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that-sarcastic-writer · 4 months

Text

Coffee and Other Things

DI!SingleDad!Leon X F!Teacher!Reader

Summary: you and Leon have a lil lunch date, but he just can't keep his hands to himself

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, p in v, brief fingering, choking, hair pulling, riding, car sex, semi public sex, soft!dom leon, praising, Leon has a mouth on him, the s stands for slut, parent teacher dynamic, age gap, foul language

WC: 4.1k lol I can't write short things

A/N: lol omg I wrote 2 things in a month?? Woah witchcraft. Yeah yall thought I abandoned this series. Well kind of. I was very unmotivated to write for it but idk I was like fuck it why not, this has been sitting my drafts since September soo. I will warn yall that this is not going to be a constant thing. I'll update when I have inspiration to write for it, so it'll probably be sporadic, but I hope yall enjoy it the same.

If you'd like to keep up with this series (or any of my works) follow @midnightreadinglibrary for updates since I no longer have a tag list and turn on notifications, don't worry, I'll only reblog my written works there

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God was it hot out here. It was inhumane that's what this was. If there was one thing you hated in this world was having to stand outside in eighty degrees in the summer or thirty degrees in the winter. Right now it was the former, or close to it, anyway. May sure seemed to think so. But the sun burning on your back this early in the morning was not helping. You were praying to the Gods to save you now because this cardigan was going to be the death of you.

You counted the tiny heads standing in line— as best as seven year-olds could anyway. You were missing one chocolate brown-haired head. Weird. Leon hadn't mentioned not bringing Isabella to school today.

You looked at your wristwatch, three minutes before you had to take your kids inside. You sighed softly, folding your arms over your chest as you kept an eye on your kids, but you also kept some attention ahead, in case you maybe saw that pair that in a matter of weeks had become such an important part of your life. Even if Izzy didn't realize it yet.

But you stood corrected. Your lips curved up at the sight of a tiny Isabella, pigtails and all dragging her leather jacket wearing dad across the playground. He had her tiny lilac backpack hanging from one shoulder and her Rapunzel lunch box hung from his free hand. This was the first time you had actually seen Leon drop her off. Claire— who you had learned was a close friend of Leon's for many years now— would normally drop her off, or Izzy would come strolling into your classroom after drop off so you wouldn't see him either way. And now that you were seeing this for the first time, you couldn't hold in your laughter.

"I told you I was going to be late!" The little girl fussed as she dragged him. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily as he wondered what the hell he was raising. "Aunt Claire is never late."

"Yeah, well your daddy got—" shot at last night by the mercenaries of a deranged scientist. Leon bit his tongue and he shook his head at himself. "I got home late. Sorry, I'll try not to be late next time."

Izzy turned her head to look at him, lips pulled up into a tiny smile now. "It's okay daddy. You'll do better next time."

She stopped at the end of the line, and he stopped with her. His eyes instantly landed on you at the very front. His eyebrows irked up and his lips curled up, he didn't think he'd actually see you this morning. Fuck, how was it that you looked prettier every time he saw you? He took his eyes away from you to look at Izzy. He crouched down to her height, shrugging her backpack off his shoulder to hand it to her. She happily strapped it over her shoulders and took her lunch box as well.

"Eat some okay? I know I'm not the best cook but a sandwich and some fruit can't be too bad right?" She nodded eagerly, just happy that her dad had made her lunch. She was about to run off to her friends but he called her back. "Isabella. C'mere for a sec. Listen, I'm picking you up after school, okay? So think where you want to go eat and we'll get ice cream after, yeah?"

The way his little girl's eyes lit up at his words was better than anything else in this world. Nothing could ever top that. She threw herself around his neck and he couldn't help but smile a bit.

"Thank you daddy!"

"Yeah. Love you bee." He rubbed her back softly, pressing a kiss to the side of her hair before he motioned his hand at her. "Okay, go on. Go say hi to your friends."

Izzy happily ran off, saying a 'Love you!' over her shoulder before she squeezed her way into the line where her girl friends were also standing.

You couldn't quite hear their exchange, all you could hear was Izzy saying I love you to her dad, but that alone was enough to melt your heart. Your eyes found Leon's and you couldn't help but smile. You watched as he stood to his full height, and the look in his eyes all but called you over to him. You chewed on the inside of your cheek softly as you nudged your friend, Emily— the other second grade teacher standing on the line marked next to you.

"Hey, can you watch my kids for a sec?" You bit your lip and gave her a sheepish look. She looked at you with a confused frown but then her lips parted in realization when she saw Leon.

"For that? I'd watch your kids the rest of the day. Go girl." She said quietly and nudged you away.

You laughed softly at her and made your way over to Leon as casually as you possibly could. It was normal for teachers to talk to their parents for casual conversation, right?

"Hey Miss. How's it going?" He was really good at pretending to be cordial, you give him that. He stood at least a foot away from you, his hands shoved into his pockets, but his eyes were anything but innocent as they looked you over.

"Hi Leon. I see that you brought Izzy today?" You said, arms folded over your chest as you tried to not be so obvious.

"Yeah. I wasn't home last night when she went to bed, so I figured I'd make it up by dropping her off." He shrugged, but his nose twitched a bit as he remembered the mess of this morning. "Though, I have a feeling neither of us are used to it. She kept saying I was doing this and that wrong, that I was driving too fast, that her left ponytail was too tight. That her right was too high. I'm wondering where she gets all that attitude from."

You couldn't help but laugh at him. So much so you had to cover your mouth with the back of your hand. He clearly didn't see the humor in it and he narrowed his eyes at you.

"I'm sorry, but I can't help it. She totally gets it from you." You snorted as you remembered the first day you met. You had never met someone so grumpy and with so much attitude. It was part of his charm, you guessed.

"I'm offended." He gave you a pointed look and shook his head. You shrugged at him, hiding your smile behind your lips. But he had a tiny smile of his own. He looked around him for a second before he leaned down to speak to you. Nothing too scandalous, but his cologne was definitely intoxicating you now. "Listen, I have some free time today so, you wanna get lunch? I'm guessing you have lunch time."

"I…" You laughed softly, a soft heat creeping up your cheeks at his proposal. "Yeah I have a lunch. I got forty-five minutes at eleven thirty. Pick me up?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. It's a date then." His lips curled up a bit, he hadn't actually ever said that out loud. It sounded nice. A date. With you.

"It's a date." You said quietly, repeating it to yourself, almost as if you had to say it to believe it.

Sure, you've had two successful dates with Leon, and you didn't even have to get started on how good your chemistry was. But you were still cautious. Dating hadn't exactly been kind to you and Leon just seemed way too good to be true. You had honestly just expected him to ghost you at some point.

