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sukunahs · 28 days ago

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to distant lands - ch.1: nightmare | ryomen sukuna

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (medieval fantasy au)

summary: It’s expected for a princess to have a personal guard, especially when you’re an only child and heir to the kingdom. The knight who has watched over you since childhood is retiring and, much to your dismay, your father decides to put his best soldier on the job as his replacement - Ryomen Sukuna, the Kingdom’s most vicious warrior and far from your biggest fan.

Little did you know that Sukuna would end up tangling himself in your life in ways you never could’ve anticipated.

word count: 7.8k

chapter content: 18+ mdni, eventual smut, enemies to lovers, slow-burn(ish), forbidden relationship, medieval fantasy setting, fluff, angst, protective sukuna

authors note: I've been consuming a lot of fantasy writing and media lately and all I've been able to think about is knight!sukuna! I'm not sure how many chapters this will have but I've got a lot in my plan for this one!

series masterlist | AO3 | next chapter

The first time that you’d ever encountered Sukuna was four years ago. The Cerulean Kingdom, led by your father: King Kashimo, had been at war with the Zenin Nation who had been trying to expand their land into a neighbouring kingdom.

That war came to an end in just six months. It was practically unheard of for conflict to be resolved between nations so swiftly. Usually battles would take place over years until one side begrudgingly agreed to a peace treaty. But no such thing was required on this occasion.

It was all due to Sukuna.

Sukuna, the twenty-two year old Knight, was such a force of nature on the battlefield that he single-handedly pushed back the Zenin troops. He took the head of their main General with ease and left their forces scattered and afraid. The Zenin King, Naobito, had no choice but to pull back, to give up on his attempt at taking land - he had no soldiers capable of taking on a man like Sukuna.

So Sukuna had returned to your Kingdom as a legend. Every Knight respected him, any woman that crossed his path swooned at the mere sight of him, and your father was completely captivated by him.

Even you, the sole Princess of the Cerulean Nation would confess to having been taken by his status as a legend at first, for he reminded you of tales of King Arthur and his Knights, a shining beacon of bravery.

Your father had thrown a whole celebration for him when he returned from war, a massive banquet where Sukuna was to be commended for his bravery. Kashimo had given you the responsibility of awarding him the medal, knowing how captivated you were with stories of legendary Knights, knowing that you’d be eager to meet one in the flesh.

As Sukuna had approached you in the great hall, he had dropped to his knees at your feet, as was custom. Leaning forward you’d placed the medal around his neck.

“You’re a hero.” You’d whispered softly, heart pounding at the proximity. “You kept me safe from this country’s ruin, thank you for doing your duty.”

He looked up at you then, his eyes meeting yours. You expected to see pride and loyalty reflected in those red orbs, but instead all you saw was disdain.

“I didn’t do it for you, princess.” He said, keeping his voice low enough that he wouldn’t be overheard by anyone else. “I couldn’t care less about what happens to some spoiled little dreamy-eyed brat. There’s no duty for me, your father just pays better than anyone else, and I get to crack a few skulls in the process.”

And just like that, the illusion was destroyed. He was no chivalrous Knight of old, but a selfish man filled with bloodlust. More of a mercenary than anything else, his loyalty not with the Kingdom but with the pay that your father could provide him.

And thus, your dislike of Sukuna began.

Your view of him only tumbled downhill from there, for from that moment onwards he seemed to get a kick out of the disappointment that would flash in your eyes when he would do something unbefitting of a Knight.

When he caught you in private he’d tell you the crudest stories of his bloody feats on the battlefield. In public he’d do his best to make you trip up, to subtly infuriate you in front of your subjects, just trying to pull a reaction out of you.

You’d yelled at him once, when you were all alone, telling him to cut it out, to leave you be. A number of insults that had never passed your lips before that moment were hurled at him. But somehow that seemed to just egg him on, a look of pure elation on his face as you screamed at him - you supposed all he really wanted was a reaction.

It was hard for you to comprehend what his problem was with you. You knew that there were people who held general disdain for the royal family, so perhaps that was it? But his unsavoury nature always felt very specific to you, as though your very existence was an offence to him.

Regardless of his reasoning, the two of you had been at this standoff for years, and now it was coming to a head in the worst way possible.

—

“No.” You said firmly as you glared up at Kashimo.

You stood before your father’s throne, with Yaga standing tall at your side. The two men had just informed you that Yaga would be retiring, that he would have to be replaced with a new Knight.

The narrative that they’d both fed you was that Yaga was getting too old for the position now, that he was too slow to adequately fend off an attacker should it ever come to that. But you weren’t buying it for a second, Yaga had never failed you before, and you’d never even been attacked anyway, so what did it matter?

“I’m sorry, princess–” Yaga started to speak again, but you cut him off, your sharp gaze fixated on your father.

“You’re older than Yaga but I don’t see you retiring from your post.”

“Don’t be childish.” Your father warned. “It's Yaga’s choice to retire, for twenty-three years he’s watched over you, let the man rest.” You said nothing, your brow furrowing. It was hard to fight with that sentiment.

“Besides, with the political unrest between nations right now I need your Knight to be on high alert. Daughters of Kings are always the prime targets to be kidnapped for ransom, and I won’t have you be put at risk.”

You rolled your eyes at that, you felt that your father always overestimated the level of danger that you were in. No one had ever tried to kidnap you before, and you doubted they would now. But there was no arguing with the man when it came to matters of your safety.

“Who’s the replacement?” You asked.

“Go back to your quarters.” He ordered, “I’ll send him up to you shortly. Do try your best to get along.”

That had you concerned. It was evident that your father didn’t wish to tell you who it was himself, perhaps to avoid an argument? You opened your mouth to ask further questions but he silenced you with a sharp glare - a look that told you he was in no mood to entertain you further.

So, just like a good daughter should, you scampered back to your quarters, waiting to see what fate had in store for you.

You hadn’t anticipated that waiting for the time to pass would be agony. You’d done everything that you could to entertain yourself: reading, drawing, braiding and unbraiding your hair in front of the mirror, staring aimlessly out of the window onto those gorgeous green mountains that loomed up on the horizon, just beyond the castle walls. Nothing was easing the growing anxiety in your stomach over who your father had chosen to protect you.

So instead of trying to occupy your time, you’d taken to just lying on your canopy bed, gazing up at the blue material draped across the four intricately carved wooden posts. A flower pattern embroidered in a darker blue shade adorned the material. Your mother had sewed it when you were young - embroidery was always her main joy and subsequently, many of your childhood dresses had been made by her.

She’d passed before you’d grown to be an adult, so none of your current dresses had been crafted by her. It was a shame, the royal tailors couldn’t do half the job that she could.

It was because of her death that your father was so unbelievably protective over you. You were his only child, and that made you heir to the throne - even if you were a woman.

It was highly irregular, usually the throne would go to the next living male relative, but Kashimo had no brothers to hand the crown over to. Most people had assumed that once your mother had passed he would marry another woman, try for another child - hopefully a boy this time to be his heir. He never did. Kashimo had married for love, and his soul was shattered when his wife died, he didn’t want to share his bed with anyone else - he would remain alone until he met his own end.

So, you were all he had - his one shining light. You knew that you should make more of an effort to understand his perspective, that all of his decisions were out of his love for you, but it didn’t make you feel any less like a bird trapped in a gilded cage.

A sharp knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, and you shot to your feet. For a moment you considered not opening the door, keeping yourself locked in your room in protest. Perhaps you could even climb out the window and give your new Knight a really hard first day, prove to your father that this fool could do no better a job at protecting you than Yaga did.

But you were fully aware of just how childish that would be.

So you let out a sigh and pulled open the door, only to be met with a sight that you could only describe as being your absolute worst case scenario.

Ryomen Sukuna.

Standing there in your doorway at almost 7ft tall, tattoos winding over his tanned skin, and red eyes so sharp that his gaze constantly felt like it was piercing you. He was adorned in his usual silver armor, intricate patterns running over the metal.

When your father has said that he’d be sending one of his best Knights, you certainly hadn’t been expecting him to provide his favourite.

Sukuna had been a Knight for the Cerulean Nation for around ten years now, since he was sixteen years old. He’d climbed his way through the ranks quickly, and had gained the approval of the King himself. He was one of the most capable and lethal Knights in the army, the type of man who would always get the job done, who would kill without remorse on behalf of his King.

The way that your father spoke about Sukuna, in this awe-filled manner, always had you rolling your eyes. You wondered sometimes if your father wished that Sukuna was his own son with the way that he’d obsess over every little thing that he did. You’d think that he was a miracle-maker from the praise Kashimo would heap on him whenever he returned from a quest.

But he didn’t have you fooled. He was attractive, yes - but that was all he had going for him. He was immensely unpleasant to be around, an arrogant and ill-tempered man who believed that the world revolved around him. He’d look in disdain at those he didn’t respect and that happened to include you.

You despised him.

Yet here he was, leaning against your door with a big grin spread across his handsome features. This man, who had done nothing but make things difficult for you, was supposed to put his life on the line to protect you? You’d be lucky if you didn’t end up dead or kidnapped by the time the sun set.

“You’ve got to be joking.” You hissed.

“Unfortunately not.” Sukuna said with a wide grin, striding into your chambers as though they belonged to him. “Cute little room you’ve got here,” he snickered. You felt as though he’d already got you on the backfoot - it was embarrassing to have someone like him scrutinise your living space, especially considering you’d hardly made any effort to clean things up.

“I always did take you as the type to sleep with a stuffed toy.” He said with a laugh as he wandered over to your bed, picking up the well-loved rabbit plushie that sat on top of the duvet. “Does it have a name?”

“That’s none of your business.” You snapped, trying to grab the plushie from his hands. The bunny did have a name, but there was no way that you were going to grace him with an answer. He held the toy rabbit just out of your reach, stopping you from snatching it back.

“So it does.” he said, amusement laced in his tone.

“Give him back.”

“Him huh? Tell me what he's called and I will.”

You pouted and crossed your arms. You weren’t about to give him what he wanted, if you gave in now it would set the precedent that he could just push you around whenever he wanted.

Sukuna shrugged, his eyes roaming to the open window, a wicked grin crossing his face. “If you don’t tell me his name, Mr Rabbit might just take a tumble out of the tower.” He said as he wandered over to the window, holding the bunny out in the open air.

Your face contorted with rage as you ran over to him. “Stop it! Give him back!” Sukuna fended you off with one hand as you grabbed at him, he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his newfound power over you.

“I will, if you just tell me his name.” He teased. You weren’t sure that he’d really drop the toy out of the window, but you didn’t want to take any chances. That bunny had been in your life from childhood, had fended away many a nightmare, you weren’t going to have him chucked out of a window just because of some jerk of a Knight.

“It's Sir Bounce-a-lot.” You whispered, face flushed red with embarrassment. Sukuna was so surprised that you’d actually given in that he almost dropped the bunny by accident.

“Sir Bounce-a-lot..?” He asked, clearly unsure if he’d heard you correctly.

“Yeah…” You mumbled, a feeling of humiliation creeping into your chest as he openly laughed at you, placing the bunny back into your hands. You pulled the plushie to your chest, shielding him from Sukuna’s cruel hands.

“Like Sir Lancelot?”

Your father had always been fond of telling you those stories when you were a child, your bookshelves filled with tomes recounting the great legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Roundtable. Hearing those tales always filled you with a strange feeling, as even though your own life was filled with Knights and Kings, your existence felt so mundane compared to the characters in those legends.

Most of your time was just spent sitting alone in your chambers, and the Knights that you encountered seemed to be the furthest thing from chivalrous. You highly doubted that Lancelot ever threatened to throw Guinevere’s treasured possessions out of a window.

“Yeah.” You weren’t willing to give him any more of an answer, you didn’t want him to know anything about you.

Sukuna continued to poke his way around your room, much to your dismay. He made a few comments here and there about things you had on display, his thoughts on the decoration and colour scheme. You mostly stayed silent, still trying to process that his presence was your new reality.

Once bored with assessing your room he took a seat in an armchair in the corner, sprawling himself out across it as though he belonged there. You found yourself once again frustrated by the audacity of this man, but held your tongue. There was no point in engaging in bickering with him for now, you were sure that your father would replace him with someone else once you expressed how difficult he was.

“So…what now?” He asked.

“What?” You asked incredulously.

“What are we meant to do now?” He asked, speaking slowly as though he thought you’d been too stupid to understand his first question.

“I just…do whatever I want and you’re meant to make sure that I don’t get assassinated.”

Sukuna let out a deep sigh, throwing his head back against the armchair. His red eyes were closed and he dragged a hand down his face in frustration. “That’s it? All I can do is sit here and watch you…” he paused for a moment in thought. “What do you even do with your time?”

You were a little offended by his tone. Sure, it wasn’t like you got to go out much, but you had your hobbies - it wasn’t as though you were sitting motionless day after day like some porcelain doll.

“Well, sometimes I stay in here and read or paint. Sometimes I go out for walks in the gardens. Occasionally I’ll go shopping in the town…” He didn’t look impressed with your list, so you scrambled for something more interesting to add. “I go to social events too! Balls and tea parties with other nobles.”

He rolled his eyes. “Lame.” He said.

“Excuse me?” You squeaked.

“You heard me. Fuck, I can’t believe the old man really stationed me here.” For some reason, his sentiment offended you. Even though you had no desire to have him as your Knight, you despised the idea that he also didn’t want to be at your side. It should be a blessing to serve a princess.

“It's a coveted position, you know.” You hissed out before you could stop yourself.

Scoffing, he shook his head at you. “Maybe for soft little Knights who shit themselves at the thought of actual combat - like that old man you had before, not sure he’s ever laid eyes on a battlefield.”

“If you don’t want to be here, why don’t you just leave.” You shot back, internally begging whatever gods listening that he’d take you up on that offer. Maybe your father would be more inclined to listen to his golden-boy of a Knight than the will of his own daughter. The look on Sukuna’s face told you otherwise.

“Like I have a choice. Do you think I’m happy about this arrangement, princess?” He asked mockingly. “Do you really think I’d rather be in here watching over some spoiled little girl when I could be out on the field?”

“Probably not.” You mumbled. His reputation for bloodlust was well-known. He wasn’t the sort of Knight who killed because he must, he killed because he enjoyed slaughtering his enemies on the battlefield. Being separated from all that was likely agony for him.

“Obviously not. But your daddy goes mad with worry over you. He has this insane paranoia that the entire world is out to take his daughter away, so now here I am. His finest soldier, tasked with protecting some brat when I could be pushing back our enemies.”

You didn’t have a response to that. He was right, it was odd that your father would leave him here with you. Your own feelings aside, taking Sukuna away from the army felt like a sure-fire way to weaken his forces. Although the Kingdom was technically in peace time at the moment, political unrest aside. Perhaps he felt that an assassination attempt was more likely than a war right now.

“You should ask him to send you back.” You suggested. “I don’t want you here either, so it would be a win for us both.”

