"

"He's fine," Satoru immediately answered, squeezing your hand. "Our boy is fine. I'll tell Megumi to visit later—he's with him."

A sigh of relief came out of you. "Thank... goodness."

But his expression seemed to fall even further after hearing your response. Satoru settled himself on the seat next to you and lowered the rail on your bed, allowing you to be even closer to each other.

"Do you not feel any pain anymore?" he asked then, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He looked so sad, a stark contrast of how he usually was, and it bugged you.

"No... I feel fine now."

"Then, can I hug you?"

Of course you nodded without a second thought, and carefully, he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you close and resting his face on the crook of your neck.

You knew what it was. Satoru was still visibly shaken by what had happened to you, and he wasn't great at expressing himself, so he tried to find consolation through this physical closeness instead.

"I'm okay..." you patted his back, trying to convince him. "I'm alright now, yeah?" But to your surprise, suddenly his whole body started to shake. "Satoru...?"

“…’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he nuzzled you. “I shouldn't... have let you get this hurt...”

It always amazes you how Satoru always gets this distressed whenever you sustain any injury. You had seen him cry precisely two times now—once after you gave birth to your son and experienced severe bleeding, and now.

"It's not your fault..." you whispered in response. "You... have protected me well."

He held you tighter, his tone faltering. "I didn't."

"You have..." you stroked his hair, trying to convince him. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Hearing you say that made Satoru's chest ache. The thought of something like this happening to you was unimaginable, and now that it had, he couldn't come to terms with seeing you hurt right in front of him.

"Don't—" he choked on his voice, his breath trembled against your neck. "Don't ever put yourself in danger again. If something happened to you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself..."

You couldn't make that promise. Despite the pleading in his voice, you knew deep down that your son's life—and his—meant more, and given the chance, you would obviously save theirs for yours.

“Satoru... I love you, you know that, right?”

So you simply embraced him close, hoping that in this life, you would live long enough that he would never have to see you like this again.

Epilogue

"Papa, how do I become stronger?"

Satoru blinked when his son asked him that so innocently and curiously, taken aback as he led him to your private room later that afternoon. "Oh? What brought this on?"

His first and only son, a perfect miniature of himself, pursed his lips. "I don't want Mama to get hurt again..."

Satoru's heart warmed at his baby’s sincere words, and despite himself, he chuckled.

"What's funny?" his son leveled a glare at him. "I'm being serious."

"Well, aren't you such a good boy? Don't worry, kiddo, I'll teach you my ways~"

"What ways?"

"Well, no need to rush, pumpkin. First of all, you will have to harness your skills and then you have to be more like me—"

"Do I have to be like you…? Is there no other way?"

"—? What's wrong with being more like me?"

"Everything...?"

[syncaleb]

── .✦ 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 & 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 -> « link »

•caleb casually drops the “we’re dating” lie at school like it’s no big deal. he is tired of the guy who sends you ‘wanderer samples’, or the dude who comes over the house asking to ‘borrow’ your homework. besides, he is a senior, older than you — soon he will leave the school & his precious pipsqueak will get swamped by men. disgusting. the thought alone sends shivers down his spine.

“nah, i can’t go out saturday. got a date with my girl.” he hums to one of his friends in the basketball court, juniors are also here, perfect! he made sure to say it echoing enough that everyone hears it.

“…your girl?”

“yeah, the one i live with? the one who comes cheerin’ me up for my matches? the one who i share my soda can with? duh.” honestly? it’s not hard to believe at all, that you and caleb are a thing… people don’t even question it. the way you touch him like he’s yours, the way you depend on him…

•however — you find out when someone congratulates you on “finally making it official” and you’re just standing there like ?????

caleb comes up right after, sipping from his stupid juice box, his hand gently wrapping around your waist, gentle… so careful… but firm.

“oh, pips, did you not tell them yet?”

•he acts like your boyfriend in every possible way. carries your books. pulls your chair out. walks you to class. then again… when does he not? you don’t notice any significant changes in caleb’s behaviour. and you are too kind to embarrass him like that…

you: “stop it. i am old now i don’t need your help—“

him: “i’m committed to the bit. besides, you are old doesn’t mean i would stop being there for you?”

•he’s extra affectionate at school but still the same annoying menace at home.

he’ll poke your forehead and be like,

“my girlfriend’s so short i gotta bend to reach her thoughts.”

and then dodge your swing like he’s done it a million times.

•grandma’s suspicious but says nothing. just watches the two of you with a knowing look and a cup of tea like she’s watching a soap opera play out in her living room. josephine hater ™️ -> me.

•eventually — caleb starts keeping you close in crowded hallways. real possessive.

“watch it,” he says to a senior who brushed your shoulder. “my cupcake’s kinda delicate.”

you: “i’m literally not? i want to be a hunter you’re being a cornball!”

caleb: just ruffles your hair with his soft grin.

•he puts “girlfriend 💕” as your contact name in his phone. when you try to change it, he changes his lockscreen to a blurry selfie of you mid-yawn captioned: cute little pipsqueak

honestly you don’t understand where it comes from, or why caleb suddenly tells everyone he’s your boyfriend. but eventually, you couldn’t care less.

•one day, when he was making his fussy eater (you) some braised chicken wings — you confront him about the rumor; and he just shrugs. the usual avoidance plastered on his face.

“everyone already thinks it. why not just… go with it?”

you: “why would you do that?”

he goes, suddenly quiet, expressive in a somber and yearning way: “because i wanted it to be true.”