But you were so glad you were wrong.

~~~~

"Leon—" You scolded him, but the words leaving your mouth didn't match your hands. You gripped him closer, your fingers clinging to his button down shirt. He only hummed in question. "Leon, c'mon stop that. I only have like twenty minutes."

You didn't actually want him to stop. Not really. His lips on your neck, licking and lightly sucking at every spot that made you shudder. You sat on his lap, straddling him on the front seat of his Jeep Wrangler. You weren't quite sure how you ended here. One minute you had been sitting with Leon, drinking coffee and eating some cream cheese bagels, talking about your job, his job, his kid, a little bit of everything, laughing and joking for what felt like hours. And then you were here, at an empty parking lot, in broad daylight.

This was such a bad idea. But the way his lips kissed you and the way his growing hard on brushed against your clothed clit was way too good to say no.

"Twenty? Fine. I can make you come in five." He breathed into your ear, his hands running up your bare thighs, scrunching up your dress to your hips.

His words alone made you want to come then and there. You breathed out a shaky sigh, eyes closed as you tried to argue that this was a horrible, horrible idea. You were more sensible than this. His hands found your ass, and he squeezed, making you squirm on his lap. Which only made him harder against his jeans.

"C'mon. Promise I won't go so hard this time." He brushed his lips under your jaw, slightly lifting his hips to make the front of his jeans brush you some more. "I need to feel you come on my cock again, please."

Fuck, the way he sounded begging, begging to fuck you. You didn't need much convincing, but that? That made you pool into your panties.

"No hickeys, and no bruises," You muttered, remembering you had to wear scarfs in this heat for days to cover the marks his fingers left. Leon smirked a bit at this. "I'm serious. I've never had to cover up bruises before you."

Leon dug his teeth into his bottom lip, leaning back to look at you as one of his hands sneaked under your dress and he kept his eyes on you as he rubbed his thumb over your clit through your panties.

"I won't bruise you this time." His lips curled up into a satisfied grin when your lips fell open into a silent moan. "I gotta say though, your neck looked so pretty with my fingers all over it."

He sat up, his free hand pulling you to him by the back of your neck and his lips crashed against yours harshly. He happily took in the moan that left your throat as he thumbed at your clit. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, groaning softly when your fingers threaded his hair.

He held you against his mouth, his thumb on your clit for what felt like years, you honestly worried you had run out of time. But in reality only a minute had passed. He let go of your head to blindly reach for the console. He groaned softly as he touched around for a second, but ultimately had to pull away to look. He found his wallet, he dug through it with urgency before he tossed it on the passenger's seat.

Your eyes landed on the golden wrapper and you frowned at him.

"You do remember you came inside last time, right?" You asked with genuine confusion and he could only laugh in response.

He pressed a hard kiss to your lips before he replied. "I remember. Trust me, I remember. But unless you wanted to sit with my come inside you for the rest of the day. Figured this was best."

Your face heated up with embarrassment and you let out a soft laugh, Leon could only watch you with amusement.

"Were you hoping to get laid then?" You laughed softly and he only shrugged in response, his eyes never leaving you as he unbuckled his belt.

"I was hopeful. I was kinda hoping you missed me enough." He chuckled, now watching as you reached your hand to unbutton his shirt. He sucked in a sharp breath when you leaned down to press your lips to his neck.

"I did." A playful smile fell on your lips as your lips trailed further down. He let out a pleasured sigh that quickly turned into a pained grunt when your lips touched a particular spot below his collarbone.

“Hmph… Careful baby.”

You pulled back with furrowed eyebrows as you tugged his shirt aside just enough to see a purple forming on his pale skin, but it looked like a burn almost, a circle with an angry marking.

“What.. What is that? Are you okay?”

He found the concern in your voice endearing.

“I got shot last night during an assignment. But I'm here, aren't I? I'm fine.” He tried to say it as casually as possible, he looked at you with unwavering calmness, you were anything but.

“You got what?” You almost shouted, it definitely caught him off guard. You swallowed hard as you placed your hands on his chest, almost as if you needed to feel that he was okay.

“It caught my vest. But it still leaves a bruise. It hurts for a day or two. But I'm perfectly fine.” He knew you weren't convinced, your furrowed eyebrows and tight lips said as much. He sighed, “Can we not.. Do this right now? Please?”

“Yeah.. Okay.” You still weren't entirely convinced but God were you having a hard time being worried when you could feel him against you. You could yell at him later.

He gave you a small smile before he kissed you again, not wanting to waste any more time. He was quick to lift you up enough to pull down your panties and tossed them on the passenger's seat. And fuck, the look he gave you when he pulled away was enough to make you soak his jeans, you were sure if it, anyway. His eyes never left you as he spat on his fingers. He needed to watch your face when his fingers touched your clit. And what a sight that was.

“Oh, you sweet girl,” He taunted, rubbing slow circles on your clit. He parted his lips to match the silent moan you let out, but the look on your pretty face was priceless. “Already so wet for me, hm?”

All you could do was nod, heated and already breathless with adrenaline. But you couldn't hold back the cry that left your mouth when he slipped his fingers into your wet hole. Your head fell back slightly as you reached to grip his shoulder, just any part of him really. He watched your face carefully, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he buried his fingers to the knuckle, curling them against your most sensitive spot. His fingers worked you for what felt like hours, but in reality it was merely a minute or two. Though by then, the sound of his fingers in and out of your cunt was all he could hear. Other than the sounds leaving your mouth. But you could only take so much of this torture.

“Please Leon—” God, you sounded pathetic, the way you were so desperately grinding against his hand was equally pathetic. “Need you.”

Leon was a simple man. If his girl wanted to be fucked he had to comply. There wasn't anything else to it.

His fingers left you empty in an instant, and you couldn't help but whine at the loss, but you knew you'd get something better soon enough.

“Do me a favor, darling,” he grabbed your hand and placed it right where his cock was straining against his jeans. You swallowed hard, your chest still rising as you looked at him with big eyes. “Help me here, hm?”

It took you a second to process his words, maybe you were already cock drunk just on the thought of it. But your shaky hands eventually unzipped his jeans and pulled him out of the confines of his boxers. The sigh Leon let out was almost primal as he messed around with his smart watch. You couldn't quite understand what he was doing but you didn't exactly have the mental capacity to think when his cock was right there.

“Go on baby, I'm almost done here. You can ride me, can't you?” His words were almost mocking as he watched you out of the corner of his eye. Your mouth was slightly open as you ran your tongue over your dry lips.

“I.. I—Yes.” You responded quietly as you slipped the condom on him. Leon sucked in a sharp breath but said nothing as he watched you lean forward, and slowly sank down on his cock.

Leon leaned back, his lips falling open as you sat on his cock. He swallowed hard, and it took him the very little control he still had left not to force you on his cock. But alas he let you take your time. His hands were tight on your hips as if to encourage you. And it took you a second to adjust but you ultimately lifted yourself before slamming back down on his cock, over and over until you were bouncing on him like that was all you were meant to do in this world.

“Shit Leon, you feel so—” you were sure you sounded absolutely pathetic, your words broken in between moans as you leaned back until your back touched the steering wheel.

Christ, Leon sure was loving this sight.

He adjusted himself under you so that he could ever so slightly lift his hips to meet with yours. He particularly loved this sight because God, this dress, it was so perfect on you. The V cut was low enough for him to see your neck and collarbone perfectly, but of course your entire chest was covered. Unless he pulled the front down..

“Fuck, feels so good, I know baby.” He breathed out, watching you through hooded eyes as his hands moved up to your chest, and he pulled the material down enough so that your bra was exposed. He groaned, and it was almost animalistic. “Take this off. Take it off, please.”

Please.

God.

Leon definitely felt the way you squeezed around his cock right then. You kept your grip on his shoulder with one hand as you somehow reached behind you with the other and unclasped your bra with the other. Leon fumbled around with the sleeves of your dress until those were off your shoulders. And the second your bra was out of the way, he grabbed a handful of both of your breasts with both of his hands. And he fucking moaned.

“Goddamn, you look so pretty like this.” His eyes traveled from where his hands were grabbing at your bare chest, to your exposed neck with your head thrown back as you so desperately fucked yourself on him. He didn't even care about the mess you were most likely leaving on his jeans. “Look at you, using my cock like you fucking own it. Fuck.”

Even in your delirium, this brought a smile to your face and you were sitting up to look at him. You brought a hand to his face, the sound of his grunts and moans were in your ear and the completely pussy drunk look on his face made you want to come right then and there.

“Say that again. Please, say it again.” Your words were slurred, breathless as you so desperately chased your release. Leon bit his lip softly, sitting up to meet you halfway. With a tight grip on your ass, he lifted his hips to thrust into you with intensity as if to prove a point.

“Yes darling, you can fuck yourself on this cock all you want ‘cause it's all yours.” His lips were on your jaw as his free hand held you by the back of your neck.

You dug your nails into his chest, surely to leave marks as you closed your eyes. Your heart was pounding, skin burning hot to the touch as he held you, each drag of his cock brushing deliciously against that perfect spot. You were so close.

“Choke me, please.” You pleaded barely above a whisper, nothing short of a whine. And the moan Leon let out at your request was by far the most erotic thing you will ever hear.

He ran his tongue over his lips as he brought his hand to your neck and wrapped his fingers around your throat. He didn't squeeze hard enough to bruise, but it definitely was tight enough for you to see white. The lack of blood flow mixed with the tight feeling in your stomach. You could only take so much.

“Oh my— Fuck. I—” Words were no longer something you knew by then, you were grinding your hips so desperately, and the way you were squeezing his cock, he had quickly learned meant you were so close.

“Mhmm just like that pretty, come for me, I know you can do that.” His thumb found your swollen clit as he held your throat and he watched with big eyes as your mouth fell open. Leon let out a soft moan that mimicked the one leaving your throat as you squeezed him tightly. Too bad he couldn't actually feel you come on his cock this time. “That's a good fucking girl. Yeah, atta girl.”

He gripped the side of his seat as he drilled into you, lifting you on and off his cock as he fucked you through you release, and chased his own, of course. You pressed your forehead against his, soft whines leaving your lips at the overstimulation of his jeans rubbing against your clit. But you could hear his soft moans in your ears, his soft praises as he gripped your throat with soft fingers, until he gave you a particularly deep thrust and he held you down on him. The string of curses leaving his mouth as he came were anything but coherent, but fuck did it make you wet all over again to hear him unravel like this, just for you.

“Shit. You see what you do to me?” He breathed out a laugh, his hand now cradling the back of your hair as he left kisses on your jaw.

You closed your eyes tight, breathing in deeply, taking on the smell of his expensive cologne mixed with his own scent, and Christ, it was so intoxicating. All of him was intoxicating. You hummed softly and threw your arms around his neck, leaning close to him, just craving to feel his warmth.

“Likewise… Look what you made me do.. I've never..” You swallowed hard, feeling yourself grow heated in embarrassment.

“What's that?” He pulled back ever so slightly to be able to look at your face, curious by what you meant. He softly tucked a strand of your loose hair behind your ear when he noticed your flustered face. How he could be so gentle and tender after absolutely wrecking you was always beyond your comprehension.

“In a car.. You know? I've never..”

A tiny smile formed on his lips, “Seriously?”

“Stop. It's just! I don't know. I've never done anything risky like that. Like we could totally get arrested for this.” You almost wanted to curl up into yourself in embarrassment but Leon never let go of you, not once, he simply chuckled.

“You do know I work for the government, right?” He laughed, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Your embarrassment was quickly gone, to say the least. “Gotta say Miss, I am totally ruining you.”

And he was indeed. What a pretty thing you always were. And by the time he was done with you, you were a flushed, fucked out mess, your hair tousled and your dress pulled down. But he rather enjoyed seeing you like this. And the things he made you do, the things he made you feel, they were beyond this world. To think you always prided yourself in being rational.

You were about to respond with one of your remarks when an alarm on his watch went off. You jumped at the sound, panicked for a split second thinking it was the police or something, but you calmed down when you saw him lift his wrist and tapped the screen. He smiled at you with pride, and if you didn't know better you would have thought he even puffed out his chest with pride.

“Would you look at that, I did make you come in five.”

#leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon smut #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #DI leon #single dad leon

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helluvapoison · 8 months

Note

Hi! I feel a little awkward bc I’ve never asked anonymously but I really wanted to ask this but wasn’t comfortable enough to ask regularly, but I really enjoy your hazbin works and the hyperfixation has been gripping me HARD and I wanted to see what you’d think of a Lucifer x Reader where they have a sort of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts vibes, where Reader is his personal assistant and what your thought on that are?

~✨

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

i put my thoughts at the bottom :3c

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• As his colleague, Lucifer is rather frustrating. He hired you as his personal assistant but won’t let you assist

• In the beginning, the most he’ll ask of you is if you know where something is. The answer is usually in his hand or line of sight. Without making him feel dumb, you simply retrieve it for him

• It doesn’t go unnoticed by Lucifer either. He praises you often and in the form of a soft, “What would I do without you?”

• “I’m sure I don’t want to find out, Mr Morningstar.”

• Maybe it takes a minute for the initial “I’m working for the King of Hell” shock to wear off and when it does you realize it was clouding your judgment. Lucifer truly does require your help but he’s incapable of asking for what he needs; it’s up to you to step in and make necessary decisions on his behalf

• That’s what he’s paying you for, right?

• You tell him exactly what’s going to happen before you do it so he’s not caught off guard. He still is. Baffled, really, that you got so ballsy overnight

• Let the banter and boundary pushing begin. Nothing major! You just keep to your word, continuing your courageous streak

• Plucking all the sticky notes off the wall and collecting the ones that were so old they dropped to the floor, you spend an entire day sorting through them. You give his schedule a must needed update and sync it to both your phones so either of you could make changes and be alerted to it

“Why do I need your play-by-play?” He asks teasingly

“So you don’t call me at 4am because you forget I’m not here. Y’know, like last time.”

• Oh yeah, personal space and boundaries cease to exist between you. He’ll sit right next to you, or pull your chair closer to his. When he’s bored, he’ll sit right on your desk

• When he brings you to meetings, which is always because you’re supposed to be focusing on his behalf, he leans in and makes jokes that have you pressing your lips together to be quiet

• “I need to take notes,”

• “And you’re doing great, now jot down how Asmodeus’ shirt is on backwards,” He snickers

• Texting outside your shifts is a regular occurrence. Messages sent back and forth until it’s beyond sleeping hours and you tell him to go to bed

• “See you in 3 hours.” He texts back like he’s counting down (he is)

• Miraculously, you covered all corners of his (rather empty) mansion. Nothing was off limits to you except Charlie’s old room. You made sure dishes left his room or office and made it to the kitchen, checks for the house staff went out on time, supplies were stocked, etc.

• You take paperwork off his desk, screen and divert miscellaneous calls to your phone instead of his, overall taking unnecessary weight from his shoulders. You go as far as to pencil in mealtimes. It’s appreciated even though he’d still forget if you weren’t around

• “I’m beginning to suspect you’re underpaid,” Lucifer partially jokes

• You’re really, really not

• Sure, he spouts his stream of consciousness and it’s up for you to decipher what’s important and what’s just him sharing random details. Yes, he has you sit on his chair while he gestures wildly and explains the mechanics of something you don’t understand just because he’s excited about it. And yes, maybe, you spend too much time in his house than your own

• But you’re disgustingly overcompensated. You thought he made a mistake when you saw your paycheck. If not by actual money, Lucifer spoils you rotten in ways he definitely shouldn’t and doesn’t for his other employees

• “You deserve it for putting up with me,” His voice is laced with more adoration than acceptable, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

• You haven’t been doing it for the money in a long time

• The two of you have been teetering over the line of professional and inappropriate, praying, begging really, to fall on the side of the latter

• You almost kill him when you say you want to quit. Lucifer’s ready to offer you Hell on a golden platter if you’ll stay

• “It’s not about the money. I-I can’t do this anymore, I feel like a gold digger and I hate it! I don’t want to be your assistant, I want more and I–”

• Lucifer heard more and is struck with the overwhelming urge to kiss you

• “How much more?” He asks instead, voice cracking in anticipation, “If it’s in my power, it’s yours for the taking.”

• “Mr Morning—“

• “You want more? I can give you more. I can give you everything, anything, just tell me what you want. I know I’m a mess but I can be better! I can— I can,” Lucifer scrambles to find something, his wild eyes searching the air between you for anything you haven’t already done for him. He sighs, “I can be better, I promise…”

• “Because I want more too. I want to take you on cheesy dates, I want to have you beside me everywhere I go, I want all of Hell to know you’re mine. I want you to come here and stay here because you want to!” He wheezes and tugs at his collar, “And now I feel like want isn’t a word anymore because I’ve been saying it too much— do you ever do that? You say it over and over again and it starts to.. to…”

• He stares at your hand, placed softly over his to stop him from clutching at his clothes. Oh fuck, he can’t breathe

• “You’re really working for that pride title, aren’t you?” You tease softly, smoothing out the wrinkles in his vest before stealing his other hand, “Tell me more about what you want, Mr—“

• “Lucifer,” He all but begs

• “Lucifer,” You hum and he shivers, “What else?”

• “Don’t leave me,” He breathes, “I’ll be better.”

• “You’re already enough.”

• Painfully aware of how close the two of you have become, Lucifer struggles to keep your eyes locked with his. Your lips look so enticing, they always have

• His voice is quiet, almost broken, when he says, “I—I need you to say it.”

• “I won’t leave you. I’m still quitting though,” You smile, hovering over his lips, “So you’ll have to find a different way to compensate me.”

• “Pfft. Easy peasy,”

• He says nonchalantly as if he hasn’t tripped over nothing imagining your lips on his before. It’s nothing compared to the real thing

• Once again, you’re overcompensated

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ hello hi ✨! you’re getting a kith, c’mere. I absolutely see the vibes you’re going for and I am here for it!

i think tony and pepper are hilarious and adorable but i recognise it isn’t the healthiest of relationships out there. i know that’s not what you were implying at all though! the flirting, the bizarre requests, the shameless spending, the nonstop talking, the nonexistent boundaries, the devotion– yes, i see it i see it i see it!

i don’t think lucifer would raise his voice (not to you, anyways) you could get away with actual murder and that’s before he realizes his feelings for you. he can get rid of a body easily

lucifer may (like tony) forget the day of important dates but when he realizes, he makes up for it completely! he feels awful about it

if you look at something for 3 seconds too long, he’s buying it. if you show him something, he’s buying it. if he thinks you want it, he’s buying it

(like pepper) you definitely do put up with a lot of similar antics behind them though are good intentions and lucifer’s better at accepting fault. so if they genuinely upset you, he’ll find a way to mend it... usually it goes over the top

there’s really nothing lucifer wouldn’t do for you, it just takes some reminding that you’d do the same for him

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar headcanon #lucifer morningstar imagine #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #ask stuff #ask me anything

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louloulemons-posts · 1 year

Text

All That Matters Is Us

Eddie Munson X Cheerleader!Reader

Summary : You’re in a secret relationship with Eddie Munson, what happens when someone finds out?

Word Count : 1.9k

Warnings : Fluffy, minuscule angst, Jason carver, self deprecating Eddie, not proof read, swears, use of Y/N and Y/L/N, kisses.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“You’re sure you don’t want to come?” Chrissy asked as the pair of you walked out of the locker room. You’d changed out of your cheer uniform into some light acid washed jeans, a purple and blue jumper and some old chuck taylors.

“Sorry Chris, I already have plans,” you explained to your best friend. She hummed, “Ah yes, with your mystery man.” Wiggling her eyebrows at you, you couldn’t help but chuckle. “When are you going to introduce me, or even tell me who it is?” she asked.

“When we’re both ready. It’s only been a couple months.”

“Exactly! A couple of months of my best friend seeing a guy I have no information about. I’m guessing he’s a douche or a nerd.”

“He’s neither. He’s kind and thoughtful and sweet to me. I really like him Chris.”

She awed at you, which made you roll your eyes. “Who are we talking about?” Jason. He appeared out of nowhere with a couple of his friends. Throwing his arm over Chrissy shoulder, he kissed her head. “Nobody,” you shrugged.

Walking down the halls you were ready to leave them. “Have fun at the party,” you said to the blonde girl. She pulled out of Jason’s hold and hugged you, whispering in your ear, “Call me tomorrow. Update.”

“You’re not coming to the party?” Jason questioned.

“Not this time. I’ll see you guys later,” you waved at them and wandered away.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

You made your way to the drama room, knocking on the door lightly. “Come in,” a familiar voice said. Entering, you panicked slightly, you’d assume Hellfire was over, you were wrong. The group of boys gave you strange looks, minus the chocolate eyed metal head, sat in his throne.

“Y/L/N,” he began, “We’re almost finished. If you don’t mind sitting and waiting, I’ll get you your stuff.” You nodded, sitting down on a chair in the corner, plopping your bag by your feet.

The campaign didn’t last much longer, Eddie bringing it to an end with a cliffhanger. “Stop your whining,” he said to the younger boys, ushering them out of the room. “It gives you time to prepare, so I don’t get why you’re all moody.”

Shutting the door to them, he turned on his heel, instantly grinning at you. You matched it, chuckling slightly. “It’s a good thing I can come up with stories quickly, you almost gave us away Sweetheart,” Eddie spoke.

“I didn’t think they’d still be here Eds.” Standing, you walked over to him. He leaned back on the table slightly, allowing you to stand between his legs. “Look pretty, I like this” he smiled, tugging the hem of your jumper.

“Missed you today,” you said, brushing some stray curls out of his face. “Missed you too baby. Never leave me for a full day again,” he groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder. “I had practice Eds, big competition coming up.”

“I know, I know. How did it go?” he asked, kissing your neck lightly, before he lifted his head again. “It was good, I didn’t get dropped so, that’s always a bonus.”

“I know. Or you’d have Dr Munson waiting on you, hand and foot. Nobody wants that.”

“I could think of worse things than you doting on me,” you laughed.

“Oh yeah?” he said, leaning down so his lips ghosted yours. “Yeah.” Your lips were about to touch when the door burst open.

You didn’t have time to fully move away from one another, looking at the door you saw one of the Hellfire boys. Dustin. “Oh. I … umm … sorry, I uh left my notes,” he said, awkwardly grabbing his book from the table. “Sorry um, I’ll leave you to it. See you Monday Eddie.”

Before he could leave the room, Eddie called out, “Henderson.” The boy faced him, looking slightly panicked. “Yeah?”

“Not one word.” The younger boy gulped, nodding, “You got it. Didn’t see a thing.” The door clicked closed.

“We’re screwed,” Eddie said, rubbing his face.

“He’s going to tell his friends?” you asked, to which Eddie nodded. “Yeah and Lucas has been taken over by the dark side.”

You pinched his side, knowing what he meant. “Oh and am I on the dark side?” you asked, pinching him again. “No! You’re different, you’re sweet and kind.”

“Hmm okay, okay I get it,” you smiled slightly, showing him you weren’t mad.

“Seriously though, if Lucas knows, Carver will too. You sure you want people to know about you and the Freak?” he asked, seeming to close in on himself.

“Eddie,” you said softly, gently placing one of your hands on his cheek. He couldn’t meet your eyes, insecurities taking over. “Hey, come on baby, look at me.” He didn’t. “Please, wanna see those pretty eyes I love so much,” you said.

Slowly his eyes met yours, they were slightly glassy. “Let me down easy Sweetheart,” he almost whispered. “Let you down? What?” you questioned.

“I know you won’t want people to know about us, so just do it to me gently. Cause I really fucking like you.”

“Who says I don’t want them to know?” you cocked your head slightly. “Sweetheart your reputation-”

“Means nothing. I cheer because I find it fun, not for the popularity status, and honestly the only people I like in that group are Chrissy and well … Lucas,” you explained to him.

“Really?” he mumbled.

“Really Eds. I really like you, more than I’ve ever liked anyone. Never been so glad to be paired up on a project with someone,” you chuckled.

Remembering how during your 3rd study session you’d been laughing so hard and lost all focus. Ending up kissing until you couldn’t breathe anymore, chapped lips and messy hair.

“I just don’t want you to have to deal with the stuff those assholes say.”

“I don’t care what people say, or what they think. All that matters is what we say and what we think, right?”

He hummed. “Eddie, I wanna be with you. I really do, but if you’re nervous I understand, we can still take it slowly.” He frowned, and groaned slightly, “Don’t wanna have to take it slow. Wanna be able to hold your hand in the halls and kiss you.”

“Then we can do that babe,” you said, smoothing between his brows to remove his frown.

“You really want too?” he asked.

“I do. Monday, pick me up. We’ll walk in together. We can have lunch if you want, in the cafeteria or the woods if it overwhelms us. How does that sound?” you asked softly.

He nodded, pulling you closer to him and hugging you. “I really like you Y/N.”

“I really like you too Eds.” You stood on your toes slightly and pecked his lips. “We should get going, they’re gonna lock the school soon,” you mumbled against his mouth.

After one more quick kiss, he began to pack his Hellfire stuff away. As you were getting ready to walk out the door, you slid your hand into his. “I know the schools empty right now, but we can walk in the halls holding hands now, if you want?”

“Yeah. I’d really like that Sweetheart.”

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

“Morning,” you said, smiling as you climbed into Eddies van. “Morning Sweetheart,” he replied, leaning over and kissing your lips.

The drive wasn’t a particularly long one, Eddies favourite cassette was playing lowly in the background. He played with your hand as he drove, feeling his chunky rings knock against your knuckles.

You could tell he was on edge, so you squeezed his hand gently. You didn’t want to force him to talk, but you wanted him to know he could if he needed too. He gave you a small smile, looking back to the road. ‘Never wanna damage precious cargo,’ he’d say.

Pulling into the school parking lot, you could hear Eddies breath become shaky. “We don’t have to do this today,” you said softly, “Can try again another day.”

“No!” he almost shouted. “Sorry. I want to do this today, want people to know you’re my girl.”

“Oh I’m you girl?” you asked.

“W-well I umm … I was … what I mean to say is,” you laughed, cutting him off.

“Eds I’m kidding, I’m more than happy to be your girl.”

His cheeks reddened as he parked the van, giving you a shy smile. Which wasn’t a common Eddie thing. “We do this together baby,” you said to him, squeezing his hand once more. He squeezed back. “You ready Munson?” you asked.

“Ready Y/L/N.”

Kissing his lips softly, you let go of his hand and climbed out of the van. You went to put your bag on your shoulder, but Eddie took it from you, putting it on his own. Taking your hand he pulled you closer, kissing you again.