Sighing, he shook his head. “I tried that already, princess. Face it, we’re stuck together.”

A sense of horror washed over you at that statement, that couldn’t just be it. You’d had Yaga as your Knight for twenty-three years, would you have to suffer Sukuna for that long? Perhaps even longer?

As your eyes trailed over to him, taking note of the amusement written on his face, you found your resolve. You could accept that Yaga needed to retire, but you were not going to accept him as your Knight.

No, you were going to do everything in your power to get rid of Ryomen Sukuna.

—

As the days started to pass by following Sukuna’s assignment as your personal Knight, you thought that you’d grow at least a little accustomed to his presence, that he’d just start to fade into the background and you’d get to continue on mostly in the way that you always have.

Back when Yaga was still your Knight he’d always do an excellent job of making himself scarce, only ever there in your peripheral vision, always knowing when he wasn’t welcome in the room, taking the opportunity to stand guard outside and leave you to your privacy.

Sukuna had no such compulsion.

On the contrary, his presence was stifling. He was always right there, demanding your presence at any given moment.

When you were in public, he’d be right at your side, joining in on your conversations with palace staff, ruffling your hair and teasing you openly in front of others, knowing that you’d do nothing to tarnish your image by snapping at him if there were people around to see it.

If you were in your room, then he was in there too, sprawled across the armchair or occasionally even lying on your bed. That alone would’ve been fine if it weren’t for the running commentary that he brought with him. No matter what you tried to do, he had something to say about it.

Brushing your hair had him telling you that you were too vain, that guys didn’t like women who tried too hard.

Reading had him passing judgement on every book that you opened, sneering at the sight of a romance book that you’d picked up, stating that all romance novels were worthless and written for lonely old women.

Painting had him criticising everything that appeared on the canvas, telling you that the perspective was off, that the colours weren’t mixed properly, and the worst one of all: that he didn’t ‘get’ it. You weren’t sure what there was to get in a simple landscape painting of the garden, but it got under your skin all the same.

It got to the point where you’d stopped trying to do anything, at least then he couldn’t offer any opinions to grate at your nerves.

You’d taken to spending all of your days the same way. You’d wake up late, the sun already high in the sky by the time you’d stumble down to the dining hall for breakfast. Sukuna would always be waiting just outside the doors of your chambers for your appearance. You were fortunate that he didn’t spend his nights in the room with you, that was the rare respite that you got from him, with the quarters for your personal Knight being one room down from yours.

Together you’d eat breakfast - this was usually in silence, at least from your side. Sukuna would poke and prod at you until it was clear that you weren’t going to rise to it, before submitting himself to the quiet. Your father would join you in the dining hall whenever he wasn’t busy with Kingly duties - those times were always the most painful because you were forced to make polite conversation with Sukuna to avoid a scolding from the King.

You’d already learned the hard way that you couldn’t speak negatively about or to Sukuna. On the day he’d been assigned as your Knight you’d gone running to your father to complain, only to be told that you needed to ‘grow up and get used to it’.

Sukuna clearly loved it when Kashimo would join the two of you. He’d take the opportunity to ask you endless questions about yourself, ones that you’d begrudgingly answer to avoid your father’s wrath, but knowing that Sukuna would use all of this newfound information against you once you were left alone again.

Once you’d had your breakfast, you’d generally head straight back to your room, where you’d enact Operation: Make Sukuna so frustrated that he loses his mind and quits. The operation was simple, you’d spend the whole day lying still on your bed with the hopes that Sukuna would fall apart from boredom before you did.

Luckily, you’d had plenty of experience with boredom as a princess, likely more than Sukuna had - you were pretty confident that he would crack long before you would. So you laid there, day after day, staring up at the canopy. You’d often keep Sir Pounce-a-Lot clutched to your chest, still wary that Sukuna might threaten to throw him out of the window again.

You’d do your best to completely ignore Sukuna, a task that you found wasn’t particularly tricky after the first few days. He’d originally tried to make conversation, to aggravate you with his comments. When you’d given him nothing he’d quietened down and the two of you started a long-running stand-off of existing in silence in that decadent room.

Until Sukuna hatched a plan of his own.

You’d become vaguely aware of him moving about the room while you laid there, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of your attention. You’d hoped that his movement was a sign of his restlessness, that it meant that your days of lying idle would soon be over.

Sukuna had said that your father wouldn’t bend on his decision on where he posted his star Knight, so if Sukuna really did get frustrated enough to quit, he’d be quitting your father’s service altogether, and then you’d never have to see his frustratingly handsome face again - the perfect outcome.

As you daydreamed about a life free of Sukuna’s presence, the man in question settled back down into his chair. Unbeknownst to you he had found something very interesting as he’d rummaged through your drawers - something that could signify the end to this annoying little game that you were playing with him.

You’d half drifted off to sleep when his deep voice cut through the silence. At first you’d tuned it out, decidedly uninterested in whatever he had to say, until his sentences started to sound more familiar to you. “Looking up at the king she felt desire deep in her gut, her body naked before him, giving herself over to him in ways that she had never given herself to a man before–”

You shot up into a sitting position, your eyes wide in sheer horror at the words coming out of his mouth, words that you’d only ever read by candlelight when everyone else in the castle was asleep. Heart racing you looked over at him, sitting spread out on the armchair as he continued to read aloud.

In his hands sat a tattered pink book. It had some art of a beautiful woman on the cover, being held gently by some handsome prince. This book in particular had not been on your bookshelf with the others, mostly because you were a little ashamed to own it.

Your friend Yuki, one of the noblewomen that you spent a lot of time with, had gifted the book to you. She’d told you that it was a good learning resource for womanly matters.

The story itself was pretty cliche: a protagonist who was whisked away to the court of an evil and attractive king, with said king actually turning out to have several layers to him, and the characters ultimately falling in love. But you weren’t really reading it for the plot, instead you’d spent many an evening re-reading one particular scene, where the main character finally gave herself to the king, letting him take her virginity.

The scene always served to rile you up, you’d never encountered such content written down before. All of your knowledge of sex came from what Yuki would tell you about her relationship with her husband Choso. Outside of that no one had told you anything. Your mother had passed away before you were old enough to have such conversations, and your father certainly wasn’t going to approach the subject, most likely deeming it as a job for your future husband.

So this book was akin to the holy grail for you, allowing you to live vicariously through the character and fantasise about what it might be like to one day have sex. It allowed you to brush aside the worries that your father would marry you off to some gross old man, and indulge in the thought that you too would get to find your own version of the book’s evil king.

But that information, the deep desires that the book stirred in you, were meant to be for you alone. So the humiliation that ran through you as Sukuna read from the page that you had bookmarked was unparalleled.

“-and as he crawled on top of her, he lined himself up with her entrance, pushing himself in–”

“Please stop.” You pleaded softly. You wanted to yell and scream at him but you were afraid that your father might come in if there was too much commotion, and you certainly didn’t want him to see the book.

He looked at you with a sharp grin. “There we go.” He said, as he snapped the book shut. He placed it back in the drawer where he’d found it, even going as far as to bury it beneath the pile of clothes that it had originally been hidden under.

“Are you done with your little tantrum now? Or do you want me to read more of that smut aloud for you?”

“I fucking hate you.” You said, still shaking with embarrassment.

“At least you’re talking again.” He said. “I know you’re trying to get rid of me, but I get good pay working for your father. I’m not going to quit just because some little brat gives me the silent treatment.”

He took a seat on the edge of your bed and leant in close. Perhaps it was because of the words from the book that had just been spilling from his lips, but you felt a little flustered with the heat of his body so near to yours.

“If you want me gone, princess, you’ll have to work so much harder than that.” He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.” Your voice came out shakier than you would’ve liked it to. You didn’t want his presence to affect you in such a way, but this was the closest a man had ever been to you, and his gaze was so intense that you were quickly losing your nerve.

You were sure that was how he wanted you to feel though, so you needed to pull it together quickly to not lose face in this battle of wills.

“Mmm, do your worst.” He said, that shit-eating grin never leaving his face.

—

Your first operation had been a colossal failure. You could hardly look Sukuna in the eye after the filth that he’d so proudly recited from that book of yours. In the future you’d need to be more careful about where you were putting your things to make sure that he didn’t stumble across your diary or something else equally personal that he could weaponise against you.

If you couldn’t force him to quit by boring him, you’d just have to get rid of him another way.

One of the only times that Sukuna ever really left you alone was when you were with your handmaid, Shoko. Despite his frustrating knack for constantly being at your side, even he knew that it was inappropriate for him to be present when you were bathing or getting dressed up.

Shoko was gently brushing your hair as you stared down your reflection in the mirror, completely lost in thought. The handmaid was content with the silence, she’d been working with you for a few years now and had become accustomed to reading your moods, always doing her best to match your energy.

“What would you do to get rid of him?” You asked, eyes moving to meet hers in the mirror.

Shoko shrugged as she placed the hairbrush down on the vanity, her hands going back to your hair as she began to braid it. She didn’t have to ask who you were talking about, your dislike for Sukuna had been all you’d been able to talk about for the last few days.

You’d thought that she was going to provide no further response, that she’d grown weary of Sukuna talk, before her neutral tone cut through the silence.

“Make him look like he’s doing a bad job.” You raised a brow at her in interest. “For example, if you went to the King and told him that I was intentionally pulling hard at your hair whenever I brushed it, he’d probably fire me and bring you a new handmaid.”

You turned that thought over in your mind for a moment before shaking your head. “No, he worships the ground that Sukuna walks on, he’d probably just yell at me and say I was making stuff up.”

“What if it wasn’t made up?” She suggested. “Sneak out or something, go hide at your friend Yuki’s house. Sukuna will have to confess that he’s lost you and then your father will fire him for being incompetent.”

So that was exactly what you did.

That night, you waited until Sukuna had retired to his quarters, giving it another hour to ensure that he wasn’t coming in to check on you before you put your plan into action.

Sneaking out of your window was not new to you. Back when Yaga was your Knight you would often climb down the lattice outside one of your windows, allowing you to drop down onto the ramparts, giving you free run of the castle. There was no real reason for you to do it back then beyond the rush that it gave you of doing something forbidden. Usually you’d wander around the castle halls aimlessly before heading back to your room - you’d never snuck out properly, always staying within the relative safety of the castle walls.

This time there could be no half-measures. If you were going to really highlight Sukuna’s incompetence, you needed to leave the castle and strike out into the town itself. Once you were out you could run straight to Yuki’s doorstep and wait until your father came to find you.

You scrambled down the lattice and onto the ramparts below, taking a moment to check both directions before slipping down a hidden passage that would lead you to the ground level of the castle. As a child you had spent a large amount of your free time discovering every nook and cranny of the castle grounds, so you were fairly comfortable with getting around quickly and unseen.

It's because of that exploration that you were aware of a passage that ran beneath the castle wall and into the sewers beneath the town that surrounded the castle. You headed into the garden, brushing aside shrubbery until you found the metal covering to the passage. Pushing it aside, you grabbed a lit torch from the garden wall and dropped down into the hole.

So far so good.

It had been a while since you’d been down here, but you were pretty sure you could remember the way. Following the winding path along until it opened up into the sewers. This was where things got a little more tricky - you weren’t exactly sure which sewer grate opened out into an ideal location, and the last thing you wanted was to emerge in the middle of a busy street.

You weren’t even disguised, so you certainly didn’t want to be sighted by commoners while smelling like the sewer, that would do irreparable damage to your reputation.

Doing your best to mentally map out the town above you, you snaked your way through the sewer passages, marking your way with chalk on the wall here and there so you could backtrack if you needed to.

Eventually you reached a ladder heading up to the surface. By your calculations, you were quite far from the main bustling part of town. You made your way up the ladder and pushed the sewer grate aside, trying to move it as quietly as possible, not wanting the sound of the metal scraping against the cobbles to draw attention.

Popping your head out of the hole you thanked the gods that you had ended up in a completely deserted alleyway. You scrambled out from the sewers and quickly replaced the grate.

Taking in your surroundings you figured that you’d come out in the upper district of the city, where all of the larger houses of nobles were situated - exactly where you’d been trying to get to. You took a moment to get your bearings, trying to figure out the fastest way to get to Yuki’s house from your current position before heading out of the alley.

Your journey was a relatively easy one. The upper district was an area that had a high presence of city guards, meaning that the crime rates were low. As such, the streets were mostly empty and risk free, with you only running across the odd guard and late night reveller.

Why did you even need a personal Knight anyway? You were getting along just fine without him.

As you approached Yuki’s house you noted that all of the windows were dark, not a single lit candle in sight. You supposed that made sense, it must’ve been approaching 1am at that point, and you hadn’t written to tell her to expect you. You hadn’t wanted to risk Sukuna intercepting your letter and finding out - he had no real respect for your privacy so you didn’t think it would be beyond the realms of possibility for him to do such a thing.

But now concern was gnawing at your belly. What if you knocked on the door and she didn’t wake up to answer it. Or worse, what if her sensible husband Choso opened the door and took you back to the palace? He was unwaveringly loyal to your father, and you considered that he may not be willing to risk Kashimo’s wrath for the sake of your little game.

Lost in thought, you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you until it was too late.

A hand clamped firmly over your mouth, swallowing the sound of your scream as another hand snaked firmly around your waist. You were pulled back against a large body, the figure yanking you into a side-alley. Tears brimmed at your eyes as you desperately tried to struggle against the man, but to no avail. His grip was iron-clad.

Fear overcame you at the possibilities of what could happen to you next, were you going to be taken away? Killed? Tortured? Was your father actually right? Maybe you should’ve listened to him about needing Sukuna, if you hadn’t been so stubborn you wouldn’t be in this situation.

All of those thoughts and regrets instantly dissipated when a familiar laugh sounded from behind you, his hands loosening their grip and releasing you as you spun around to look at him.

Sukuna was peering down at you, his red eyes were lit up with amusement. He was still wearing his Knight’s armor, but he’d concealed it with a long black cloak that he’d likely been using to blend into the background. The look on his face told you just how elated he was that he’d caught you, like this was all some big game of cat and mouse to him.

“Aw, are you scared, princess?” He asked, a hint of laughter still present in his tone.

“What’s your problem?” You hissed. “I thought that was real, I could’ve–”

“Exactly.” He cut you off, his voice surprisingly serious now. “It could’ve been real. Someone could’ve whisked you away just then, done whatever they wanted with you. Aren’t you lucky that it was just me?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but his hands were on you again, pressing you up against the stone wall of the alley. “And that’s why we don’t run away. Good thing you’ve got such an attentive Knight huh?”

“The only threat out here was you.” He rolled his eyes and brought his face closer to you, so close that his nose was practically touching yours.

“That doesn’t sound like a thank you to me.” His warm breath fanned over your face, and he grinned at you condescendingly, his smile so wide that you could see his fang-like canines.