•and he doesn’t look smug or cocky. he looks… soft.

and maybe you’re thinking about how he always saves you the last cookie. or he does your laundry because you hate it, or that he gives you piggy-back rides home because you get sassy that your feet hurt, or that he brought you a movie prop from your favorite movie… or how he lets you sleep in his arms in the attic…

how he always hovers.

how he yells at the TV for you during horror movies.

-> maybe it doesn’t sound so fake after all.

maybe next monday, you grab his hand in the hallway. by yourself, and the shock on his face… is all you needed to know to understand the intensity of his feelings…

maybe this time, the rumor becomes real.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

All of you

A/N: This is smut so mdni please. Bob takes readers virginity. The reader is called a variety of pet names like honey, baby, and princess. Bucky's version will be out tomorrow!

You had told him once–awkwardly, cheeks flushed. You said it in the quiet way someone drops something delicate into open hands—that you'd never done this before. Not in a “saving it” way. Not for any big reason. Just… you never met someone. Until now. And now, you wanted to. With him. Bob had kissed you then, slow and understanding, hands cradling your jaw like you were something precious. “Whenever you’re ready,” he’d said. “And only if you want to.”

That conversation was two weeks ago and tonight, with his hands smoothing over your back, his eyes searching yours in the low amber light of his bedroom—you wanted to.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, voice low and steady, every syllable wrapped in patience. You nodded, biting your lip. “I want it to be with you.” Bob smiled, not the playful smirk you knew so well, but something softer, loving.

“You’ve got me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “All of me. Just say stop if anything feels wrong, yeah?” You nodded and kissed him instead of responding verbally.

He took his time, like he always did—like every brush of skin and every look meant something. Because with Bob, it always did. Your shirt was the first thing to go, his warm hands tracing every inch of new skin like he was trying to memorize it. He looked at you like you were art. Like he couldn’t believe you were choosing him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, watching you blush and shift beneath his gaze. “Do you know that?” You shook your head, biting your bottom lip gently. He kissed your neck, then your shoulder, and then he moved lower. “Then Imma keep reminding you,” he spoke against your skin like he was taking a vow.

When you were finally bare beneath him, vulnerable and shaking just a little, he paused—lips brushing yours, one hand pressed to your cheek.

“We can stop right now,” he said. “No pressure. I’m okay with just hold you just like this.” But you kissed him again, deeper this time. "Please, Bob. I want you." He nodded softly and kissed the skin he could reach.

“You still okay baby?” he asked, voice quiet. You were beneath him now, your legs spread and trembling, your body buzzing with nerves and need. His fingers had already coaxed you open, gentle and deliberate. You were flushed and soaked and aching. You nodded, eyes wide, heart in your throat. “Yeah. Just…nervous.” Bob leaned down and kissed your forehead. Then your cheek. Your lips. He lingered there, soft and sure. “You’re allowed to be nervous. We’ll go slow. We don’t have to do anything that doesn’t feel right.”

“I trust you,” you whispered. His breath caught, just a little. Then he reached for the condoms he’d placed on the nightstand. “Okay, baby. I got you. Let me take care of you.” He rolled it on, and even that—watching him, hard and flushed and careful—made your stomach flip. “Deep breath for me baby,” he murmured, settling between your thighs again. One of his hands intertwined with yours, the other guiding himself. His tip brushed your entrance, hot and slick.

The stretch burned a little. You winced—and instantly, Bob froze. “You okay?” he asked. Concern clouded his expression. “Too much?”

“No, no,” you panted. “Just… different. But I’m okay. You can keep going.”

You might've been okay physically, but you were so nervous. He could see it in your eyes. Bob dipped his head, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll go slow. Just the tip first. If it’s too much, I’ll stop. You squeeze my hand, okay?” You nodded, unable to find your words. And then he pushed in—just an inch. Stretching you, slow and steady, burning but not unbearable. You gasped. Your grip tightened on his hand.

“Breathe,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re doing so good for me honey. Just let me in a little more.” He moved gently, easing forward. You could feel every ridge of him, every inch of him as he filled you, his free hand rubbing soothing circles along your thigh. When he was fully inside, you were panting—overwhelmed, full, and blinking back tears.

“Jesus,” he groaned, clenching his jaw to focus on staying still. “You feel incredible. So warm. So fucking perfect. Oh my god.” You weren’t sure if it was the stretch or the way he said it, but something in you cracked open. You moaned softly, hips tilting. “There we go,” he praised, kissing your jaw. “Look at you. Taking me so well princess.”

He rocked into you, just a little. A slow roll of his hips. It hurt less now—just pressure, just a stretch. The sting was starting to become more of a heat, more of pure desire.

He moved again. Another gentle thrust. His lips dragged down your neck. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Got you like this. Wrapped around me. So fucking good for me.” A whimper slipped from your throat. You were gasping now—wanting more, and not sure how to ask for it. But Bob knew. He always knew what you wanted...what you needed. “Want it deeper?” he asked, voice hoarse. You nodded desperately and moaned the only word you could think of. “Please.”

His hips rolled again, this time firmer, and you felt it. The drag. The stretch. The thick push of him sliding against places you didn’t know could be so sensitive. “Oh my god,” you gasped before moaning louder than before. “That’s it,” he growled, picking up the pace. “Taking all of me. You’re doing so good, taking me so well–so deep.” Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. You clung to him like he was the only solid thing in the world. His hands wrapped around your thighs, leaving fingerprint bruises on the soft flesh from how tight he was holding them. And he held you back. Fucked you slow, deep, careful—but deliberate. Like he wanted to imprint the feeling of you in his bones.