When he pulled away you couldn’t help but giggle. “You need to go to your locker or straight to class?” he asked.

“Locked, just to swap a couple books over, then we have English.”

“Great, let’s go,” he pecked your forehead and you headed towards the entrance.

You knew Eddie could feel the eyes on the pair of you, they were almost burning. Along with the whispers from nearly every person you walked past, good and bad. You squeezed Eddies hand to reassure him, which he did the same.

Pushing the door open for you both, the whispers only intensified when you walked through the semi-busy halls. You saw a couple of Eddies friends, Dustin being one, he was wearing a huge grin, throwing you a thumbs up.

Arriving at your locker, Eddie leaned beside you, holding your bag open. You heard loud and familiar chatter, walking around the corner you saw Chrissy, Jason and a few other cheerleaders and jocks.

Eddie tensed up and seemed to pull away from you. “Hey Y/N,” Chrissy said, wandering over to you, followed by the rest of the group. “Morning Chris,” you smiled. Placing more books into the bag Eddie still held, you smiled at him.

“You need something Freak?” Jason asked him, pulling a face of disgust. “Actually I-” Eddies voice didn’t seem to be working for him. “He’s waiting for me, aren’t you Eds?” you asked him, to which he nodded. You kissed him on his cheek, making him relax instantly.

“What the hell? Y/N are you sick in the head?” Jason almost yelled. You rolled your eyes turning to him, about to give him a mouthful, but your best friend beat you to it. “Jason just shut up! They’re happy! Eddies a sweet guy, leave them be, stop being such a jackass.”

Jason’s jaw dropped. Chrissy was polite and sweet 85% of the time, even you were in shock at her outburst. “That’s exactly what I was gonna say, so if you don’t mind Carver, I’ve gotta get my girl to class.” Eddie threw his arm over your shoulder, pulling you close.

You smiled at him and Chrissy, cheeks hurting. The blonde girl copied you, “See you later,” she mouthed, as you walked past her. “We did good babe,” Eddie said, leaning down to kiss you.

And it had remained that way, you and Eddie walking through the halls together. Sitting together at lunch, him often pulling you onto his lap. Stolen kisses when you were busy with cheer and him with hellfire. And nobody could say anything, you actually became one of the most loved couples in the whole school.

Not that you and Eddie cared, you only cared about one another. That’s all that matter. You adored one another.

~ / / / * \ \ \ ~

Thank you so much for reading! Please leave any requests 🤍

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x yn #joe quinn #joe quinn imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie x y/n #eddie x reader #joseph quinn #stranger things #stranger things imagine #fluff #oneshot #imagine #louloulemons

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gilverrwrites · 9 months

Text

Section 48: Unlawful Kisses

Pairing: Sam Winchester/AFAB! Reader

GN pronouns used, but reader does have a vagina, breasts, and wears 'feminine' clothing.

Plot: While studying at for a law exam, the reader just cannot keep their eyes, or mind, off of Sam.

Rating: M/18+

This is actually an updated/re-written fic I wrote and posted on a now deleted blog roughly 10 years ago. (Damn I'm old.) If well received I might try re-doing some other fics/writing new ones, who knows!

Don't forget: You are amazing, and worthy of love.

Content: Swearing, vaginal oral/cunnilingus, body worship, nipple play, vaginal fingering, teasing, dirty talk, semi-public, naked female, clothed male, size difference, light hair pulling, light biting, fluids, consensual, dominate Sam (if you squint). Reader is kind of a perv, Sam is a tease. Reader calls the shots, but Sam is Definity in charge.

Section 47; took away privilege against self-incrimination from any person ordered to testify or produce books, p-

Your eyes darted over to Sam for probably the millionth time since he had joined you half an hour ago. You had an exam tomorrow, and you’d hauled up in the library for some last-minute cramming, but since Sam had joined you, you’d lost any and all ability to concentrate. It was hard enough trying to focus on possibly the drollest piece of text you’d ever had to read, without him being here. Without the musky cedar smell of his aftershave, without his deft fingers skimming each page, without his pursed lips filling your head with thoughts of what he might be able to do with them. Those lips…

“You okay?” His hushed voice pierced the silence as he peeked over at you. You’d been staring, again.

“Who me? Yeah, totally.” You lied, pulling your book up to cover your gradually reddening face. The space between your legs was hot, but your face was hotter. “Peachy.”

“Okay.” He shrugged, unconvinced, but returning to his own book regardless.

Section 47; took away privilege against self-incrimination from any person ordered to testify or produce books, papers, etc., and provided that any person so ordered to testify or produce would be immune from any prosecution based on evidence provided….

Movement in your peripheral distracted you. You looked over to see Sam, leaning all the way back in his chair, his toned arms stretched behind him, neck exposed, chest puffed out. The hem of his shirt had ridden up slightly, giving you the tiniest peak at his abdomen, and the trail of hair that adorned it.

Reluctantly you turned back to your studies, not wanting to be caught eyeing him up yet again, but as soon as your eyes returned to the text in front of you, he let out a sigh.

You glanced over just in time to watch his tongue dart out, wetting his finger so he could turn a page. Amazing how such a small action could make your knees weak. Shit… it’s like he was trying to distract you.

Probably feeling your eye burning into him, Sam turned to look back at you, and yet again you dived back into your textbook, hiding behind its paper walls as you tried to rid your mind of Sam and his mouth.

“Section 48; set forth venue in any prosecution for unlawful… unlawful… unlawful things I want you to do to me with those lips.”

“What?” You jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice.

“What?” You repeated back, spinning to look up at his quizzical expression.

“You said something…” His lips squeezed into a smile, his eyes raked up and down your body, and suddenly you knew how Sam must have felt under your gaze just minutes earlier. “Something about, lips doing unlawful things to you?”

“Shit.” You thought your eyes might bulge out of your head, your heart was in the pit of your stomach, and if you’d been blushing before, you must look like a traffic light now. “Did- did I say that out loud?”

“Yeah.” He confirmed, with a nod. His brows furrowed and his jaw tightened as he leaned in closer. You couldn’t resist taking a deep breath in through your nose, indulging in his scent. His hot breath against the ear sent a chill down your spine. “Were you talking about my lips?”

Your brain went into overdrive, was this it? The moment you’d been waiting for? You and Sam had always had a playful, flirty relationship, but was this the turning point? If you confessed, would he give you what you want? Could you both finally stop beating around the bush and get down and dirty together? What exactly would he do? Or would you humiliate yourself? Would he send you packing with your tail between your legs? Could you live with that rejection? Totally, it would suck but you’d get over it, right? Right.

You chanced a look at Sam's face. His eyes bore into you so intensely it made your stomach roll. You’d never seen him look so fierce before, and much like every other expression he wore, it was hot.

Trying to mimic his confidence you straightened your back, locked eyes with him, and nodded.

He smiled, and immediately you felt assured, but that didn’t stop your hair from standing on edge as he pressed into you. This time you felt the softness of his lips on the shell of your ear, and it made you squirm. “Say it.”

“I want you to do unlawful things to me with your mouth, Sam.” You responded, trying your best to sound sultry.

“Oh yeah.” He murmured, lowering his mouth to the back of your jaw, caressing your skin with each word. You wished he could read the dictionary to you in this exact position. “Like what?”

You scanned through your surroundings, checking each aisle of books to confirm your solitude. Nobody else really came this far back in the library, especially at this time of night. You were pretty certain the only other person in the building was the night librarian, who only ever ventured from her desk to make a coffee in the communal kitchen. You had little to worry about as long as you stayed vigilant. Brazen smile on your lips, you turned your attention back to Sam who seemingly had also been examining your surroundings.

Reaching up, you ran your fingers up the warm skin of his neck and threaded them into his hair. You’d always wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked, and now you finally had confirmation; yes. Yes, it was that soft.

“Like,” You hummed, gently guiding him from your neck until you were face-to-face. “I want you to kiss me, slow and gentle to start. Then har-“

He interrupted you, tenderly pressing his lips to yours, just as gently as you’d imagined. Strong hands came up to cup your face and pull you into him, deepening the kiss. Your own hands knotted into his hair as his mouth pressed harder against your own.

“Like that?” He asked, breaking away just enough so that his words were intelligible.

“Exactly like that.” You replied, surprised by the breathiness of your own voice.

“What next?” He pried, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

You could think of a thousand things you wanted him to do next, but… “Aren’t you worried someone might see us? We could get in a lot of trouble.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when, and if, we get to it.” He shrugged, amusement clear as day on his face, completely unable to refrain from grinning. “If you don’t want that to happen, you’ll have to keep really quiet. Or tell me to stop.”

You knew he was into this, both of you at the mercy of each other. The exhilaration of possibly being caught. Besides, you’d already grabbed the bull by the horns, may as well enjoy the ride.

“Well… Next, I want you to keep kissing me, on my jaw, my neck, my ches-”

Clearly, too excited to wait until you’d finished your instructions, Sam leaned in to kiss you once more. His lips never left yours as his arms looped around your waist, lifting you from your seat like you were nothing and placing you on the desk, blinding you from anyone who might stumble to your section of the library. The simultaneous actions made you lose any composure and you moaned into Sam's mouth.

He pulled back, pressing a finger to his lips and shushing you. You barely had a chance to take in his dishevelled form before he reattached himself to your jawline, rapidly tracing his lips against your smooth skin, occasionally swirling his tongue in any crevice he could find. You had to stifle a whimper when you felt his teeth nipping at your throat.

Sam’s calloused hands massaged your shoulders briefly before he hooks his fingers under the straps of your vest top, working them down your arms, along with the neckline, revealing your bra to him.

“These too?” He asks, leaning back to admire you. Still unable to rein back the smile on his face.

“Those too.” You established as he reached out both hands to cup each breast. Not wanting to be completely exposed, you elected against entirely removing your bra. You did, however, guide his hands to grip the top of its cups, folding them down to your underbust, thus exposing them completely, but allowing you a quick and easy way to pull it back up.

“Lucky me.” Sam mused, eyes glazed, his tongue darted over his lips before he dipped down to fix his mouth around your left nipple.

You sucked in a harsh breath and reached out for him. Your hands gripping into the fabric of his shirt. Unable to ignore the growing heat between your legs you started squirming, rubbing your thighs together to produce any sort of friction. Sam clearly noticed and let out a small laugh, the gust of air on your wet nipple only serving to turn you on all the more. Obviously enjoying your reaction Sam moved over to the other side. Using his fingers to play with your left nipple as he sucks on the right. Playfully he nibbles at the hardened skin before blowing on it. Both times you resist the urge to let out a groan.

“Does that feel good?” He asks, kissing his way back up your chest.

“Yes.” You reply, steering him up until he’s close enough for you to plant another kiss on his lips. With a gentle hand, he pushes you back, cutting your kiss short. You pout and he laughs, but you let him lay you down. Your back presses against your long-forgotten textbooks. You should probably check them out when you leave, just so you can wipe them down before anyone else uses them you think. The feel of Sam's fingers squeezing your tits pulls you from your train of thought.

“Should I keep kissing you here?” He asks, before dipping his hand lower, running it across your belly before hitching up your skirt. Gingerly he runs his thumb over your panties, once twice, three times before looking back up at you. “Or do you want my unlawful mouth down here?” He teased.

“Down there.” You respond without hesitation. “Down there is good!”

“I can tell.” He says as he grasps your underwear, quickly pulling them down your legs, over your feet before dandling them above you. “You’re already soaked.”

And he was right, you could see the dark stain your wetness had left against the fabric. You’d blush, but you were already half naked, and sprawled out for him in the middle of a public space. You couldn’t be any more exposed if you’d tried.

Without another word, Sam tucked your panties into his pocket and got to work. He ghosted the tips of his fingers against your folds and your toes curled. Slowly he added more and more pressure until you could feel him firmly rubbing against your clit.

“Fuck.” You whined, Sam immediately removed his hands from you entirely.

“Wh-“ You darted into a seated position only for Sam to clamp his hand over your mouth.

“Shhh.” He hissed, before grabbing you by the wrists and replacing his hand with your own. “Keep your voice down. Not a peep, okay?”

His voice was deadly serious but the look on his face betrayed him. He was loving this. You bow your head in acknowledgement and allow him to lean you back against the table. You watch impatiently as he re-surveys the area. Clearly content that you’re still alone together, he crouches down, levelling himself with you, then slowly leans in and places a kiss on your core.

Content with keeping you on edge he starts slow. His mouth barely making contact with your skin. Blood rushing, and heart thundering you can barely contain yourself. You rest your legs on his shoulders, thighs around his head, and attempt to urge him on, to pull him closer.

Sam chuckles, his breath taunting your slit.

Then without warning, he delves into you. He starts on your clit again, and you fight every urge to clench your legs around him, to cry out. You bite your knuckles instead as he works downward.

He begins darting his tongue in and out, fucking your entrance until you're dripping down his face. You glance down at him, and have to hold back another groan at what you see. Eye closed, brows knitted, Sam is totally lost, blissed out in between your legs.

One of his hands grips your thigh for purchase as he pulls his face up, returning to your clit. The other hand sneaks between your legs, and he plunges two fingers inside. Allowing you no time to adjust, he sets a fast, steady pace. His fingers keep pumping into you, as his mouth continues working over your clit.

You fight back every moan, every cry that attempts to climb out of you, biting onto your hand so hard that you're afraid you might take a chunk out of yourself.

It isn’t long before your toes begin curling again, you kick your legs around, rutting yourself against Sam's face to try and relieve the energy building up in you. Sam remains unbothered, completely serene buried in your heat. He’s like a machine, a pussy-eating God, never faltering from his pace.

Your orgasm was fast approaching, you arched your back, craning your head back. Your hips stilled, locking in place when it finally hit you. You felt like there was fire in your veins and it was all pulsing into your pussy. Your nails dug into your cheek as you silence your own screams.

Panting and shaky from your orgasm, you sag against the table, letting your legs dangle either side of Sam, signalling to him that you’d climaxed, if he was even in doubt.

“How was that? Everything you had in mind?” He asked, standing up, towering over you. The lower half of his face glistened with your slick.

“Fuck Sam.” You breathed, reaching for him, needing assistance to get it back up.

The sound of footsteps startled you both, interrupting you before you could even start to compliment him. You launched off the table, stretching up to wipe Sam's mouth. Sam in turn roughly gabbed at your top and bra, yanking it back over your chest before you both bombed back into your chairs, and just in time.

The concerned face of the night shift librarian pokes out from behind a shelf. “You kids alright? I thought I heard some commotion?”

“No. We’re good.” You both said in union, suppressing laughter.

The librarian eyed you both wearily before nodding at you both. “Okay then, I’ll let you get back to your books.”

You both waited in complete silence and stillness until you deemed her footsteps far away enough.

“Sam! That was amazing.” You half whispered; half sang.

Sam in turn looked embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, averting his eyes, unable to hide the growing blush on his own cheeks. You couldn’t believe his sheepishness, as if he wasn’t tongue deep inside you just moments before.

“Thanks.” He grinned. “Do you want to come back to my place? I’d like to do that again, but actually get to hear you this time, you know?”

You glanced down at the open books strewn across the desks, and then up at the clock. It was late...

Screw it, if you didn’t have all the reading memorised by now, you weren’t gonna know it by the morning.

“Absolutely!” You exclaimed, not missing the look of triumph in Sam's eyes before you stood and started packing your notes into your bag. “But can I get my underwear back?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Sam patted his pocket as he stood to pack his own bag. You reached your hand over to him, but instead of returning your underwear, he took your hand in his, and began leading you through the shelves. “You can have them back in the morning.”

#sam winchester #sam winchester smut #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester x reader smut #gilverrwrites

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s4lv4tions · 1 year

Text

numerology; nsfw

pairing; gojo satoru x reader / gojo satoru x geto suguru (past) / geto suguru x reader (past) summary; numerology — the belief in an occult, divine or mystical relationship between a number and one or more coinciding events. or: trying to move on. wc; 13.4k cw; death, angst, requited unrequited love, violence, smut (at the very end, but mentions throughout), canon divergence, spoilers for manga an; if you think you've read this before, you probably have! i posted this on my old tumblr a year or so ago, and it's still available on my ao3. this version is slightly updated and edited, but still diverges from canon as it was created at the start of the culling games arc :)

The first time you bathe with Satoru, he cries.

You don't notice at first; he's quiet — abnormally so —, and his face remains pristine, unchanged. The only hint you get is a small, barely audible sniffle that stops as quickly as it starts — and you think he wants it that way. You don't think he's ever cried in front of anyone.

That's why you don't say anything. Just continue washing the suds from his hair, and pretend that the tears rolling down his cheeks are beads of water dripping from his hair — but you take extra care to massage the conditioner in, and peck his cheek as you finger-comb through silky, cloud-white strands.

It occurs to you afterwards — as he lounges on your bed, scrolling through channels with a wayward hand planted on his stomach — that perhaps, it's the first time somebody has taken care of him. The first time ever, or just the first time since… since…

Geto Suguru's face smiles up at you from your vanity — a tiny polaroid, his face no bigger than the nail of your thumb. Beside him, Satoru grins, cheeky and bright-eyed — you don't think he's ever been any different —, and in the corner, the smudge of your thumb covers the lens. You don’t have to lift the photo and check the back to know what’s written there, in your scratchy, looping scrawl; the strongest, 2006.

"Lord of the Rings?" Satoru calls, carefree as ever. A yawn catches in his throat, and his fingers slip underneath his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at his chest. "Ooh, haven't seen this one yet…"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

It was a better time. Less pain. Less responsibility. Less death — or maybe the same amount, just shielded by the blinding cover of childhood inexperience. Suguru was still alive and burning bright, Satoru was happy (happier. He didn't cry in the bath, at least). Shoko didn’t self-medicate as intensively as she does now. The days were spent in childish ignorance and stupid indulgence, and even when things seemed their darkest, you never lost hope.

(It probably says a lot about you that, if given the chance, you wouldn't return. Whether that's because of what you know is bound to happen, and the pain is too much to experience again, or because you're so utterly pathetic that you'll take sadness and grief and a tiny shred of affection over… whatever it is you were back then, you don't know. A smudge in the corner of a picture of the jujutsu world's greatest.)

Suguru's eyes seem to burn into you. You turn the picture over, and rejoin Satoru on your bed.

"It's been two years."

Satoru doesn't like to talk after sex. Not in any way that's really meaningful, you mean, nothing that lets you in. He loves jokes, empty small talk, work politics. Chatter that's deep enough to show he cares a little without bearing any part of himself — your injury healed up? When was the last time you had a break? There's a new teppanyaki place in Shinjuku, I'll treat you. Don't work yourself too hard, you'll put me out of business!

If you're being honest, you didn't go into this expecting anything more than a person to scratch an itch with.

You're already friends — though, you're not sure friends totally encapsulates what Satoru is to you, romantic or platonic. You've been friends since you were 12. Satoru, Suguru, you — and then Shoko, when you all met in your first year at Jujutsu Tech. That's how it's always been.

You swear sometimes you know him better than yourself. You swear sometimes it's his voice you think with. Is that what "friends" encompasses? Somehow, it doesn't seem enough.

Whatever. The point is that your relationship with Satoru is already strong; foundations tall and proud and unshakeable. You didn't start fucking Satoru in the hopes of forming a relationship — one was already there.

It's just... Satoru is young, yes, and he enjoys flirting, but (contrary to common belief) he's not all that keen to sleep with the first person who's willing. You don’t say this with the belief that you’re special. It’s just that with work, and especially with — y'know, his… romantic history, Satoru hasn’t found the time or will to just sleep around. At least, according to him.

Sheer willpower isn't enough to make those urges go away, though, and… well, you had them too, and you were willing, and he trusts you. And you'll take anything he'll give you, really, even if it's just scraps. Even if sometimes it makes you feel worse.

Today's one of those days.

You feel sick, after. Not because of him — because of yourself. Your polaroid of Getou and any other photo he's in has been turned over, anything that could remind you of him tucked away, but — but he's everywhere today, everywhere, and you'd fucked Satoru despite it. And Satoru is covered in memories of Getou, of course. Every freckle, every shifting of muscle, every jut of bone — did Getou touch him here? Caress every bit of him he could get his hands on? Tangle his hands in his snow-white hair, breathe against his collarbone?

When you came, you cried. Pretended it was just because it was so intense, but behind your eyelids, dark, cat-like eyes stared back.

"Hm?" Satoru hums as if he didn't hear you, eyes fixed on the TV. Dumb doesn't suit him — it's honestly a bit of an insult for him to even try it. Like you didn't sense the stiffness of his limbs the second he'd stepped inside, or the crumbling edge of his smile, or the way he'd forced you to love him harder — pull his hair harder, scratch his back deeper, his Infinity turned off and his skin yours for the marking.

Satoru's mannerisms are scribed into your brain. You catch yourself emulating them, sometimes; hands waving, head tilting, grin wide and posture open. You wear it like an oversized coat, an ill-fitting costume, and sometimes you wish you could stop taking on pieces of him. The more you take, the more you must throw away — and it's Suguru that your memory discards. You find yourself forgetting how he hummed when he woke up from a nap, or filled his cheeks with food like a hamster; how he scrunched his face up when he laughed, pretty all the while…

The point is that even with his incredible knowledge, his awesome strength, the sheer holiness of his existence — you know Satoru. And the fact that he came to you today isn't mere coincidence.

You decide to come out with it. You've tiptoed around it for 24 months, give or take, had a shockingly brief mourning period before the jujutsu world forced you along, and… even with what he did, Suguru deserves better. "Suguru died today."

A beat of silence. Then:

"Mm, I guess he did."

You'd spent the day staring out at the grey sky, the miserable sight of soaked pavement. Grey, grey, grey. Concrete jungle. Heavy rain clouds and an ocean of multicoloured umbrellas, bobbing and rolling to destinations unknown. You hadn't said it aloud; hadn't even thought of it, specifically. The knowledge of it had just sat over your head like a thick, sweltering fog — and if you know Satoru at all, you know that he'd done the same. Maybe he hid it better.

You don't have to look now to know that his lips are pressed thin. You find the sudden thought of looking him in the eyes daunting, anyways, so you turn onto your side, back facing him, and pick mindlessly at the sheets. You don't want to see what his reaction will be when you say—

"Did you know that I loved him — back then?"

You don't want to see the shock, or the confusion — and you'd rather not see a lack of them, either. What's worse, you wonder — him knowing and loving Suguru too, or not knowing and loving him?

"...Yes."

You screw your eyes shut and try to will away the sudden surge of cold, like a sharpened dagger to your chest.

(It turns out that knowing is much more painful.)

Suguru Geto had been the apple of your eye ever since you'd met. 11 and gangly and stupid in a way that all children were always stupid, Suguru had been a bit kinder than his white-haired counterpart. Satoru, being Satoru Gojo, had grown up with no fear of authority, no mindfulness for his less-powerful peers as anything more than people who existed around him. You and Suguru were allowed the title of friends, but very few were. Anyway — he grew out of that mindset, of course, but your fondness for Suguru stayed.

(Though they'd always seemed to be on another level than you — not even just in terms of power, but… just caught up in each other, always. Suguru had only ever wanted Satoru. And vice versa.)

And then Suguru changed. Right under your nose, he changed, and his sudden quietness made sense. His fatigue. The way his hands would always shake when swallowing an exorcised curse, always had since you were kids, and then suddenly they were ingested with a scary calm. Nobody understands the taste of curses. Not even you, not even when he’d explained it in sickening detail.

You sigh, then. Tired and lethargic and not from physically straining yourself for an hour. This is bone-deep, soul-weary. It's been held in for 730 days, or maybe more. Maybe you've carried it with you since birth. "I never apologised."

"For what?" Satoru asks — and he laughs, jolly, and the sound fits awkwardly in his throat. A clear attempt at feigning indifference, but he's a bad liar. He always has been, because he's never needed to lie. Perks of being the strongest, you guess. You can just come out and say shit — and if you can't, not saying anything technically isn’t lying.

"I hated you, after," you confess. You dig your thumbnail hard intoyour pinky finger, taking momentary refuge in the sharp shock of pain. "I couldn't stand to look at you. When I did, I saw… I saw what you did. What you had, and what you had thrown away. I blamed you for Suguru. I blamed everyone except Suguru."

Another snicker, a bit too humourless. "You can't stand to look at me now."

"I…" You don't know what to say to that.

Truth is, you don't want to see his face. Contorted in pity, or disgust, or sadness for you. You've gotten used to living in his shadow — most everyone has — but that doesn’t ease the ever-present blanket of insecurity that you carry around your shoulders. It doesn’t dull the ache of inferiority you’ve been housing in your chest from the moment you were saddled with your technique. As you aged, you got better at hiding it, and you generally prefer your self-pity to go unnoticed, but Satoru—

He could always read you like a book. And you hated it. You hated being pitied by someone who was as powerful as him — someone as close to God as one could get. It was demeaning. Patronising. It makes you feel like a child again, bowing your head as your mother makes excuses for you.

You shift over — onto your back, and then onto your other side — and you look at him. You force yourself. Blankets pooled around his waist, his skin so pale it could be translucent, eyes icy blue and framed with fluffy white.

"You were forced to do it," you murmur. Your eyes remain trained on his chin — his are much too bright, much too all-seeing for comfort. "If you hadn't, he would've gotten worse. He never would have stopped. You knew that, you always did. It… took me a while to come to terms with it."

Satoru sighs. Then, he slumps down so that — like you — his head rests flat on the pillow, and his body arcs towards yours. He's forced himself into your sights again, in a way that’s gentle, but not so much that you wouldn't be able to figure out what he's doing: forcing you to face him.

"Would it have made you feel better," Satoru begins, reaching forward to brush his fingers against your chin, "if you were there when I did it?"

Would it have?

Would it have given you closure? Would you no longer spend your nights wondering what he'd looked like, what his last words were, his last thoughts? If he had spittled and roared in anger, if he had wept in fear, if he had attempted a smile, a joke? If he thought of you, or if you were just another insignificant blip in his radar?

In your mind, Suguru exists as his 17 year old self — smiling and mischievous, polite yet humorous. He puts extra broccoli on your plate and gently berates you to eat more. He tells you that you're a precious part of the team, that none of them would be who they are without you. He calls you crybaby because you always wear your heart on your sleeve, and tells you not to worry about things you cannot change.