“I’m not going to thank you for giving me the scare of my life.” You said, your hands bracing against his armored chest to try and push him away a little, his close proximity was stifling. “How did you even find me?”

He scoffed. “That was easy, you and your handmaid don’t talk as quietly as you think you do, I’m very familiar with your whole little plot to get rid of me.”

Well, that was not ideal. You considered denying it, but that felt like a waste of time - he’d already heard the entire conversation, lying wouldn’t really get you anywhere.

“Mmm, any pointers so I can succeed next time?” You asked dryly, and he laughed - it was a more genuine and joyful laugh than you were used to hearing from him, and it caught you off guard.

“Make sure I’m definitely not listening next time you hatch a plan, that would be a big one.”

You nodded, a little deflated. “Noted. Are you going to tell my dad about this?”

“The sneaking out? Or your evil plan?”

“Both, I suppose.” You mumbled. Ideally, your father would never find out about this situation at all. You’d get scolded for sneaking off, and your credibility for accusing Sukuna of anything in the future would completely disappear. It would essentially ensure that he would stay as your Knight for the foreseeable future.

“I won’t tell him about either.” Sukuna said simply, an unreadable expression on his face.

Your brow furrowed with confusion, trying to understand what game he was playing. The only person who benefitted from your father not knowing was you, Sukuna had every right to tell him what was going on, it was only fair in this petty little game you were playing.

“Why?” You asked with uncertainty.

“Because this is enjoyable. I like watching you come up with all these cute little plots to get rid of me, it keeps me on my toes.”

You couldn’t decide how you felt about that. Nothing about this was supposed to be entertaining for him, it was meant to be torturous. He was meant to despise you for putting him through hell, and yet here he was talking about it like you were taking part in some trivial competition.

“And,” he continued, “I thoroughly enjoy thwarting your little plans. I’m not going to ruin my own fun by bringing your father into this.” He brushed a hand through your hair and brought his lips to your ear. “This is between you and me, princess.”

An involuntary shiver ran down your spine, the hairs on your arms standing up at the feeling of his warm breath on your ear and neck. You were quick to side step away from him, thoroughly flustered by his behaviour. He was smirking back at you.

Smug bastard.

“Anyway. We should head back.” Before you could say anything, he stalked over to you and hoisted you over his shoulder. You let out a little yelp of surprise, adrenaline rushing through you as you were manhandled into the air.

“H-hey! Put me down!” You demanded. When he didn’t respond, you started to beat your fists against his back, desperately trying to get his attention. He seemed completely unbothered by the action, striding through the streets with you firmly in his grip, as though the weight of your fists was no more irritating than a fly buzzing around his head.

“You might want to quieten down, I’ll be carrying you back all the way through town - wouldn’t want your citizens to see you making a scene now would you?”

You froze. He had you down on that front. In private you’d be as difficult as you liked, throw your temper tantrums at him or at you dad. But never in public. That’s a value that your mother had instilled in you from childhood. Image was everything for a princess, you couldn’t have the common folk thinking ill of you, it was your job to be a shining example of elegance and grace.

So you stopped struggling against Sukuna, going limp in his hold and allowing him to carry you back to the castle.

Fortunately for your sanity, the late hour meant that very few people got to see you in your humiliated state. A few townsfolk spared you a glance before going on with their nights, and the guard stationed at the castle gate had a good laugh at you before letting Sukuna by. He and Sukuna seemed plenty chummy with one another, with Sukuna slipping him a gold coin in exchange for his discretion on this situation.

Sukuna insisted on carrying you all the way to your chambers, going so far as to tuck you into your bed. You were so disoriented by the events that had transpired across the night that you didn’t even have it in you to verbally chastise him, silently going along with his actions.

“Thereee you go.” He said softly as he pushed Sir Bounce-a-lot to your chest, your hands instantly gripping at the bunny. You were livid, this felt like some sort of sick humiliation ritual, but you felt too tired to really push back against his actions.

Not to mention, it was hard to spit vitriol in his direction when your brain wouldn’t stop replaying the way that he’d manhandled you to get you back to the castle, flinging you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

It had been so embarrassing, and yet your traitorous body still burnt hot at the thought of it, at how his big, warm hands had felt against your skin, how the low rumble of his voice had reverberated through his body beneath you as he’d carried you back to the safety of your chambers.

You realised a moment too late that your gaze had been lingering on Sukuna for too long. You looked away swiftly, but not before you caught the flicker of interest that appeared in his deep red eyes.

“Goodnight princess.” He said softly. You couldn’t tell if his tone was mocking or genuine. Either way you’d have to save yelling at him for the morning.

Then it would be time to work on a new plan to get rid of him.

next chapter | series masterlist

a/n: thanks for reading! I'm going to try and get the next chapter out in the next week!

let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist.

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gerbits · 1 year ago

Text

GERBITS TOWNIE OVERHAUL: A SAVE FILE

*waves*

This thing was due for a major update- and I've finally mustered up the inspiration to get it done 💪

What is this? This is a save file where all (yes, ALL) of the EA townies have been given makeovers- hair, faces, clothing...no eyeball rings here, folks. And the best part? They are all CC-FREE!

You won't find any updated builds or anything, because I'm not a builder. What you will find on top of makeovers, however, is that this save file is also mostly lore-friendly.

Neat! So, what changes have been made? Sims have been removed and/or added (goodbye Katrina Caliente, hello Kaylynn Langerak!), relationships have been fixed (depending on your definition of 'fixed', heh), and concept sims are now a part of the game! (ever wonder what happened to those awesome sages of magic? wonder no more!)

For an overview of the big changes, check out this doc!

Okay, but what if I only want a couple of these households? Fret not, because they are available on the gallery! And before you ask, no, I won't be uploading tray files. You can find them by searching for my username in the gallery (unsurprisingly, it is gerbits), and you will need to have "includes CC" ticked! While they are, indeed, CC-free, I made them with my defaults installed and apparently that isn't good enough for EA.

I changed my mind, I want the whole save! How do I install it? Place the file in your Documents/Electronic Arts/The Sims 4/saves folder. Easy peasy!

If you have read through all of that rambling, I commend you, and I present one (1) download link (OKAY it's two but it's the same thing so, really, you could consider it one):

DOWNLOAD (SFS) alternate (dropbox)

#finallyyyy!! hope you guys enjoy :3 #the sims #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims #ts4 save file

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liliavanrougelover · 2 months ago

Text

The five love languages

Summary: The TWST boys top two (2) love languages.

Characters: All NRC student (-Ortho)

Warning(s): Nothing graphic but passing mention of murder and blood in Rook's

A/N: I learned that bats purr and had to add it to Lilia's section.

Riddle Rosehearts

Words of affirmation:

Riddle loves being praised. And I mean LOVES. Everytime you commend him for something, he falls in love with you just a little more. And it could be the most simple thing in the world. Washing dishes, making tea, making a tart, getting a good test grade. Anything. The moment a single praise falls from your lips, he’s as red as a strawberry. He’s not used to being affirmed, so when you come into his life and start complimenting him for every good thing he does, he can’t help but feel better than he’s ever felt. He yearns to hear your praise at least once a day.

Quality time:

He loves being in your presence. No matter what. Whether you’re talking or just sitting in silence together, he feels loved. Just knowing that you’re there with him is enough for him. The moments he values the most is when you and him are just silently sitting in his room together. He’s sitting at his desk studying and you’re doing something else. No words need to be said. And if you’re observant enough, you’ll notice the way he occasionally glances at you and softly smiles.

Trey Clover

Quality time:

He loves spending time with you. Simply just being in the same room. His favorite times is when he’s teaching you how to bake. Everyone loves talking about the things they like and Trey is no different. He also just loves baking for you. Making a tart while you sit in the kitchen with him. Your presence is a blessing to him.

Acts of service:

Trey is busy really often. As the vice housewarden, he is almost just as busy as Riddle. So if you did one of his tasks for him, he is so grateful. He loves knowing that you care about him and are taking your time to lighten his load even by a little.

Cater Diamond

Gift giving:

Cater loves getting gifts from you. Especially when it’s something he really wanted. If he mentions wanting something and then you give it to him the next day, he’s swooning. You listened to him and got exactly what he wanted. He’s going to make at least ten posts about it. He also loves giving gifts to you. He’ll take hours picking out the perfect gift to get and- if he can’t decide- might get you multiple gifts.

Physical touch:

Loves, loves, LOVES, physical touch. He loves holding your hand, hugging you, kissing you, and so on. Being able to just touch you is like a dream to him. It’s also a great reminder that you’re there. And when you initiate, he loses his mind. You love him too! Has posted multiple pictures of you two holding hands. If pictures were a love language, that would be his primary one.

Ace Trappola

Physical touch:

He loves touching you. His favorite form of physical touch is laying on top of you. It doesn’t matter if you’re laying on your back, stomach, or side he’s going to flop himself on top of you. And when he’s tired, he’ll find you and drape himself over your shoulders. He’ll stay like that until you agree to cuddle with him.

Acts of service:

He doesn’t do that much. But Riddle does give him work to do around the dorm like everyone else. Ace, however, doesn’t like doing chores (shocking). So if you take it upon yourself to do those chores for him, he’ll be so grateful. He’ll tell you that you saved his life. He’s just very happy that you did his work for him. He loves you.

Deuce Spade

Quality time:

He loves being in the same room as you. Being able to see you and know that you’re his. He can just kiss you at any moment and that’s a very nice thought to him. Watching a movie, studying or just sitting next to each other. No matter what you’re doing, he’s just glad to be with you.

Words of affirmation:

Call him smart. He loves when you call him smart, or when you encourage him to be less of a delinquent. He loves knowing that you believe in him. And he also loves knowing you love him, so make sure to remind him about that. He can’t get enough of your praise. It’s also why he likes your voice so much.

Leona Kingscholar

Physical touch:

He’s a cuddly lion boy. He’s touching you any chance he gets. Cuddling you, arm wrapped around your shoulder or waist, holding hands, kissing. Anything where he can have his hands on you really. He’s a lion and lions are very cuddly. Plus he’s warm.

Acts of service:

Leona doesn’t do much. He doesn’t feel motivated to do much. So when you do those things for him, it’s nice. He comes back to his room after being dragged to class and he sees you made his bed, or you hand him the lunch you made for him before he goes to class. It’s nice to know that someone cares enough to take care of him without expecting to be paid.

Ruggie Bucchi

Gift giving:

He’s saving more than he’s ever saved before. He’s going to work as hard as he can to buy you anything you want. No matter how expensive or rare, he’s working as hard as he needs to so he can get it for you. He even starts saving his food money to buy food for you as well. If you care about his wallet, proceed with caution before you mention wanting something to him. He’s mostly against you paying him back for the gifts, but if you insist, he’ll accept.

Acts of service:

He’s cleaning your room, making you food, doing the grocery shopping. He’ll even do your homework if you want him to. And he won’t make you pay for most of it, isn’t he so generous? It’s not a big deal to him. He does it everyday, so why not do it for you. And if you do something for him? He melts (after making sure you don’t want payment).

Jack Howl

Physical touch:

He won’t tell you, but he loves when you touch him. If you intertwine your fingers with his, wrap your arms around him, or kiss his cheek, he’s feeling euphoric. It’s so simple but it means so much to him. If you want to see him blush or watch his tail wag a mile a minute, just brush your hand against his. He’s like a little puppy.

Quality time:

He just loves being around you. His favorite times are when he’s showing you his cacti or showing off his muscles to you. He’s just ranting about his cacti to you and fun cacti facts. Or he’s bench-pressing you to show just how strong he is and listens to you marvel at his strength.

Azul Ashengrotto

Words of affirmation:

He loves listening to you praise him. And even if he pretends to be confident, he’s secretly losing his shit after every compliment. You call him smart, and he says he knows, but internally he’s freaking out. The only compliments that he’ll outwardly react to are the ones about his appearance. He blushes brightly and pauses in his work. And if you look a little closer you’ll see the small smile on his face.

Physical affection:

This boy needs to know that you don’t find him disgusting. He still replays the insults from when he was a kid. So when you hold him in your arms without hesitation or a hint of disgust, he melts into your arms and lets himself relax. And if you murmur compliments into his ear, he’s putty in your hands. Down bad.

Jade Leech

Physical touch:

He secretly craves your touch, but he would never let you know that. When you initiate, he will tease you about it, but if you’re observant enough, you’ll catch the way he relaxes into your touch. And when he initiates, it’s always in private. He never initiates PDA, he’ll only be vulnerable with you in the privacy of your or his room.

Acts of service:

He’s one hell of a butler, after all. His job is literally to do whatever Azul tells him, and now he’s doing that for you. Does he want something in return? You’ll figure that out eventually. If you do start doing things for him, he won’t stop you. He finds it sweet, and it is nice to have less work to do.

Floyd Leech

Physical touch:

Pretty obvious. He squeezes you. He squeezes everybody, but you're his favorite to squeeze. He will drape himself over your shoulder, drop his head in your lap, grab your hand, kiss you, and of course, squeeze you. And you have to let him, you're his shrimpy, after all.

Gift giving:

He will give you random objects that he found. Shiny coins or rocks, sticks, flowers, not shiny rocks. He finds something and just goes “good enough” and gives it to you. Does he expect something out of it? Yes, definitely, absolutely. But he also just wants to show his love to you. And when you start gifting him back, he’ll be so excited that you’re reciprocating.

Kalim Al-Asim

Gift giving:

He’s rich. He knows this, so he’ll buy you anything you want. To him money is an object that can buy you anything you desire. If your gaze lingers on something for a second too long, it’s yours. He’ll also buy you jewelry to match him to show that you two are dating. And when you buy him something, he gets so happy. It doesn’t matter what it is, it came from you so he cherishes it forever.

Physical touch:

He will jump on you any chance he gets. It doesn’t matter where you are or what you’re doing, he will hug and kiss you. He could be in the middle of something really important, but will stop just to give you a kiss. He’ll rest his head on your shoulder in class and will even hug you when you do something cute (he gets scolded for it).

Jamil Viper

Acts of service:

He loves when you do things for him. For most of his life, he was forced to do things for other people so having someone take care of him for a change is nice. He also likes taking care of you. He gets to choose who he takes care of now, and it’s going to be you. But he definitely prefers receiving rather than giving.

Quality time:

He loves spending time with you. Just sitting near you makes him so blissful. He’ll invite you to the parties at Scarabia, ask you to help him cook, and offer to help you study. Anything to get you to be near him. He’ll never tell you, but it’s very obvious that he’s just trying to be near you as much as he can.

Vil Schoenheit

Words of affirmation:

Vil knows he looks good, and he appreciates knowing that you know that too. However, he prefers giving rather than receiving. He will always tell you how attractive you look, how smart you are, how charming you are. He knows how terrible insecurity is and he never wants his partner to experience that. So he’ll make sure you know just how great you are.