You were trembling when you came. Clenching around him, nails digging into his back, breath caught in your throat as pleasure washed over you. Bob kissed you through it, whispering praise, fucking you through the aftershocks until he finally gasped, burying himself deep with a low, “Fuck—baby—” as he came too.

He didn’t pull out right away. He just held you, still deep inside you, stroking your hair and murmuring against your skin.

“Can you talk?” he asked softly. You nodded, eyes fluttering open. “M’still here.” Bob smiled and muttered “Good”, against your forehead. “You did so good. I’m so proud of you, you know that?.” Your body was trembling a little, but not from fear. It was the overstimulation. The exhaustion and emotions flowing through your bones.

He slipped out of you slowly, murmuring an apology when you winced at the ache. Then he rolled to the side, reaching for tissues and gently cleaning between your thighs. “I know it’s messy. But I’ll run us a bath in a minute, okay?” You didn’t answer. You just pulled him down to you before you buried your face in his chest. His arms came around you instantly. “You okay?” You nodded into his skin. “I think I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

His throat worked around a quiet sound—almost a laugh, almost a sob. “You’ve got all of me,” he whispered. “You always have.”

Bob eventually did get you in that bath. He helped you in, washed your hair, sat behind you and kissed your shoulder every time you winced. He whispered sweet nothings while he wrapped a towel around you, dressed you in one of his shirts, and tucked you back into bed. And when you fell asleep curled into his side, he didn’t move. Just held you there. Protectively. Reverently. Like you were something holy he was lucky to touch.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The sunlight was warm. The kind that filtered through curtains in thick strips and kissed your face until you stirred with a little whine and buried deeper into the warmth beside you.

“Hey,” Bob whispered, voice still rough with sleep. “You awake?”

“Mhmmm. Barely.” His arm was heavy across your waist, keeping you tucked into his chest. His shirt—soft and far too big on you—was wrinkled from the way you’d collapsed into it hours ago, too spent and floaty to think about anything but his arms around you. “You okay?” he asked softly, brushing a thumb over your hip. “Sore?”

“A little. But it’s a good sore.” He grinned into your hair. “A proud sore.” You snorted. “Okay, calm down.”

“Just saying,” he drawled, pulling you closer. “You took me like a damn champ. That deserves a trophy... Or at least pancakes.” You smiled into his chest. “There are worse ways to earn breakfast.” His hand rubbed slow circles over your back, and for a few moments it was quiet. Still. Just the soft rhythm of his breathing and the weight of the blanket tangled between your legs.

Then... “Hey.”

You looked up. Bob’s blue eyes were sleepy, but so full of affection it made your chest ache. “I love you,” he said, simply. “Just needed to say it out loud this morning.” You felt your cheeks heat. “I love you too.” He smiled. “You’re really something, y’know that?” You rolled onto your back with a groan. “God, if you keep being sappy I’m never going to get out of this bed.” Bob shifted, hovering over you now, face hovering above yours with a teasing glint in his eye. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

You kissed him, slow and sweet. “Pancakes first. Shenanigans later.” He flopped back dramatically, one hand to his chest. “You wound me.” 

“I’ll make the coffee,” you offered, sitting up and stretching. Bob caught your wrist and pressed a kiss to the inside. “You aren't doing anything. Just let me take care of you.”

“You did,” you said softly. “You do. Every day.” His gaze softened again. “Still gonna do it. Every damn day I get to.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself perched on the counter in the kitchen, still just wearing his shirt and watching him flip pancakes like some domestic god. His hair was tousled, his jaw still scruffy, and his bare feet padded quietly across the floor as he hummed a tune under his breath. “You’re staring,” he said without turning. “Can you blame me?” He turned around with a smirk and offered you a forkful. “Here. Taste test for me.” You leaned forward, took the bite, and moaned dramatically. “God-tier.” He raised a brow. “That good?”

“Or maybe I’m just still riding the high of last night.” Bob leaned in and kissed your cheek. “Let’s keep you flying then.”

If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3

Tagging:

@msfirth

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@nubecita040

[tojisteddy]

“Sick? What do you mean sick?”

Ryomen Sukana who did not understand the human body, and most certainly didn’t understand the concept of being sick.

So one of the replacements, standing where you were supposed to be, explained it to him.

He’s known that humans were fragile, he understood it well when taking over plenty of villages. But it was a second- a fifth thought that crossed his mind until it came to you. His precious and lovely, one of one, bed maid. There would be no replacing you. Not in this life, not in the next.

So he took this “sick” as you being on your deathbed. And for a God who’d beat death a thousand times over, surly he could get you to beat it to, no?

Immediately removing you himself from your too shabby living quarters (he’d move you into his room soon enough) and into his more than comfortable and large bed. Calling the best doctor in the kingdom and having them tend to you.

You’d slowly blink your tired eyes open, they hung low, but your noticed Sukana standing above you, one set of eyes on a book in one hand book, the other two staring down at you, an unreadable look on his face.

“ ‘M sorry my lord, I can’t come to work.” You mumbled, taking a shallow breath before sneezing.

He simply wiped the sweat from your neck, another other hand taking the rag that was on your forehead and putting fresh cool water on it, ringing it and placing it back on your forehead. Brushing your fly away curls out your face.

“Just come in when you feel better, yes? I won’t be mad. Someone else can do your job for you until then.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, your bottom lip sticking out, a soft whine, “No! I just want it to be me to care for you! No one else can come! Why would you— you should only have me!”