Change what you can. Forget the rest and leave it to me, crybaby.

The bubbling hatred that had festered inside him has no place in your head. You want him to stay as he is, your Suguru that was never yours, shining like gold in your mind.

"No. He hated me at the end, I think," you say quietly. For a second, you dare to meet his eyes — bright and pointed in how they stare at you. You know he can see the tears that have begun to burn in your waterline, the way you ball your fists so hard you dig half-moon into your skin. He doesn’t need to be blessed with the Six Eyes to see.

"I wasn't interested in changing the world like he was, even with my Technique. That made him despise me, I think."

Satoru stares for a few more seconds. You wonder what he's thinking about. A second in your time is a lifetime in Satoru's; he must be thinking hard.

But he blinks, at last; sighs so deeply that his chest caves in with it, before he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you close, bare chest to bare chest, only atomic space between you.

There's nothing sexual about it. You're nothing but bones and skin and blood, here. He moulds your head to his shoulder with one large hand and cocoons you in his embrace, warm. Protected. You're not sure who the action is meant to comfort.

And just when you think the conversation is over — just when minutes have passed with nothing but the sound of the TV between you both — he speaks.

"Suguru could never hate you. Trust me."

You don't want to know what that means. You're only beginning to get over it, two years later.

Satoru is holding three onigiri in one hand, and two Starbucks' cups in the other — extra sugar, extra cream, extra ice, extra unicorn-marketing, just the way you both like it.

"There she is!" Is the first thing he says as he meets you just outside the metro, grinning.

It's sweltering hot today — the sun had risen early and would surely set late, and Satoru seems to be taking advantage of it. Gone is his Jujutsu Tech uniform and thick blindfold, but he's stuck with the all-black theme like he usually does — black jeans, black linen shirt, black socks and shoes. Even the frames of his sunglasses are black.

(Handsome. He's handsome. He's always been handsome — years later, you'd think you'd stop feeling the effects of it.)

Lucky for him. You're not, y'know, the strongest sorcerer in the last century, so there's no leeway for you — and even in your summer uniform, the skirt and short-sleeved blouse, you're sweating. Your only respite is that the combined force of you and Satoru will mean this mission is going to be a breeze.

Satoru tsks. "Took your time. I almost ate your onigiri."

A man nearby jogs past, clearly in a rush, and Satoru has to step closer to you to avoid him. He could've stayed still. He wouldn't have touched him, anyway, with his Limitless.

"And you would've had to buy another, genius."

A pout. "You only love me for my bank account, don't you?"

(He's joking. It's a joke.

But your hand shakes — a miniscule tremor — as you reach out to take one of the cups, and you know he sees it because he's Satoru and he sees everything. You turn away as quickly as you can, setting off in the direction of whatever place it is you're here for, and pretend that the fact that he can say it so casually doesn't kinda fucking hurt.

(He could never say it like that with Suguru — so bluntly, so crassly. Not without softened eyes and softened smiles and a gentle tilt of his head — those are mannerisms reserved only for him, never to be seen again. Instead, you get snickers and digs in the arm and teasing pulls of your hair. Of course it’s a joke. That’s all you are.

Perhaps you should just be grateful for what you get. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a man you once loved. Perhaps you should try to stop comparing yourself to a dead man. Perhaps, in the end, you just love the pain of it all.))

"Yeah," you reply, taking a large, sugary sip. "And don't you forget it, either."

Satoru catches up to you quickly, effortlessly; his arm flops around your shoulder as he tugs you in the opposite direction, chastising you for going the wrong way — but it stays there long after it needs to.

Itadori Yuuji — Sukuna's dead-but-not-really vessel — thinks your cursed technique is powerful. He thinks it’s amazing that you can use reverse cursed technique — you must be really powerful, right? Gojo-sensei says you’re special grade. He also thinks you're very pretty. He tells you this over his fourth grilled pork belly wrap — this one bursting at the seams with kimchi, garlic, and roasted sesame seeds.

He doesn't say it in a flirtatious way — it's just an observation to him, simple and blunt, and you figure he has about as much of a filter as Satoru does.

"O-oh," you say, metal tongs frozen over the sizzling meat. "Thank you, Yuuji."

You had briefly met him for the first time before his death — Nobara, too. Megumi, the third piece of the golden trio, has been something of a little brother ever since Satoru had taken him in, and you know him well enough to know that Yuuji's death (or lack thereof) is weighing on him terribly.

(There are too many parallels you could make. Suguru and Satoru. Haibara and Nanami.)

Hiding it does make you feel guilty. To experience that grief, that loss — even if it will soon go away when Yuuji rejoins jujutsu society — isn’t something to take lightly. But Yuuji needs a guide that isn’t completely off the rails. Satoru and you balance each other out, and balance seems to be something Yuuji needs.

He reminds you terribly of Satoru when he was younger. Maybe that's why you have such a fond spot for him — he's too goofy and well-meaning and genuine to dislike.

"Why are you acting surprised?" Gripes Satoru, chewing with his mouth open. "I tell you that all the time."

Your eyes narrow. You place a perfectly cooked slice of marinated beef on his plate. "You're you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He whines. "We're best friends, crybaby!"

"You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference. And don’t call me that."

"Is there?" Satoru asks, turning to Yuuji for guidance. The teen boy shrugs, preoccupied by assembling his newest monstrosity. "I call you pretty, too."

"Yeah, when—"

When you're eight inches deep in me, face buried in my neck, trying to get yourself off. Your cheeks flush with warmth at the thought, and you shut your mouth. Yuuji doesn't notice your slip up, busy as he is; Satoru does completely, and fixes you with a grin so sharp that you vow to not give him any more meat until Yuuji is completely full.

"It's not the same," you say, voice final. It's a lighthearted lunch. You don't want to ruin it by getting touchy over semantics, and that's exactly what'll happen if you keep going. "You say it to reward me. Like tossing a dog a bone."

You reach for the scissors to snip the meat into little pieces — and in doing so, you miss the brief frown that presses against Satoru's brow.

Neither of you say anything more on the matter.

Satoru has known you for five years when he realises that he resents you. Not completely, and not for one particular or solid reason, either. He prefers not to think about it, in any case, because you're one of his closest friends — and even at 17, he knows that that's hard to come by. Especially as the Strongest.

Satoru stares up at his ceiling; stares at the miniature striations only he can see, the starburst-shaped gyrations of clay used to finish it off.

Tonight, he's thinking about it. And many other things.

He hates that you're so hesitant about everything — he hates that you believe yourself so weak that you have to tiptoe. You, with your reverse cursed technique — which is a feat in and of itself — that could transcend time and space, just like he could. A technique passed down for hundreds and hundreds of years, accumulating power all the while…

(Your technique has lots of rules and regulations, of course. A handicap, and he understands it frustrates you, but his own frustration eclipses his understanding. Why should someone so strong feel anything but their own strength?)

He hates that you curl in on yourself when you're sad, or lonely, or angry. He hates that you wear your heart on your sleeve — he's never allowed himself to, not fully. He can't, never fully, because there are people who are watching him, people who hate him, people who want him dead. He can joke. He can make his political desires clear — but he can’t love like he wants to, and God forbid he cries.

He hates that you close your eyes and bask when it's sunny, like a cat in a sunspot; hates that you remember that he doesn't like chicken wings and prefers thighs; he especially hates that you watch over Suguru like it's your job, when Suguru doesn't need it.

And some part of Satoru hates Suguru, too. It was strange for him to come to terms with it, fond of him as he is, but as he grows Satoru realises that there's no love of his that isn't closely affiliated with hate. It makes the love all the more strong.

Satoru, for one, dislikes how polite Suguru is, even when he doesn't need to be. He hates that Suguru becomes a straight-faced, unfeeling thing when he's upset, and tries to hide it — the emptiness in his eyes unsettles him like nothing else.

Most of all, above all, Satoru hates that Suguru loves you, crybaby, and is too pussy to do shit about it. Satoru doesn't understand why, anyways, because he'd made it clear that if he wanted, Suguru could have you both and Satoru wouldn't care. Usually, the thought would offend him. How can you love someone when you already love me? When you've already sworn yourself to me? You already have the strongest, who else do you need?

But… he doesn't know. He kinda understands. You're precious to him, too, after all, sunflower soaking up the sun.

Like he said: there's no love of his that isn’t closely affiliated with hate.

Six and a half hours after the hours-long meeting that followed the ruined School Goodwill Event, you find yourselves in a diner somewhere in Harajuku. It’s one of those weird fusion places, loaning ornamentation and tokens from classic American diners, serving omurice with fries, sushi with mashed potatoes, with a cute little mascot that looks like Elvis. It’s loud enough and bright enough to make you feel timeless. It's a sensation you can appreciate.

Something’s been telling you that time’s ticking, and you’re not quite sure what it is. Trauma, probably. Anxiety. The fact that curses have been banding together, learning spoken language, amassing power — planning an attack on Jujutsu Tech, gaining intelligence, gaining anger.

Satoru doesn’t say it — doesn’t want to say it — but you think it’s unnerved him, too. The last time outsiders entered school grounds was… two years ago, wasn’t it? It’s crazy. Everything always seems to lead back to Suguru.

The attack has fueled something in both of you, anyways; something that makes you both stay up instead of knocking out like you usually do; something that makes you both hungry and restless and liable to travel across Tokyo past midnight. By public transport, no less. No warping or high-speed flying for you, tonight.

But you appreciate it. And you think that Satoru is taking things slow for the same reasons you want to — to take things in, to appreciate what you never think to appreciate. To admire the mundane, even for a little while. Satoru’s less emotionally attached to the jujutsu-less aspects of life than you are — bullet trains and waiting in line and standing on the train platform, escalators and traffic — but he enjoys them all the same when he has time to. And it’s not often The Strongest gets to experience pure, genuine normality, too, so maybe sitting in this gaudy diner and watching the world pass you by is a luxury he rarely affords himself.

He orders the most complicated drink they have — a sakura-caramel milkshake topped with whipped cream, glacé cherries, and an entire slice of cheesecake. He’s down to the last dregs of melting cream within 10 minutes, swiping fries from your plate between sips, ignoring your chides of rotten teeth and high blood sugar.

Blindfold swapped for glasses. Strands of hair drifting down against his forehead.

You’re always reminded at the worst times of how handsome he is. It’s not like it’s a secret, or he’s unaware of it — and he takes pride in his looks, if his extensive skincare shelf and general attitude is anything to go by — but he puts much more stock in his strength, in his usefulness to others, his intelligence. The things he can provide for others. Not many people realise that.

Maybe you shouldn’t act so high and mighty. It’s not like you don’t appreciate his appearance as much as the next person — hell, half the time you’re trying to stop it from distracting you — but maybe you get a pass. Y’know, as a person who actually has reason to marvel over the stretch of his neck and the flush of his cheeks and how his lips go the prettiest pink when you kiss him. Or the cords of muscle along his arms; the slender-yet-thick bands of muscle of his chest and legs. The large, veiny expanse of hand — slim, delicate fingers wrapped around a paper straw…

"Are you gonna eat those?" Says Satoru, slurping obnoxiously. “Haven't eaten since dinner."

You push the basket across the table, uncharacteristically void of argument. "Go crazy."

Satoru sets his empty glass aside, but the straw remains in one hand. The other he uses to pluck up fries, 4 or 5 at a time, his gaze suddenly fixed on you as he chews nonchalantly.

"Y'know," he says, licking salt from his fingertips, jabbing the straw in your direction, "I can always tell when you're horny."

"Excuse me?"

"You squirm," Satoru continues — matter-of-fact, casual, as if he's talking about the weather. "And you get quiet.”

“I’m a quiet person,” you snap, nails pressing against your palms under the table. “Sorry I know when to shut the fuck up—”

“And then you get flustered. And when you’re flustered, or embarrassed, you get angry.” He raises his hand — signals the cute waitress for another basket of fries, and leans back with his arms splayed along the back of the booth. “Don’t look so surprised! How long have we known each other?”

If you were a better person, you’d probably admit that yes, he’s right. You do get quiet when you’re horny, and you do get angry when you’re flustered — if you were a worse person, though, you’d remark on how you're the first person he crawls to when he’s sad, or overwhelmed. How getting you into bed and losing yourselves in each other is a sort of therapy for him. How he always tries to distract you with cheeky grins and sly, flirty comments, but then afterwards he cries in the bath as you clean him up.

You don't say that, obviously. Seems like a pretty shitty thing to bring up today of all days. He'd probably deny it anyways, but you don't think it's a coincidence that the attack has left him restless and he obviously wants to take you home.

The new fries are delivered to the table, but he looks right past them. He bows his head slightly, glasses slipping a little further down his nose so that his white-framed eyes peek over the top of them.

"Let's warp home," Satoru says — and oh. There's that voice. That drop in tone, that lack of boisterous humour he always employs. It's soft enough to have goosebumps rising on the back of your arms, smooth enough to have you squirming — yes, squirming, you admit it — in your seat. "Alright?"

"Yes." And it's embarrassingly breathless, and embarrassingly quick, but Satoru doesn't tease you. Just smiles, raises a hand for the bill, and watches you all the while.

You count seven stitches in the forehead of Geto Suguru.

Count, because it's all you can do. Everything else is lost to you.

Breathing.

Standing.

It feels like even your heart has stalled. Because—

Because—

Because Geto Suguru is dead. Dead, in the ground, no longer breathing, no longer living. Satoru had killed him. Satoru had demolished him.

The lips of the Geto in front of you twist — a sickening, stomach-turning imitation of the smile you once adored. On his face it's a sneer, a mockery. Your Suguru did not smile like this when you knew him.

"Hello," he greets pleasantly. His arms are hidden within the sleeves of his yukata. Hair down. Suguru always tended to wear his hair up, unless he was fresh out of the shower. Unless he was upset. It was too much hassle to take care of. You know when he took over the Time Vessel Association and donned the gojo-kesa he began wearing it down. "_____ _____, yes?"

You can't answer. Your ears are ringing. Your stomach gives a worrying lurch that winds up your throat — you think you're going to be sick.

How? Why? Who — who is this in front of you? Because it's not Geto, not Suguru — and you don't say that because of longing or a pathetic desire for ignorance. This thing feels wrong. Inherently, blasphemously wrong. Looking at him for too long makes your cursed energy prickle. Seeing Suguru's image painted in such slimy, rancid energy has you gasping for breath.

Satoru, your mind whispers. Satoru needs to know.

He should. He needs to. But this pseudo-Geto does not look friendly in the slightest, and you are isolated.

Looking back, it had seemed fine to go alone to exorcise curses in the belly of Tokyo's metro. Taking old service tunnels and eventually entering abandoned tracks hadn't felt scary. You're a semi-special grade sorcerer with years of experience under your belt and a powerful cursed technique that could get you out of most, if not all, pinches, restrictions and regulations be damned.

"I'm sure you're very confused. I apologise, really…"

The reality of the situation hits you. Maybe hit is the wrong word — it doesn’t come as a bloody, stinging smack in the face. It’s a trickle of ice-cold water down the nape of your neck, drawing dread from your head all the way into the pit of your stomach. You don't think this is a pinch you'll come out of — at least not battered half to death, especially when a silver-haired curse decorated with stitches steps out from behind pseudo-Geto. The curse Kento had fought. The one that he said to look out for. Patchwork.

Immediately, you know fighting isn't an option. But what else is there to do, in the face of pseudo-Geto and his silver-haired, sentient curse? Your technique may not be limitless in your possession, but in theirs? If they did to you what they did to so many others — transfiguring you past the point of recognition, stealing your body and technique, desecrating your corpse with cursed energy…

"I can feel it from here," titters the curse excitedly. "So warm… I have to have it! Her soul, I have to have it!"

Fuck.

You could try to escape, but you wouldn't have enough time to run past them and through the winding corridors of the underground, even while distracting them with your cursed technique. They'd catch you within seconds. You’re sure they have curses lurking around waiting to thwart you, too.

You could burst directly into the layers of concrete and metal above — use your technique to revert them back millions and millions and years to their very first forms, atoms and subatomic particles, and then rebuild them up as an ascending platform — but that would take too much time, and you'd be completely defenceless while you did. Not to mention the toll it'd take on you.

(Not to mention the fact that you'd be bursting into the public eye from a giant crater in the ground.)

"I'm sure you know what I'm going to do," continues pseudo-Geto, amiable. "I would ask you to join us, but I know that is impossible. Therefore, there is only one course of action."

Can't fight. Can't escape. Can't get answers. Can't stay clueless. How contradictory.

You're not dying, that's all you know. And if you have to do the one thing you never wanted to do, then so be it. Anything is better than death. Death is not an escape, in this scenario — it’s a guarantee of imprisonment.

"It's a shame," pseudo-Geto sighs, bloodlust swelling. "Such a waste of a good technique."

You make a Binding Vow with yourself within seconds.

Using a magnitude of cursed energy usually out of your reach, your entire body will be reduced to atoms — intangible, untrappable, unkillable — for as long as it takes to retreat to safety. In return, you will be unable to think, unable to move according to your own will, only a mere pawn to entropy as the rest of the galaxy is — high risk, high reward.

There are many things that could go wrong.

In reducing yourself to essentially nothing, in splitting your cursed energy into billions of particles, you could reach a state of such low cursed energy concentration that you are, for all terms and purposes, considered dead. In doing so, your Binding Vow could break, and you would be unable to return to living.

Or you could float for days, weeks, years — safety is subjective, subjective is dangerous when it comes to contracts, and you can only hope that your own understanding of it sets the standard.

It's either this, this fleeting, terrifying chance, or death. With one, you can return to your school, your students, your Satoru — you can tell them what happened. You can bring justice to whoever has disturbed Suguru from his slumber. With the other — nothing. Just plain, utter nothingness forever and ever.

(You know which you'd rather.)

The last thing you recall, in spotty haziness, is the heart-stopping sight of Suguru surging towards you, eyes bloodthirsty, face contorted in malice.

The last thing you hope is that Satoru isn't too upset about the risk you've taken.

Eight days after your solo mission, you resurface — a discombobulated, stumbling mess on the outskirts of Shibuya, eyes glazed and mouth stuttering over syllables. A nearby Window calls the college within seconds, and Gojo is there just as soon — hands shaking when he grasps your arm and turns you to face him, fingers trembling when he cups your cheeks and brushes them under your eyes.

It’s you. It’s you, it’s you, it’s you, and he can breathe, he can fucking breathe, his chest is lighter than it’s been for those entire 8 days — all the while, he burns with an anger so intense it hurts. And Satoru is no stranger to anger, of course — knows it as intimately as he knows himself — but he's not sure if he can remember the last time it had rendered him breathless, trembling. Bloodthirsty.

It's not the time to think about it. Not when you're shaking in his arms, so frail and weak everywhere except your hands — no, your hands remain strong, fingers digging into his clothes and skin. He turns off his Infinity. The sting of your touch grounds him.

Shoko is already waiting in the clinic for him — she’d been preparing ever since the call first came in. The students (the ones on campus, at least) crowd together at a distance, buzzing anxiously as Satoru disappears swiftly into the depths of the infirmary with you in his arms.

Bad things happen often. Too often. Satoru isn’t sure whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing that they haven’t gotten used to it yet.

“Gibberish,” Satoru answers when Shoko asks if you’ve said anything competent since he picked you up. “Just gibberish.”

Shoko is poking and prodding you with the usual doctor's shit — stethoscopes and thermometers and that blood pressure band that goes around your arm — and you just lay there and take it. Head rocking side to side, limbs trembling, mouth lolling open, and Satoru's trying not to lose his head because what good is taking your temperature? Do you look like you have a fucking cold? Is the way your eyes focus and unfocus normal? The way you can’t string together two syllables that make fucking sense?

But even with how he can see your cells malfunctioning all over your body, Shoko knows more about this shit than him. So he sits pretty on her swivelling chair, twisting back and forth, body the image of boredom but mind anything but. Time and time again, he’s reminded of how unprejudiced tragedy is — how it leaves no hint, no mark of itself, no time to prepare for the toll of it all.

Satoru had greeted you briefly before you’d left. Said something about getting lunch together, that you better be careful because you were treating him — the same shit he said time and time again, his real plea hidden within the folds and twists of his jokes and quips. Be careful. Don’t die. I can’t lose you. You’re precious to me.

You’ll be okay. You have to be — he won’t allow anything otherwise. But if he’d known last week that you’d end up like this, would he have said those things out loud? He doesn’t think so. He’s cowardly in that way.

A few moments later, Shoko straightens up. Immediately reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and pulls out a cigarette and a rusting lighter, and is puffing out clouds of bitter air just seconds later.

Shit. That’s not a good sign.

Shoko sighs. Rubs at her dark undereye circles and only makes them worse, taps her cigarette so that the ash falls to the floor. “I know what it is.”

Well fucking tell him instead of keeping it in!

“Oh?” Satoru says instead, leaning forward onto his knees. “What is it, then?”

“She used her technique on herself.”

“She does that all the time to heal."

“She didn’t heal herself,” Shoko snaps — and Satoru remembers that he’s not the only person you’re important to. That while he and Suguru had gotten ahead of themselves being the strongest, they’d left you and Shoko to stroll humbly along your own paths. The only girls in their year. The only person Shoko could fully confide in, really — at least in Tokyo —, the only person who had bothered to check up on her when she drank too much, smoked too much. Even if Shoko hated it.

Shoko is upset. Satoru doesn't what to do with it.

(Alcohol — she likes alcohol. Satoru reminds himself to pick up the most expensive bottle of the stuff the next time he's out.)

(No. She’s trying not to drink so much, isn’t she?)

(Whatever. Life is short.)

“She dissipated herself.”

Satoru knows about your technique intimately enough that it immediately gives him pause — but he runs over the details in his head, just in case, as if it isn’t already imprinted on the flesh of his skull.

Your cursed technique allows you to disassemble items down to their most basic units — subatomic particles — while your reverse cursed technique allows you to reassemble them. Items can be reassembled into their previous form, or to another related form, but you cannot exceed the item’s natural entropy threshold. If you do, the item cannot be reverted back to a physical state, and you will bear the brunt of the resulting shift in energy.

It's a finicky technique. Finicky and fickle and the risks tend to outweigh the rewards — but you'd always used it so elegantly, so gracefully. Even when you doubted yourself, you had a handle on it. Satoru admired that about you.

("You don't say I'm powerful. You say I'm helpful. There's a difference."

You'd said that to him once, when he brought you and Yuuji to lunch. You'd acted like it didn't bother you but he could tell it did — he didn't need his Six Eyes to notice how your nose twitched and your eyes narrowed, displeased.

But Satoru believes in two types of helpfulness.

The kind he is — powerful, needed, a force to be reckoned with. Someone that keeps things afloat, that acts as a beacon in the dark.

Then there's the other kind. The usefulness of pawns, of bait. Necessary, but not fundamental. Desired, sure, but rarely crucial.

You've always been the first. Always. You and him and Suguru and Shoko, always. Even he could admit that.)

You disassembled yourself into atoms. Into nothingness. You lost your mind, your body, your energy, everything—

Satoru sighs. He's been doing that a lot today.

“I didn’t know she could do that,” Satoru says. His throat is covered in a layer of sawdust. He can’t remember the last time he had to actually focus on not throwing up. “Why would she do that?”

“She talked about it, before,” Shoko says. She leans against the bed you’re laying on, gazing over her shoulder — and the way she looks at you turns his stomach, the upturn of her brows, the sad downturn of her mouth. It’s as if you’re already dead. As if she’s looking at a living corpse. “Just… as a theory. A last resort to help her get away, if needed, but—”

“But what?”

“She knew she didn’t have the power for it,” Shoko mutters. Breathes another puff of cigarette smoke. “If she tried, she'd end up just… fading away. In breaking herself up, she'd negate the cursed energy that gives her the power to put herself together.

"And the side effects would be… well, you can see that for yourself. Stupid, so fucking stupid…”

“Well, obviously she has the power for it,” Satoru murmurs. “Or made the power for it.”

“A binding vow?”

Satoru shrugs. Clenches his jaw, watching as you scratch at the faux-leather underneath you. “It'd make sense. Explains how she put herself back together."

(But for what? What could have driven you to such lengths?

A curse like Jogo wouldn't be all too difficult for you to defeat.

So who…?)

Shoko hums. She stares into space for a moment, eyes unfocused, and for a moment Satoru sees her younger self — the one who just started smoking, just started drinking, who carried the weight of all the people she healed (and those she'd failed to) tucked in her pocket. The Shoko that would make sarcastic quips and humble them when they needed humbling, but humour them when she knew the outcome would be funny.

A time when they had very little responsibility. Even him, shackled with it since birth. Comparing his duty from then to now is like comparing a boulder to the weight of the world.

He feels very old, suddenly, at 28.

"There's nothing I can do for her," Shoko says, softly. Regretfully. "If she did make a binding vow, I can only assume she made a condition about returning to normal. If so…"

Satoru can’t do anything about it, basically, she explains. Your condition is one that will only heal with time, patience, and the odd boost from Shoko’s technique. Maybe, she says — she's still unsure about that last bit.

It sickens him. It festers as a deep, curdling annoyance in his bones, his uselessness. It’s a sensation he had only felt once before, standing before the slumped-over body of Geto Suguru. Nothing he could do for him except put him out of his misery, and even then that felt like a cop-out.

So… he can't go directly after the thing that had forced your hand, because they had left no trace. He can't heal you, either. He can't take care of you while your body repairs itself, while your supposed binding vow returns you to your rightful state — that duty will fall to Shoko, or one of her interns.

He can do nothing. And Satoru is nothing if he cannot be of use.

Nine months after the events of the culling games, Satoru enters your room to see you sitting up — eyes wide, eyes seeing, and it only takes you fixing him with a single look to know that you're okay.

(Subjectively. Relatively.)

Suguru Getou — Kenjaku — is finally dead — exorcised. He’s not sure which is the right word to use. All of his allies, killed or exorcised too. Nanami, murdered. Nobara, comatose. Yaga, dead. Inumaki, Maki, Okkotsu, maimed; the great houses of sorcery destroyed and rebuilt in the image of Satoru’s will.

Itadori Yuuji — dead. Sukuna Ryomen — exorcised.

Adding up the gains, subtracting the losses, carrying the ones… Both sides seem to have lost pretty evenly. And he should be happy about it, too; things could have turned out much worse. And they would have, too, if he hadn’t pushed himself out of his pouting and escaped the prison realm — a feat that was half out of spite and half concern for the outside world, and maybe a little curiosity. Rage. Longing to see the bastard who’d stolen Suguru’s face and body, who dared to reanimate him and rouse him from peace — longing to slaughter the thing that had rendered you bedridden and half-mad for months.