Quality time:

He loves spending time with you. Whether that be shopping, doing makeup, at home spa dates, or testing out smudge free lipstick. He just loves being around you. Especially after a particularly busy day. He loves unwinding with you in the privacy of his room. It doesn’t matter what you two are doing as long as you’re doing it together.

Rook Hunt

Words of affirmation:

Rook is a man of many words. He’s always praising others for everything they do and that goes tenfold for his partner. There’s not a moment when he isn’t singing your praises. He’ll even tell other people just how great you are. It’s rare to not have him following you and waxing poetic about all the things he loves about you. Can you blame him? He has so much love and he needs you to know just how lovely you are.

Acts of service:

He will do anything you ask him to. You could ask him to kill a man and he’s already cleaning the blood off his clothes. He’s the guy who believes that actions are just as loud as words. He already tells you how much he loves you so now he’s going to show you. Careful what you say around him, because he will do anything you want. Anything.

Epel Felmier

Words of affirmation:

He loves when you call him strong and manly. He will carry heavy things just to hear you compliment his strength. He also likes hearing you call him handsome because he sees it as more masculine. He also loves telling you how attractive you are and how much he loves you. He isn’t as eloquent about it as Vil or Rook might be, but it’s very him and therefore very romantic.

Quality time:

Loves spending time with you. He likes walking you to your classes or dorm because it’s more time he can spend with you. He will love it if you offer to walk him to spelldrive practice and especially if you stay and watch. He just likes spending time with you and appreciates if you make an attempt to spend time with him too.

Idia Shroud

Words of affirmation:

Loser boy needs to be assured that he’s loved. He needs to know that you love him. He could listen to you praise him all day. Hearing that you don’t think he’s a loser makes his day. Or at least, that you don’t mind him being a loser. He also loves when you hype him up while he’s playing video. He just loves when you praise him.

Quality time:

Video games. He loves playing video games with you. You’re his player two after all. He’ll invite you over to play video games, watch anime, or just rant like a dork (affectionate). He just loves spending time with you and involving you in the things he does. And if you do the same, he’ll fall in love with you a lot more.

Malleus Draconia

Gift giving:

He is always giving you things. Specifically shiny things. Nocturnal fae courting rituals include gift giving. Therefore, he’s just courting you. If you do give him gifts back, he just assumes you’re married. You give him a shiny rock you found and he’s just like “Ok, I’m your husband now.” But he never stops gifting you. He can’t let the love die.

Physical touch:

He loves cuddling with you. He loves any sort of touch, but specifically cuddling. Whenever he’s near you in public, he has his tail wrapped around your waist in a protective manner. Nobody will hurt you if they know you’re his. He will also hold your hand as a way to further cement your position as his partner.

Lilia Vanrouge

Gift giving:

He will gift you the most random things. Even things you, most likely, don’t want. You complain about a bunch of rats in Ramshackle and the next morning, there’s a bundle of dead rats on your doorstep. Bat’s also gift food to their mates. I’m sure you can see where this is going. Good luck.

Physical touch:

Bat’s are very cuddly and as a bat fae, Lilia is no different. He has no concept of personal space. You’re doing anything and he’s tucking himself under your arm without a care. And he’s purring while he’s there. And if you stroke his head or play with his hair, the purrs get louder than you would think possible.

Silver Vanrouge

Quality time:

He loves spending time with you doing anything. He does feel bad, because he’ll sometimes doze off. Please wake him up when he does, he wants to spend time with you. He likes going on walks the most because it keeps him awake. He also does whatever you want. He wants you to have fun with him.

Acts of service:

He likes doing things for you. It doesn’t matter what it is, he’ll do it. Just tell him something you don’t want to do, and he’s doing it for you. He wants to lighten your load even if it’s just by a little. And if you do something for him, he’ll be grateful. He doesn’t need you to do anything for him, but he’s not going to be upset about it.

Sebek Zigvolt

Words of affirmation:

He’s very vocal about how much he loves you. He would scream about it from the rooftops, and probably has. He tells you he loves you one time and now everyone knows. And when you reciprocate, he practically combusts into flames. His face is super red and he’s stumbling over his words. It happens so much that he thinks you’re casting a spell on him every time.

Acts of service:

He’ll find time to do things for you. Yes, he does things for Malleus, and now he’ll squeeze in time to do things for you. But, oh, if you do things for him. You ask Lilia or Malleus about an errand he has to run and then do it for him. He finds out and his pride is bruised but at the same time, he can’t help but get just a little flustered.

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sqgeism · 2 months ago

Note

Can I ask for something related to an Anaxa with a reader who gets nervous easily? An already established relationship.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 feeling like i need something | amphoreus men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; feeling like i need you . amphoreus men (anaxa, mydei, phainon) with a nervous reader !

love mail — thank you anonnie for a request, i'm happy to write for you :D not much to say here, just working on a quick reqs (*ﾟーﾟ) does this count as a layout change again (;゜0゜)?

anaxa wasn't entirely sure how to help with your shyness, he was a blunt man, never afraid of confrontation or anything of the sort. but something he noticed was that you had a tendency to fidget, as a fellow professor who taught a major class, sometimes you grew frustrated with your nervousness before teaching a new lesson and possibly messing up (you never have, you're a top teacher and anaxa finds it a little humorous).

but in the faculty, you'd be going over your notes and powerpoints for the students, mumbling and picking at your fingertips. of course, not wanting you to hurt your poor fingers any longer, anaxa makes his way to your desk and pulls his chair next to yours. you look at him, furrowed brows and downturned lips, and he sighs. "here." he holds his hand out to you quietly. "i don't want you picking on your skin anymore. if you so.. need it. use my hand instead. i'll be alright."

now he has you in a loop. he knows you don't want to hurt him, even if it's something as significantly painless as picking at his skin (he gouged his eye out ..), you still don't want to hurt him. so he watches as you poke his knuckles, tug on his fingers, and just use his hand as a little fidget toy.

the morning break for teachers comes to an end, and professors part ways into different classes. anaxa, knowing you were the second teacher in his first class, decides he wants to leave you a surprise. "you'll do great, dove." anaxa murmurs as he presses a kiss to your hand, soothing your worries.

once your second class comes along, you see him exit the classroom and smile at you, holding the door open for you to enter. "how oddly cheery." you think, walking in and placing your material on the teachers desk, until something catches your eye.

"ease your worries, my dove. you're the smartest person in the room, never hesitate to speak that brilliant mind of yours."

a letter, simple as it is, you know it's from the heart. anaxa had long left, likely not wanting to be late, but your chest swells with pride.

you receive a commendation later that day, the students have all passed their homework early and had been genuinely invested in your class. <3

mydei is gentle, but still urges you to try and come out of your comfort zone. taking you to meet the children, long strolls to ease your worries after a long day, all of those little things. something you seem to particularly shy away from, is eye contact.

now mydei knows he's a bit.. on the intimidating side, but he finds it funny that you can't look at him too long or you'll turn away.

so he's made some sort of 'training' for you. which is really just staring into his eyes. sometimes (all the time) he makes it harder by caressing your cheek, or brushing hair away from your face, simple things that fluster you with ease. it's funny, he won't lie, but he wants to help you. eye contact is important during conversations (and he wants to see your eyes when he talks to you).

one day, after a few weeks of this, mydei had called you over to ask you for something. unfortunately, the warrior had 'completely forgotten'. and you two stared at each other as he tried to figure it out. the entire time, you held eye contact, even smiled at him in a baffled manner. only for him to lean down and press a kiss to your lips right after.

"you did great, sweetheart" is all he says before going on his day.

phainon doesn't mind your nervousness. he'd want to help you try and move past it, but he'd hate for you to feel pressured. so instead, he makes you laugh! whenever something makes you feel a little anxious, he cracks a joke or pulls you closer, wanting to stray you away from that experience or moment. his goal is to eliminate the cause of your anxiety, but he knows he can't always do that. so he makes due with words of encouragement, getting your spirit and confidence high as he cheers for you like he's been on a cheer team for five years. probably your biggest supporter, he's sure of it.

if you struggle with stuttering, he's sure to guide you through it. he's serious the entire time you practice a script or a presentation, helping you calm down every time you start to stutter from the pressure or grow frustrated with yourself when you forget a line.

"hey, hey, baby. you're doing great." phainon's holding down your wrists kindly because he knows you'll sometimes hit your head out of annoyance with yourself. he doesn't want that. "try again, slowly. the world isn't ending, honey. take your time."

you eventually memorize the presentation and phainon jumps out of his seat and cheers, wrapping you in a bear hug and exclaiming how proud he is of you to the aeon's.

#ㅤ 𐔌᭥ᩙ༉ㅤnew flower bloomed ! :ೃ࿔𔓘 #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #anaxagoras x reader #anaxa x reader #anaxagoras #mydeimos x reader #mydei x reader #mydei x you #mydeimos #phainon x reader #phainon hsr x reader #phainon

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krkiiz · 2 years ago

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take a chance with me . luke castellan x reader

you decide to confront luke about your current situationship with him.

luke castellan x f!reader , reader is the daughter of Athena , crack , misunderstandings , “what are we” , “i thought we’re already dating” , fluff with slight angst , overthinking , kisses , them being sappy , nicknames

note : can’t stop falling in love with this evil betrayer smh. inspired by niki’s song “take a chance with me” ! (IM SORRY IF THIS IS CRINGE this is my first time writing kiss scenes help 😭😭😭😭)

let me know your thoughts ! likes, reblogs, and comments appreciated <3

“It’s getting dark. Let me walk you back to your cabin, yeah?” The dark haired boy smiled at you.

Gods how you loved that smile of his.

It’s a tradition of yours. Him walking you back to your cabin after your outings. The two of you walk hand in hand as your near the Athena cabin.

You and Luke had been acquainted for quite some time. You both first met when you arrived in camp for the first time.

You were fifteen back then. Time passed by as fast Zeus’ lightning strikes as summers blurred after summers. In a blink of an eye, you guys were both eighteen now. Adults, no longer those carefree teenagers that relied on your counselors.

During those three years of friendship, you and Luke only got closer. It was hard to admit, and after an excruciating time of denial (and constant pestering from your half siblings including Annabeth), you finally surrendered and admitted the growing feelings you harbored for your close friend.

You’re too afraid to confess your feelings as you treasured your friendship with him deeply. You would gush about how sweet he is to Annabeth, rolling yourself on your bed as blood rushed to your cheeks at the thought of him.

Little did you know he was doing the exact same thing. Confiding to Annabeth about your recent encounters, eyes lit up rivaling the shine of Apollo himself as he thinks of you.

Poor girl. Annabeth was sick of it.

But this summer, you felt a shift in your dynamic with the curly haired boy. He would eat lunch with you more often, asking you to go on more hangouts, challenged you on more duels, battles. It felt different, closer.

You were not complaining, matter of fact you were quite glad. Maybe your feelings wasn’t just one sided after all.

But as time move forwards, the closer you two get, more couple-ey interaction commends. He would tuck your hand behind your ear as you both converse, intwining your hands when your in the same path, calling you nicknames.

The more your relationship with him progressed, the more it blurred the line between friends and more. At this point, you knew he had feelings for you as well, and he too was well aware of yours.

A bubble of thought soon started clouding your mind. What were you both now? Friends? Close friends? Lovers? You don’t remember Luke asking you to be his girlfriend.

What was the nature this relationship?

You feel his grip on yours loosening as you stopped near the grey building of Cabin 6. “This is it for you, princess.”

Words rolled of his tongue like honey and you felt like a honeybee, drawn to its sweetness.

Friends don’t call each other nicknames.

Luke placed a gentle hand on your cheek, drawing closer has he placed his lips on your temple, as if he was kissing your thoughts away. “What’s got you thinking so hard since we started walking, hm?”

Your cheeks lit up like campfire at his action, he smiled noticing your flushed state.

Cute

You look up to the curly haired boy, his fingers still pressed on your cheek. What are we, Luke?

What if Luke suddenly doesn’t want you anymore because of that question?

Were you too selfish by wanting more?

Was this not enough for you?

No it wasn’t. You want to draw a clear like between friends and more, and Luke and you were shoveling a deep hole in the middle of said line.

What if he fears commitment and disappears?

“Oh no, it’s nothing Luke.” You shook your head away from his grasp, pushing all your thoughts away. “It’s late, I should probably get in.”

But before you can turn away from him, Luke was quick to grab your hand, not letting you go any further. “No, Yn. Something is clearly bothering you. And I don’t want you to go to bed with an unpleasant feeling.”

He squeezed your held hands. “Please, Yn. Is it something I’ve done?”

You were quick to deny him. “It’s not, Luke. I don’t even know it’s just. I don’t know, confusing? I think complicated is the right word.”

The dark haired boy brought your intertwined hands to his lips, kissing your forearm softly. “It’s okay take your time, darling. I’m listening.”

You sighed seeing him caress your hand gently as he brushed his lips on the skin. “It’s about us, Luke.”

Dark hues make contact with your own. “What about us?”

“What are we Luke? I don’t even know anymore.” You retracted your hand from his grasp, frustration getting a hold on you. “Friends don’t hold hands while they walk, friends don’t kiss each other’s foreheads, or hands, or even call each other nicknames.”

You look up to see the confusion written clearly on his face. “What are we, Luke Castellan?” You asked once more.

There was a moment of silent and you dreaded it. Each passing second you can hear the rustling wind, chirps of birds, and the sound of your heart falling into your stomach.

Before he finally broke it. A wholehearted chuckle graced his lips, creasing his eyes.

You scrunched your eyebrows at his reaction. Clearly displeased. Were you some joke to him?

“Luke, this is serious, why are you laughing right now?”

He quickly straightened his composure after hearing your tone. “Ehem, wait sorry. You’re serious? Is this what you’ve been worrying about?”

“Well yeah. What’s so funny about it? Am I just some joke to you?”

“No no! Yn, wait.” He placed both of his hand above your shoulders. Eyes peered at yours before genuinely asking. “Haven’t we been dating for like two months now?”

What? Confusion warps your face.

“Yn, remember? Two months ago when I took you on a picnic by the lake? I asked if you wanted to be together and you agreed to it, remember?” He tried to recall your memory.

Then it snapped.

“Oh, that was a confession? I thought you meant it in a friendly way.” Luke mentally face palmed himself and you sheepishly giggled.

“Okay maybe I was too vague with my words so let’s redo it right now yeah?” You tilted your head at him.

The dark haired boy took both of your hands from your sides, lacing them into his. “Yn L/n, daughter of Athena, one of the best warriors I’ve ever seen, wisest and the most just ever, will you take the pleasure of being my girlfriend?”

You unwind your laced fingers, your hands moving, circling themselves around the nape of his neck as his hands are now placed on the sides your waist, drawing you closer. “Hm will I?” You teased him lightly.

“Please?”

“I guess you got yourself a girlfriend, Castellan.”

You laughed against his chest. And you can feel his ribcage expanding was he laughed along with you.