Sukuna could only blink. A little shocked. Never had had witnessed you to want anything. Ask for anything. But for your true colors to shine through and you to be- jealous. He couldn’t help a smirk dance on his lips, heat rushing all over him.

You slowly sit up in the bed, dizzy, mumbling “I’ll come with you now my lord.”

His hand immediately shot out, pressing you to lay back down, “You’ll do no such thing little human. You will rest until you’re better.”

“B-But-“

“—Pet.”

it’s stern, it always makes you come to a complete halt. Listen to what your king is saying to you. Your dark brown eyes, weary, still looking up at him with that look that truly could get the God to do anything for a human such as you. He decides to amuse you, just this once.

“You will get rest and then you’ll be the only to take care of me when you’re better. Hm? That what you want little one?”

“Yes.” You hum.

“Then close your eyes and sleep pet.”

And you do, because that’s one of the few things that puts you as ease. Hearing Sukunas voice, letting him tell you what to do. A constant in your life.

You’re a sweet thing, an adorable thing.

Sukuna bottom eyes trail back to you, gods, he didn’t know what you were doing to him.

But he’d let it continue. Just for the time being.

a/n: good morning!! Thank you everyone who’s been reading these drabbles with little human!reader ! I’m so thankful for the love, I can’t wait to write more

most recent masterlist

[saetoru]

AGE IS NOTHING BUT A NUMBER — GETO SUGURU.

kinktober day two — overstimulation ; find masterlist here

synopsis. befriending nanako and mimiko has its perks—like fucking their father, for example. suguru might have aged over the years, but that doesn't mean he's lost his touch. don't believe him? that's okay—he can always just show you instead

length. 5.3k words (bro this fic was agonizing)

contents. minors do not interact, fem! reader, dilf! suguru, college au (reader is a student), age gaps (20+ difference), jealous suguru, teasing, cunnilingus, fingering, edging, nipple play, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, angel)

notes. this took me so long bc i hate it so im posting it and running away to play genshin to slave away for primos

most people can tell their best friends everything. not you, though—you have a secret. a dirty, shameful, horrible little secret, in fact.

no one knows that every chance you get, every small little moment you can possibly squeeze in, you fuck your two best friends’ father—and it’s going to stay that way, unknown and forever hidden. suguru is young as far as parents go, just barely in his twenties when he’s found himself a single father of two, but that doesn’t mean he’s not too old for you. and it especially doesn’t mean that it’s not inappropriate to fuck the man that raised your two closest friends.

you meet nanako and mimiko during your freshman year of college—the rest is history. the first time you spend the night at their place, suguru (he insists you call him that on your first meeting) is overjoyed that his girls have someone as lovely as you.

who wouldn’t be? you’re smart, well-mannered, respectable, and incredibly studious. what a perfect role model for his girls—after all, every father’s worst nightmare is his sweet, precious daughters venturing off to the real world. men are dogs—suguru should know. they’re sleazy and prey on young women who are naive and unsuspecting, taking advantage of their hopefulness before completely destroying their innocence. suguru can’t bear the idea of his perfect little girls becoming victims of such sinister behavior—but that’s all quelled when he meets you.

but he never thought, not even for one second, that he’d become one of those men.

those older men who fuck girls half their age—the girls that are barely in their twenties and still don’t even really understand how taxes work. the girls that have just started to learn how to hold their alcohol and can only recently buy it legally. the girls who don’t realize how complicated adulthood can be, just barely spreading their wings and learning what it’s like to be free.

suguru has always found those men deplorable. they’re the awful, disgusting, untamed vermin of society—women must be protected from them at all costs.

but now? well….now he’s one of them—and he finds, even as disgusted with himself as he is from time to time, he has little regrets.

not when you’re sprawled under him, hands tracing over his bare chest, feeling the soft skin under your palms in wonder. suguru, though he’s not let himself go by any means, is past his prime—he still frequents the gym, and he has more time to go now that the girls are gone most of the day, but he’s not immune to the effects of aging.

his hair has more than a few strands of white sprinkled in now; nanako makes sure to remind him not to pull them out unless he wants more. he’s still managed to keep the abs he was once so proud of in his youth, but they’re still not as hard—layered over a slight belly that he can’t seem to get rid of no matter what he tries. his skin is a bit looser, and his eyes have slight wrinkles in the corners of them, but despite it all, suguru still looks as handsome as ever.

he’s aged well, still looks remarkably young for men his age, and still looks like that dashing young man he once was who stole hearts. in fact, he still hears about his looks, especially from nanako and mimiko’s friends—he’s always chuckled to himself and shook his head in amusement.

that’s your dad? god, he’s so hot.

what? he’s single? oh my gosh, do you need a mom?

i can’t believe he’s never been married—women in his generation don’t deserve him. i’ll take him off their hands.

wait, do you have pictures of him when he was younger?

oh my god, he’s so fine. are you sure he’s in his forties?

nanako and mimiko, bless their hearts, have always crinkled their noses at the…less than proper comments they’ve had to witness about their father. in fact, they’ve watched teachers practically throw themselves onto suguru at parent-teacher conferences. it’s bothersome—a little disturbing to hear their friends talk about all the things they’d let their dad, of all people, do to them.

but you? you don’t make unhinged comments. they appreciate that.

but if only they knew…

if only they knew that sometimes, like right now, when you’re spending the night, you don’t actually sleep—instead, you sneak off to their father’s room, lay on his mattress under his body, and feel his touch. you can feel him, hard and throbbing in his sweats as his clothed cock presses against your thigh—but he takes his time with you, and doesn’t do anything about the clear arousal pooling between your legs just yet. 

instead, he focuses on remembering your body—it’s been a while, after all. he hasn’t felt your hips, hasn’t tasted your skin, hasn’t heard your voice. 