He had been the one to kill Kenjaku. It only felt right to be the one to do so — he’d killed Suguru, after all; had been the one to leave him defenceless and open to manipulation. If Suguru hadn’t been dead, Kenjaku wouldn’t have been able to steal his body.

Of course, Satoru ignored the fact that the very last rotten, desperate dregs of Suguru would have enjoyed Kenjaku’s plan — it was the only way he was able to keep his eyes open when he blasted his brain to bits. It was hard enough the first time.

All of these things sit on his tongue, bitter and souring and curdling — every detail of the battle, of the culling games, the colleagues and peers and students he’d held in his arms, the ones he’d comforted as they slipped away, the ones he’d reassured and promised.

(Pink, blood-covered hair; a smile that never dimmed, a nervous murmur (“It’s okay, Gojo-sensei. I know what I got into.”). The shaky laugh that had followed.)

Satoru’s hands tremble at his sides.

Your eyes are wet with tears when you look at him.

“How long has it been?” You croak — voice dry and cracked with disuse, whining in some parts, low and wheezing in others. Bone-deep, the fear in your voice, and for good reason — things had already been at a boiling point when you’d been taken down. Everything had moved past you. “Satoru—?”

Another selfish decision on his part: he doesn’t tell you. At least, not now, when the words threaten to vomit out of his mouth, when the pain is suddenly too fresh and too raw.

(For one strange, too-long second, he’s reminded of his mother — weak, presence-less, powerless as she was. Empty-eyed and unhappy. She was hardly even a mother with the amount of governesses he had.

Somehow, though, every problem would seem worse when her eyes were upon him; every cut and bruise was more painful; every slight against him a grave insult; every mistake a cause for self-pity and temper tantrums — and none of it mattered, as long as she took him into her arms.

A rarity, yes, but… maybe one of the only fond memories he has of his childhood in the Gojo household.

Satoru feels like a kid again — suddenly sniffling from a bruise he swore didn’t hurt, his mother ready to pat his head and baby him and coo his name. Satoru. Not Gojo-sama.)

He crosses the room and plants himself upon your bed and takes you into his arms for the first time in months, and—

And for the first time since Yuuji’s death, since Nanami’s, since Suguru’s, since your injuries��

He cries. Openly. Heaving, chest-wrecking sobs; red, wet nose and ugly whimpers. It’s overwhelming. It’s cathartic. It makes the pain worse, for a second, before it begins to taper out in a bruising wave; with it, he remembers his darling underclassmen who died, his colleagues that he’d wanted to live at least a few more years; he remembers that despite years of being told so, he’s not God — he couldn’t stop Yuuji’s death, or Suguru’s, or Toge losing his arms, or—

“Thirteen months,” he manages to get out. “Thirteen months — you couldn’t talk, or move properly, or—”

Satoru grabs handfuls of you — hair, waist, belly, it doesn’t matter. He can feel you beneath his skin. Rushing, pounding blood, cells, micromolecules — and he doesn’t need to, but he engages his Six Eyes for a moment — actually engages them, doesn’t let them run unconsciously in the background. It’s a comfort to let himself see each receptor interact with each signal on each plasma membrane, to let himself see the tissues that formed organs that formed organ systems forming you, breathing, living, sentient—

He kisses you — or you kiss him, he’s not sure — but it’s far more intimate, far more tender than any touch he’d delivered unto you; hands clutching the sides of your face, your fingers digging into his wrists. You’re crying, salt on his tongue — and he only knows they’re not his own tears because you give a great, shuddering sob when you part, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“I had to,” you gasp, and he wants to tell you that he knows, he knows, he doesn’t blame you, sweet girl — did what you had to do to live, to survive— “I had to—”

“Only go where I can follow, okay?" His eyes are burning again, voice cracking with the promise, regardless of the fact that he’d rather you do it 100 times over than die. But it's the only way he can tell you he loves you without telling you he loves you, and he can't remember the last time he said the words aloud.

(He does. He remembers. And he remembers that Suguru wouldn't mind if he said it to you — that Suguru loved you as he loves you. And he remembers that Suguru is dead and doesn't have an opinion anymore, so it really doesn't matter, anyways.)

Satoru calls Shoko when he rights himself, barely pulling back from your embrace to text her something barely understandable and hurried. You don't say much while he does; still acclimating to being aware, being awake — he catches you with your eyes screwed shut and your nose buried in his jacket, fingers tight on his arms again. Grounding yourself. Reminding yourself that you're alive, and with him.

Shoko scolds you between rummaging around for a thermometer and scribbling your prescription in messy, barely legible cursive — calls you a dumb bitch for doing what you did, tells you that you owe her a bottle of wine and a trip to a fancy hot spring, and it all seems a little lighter.

(She cries a little — if the slight glassiness of her eyes can be considered crying. Satoru only teases her a bit for it, though you're quick to mention how he'd blubbered like a baby when he saw you, and he's humbled quickly.

It's the most normal he's felt in weeks.)

Shoko clears away after a few hours — gives you strict orders to rest, and sends him a knowing look that he's not all too sure of the meaning of.

"You look tired, Satoru," you finally say when you're alone again. Your smile is sad, knowing, and Satoru curses it all. You deserve a grace period, a moment of ignorance before the grief settles in. "What happened?"

But when have you ever wanted a moment of ignorance? When has he ever been able to hide the truth of things from you? When have you ever been anything but his equal, his confidant?

"Everything," Satoru says. A short, humourless laugh punctuates his single-worded sentence. "Everything, crybaby. Everything that we thought could happen, and everything we thought couldn't."

A flicker of a smile — uncomfortable, flat. Your eyes flicker down to the bland, starched sheets of the hospital bed. "Did you see him?"

He doesn't need you to elaborate. There's really only one person you both mean when you say him.

"Yes."

"Who was he?"

Satoru shifts in his seat. "An ancient sorcerer named Kenjaku. His cursed technique allowed him to transplant his brain between bodies and possess them."

"And he chose Suguru."

"Yes. And many others, too."

"And you killed him."

"Yes. For Suguru, and for you. But mostly for Suguru.”

“I’m glad,” you say, but your fingers twist the sheets tightly. “When I saw him, I was angry. So angry, I… I wanted to kill him. I knew I wasn’t strong enough, and I knew he would kill me, but for a second—”

He understands. God, does he understand. “You wanted to take the risk.” No matter the cost, no matter the damage to your own body. Anger like that consumes.

“I did.” You swallow. Your eyes meet his. “It was like… adding insult to injury. As if it’s not enough that Suguru is dead, but this — this Kenjaku has to puppeteer him too. Disturb his peace."

The wind rustles the trees outside. The late-afternoon gold of the sun settles along the horizon, a burning orange that stretches the shadows and warms the wind and turns the side of your face honey-soft and sad.

“But I realised that I was probably the first person he’d revealed himself to," you continue, "so I was the only one that could warn you."

Always thinking about the good of others. It was another thing he admired about you — Nanami, too. Satoru, for all his big talk about changing the world of jujutsu, about being better than those who came before him, is really quite selfish.

It's why his hands had trembled when he'd had to kill Yuuji. It's why he couldn't put Suguru in the ground the first time they met after he became a curse user. Even when he knows things are necessary, he tries his damnedest to hold on — just for the chance of it all. The chance that Suguru could change his mind. The chance that Sukuna could be removed from Yuuji without him needing to die.

"And…”

One snow-white brow raises. “And?”

“You’ve already lost too many people that you love,” you say simply, shrugging — like it's a simple fact, no need for experimentation, no need for an academic paper complete with its own abstract and footnotes. Like you've always known, in some little way, but you're only able to bring yourself to say it now.

And Satoru — well, it's no secret to him, is it? He's known it since he was 13, 14, 15 — had a bit of a buffering period, sure — and now here at 28, he knows it just as well. The point is that you're not supposed to know. Not while you're still healing from Suguru and… being attacked by fake-Suguru.

Regardless of what he knows and how long he's known it, Satoru feels his throat begin to close up, twisting and turning and holding his breath tight. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“Love?” He echoes. His voice has gotten a little empty. It's too soon for him to say it aloud, he thinks. It was okay when he whispered it in his head after making love to you; it was easy when he grinned at your scrunched up nose and scoffed comments and thought fuck, I love you. It was easy when he could pretend it was a simple, passing comment, a trick of the mind — but having it said as fact?

Not so simple. But you don’t need to know that. “Is that so?"

You don't seem to notice his momentary pause — a lifetime of rambling in his time, a second's hesitation in regular time — too busy staring at the space where his fingers stretch apart over the sheets. Just inches away from yours. "We're friends, aren't we?"

Oh.

"Oh." Satoru blinks back. "Oh, yeah. Best friends, you and I, crybaby."

"I know it's normal for us," you say, ploughing ahead, "to just lose and lose and keep losing, but… I'll be honest. I never fully got used to it, and I don't want to."

He wishes he could say the same, but he can't.

He understands, in some capacity. Nobody wants to see the people around them die, a continuous and vicious cycle. Nobody wants to get so used to loss that most funerals no longer hold any emotional significance. But getting used to it had saved him. Getting used to it helped him act without consequence, without remorse, and that's what the battlefield both needs and requires of him.

He could count on both hands the people he wants to save in this world — about half of them were dead, at this point. A lot of them died while he was imprisoned. Two, he had to kill himself. He swore he'd protect the rest with all Six Eyes, every non-existent boundary of his Limitless.

So Satoru doesn't care much about getting used to death and dying and loss and grief. As long as you're okay, he's okay. As long as his job as the Strongest is done, everything is as it should be.

He doesn't say that to you, of course. You'd probably curse him out and call him a heartless bastard. Instead, he nods, hums and agrees and tells you the names of those who died when you work up the courage to ask.

It's a long night. It's an even longer list.

10.

Shoko keeps you for observation for 10 days after you wake up — three days longer than necessary, but she won't hear it from him, no matter how many times he reminds her that technically she falsified her degree—

He's joking. Mostly.

Satoru volunteers himself to help you back home, taking with you the plastic bag filled with your cleaned sorcerer's garb and weapon. He carries it over his shoulder along with two teddy bears, a half-wilted bouquet of tulips and a half-eaten box of chocolates (all courtesy of the second years — except for the chocolates, which are half-eaten because of him). He winds his other arm around your waist even though you can walk perfectly fine, but — it's just in case. Purely precautionary. For once, you don’t argue about being babied.

In the midday sun outside, you tilt your head back and close your eyes and smile. For a moment, it's as if the sadness has melted away from you — the tears you shed over Yuuji, Nanami, Suguru. The tears you shed over him, and he wasn't even dead. Satoru is glad your eyes are closed — even beneath his sunglasses, it's painfully obvious that he's staring.

You decide to take the subway home — it's my first time outside in almost a year, you remind him, so he pushes down any arguments he might have and enjoys the too-cramped journey towards Akihabara. You’re both shoved standing together, between a panicked looking man holding a tray of coffee and a woman with her child hanging about her legs, your head bobbing against his chest as the train moves.

For a moment — as the train passes momentarily out of the underground and becomes encapsulated in light — it's easy to drown in the normalcy of it all. For a moment, he sees himself looking in as a stranger would. Here, he isn't the Six Eyes; just a simple man taking his girlfriend home, standing close on the train, wishing to be closer. Riding home to your shared apartment where he'll peel oranges and feed them to you, where he'll lay his head in your lap and hold your hands to his heart.

His nose wrinkles. He prefers reality, he thinks, where he can be powerful and have you by his side; where he can protect you, uphold peace, change the jujutsu world for the best — and then go home all the same, and have you to hold.

"What are you thinking about?" You mumble against his collar.

"Oranges," he replies.

"I don't have any at home," you say, "or if I did, they're rotted."

"Don't worry — we cleaned your kitchen up. Me and the kids." It was an afternoon of Yuuji attempting to shove rotting potatoes in Nobara's face. That was before Shibuya; before everything, really.

"Oh? You got your hands dirty?"

Satoru tries to not think about that same beaming, smiling Yuuji's last breaths. "Of course! This is me we're talking about, honey. I was front and centre."

You snort, soft against his neck. It's a wonder he went almost a year without you. "Housewife Satoru. I'll keep it in mind."

When you return to your apartment, you shower together for the first time in forever. He spends extra time and care massaging shampoo into your scalp, detangling each knot; spends extra time rinsing the suds out, tilting your head back with a gentle tap to your chin.

Steam clogs his mind. Almond shower oil and citrusy shampoo fog his senses. The realisation that you could have potentially been taken away from him sits heavy like a stone in his stomach — why it hadn't sunk in in the past, oh, 13 months or so, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he's terribly bad at caring for precious things — but if he could, if it's possible, he'll remould and reshape his hands, his heart, his mind, just for the chance—

"Satoru," you breathe against his lips, "Bow your head."

(Bow your head, you say. He'd kneel if you asked him to.)

You brush your hands through his hair; rinse him free of suds and bubbles and kiss his temples as you shut off the water. What is supposed to be healing for you is quickly becoming therapy for him — muscles relaxing, mind clearing of all responsibilities, mournings, obligations. All he knows are the soft, newly washed sheets beneath him and your nose in the crook of his neck.

It's a strange sensation, the lack of tension, his brain not working overtime. But hardly unwelcome.

11.

Satoru asks you if you saw anything when you were indisposed. Memories, flashbacks, prophecies? Blurry half-truths, nonsensical babbling? You tell him that you can't really remember — and you can't, not really, but you do remember one thing.

When you were 11, you met Satoru and Suguru for the first time. It's that memory that you can remember playing in your head, over and over and over again: Satoru and Suguru, scrawny and still-faced in their yukata.

Satoru was from a great, traditional house. Suguru was not, but upon discovery of his powers, was taken into unofficial custody of the higher-ups. In most circumstances, you wouldn’t have been allowed within two feet of them — but the elders had deemed your cursed technique a great gift, and so you were warily accepted into the upper echelons of jujutsu society, a stranger, a foreigner.

Introducing you to the most powerful sorcerers your age was nothing more than political play, of course. The adults followed behind as you walked through the grand grounds of the Gojo family — (maintained by a team of 12 gardeners, according to the Lady of the house) — muttering and scheming between themselves, making sure nothing would go awry.

Nothing did, of course. Satoru picked his nose and Suguru told him it was rude and they bickered for a while — Satoru bickered, Suguru replied calmly and quickly. Satoru asked you if your technique was good or bad ("No such thing," interjected Suguru) and whether or not you think you could beat him in a fight.

(That last question was to stroke his own ego, of course. Everyone knew he was the strongest sorcerer born in the last century.)

At some point, Satoru made you cry.

You can't remember what about, all these years later — you'd think you'd remember, considering the fact that you know the amount of gardeners employed by the Gojo estate — but you know that you had tried to stop it; fists balled, teeth gritted, full-body heaves. Crying was the last thing you had wanted to do. Crying meant weakness. Weakness meant being taken advantage of.

But you were so scared. It was all so alien. You wanted to go home, but home didn’t exist anymore. You wanted your mother, but your mother was long gone. All you had left were stone-faced adults that were only interested in your abilities.

Suguru had been confused at your reaction to what he took as a harmless quip — a little callous, as most children are — but he had reassured you nonetheless.

"Don’t cry. Satoru speaks before he thinks," he'd said, nudging your shoulder. "Sometimes you have to ignore him and he'll be so bored that he has to think."

"I can hear you," Gojo huffed. "I didn't mean to."

"See?" Suguru smiled. "Works like a charm."

Yes, Suguru had always been there to protect you. Emotionally, at least. He was willing to be kinder to people. More gentle, more forgiving. He'd believed that it was his duty as a sorcerer to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, and—

Well. That had changed, by the end, but having that memory replay in your head made you see the bigger picture of it all. Suguru's place in things. Your place in things.

You'd loved Suguru, no doubt. And you’ll probably always carry a piece of him with you — you'd hate to do otherwise. You’ll carry his kindness and his jokes and his catlike smile, all tucked away in bubble wrap somewhere in your chest cavity — but you will never disregard his wrongdoings. Since his death, you'd argued against the two sides of him; felt guilty for loving him after what he did, felt guilty for hating him after loving him and knowing him for as long as you did. Two halves of a whole. Darkness in light and light in darkness.

He was both of those things. You love him, but you don’t forgive him, and you probably never will. He will never again be the boy that comforted you after Satoru made you cry; he will never again be the boy who let you braid his hair back. He won't be the boy who slaughtered innocents, either — death's funny like that. Indiscriminately doing away with both the good and the bad.

And that's okay. Kenjaku is dead, after all, and Suguru can finally rest — and with him, your warring mind.

12.

Midnight strikes and you're still awake. You don’t even seem tired, and that's after a long shower and takeout and a movie. Usually you'd be a drooling mess by now, but tonight is different. Feels different. Satoru isn’t sure if it's just a year's worth of built up sexual tension or something else, but he feels it regardless.

He's flopped on his stomach, hair still damp; you're curled up in the shape of a C, skin reflecting the light of the TV. He might visit Nobara tomorrow. Megumi usually goes on Wednesdays, too — they could make a day out of it, and you could tag along, too. He's got a craving for the pistachio macarons they sell near—

"I'm in love with you," you announce.

Satoru doesn't bother asking you to repeat yourself because he knows he didn’t mishear. It isn't the knowing that shocks him — he's not stupid, and you wear your heart on your sleeve — it's the sudden, quick verbal affirmation of it that catches him off guard. After all, haven’t you two been putting this all off? Yearning for a dead man? Being pulled from two opposing poles?

He turns his head towards you, opens his mouth to ask you just that, and—

"After Suguru, I thought I'd never be happy again," you say, and you’re smiling like you didn't just say something inherently heartbreaking. But no, you look fond — content, even, blinking slowly at him. "And I thought I'd never feel for someone as strong as I did for him. But here I am: happy, and in love, and okay."

Satoru opens his mouth — then closes it quickly. For some reason, he remembers something Suguru said to you when you were younger: "Satoru speaks before he thinks." But he wants to think about this — about what he should say. How does he respond to you quite literally baring your heart to him? How does he tell you what he wants to tell you, what you deserve to hear? He's never been good with real, genuine words — emotional shit never came easy to him out loud. His thoughts are much more concise than his mouth is, but he guesses it's because it moves so fast in comparison.

Pity you can't read his mind. It'd make things much easier.

“You don’t have to say anything,” but he wants to, don't you know? "You don't have to pretend. It’s okay. I know that… maybe you don’t love me as much as you loved Suguru, but I know you love me in some way, at least—”

Satoru frowns — strings of ideas and thoughts bunching up and stopping short as your words register. “As much as I— hey, stop putting words in my mouth—"

"The truth is," you continue on, "I feel lighter than I have in years. I don't dread life so much anymore. I don't dread you anymore."

"You… dreaded me?"

You hum. Your legs stretch down, arms forward, face scrunched up in a passing yawn. "I'm not stupid to think you didn’t know how I felt, but… I hated that I was so obvious about it. Even when I was fighting with myself about it, I was obvious. It made me hate being around you, sometimes."

You sigh, then — not as heavy and melancholy as they used to be, no. This is a sigh of relief, of cathartic release.

Satoru blinks, and attempts to wade through the seventy-or-so compulsions telling him to make a joke, to laugh, to tease you. Maybe he should actually be serious for once. Say it straight and say it firm, so you can't take anything the wrong way. If there was ever a time for him to not beat around the bush…

"I've liked you since I was 17," he confesses, finally. "Me and Suguru, we were together, y’know, and we were happy. And Suguru loved you, and somewhere along the line I… began to do the same, but we were so young and then… Everything changed so fast. Everything broke so fast.”

Your fingers brush against his, and he breathes in a sigh. Your eyes are wide and watery, low light reflecting like glitter in your eyes.

"Sometimes, it keeps me up at night," Satoru says, laughing a pained sort of laugh. "Out of everything, that's what keeps me up — that we could've been happy together, all three of us. It never would’ve been enough to make him change, but…"

At least you would’ve known what it was like. To be happy together in that way. To be content. To find your places in the world, hand and hand. To know what it was like — even if Suguru’s fall from grace was inevitable — so you wouldn’t have to keep wondering until your untimely, gruesome, sorcerer-style deaths, or whatever.

Back then, Satoru didn’t understand why Suguru never told you how he felt. He couldn't understand how he could be content watching from afar, looking but never touching. What Satoru wanted, he learned to take; the Strongest didn’t need to ask for permission, only forgiveness.

He learned quickly that some things were better left unsaid. And now, 28 years old, half of his friends, students, colleagues dead — he understands even more.

He remembers how Yuuji had tried to stave off tears when he realised he had to die; remembers how his student’s throat had felt being crushed in his hands. He loved Yuuji like a little brother. Like a son, even. He was family. He was his student, and yet his death had been necessary, and Satoru battled with it. It allowed him to succeed in the mission he was born to complete. But he had given up Yuuji in return.

There is no curse more twisted than love.

Therein lays the problem, he supposes. The second you love someone, you run the risk of having them end up like Yuuji did. Like Suguru did. Like Nanami did. When you are burdened with incredible power like Satoru is — like Suguru was — you must be able to sacrifice for it. The closer that people are, the more likely they are to be caught in the crossfire, the more likely you are to be hurt. Suguru hoped to avoid that at all costs. It was easier to watch from afar, less painful.

Satoru is a tad more selfish. Which is bad, he knows, because he's too prepared to sacrifice. Even now. Even now, he knows that if caught between saving you and saving society, he would be forced to — to—

Satoru inhales. The only thing for it is to simply stop things from getting that far.

He could explain all this to you. He could talk circles around you about it, in fact, but the truth is that it's all conjecture. Suguru isn’t here to tell him why he did what he did. He can’t speak for him, no matter how well he knew him.

"I don't know why Suguru never told you," Satoru says instead. He folds his fingers tighter, taking yours in his grip as he does so. "Guess that's something he took with him to the grave."

"I've stopped wondering," you say. “I’ll never stop regretting, but I’ve stopped wondering. I can’t stay rooted in the past any more. It was doing more harm than good."

And you raise your interlocked hands — nestle them under your chin and screw your eyes shut, like you're wishing on the evening star, like he's something precious to be treasured. All of a sudden he's 17 and confused about why he can't stop staring at you. He doesn’t have Suguru to tease him about it, now.

“I’ll never forget him,” Satoru announces — a warning, or a reassurance, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s telling the truth and nothing but the truth, and whether or not you like his truth is not his concern. He respects you too much to lie about this to you.

Your lips twitch upwards, a phantom of a smile. “Neither will I. "

"I'll never forget you, either."

The smile grows, blooms, blossoms, until it stretches bright and full across your face. The first smile of yours he's seen in a while that wasn't at half-mast, or tinged with sadness, or pain, or fatigue.

"How lucky I am," you whisper, "to be known by you, Gojo Satoru."

It should be the other way around, he thinks.

(12.5.

It's the first time he makes love in years.

Satoru has always fucked you. Always. No matter how tired you both were, no matter how injured — he'd always force himself to be rougher, force his touches to not linger as much as he wanted them to.

If he felt too much, he'd crack a joke instead of drowning in it; if he felt his eyes beginning to burn he'd bury his nose in the crook of your neck and push it down. If he thought of long, dark hair and cat-like eyes, he'd tighten your grip in his hair and the shock of pain would clear his mind. He fucked quick, and when he was done he'd lay far away enough that he couldn't feel your skin against his.

Tonight, he lets himself love and be loved again.

You're on top of him, ass flush against his thighs, taking every inch he has to give you; his hands have found your jaw, thumbs brushing back and forth across your dewy, sweat-slick cheeks. One hand of yours clasps around his wrist; the other bands to his chest, nails digging red into his skin. Your cursed energy blooms, flushes, flourishes when he opens his eyes to look at you.

He sees every pore, every hair, every dimple, every broken capillary, every scratch and scrape. Every part of you, bending to him in some places, unfalteringly stubborn in others.

"Look at you," he mumbles, blinking dumbly. "So… pretty…"

You snort something like a laugh, and continue: up, down, up, down. Slow, grinding gyrations of your hips that make his head spin pleasantly; and with his Limitless nullified, he feels every inch of skin, every tensing of muscle, every scrape and press fully and completely. He’s never felt so engulfed in it before — the sensations of it all, the warmth, your scent, your weight above him.

He'd drown in you, if he could. Take you in his mouth and nose and ears and everywhere, until he's left gasping for air and grappling for something of substance. Maybe once upon a time he would keep those thoughts to himself, for whatever reason — but now he's allowed to be selfish in his affections, allowed to give more than surface-level compliments and vague declarations of love.

Between pleasure-ridden shudders and sloppy, wet kisses, he breathes:

"I want you everywhere," he says, "All the time. Over me, on me, in me—"

You raise a brow, impudent and teasing in a way that makes his abdomen tighten. "In you?"

And maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that you took it, but he plays along anyways, waggling his brows. "You heard me."

"You're terrible."

"I'm not joking," Satoru argues — but it’s hard to take him seriously when his voice quietens, when he arches up eagerly to meet your lips—

When his grip on your lower back becomes painfully tight, when his lips part in a moan and his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back, hips rutting up to meet yours, and—

His peak rises to greet him — and his heart swells all the while. He finds himself clawing for you as his orgasm builds, hands clambering against your back, your neck, your hair, until (with a great, shaking breath, may he add): "Fuck, I — mmf, I love you—"

It carries him off to a state of fuzzy, empty-minded ignorance — pleasure tightening his entire body, fizzling from the tips of his fingers to his curling toes. Your name on his tongue, slurred and mellifluous, his smile dizzy and drunk.

As you smile down at him, so unbearably fond, Satoru thinks that he doesn’t mind saying I love you aloud after all.)

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nickfowlerrr · 2 months

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go your own way

GIF by vanillanaps

pairings: steve rogers x curvy!reader, bucky barnes x curvy!reader, mentioned stucky x reader

warnings: angst. mentioned steve x reader smut but not described. little bit of bucky x reader fluff.

words: 1382

notes: just found this little guy in my docs and added to it some. this was part of what i had originally planned for always before i decided to make it just bucky x reader bc it was getting off track with this side story lol. i hope you like this, thank you in advance for reading. let me know what you think!

also also! new banner and dividers by @shadeysprings. she has design commissions open if you want to get your own made. absolutely recommend! 🩵

“I shouldn’t have said any of that. I know you care about him. I’m sorry.”

A tense silence began to grow between you two. So much unsaid, but you couldn’t keep this up much longer.

It’d been a long two years without Steve, and these past few months since he’d been back had been difficult to say the least.