You tilt your head above, standing on the tips of your toes, as you pulled him even closer than before. Your noses touch at the proximity and you could feel his breath on yours. “Is this why you’ve never kissed me before?” you hear him whisper.

“Well I am doing it right now.” You pull him in, his lips crashing with your own. His grip on your waist tightened as your hands made its way to the softness of his curls. Eyes tightly shut as you both bask in the bliss of ecstasy before pulling apart.

He leaned his forehead against yours. Giving your lip a small peck as he craves for more of you. “I don’t know if this is not obvious yet but I like you, so so much, my Yn.”

You softly giggled. “I like you just as much, my prince.”

©️ sirena | krkiiz 2023

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #pjo x reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x you #percy jackson #pjo tv show #pjo series #luke x reader

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bunnyrights · 11 days ago

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PAC reading - it won't be easy, but it'll be so worth it

hi lovelies <3 happy saturn day & summer/winter solstice! this felt like the right kind of reading for today's energy; a celebration of the midpoint of the season on a day ruled by saturn, like a metaphor for being half way through an arduous journey. what is requiring far more effort than you'd like that will surely be rewarded? and how can you keep faith through it? let's find out!

take a deep breath and ask yourself what group holds guidance for you. it's more than alright to be drawn to more than one as this is a general reading. if you'd like a more personalized one, take advantage of the $3 flash sale i have going on (⁠◠⁠ᴥ⁠◕⁠ʋ⁠)

group one

three of pentacles + king of wands + the moon + the magician

you're pursuing a creative project that doesn't seem to be progressing as quickly as you'd like, and it's revealing the insecurities you have about your capabilities. firstly, it's okay to doubt yourself, dwelling in it is what's harmful. you're being encouraged to work with other people, and don't cower from leading and being more direct; you genuinely are knowledgeable and skilled enough to do so. it makes sense to look to the lack of physical results as proof of your lack of experience, but there is so much value in things taking time. as trite as it sounds, great work isn't achieved without hard work, especially when it's done to last.

step into a more authoritative role; you are capable and your work is not in vain, so stop basing your progress on what you see or hear on social media. for someone here, stop comparing your efforts to trust fund kids. it's not that you're not manifesting hard enough or believing hard enough, those people literally have everything they need already and you don't.

group two

ten of cups + knight of pentacles + the emperor + eight of cups

you have been tasked with being the one to overcome the generational trauma that's a result of an overbearingly patriarchal lineage, and it feels like it's in vain because everyone and everything is challenging your efforts. what you're doing is bigger than you; you're unlearning beliefs that have kept the women in your family oppressed. this is not just for your own good, but for the relatives that will come after you. someone, and that's you, has to carve out the path for it to feel like a possibility.

it feels like thankless work, especially when you get shut down or punished for it, but it's so necessary. you are being supported by past loved ones who have the insight to see how these oppressive familial beliefs continue to impact how you and others carry yourself in the world. you are truly a trailblazer and it's not about being validated in this, because frankly you won't be, it's about learning that you deserve respect simply for existing too.

group three

judgment + seven of swords + justice + queen of pentacles

you are choosing to stand up for what is right and just, and it baffles you how much pushback you're getting for it. you are choosing to stick to moral integrity against rising fascism and bigotry, and it can feel threatening to your life at times. you are not in it for social reward, so it doesn't need to be said that you shouldn't expect it, but what you're doing is not in vain. you are standing up for the disenfranchised when it truly matters, and that's incredibly commendable.

now is not the time to back down, but do practice more self-care. not in the commercialized way, but as the radical act of defiance like audre lorde referred to it as. you cannot help anyone when you're burnt out and overwhelmed from how difficult things are, so please prioritize taking care of your basic needs – food, sleep, etc – to be able to sustain your efforts. safely find community with your local organizers to ensure you can speak to people who can reassure you that this fight is tedious but necessary.

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hoshifighting · 1 year ago

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"Seungcheol, if your mouth could stay shut for once, that would be amazing."

"You should try sitting on it sometime."

— Synopsis: Where you are a Secret Agent, and on a new task, the director of your agency puts you in charge of a mission, however shared with Seungcheol, your enemy within the company. — WC: 3.2k — WARNINGS: Enemies to lovers, smut, face sitting, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, reader kicks Seungcheol once, guns, Seungcheol is such a flirty, and etc.

Since you started to work as a secret agent, you have spent eight years of your life dedicated to the operations of your enigmatic organization. Your reputation for being a relentless workaholic had earned you the respect of your colleagues, but you knew that, as a woman, you had to work even harder to prove yourself in this male-dominated field.

The mission briefing had been shrouded in secrecy, and you were accustomed to the clandestine nature of your work. The director, a stern and calculating figure, sat at the head of the table. Your heart raced as you took your usual seat, the weight of responsibility settling over your shoulders.

"Agent Y/N," the director began, his eyes piercing through the dim light, "you have proven yourself time and again as one of our top operatives. Your dedication to the mission is commendable, and your track record speaks for itself."

You nodded, acknowledging the director's words with a stoic expression. Years of covert operations had taught you to keep your emotions in check, especially in the presence of those who held your fate in their hands.

"However," the director continued, his gaze shifting to a figure standing near the door, "this mission is of utmost importance, and we've decided that you'll be working alongside Agent Seungcheol."

The tension in the room was palpable as you and Seungcheol exchanged a curt nod, acknowledging the director's decision. The history between you and Seungcheol ran deep – you had been recruited together, trained side by side, and grown up together

inside of the secretive organization. However, somewhere along the way, an unspoken rivalry had developed, and your interactions had become laced with sarcasm — a habitual defense mechanism that had become second nature to both of you.

As the director delved into the mission details, you and Seungcheol kept your gazes fixed forward, avoiding eye contact. The air was thick, because neither of you could pinpoint the exact moment the rivalry had begun, but it had become an integral part of your dynamic.

You couldn't deny Seungcheol's skills – his sharp intellect and quick reflexes complemented your own, forming an unexpectedly effective duo. But since you never liked his guts, you never asked to work with him. You liked to charge the missions alone, a bit egoistic, but sharing the mission with someone means that you needed to get along with their ideas. And when that someone is a pain on your ass, you can't help but want the mission to end as quickly as possible.

In the following days, you and Seungcheol found yourselves forced to cooperate.

The training room echoed with the sounds of combat, and you and Seungcheol faced off under the watchful eyes of the trainer, who called for a sparring match between you and Seungcheol.

Seungcheol's muscles rippled as he steady himself for the impending clash, his confidence evident in his cocky grin. You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath about the unfairness of the situation.

You exchanged a glance with Seungcheol, both knowing that this was going to be more than just a friendly sparring session. The trainer's words fueled the competitive fire that had long been smoldering between you two.

Seungcheol chuckled, flexing his muscles theatrically. "Come on, Y/N, don't hold back. I hope you've been practicing your moves."

You rolled your eyes, a smirk playing on your lips. "Oh, Seungcheol, I've been waiting for this moment."

As Seungcheol lunged towards you, you swiftly sidestepped, allowing your training to guide your instincts. With a calculated move, you delivered a precise and well-timed kick to the middle of Seungcheol's legs.

The room echoed with a sudden gasp "Fuck! My balls!"

Seungcheol crumpled to the ground, his confident grin twisted into a pained expression, cursing under his breath. A tiny tear formed at the corner of his eye, which, against his will, rolled down his cheek.

"Seriously? A kick in the balls? That's your strategy?" Seungcheol asked, holding his crotch.

"Well, it never fails." You couldn't help but chuckle, extending a hand to help him up. "Besides, it's not my fault your muscles can't protect you from everything."

Seungcheol accepted your hand, irritation in his eyes. "I'll remember this, Y/N. Just you wait."

[...]

The air was filled thick with the mingling scents of expensive perfume and cigar smoke. As you discreetly adjusted the gun holster beneath your dress, your eyes scanned the crowded party. Important figures from politics, the music industry, and CEOs adorned the lavish venue.

Seungcheol's voice crackled in your earpiece, his tone playful. "Careful, Y/N, don't trip over that fancy dress of yours."

You adjusted your black dress, the piece clinging to your body was not the best choice for this type of mission. but you had to look sophisticated, blending seamlessly into the high-profile event. Rolling your eyes, you responded with a sharp whisper "Careful Seungcheol, before I choke you with your own tie."

Perching yourself on a barstool, you observed the president's wife making her way down the grand staircase. The opulent ring on her finger immediately caught your attention. However, a quick and discreet glance told you what your sharp instincts suspected – it was a clever forgery.

As you listened to her conversation, she mentioned the gift from her husband, a gilded ring with a sparkling jewel that captured the attention of everyone in the room. But you knew better; the real ring was somewhere else.

Leaving the crowded main hall, you discreetly made your way to the backyard of the mansion. Spotting a vertical staircase, you hesitated, careful to avoid any prying eyes.

As you got up the ladder, Seungcheol's voice chimed in through your earpiece, his tone laced with a mix of amusement and disapproval. "Seriously, Y/N, could you have chosen a more discreet dress for this mission? You're practically broadcasting our presence."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, even though he couldn't see you. "Well, Seungcheol, if you can find a way for me to conceal a gun in a gown, I'm all ears."

A faint chuckle echoed in your ear as you reached the top of the stairs. "Point taken. But your dress is a bit... revealing."

Looking down, you noticed Seungcheol standing below, arms crossed, a disapproving expression on his face. A sudden gust of wind played a mischievous role, lifting the fabric of your dress and revealing a hint of your thigh through the slit.

A small sigh escaped your lips as you discreetly adjusted the fabric to regain some modesty. "I know the view is amazing, Seungcheol, but we've got a mission to complete. Focus, will you?"

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, trust me, I'm focused."

"I need you up here. We have work to do."

"Aight Ma'am."

The search for the elusive ring led you and Seungcheol through the rooms of the mansion. The tension in the air was palpable as you scoured every inch for the hidden treasure, aware that time was decreasing.

The quiet shuffle of footsteps grew louder, echoing through the opulent hallway as you and Seungcheol frantically searched for the elusive ring. The sudden realization that someone was approaching sent a jolt of urgency through both of you. Without a second thought, you grabbed Seungcheol's arm, and the two of you dashed towards the nearest hiding spot – a closet at the end of the corridor.

"You know, Y/N, it's a shame we're stuck in here. I was hoping for a front-row seat to your fashion show."

Your eyes narrowed, and you shot him a stern look. "Seungcheol, if your mouth could stay shut for once, that would be amazing."

As he investigated the cramped space, he muttered, "You should try sitting on it sometime." His quiet suggestion, delivered as if he had inadvertently let his thoughts slip, hung in the air.

"What the fuck?"

A moment of silence hung in the air before you couldn't help but scoff, a mixture of disbelief and amusement in your response. "Really, Seungcheol? Now is not the time for your innuendos."

The thought of sitting on his face was really tempting, even if he was Seungcheol, you couldn't deny the he looked hot as fuck. However, you couldn't let his teasing distract you from the pressing matter at hand.

"Why, of all people, did they choose you to work with me on this mission?" you inquired.

"They wanted to see if we could actually work together without tearing each other apart."

"Let's find that ring and get out of here before your humor gets us caught."

The realization struck you as you scanned the closet for any last-minute clues – a piece of cloth concealing a safe. Your instincts kicked in, and with no time to decipher the real passwords, you swiftly directed Seungcheol to step back.

"Move away, Seungcheol," you commanded, grabbing your gun and taking aim at the lock. A single shot echoed through the room as the lock shattered, revealing the sought-after ring nestled within the safe.

The relief was palpable as you delicately retrieved the reason of the mission. However, the sound of the gunshot had undoubtedly attracted attention. With a sense of urgency, you pocketed the ring, and both of you left the room.

Bodyguards approached, closing in on your location. Seungcheol's quick reflexes took down one, and with a swift move, you incapacitated another. The voice of your assistant buzzed in your earpiece, directing you to the parking lot where your escape awaited.

As you and Seungcheol hurried through the mansion, the route downstairs became blocked by advancing guards. A daring solution presented itself as Seungcheol seized your hand and brought you to a large window overlooking the party, with guests oblivious to the unfolding chaos.

You glanced at the dizzying drop, the pool below shimmering like a distant oasis. Fear of heights had never been an issue for you after years of high-stakes missions, but the sight still made you gulp. Seungcheol, holding your hand, assessed the situation.

"It's the only way," he declared, determination in his eyes.

The sound of approaching bodyguards left you with no other option. Taking a deep breath, you squeezed Seungcheol's hand, and together, you leaped from the window.

Gasping for air, you and Seungcheol emerged from the pool, the water cascading off your soaked bodies. Wasting no time, you and Seungcheol hurriedly left the pool, the wet clothes clinging uncomfortably to your forms.

Navigating through the concerned crowd, you and Seungcheol helped each other, the soaked clothing making every step a challenge. The glances from the partygoers intensified as more bodyguards approached, running towards the commotion. The parking lot, your salvation, beckoned in the distance.

With the sound of approaching footsteps and murmurs growing louder, you and Seungcheol quickened your pace, weaving through the gathering crowd. The black car awaited your arrival. As you reached the vehicle, wet and disheveled, you wasted no time. The doors swung open, and you both practically fell into the car, water dripping onto the leather seats.

Seungcheol revved the engine, and the car sped away from the mansion, leaving behind a confused and agitated scene. The wet clothes clung uncomfortably, but the precious ring, safely secured in your hand, provided a sense of accomplishment amid the chaos.

The car sped through the night, weaving through the city until it came to a stop at the inconspicuous hiding place behind the International Attaché Offices. The tactical team awaited, ready to secure the ring and initiate its swift return to the country, knowing it was in capable hands, and the team quickly moved to carry out their mission.

Once the ring was safely in transit, you and Seungcheol made your way to a nearby hotel. The day's events had left you both soaked, drawing more than a few curious glances as you entered. The receptionist raised an eyebrow as you approached the check-in counter, both of you dripping water onto the floor.

The news that you and Seungcheol would be sharing a room elicited a shockedreaction from you. "Really? After spending the entire day together?!"

You huffed in response, making your way to the room with a glance back at Seungcheol. The tiredness from the day's events washed over you, and as you entered the room, you couldn't help but express your exasperation.

"I hope you don't snore," you quipped, a hint of humor in your voice. "After today, I need some decent rest without any surprises."

Seungcheol chuckled, seemingly unfazed by your protests. "Don't worry, Y/N. I promise to be on my best behavior."

You emerged from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your hair, to find Seungcheol already engrossed in a conversation with the IT specialists, poring over the details of the ring's location. He glanced up at you, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Feeling more calm now, Y/N? Has the anger passed?" he inquired, seemingly unfazed by your earlier irritation.

You scoffed, a trace of annoyance lingering. "No, it hasn't. And it won't as long as you keep talking."

His grin widened. "Well, you know, I did give you a good suggestion back at the mansion. Sitting on it would keep me shut."