“missed you,” suguru breathes, hovering over you as you hum, nipping at your skin as his nose brushes along your neck. your hand is playing with his hair, twisting long, black and white strands along your fingers. “haven’t seen you in a bit, angel.”

“i’ve had midterms,” you murmur.

suguru knows—nanako and mimiko have been studying for them themselves. he’s more than a little disappointed that you haven’t come over to study with them yet. but then, just the other night, mimiko mentions you’ve been spending your time with a boy at the library, sharing a table as you lean over his shoulder to look at his laptop. nanako giggles that you might have finally gotten yourself a boyfriend. mimiko hums and nods as she murmurs it’s about time.

suguru swallows down every bite of dinner with an aftertaste of bile that night.

a boy—a boy? you’ve been skipping coming over to study with the girls (and, by default, seeing him) just to study with some boy? what’s got your attention on the guy so badly? why would you break the routine you’ve had for the last few semesters for someone you just recently met? have you finally started to realize that this is a mistake? is suguru a mistake?

he thinks maybe not, now that you’re back in his bed—but he still has too many unanswered questions. 

“so i’ve heard,” he says lowly, “i’ve also heard there’s a certain boy on your radar.” he smiles bitterly, pulling away from your neck to stare at you with those dark, sharp eyes of his. “a much younger, and fitting match for you, i suppose.”

you roll your eyes, snorting.

“is that what nanako and mimiko have told you? honestly, those two,” you huff fondly, “i told them already. he’s just my partner for a presentation. we’re practicing.”

“oh?” suguru raises a brow—and then he shivers lightly when you lean up and kiss his jaw, eyes fluttering shut at your touch.

“yes,” you giggle, “no need to be jealous of someone half your age, you know.”

“that’s exactly why i’m jealous,” he breathes, leaning in to kiss you softly.

your lips taste like honey—probably sweeter, in fact. they drip with that decadent, saccharine taste of youth. he feels twenty again every time he kisses you, feels not a day older than his glory days.

“oh, you poor thing,” you grin, cupping his face as you scatter kisses along his cheeks and nose, thumb tracing the skin. fuck, is this what it feels like to be in love? it makes him feel so young, so free, and hopeful for the future. when was the last time he felt this way? “have you been losing sleep over my nonexistent college boyfriend?”

“well, kids your age fool around quite a bit,” he says in that father tone that he uses on nanako and mimiko, “what was i supposed to think?”

you’ve heard that tone so many times before; the one where he talks like he knows better, like he’s wiser, like he’s aware of something you’re not. 

girls, make sure you share your location with me—i need to find you in case anything happens. it’s for your own safety, end of discussion.

make sure you watch over your drinks, okay? men these days take every chance they get to spike them when you’re not looking. mimiko, i was your age once, too. i’ve seen this happen plenty.

don’t walk alone in the streets at night. call me. i’ll pick you up—no, nanako, it’s not lame. the streets are dangerous at night. there are creeps, you know.

don’t get into any boy’s cars, girls. you never know what’ll happen; one mistake is all it takes to ruin your life—hey, don’t roll your eyes at me. one day, you’ll understand i’m right.

“i’m not a kid,” you pout, and then, smugly this time, you wiggle your brows. “did’ya lose sleep over my imaginary boyfriend? you need plenty of sleep at your age, y’know.”

“no, you’re not a kid,” suguru agrees, “you’re a brat.” and then he’s back to pressing those hot, open-mouthed, hungry kisses along your jaw, humming in delight when you angle your head to give him better access. 

sometimes, it’s fun to get under suguru’s skin—it’s fun to break that carefully built, mature patience of his, pulling a twitch of his eye and a furrow of his brow from him. so, you grin widely as you murmur, “who knows? maybe he’d fuck better—more stamina, y’know?”

it’s supposed to just tease him, to make him glare at you unimpressed so you can giggle and kiss between his brows—but suguru stills at that, painfully stiff for a moment before he bites at your skin. hard. 

“oh yeah?” he hisses, his voice low and dangerous as he pulls away to glare down at you, “you think so? what, you think an old man like me can’t fuck you long enough?”

you don’t get a chance to reply—not before he pulls your pants down your waist to reveal your soaked panties, pulling a hum from him as he grins at the damp patch of fabric. his fingers circle over your clit for a moment, right over the cloth, making your breath hitch as you buck into his touch. 

“suguru—”

“look at that,” he chuckles, “wearing my favorite one, huh? can’t fuck you that bad if you try your best to impress me. isn’t that what you wanted? is that what you were thinking when you put these on before coming over? how precious,” he murmurs—he speaks so condescending, so knowingly, as if he’s read your mind just by looking at the red lace covering your dripping cunt. you cover your face in humiliation, but he grabs your wrists and pins them over your head, clicking his teeth in disapproval. 

part of you knows you should quit while you can—the other part? well…it wants to test the limits a bit longer. suguru has never been so easy to rile up, you want to indulge in it for just a bit longer if you can help it. 

“well,” you huff, “what’re you waiting for, then? don’t tell me the age has slowed you down—”

“you really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he says in a low snarl, “fine, you want me to hurry up? you got it, princess.”

it all happens before you can even register—one moment, you’re grinning at him with mischief in your eyes; the next second, he has you in nothing but your bra, bare in his bed as he pulls your legs apart and leans close to your pussy.