“He misses you, ya know. We both do..”

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, his thumb stroking your hand in his before you pulled it away, mindlessly clenching your hand into a fist before you stretched it out, working to get the feeling of his touch off your skin.

“Yeah, I know,” you said a bit harshly before you cleared your throat. “I should grab his bag.”

You moved to go upstairs to get Bucky’s stuff from the room you’d claimed last night, but stopped a little ways up the steps. “I really am sorry, Steve,” you said once more.

He watched you continue up the stairs, leaving him to his thoughts once again. “So am I,” he offered to no one.

He hated the animosity between the two of you. Hated how reactive you were to his touch, how easily he could set you off, and not in the way he used to. He wanted things to be different, to go back to the way it was before. But he also knew he wasn’t ready. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt either of you, though he knew he already had.

He thought going away was for the better. You and Bucky were happy, and though you’d talked about all of you coming together, making things official, he couldn’t wrap his head around the idea. It seemed too complicated, and he still had things he needed to work out on his own.

It was only supposed to be a few months away, and he’d promised to stay in touch. But months turned into years and not even five months after he’d gone he had ditched his old phone. No one but Sam and Nat had his new number and they kept it to themselves. He was working, he’d tell himself, trying to make himself feel better, though he knew he could head home anytime he wanted. He checked his email often, but he couldn’t find it in him to respond to you. Eventually, the messages stopped coming... He missed your writings, your updates, your concern, but he couldn’t reach out to you to let you know that.

A few months ago, after a call from Sam, he was on his way back to the states. Back to the compound. Back to you.

Bucky had welcomed him with open arms, but you were, rightfully, cold.

Distant.

He wasn’t used to that coming from you, but he couldn’t say he hadn’t expected it.

It took some time before things felt cordial between you, and a bit longer still before things felt friendly. And then, two weeks ago, he had screwed up.

He knew he wasn’t ready for you, his mind wasn’t in the right place for a relationship, but when he found you in Bucky’s bed, sulking and missing him while he was away with Sam on a mission, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to comfort you.

Talking turned into innocent touching, which turned to cuddling, that led to kissing, and before he knew what he was doing, you were a moaning mess beneath him as he took you apart. Over and over until you’d passed out.

He took care of you then, too. Cleaned you up before tucking you into Bucky’s bed. A part of him wanted to stay, to be there when you woke up, but a stronger part told him to go before he made matters worse.

The next day you met him in the kitchen.

The look on your face when he told you the previous night had been a mistake was one he’d never forget. The look of hurt and shock at his words ate him up inside. But he knew it was for the better. For now.

“It isn’t about you or Bucky, it’s about me. I’m sorry, I am. But I’m not ready to be involved right now. And it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just-”

“I get it, Steve. It’s just, it’s been two and a half years. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to rush you into anything. I know you’ve been dealing with a lot, and I know that’s an understatement, I just… I guess I just missed you,” you admitted quietly.

“I missed you, too.”

“I’m not gonna stand here and pretend I know what you’re going through, because I don’t. But this is hard for us, too. It’s not easy to be around you. To have to stop myself from just coming up to you like I used to. To have to stop myself from being so goddamn angry at you for leaving so easily in the first place, without a word to either of us. Because I am mad. And I’m hurt. And not just for me, for Bucky, too. Because he doesn’t have it in him to be upset at you,” your voice wavers in your emotion, “but he has every damn right to be. I know you’re going through a lot, but you’ve put us through a lot, too. And maybe you’re right, maybe last night was a mistake. But it’s not mine. I don’t regret it. I know how I feel about you. But I also know you’re not ready. So, maybe keeping our distance is for the best right now.”

He took a second, absorbing all of what you said before he agreed. “Yeah,” he nodded solemnly, “we should.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting that night, but his readiness to agree with you was not it. Some part had been hoping he’d fight you on it. Say he didn’t want to keep the distance, that he wanted you, that he was sorry for the way he left, sorry for the hurt he caused the both of you, that he’d pull you into him and say he’d had enough time and he wasn’t scared anymore and he wants to be with you both. Both you got nothing. Nothing but a stupidly sad pout and a nod.

You had blinked at him, and he didn’t have the heart to look back up at you. That was for the better, you’ve since realized, because you’d had to turn away before you let the tears that burned in your eyes slip.

It’d been two weeks, and of course you told Bucky everything as soon as he was settled from his mission. He listened intently, talked everything out with you, held you when you couldn’t help but cry again about it all. Bucky understood. It wasn’t like he was just some ex you could get over. He was Steve.

“I know it hurts,” he had said, “but he’ll have to find his way into this on his own if he really wants to. He says he has things to figure out on his own, then we just gotta let him. He knows we’re here. He’ll come when he’s ready.”

Bucky’s words ring in your ear as you head up to get his stuff from the room. You can hear the water running from his shower downstairs already. You’re beyond glad he’s safe - you know you were a complete disaster worrying about him all night - and you’re so thankful Steve was there for him when you couldn’t be. You just wish more than anything you could be in their combined embrace right now; you know you aren’t the only one who needs it. You can still feel Steve’s touch on your hand as you gather yours and Bucky’s things, and your stomach twists as your heart aches and your thoughts worry. You’re moving fast, bordering on desperate to get back to Bucky - make sure he really is okay, to hold him close and not let him go for the rest of the night, but not fast enough to outrun the thoughts that keep coming back to Steve.

Bucky says he’ll come when he’s ready…What if he decides he’s never gonna be?

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x curvy!reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fanfiction #stucky x reader #stucky x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky barnes x reader x steve rogers

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cvnt4him · 3 months

Text

AN; okay so to be completely fair this is my first fic EVER. So like if it's bad that's my excuse. ALSO!! Reader will not have any specific gender so I felt like it was best to put GN so..yeah. enjoy<3

WARNINGS. Manipulation, blk coded reader, chubby coded reader, (or js plump. Basically in some way has fat on tummy.) 'vulgar' language, boys being boys.

If in any way, you feel bothered feel free to exit now<3

Can you tell this is an old fic from like 2023? Like I'm js cleaning out my drafts and honestly good guy!zuzu is a good idea so.. yeah!!!!! I made alot of fics and wrote them as my "first fic" clearly this isn't my first anymore but I js mostly updated it to how I write now. We all know i dont use warnings so.. yur 💀

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Good guy my ass.

...........................................

How did this happen.

You find yourself being dicked down in a public bathroom. By none other than the local good boy, izuku midoriya. Better known as deku, an aspiring and upcoming hero, only now a sidekick and being the center of attention for having such adorable features and such a powerful quirk. [or nine but wtv]

This is absolutely filthy. Genuinely pathetic. Your face was being pushed against the disgusting greasy mirror as he pounded you from behind, hoisting one of your legs onto the counter. It wasn't a rather uncomfortable position, who dient like getting fucked? It's the fact that this guy is supposed to be a good guy. He's supposed to save people, not threaten to kill them or boast and brag about how powerful he is.

"I could snap your slutty fucking neck right now, you'd like that wouldn't you whore. You like being fucked by a hero? Dirty slut loves getting fucked down in a public bathroom."

The words he let fall from those perfect lips just didn't sound right, but god was it sexy. The way he grunted and tried to hold back his moans from how tight you were squeezing around him. He just couldn't help himself, hips jerking and stuttering into you at an uneven pace, his thrusts getting sloppier by the second his moans started to flow more fluently, you see in the mirror his eyes rolling into the back of his skull as he throws his head back.

You couldn't do anything but let muffled moans out of your drool filled mouth, his fingers being stuffed down your throat, gagging and spitting all over his thick scarred fingers. The way your tongue licked and moved around his fingers sent him over the edge. He was holding out for a lot longer than he expected, his cock was twitching and leaking so much pre before he got inside of you he swore he was gonna cum the second he put his flushed throbbing cock head against your hole.

He continued to hold out, savoring his seed for you, he knew how much a cock dumb whore like you enjoyed cum, he promises you it'll be so much just for you.

He groans and lays his head on your shoulder, his hips thrusting into you at a brutal pace, he slaps your ass harshly a red mark becoming visible from his hard slap. You cry out in pain around his fingers hiccuping and sobbing hopelessly he wasn't letting you despite his upcoming orgasm he was going to milk this moment for all that it was.

He yanked on your curls his fingers entangling inside, he pulled your head back making a noise leave you, the way your neck was craned back was aching and slightly painful yet he just wouldn't stop. He removed his sticky spit covered fingers from your mouth to slap you hard. It shocked you and made you stutter out a wailed cry. You couch and choke on the air he finally let you have before putting his fingers right back into their place; you're slutty mouth.

He thrusts one last time before spilling his all inside of you. The way you convulse around his cock making him whine the immense pleasure and overstimulation making him shiver in pain. It was blissful really, he felt dark to good to let up on his thrusts he was a good guy after all, it only makes sense to let you cum around his cock.

He leans down and whispers in your ear, his hot breath fanning your cheek.

"cum on my cock baby, c'mon you can do it."

With that you fell apart completely around him, sobbing and moaning as you finally feel that release the way his thick engorged cock head repeatedly crashed and harshly hit against your cervix had your head spinning, but finally you could cum.

You catch your breath as he runs your shoulder soothingly whispering sweet nothing into your ear. It was crazy how easily the switch up was for him, one moment you're a filthy slut who deserves to be fucked like the cum junkie you are, next you're so beautiful and did so well for him and he wants to spoil you and treat you right. The fuck? This nigga fr had the nerve, the GALL, to fuck you in a filthy bathroom then proceed to say "treat you right" like in what way is that okay?

He zipped up his suit zipper and assured he looked presentable in the mirror, a clear spot being shown where he had your face smashed up against, the sweat had smeared on the mirror.

He smiles to himself wiping off his suit and shaking his hand in his hair making sure either looks wild and messy per usge, he knew how to make himself look nice.

You regained your composure slowly as you slipped your shirt over yourself, you were sore and tired kind of hungry too, just your luck he can't seem to not get hungry after sex.

"grab'n a bite."

He says still admiring himself in the mirror wiping the tears that prickled at the corner of his eyes due to the pleasure you gave him.

You lazily look up at him through still lidded eyes, you couldn't speak your throat hurt from how hard he thrusted his fingers down it. You simply hum at his words and expected this to be where you part ways. You assumed he was grabbing a bite and wanted you to wait back behind him so no one seen you two leave together especially because you look a mess, like you'd just gotten fucked in a public bathroom. Oh wait, you did! By him.

He was very proud of himself, he's fucked alot of bitches but there was something about you the way you hushed around him that had him wrapped, well it wasnt you. Just your body that he was rather obsessed with. The way you moved underneath him, how you plead for him. The intoxicating feeling of it all.

He headed towards the door not hearing your footsteps behind him, he grabs the handle but before opening it turns to you and looks you up and down with a raised brow and pretty much emotionless face.

"y'coming or....??"

He was kind of sassy and you did not like it. Fucking cunt.

You raise a brow and look around pointing to yourself as if there was someone else in there with you two...

He rolls his eyes and facepalms himself, you're hot sure but a fucking dumbass.

"no shit. Are you coming or fucking not I don't have time for this."

He lets out in an annoyed tone, giving you an angry face while opening the door.

"I don't really have the money at the moment so i---"

"did I say anything about money? No, so keep that pretty mouth of yours shut unless you have something to say."

He stops at the door looking back at you with a squinted look and a frown on his face. You scoff as he leaves, the door shutting behind him immediately. There is just no way this guy is this fucking mean. Like he's actually an asshole for a living. Damn he fucking sucks.

You groan and leave the bathroom after him, you see him being swarmed with fangirls and others trying to get pictures autographs and videos with the upcoming sidekick.

He gives them his usual picture perfect pearly white smile as his eyes land on you, his smile stays the same as his brows furrowed slightly not too noticeable to his fans as they were all starstruck and probably wouldn't remember anything from this interaction.

He nods his head to the door telling you to "get the hell out he'll be there in a sec".

You don't really give much of an answer, you never stopped walking while you watched him hint to the door. Like no fucking shit, you're not dumb.

That slightly angered him, not that he'd dare let it show, but how could you be such an entitled bitch? You're the slut that fucked him in the bathroom. You should be THANKING him for even granting you with permission to be in his presence. Breathe the same air as him. Walk on the same earth he does.

He bids adieux to his fans as they all try to follow him he hurriedly walks outside and grabs you by your arm.

"wha- wHAT ARE YOU?!--"

Your speech was cut off by him grabbing you bridal style and jumping off into the air, hopping on building to building with you in his arms.

You scream and bury your face into his chest, you hated heights so the fact he had the nerve to bring you this high was making your stomach turn.

"calm down, I'm not even going that high or that fast."

Izuku was really fast some day the fastest human alive apart from allmight but hey even then he might still be faster than him, so he probably was going slow however you're still above the ground, and not just a few feet you were on top of the highest buildings ever in the busiest city evet. If people bothered to looked up they'd see izuku holding you and hopping away.

He finally sets you down as you're now at a restaurant, a rather empty one. This place was quite nice, there's no way it's this empty.

"go on inside and grab a seat, yeah? I'll be in soon hun."

'hun'? How dare he. He can't just treat you with respect then call you a whore the next. You hated him, the almighty, perfect, sweet, gentlemanly, golden boy. More like a golden piece of shit. He's an ass hat and should sit on a dick.

You go inside to see a waiter taking a couple of people's orders, they were all at one table and wore hoods hats or sunglasses if some kind. What the hell were.. were those pro heroes?! What the hell???

You stare in shock, there was no way all of these heroes are just here at the same time you and izuku were grabbing a bite. Izuku walks in which grabs their attention, you notice them looking back at you and jump lightly trying to exit but to your surprise you're stopped by a taller and much bigger than you izuku who looks down at you with a raised brow and a frown or disappointment. You look up to him with wide eyes, you hadn't expected these heroes to be here as well he can't blame you for being nervous and trying to vanish..

He sighs deeply and sucks his teeth as he whispers down to you to not alarm his peers.

"can't do a simple job? I asked for one thing, one thing and yet you act like a deer stuck by headlights. Fucking imbecile."

He ends his speech before looking back up to his friends with a smile and a chuckle saying hello to them all as he turns you around by your shoulders with a harsh grip, holding the small of your back and pushing you towards the other heros.

He pulls out a chair for you gesturing for you to take a seat, you do so looking to the ground the whole time. You'd lost your appetite, there's just something about people being mean and disappointed in you that hurts your heart terribly.

The way it aches and yearns for release. How your eyes slowly well up with hot tears threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes. You give izuku a half smile while sitting.

Izuku watched you the whole time, his squinted eyes studying your state. His friends spoke laughed and had drinks while conversing about hero work, fans, and other things you couldn't relate to, not begin to care about. Izuku continued to observe you, the way you played with your food in front of you not even eating it just picking at it and setting your fork down.

Just to your luck the conversation headed towards a new direction, a new topic, one that made you even more uncomfortable. All the guys were just talking and smirking at the conversation of having sex with women and doing other things etcetera etcetera. It bothered you, being around men jnt shit natural habitat. The way they spoke and joked around was disgusting and guy wrenching.

You quickly get up and excuse yourself, bowing slightly with a polite tone as you head the women's restroom.

Izuku watched as you fled, he was about to get up as well before being stopped by one of his other sidekick acquaintances.

"damn that ass was nice, how you manage to bag that huh, midoriya?"

"yeah I agree, there's no way a fine piece of ass like that likes someone as soft as you. Haha!"

They all laughed and joked, pissing the freckled man off more than he already was. Whatever that phone call was about bad angered him deeply and these fucking losers weren't making it any better, he tried to hold out, he tried so hard to not blow his top and yet he just couldn't help hinself.

" just because I respect women and know how to treat them right and it like a piece of meat doesn't insinuate that I'm "soft". God forbid I treat a woman right, huh? You all are fucking pathetic junkies who'll never get passed being a sidekick. I'm younger than all of you and will be a pro hero before your lives even begin. Don't forget where you stand next to me, you are all walking second place medals. Act like it."

He excuses himself in a polite manner, bowing with a smile on his adorable face leaving all of them speechless as he heads towards the women's restroom to fetch you and leave.

He knocks gently and opens the door to see you breathing heavily, tears streamed down your face as you silently cried. You were overwhelmed and uncomfortable and just wanted to leave, but you had no idea where you are, what side of town you're on, when this man would even decide to let you go, and so on.

You hear the door open and shoot your face to the sound, he sees you and doesn't have much emotion on his face as he walks toward you slowly and calmly so as not to alarm or scare you. You gulp hardly and stare up at him through glossy eyes while he stops in front of you, peering down at you through his lashes.

He didn't say anything, wiping the tears off of you flushed, chubby, tear stained cheek with his glove. You sniff and wipe your nose, attempting to talk before he simply pulls you into his chest. Your face landing directly in between his clothes pecs, he was very fit underneath hjs suit and you could feel it though the suit, despite his hard abs and muscles he was rather soft to lay on, quite comforting as well.

"pretty thing.. let's get you home, hm doll face?"

He says to you, rubbing the top of your head, rubbing and gently pulling on your curls and watching them recoil.

Something tells him he's not going to be able to get you out of his life so easily. You had gotten him attached to you, the way you cried like a baby, but spoke and acted like a bitch. You were mesmerizing yet annoying as hell. He didn't have time for relationships he actually didn't want one, fucking his fans in public bathrooms, or at hotels, and in the meet n greet closets were fun, it's not something he wanted to give you just yet, but he wss sure he hadn't wanted to give you up either.

He'd protect you, just to fuck you again.

...........................................

AN: this is so old and so trash I tried to just rewrite it as editing it was going to be far too hard due to how old and outdated my writing style was, it was wack as hell bro.

#cvnts-post #mha #mha x reader #deku x reader #izuku x reader #boku no hero academia #izukus not so girlie pop #deku smut #izuku smut #izuku midoriya smut #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya #anytime someone mentions izuku i go berserk #good guy!zuzubear #zuzubear

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softpascalito · 10 months

Text

Here cums Santa Claus - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Jackson needs a Santa Claus - and Joel is the perfect fit. Getting to have you on his lap is just a bonus.

aka

The one where Joel is dressed up as Santa Claus and you get to ride him.

Relationships: Joel Miller x F!Reader WC: 1800 Tags/Warnings: Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Christmas Smut, Penis In Vagina Sex, Unsafe Sex, Established Relationship, Costumes, Lap Sex, Riding, Rough Sex, Creampie, Female Reader, No use of y/n, Alcohol (one glass of whiskey), Soft Joel (The Last of Us), Joel Miller as Santa Claus, Age Difference (not specified) Read on AO3 full advent calendar (updated daily)

notes: pun intended. this is smut. beware.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

“Is that all of them?”

You try to keep yourself from giggling as you take in the grumpy face of the man beside you. It's half hidden by the fluffy, white fake-beard that's already starting to come off at the edges. His salt-and-pepper hair is hidden by a white and red Christmas hat, matching the rest of his Santa Claus Outfit. It's a little improvised, put together from what you could find in the small clothing selection that Jackson uses to make sure there's enough to go around.

You're still not quite sure how you managed to talk him into this: Dressing up and letting each and every kid in Jackson climb onto the chair and tell him their wishes. The first time he stepped out of his room after changing, you could barely hold it together, the way he looked like the most miserable Santa Claus you've ever seen, pouting even under his fake beard.

But when the first child comes in and practically storms into his arms, you see the way he changes, a version of him you've rarely been witness to before. He's amazing with the kids, even maneuvering around the more difficult wishes with a smile and a joke that makes them laugh.

Now that you're alone, a small groan leaves Joel's mouth as he gets up, glaring at you and one hand reaches out to pull you a little closer, the green skirt that comes with your own Christmas Elf outfit giving him a way to steer your body towards him. When you're flush against him, his gloved hand gently squeezes your thigh, inching upwards.

“You're supposed to be Santa Claus, not some pervy old man touching his elves,” you mutter as you take in his gaze that has somehow shifted to one a lot more mischievous than it was a minute ago.

“Santa is a hard-working man. I'm sure he is allowed some fun once the kids are gone,” Joel smirks, a low grumble vibrating in his throat as he gives your thigh another squeeze before letting go.

You can practically feel Joel staring at your legs as you hurry back to your house, the red tights under your skirt doing almost nothing to protect you from the cold.

Joel grunts as he kicks off his snowy boots and makes a beeline for the whiskey, sinking into his favorite armchair by the fireplace as he pours himself a glass.

“You want a drink?” He calls through the house and smiles to himself when yell back, “Dying to have one.”

Joel's smile widens a little more when you reappear in the doorway a moment later, carrying a small plate with cookies and placing them on the small table in front of him, muttering “Maybe this stupid outfit has its upsides.”

He hands you your whiskey and you let your glass linger in the air for a few seconds, gently toasting with Joel before you take a few sips.

You're more than aware that the gaze Joel had earlier is back and he shamelessly lets his eyes roam over your body, taking in the way the outfit frames your curves just perfectly. He will never be caught saying it out loud but seeing what you'd wear as his helper if he were to agree to be Santa- it affected his decision more than a little bit.

“They were all really happy, you know? The kids,” you say gently, reaching for a cookie and eating it in one bite.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Joel mumbles, softening a bit. It brought back memories of Christmas before the Outbreak for him as well. His gaze is still on you when he nudges your knee a little, “You didn't get your turn.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks, immediately catching up on what he is asking for, “I may be a littler younger than you but I'm not a child anymore.” Joel chuckles softly, taking another sip from his whiskey as he watches you, waiting.

His legs are slightly spread, his broad thighs catching your gaze and with a small sigh you give in, lowering yourself onto his left leg, “Fine.”

“Now, what would you like for Christmas?” Joel asks, his deep voice lower than it was before. You're still naive enough to think that that's all he's trying to do, possibly coax out some wish that he can fulfill for you. It's absolutely not what he’s trying to do.

“Let’s see- a new dress would be nice. Or some coffee,” you answer truthfully and Joel nods. His gaze is focused on his whiskey, the way he balances it on one and you on the other leg, “Anything else?”

You shake your head no as he puts his glass away and reaches for you instead, hand sneaking up your thigh like it had done earlier. A small breath of surprise leaves your throat as you feel his fingers inching over your skin, painfully slowly traveling into the direction of your core.

“And you've been a good girl this year, hm?” He mutters. You open your mouth to reply- when the tips of his fingers finally reach your crotch and despite the tights you're wearing being non-see-through, he knows your body well enough to find your favorite spot instantly. His finger flies over it, teasing you with a gentle, calculated touch and whatever answer you would've given turns into a whiny moan instead.

Joel smirks a little as he sees your body reacting and he uses his free hand to grope your breast, the thin fabric of your costume leaving practically nothing to the imagination.

Your own hands begin wandering as well, cupping his face before you realize he's still wearing that stupid fake beard. A little rougher than you intend, you rip it off. Joel doesn't mind. It only stings for a moment- until your lips are on his, pressing your tongue against his lips eagerly.

“Fuck, Joel-” you whisper when you come up for air, already out of breath. He just grunts slightly, the smirk returning to his face.

“Think you can be a good girl for me now?” He mumbles, focused on twisting your nipples through your shirt and you whimper, nodding at his question.

Maybe you’d make it to the bedroom for once, if you both weren’t so fucking impatient.

Joel is hard in his pants, the erection creating a more than visible bulge on the velvety, red fabric and you massage him gently, fingers ghosting over his cock as you clench down on nothing at the thought of having him fill you up.

The hand on your breast leaves to join the other one between your thighs and in one swift motion, Joel rips your tights apart, growling like an animal as he is met with the sight of your already dripping cunt.

“You're so wet already, darlin’,” he praises, sliding one finger through your folds, “Fucking killed me to see you in that skirt and not be able to do anything about it.”

Your hands almost automatically fly to his belt, your body already shaking with the need to feel him inside of you, to have him as close as he possibly can. Joel pushes his pants down with one hand, just far enough for him to pull his cock out.

He's already fully hard, an indication that he wasn't lying about the way he felt about your skirt. It only makes you more eager.

“Can I ride you?” You ask breathlessly, running your finger down his veiny cock and gently cupping his balls below.

“Fuck, you have to ask?” Joel mutters, chuckling a little at that. He helps you change your position so that you’re hovering above him, his hands placed firmly on your hips for support.

You both groan in unison as you lower yourself onto him, his dick sliding into you with little resistance. It's perfect. You can feel the way his skin brushes against yours inside of you, pushing itself further inside until you're fully seated.

“Taking me so well, darlin’,” Joel whispers, running his hands up and down your sides as he waits for you to adjust to the intrusion. It's a lot, he knows that much, but you've reassured him time and time again that it's the good kind of a lot.

His lips find your throat, nibbling softly on the skin he can reach, occasionally sucking on it and eliciting a few sharp gasps from you. You both simultaneously begin to move, finding a shared rhythm. You bouncing up and down while he moves below you, pistoning himself further into your depths.

“ ‘tis all I need for Christmas,” he breathes, pulling you down onto him with a little more force. “Just need this sweet pussy around my cock, squeezing me so goddamn tight-”

He knows you're already close by the way your muscles are becoming more tense with each thrust, the pleasure that's building in your stomach physically mirrored in them. There's a small sting on the back of his head as you carelessly push his Christmas hat off to bury your fingers in his hair and pull on it, matching his pace.

“Fuck, feels like it’s already Christmas-” You agree, your voice shaking with the way he’s fucking into you. Joel licks a stripe up your neck, “Gonna be a good girl now and come for me?”