You chuckled, appreciating the humor in his attempt to lighten the mood. However, when the laughter subsided, you noticed the shift in Seungcheol's expression. His playful demeanor gave way to a more serious gaze, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was more to his earlier comment.

"Wait, are you serious, Seungcheol?" you asked, the curiosity evident in your voice.

He met your gaze, the playful facade replaced by a sincerity that caught you off guard. "About what I said earlier? Yeah, I was serious."

Your legs involuntarily pressed together, a strange mix of disbelief and arousal sweeping through you. The suggestion that initially seemed like harmless banter now had an unexpected effect, making your panties damp, while you tried to maintain composure.

Seungcheol, with a cocky grin, manspread in front of you, his cock showing up on his tactel shorts, so locking eyes as he casually asked, "So, what's your answer, Y/N? Feeling a bit more open-minded now?"

"Seungcheol, you must be out of your mind if you think I'd entertain that idea."

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing on his lips. "Why not? We've been through a lot today. A little stress relief might do wonders."

You scoffed, trying to dismiss the newfound awareness of the situation. "Your suggestions aren't exactly what I had in mind for stress relief, Seungcheol."

He raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face. "Oh? And what did you have in mind, then?"

The unexpected turn in the conversation took you by surprise, and you hesitated for a moment. However, the playful glint in Seungcheol's eyes and the underlying sincerity in his previous words made you reconsider.

With a wry smile, you conceded, "Fine, Seungcheol. Maybe your suggestion has some merit. A little unconventional, but it's been a long day."

Seungcheol's eyes widened in surprise, his cocky demeanor momentarily replaced by genuine astonishment. "Wait, seriously? You're considering it?"

You decided to take the lead, sliding off your shorts and panties in one swift motion. "Come on, Seungcheol, no time to waste. Act before I give up."

Seungcheol, seemingly caught off guard by your bold move, grinned and chuckled. "Well, when you put it that way."

Without hesitation, he followed suit, taking off his shirt and laying on the bed, Seungcheol's silent gesture prompted you to get up, you climbed onto the bed, straddling him. When you feel the warmth of Seungcheol's breath against your wet pussy, you stop and slowly sit on his face.

You gasp, and he moans against your core, his tongue running through your folds, before sucking your clit between his lips. Seungcheol's hands grab your ass, instructing you to ride his face.

As you began to ride, the room filled with the wet sounds, the arousal from your dripping pussy, now was glistening on his face, Seungcheol's eyes were attentive, watching your reactions, to see if he was eating you out like you deserve.

"Fuck, it's so good Seungcheol-ah…" Your legs trrembled around his face, and he answered with a long hum.

You still stopped from releasing your weight on him, Seungcheol sensing this, wrapped his arms around your waist, your cunt pressed to his tongue now. His tongue swirls around your clit as you squirm holding his hair making his eyes close in pleasure. He begins to suck your bud with more precision, your clit becoming more and more sensitive and the vibrations of his groans against your pussy made your orgasm finally hit you, your legs closing around his ears.

As you released yourself from Seungcheol, sitting on his side. He ran his thumb across his wet chin, a subtle gesture that seemed to convey a sense of satisfaction. With eyes closed, he sensually sucked on his thumb, his gaze met yours, a satisfied look played on his face.

"Is there something more I can do for you?" He asks, caressing your legs.

A teasing smile played on your lips as you whispered in his ear, your words laced with playful suggestion. His response was a low, involuntary moan, his lips bitten in response to the subtle teasing.

Seungcheol, catching on to the direction of the conversation, asked, "Is that what you want?" Your nod was all the confirmation he needed.

With a swift movement, he got up, freeing himself from his shorts, revealing there was nothing underneath. His cock lays on his belly, big and proud, the precum already making his tip shiny.

You positioned yourself, laying your face on the bed and lifting your ass up, glancing back at Seungcheol from over your shoulder. The suggestive pose seemed to elicit a reaction from him.

With a swift motion, he slapped your ass, a grin playing on his lips. "You're naughty,"

He positioned himself, before slamming his dick all inside of you, the veiny cock was stretching your walls, while he hummed how good your pussy was tightening around him.

"Fuck, I don't even know why we've been buckering like two idiots, you're so hot." He says before his hips start to pick up pace.

The room became a symphony of moans as you mumbled something about how good it felt, your face pressed into the mattress. Seungcheol's hands firmly held onto your body, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he skillfully hit the g'spot.

Seungcheol moaned, expressing the pleasure of the moment. "You feel so good around me, you lil' slut" he muttered.

In response, you announced that you were on the brink of another climax. "I'm cumming again," you whispered.

He eagerly asked, "Yeah?" And with that affirmation, he sped up his hips, sending you into a convulsive release, spasming on the bed.

As you tightened and then relaxed around him, prompting Seungcheol to release. A primal moan escaped him, and he threw his head back, while he pumped his dick, his cum spreading on your ass. Your body collapsed on the bed, the duvet now soft against your skin. Seungcheol laid by your side.

Seungcheol's fingers gently brushed through your hair, a tender gesture that contrasted with the all-the-time-bickering. He leaned in, kissing you with a fiery intensity that left you momentarily breathless, your senses overwhelmed.

As you came back to the present, Seungcheol, a teasing glint in his eyes, asked with a smirk, "Did I knock you out with that kiss, Y/N? Or was it something else?"

"Hmm… I'll kick your balls again" You threatened tiredly.

"No! You won't!" He covers himself and you chuckle closing your eyes.

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cookiekissers · 9 months ago

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I won't be replying directly to this request because it was anonymous, but for the future please remember to send off anon if you want nsfw. I can't guarantee or verify your age because anyone can lie about their age when they're on anon!

🔥🔞[Short Spicy Fic + Burning Spice NSFT HCs]

You stare up at the towering giant of a Cookie looming over you. His hair was dark, long, and wild. He had a muscular build, strong arms, and a large, well-defined chest. The guy was stacked, especially in the chest region. It was impossible not to let your gaze wander down his form. Now, this was one handsome Cookie.

"You. Cookie. On your knees. Bow to the Great Destroyer!" Burning Spice Cookie commanded. You blinked in confusion.

During your travels through the sands of this land, you saw many statues dedicated to "The Great Destroyer." Though the Cookie was handsome, he didn't look anything like those giant, beastly statues.

You snickered playfully.

"Heh, really, you? The Beast of Destruction? You sure about that, handsome?" You tease.

You opened your mouth to fire another flirtatious comment at the stranger when he suddenly lifted you by your hips and slammed you against the steep rock wall, knocking the breath from your lungs. Burning Spice's large, muscular body pressed up against you, caging you in with ease. He stared down at you, the heat in his eyes scorching you to your very core. You felt yourself flush, feeling as vulnerable as ever under his hungry gaze. Burning Spice growled low in his throat, his tongue swiping over his lips, eyeing you with a growing lust.

"Very brave of you to speak to me that way, little Cookie." He commended. "But I'll show you what the Beast of Destruction is capable of and why I earned that title." Burning Spice grinned. His voice turned husky, his words full of promise. You gulped, trying desperately not to fidget. Burning Spice leaned forward, capturing your lips roughly. His hot kiss filled you with a fiery need as your tongue tingled and burned with a sweet, addicting heat. Your legs quickly wrapped around Burning Spice's waist, and he wasted no time grinding himself between your legs, his eagerness showing itself quickly.

You gasped as Burning Spice Cookie pulled away to focus on your neck, covering it in feverish kisses that leave behind a tingling sensation. It was one that you couldn't get enough of. His sharp, golden teeth sunk into your crispy dough, and a sudden yelp from you made him chuckle in triumph. The Beast's grinding had become quicker and more desperate. You hung on, your fingers tangling in his black locks as his teeth remained clamped on your throat. Slowly, you could feel something rubbing against you in Burning Spice Cookie's loose pants.

"The destruction I cause on Earthbread will be nothing compared to what I will do you, my little Cookie~" The Beast rumbled fervently.

You panted, your face flushed and your stomach tying itself in knots at Burning Spice's husky voice in your ear. The friction he was giving you only made you feel hotter, and your head spun.

Once he released your throat from his jaws to shove his tongue down your throat, you took the initiative. You wrapped your arms around his neck eagerly, surprising him with a steamy kiss of your own. Burning Spice Cookie wasn't rough in that moment, it almost seemed sweet the way he squeezed you tightly, kissing you deeply and grinding up against you. You drew back slightly, panting.

"Well then, go ahead. Destroy me, Daddy,~" You purred seductively, teasing him further, your hands trailing over his chest and shoulders. Burning Spice Cookie grinned widely at the invitation, and he reached down and ripped your pants off your body.

🔥[HEAD CANONS]

You can't tell me after spending centuries locked in a magical prison he isn't going to be pent up and horny. Showing clear interest in him and teasing him is going to get you a one way ticket to pound town. Burning Spice won't even care if you two do it out in the open, he's horny and he wants you NOW.

Yeah, he would definitely fuck you in front of his spice army. Just to make sure that everyone knows that you're his.

I hc that the Beasts are much larger than the average Cookie, Burning Spice especially. And of course, being a big guy, his dick is huge lmao

Call him "Daddy" and he will go crazy. You won't be leaving him for a while or walking when its over.

He loves cumming inside and filling you over and over. He gets unexpectedly mushy and cuddly after a breeding session.

Burning Spice is the definition of Spicy. His internal temperature is far higher than the average Cookie's and his cum is no exception! It's hot, literally, but thankfully not hot enough to cause injury, but it does take a little bit to get used to.

I imagine him to be the type to be ok with a friends with benefits type of agreement, only to get needy for you frequently, and realize in the middle of fucking that he's balls deep in love with you hjghfjgf

He doesn't like anyone else touching what is his. Any Cookie tries to hit you up he's grabbing his axe and not holding anything back.

Loves biting you while he fucks you hard. Its one of his favourite things, and you will often be covered in bite marks.

When out in public, he will be his usual self. But when in private with you, the tiniest amount of his old self from before his corruption will come out. But these occasions are rare.

Burning Spice will probably prioritize his pleasure over your own, but he's not going to leave you unsatisfied.

He's a top/dom, and does not tolerate anything else. He likes having control over you during sex and enjoys ravaging you until you pass out.

Is lowkey a bit into degradation. Will call you a cumslut, boy toy, pet, daddy's dirty boy, daddy's cock slave, ect

#mango's text 🥭#spicy cookies 🔥🔞#cookie run x y/n #cookie run x you #cookie run x reader #x reader #crk x reader #cr x reader #burning spice cookie #burning spice x reader #male reader #x male reader #male reader nsft #cookie run smut #crk smut #hope this is alright! / w \ despite me reading a lot of x reader stuff I haven't written any until now!#this was supposed to be only hcs but i wrote a oneshot as well hgjfhjgf #kyu queue'd 🍩

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lupinescribbler · 8 months ago

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Watched the pilot for Psych and my first impression is how hysterical it is that this guy is like “yo, I know what’ll make the police department take me seriously: pretending I’m a psychic.” As if those two things aren’t completely incompatible

Then, of course, he ends up in this situation. He’s committing so hard to the bit it’s commendable.

#psych #shawn spencer #s1e1 #screencaps #screenshots #my screencaps #carlton lassiter #also any grown man picking up another grown man has a special place in my heart #psych 2006

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mooishbeam · 2 years ago

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『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity.

DING DING DING

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium.

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf.

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!”

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it.

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe.

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you.

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching:

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!”

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy”

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss.

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.”

“Then why is this happening?”

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice.

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily.

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life.

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest.

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect.

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished.

“Hm? Who’re you?”

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.”

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this.

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly.

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you.

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked.

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist.

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.”

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.”

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?”

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours.

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this.

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear.

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.”

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response.

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring.

“Wriothesley! Times up.” He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you.

“Two minutes.”

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe.

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.”

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line.

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads.

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette.

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand.

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.”

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you.

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand.

“No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy.

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.”

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.”

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him.

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze.

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips.

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips.

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction.

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl.

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile.

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence.

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head.

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair.

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone.

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle.

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant.

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face.

“Why are you being annoying-”

“Who were you talking to” he chides.

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.”

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.”

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.”

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel.

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word.

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners.

Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course.

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone.

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face.

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you.

He promised.

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address.

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again.

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.”

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly.

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse.

“What? I don’t know.” “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response.

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy.

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-”

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-”

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab.

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-”

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes.

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-”

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there.

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts.

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds.

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside.

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask.

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid.

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face.

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body.

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology.

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.

“So, um.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably.

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts.

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes.

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you.

“Sorry. For what I said.”

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit.

“You know I didn’t do it, right?”

“I know.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know.” you reassure.

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention.

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy.

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours.

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house.

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw.

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge.

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom.

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness.

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks.

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance.

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can.

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest.

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?” he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.”

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.”

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

#genshin smut #genshin au #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley #fontaine #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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ddarker-dreams · 8 months ago

Text

Cherubim.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: Implied trauma, Gojo and Geto are both weird + manipulative. Word count: 6k.

-Index-

March 18th, 2006.

2:26 p.m.

Gojo Satoru has found himself embroiled in his greatest turmoil yet.

Assassination attempts? That’s nothing, he’s waved those off since he was a kid. Jujutsu politics? The higher-ups can yap until they’re blue in the face; they’re all bark, no bite. Curses? Similarly inconsequential. No matter how much power they hold, they're reduced to speckled splatters the instant they cross his path.

For most, experiencing one of these dilemmas would prove too overwhelming, much less all three. He isn’t like most, though. He’s strong. Incomprehensibly strong. He can weather any storm, shift the tides of any battle in his favor. Has this gone to his head? Absolutely. He can handle ‘too much.’ It’s ‘not enough’ that’s proving to be an issue.

This is why he’s detailing his recent woes to an uninterested Ieri Shoko, who made the mistake of reading in the dormitory’s common area.

The scene is as follows:

Satoru’s along the length of the couch, his long, lanky limbs dangling wherever they can. He lays his head against the armrest, snowy hair succumbing to gravity in an avalanche that frames his face. He uses his ability to keep his sunglasses from meeting the same fate. Behind the dark frames, his eyes narrow into a piercing stare. If the ceiling were sentient, it would’ve fled by now. Such is the potency of his miserable mood.

Parallel to him sits Shoko, the fat of her cheek squished upward from resting on her fist for so long. Books, candy wrappers, and notes from last year’s curriculum yet to be thrown away litter the table’s surface. Suguru’s could put a calligraphist to shame, even if they were written in a Badtz-Maru pencil you won from a gachapon. Your notes stand out as well. They’re bright shades of your favorite colors, organized according to a system of your own devising. Occasionally, the handwriting shifts, taking on Suguru or Shoko’s likeness for trickier kanji. You doodle hearts of gratitude around the yomigana they include for good measure.

(You complained that his handwriting was ‘indecipherable’ when he tried doing the same. Out of spite, he gave you the cold shoulder… for three minutes. He withers and wilts without your attention).