“you know the thing about guys your age,” he hums, toying with your clit lazily as you gasp with a twitch, “is that they really don’t know how to take care of anyone but themselves. guess they just don’t have enough experience to really figure it out.”

his lips latch onto your clit, sucking before he rolls his tongue over the sensitive bud as his fingers sink into your core, pushing past your folds and stretching you open. it’s slow—deliberately so, in fact. it makes your head spin, and your fingers curl into the bed sheets as you pant. 

“suguru, m-more—”

“don’t worry,” he coos, pulling away from you to grin up at your glossy eyes, “you’ll get plenty, baby. we’ll see if you’ve got the stamina. y’know, since you’re so young.”

his lips are back to wrap around your clit, fingers sinking and curling exactly where you’re most sensitive—suguru finds your sweet spots instantly the first time he has you sprawled under him. didn’t even take a moment of trial, just knew where to touch and kiss to have you unravel in his hold. that much still hasn’t changed—his fingertips press against the sensitive spot in the back of your walls, pulling pretty little whines from you as his tongue flicks over your clit. 

it’s always been a blessing that nanako and mimiko’s room is across the house—had they been closer, they might hear the mewl you let out as his fingers bully into you faster, unforgiving as they brush against your walls and build the ache up between your legs until it’s about to burst. 

“s-suguru, ‘m close, so, so close—”

“already?” he gasps, chuckling as he presses a kiss to your clit with a sly grin, “thought you had more in you than that, baby. so youthful—figured you’d last a bit longer.”

he’s mean about it—rubs it in your face some more that you’re so close so fast before he pulls his fingers away and doesn’t even give you the satisfaction of falling apart on his digits. it makes you sob, hips bucking up to chase the friction of his fingers, but he’s already gone, leaving your walls empty and fluttering around nothing.

“no,” your voice breaks, “n-no, so close, please. i want—”

“that’s what he would’ve done,” suguru hums, “pulled out before you even finished. that’s what guys your age always do—they don’t know how to make girls finish. you ever had that problem with me?”

“no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. you’re a pretty little thing, he thinks—pouty, wobbly lips and those glossy eyes as you sniffle. “no, you always make me cum—please, i wanna cum, sugu.”

“yeah?” he pouts with faux sympathy, “didn’t feel good, huh? feels better when i take care of you, doesn’t it?”

“uh huh,” you nod—you’re still panting through the aftershocks of having your orgasm ripped from you, chest rising and falling harsh enough that it fills him with pride he can pull such drastic reactions from you. no one knows your body like suguru—he’s too good at giving it what it wants for anyone else to compare. 

“think that boy—” he spits the last word like it’s poison on his tongue, “—can take care of you?”

“no,” you whimper, “no, he can’t. not like you, never like you.”

“that’s a good girl,” he nods approvingly, rubbing his slick-coated finger over your clit, toying with it teasingly as you writhe, whining for more. “you know something else about men your age? they don’t care to please a woman—don’t bother to appreciate them enough to make them feel good. you think that boy would be here—” he pauses to motion between your legs, where he’s currently situated, “—willingly? taste you willingly? let you cum on his tongue willingly?”

“i-i don’t…i never asked someone to—”

“did you ever ask me?” he interrupts, raising a brow at you, “you ever have to ask me? i just do it. wanna know why? because i know what i’m doing—know how to treat you right, how to give you what you need. isn’t that right?” 

“yes, yes—you always give me what i want—”

“what you need,” he corrects, “and you know what i think you need right now? this.”

his tongue licks a stripe along your entrances before you can say anything else, pulling a gasp out of you as your hands find his hair and tug—suguru groans at that, feels his pants get impossibly tighter as the aching erection he sports throbs between his legs at the way you pull at the strands so desperately, so needy. for him. only ever him. 

his tongue fucks into you, messy with the way he devours you, the slick arousal pooling from your cunt coating his lips, his cheeks, his chin. you moan—and really, it’s almost a squeal—when his fingers are sinking back into you, tongue flicking away at your clit mercilessly as he thrusts his digits in and out of your pussy. you’re close, painfully so, the pressure steadily building and building until you just can’t hold it back anymore. 

“sugu—’m c-cumming. god ‘s so good—feels good,” you babble, thighs closing around his head as his fingers curl into your sweet spot over and over again, not stopping for even a second as he helps you ride out your high. your walls spasm around his fingers, tight as they flutter around him and make him groan at the thought of being inside you. 

he watches, hungry and in awe, as your back arches off the mattress and your mouth parts, broken little wails of his name rolling off your tongue in a sweet melody. 

“i bet he’s never seen someone look like this,” suguru murmurs, watching the way the ecstasy takes over your features as your face falls slack from pleasure, “so pretty when falling apart. bet he’d never even get close to making you look so fucked from just his tongue.”

your orgasm ripples through you—it’s not new, the way he makes you feel so good, but it’s definitely nothing to get used to either. your body slumps back onto the mattress as you finish, panting harshly while he climbs up to hover over you once again. 

“that felt good?” he asks, nosing at your cheek as you nod breathlessly.

“yeah,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“hope you’re not tired out just yet,” he says smugly, eyeing the way sweat clings to your forehead and huffs of air exhale from your lungs with each labored breath, “because we’re nowhere near done, baby. not even close.”

just like that, your bra is unclasped and pulled off, freeing your tits for his mouth to latch onto a nipple, sucking and lightly grazing his teeth along the bud while his fingers tease at the other, pinching and rubbing over it with his thumb. you whine, eyes squeezing shut as your hand cups the back of his head and keeps him in place. 