Your answer turns into a drawn-out moan as you feel Joel hitting your cervix and a few moments later, you're clenching down on him like your life depends on it, muscles seemingly drawing his cock in further and further.

It feels delicious, the way your body so clearly wants him, wants the one thing that he can give you and Joel fucks you through your orgasm as he too feels himself tipping over the edge. Your walls are painted with ropes of white cum as he finishes inside of you, his arms wrapping themselves around your body to pull you in closer.

His head is buried in your chest as you both slowly come down from your high, your fingers and nose in his hair. He feels the way your breath goes fast on his skin, sighing softly, so content with the way you are so impossibly entangled.

“I love you.”

It's quiet, so quiet that you almost don't hear him. The pleasure that was in your stomach a few moments ago appears again, this time in your chest. You pull Joel a little closer, feeling him soften inside of you as you place a gentle kiss on his head.

“I love you too.”

notes: if you liked this, please consider leaving a little comment or reblogging, it makes me grin just like joel <3

#softpascalito #advent calendar #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel / reader #joel x reader #joel miller / reader #joel miller / you #smut #christmas tree #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedropascaladventcalender

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nyerus · 11 months

Text

Guide to Watch TGCF Donghua Season 2

With the new season of the Tian Guan Ci Fu/Heaven Official's Blessing donghua finally releasing soon, I wanted to make a post explaining the different ways fans can watch and support it! Things have changed since season 1, so my old guide is no longer relevant apart from the infographics on how to subscribe to Bilibili CN (and the YouTube channel)!

And to be upfront: the main sites that are going to be broadcasting the donghua have been very sparse with information. I fully expect that we will have to wait until after the first episode releases to know all the details, so while I am making this guide to help people right now, things might change! Please keep that in mind and stay patient! I will post any important updates in the replies as I can!

Additionally, because of copyright/licensing, different sites are going to work in different regions. I do not know with 100% certainty what is going to work in a particular country. There's gonna be some trial and error!

So the main options we have for season 2 are:

Crunchyroll

Sub price: $9.99 USD per month for basic (local prices may vary)

Regions: Americas, Europe, Africa, Middle East, Oceania.

Pros: Easy to subscribe to if available in your region.

Cons: Unlikely for true simulcast so it'll be a bit delayed.

Link to main site (season 2 listing not up yet)

For app: download via App Store/Google Play Store.

Bilibili. tv (EN site/app)

Sub price: $4.99 USD per month (local prices may vary)

Regions: Southeast Asia only.

Pros: Airs earlier than Crunchyroll. Interface is in English.

Cons: If you want to watch it outside of SEA, you'll need a VPN.

Link to Season 2 on website

For app: download via APK link on website if you are outside of SEA. Otherwise use App Store/Google Play Store.

Bilibili YouTube Channel

Sub price: $4.99/$5.99 USD per month (local prices may vary)

Regions: Many -- EXCEPT Japan, South Korea, the Americas, UK, Australia, New Zealand.

Pros: Easy to subscribe if available in your region.

Cons: If you want to watch it from the regions listed above, you'll need a VPN.

Link to channel

It's the youtube app....

Bilibili. com (CN site/app)

Sub price: $9.99 USD for 3 months

Regions: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Pros: If they're gonna air season 2, then they might be the source broadcast if the EN site isn't. Also probably cheapest for those abroad.

Cons: Chinese interface may be intimidating. Not 100% sure if it'll air as normal.

Link to Season 2 on website

For app: download via App Store/Google Play Store.

(NOTE: If you are in Japan, it will be available on WOWOW. If you are in South Korea, it will be available on Laftel.)

F.A.Q.s

🔹What is the release date/time? Bilibili EN has announced it as 20:00 GMT+8 on October 18th. If it releases on Bilibili CN, it'll probably be the same time. Crunchyroll has stated October 18th, but has not yet announced a time as of the posting this guide. I checked. Japan and South Korea have their own release times, so please consult the relevant broadcasters!

🔹Can I watch it on Netflix/Amazon Prime/etc? These streaming services will likely only have it after the whole season concludes, and with a significant delay. For reference, it took several months after finishing for season 1 to be released on Netflix.

🔹Which platform should I choose? Whichever one you can actually access, and feel most comfortable using!

🔹When should I subscribe? Personally, I'll be waiting until the last day before release, just to make sure I have the most information possible. However, I'm sure the idea of doing that makes many people nervous, so... yeah. Whenever is convenient for you!

🔹Which one will have the donghua the quickest/earliest? Probably Bilibili CN & Bilibili EN. I suspect they'll simulcast with each other. I cannot be 100% certain about anything though, because of limited info! For season 1, YouTube and Funimation (now Crunchyroll) were delayed, and it's hard to say if they'll be better this time or not.

🔹Do I need a VPN for Bilibili EN or their YT channel? If you are outside of SEA, yes.

🔹Do I need a VPN for Bilibili CN? Probably not, unless you are in a country that restricts access to CN sites and apps (like India).

🔹Which VPN should I use? This will be up to you! It's best to research what the different options are, and what will work for your needs!

🔹How will I know I'll be able to watch season 2 from my region? The most surefire way is to subscribe to a platform that has officially announced to be serving your region (e.g. Crunchyroll for the Americas). Unofficially, if you can watch the latest trailer and other promo videos on your chosen platform, then there's a good chance you're okay! The exception to this is the YouTube channel, which has some of the trailers public, but has all of season 1 unavailable if you aren't in the right region.... Additionally, be mindful, because even if you're able to see season 1, season 2 might still be region-locked on certain platforms. (E.g. you can watch all of season 1 via Bilibili EN if you're from the USA no problem. But you can't access season 2 without a VPN to a SEA server.)

🔹What languages are going to be available and will there be English subtitles? While dubs for multiple languages have been confirmed, I'm unsure if any of these will be available on release. It'll likely be offered only in Chinese first. For season 1, there were hardcoded CN & EN subtitles for Bilibili on release. Funimation re-subbed the episodes (EN) for their own release, and Crunchyroll will probably do the same.

🔹I watched it on Funimation last time, can I watch it through them this time? No, they were absorbed (in some capacity idk) by Crunchyroll. So they are not distributing season 2 of TGCF, only Crunchyroll is.

🔹Is season 2 actually available in China and thus on Bilibili CN? Yes and no! As long as you are not in mainland China, it seems you will have access to season 2 through Bilibili CN. All promo materials and trailers seem to be available to us, which is a good sign! (They are not available for mainlanders, but mainland fans are able to watch via HK/Macau versions apparently.)

🔹Hopeful that it will be available, I would like to watch it via Bilibili CN, so how do I sign up and subscribe? To make an account, consult this reddit post. To subscribe, please consult the guide below! It's a little old (made it for season 1) but still works pretty much the same.

#tgcf #tian guan ci fu #hob #heaven official's blessing #tgcf donghua #guide #nyerus.txt #i know the moment i post this there will be new info that comes out #but such is the risk i take posting this on a sunday as opposed to monday #tomorrow i will have no time tho lol #CR please release a time.....

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gallusrostromegalus · 11 months

Note

How does trash pickup, Recycling centers, &/or Hazardous Material Disposal work for Soul Society in AEIWAM? Is there a Kido-based ritual to break things down into Reishi? Are there Tech Repair Shops?

Sewage in Soul Society works really well but very dangerously because those fucking idiots built the city directly on top of an active supervolcano.

Let me back up:

There isn't a good consensus on how big the Seireitei is (Yoruichi says it takes 10 days to walk 1/4th of the way around the circumference, but whether that's her speed, the average person's or how long a patrol group takes is unclear), Or any real maps of the place, but it's generally agreed that

the city is LARGE. Yoruichi says it would take her and the kids ten days to walk to the next gate 1/4th of the way around the city. Maybe that's 8 hours average human walking speed minus 'trying to herd a bunch of teenagers' but that's still a long trip!

Even before the Seki-Seki stone wall was put up, the city was pretty much circular.

Unlike pretty much every real city, there's no river running through it. Where are they getting their water?

There is a Small but substantial and TOTALLY ISOLATED mountain in the middle of the city made of apparently hard-to-mine rock. A Lonely Mountain, one might even say.

The only visible natural sources of water I've seen evidence of are hot springs in both the Yoruichi/Urahara Super Secret Training Ground/Love Nest and the first division grounds.

Soul Society is run by jackasses and if there's a stupid way to do things, that's the way they're doing them.

In fact, the Soul Society as a whole is almost suspiciously Amestris-shaped, but instead of nefarious alchemy, it's negligent civil engineering

...all this leads me to believe that Seireitei is built DIRECTLY ON TOP OF the caldera of an enormous supervolcano. The city gets it's water from the aquifer of rainwater that's collected in the underground cracks and fissures of the Caldera, and the seki-seki stone wall is set up around the really convenient geographic barrier made by the rim of the caldera.

"Hey!" I hear some of you nerds objecting "Aren't calderas usually concave? Seireitei is convex, if anything!"

You're right! Most Calderas are concave! But they will absolutely fill in with sand and dirt over the true floor of the caldera over time and develop Mounts like the thing at the central part of the city and start to rise WHEN THEY'RE ON THE VERGE OF A CATASTROPHIC ERUPTION.

So yeah! The Gotei-13 has an almost infinite supply of hot water, and probably less than a century to figure out what to do before The Big Kaboom.

Anyway, back at sewage:

There's been a city where the Seireitei is since time immemorial, and even though it's done the istanbul-not-constantinopple shuffle a few times, very little of the actual infrastructure has changed. Empires rise and fall but the desire paths stay the same.

This is especially true in Seireitei, because unlike very nearly every major IRL Municipality, it doesn't have a river running through it, something that usually necessitates Sewer updates By Force. But compared to a river which is constantly moving around in it's bed, a volcanic aquifer doesn't move much until it moves a whole fucking lot real fast, so the undercity of the Seireitei has really had time to... Develop isn't quite the right word.

"Ferment" is closer.

Above-ground waste management is the provenance of the actual local city government- yes, there is a Mayor of the Seireitei that the Gotei-13 has to pay property taxes to. Yamamoto maintains a lot of goodwill with the Mayor by dint of sentencing ill-behaved shinigami to shore up the municipal labor pool, and by knowing the mayor's family for the last millennium. So you'll see Shinigami doing things like trash collection and street-sweeping, but they're just there on probation.

-But nobody wanted to deal with the undercity. It's got a soul of it's own. Washington DC, which is less than 500 years old as a city and on top of a swamp, has an undercity that goes down over half a mile. Imagine how deep the sunken buildings, abandoned secret tunnels, and sewer system of a city that's millenia old, not sitting on actual mud and constantly subjected to high levels of magical background radiation might develop.

An Appetite, for one thing.

The 11th likes to talk a big game, but the reason the 4th is in charge of sewer maintenance is because the only people with the guts for it were people who got degrees rummaging in the guts of living people. Sewer maintenance really is a lot like abdominal surgery, if you were able to walk around inside the patient.

It was Retsu Unohana's idea, actually. Chigiri was a battle medic and aged rapidly for a shinigami. She was old when the court guard finally went from "Yamamoto and his gang of assholes" to "A for-real governing body". Her successor, Kirinji was more interested in traumatic injury recovery than preventative medicine, for obvious reasons- his triage was constantly full of combat casualties and early kido experiment victims Blood Loss was still his #1 Killer.

But Retsu had been reincarnated in and spent her youth in South 80, in the utterly undeveloped conditions there, and held deep, personal grudges with Dysentery and Cholera. For all his talk of healing waters, Kirinji had no sense of the importance of water sanitation, and it was a continuous point of contention between them for her apprenticeship.

"FINE!" He shouted one day after a particularly nasty row. "IF IT'S SO GODDAMN IMPORTANT TO YOU, YOU HANDLE IT! FORM NOW ON, YOU'RE IN CHARGE OF SEWAGE, SLUDGE QUEEN!"

She made her first descent the next morning.

She did not return for six weeks, and Kirinji almost thought he'd resloved that particular problem when she reappeared from the depths, a changed woman. That long in the darkness, alongside the buried secrets and skeletons of the city, with the horrors that did not dare brave the sunlight- it would change anyone, and most would come up looking at least mildly haunted.

Retsu Unohana is not most.

She looks radiant, almost like The Kenpachi again, covered in the horrors of the underground as she used to be covered in blood. She thrives on a challenge, and excels at the art of purification, and now, she has been given the single greatest challenge of purification in history. There is something beautiful and terrible in her eyes as she explains that it does down at least five miles, look at this, she thinks it's from the neolithic era, and there are incredible boneyards of thousands of skeletons, and fungi the likes of which she's never seen before- She is ecstatic- a creature kept in captivity, finally released into it's natural habitat.

It's hardly a surprise, if you consider Minazuki. Stingrays are benthic creatures, right at the bottom of the river, deep in the muck and decay.

It's been a little over eight hundred years into her tenure as a medic, and she has tamed much of the beast. The upper levels are well-mapped and have been made clean and well-lit, enough that even the civilian sanitation forces of the city can regularly enter and work in them without any particular unease. Infant and preventable disease mortality has dropped astronomically. Nobody's had cholera since the 1800's . While they have other jobs, all members of the 4th division are required to take at least one tour in the depths of the undercity.

Horrors still lurk in the depths.

They're pretty sure they lost Tokagero Kenpachi chasing one of those, shortly before Unohana became captain, and she's been reluctant to let other divisions assist since then. The Fourth Division's Fourth Seat, rumored to be the unluckiest post in the entire Gotei-13, is permanently stationed underground, and she loves it that way.

It's only recently that the 11th has been allowed to come along on descents, after Zaraki vanished for two days and then emerged victorious from a manhole in the 5th division with a tentacled horror she'd been tracking for decades that lived at least three miles down. He apologized- he had meant to come up in the 4th to present it's corpse to her directly, but well, you know what his sense of direction is like. Anyway, I saw it scuttling around in the rain aquifers and we don't need it tracking literal shit into the water supply so I went after is and d'ya think maybe I can take the lads down sometime? They' get lazy between deployments and you have a triage up here to manage.

Charmed, she agreed.

---

Hm. I just re-read that ask and it's actually about dry waste managment.

Sorry. I got very excited about the sewers.

I am now about to get worse about trash.

I don't think they have plastic in soul society- given how bug-themed the 12th division is, I'm pretty sure the casing on Rukia's soul pager is made of Chitin, and if you break it, it bleeds. Also it makes people with shellfish allergies break out in hives.

Since pretty much all the waste in Soul Society is either recyclable or organic matter, I think those trash pits Yumichika and Ganju were fooling around with are really more like Kido-enhanced composting centers. All waste goes into them and the bottom of the pit is pulled out in a tray, like with a vermiculture tower, if the worms were eighteen and a half feet long and hungry enough to swallow anything that falls in the pit, because Mayuri is incapable of making anything that is not at least slightly awful.

The compost is then shaken out for any spare glass or metal that made it into the compost and that's sent off to the 12th division forges to be recycled. it's baked to kill any dangerous pathogens and Giant Garbage Worm Eggs so they don't breach containment, and measured for nitrogen, phosphorus and other important plant nutrient content. Based on it's composition, it's then shipped out to farmers in the upper districts of the rukongai because "Free, A+ grade fertilizer if y'all don't start revolutions, pay your taxes and give us first dibs on crops" is an amazing incentive for rural farmers to not start backing the local warlords.

It was 12th division founder Uhin Zenjohji who came up wth the scheme- he remembered the lengths upper-district farmers were willing to go through to make sure their land remained fertile, what kind of demand Nitrogen was in, and the ravages of phosphorous runnoff, so he could kill two birds with one clod of shit by supplying farmers with 'free' fertilizer that kept them loyal to the court and was tailored to that area's nutritional needs and watershed capacity.

The fact that it kept a lot of swamp and waterway areas pristine so he could indulge his birdwatching hobby was a nice benefit too :).

NORMALLY, those pits are covered, clearly marked, and usually the site of a major traffic jam because that's the local collection point, but when Ichigo and friends arrived, Aizen had whipped everyone into believing they were being invaded by an elite force of super-assassins and not like. 4 high schoolers and a furry. All the street signs and markings came down, civilians shuttered themselves inside, and generally made the Seireitei as difficult to navigate as possible.

I wonder how much Zaraki's rotten sense of direction was exacerbated by that.

ANYWAY! That's my thoughts on trash! Deep undercity horrors and giant compost worms over an active volcano!

#AEIWAM #an elephant is warm and mushy #bleach #bleach fanfic #Retsu Unohana #zaraki kenpachi #tenjiro kirinji

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skbeaumont · 5 months

Text

Texas Heat | Joel x Reader

Chapter 2: Same time next week?

Series masterlist Chapter 1 here

Chp. 2 summary: Your first tutoring session with Sarah goes as expected, until Joel gets home and sends your head spinning. Rating: Teen (for now) Tags/Warnings: flirting, sexual tension, age difference (reader is 25, Joel is 37), AU no outbreak Word Count: 2.4k A/N: Blown away by the response to my posts so far, thank you all so much! This story will be updated every Friday unless otherwise specified. Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for this and others.

Taglist: @mysterialee

The next couple of days pass by in a flurry of jetlag. The Adlers are nice: Easy to get on with, friendly but not in a way that makes you feel like you’re living on top of them. Connie’s cooking is good, if a little repetitive, and Danny is sweet and makes you laugh, telling you stories about his youth living in Austin. Nana doesn’t speak, but she has your mum’s eyes, and you spend the evenings sitting by her in the living room, reading the stack of novels you brought with you, enjoying the easy company and warm sunlight.

You see Joel outside through the window one early morning, casually ask Connie about him as you watch him load toolboxes and ladders into the bed of his truck. One kid, Sarah, a brother who lives with him, most of the time, no wife. This last shouldn’t send a spike of something like excitement down the back of your spine, but it does. You’d just assumed he was married when he’d told you about Sarah – no wedding ring, but working in construction, that made sense.

The knowledge that there isn’t a Mrs Miller makes you re-evaluate the car journey back from the airport, the way he’d let his arm rest along the back of your seat, that teasing, mischievous glint in his eye as he’d said goodbye, promising to take you up on your offer of maths lessons for Sarah. Those thoughts keep you up late that night, pressing your thighs together beneath the thin cotton top sheet in the Adler’s guest room.

Early Sunday evening you bump into Sarah in the driveway when you get back from Walmart, equipped with a new US sim card for your mobile. She’s sweet, even prettier in real life than in the photo you saw, not at all shy like you were when you were her age.

“Dad said you’re good at math,” she says without preamble, appearing from the side of Joel’s truck, looking at you with a sideways expression that’s a mix of consideration and incredulity.

“Pretty good, yeah.” You reply, stomach jolting at the thought of Joel talking about you, even if it’s to say something as benign as how talented you are at maths. “I’d be happy to help you out with homework, or whatever, if you want. I promise I’ll try not to make it too boring.”

Sarah smiles at this, the incredulity in her face morphing into approval, or as close to approval a thirteen year old can manage.

“You coming, Sarah?” Joel says, stepping out of the front door, head down as he examines something on the phone he’s holding. “Oh,” he says, looking up and seeing you, “hey.”

“Hi.”

He’s dressed the same as he was when he picked you up from the airport; dark t-shirt over faded jeans, the knees a little worn, but he’s wearing a baseball cap today, pulling his messy curls back from his forehead. You feel a blush inching up your neck as he so obviously tries to avoid checking you out in the tiny shorts you pulled on that morning.

“How are you settling in?” He asks, moving to stand next to Sarah by the truck.

He crosses his arms against his chest and the movement draws your eyes to his biceps, struggling against the tight sleeves of his tee. There’s a thin slither of a tan line just above where his shirt naturally falls, paler skin peeking out. It makes your head swim.

You clear you throat, refocus your eyes on his face.

“Good, I think. It’s a big change, but it’s nice. Hot, though.”

“Texan summers.” He replies, “Take a bit of getting used to if you ain’t suffered through one before.”

“I’ll say.”

“Sarah’s keen on those lessons, by the way.” He puts a hand on the girl’s shoulder, shakes her about so that she giggles. “Here,” He pulls out his mobile. “You got a US number yet?”

“Just picked up a new sim, actually” You pull your own mobile out, read off your number to him so that he can put it into his phone.

“I’ll text you later on,” He says, “we’re just heading out now.”

You say your goodbyes and leave the sweltering heat of the driveway, listening to Joel’s truck start up and pull off. Inside, Mercy greets you, rests her head on your knee as you collapse onto the sofa, clutching your mobile to your chest.

True to his word, Joel texts later that evening as you’re getting ready for bed.

Glad ur settling in ok. Would Tuesday work for math with Sarah? She gets back from school around 4. Joel.

You type out several draft replies before finally sending one that matches his straight-to-the-point tone.

Thanks. Tuesday works for me. See you then.

His response doesn’t arrive until the next morning, and when it does, your stomach sinks.

Sounds great. Will just be Sarah though, I’m working late Tuesday.

It’s almost embarrassing how disappointed you are by those last four words. In your head, it had been you, Sarah and Joel around their kitchen table, Joel’s toned forearms resting on warped wood, his deep chuckle in your ear as you worked through maths problems with Sarah. This makes you feel guilty, of course, because the whole point of this exercise is helping Sarah with her maths homework, not flirting with her father.

You fall back against the pillows of your bed. Around you, the room is already starting to feel a little like home. All of your toiletries are stacked up on the dressing table, and you’ve put your clothes away into the generous walk-in closet. Your books are scattered about the room, a few on the bedside table, another pile of them next to the full length mirror. The bed sheets are cool when you slip beneath them, bare legs sliding against soft cotton.

You stare at the green-grey light of your Nokia, looking at the last text from Joel, wondering if you should reply or just leave it. Best to play it cool, you decide, but restraint’s never been your strong suit and before you can stop yourself you’re typing out a reply, hitting the send button and grinning into the pillowcase.

That’s a shame. I was looking forward to testing your addition skills.

He doesn’t reply.

*****

Tuesday rolls around, bringing unrelenting sun and a dry heat that keeps you indoors most of the day. You help Connie rearrange her DVDs – an impressive collection – and take Nana out onto the porch in the early afternoon, waiting for Sarah to get home from school.

It’s just before four when she appears at the end of the cul-de-sac, hair bouncing around her shoulders as she makes her way towards you. She’s got her school bag slung over one shoulder, jeans rolled up at the ankles, a pair of scruffy Nikes on her feet.

“Hi, Nana, Connie,” she calls as she approaches the porch, gaze turning to you, “math whizz,” she finishes, grinning.

“Hi yourself,” you return, pushing yourself out of the deckchair, brushing crumbs off of your bare legs. You say a quick bye to the Adlers and follow Sarah up her own driveway and into the cool, still air of the Miller’s kitchen.

It’s a little disorderly: there are pots scattered on the kitchen sides, and a menagerie of clutter on the table which sits under a window, bright afternoon sunlight streaming in. Sarah dumps her school bag on this, pushes a notepad, two tape measures and a pair of mugs out of the way so that you can sit beside her.

“Okay,” she says, drawing out an exercise book and placing it in front of her, “before we get into this I need you to understand that math is my weakest subject.”

“Right,” You say, watching her serious expression as she pushes the book across the table towards you, “understood.”

“And you need to promise me you won’t judge me based solely on my algebra skills, or lack of them.”

This makes you laugh, a chuckle bubbling up out of your throat. Sarah holds your gaze, her face still serious.

“Sorry,” you say, “I mean to say, I would never judge anyone based on their maths skills.”

Sarah’s face breaks into a grin. “I’m just messing with you.” She says, laughing at the look on your face. “I am pretty bad at algebra, though.”

She’s not. You work through a dozen or so exercises, helping her when she gets stuck, showing her where she’s going wrong, but she’s actually fairly good at the calculations once you’ve explained it to her a couple of times. The afternoon goes by quickly. After two hours or so Sarah stretches in her chair, yawning.

“You wanna stay for dinner?” She asks, pushing the exercise book away from her. “It’s just leftover chicken casserole, but there’s enough if you want some.”

“Oh, uh, sure.”

You sit by as she reheats the casserole, refusing your offers of help. Instead, you look around the rest of the room, searching out little hints of Joel that are tucked about: A pair of worn leather sandals by the back door, two plaid shirts hanging on the back of the door to the living room, a battered, dog-eared copy of a drill instruction manual, well-read and ringed with coffee stains.

It’s comfortingly domestic, and it makes your chest ache a little, thinking of your mum back home in London, all the friends and familiarity you left behind. Then Sarah’s placing a hot plate of casserole in front of you, joking about the fact that you don’t look very much like a mathematician, by which she means you don’t resemble Albert Einstein.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You tell her, and she smiles.

“You should. You’re much prettier than he was.”

You help Sarah do the dishes, stacking them neatly on the side to be put away later. After, Sarah asks if you want to stay and watch a movie, and you both spread yourselves out on the sofa in the Miller’s living room, flick on the television and watch Tim Allen and Sigourney Weaver mess about in outer space.

Sarah falls asleep before the film ends, even though the sun hasn’t fully set and its barely ten. You’re debating waking her when there’s a rattling from the kitchen and the sound of the front door creaking open. Joel.

You hear him clear his throat, scrape his boots on the door mat and then his deep voice is cutting through the silence of the house. “Sarah? You still up, baby?”

Sarah shifts where she’s asleep next to you but doesn’t stir. You push yourself off the sofa, step into the kitchen. Joel’s pulling off a toolbelt from around his waist, thick fingers unbuckling the clasp in a way that makes your heart rate jump up.

“Hey,” You say, leaning against the doorframe.

He jumps, his eyes shooting up to you before recognition softens his gaze.

“Hi,” He replies, finally working the toolbelt off and letting it drop onto the worktop beside him, “I didn’t expect you to still be here. Everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah, fine. Sarah made me dinner and we watched a movie. Well, she fell asleep.”

Joel chuckles at this, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, she has a habit of doin’ that.”

“Work okay?” You ask, thinking you should probably leave him to a restful evening, not wanting to at all.

“Long,” He says, rubbing at the coarse stubble on the side of his jaw. “How did math go?”

“Good. She’s bright, just needed a little bit of guidance with it.”

“Always been switched on. Dunno where she gets it from.” He steps around the kitchen island, rolling his jacket down off of his shoulders as he goes, narrow hips winding around the island and the fridge toward you.

He pulls a ten dollar note out of his back pocket, hands it to you between two thick, calloused fingers. “For the lesson,” He says.

“You don’t have to, Joel, honestly.”

“S’only fair, darlin’” He proffers the note again and you take it, trying not to think about the way that casual darlin’ has gone straight to your head, blood rushing to your cheeks so that they feel like they’re on fire.