He sighs and concludes his monologue.

“So, that just about sums everything up. Well? What’s the prognosis, Doc?”

“You’re in desperate need of more friends,” Shoko replies. Satoru lets out an unsatisfied grunt. “And you miss [First].”

Satoru perks up at your mention, finally giving that poor ceiling a much-needed reprieve. He shuffles around until he’s facing Shoko.

“But she just headed out yesterday.”

“I know.”

“That’d make me really weird and clingy, right?”

“Glad you’re catching on.”

While Satoru contemplates the previously unconsidered possibility of him being ‘really weird and clingy,’ Shoko reopens her manga. She’s of the mistaken belief that the issue has resolved itself. Unfortunately for her, the problem extends beyond Satoru’s insatiable hunger for you. The problem is Satoru himself. Until he’s running amuck elsewhere, there’ll be no solace.

She commends herself for her patience.

In typical Satoru fashion, he continues testing it.

“When was the last time you updated your passport?”

“I’m not flying to her home country with you,” Shoko shuts down what he thought was a brilliant plan. “It’s just two weeks. Wait it out.”

“What if we fly first class?”

“Gojo.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s still too soon to meet her parents. It’s gotta happen eventually though, right?”

Shoko doesn’t dignify this with a response.

Satoru sinks into the cushions. Could there be anything worse than boredom? He has no missions lined up, you and Suguru are visiting family, and the first-years haven’t arrived yet. Pestering Utahime has lost its charm too. He could return home before the school year starts, but he’d rather have his fingers chopped off one by one than suffer that torture.

“Hey, Shoko.”

“Mm.”

“Why aren’t you back home? I thought you got along with your parents.”

“They’re both busy. I wouldn’t see them much.”

Satoru doesn’t press the matter.

It does intrigue him though — the relationship sorcerers have with their non-sorcerer families. Or, to be more specific, yours and Suguru’s familial dynamics intrigue him. Satoru can’t (and doesn’t bother trying) to care for the going-ons of anyone outside his small circle. This is more the hubris of a teenager who has been told he’s special his entire life than anything malicious. To Satoru, the world’s population might as well be stuck at three.

Regardless, it’s an improvement.

Before meeting Suguru, those in his life consisted almost exclusively of suckups or stuckups. If he was unlucky, it’d be both, rolled into one terrible package. This was his reality. Jujutsu was his reality. He was the first to possess the Limitless and the Six Eyes in generations. The Gojo clan wouldn’t waste such an extraordinary opportunity. He was their pride and joy, personality aside.

He was born to be the strongest.

He can’t imagine any other life for himself.

Then there’s you.

He could see you leading a normal life. You wouldn’t be top of the class or a varsity athlete, but you’d be well-liked. Boys would nervously ask you out on dates and buy you roses with money they got from mowing lawns. You’d be the first one your friends would call when they experienced heartache. Maybe you’d go to college or land an entry-level job. Some co-worker with a decent sense of humor would win you over. Then you’d get married, rent a property, have a few kids…

Satoru’s stomach twists. He grimaces, shifting his thoughts elsewhere. Namely, the question that’s bothered him for a while.

Why did you become a jujutsu sorcerer?

It was intentional. You chose to leave behind your home, your family. You knew the risks. How the body can break and ache in ways previously unrecorded. And what do you get in return for this thankless crusade? Sleepless nights where you tremble like a leaf beside Shoko? A nimbleness at dressing wounds that could only have come from years of practice?

You’re open about everything until you aren’t. Fear, mortality, loss — when confronted by these unsightly truths, you retreat to someplace he can’t follow.

Satoru can’t make sense of it. Neither can Suguru. Shoko says they shouldn’t press the matter. He wants to, though. He needs to know how you break. How else can he ensure that you never will?

He thinks back to that humid August day. The binding vow eviscerated your insides, shards from fractured bones dug into your organs. Until that point in his life, Satoru prided himself on his immunity to fear. The pathogen never lasted long in his system. After all, fear is born from a lack of control. From having something to lose. If he couldn’t lose, what was there to be afraid of?

It’s a question he’s been avoiding.

(“If she dies,” he told Suguru, in a voice he barely recognized as his own, “They die too.”)

His mouth feels dry, his tongue heavy. He’ll drink that tea you’re fond of later to satiate his thirst. He wonders if you share its taste.

“What’re you reading, anyway?” he asks, hoping to take his mind elsewhere.

“Fruits Basket.”

He laughs, incredulous.

“Seriously? Didn’t take you for a shoujo type.”

“I borrowed it from [First]. We’re doing a book exchange over break.”

A book exchange… three words Satoru never thought would pique his curiosity. However, anything about you demands his undying attention. Even if it’s shoujo manga. Girls who read that genre do it to project onto the heroine, right? So the love interest must have appealed to you. What tropes do you like? Do you want a shy, sensitive soul who blushes and stutters in your presence? A misunderstood bad boy who’s only soft around you? The responsible student council president?

Oh, he’ll have so much material to tease you with when you return. He can’t wait.

“How do I enter this exclusive book club?” Satoru demands.

“You don’t. I don’t trust your taste,” Shoko replies, much to his chagrin. “You can still read it, though. She has all of the volumes in her room.”

… Your room?

He grins from ear to ear.

Should he respect your privacy? Probably. Is he going to? Of course not. He never has, there’s no point in starting now.

This trip of yours might yet redeem itself.

Along the outskirts of Jujutsu High, Geto Suguru spots an odd woman.

She’s wearing a baggy graphic tee, low-rise jeans, and gaudy bracelets on both arms. Her black hair is tossed up, thick strands sticking in every direction. Even from this distance, he can discern the silver glint of piercings that dot her ear like constellations. The stranger stands slouched, both her hands shoved into her pockets. For her to have gotten this far, she can’t be a civilian. Those unfamiliar with jujutsu can’t find this place.

He stays still for a spell — watching and waiting. From this distance, she shouldn’t be able to sense his presence. It’s one of the few areas he excels at over Satoru. Satoru’s cursed energy is bright, blindingly so, a thunderous clap that can be heard for miles. Suguru prefers to keep his muted. It coils around his limbs like a serpent, never straying far. This is why you had no difficulty picking out Satoru’s stupefying presence on your first day, whereas he had to make himself known to you.

Suguru’s lips quirk up.

He was fated to meet you.

“Hey! Kiddo!” A deep, somewhat raspy voice exclaims. He blinks rapidly, temporarily thrown off. “This ain’t an art gallery. What’s with the staring?”

She noticed him? How?

When the stranger starts slinking his way, he regains his composure.

“I apologize. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable,” Suguru’s cadence flows smoother than a river.

“Hah! ‘Uncomfortable?’ That’s a way of putting it,” she pokes the space beneath her emerald eyes twice. “Even now, I can feel ya picking me apart. Shit’s creepy.”

His smile tightens. “I’ll be more mindful of my conduct in the future, then.”

She waves him off. Her golden bracelets clink together as she does so, the sound grating his ears.

“That’s a lie if I ever heard one. And I should know. Schemers excel at picking out their brothers in arms,” she juts her head up, giving the impression that she’s the one looking down on him, despite the slight height difference.

“Anyhow, by the looks of it, you must be Sugu-kun.”

… Did she just call him Sugu-kun?

“What? Too soon* to be calling you that? Heh, heh…”

Suguru’s smile tightens. “You can refer to me however you like, so long as I can return the favor.”

She guffaws.

“Maaan, Goldie sure was gracious in her description of you,” the woman gives him a lopsided grin. “Name’s Akane. There — is the playing field leveled now?”

“Ishimoto Akane?”

He doesn’t miss the way she winces as her surname is spoken aloud, rather pointedly at that.

“Ah. S’pose I had that coming.”

Suguru decides against prolonging her torment. He’s in a generous mood, it isn’t every day he has a chance to learn more about you. This is an opportunity he’ll take full advantage of.

“And I presume 'Goldie' is [First]?”

He makes a mental note to figure out the wordplay for your nickname later.

“Full marks.”

Suguru hums, a sound indicating that he’s drifting deep into thought.

You don’t mention your mentor often. When you do, it’s normally in the form of endearing (if not mildly concerning) anecdotes.

“She told me that natto is bits of caramel held together by melted marshmallows, like a Rice Krispy Treat. It… it was not like a Rice Krispy Treat…”

“... For my twelfth birthday, she got me Pokemon Ruby. I remember crying because Roxeanne’s Nosepass took out my Torchic. My cursed energy spiked and the party had to end early…”

“... Out of curiosity, I drank her stash of Georgia canned coffee. My heart rate was almost high enough to warrant a trip to the ER…”

Getting anything else relating to her out of you was like trying to wring water from a rock. Suguru didn’t miss the wistful melancholy underpinning your stories. You recalled them with a far-off expression as if mourning that those days of whimsy were over. Initially, he considered it a consequence of growing up. Childhood idols rarely remain highly esteemed as the years pass and maturity accrues.

His intuition argued that he should examine the issue closer.

(“I met her, y’know,” Satoru mentioned whilst he spun in a rolling chair ‘commandeered’ from Yaga. “Akane. Our girl’s mentor. Former mentor? Whatever the case is.”

Suguru sat his pencil aside, any investment in his studies gone.

“When?”

“Last March.”

Suguru sighed. “And you didn’t bring this up earlier because…?”

There’s a twinkle in his companion’s sunglasses-covered eyes.

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” Satoru shrugged.

Liar, Suguru thought, unamused by Satoru’s faux nonchalance. He must’ve had his reasons for neglecting to mention it for so long. Suguru figured your impending trip home had something to do with Satoru’s ‘miraculously’ cured amnesia.

“What? Don’t tell me you aren’t curious.”

The provocation failed to irk him. Instead, Suguru refocused the conversation.“Tell me your impression of her.”

Satoru stilled, threw his feet atop Suguru’s desk, and placed his hands on his neck. “About what you’d expect from a disgraced daughter of an influential clan. Bad-tempered, tattooed, pierced up… hah! Bet her old man would go into cardiac arrest if he saw her.”

“Satoru,” he implored.

“Fine, fine. So impatient,” The white-haired sorcerer complained. “I misread her. She got all mopey after she fessed up about Cursed Technique: Null. I wrote it off as envy. The student exceeding the master, or whatever.”

Satoru remained silent for a moment. “Post Kaizu, though, I assume the feeling actually gnawing at her… ”

Kaizu.

Panicked phone calls. Satoru’s agitated exclamations. His horrified silence. Your breathing faded, theirs accelerated. You looked so small. So human. He scarcely believed the limp girl cradled in his arms just executed such a devastating maneuver. Your cursed energy had exceeded any output he’d felt from you before. It was too much, your body wasn’t ready to endure a spike like that.

Suguru had never felt so distant from the title ‘strongest.’

At some point later on, in a hospital waiting room, Suguru posed a question.

Satoru heard him yet offered no response.

“Who taught her how to do that?”

“... was guilt.”)

“You didn’t visit her.”

Akane blinks.

“Hah?”

“You didn’t visit her,” Suguru repeats, his tone firmer. “[First]. Your student.”

She exhales shakily. Suguru thinks she looks tired.

“If you have something to say, just come out with it already.”

He was prepared to wear her down for hours — this willing cooperation saves him time. Although, it doesn’t make navigating the volatile minefield that lies ahead any easier. He knows how to rein Satoru in when he’s going too far. He can fluster you without giving too much of himself away. After rescuing someone from a curse, he knows the exact pitch, timbre, and tempo necessary to pierce through their abject horror. He’s a virtuoso at playing people, a conductor hidden amidst the audience.

Deceit. Misdirection. Coercion.

His repertoire is expansive and ever-growing.

From what he can see — what he can feel — the prodigal daughter before him boasts a similar discography. She returns his unflinching eye contact as if issuing a challenge. Daring him to use dubious methods that might work on anyone else. This obstinate resolve reminds him of you. Once you’ve determined your course, even he struggles to change the route.

He abandons all pretense.

“You didn’t want her here,” he theorizes. Akane’s face reveals nothing. “You knew something like that was bound to happen.”

Sorcerers aren’t only at war with curses. No, there’s an inner battle that must be fought as well. The recognition that the next assignment could be your last. And if it is, you won’t be commemorated by the masses; to them, you don’t exist. Your sacrifice will be known to a select few who mourn you, or a few who don’t. Everything could go right. Everything could go wrong. Engaging in that high risk for such a low reward goes against one’s self-preservation instincts.

How each sorcerer handles this fight is unique to them.

As for your strategy — you refuse to acknowledge this conflict exists.

Paradoxically enough, that functions as your self-preservation.

Akane smiles thinly. She’s almost his reflection, in that regard.

“Full marks.”

Suguru idly observes as Satoru paces back and forth, his troubled figure illuminated by a row of vending machines.

A nearby street lamp flickers. It’s late, but the local convenience stores glow with artificial light, tempting customers to come inside. Some are weary salarymen grabbing ready-made meals, others are middle schoolers clinking their change together, praying they can afford a sugary treat. The latest group cheers, indicating their triumph.

The duo receives odd looks — thanks to their school uniforms, no doubt — not that they pay the judgment any mind. No one troubles them. Not even a wandering policeman, who, under normal circumstances, would scold minors out by themselves at night.

Suguru theorizes that Satoru’s ominous aura is what subconsciously repels them.

Earlier today, Suguru bid farewell to his parents and boarded a train for Tokyo. As nice as it was to spend time with his family, he’d been looking forward to reuniting with you and Satoru. He amassed quite the phone bill thanks to your frequent correspondence. Nonetheless, he carried the minor debt with pride; it’s a sign you often thought about him. He planned for Satoru to assume the debt by dangling the pictures you sent his way as ransom.

His encounter with Ishimoto Akane grounded his soaring mood. This was made worse when he entered the dormitory, only to find a tight-lipped Shoko and agitated Satoru.

Shoko remarked that unlike the two of them, she’d be handling things with ‘tact,’ and retired for the evening, not wanting to catch their ‘stupidity contagion.’

It’d been hours since then. That time stretch brought them closer to revealing the complete picture, but a few pieces remained missing or incomplete.

The frenetic sorcerer stills and rummages around in his pocket.

Suguru takes the opportunity to break the silence. “I—”

He cuts himself off as Satoru whips out a familiar-looking chapstick. The cutesy design befitting your aesthetic stands out like a sore thumb in Satoru’s large, calloused hands.

“... Where did you get that?”

“[First]’s room,” is Satoru’s response, spoken nonchalantly whilst applying it to his lips. “Why?”

Suguru snorts. Sometimes Satoru’s ungodly strength blinds him to the fact that he’s still a teenage boy.

“Won’t she notice it’s missing?”

“I replaced it.”

“Ah.”

“She has plenty more in the drawer beneath her vanity if you want one.”

Suguru knows the exact spot Satoru’s referring to. They both helped you assemble it (Satoru got bored fifteen minutes in and fell asleep on your bed but still claims credit).