“bet i could make you cum just from this,” he says with a laugh, “i don’t even need to fuck you.”

“please,” you dig your nails into his shoulder, moaning as he switches to wrap his lips around the other nipple, “please, sugu—n-need more.”

“be more specific,” he says lowly, looking up at you in amusement, “gonna need more than that, princess. you gotta help me out here—i’m afraid i don’t know what i’m doing.”

suguru is doing everything he can to drag this out—if you’d known one small comment would have him riled up like this…well, truthfully, you can’t say you wouldn’t have made it anyway. it’s exciting in its own right when he’s so determined to show you why you need him, why no one else but him is meant to see you like this, make you fall apart like this, have you sprawled under them like this. 

no one can know about you and suguru—not nanako and mimiko, not your other friends, not your family. you know what they’d say, how they’d feel. 

disgust—shame, even. he’s far too old for you, you know they’d say; he’s a red flag for getting with someone so young. no one can know that you come here, dead in the middle of the night when your friends are asleep, and fuck their father. not only that—lay with their father, talk about your hopes and dreams for the future with their father, giggle as you gossip with their father, fall in love with their father. 

something tells you the feeling is not unreciprocated—that suguru feels the same, that he loves holding you in his arms just as much as you love laying in them. maybe it wasn’t a joke, what you’d said. not to him, at least—maybe deep down, it stung; maybe he had something to prove. that boy might be closer to you in age, but he’ll never, ever treat you the way suguru does—no one will, for that matter. perhaps he has to show it so you really know. 

so you look him in the eye, pull him closer until his forehead is pressed against yours and you can press a delicate kiss to his lips before you murmur against them, “fuck me, suguru. please—need you.”

he groans at that, closes his eyes before his hips move to press the thick tip of his cock against your folds, dragging it along your entrance as he coats his head with your slick. it’s flushed a deep pink—it’s been neglected for so long that he shudders at the way it aches, at the way even the slightest friction along the sensitive tip pulls a soft gasp from him. 

for a moment, he wonders if he really will last long enough to fuck you properly—he might not, with the way your walls always squeeze around him, always have him ready to fuck his load into you just as soon as he’s inside you. the thought alone almost makes his cock twitch—but suguru is a man of patience, so he slowly pushes into you, inch by inch, looking down and watching as his girth disappears inside you. 

“look at that,” he coos, grinning wide as he looks back up at you, “took me so easily. ‘s cause when you do it right, it doesn’t take much, does it?”

“f-fuck—” your head presses back against the pillow, mouth hung open as you breathe heavily, trying to squirm and get even the slightest bit of friction from him as he stays painfully still. “move, suguru—please, c-can’t wait anymore. jus’ wanna feel you.”

“i know,” he chuckles, “patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

despite it all, suguru is not feeling very patient anymore—it’s been long enough. his hips roll slowly at first, a shallow thrust of his hips that makes you both moan lowly before he all but pulls out and slams back in, hard. you can feel the burning stretch of his girth practically splitting you open, every thick vein dragging along your cunt and every brush of his tip against the back of your walls. it’s loud—the sound of skin slapping against skin, the sound of his deep groans and your breathless whines, the sound of the headboard hitting the wall as he fucks you into his mattress. 

“god—fuck, suguru—th-there,” you mewl as he slams into you right where you need him. 

you’ve lost count of how many times suguru has fucked you like you’re his. in his bed at night, in his shower in the mornings, on the couch when you drop by when the girls aren’t home, in his car that one time he drove you home when it rained, in your apartment that one time he dropped off your laptop because you forgot it. there’s one common denominator—the way he makes you feel, not just from the way his cock ruts into you, but from the way his fingers tangle with yours, from the way his mouth finds your jaw to kiss, from the way his forehead presses into your shoulder with warmth. 

it’s exciting, maybe. at first, it’s scandalous and a little thrilling in its own right. by now, it’s something much more than that—you don’t think anyone could make you feel the way he does, fuck you like he does, even if they tried. even if they knew where to touch and where to kiss. even if they knew what you liked and what you didn’t. 

they couldn’t be suguru—would never be suguru. 

“there, huh?” he pants, moaning softly as he feels your walls flutter around him tightly, “i know. i know how to fuck this pussy—my pussy. you think some boy you hardly know would know? think he’d care to learn? think he’d even try?”

“no,” you gasp, shaking your head as your hips buck up to meet his sharp thrusts, “no. no one would make me feel this good. make me feel so good, sugu.”

“ngh—sh-shit,” he hisses at your words, cock almost swelling harder at the way you praise him, at the way your words are almost slurred with no real thought behind him. it’s a little pride-inducing, the way you’re still able to sing his praises without having to really think about it first. he can hear it, the way you’re lost in the drag of his cock, drunk in the haze of pleasure, unfocused on everything else besides the way he bullies his thick girth into your abused cunt.

it’s a mess, it’s filthy the way there’s a mix of pre cum and your slick at the base of his cock, along your inner thighs, coating your skin as the squelching sound of him nudging past your folds fills the room.

it’s good, the way he makes you feel—he can hear it in your voice as you wail his name.

“s-suguru—oh.”