“She in there?” Joel asks then, nodding behind you to the lounge. “Oh, yeah,” You turn, let Joel look past you into the darkness of the living room, where Sarah is spread out on the sofa, breathing deeply, eyes flickering in the dull light from the paused DVD.

As he leans into the room he steps toward you, the movement bringing him distractingly close, making you notice how much taller he is than you, how much broader. The t-shirt he’s wearing is stretched almost painfully across his shoulders, wear showing in the stressed seams. The patchy stubble at his jaw is longer than it was a few days ago, covering the sharpness of his jaw, the strong lines of his throat.

He looks away from Sarah’s form on the sofa then, his dark eyes flicking over your face, catching you watching him. You feel a blush creeping along your neck and up to your cheeks, and try to look away, but he’s holding your gaze, pupils wide in the dim light. Then his eyes dip down to your lips, follow the slight movement of your tongue as it worries at the edge of your mouth.

You can feel heat rolling off of him in waves and you wonder how it would be to push yourself up onto tip-toes and kiss the corner of his plush lower lip. This close, you can see the thin creases that line his eyes, the beginnings of grey in his dark eyebrows, raised slightly and pinching in the middle as he looks at you.

Your head is tilted up, your breath mingling in the dizzyingly narrow space between you. He clears his throat. You both realise, quite suddenly, how close you’re standing. Before you can say anything he’s moving back, tension breaking as he takes the white-hot heat of his body with him, leaving you flushed and dizzy.

“I should get Sarah to bed.” He says into the silence.

There’s a flush in his tanned face, painting his cheeks a deep red-brown, evidence that you aren’t alone in your distraction, in the surge of arousal that seems to be lighting you up from the inside. He runs a hand through already dishevelled hair.

“Right,” you reply, hoping he can’t hear the quaver in your throat, “I should head home.”

Outside, you rest for a moment against the wall next to the Adler’s front door.

Your heart is still thumping in your chest, each beat a reminder of the look in Joel’s eyes as he towered over you, his breath hot on your face, pupils blown wide because of the darkness, or maybe something else.

Before you get inside, your phone buzzes. The text is from Joel.

Same time next week?

You grin at the screen.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #AU!no outbreak

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

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To a Tea 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.

Character: Raymond Smith

The title is a pun, don’t @ me.

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.

Six days in a row and you’re ready to keel over. Amid your busy schedule, you hadn’t a chance to fill your quickly dwindling cupboards and fridge. So, after a ten-hour shift on your feet, running all around the tables and between tea rooms, you expend the last of your strength on a quick trip to the shop.

It isn’t too far out of your way. It’s just a half-block away from your stop. You could wait until tomorrow, your day off, but you’re dying for a strawberry shortcake mochi before you tuck into bed. The rest of your night isn’t too unusual; you’ll be happy to fall asleep to an episode of the same old sitcom that you know by rote.

You yawn over the bask hooked over your elbow. You have your mochi and a few other staples to get you through; eggs, oat milk, and your favourite brand of granola. You rub your forehead as a stitch threatens to imprint itself permanently. Tomorrow you’ll do a proper shop.

You stop just before the cashier and peruse the discount shelf. Those chocolate-covered gummy worms are deadly. You shouldn’t.

You reach for the package, eyeing it up, blinking away another yawn. Those will only have you waking up with a sore tummy.

“You’d be better off with the dark chocolate, or even the peanuts,” someone says. The timbre is dulcet but firm, and strangely familiar.

You look over at the figure standing around the side of the shelves. You fear you might be hallucinating as you stare at Raymond. He has a square of protein chocolate in hand but sets it back where he got it, making certain it and every other bar is straight.

“Oh, hi?” You stammer.

The tea shop is busy and you’re certain you’ve probably crossed paths with at least one customer outside store hours, but never like this. If anything, you both look the other way and carry on. Instead, he’s intent on you, shifting to face you fully as he sets his shoulders, clutching his hands before him.

“Though I do suppose you’ve already got the ice cream, it hardly matters what else you add to your lot,” he muses.

You look in your basket then at him. Is he judging you? Mr. Black Tea, plain. You hang the bag back on the hook. As you do, he steps forward and you shuffle back on your heels. He pulls the bag in line with others, rescinding his hand with a flutter of fingers.

“If you’re in the mind for something sweet, there’s a place near here, it has a sticky toffee pudding more worth the expense,” he suggests.

You don’t know what to say. You haven’t seen him since he muttered about your apron strings. In the two weeks after, you assumed he might not come back. As particular as he is, you thought you’d gone egregiously over the line. And yet, you’d forgotten about him for all the other bodies passing through the door.

“Thanks, I’ll look into that,” you say.

“Mm,” he hums and his eyes flit up and down behind his lenses, “you sound different.”

“Do I?” You reach to scratch your neck.

“You look different too.”

You tilt your head and give a confused grimace, “well, I...” you glance down, “suppose I'm not wearing my apron.”

“Must be it,” he agrees, “you sound tired.”

“I guess... yeah,” you take a breath and let it out slowly.

It’s strange. He’s not a customer here, there is no need to please and yet you feel you must. You poke the tip of your tongue out then hide it behind your lips.

“Not in a bad way,” he assures you.

“Right, thanks,” you say in a fracture, “that’s nice, but uh, I... I’m just on my way home.”

“I know,” he says.

“...so then I’ll just be--” you point towards the checkout and falter, “what did you say?”

“Yes, down Trafalgar. I know. It’s late,” he peers over towards the transparent walls along the front of the shop, “these parts aren’t too safe this time of day.”

“Trafal--“ you begin but can’t finish, “Raymond.”

He blinks, his expression scarily placid.

“Details,” he says evenly, “it is best to keep note of them. It is dangerous not to mind them.” He raises a finger, “one might not notice the shadow that walks behind theirs or the window they left open in the kitchen.”

Your lip trembles as your heart sinks, “have you... have you been following me?”

“Following... that sounds sinister,” he gives a crooked expression, “no, no, I would consider it... I keep you safe.”

“Safe. From what, exactly?”

He narrows his eyes and his lips straighten thoughtfully.

“Well, from men like me.”

His words turn your blood to ice. Men like him. What does he mean?

“I...” you take a step back and he moves with you. You put your hand up to stop him as you still, “Raymond, do not come any closer.”

“You don’t understand, I wouldn’t hurt you,” he says, “that’s what makes me different. Not like those other men.”

“I mean it,” you warn him. “If you come any closer, I will make a scene.”

Your adrenaline courses through you. You’re awake now. The yawns have dissipated and your eyes are wide.

“Ah, and that’s where I am like the other men,” he shrugs, “it doesn’t matter if I come closer to you right now. Hardly matters. Because I can wait. I have waited. And when I...” he steps towards you and you put the basket between you, his stomach pressing against it, “come closer, you will not even see me coming.”

You stare at him, horrified. His blue eyes gleam and he reaches to straighten his glasses. He smirks and his brows draw up coyly. He leans in and you lean away. Then suddenly, he backs off and tugs his cuffs straight, then fixes his tie.

“Don’t forget to close your window,” he says as he spins on his heel, “wouldn’t want some nocturnal creature creeping in.”

You gape after him as he saunters off. You can’t quiet move as disbelief has you stuck to the spot. It’s all so sudden. So unexpected. How could you ever predict something like this? The uptight man from the tea shop, a stranger really, a face who disappeared for a whole fortnight, and he’s just shaken your entire world into disarray.

Men like him? You don’t even know who he is. Only his name and how he likes his tea.

#raymond smith #dark raymond smith #dark!raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #the gentlemen #series #drabble #au #sweet and spicy #to a tea

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daydreaming-nerd · 6 months

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Young Love and Old Money (Cassian x Female! Reader) Part 3

Young Love and Old Money Masterlist

AN: Sorry these are taking longer than normal, after the 25th I'm a free fuckin' agent and if you check my updated masterlist you will see I have so many things in the works.

Summary: She was the most beautiful woman in Prythian, sister to the High Lord of Night, and now she is the soon-to-be wife of Eris Vanserra. Despite her many titles and her aura of unattainability, Cassian can't help but fall deeply in love with the princess of the Night Court. But will it be enough to stop her impending wedding to a man who is sure to destroy her from the inside out?

Warnings: Sexisim, trauma from under the mountain, alcohol, SA

Word Count: 4,189

Another week had come and gone. A week full of tight corsets, uncomfortable shoes, trips to the Autumn Court and of course, snide comments from Eris.

As of late I had begun having nightmares. The kind that left me screaming in bed with no one to hear me. The kind that had me waking up in a pool of my own sweat. It was the same every time, I was the dog in the back of Eris’ kennels. Scared, alone and caged. I would scour the entire cage for a way out, my finger with that giant wedding ring on it scouring the straw covered floors, never once finding an escape. Eris would come in and bend me over like an animal and sometimes I would wake up before he used me and sometimes I would wake up after.

Regardless I was left unable to sleep. So I had taken to my dear brother's liquor cabinet to procure my own sleeping tonic, whiskey. For a few nights it has worked to put me to sleep, but not tonight.

I swirled the last little bit of whiskey around the bottom of the bottle before slugging it all down. I had been slowly nursing the bottle the past two nights knowing that tonight might be my only night to procure a new bottle without anyone seeing. Tonight was boys night at Rita’s meaning that Cassian and Azriel were out with my brother and no one was home to fuss over my new drinking habits.

I toss the empty bottle off the side of my bed and slowly but surely get up, wrapping myself in my silk night robe. My feet wobble beneath me as I make my way to the door, thankfully I know the way to the kitchen like the back of my hand. The only real obstacle being the long dark hallway, but even that’s a straight shot.

I close the door of my bedroom quietly behind me in case there are any maids wandering about the dark hallway that I can’t see. I walk in as straight a line as I can and it isn’t long until I run smack into a wall. When the hell did that get there?

“Princess? ” Cassian hiccuped

It takes me a second to realize the wall I ran into was Cassian, and I start to feel a little better, that is until I start to wobble again.

“Are you drunk?” Cassian hiccups again and I feel his hands on my arms stabilizing me. The smell of cedar, leather and whiskey floating over to me.

“Yeah, but you are too,” I pointed out, pushing a finger into his rock hard chest for emphasis. My eyes adjust to the dark lighting and I can see his face peering down at me. That sculpted, beautiful face that they should really write sonnets about.

“Have to drown my sorrows somehow,” Cassian shrugs, letting go of my arms, stumbling back on his feet.

“Pfft, like you have any sorrows general,” I scoff, starting to move past him. I trip on his foot and nearly fall over, the only thing keeping me from getting an awful rug burn is Cassian catching me by my upper arm.

“Shit princess I can barely walk but let me get you a glass of water,” he says, putting me back on my two feet again.

My heart flutters at his kindness, “You would do that?” I smile drunkenly.

“I’d do anything for you y/n,” Cassian replies and I can tell by the expression on his face that he regrets the words the moment they come out of his drunken mouth. It dawns on me that I’ve never heard Cassian call me by my name before, and I quite like the sound of it.

“W-would you really?” I stumble letting my drunk mind do the talking.

“As long as you’ll let me, I’ll do anything for you princess,” he reiterates and I don’t miss how he switches back to my formal title once more.

“Cassian,” I breathe, unable to say anything more.

“Anything, just tell me what you want,” he says quietly.

My mind swirls with all the things that I want him to do. Get me a glass of water, take me away from here, kiss me. But all those lead to one common bad ending…

“Eris,” I whisper, realizing how close Cassian is to me.

“Don’t marry him,” Cassian slurs, wobbling a bit as he places his hands on my hips. The feeling of his hands on me, and knowing that the only thing separating his skin from mine is a thin silk robe. He seems to realize it too as his glassed over eyes look me up and down. It’s enough to sober up my mind and realize what’s going on.

“You shouldn’t touch me,” I say. “I belong to Eris now.”

“Not yet you don’t,” he hiccups for the third time. “Please, don’t marry him,” he says, getting even closer to me.

I push Cassian off me and he stumbles back, “You’re drunk Cassian and I am too. We should both go to bed, we have a big day tomorrow.” I say stumbling back as best I can towards my bedroom.

The general doesn’t say anything, doesn’t protest or beg and as I step into my bedroom I don’t miss the curse he mutters to himself before waltzing into his own.

The next morning I wake with a raging headache that has me in bed until it’s time for me to attend dinner at the Autumn Court. If it wasn’t for my ladies maids I never would’ve left the warm cocoon of my covers. But I did, and in place of soft sheets was a death grip of a corset and I swore it was tighter than the last one. I looked in the mirror and realized that they had been choosing more and more revealing dresses for me, this one I was sure I had never seen before now.

I made my way into the foyer where I knew Cassian would be waiting dutifully and sure enough the second I walked in his eyes turned to me. I searched for a sign of regret or awkwardness in his eyes given the events of last night, but all I found was Cassian. Handsome, strong, loyal and wonderful Cassian, and a part of me sighed in relief knowing I wouldn’t lose the one life line I had when I was in Eris’ territory.

“You ready to go?” He asks me as he always does.

“I think so,” I answer walking over to him so he can scoop me up.

We take off into the air and the second we are airborne I feel a chill run up my spine. We don’t normally head to the Autumn Court so late in the day, and without the sun to warm my skin the cold seeps in. A cold that has me curling into Cassian more and I swear I feel his arms tighten around me.

“So dinner with the potential, future in-laws tonight?” he asks.

“I suppose so,” I sigh.

“You’ll do great, don't worry,” he smiles trying to lift my mood.

“And what if I don’t want to do great? What if I want things to go so terribly that Eris breaks off the engagement and starts a fight?” I bluster, half joking.

“Then I’ll hold while you punch Princess,” Cassian laughs and the vibrations roll through my body.

“Good dog,” I joke and Cassian erupts in a fit of laughter that warms my soul.

By the time we get there the Autumn Court is lit up with fae lights and the way they illuminate the colors of the autumn trees is breathtaking. Even in the distance I see and feel Eris’ presence like a dark cloud looming over me. Cassian touches down on the front steps and places me on the ground like I’m made of porcelain.

“Good evening my little flame,” Eris greets me, allowing his hands to fall to my waist pulling me in for a kiss. This past week he has gotten more comfortable with affection, but thankfully he had never repeated what happened under the willow tree.

“Good evening Eris,” I give a fake smile as he takes my hands in his. It was my last visit that Eris insisted that I dropped the formalities of calling him Prince Eris, something I felt was off character.

“I have a gift for you,” he smiles, pulling a long black box out from behind his back. He opens it revealing a necklace made up of large rubies. No doubt part of the crown jewels of the Autumn Court.

“Oh Eris! It’s beautiful,” I smile, running my hand over the large gems. I hated to admit it but they were truly breathtaking. Something I would’ve asked my brother to gift me for solstice. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Eris plucks the necklace from the velvet box and motions me to turn around so he can put it on. “I might’ve had ulterior motives,” he smirks, placing the jewels over my neck and clasping them on.

“Well thank you, I really do love it,” I say, running my hands over the large jewels one last time.

It isn’t until I feel the weight of the necklace and hear his words that I realize that ulterior motive. This isn’t just a gift, or a necklace, or even a family heirloom. It's a collar. One meant to show that I belong to him. The weight of it suddenly becomes burdensome and doubles as Eris stands back to admire the necklace now that I’m wearing it.

“It looks perfect on that beautiful little neck,” he smirks, offering me his arm that I take politely. “My family is very eager to meet you. Especially my brothers who have only ever heard stories of your beauty.” he says leading me inside.

“Well I hope that I can live up to my reputation then,” I smile as my heels clack along the marble floors.

“In that dress little flame,” Eris says, looking me up and down, eyes lingering on the cleavage the neckline showed off. “You will be like a walking temptation.”

We make our way to the large dining room and my eyes scan the table. Mounds and mounds of food and wine are littered all over it, enough for the whole court I presume. Everything from duck to boar, no doubt from Eris’ hunts. My mind flashes to the hounds in the kennel and I actively push the thought away.

On one side of the table sits Eris’ six brothers, all of them alike in age. At the head of each end sits Beron Vanserra and his wife. I look for an empty chair, and only find two.

“It’s wonderful to see you again princess,” Beron booms as Eris pulls my chair out for me.

“And you as well High Lord,” I smile bowing to him.

I’m thankful for the chair that now supports me from beneath as I feel my knees start to wobble. I look around at the table once more now that I’m seated, and the plethora of red hair and piercing eyes is enough to make me feel like I’m a lamb shoved in a wolf's den. I feel Cassian taking up space by the door and my heart breaks knowing he must be hungry too.

“Excuse me High Lord,” I ask, pulling Beron’s attention. “But I wonder if you might procure a seat for my guard so that he might enjoy this divine meal as well.”

“Bastards are not allowed to sit at this table,” Beron says with a cool, calm, authority that I almost envy. My blood boils at his words, and tears nearly brim my eyes. Cassian was so much more than a ‘bastard’. Gods, one Cassian was worth more than everyone at this table combined. But to say that would mean my head on a platter.

“Of course my Lord, I don’t know what came over me,” I apologize, bowing my head in submissal.

“Darling you simply must try the wine,” Eris says pouring me a glass.

I swirl the red liquid around and give it a sniff. The strong scent of dark, ripe berries hits my nose. I take a sip and though I hate to admit it, it tastes like heaven. Or perhaps my body is aware that the effects of this wine are the only things that will help me get through this dinner.

“It’s amazing,” I beam looking at my glass. “I love bold reds.”

“From our vineyards here in the Autumn Court,” Beron says proudly. “I’ll be sure to send a case to your brother for you both to enjoy.”

“We would love that, thank you.” I smile while taking another sip.

The table falls into a comfortable conversation and I do my best to keep my head down like Beron's wife, as whatever behavior she portrays will likely be what’s expected of me. So far her etiquette imitates what Eris so crudely said to me just a few days ago…Wives are meant to be seen and not heard, except for in bed of course. Men do love the little whimpers of pain women emit when they are deflowered…

I suppress a shudder at the remembrance of those words, and even though the comment that floats to my ears is another bit of sexist garbage, I’m sadly grateful for the distraction.

“By the gods she is perfect,” one of Eris' brothers says quietly to the other.

I try to hide my blush with another sip of wine, followed by another chunk of potato. Doing everything I can to pretend that I can’t hear the conversation the three brothers in front of me are quietly having.

“Look at her tits,” another one rasps his eyes not so subtly glazing over me, the other brother in the conversation doing the same. I suddenly feel like I’m a piece of livestock up for auction.

“How is it that Eris gets to have the Jewel?” the third one asks quietly, but not quiet enough to escape Eris’ ears.

“Because I am the eldest!” Eris shouts, slamming his fists on the table, and the only person who doesn’t jump from his outburst is Beron. “And you’d do well to hold your tongue in front of the potential mother to the heir of the throne you’ll never inherit.”

I can see the other side of the table debating whether to fight back or not, but it’s Beron who breaks the silence with the ease only a High Lord could do. “I assume that you and your brother will be attending our ball celebrating our fall solstice later this week princess?” Beron asks me.

“Yes of course,” I tell him, setting down my glass of wine.

“Wonderful! We’re quite excited to have you both in attendance. It is our fist ball since our time under the mountain,” he explains.

“Who else will be attending?” I ask, swirling my wine around in its glass.

“All the High Lords and the most trusted members of their courts,” Beron answers and it takes everything in me not to laugh.

My mind flickered back to the months before my family locked me away, months where every High Lord would fall to his feet and beg for my hand in marriage. No doubt Eris would now play the role of fighting them all off and the image of him being an angry and frustrated toddler brought me joy.

“Then I hope your son isn’t a jealous man,” I smile while sipping my wine. “Helion is a good friend, but he’s been asking my brother for my hand for years. Rhys practically had to beat him off with a stick.” I laugh, the effects of the wine taking over.

What’s meant to be a lighthearted joke turns sour as I see the flames dance in Eris’ eyes, “Jealousy is a weak emotion, princess, But rest assured, I have no intention of allowing any man to lay claim to what is rightfully mine,” he starts and leans into my ear so only I can hear him. “And if Helion continues to pursue you, I’ll just have to deflower you right in front of his very eyes.”

I want to come up with a witty response. I want to yell or scream or defend myself for the love of gods, but I can’t. All I can do is swallow the fear within me with another sip of wine and hope this den of wolves doesn't scent my fear.

The rest of dinner is quiet and uneventful, I let the men converse, keeping note of the many glasses of wine Eris consumes. I turn my attention to the only other female at the table and I try to study her every move. Beron's wife says nothing, and I note that it’s my job to do the same. A pretty little wall ornament indeed.

“If you’ll excuse us father,” Eris says standing up. “I would like to take the princess on a little stroll.”

“Very well my son you are excused,” Beron nods to Eris. “I look forward to seeing you later this week my dear.” Beron says to me.

I nod, trying to keep the illusion of submission up and Eris leads me out of the dining hall and down a dark hall. The chattering voices no doubt talking about me drifting off behind us. As we get further and further away from the dining room, I start to feel my stomach drop. Something is wrong, something is terribly wrong. But like usual, I don’t have the voice to say anything. We come across another dark hall, one so pitch black I would think it’s an endless void if it wasn’t for the light at the far end.

“Sit and stay bastard,” Eris growls towards Cassian like he’s one of his hounds. “I require a private moment with the Jewel.”

Cassian grumbles but allows Eris to lead me further into the shadows, the only way he could see us at this point is the faelight at the other end of the hall that would cast our silhouettes onto the floor. I try to throw him a frightened glance, but just like many times before, Eris seems to have found a way to keep me from doing so.

“The general seems quite attached to you, it’s nice to finally have some time alone,” Eris says as he leads me through the long dark hallway. I swear I’d bump into a rouge chaise or grandfather clock lining the wall if it wasn’t his arm in mine.

“Cassian has my best interest at heart, he wants to keep me safe,” I reply, trying to keep my voice from sounding confrontational.

“And he believes that I couldn’t keep you safe?” Eris retorts and I nearly scoff.

“It’s not that, I think he believes you might take certain…shall I say, liberties with me,” I mumble trying to keep my head low.

Eris' body tenses next to mine and I know I’ve made a grave mistake. “You’re mine, I can take whatever liberties I wish to.” he growls and before I know it my back is against a wall. “If he thinks I’ll marry you without trying you out he’s more of a simple minded bastard than I thought.”

“Eris please,” I breathe trying to rip my wrists from his grasp but it’s no use.

“Are you fighting or begging, little flame?” he muses, wine scented breath brushing my neck. “Either way it makes my cock hard.” he smiles, pressing his lips to my neck.

His body is flush to mine and I can feel one hand pinning my wrists to the wall in a way that will leave bruises while the other explores my body. His lips are hot and wet on my neck and chest wandering dangerously low.

“This isn’t proper,” I protest and try to wiggle out of his grasp for emphasis but I only succeed in grinding myself into him more.

“Then I’ll make it fucking proper!” Eris seethes gripping my chin to make my gaze meet his. Those amber eyes are somehow darker and more intimidating in the low light. “Now be a good girl and let me kiss you,” he smirks before pressing his lips to mine.

For what it was worth Eris hadn’t made any advances on me since the first time under the willow. But tonight, with the copious amounts of wine flowing through his veins? Well it must’ve been just enough for his resolve to snap. His lips still taste like venom, everything about him all wrong. It takes everything in me not to get sick all over his perfectly tailored jacket.

“Eris stop it!” I whine pushing him away further.

“I must have you my little flame,” he groans and I feel his hands grip my skirt.

My heart starts to race even more, and if I wasn’t going to be sick before I surely was going to be now. His mouth resumed its assault on my neck, messy and needy just like earlier. Large hands bunch up the layers of fabric and tulle until the cold air hits my bare legs.

“ERIS STOP!” I screamed pushing him off me with all my strength and it was enough to make him stumble.

A dark shadow appears before us as if it was transported there, “Eris that’s enough! It’s time for the princess to go home.” Cassian roars.

“Stay in your place bastard!” Eris seethes. “She belongs to me. I can use her however I like!”

“She belongs to no one! You have no right to compromise her virtue before you wed her. Rhysand won’t allow it.” Cassian continues, the voice of a general coming through. One so demanding even I would lower my weapons for him, apparently not Eris.

“Ha!” Eris laughs, thrusting a hand out to grab me by my neck. His grip is like a vice, a collar that burns hotter than one he already gave me. “Didn’t you hear her little begs? I think she might want to be deflowered before the ceremony. Wouldn’t you pet?”

Cassian’s hand strikes, grabbing Eris’ wrist. The one connected to the hand wrapped around my throat, “All I have to do is squeeze and that hand won’t hold a bow for months and I have the authority to do so. Get your fucking hands off her before I shatter your entire arm,” he growls and even I feel fear from his tone.

The deafening ringing of the clocktower bells chime throughout the palace like the voice of the gods dampening the tension in the air. The seven chimes signal it’s time for me to return home once more. Eris releases me, and against my better judgment Cassian releases Eris. But it doesn’t stop them from staring daggers into one another, if Cassian jumps now it’ll be his head on a pike and I’d rather die than allow that to happen.

“Cassian is right,” I say to Eris standing between the two of them. “It’s better if we wait. If you choose to marry me, imagine how amazing our wedding night will be.” I smile at Eris, pulling him for a passionate kiss, hiding every ounce of disgust I feel.

“That’s more like it, my pet,” he smirks, glancing up at Cassian in a challenge. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Until then,” I smile, letting Cassian lead me away.

The second we are around the corner that shields us from Eris’ view we both begin walking much faster. As if the eldest son of autumn is a monster at our heels and we have limited time to get out of this gods forsaken palace. When the crisp air of Autumn hits my skin Cassian doesn’t even ask if I’m ready before picking me up and shooting me into the sky.

“We need to go talk to Rhys and tell him what happened,” Cassian said, his wings pounding with a new urgency.

“No!” I protest. “We can’t tell him. I don’t want him to have an even more guilty conscience than he has from the last fifty years.”

“Princess you saw what just happened back there! Eris was going to take advantage of you. Rhys deserves to know.” he argues.

“If Rhys knows he’ll call off the courtship and if he calls off the courtship then I can’t marry Eris which means I can’t save my court,” I explain.

“This has gotten out of hand princess, we have to tell your brother,” Cassian grumbles.

“Cassian please, don’t take my choices away from me. I love my court and I love my family. If this is how I can help all of you in the war I want to,” I shrill. “I can take ‘the sky is falling’ from just about everyone but you. I need you to support me Cassian.”

I look into Cassian’s eyes and I can see them still burning with unmatched fury. I let my own eyes plead to his, trying to convey how badly I needed him to stay quiet about what had happened. How badly I needed him to let me do this, to trust me. His eyes softened and his gaze fixed itself on the flight before us.

“Fine,” he shook his head. “But if he pulls a stunt like that again I won’t stand by and watch this time.”

“Of course not general,” I smile, watching the wind whip the stray hairs from his face. “I’ll hold while you punch.”

Though he tries to hide his amusement at my joke, Cassian’s mouth can’t help but turn up into a half smile.

Part 4

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