After noting this suggestion, he asks, “Have you calmed down?”

Satoru barks out a ‘hah!’ as if he’d just heard a hilarious joke. “Me? Shouldn’t I be askin’ you that?”

Suguru massages his temples, sensing the looming headache that awaits him. “Satoru…”

“We could follow her residuals, you know,” Satoru suggests. He tips his sunglasses down, revealing eyes that gleam with predatory intent. “With the Six Eyes, it’d be a walk in the park.”

“And then what?”

“Oh, you know, chat about the weather, latest political scandals, that sort of thing.”

“You can’t strong-arm yourself through everything in life, Satoru,” Suguru chastises.

Satoru opens and closes his lips. He folds his arms, scrunches his eyebrows together, and rapidly taps his foot. The shift puts Suguru at ease. Satoru adopts this countenance on the rare occurrence he’s faced with a formidable threat. The serious, almost somber visage speaks to his ironclad resolve. Suguru may have told his companion that he can’t strong-arm himself through everything, but that’s a half-truth; the Gojo clan’s pride can do whatever he pleases.

It’s consideration of the aftermath that Suguru wishes to instill in his companion. Tempering the arrogance of a God is no easy feat.

“... She isn’t going anywhere,” Satoru declares, as if any other outcome was blasphemous.

“She isn’t,” Suguru agrees. Then, he lowers his voice, adding, “We can’t disregard what Ishimoto-san is getting at, though.”

“Simple — all our girl needs is a good ol’ fashioned intervention.”

“An ‘intervention,’” Suguru deadpans. “Didn’t you already try that?”

Satoru smiles in a way Suguru can only describe as dopey, reminiscing on the night you got ‘mad at him for wanting you to be mad at him.’ That’s how Suguru interpreted the detailed account Satoru gave the next morning, anyway.

(“I wish she would’ve cried, just a little bit; it would’ve made her look extra cute,” Satoru cooed, to which Suguru shot him an exasperated look. “Oh, don’t act so high and mighty. You’d make her cry just so you could wipe her tears away.”)

Suguru shakes his head. “Here’s what I think — the self-sacrifice in and of itself isn’t the problem. Well, the main problem. There has to be a reason, something personal… identifying that takes priority.”

A gust rips through the narrow street, howling as it terrorizes store signs and doors with weak hinges. The two strongest sorcerers remain oblivious to the drift. What occupies their mind is greater than any force of nature, insignificant or otherwise. They have the means to challenge natural phenomena itself. And they would, should they deem it an obstacle to their goals. This single-minded determination is what elevates them beyond the rest.

“I guess the old man has a soft spot for us after all,” Satoru says, referring to Yaga, Suguru guesses.

Breathlessly, he chuckles. “Maybe.”

Studying Satoru from his peripherals, he silently mulls over the far likelier reality—

—that Yaga understands Satoru’s potential for saving this world is matched only by his capacity to condemn it.

From a young age, Ieri Shoko found irony everywhere she looked.

It’s prevalent in the medical field she wishes to pursue. When stabbed, it’s better to leave the knife in than immediately pull it out. For an immune system to better defend itself from a virus, it must first be exposed to it in trace amounts. If an appendage becomes too infected, removing that piece of the body is better than keeping it whole. It was you who pointed out this theme extends into the world of jujutsu.

“You’d think fighting to survive a curse instead of defeating it would be an okay alternative, right?” You had said. “But really… that just means someone else gets to foot the bill. All ‘cause you cheaped out.”

She regrets not asking you to elaborate. At the time, the observation felt so personal, so intimately interwoven with who you are, that she thought it best to leave it alone.

Watching you now, lounging on the swing beside her, she’s determined not to repeat her previous mistake.

“Tired?”

“Well, yeah,” you laugh. It sounds off. “I wasn’t meant for long flights. It takes everything out of me, y’know?”

Shoko unsuccessfully digs around her pocket for a lighter. The search ceases when she recalls its inopportune location — left behind in her dorm room in the rush to be the one who reaches you first. Not sure what else to do with her hands, she folds them onto her lap. Meanwhile, you pick at a stray thread on your jeans.

“I didn’t mean from traveling,” she clarifies.

“Hm?”

“How many curses did you exorcise back home?”

Your fingers go still.

“I dunno… a few?” You shrug, stuffing your hands in your pockets. “If I happen across them, I’m not gonna just let them run amuck. That’d be irresponsible.”

Your nonchalance comes across as forced. You may be keeping your words lighthearted, but she can tell you’ve dialed up your senses, monitoring her closely. It reminds her of a cornered mouse. It’s then that any lingering doubt over her choices leading up to this moment dispels. Resolve strengthened, she swears to make as much progress as she possible before those two catch on. She felt a bit bad lying about your flight’s time, but felt the situation justified the call.

“It feels different when they’re close to home, doesn’t it?”

Shoko’s eyes scan over the lively park before them. There’s a group of children playing with one another, some scouring the grass for bugs and others playing tag. Their guardians watch from a distance, chatting amongst themselves, likely discussing the upcoming poor weather or latest neighborhood scandals. Young couples walk hand in hand along the pathways, cheeks flushed from the joy of experiencing their first love.

“Encountering a curse is draining. Fighting them, even more so. But when they’re on a street you walk every day, or a few blocks over from your house, you can’t help but start thinking. ‘What if I hadn’t come this way? Would it have hurt people I know? People I love and care about?’”

Her eyes find yours. “‘What if it killed them?’”

You look like you’re going to be sick.

She ignores how your expression contorts her stomach and continues. “Sorcerers are in the minority, it’s true. So… fighting to survive isn’t selfish. It’s strategic.”

In the distance, the rough silhouette of two individuals grows clearer. The spotlight she commandeered grows fainter with their every step. In what remains of the fading limelight, she considers you. The CC cream that conceals the worst of your exhaustion, how your pupils dilate from high caffeine intake, then your fingers. The keys that when steepled just so, open the future for others at the cost of permanently locking yours.

She reaches over and gently squeezes your hand.

“Remember — we won’t be much help to anyone if we’re six feet under. So let’s aim to stay above ground.”

The evening sun sinks into the horizon, demanding acknowledgment in its final moments by dousing all in a fiery hue.

Your uniform absorbs the brunt of this last stand. The dark fabric devours the waning sunlight, heating you from head to toe. It didn’t fully occur to you that you were back when you walked through the torii gates lining the mountainous path. Nor when you unpacked in your dorm, stuffing your passport away until your next break, where it’ll serve you faithfully again.

Instead, it was the simple act of putting your uniform on again that made home seem far, far away.

You’d gotten used to your clothes smelling like your mother’s preferred detergent. It’s a brand you couldn’t find in Japan, sold exclusively in your home country. You wondered what meal your parents were having when you straightened out your collar. If your neighbor ever fixed that rumble their old sedan huffed out as you slipped into your tights. Whether your grandpa knew you’d landed safely when you brushed lint off your skirt.

The campus atmosphere is serene. Tengen’s barrier is a bulwark against curses, insulating you from any potential threats. Without this assurance, some part of you was always on the defensive, anticipating anything when you slept in your childhood bedroom. It siphoned away your vitality, just like Shoko pointed out.

You sniffle and kick a rock aside.

How does it always end up like this?

First Akane, now Shoko, you hug yourself. I just want to protect others. What’s so wrong with that? If I don’t, then who will?

You pause abruptly.

When Akane began mentoring you, the world as you knew it changed. Suddenly, you were given knowledge no one else was privy to, for they lacked the tools to comprehend it. You’d seen those ‘creatures’, but it was Akane that explained their malevolent nature. What they could do, the pain they inflicted, how defenseless the population at large was against them.

The shadow that this monstrous threat cast could never be outshone by light. The best you could do was create safe pockets the size of pins in the darkness. That was the extent of your hope, the most bitter pill you’ve ever swallowed.

The lingering specter of Shoko’s reassuring touch prickles along your hand.

It’s easy to forget you’re not alone anymore after fighting by yourself for so long.

Eventually, you happen upon a clearing near the school’s main grounds.

The steep inclines surround a sizable outdoor track. This area is known colloquially as the school’s training grounds. You prefer to train in a more secluded, wooded area, but not everyone shares your enthusiasm for subtlety. Namely, the two prodigies who have turned the field into a colosseum that’d rival the battles of ancient Rome.

You take a seat on the grassy hill and watch what unfolds.

Your eyes can scarcely follow the blows Suguru and Satoru exchange. Their sparring sessions are unreal — blurring the very fabric of reality. Somehow, they manage all this without using cursed energy. The spectacle you’re witnessing is simply hand-to-hand combat. It’s like watching a film with skipping frames. In a matter of seconds, they can travel a hundred meters and return to their original position. Your brain struggles to process the stimuli your senses are feeding it.

They were already strong when you met them. But now? The nomenclature doesn’t exist to properly classify them.

And in the future…

There’s no telling what highs they’ll reach or the ceilings they’ll shatter.

Their light is the most dazzling you’ve ever seen.

Within a few minutes, they conclude their training session. Satoru instantly beelines toward you, whereas Suguru cycles through stretches. There’s not even a single drop of sweat on Satoru’s body as he plops to your right. He’s wearing his signature sunglasses, despite the night's looming shadow.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep or something?” Satoru asks. “It’s past your bedtime.”

You punch him lightly on the shoulder. He yelps out an exaggerated ‘ouch!’ rubbing the area to soothe the nonexistent wound.

Suguru approaches at a far more leisurely pace, sending a wave that you return in kind.

Satoru, not one to be forgotten, yells out, “Be careful, Suguru! She’s violent!”

“Only against those who deserve it,” Suguru replies.

Fondness blossoms inside your chest as you laugh. You’d forgotten how simple life feels around them. It’s as if when the three of you are together, you’re swallowed by a pocket dimension, isolated from everyone and everything. Permanently inhabiting this utopia is a temptation.

Satoru places his hands behind his head and lays onto the ground. “Here I am, potentially out of commission forever, without a single ounce of sympathy to show for it.”

“We could always settle in court,” you offer.

Suguru stands before you, hands on his hips. “Or he could finally figure out how to use reverse cursed technique.”

At this, Satoru shoots back up, his sunglasses falling askew. “Hah? Last I recall, you gave yourself a headache giving it a go. At least I’m not that bad.”

“Hurdles are necessary to improve. Without any, how do you know you’re truly making progress?”

Satoru gives him a grossed-out look. “All this philosophizing is gonna turn your hair gray before you hit twenty.”

“That’s rich, coming from the guy whose hair is already white,” You point out. “What’s that say about you?”

Suguru muffles his laughter behind his hand.

Satoru’s quick to overcome his incredulity. “It says that I’m going to spoil the next volume of Inuyasha. Sesshomaru—”

You cover your ears and sprint off. “Can’t hear you, can’t hear you, can’t hear you…!”

He chases after you, periodically shouting the names of the main characters right when you think he’s finished. You do your best to block out his voice, running like your life depends on it. He’s hot on your heels, cackling at your expense. After a stretch of silence, you uncover your ears, hesitantly turning around to check if he’s finished his torture.

You meet Satoru’s gaze. His lips are parted, his eyebrows slightly raised. Your reflection in his dark lenses appears equally perplexed. He straightens his sunglasses and regards you with an unreadable expression.

“... You’ve gotten faster.”

The comment is so quiet, you’re unsure if you heard him correctly.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” he dismisses, waving you off. “You shoujo-loving types sure take this stuff seriously. It’s almost cultish.”

“I don’t wanna hear that from the guy who references Digimon like it’s some sorta scripture!”

“Honda Tohru is a lame heroine.”

You audibly gasp. “Wh— you take that back!”

And so it’s your turn to chase Satoru, who, for reasons unknown, is oddly knowledgeable regarding Fruits Basket.

“Could you guys be honest with me about something?”

“All depends.”

“Of course.”

Satoru and Suguru’s responses come out simultaneously, the contents offering little reassurance. You’re not sure what you expected. Nonetheless, you press past the gnawing discomfort, your conversation with Shoko a fresh memory.

“Did Akane stop by while I was gone?”

You scrutinize their countenances for involuntary reactions that might betray their inner thoughts. You begin with Satoru, who was in the middle of cleaning his sunglasses when you posed the question. His eyes, which normally brim with mischief, have an eerie calmness about them; like sheets of ice that were once choppy waters. He smiles softly and slips his lenses back into place, undoubtedly aware of the intent behind your stare.

Then there’s Suguru. He hums, as if finding your inquiry unexpected and not an inevitable point of contention. He’s a more challenging puzzle to decipher than Satoru. With the latter, you can roughly gauge the greater picture, blurry and incomplete as it may be. Suguru, on the other hand, hasn’t given you enough pieces to attempt a solution.

Satoru continues mulling over your question while Suguru responds, “Is that what’s been worrying you lately?”

So they picked up on it too, you think.

Frowning, you shift in your seat. Blades of grass tickle your thighs and you push your skirt down.

“Er… not that, specifically,” you admit. You feel like you’re surrounded by walls that know just how far to close in to give the impression you might be crushed. “I just… I’ve been thinking. About why I’m here— what I’ll go on to do. And, well…”

Much to their surprise, you stand, squeeze your eyes shut, and bow ninety degrees.

“For so long, I’ve carried this burden. The truth is, when I first learned about Null, I was relieved. I’d always have something to rely on in the worst-case scenario. But at the same time… that meant not using it could also be a mistake. You have no idea how much that scared me.”

You curl your hands up into fists. “I don’t want to think that way anymore. I see it now — have for a while, actually — strength I couldn’t even imagine before. So, I guess what I’m trying to say is… I’m in your care. If it’s alright, I want to rely on others, starting with you two.”

Your heart pounds wildly in the silence that follows.

Maybe this is selfish too, you think. But I don’t want to be alone anymore.

You hear Suguru speak your name. It isn’t until he repeats it, his tone kind yet firm, that you straighten yourself and face him.

Satoru stands further back, scratching his neck. Much to your confusion, a red flush has risen to his cheeks, extending up to his ears. Suguru corrects your staring by taking your face in his hands and redirecting your attention to him. Warmth envelops you. Your faces are inches apart, but somehow, the distance feels nonexistent, like he’s peering into your mind unhindered.

“Surely, you can dream bigger than that,” Suguru chastises.

“... Eh?”

“Do you think so little of us?” Satoru grumbles. It almost sounds like he’s pouting. Was he not listening to anything you just said? The sincerity behind your every word? Why are they both acting like you insulted them?

“Eh?!”

“I’m glad you’ve come to this realization, but… you don’t have to rely on anyone else. Just us,” Suguru takes a step back, though he keeps one hand cupping your cheek. You feel lightheaded. “After all…”

“... We’re the strongest.”

notes:

*this pun actually works decently in english ?? but akane is making a reference to how suguru sounds phonetically similar to すぐ, or sugu, which means 'soon.'

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #golden girl #my stuff

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