“what, you gettin’ all fucked out on me? ‘m not even close yet, princess,” he hums, leaning down to kiss your neck as he sucks softly into your sweet spot. you throw your head back, rasping out a cry of his name again as his balls slap against your ass with a harsh roll of his hips. 

and then his hand makes its way between your bodies, thumb attaching itself to your clit before rubbing punishing circles into the bundle of nerves—you sob at that, back arching up as your chest presses against his, nipples hard as they brush along his skin.

“s-sugu—close, ‘m gonna cum a-again—so close,” you pant brokenly, every sentence cut off with a sharp gasp as he thrusts into you. 

you’re close—you can’t fight back the way the coil in your belly snaps as he teases your clit. it’s still sensitive from the last orgasm, every nerve still burning up from before as he gives you more, gives you too much, almost. you cum harder this time—your second high creeping up on you when you least expect it. 

it makes your eyes roll back, makes your thighs quiver, and tears stream down your cheeks as you chant his name over and over. suguru, ‘s so good. suguru, ‘m cumming. suguru, ‘s all for you.

every sentence makes his cock drill into you faster, sloppier in rhythm, maybe, but faster. needier. bordering on desperate. 

“f-fuck, baby,” he grunts, “squeezin’ me so tight—such a tight fuckin’ cunt. you think just anyone deserves this? think you can just walk around and let anyone fuck this? ‘s bullshit—ngh.”

you don’t answer—can’t answer, in fact. it’s all teary eyes and soft sniffles as you mewl with every thrust, voice breaking between every pretty little sound you make. he’s still fucking into you, still dragging his cock against those sensitive walls, still bumping against your clit with his navel, still nudging against your sweet spot with his thick, swollen tip. it’s almost too much—it is too much, making you writhe under his body as you try to form the words. 

“‘s t-too much, sugu—c-can’t anymore,” you try, “can’t.”

“what?” he gasps, furrowing his brows in mock confusion, “you’re tappin’ out on me already? but ‘m not even done yet, sweetheart. haven’t even finished yet—don’t tell me you’re already spent. how will you keep up with your little boyfriend’s stamina if you can’t even take an old man like me?”

“c-can’t take anyone but you,” you sob, “jus’ you—only you. promise.”

“yeah? you swear?”

“uh huh. jus’ you, sugu—don’ want anyone else. won’t fuck me the same.”

“atta girl,” he coos, chuckling as he leans down to kiss your jaw, trailing soft pecks until he meets your lips, “that’s what i thought. make sure you don’t forget, okay?”

“fuck, suguru—’m…g-gonna…”

“gonna what? cum? you’re cumming again?” you nod at that—he grins wide, pride settling into the crinkles of his eyes before his thumb rubs harsh circles into your swollen clit once more. he looks pretty like that—hair framing his face, the mix of black and white strands sticking to the damp skin of his forehead. his skin is flushed, abs flexing as he pants over you. sometimes you feel guilty that half of why you come over to visit nanako and mimiko is to fuck suguru—the guilt is quickly extinguished when you see him like this, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his arms barely hold him over you, eyes shut tight as he groans. 

“i-i’m—fuck, fuck, fuck,” you can’t form sentences anymore as you cum—again. not that you really could before that, but now all you can offer is croaked half-syllables and shaky sobs. your walls squeeze around him, tight as they hug around his throbbing cock. 

it takes one, two, three more sloppy rolls of his hips before he lets out at a low, “baby, fuck—’m gonna fill you up. want that? want me to cum in you? make you mine? always been mine, haven’t you?”

“yes, yes—yours, sugu. yours, yours, yours,” you babble, words slurred between breathy moans and broken sobs. “wanna be yours.”

you can feel him—feel the way his cock twitches in you, the way he grinds into you to ride out his high, the way sticky, hot ropes of cum fill your walls, the way he fucks his load deeper into you with every sloppy thrust of his hips. his arms quiver as he holds himself over you—just barely, though. you can hear the way his voice cracks as he gasps your name over and over, as he mutters lowly about how you’re his, how you’ll always only be his. 

“mine,” he grits, “you’re fuckin’ mine—see how you’re suckin’ me in? see how i fit in this pussy like it was made for me? ‘s cause you’re mine.”

his body slumps onto yours as he finishes, head pressed into the crook of your neck as he kisses the skin while you both catch your breaths. you whimper, still sensitive, as he pulls out of you, a soft chuckle falling past his lips as he pulls his head up to look at you and press a kiss to your cheek. 

“so,” he starts, eyes laced with amusement as he takes in the fucked out look on your face, the tears still drying your cheeks, the swollen flush of your bottom lip, “still think you need someone with more stamina? someone who’ll fuck you better—”

“god,” you groan, slapping his shoulder, “will you drop it already? you got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“no,” he murmurs, pecking your lips, “still wanna hear it some more.”

“your ego needs a reality check,” you huff as you brush a strand of hair from his forehead, “think i’ve fed it plenty all night.”

“actually, i think you crushed it,” he pouts theatrically, “talking about some asshole who doesn’t care about you right in front of me. after i take such good care of you, too. the girls already think you should date him,” he adds the last part with a slightly bitter roll of his eyes, pulling a giggle out of you.

“they think i don’t know how to talk to men,” you snort, “imagine they knew i was talking to men old enough to be my father.”

“hey,” he clicks his teeth, falling onto the mattress beside you—he pulls you into his chest, letting your cheek rest on his bare skin. it’s so wrong—lying in bed with the father of your best friends. but somehow, suguru feels like the only thing you’ve ever done right. “age is nothing but a number, sweetheart.”

if i have to see the word cock one more time im going to eradicate all humans that have them

do not comment about a part 2 !!!!!!!!!!